Mm. The war didn’t start with the March, after all. And even if it had - I truly can’t imagine why it is that the act of setting Tevinter’s fields aflame led you to disavow your name. It would be akin to beating the shit out of a dwarf and then throwing away your fine dwarven sword as a result. No logic.
[ That catches Byerly flat-footed. His physical reaction to it is subtle: eyes narrowing for just a split second as he tries to understand and fails. Then he returns to his prior drill serenity. ]
Elves? Not sure I follow, dear fellow.
[ And then the thought occurs to him, and he tilts his head, studying Cedric’s face. ]
[ repeated. impossible to divine where blood slopes for blood. takes after his father, the old joke, but it's his uncle's nose; his mother's high bones, grandfather's hair. stretched a little broad, set a little square.
perhaps, in some dismal southern castle, he'd spy another byerly.
cedric drops the stare, at last, to write. ink spots, spreads beyond the edge of a rune. ]
[ Far from it, it seems; Byerly almost immediately stops being so fucking weird. His slouch becomes more comfortable and less disrespectful; his jeering smile normalizes into an ordinary expression of attention.
Because: an eely man who has the background of a warrior but who aims to please, who dodges questions and says what he thinks someone wants to hear rather than what he believes - that's suspicious. Unless the people-pleasing is a way you've devised to avoid getting your teeth bashed in by people who don't like the thing you are. ]
I imagine it's nearly always a problem for you. So I imagine that, yes, it will be a problem going forward, as well. But not one I intend to exacerbate.
[ He tilts his head. ]
Is this a secret? "Not ashamed" can sometimes mean "not afraid of trouble," but not always.
[ a sluggish pulse in his chest: there's no true grace in telling someone you don’t mean to knife them. plenty like to hold it so. rutyer doesn't intend to exacerbate this, how fucking generous. ]
No. So if a secret's what you’re after, what's gonna make you feel big — then my favourite colour's blue, when I was sixteen I broke the hand off a statue, and I'd take it a kindness if you did the work you signed to.
Too busy figuring out how t'get back off the roof.
[ it's a decent draft, modeled after past letters — in places, a touch too closely, should the countess review her prior correspondence with riftwatch. this and that line could do with some rephrasing, and of course, by now the paper's a loss. ]
[ Byerly easily, fluidly, begins the rewrite - catching those little bits of cliched phrasing, smoothing over the rougher patches. He's very good at this. This was, after all, his life for some years. ]
[ revered mother renata had weak wrists. he wipes a bead of brackish sweat from hand, ink mingling for salt. attentive to the revisions: been near six months, but half that spent hauling stone, chatting up the guard. he's new to this. ]
This really what you wanna be doing?
[ there are four divisions, there are jobs beyond the walls. everyone does a bit of everything, these days; rutyer's got options. ]
You fucked off half the division yesterday. And it was pulling teeth getting you t'help with this little thing —
[ not the mark of greatness. rutyer's obviously capable, it's as obvious that he isn't trying. ]
— 'M not saying you can't do it. Just seems clear you don't care to.
[ no one's useless: research and scouting need scribes and connections, forces can teach anyone to pitch a tent, string a bow. there are other people rutyer could be. ]
[ He blows out a sigh through his nose, and then says with a crooked smile: ]
To be completely clear: you’re encouraging me to abandon the duties at which I am particularly effective, simply because I do not enjoy them, at a time when the little girl who lives down the lane from me is spending her every waking moment trying to look beneath every rock she can find in case Mama’s under there?
[ He gestures with his cigarette. ]
I don’t think I’m going to spend too long thinking it over. But Maker bless you for being so concerned about my happiness.
[ you’re encouraging me to abandon the duties at which I am particularly effective, simply because I do not enjoy them,
is its own, guilty pang. but rutyer didn't swear oaths. ]
'M concerned when it starts getting on everyone else.
[ cedric rolls a wrist, flexes the fingers about his anchor loose. gela's right; they've all been strained. jayce stood in the surf, thunderstruck for something cedric hasn't grasped the full shape of. vega's faint admission, it was very loud, ]
[ rutyer swore so many fucking oaths, it's really gross ]
I also am concerned when it starts getting on everyone else.
[ An arched eyebrow. Wasn't the crux of the original argument around whether or not people had the right to snap at newcomers due to the stress they were under? But it's neither here nor there; he shakes his head, not wanting to settle back into that previous unsatisfying argument. Wanting to move instead into a new, better one. ]
I presume you're asking if I've spoken to anyone about my feelings on them. To which the answer is: I have a beloved who lends me his one good ear, though at times I prefer to whisper into the deaf one. Much less embarrassing.
Though it was bloody hard to tell the difference between him and that demon. Doesn't exactly speak of someone who's ever going to be particularly knowable.
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[ slow, steady, in the faint tones of: you're not a fucking idiot. he's writing now. (this copy elides the doodles at slate-edge) ]
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Mm. The war didn’t start with the March, after all. And even if it had - I truly can’t imagine why it is that the act of setting Tevinter’s fields aflame led you to disavow your name. It would be akin to beating the shit out of a dwarf and then throwing away your fine dwarven sword as a result. No logic.
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Yeah, well. People don't run on reason. [ to echo their previous discussion ] And there's only so many reasons elves run South.
[ this time, when he looks up, it's pointed. mouth taut. he isn't the only one being examined, here. ]
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Elves? Not sure I follow, dear fellow.
[ And then the thought occurs to him, and he tilts his head, studying Cedric’s face. ]
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[ repeated. impossible to divine where blood slopes for blood. takes after his father, the old joke, but it's his uncle's nose; his mother's high bones, grandfather's hair. stretched a little broad, set a little square.
perhaps, in some dismal southern castle, he'd spy another byerly.
cedric drops the stare, at last, to write. ink spots, spreads beyond the edge of a rune. ]
And I'm not bringing them back there.
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Are you saying you're elf-blooded?
[ If he's wrong, he's probably going to get socked in the jaw. He braces himself for it. Templars have heavy fists, no doubt. ]
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[ it's even, not mild. he moves down a line (drops a word) ]
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[ Far from it, it seems; Byerly almost immediately stops being so fucking weird. His slouch becomes more comfortable and less disrespectful; his jeering smile normalizes into an ordinary expression of attention.
Because: an eely man who has the background of a warrior but who aims to please, who dodges questions and says what he thinks someone wants to hear rather than what he believes - that's suspicious. Unless the people-pleasing is a way you've devised to avoid getting your teeth bashed in by people who don't like the thing you are. ]
I imagine it's nearly always a problem for you. So I imagine that, yes, it will be a problem going forward, as well. But not one I intend to exacerbate.
[ He tilts his head. ]
Is this a secret? "Not ashamed" can sometimes mean "not afraid of trouble," but not always.
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No. So if a secret's what you’re after, what's gonna make you feel big — then my favourite colour's blue, when I was sixteen I broke the hand off a statue, and I'd take it a kindness if you did the work you signed to.
[ a tight gesture to the page. ]
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Did you keep it?
The hand, I mean.
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[ it's a decent draft, modeled after past letters — in places, a touch too closely, should the countess review her prior correspondence with riftwatch. this and that line could do with some rephrasing, and of course, by now the paper's a loss. ]
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[ Byerly easily, fluidly, begins the rewrite - catching those little bits of cliched phrasing, smoothing over the rougher patches. He's very good at this. This was, after all, his life for some years. ]
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[ revered mother renata had weak wrists. he wipes a bead of brackish sweat from hand, ink mingling for salt. attentive to the revisions: been near six months, but half that spent hauling stone, chatting up the guard. he's new to this. ]
This really what you wanna be doing?
[ there are four divisions, there are jobs beyond the walls. everyone does a bit of everything, these days; rutyer's got options. ]
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What else could I do? I'm a rather useless man.
[ No shame in that. It's practiced and light. ]
But I'm very good at this.
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[ not the mark of greatness. rutyer's obviously capable, it's as obvious that he isn't trying. ]
— 'M not saying you can't do it. Just seems clear you don't care to.
[ no one's useless: research and scouting need scribes and connections, forces can teach anyone to pitch a tent, string a bow. there are other people rutyer could be. ]
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[ He doesn't seem particularly offended by the implications. ]
You should stay like this.
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doesn't matter, rutyer changes the subject any time it flips to him. some conversations you can only have in parallel. ]
Think on it. That's all.
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To be completely clear: you’re encouraging me to abandon the duties at which I am particularly effective, simply because I do not enjoy them, at a time when the little girl who lives down the lane from me is spending her every waking moment trying to look beneath every rock she can find in case Mama’s under there?
[ He gestures with his cigarette. ]
I don’t think I’m going to spend too long thinking it over. But Maker bless you for being so concerned about my happiness.
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is its own, guilty pang. but rutyer didn't swear oaths. ]
'M concerned when it starts getting on everyone else.
[ cedric rolls a wrist, flexes the fingers about his anchor loose. gela's right; they've all been strained. jayce stood in the surf, thunderstruck for something cedric hasn't grasped the full shape of. vega's faint admission, it was very loud, ]
You talk to anyone? About the attacks.
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I also am concerned when it starts getting on everyone else.
[ An arched eyebrow. Wasn't the crux of the original argument around whether or not people had the right to snap at newcomers due to the stress they were under? But it's neither here nor there; he shakes his head, not wanting to settle back into that previous unsatisfying argument. Wanting to move instead into a new, better one. ]
I presume you're asking if I've spoken to anyone about my feelings on them. To which the answer is: I have a beloved who lends me his one good ear, though at times I prefer to whisper into the deaf one. Much less embarrassing.
Do you have anyone to speak to?
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[ patient. thoughtful. and as equipped as anyone here to discuss their particular relationship to death —
he lets the argument lie. by now, point's made or it's not. if rutyer cares to mend those fences, it's him's got to do it. he rubs a knuckle. ]
But we're not so close. Reckon that's easier, maybe. [ much less embarrassing ] Some shit you don't wanna drag home.
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[ By purses his lips in consideration of Vanya. ]
Though it was bloody hard to tell the difference between him and that demon. Doesn't exactly speak of someone who's ever going to be particularly knowable.
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Well, he's not gonna give you a reaction.
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