As you were saying all that to me - why continue to do the job if you despise it, all that - I wonder what was going through your head. I wonder if you were thinking about your own obligations.
[ a home. an education. a small fortune in room and board and training and lyrium. every horse he's ridden, sword he's swung. some day they'll pull the head from his shoulders, and it's the chantry who'll sew his lips and sleep him in a tomb.
we've been given so much, and, ]
More'n anything, 's given me purpose. Chance t'be a part of something greater.
[ He takes a moment to look over the page. Or - well. He takes a moment to look like he's looking it over, while he in fact thinks about something else altogether. ]
I was Chantry-educated, myself. Our family had nothing, so I'd make the trek down to the village to join the children of the freemen at their studies. I cannot say that I was a diligent student - you'll be shocked to hear it - but I owe to them the fact that I learned to read and write, and do basic sums. Skills that served me well enough when I struck out on my own.
[ our family had nothing, comes a surprise, not quite swallowed by the pinch of his brow. maybe it oughtn’t. plenty of money came through the monastery; impossible to imagine back then, that some kid delivered by carriage might lack.
but he's heard them talk on it, talk around it: the thorny shape of a familiar hunger. and now benedict, he supposes. byerly. ]
Learned child's a blessing, [ upon his parents, that verse goes. upon his parents and the maker, ] For anyone's got letters t'post.
[ cedric levels a glance. the joke's an exit ramp, if rutyer wants it. but after this elliptical interrogation, means something that he's given of his own. ]
[ That's a real laugh - not loud, not long, just an appreciative chuckle at a well-constructed joke.
But he doesn't take the exit ramp. Instead: ]
When I was about seventeen. Or a few days shy of it. I, in my infinite wisdom - and not a bit of reckless fury - decided that I could make my way in the world with nothing but an extra pair of socks and my patchy autumn coat and my fiddle. It was in Firstfall, but it was an unseasonably warm day, and in my ignorance it never even occurred to me, say, things might get colder tomorrow.
I spent the first night on the road sleeping under a bridge and woke up with numb fingers. Couldn't warm my hands all day, which interfered with my clever plan to trade music for a ride in a haycart towards Denerim. But my eyes still worked. And along came a merchant who had a stack of correspondence he'd picked up in town but no time to read it yet. And so I didn't earn my way as a fiddler, but instead a learned factotum.
[ pinch pulls to crinkle, along the side of his mouth. rueful for tomorrow. yeah, they both remember what it was to be clarisse, to be twenty. remember, too, being seventeen. stupid. brave. ]
You still play?
[ it might get colder tomorrow. but it could warm, too. gotta be bold to believe it: that a better day could be. ]
There are rumors that the former Ambassador and his companion don hats and shabby clothes and help provide the music for a bawdy Lowtown dance-hall. There are rumors it happens every Tuesday.
[ helluva disguise. why'd you leave? what kept you from turning back? what ever came of that reckless fury, save that the story points out. away from home. toward a warmer day.
cedric studies his expression, his own leveling slow; behind the remains of a smile. it’s nice to not fucking fight the guy for a minute. ]
[ What a question. It actually takes Byerly back a moment. How could you describe the experience of playing? He settles, finally, on: ]
It is like being a bell, and being lifted and struck.
[ There’s a sincerity in that. Here, at last: something that Byerly loves without embarrassment or reservation or shame. One lone place where the armor of irony and suspicion and deception reveals a little gap, showing a quick flash of the tender heart underneath. ]
There’s a reason that we sing the Chant. The Maker speaks in music, and it’s how we can best respond.
[ even in the bawdy dance-halls. something feels right in that, sounds true; out of rutyer's mouth, in his own heart. never had the head for art, or the throat to sing — but there's more than one way to raise a sound.
when we're called, i mean to have something to say,
it all tastes trite. over-observed; skittish of recent scrutiny. but the only way out is through. cedric reaches a hand across the table, squeezes an arm, brief. lets go again with a nod. ]
[ There's a brief, startled look at the physical contact. Not quite a flinch, but clear enough from the very slight way By braces that he's more accustomed to slaps than comradely grips. No surprise, of course, with a personality like that.
(Or maybe it's a little sadder. Runaway kids get kicked. Kids run away because they got kicked. And he doesn't flinch like that when he's got his armor fully on.)
It's a quick recovery. A smile, full of wry bravado. ]
I do know some men who get that feeling during swordplay, or out on the training ground. Do you ever feel it there? That sense of rightness?
[ byerly's recoil, the speed of that reverse, reminds of steel itself. stepping forward for the slash. into the boot. he'll mull over that later: all the ways folks bluff. the reasons they might.
kids get kicked. sometimes, they put themselves between. ]
Everyone likes t'be good at something, [ cedric admits. he is very good with a blade. ] But it's... dunno. Means nothing, without a use.
[ without an answer to give. there is a song that he knows how to find, a great din that presses everything else out. no room in it to be one person – selfish, small – no room to be anything at all. ]
We bashed around, y'know. Sticks and brooms. Don't remember it feeling right 'til there was a reason.
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How old are you, exactly?
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[ alright, so rutyer can do math, ]
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[ He considers Cedric a moment. ]
As you were saying all that to me - why continue to do the job if you despise it, all that - I wonder what was going through your head. I wonder if you were thinking about your own obligations.
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[ simple, unequivocal. he's gamed it out before. ]
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[ a home. an education. a small fortune in room and board and training and lyrium. every horse he's ridden, sword he's swung. some day they'll pull the head from his shoulders, and it's the chantry who'll sew his lips and sleep him in a tomb.
we've been given so much, and, ]
More'n anything, 's given me purpose. Chance t'be a part of something greater.
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Like the Exalted March.
[ His pen makes a little flourish as he signs the letter. ]
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[ he tracks the final swoop of pen; nods. sets to wiping slate, folding away the old draft. someone'll want it. nothing confidential on. ]
Can't no one do it alone.
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[ He takes a moment to look over the page. Or - well. He takes a moment to look like he's looking it over, while he in fact thinks about something else altogether. ]
I was Chantry-educated, myself. Our family had nothing, so I'd make the trek down to the village to join the children of the freemen at their studies. I cannot say that I was a diligent student - you'll be shocked to hear it - but I owe to them the fact that I learned to read and write, and do basic sums. Skills that served me well enough when I struck out on my own.
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but he's heard them talk on it, talk around it: the thorny shape of a familiar hunger. and now benedict, he supposes. byerly. ]
Learned child's a blessing, [ upon his parents, that verse goes. upon his parents and the maker, ] For anyone's got letters t'post.
[ cedric levels a glance. the joke's an exit ramp, if rutyer wants it. but after this elliptical interrogation, means something that he's given of his own. ]
When was that?
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[ That's a real laugh - not loud, not long, just an appreciative chuckle at a well-constructed joke.
But he doesn't take the exit ramp. Instead: ]
When I was about seventeen. Or a few days shy of it. I, in my infinite wisdom - and not a bit of reckless fury - decided that I could make my way in the world with nothing but an extra pair of socks and my patchy autumn coat and my fiddle. It was in Firstfall, but it was an unseasonably warm day, and in my ignorance it never even occurred to me, say, things might get colder tomorrow.
I spent the first night on the road sleeping under a bridge and woke up with numb fingers. Couldn't warm my hands all day, which interfered with my clever plan to trade music for a ride in a haycart towards Denerim. But my eyes still worked. And along came a merchant who had a stack of correspondence he'd picked up in town but no time to read it yet. And so I didn't earn my way as a fiddler, but instead a learned factotum.
[ He smiles wryly down at the pages before him. ]
Life does rhyme, at times.
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You still play?
[ it might get colder tomorrow. but it could warm, too. gotta be bold to believe it: that a better day could be. ]
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[ His own eyes crinkle with amusement. ]
Bizarre, no?
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[ Has he ever been there on a Tuesday? But no, it’s mostly dwarves. And accordion. ]
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I fear that the two of us might - hmm - stand out from the crowd there. That's a fine spot, though.
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[ helluva disguise. why'd you leave? what kept you from turning back? what ever came of that reckless fury, save that the story points out. away from home. toward a warmer day.
cedric studies his expression, his own leveling slow; behind the remains of a smile. it’s nice to not fucking fight the guy for a minute. ]
What’s it like? Playing.
[ never had the head for art. ]
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It is like being a bell, and being lifted and struck.
[ There’s a sincerity in that. Here, at last: something that Byerly loves without embarrassment or reservation or shame. One lone place where the armor of irony and suspicion and deception reveals a little gap, showing a quick flash of the tender heart underneath. ]
There’s a reason that we sing the Chant. The Maker speaks in music, and it’s how we can best respond.
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when we're called, i mean to have something to say,
it all tastes trite. over-observed; skittish of recent scrutiny. but the only way out is through. cedric reaches a hand across the table, squeezes an arm, brief. lets go again with a nod. ]
Hope one day t'hear it.
[ the way that byerly does. ]
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(Or maybe it's a little sadder. Runaway kids get kicked. Kids run away because they got kicked. And he doesn't flinch like that when he's got his armor fully on.)
It's a quick recovery. A smile, full of wry bravado. ]
I do know some men who get that feeling during swordplay, or out on the training ground. Do you ever feel it there? That sense of rightness?
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kids get kicked. sometimes, they put themselves between. ]
Everyone likes t'be good at something, [ cedric admits. he is very good with a blade. ] But it's... dunno. Means nothing, without a use.
[ without an answer to give. there is a song that he knows how to find, a great din that presses everything else out. no room in it to be one person – selfish, small – no room to be anything at all. ]
We bashed around, y'know. Sticks and brooms. Don't remember it feeling right 'til there was a reason.
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