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[illithidnapped]

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[illithidnapped]

[He laughs, predictably amused by a question he very much knew was coming.] So many— but that’s the nature of secrets, my dear: can’t be told.

I only mentioned Bastien’s because I knew you two were in bed with one another. Literally, of course.

The rest don’t come for free.

And besides, I imagine you know almost as much as I do to begin with.

[bouchonne]

[ By laughs, and privately relaxes a bit. Good. He obviously had some faith that Astarion had discretion; it's good to get some amount of confirmation. ]

So what would your price be?

[illithidnapped]

More than you could ever hope to afford, dearest spy of mine. [Mild and fond— and likely true as well, given the way Astarion says it.]

The things I want that I can't fetch for myself aren't easily found, and I've a heart made of frigid ice; nothing short of divinity itself will pry my collection from me prematurely.

[bouchonne]

Is that what your heart is made of? [ A very skeptical: ] Hm.

[illithidnapped]

You disagree?

[This time it's Astarion's turn to sound skeptical. Come now, Byerly.]

[bouchonne]

My memory is faint, but if I strain, I seem to recall hearing something where you showed some compassion to a few people who were in a rather bad way.

[illithidnapped]

...ugh. I knew I never should've let you live when you caught me in that alleyway, now I'll never be able to escape the outermost perimeter of my own bad decisions.

[bouchonne]

Were you considering murdering me?

[ He doesn't sound particularly scandalized by the possibility. Lots of people think about murdering Byerly. ]

1/2

[illithidnapped]

Mm. Just for half a second. Or ten.

[And you know what? That actually sounds like the truth.]

Not that I don't adore you, darling, just. Well, we've had our share of fanatical rats amongst the flock, so to speak. Difficult to place faith in anyone else for certain, particularly when one's standing in the unsettling dark, plotting how best to keep a pack of would-be— and undoubtably— lucrative assets safe.

In other words, the fact that I didn't go through with it might say a great deal about how much I trust you.

2/2

[illithidnapped]

So do me a favor, and don't make me look the fool for believing that I can.

...trust you, that is.

[bouchonne]

[ Wryly: ] Provide some small salve to my pride, dear man. Pretend that I'm not so frail that you could take my life as easily as just thinking about it. Rutyer men are supposed to be warriors.

[ Then, hoping that little joke has put Astarion a bit at ease, Byerly says: ]

I did give you collateral. You could do quite a lot of damage to me with the secret I told you. So in the moments when your trust in my intentions falters, you can find your footing again by reminding yourself that you also are protected by my self-interest.

[ Was that the reason that Byerly shared that most sensitive of secrets? Probably. In the moment, the choice was rather surprising to him - probably even more surprising than it had been to Astarion - but upon reflection, he thinks that's why he did it.

There'd been a dog who'd skulked around the manor when he was young, a half-feral thing with a permanent limp from having been hurt by thrown stones. While he never exactly bonded with it, it had come to trust him and take small tidbits from his hand - and he'd gotten to that place first by sitting down, laying his open hands palm-up, not guarding any of his vulnerable spots. Sometimes a hurt thing needs to know that it can hurt you back, hurt you worse. Sometimes that's how it feels safe. ]

1/2

[illithidnapped]

I won’t do you the disservice of lying. [Teasing as it is, that start, there's also so much smugness in play for a solid half beat or two:] You and I both know I could tear you to shreds in an instant if I wanted to.

But I don’t want to. You’re far too pretty to die.

[There. Ego padded with simple honesty instead. A far rarer gift.

As for the rest, though....]

Still, you’re not wrong there. And admittedly not a day goes by where it doesn’t bring me some amount of comfort, knowing what I do about you. [He means that. Despite the casualness of his exchanges with so much of Riftwatch, there are startlingly few souls present that serve as a balm against Astarion's own (at times paranoid) fears.

Collateral helps. Duplicitous collateral even more so, if only for the fact that at times a spy and a spawn like Astarion aren't all that different. Easier to trust a snake that says it's a snake, than a tactician that claims themselves nothing more than a diligent observer.] Can’t imagine you’ve shared it with many souls here— although it would be particularly clever if you did. Making everyone feel at ease around you with a not so secret secret.

But like I said, I don’t suspect you of that kind of deception. We’ve seen a great deal of one another’s scars, all things considered.

I place faith in that.

[He does. He's learned to.]

2/2

[illithidnapped]

Anyway, you’ll excuse me if I flutter away before the nightmares find me. Lots of relentless thieving to do in Kirkwall lately— and the bills won’t pay themselves

Not without a little help, that is.

[bouchonne]

[ What does that mean? I don’t suspect you of that kind of deception. We’ve seen a great deal of one another’s scars. Meaning, what, that Byerly had provided him with a more valuable sort of collateral? That's certainly not the case: Byerly's disgrace had been a matter of delighted gossip, back when it had happened. Every Fereldan noble above a certain age likely heard of his public shame. So -

So what's his meaning? That the scars make Byerly more trustworthy? That someone who's suffered like that is less likely to hurt Astarion? Maker, would that that were true. By remembers well how utterly his disgrace had turned him vicious and cruel. How calculating and evil he'd become after it all...

But at the same time: he won't hurt Astarion. He knows that he will not betray him. So maybe there's something to Astarion's faith, after all.

A lighter topic: ]

Thieving, my dear fellow?

[illithidnapped]

[A lighter topic indeed.]

A man has to pay his bills somehow, and much as I adore Riftwatch’s precious little stipend, it’s not nearly enough for an elf in Lowtown attempting to pay rent outside the Alienage, which....

Eugh, no.

[Not in a thousand eons would he resort to relocating there.]

Hence. Borrowing. Aggressively.

[bouchonne]

You're going to get us into trouble.

[illithidnapped]

With whom, darling?


The ruffians in the harbor? The riff raff and mercenaries that do just as much to ruin the scabbiest of lives in this flea-ridden city?

Come now, Byerly. I don't rob from the rich....

[Well.]

...much.

[Mostly never— which is almost always, as far as well-behaved odds go, if you think about it.]

And the ones that stray into Lowtown and the like know exactly what they're getting into.

[bouchonne]

Ah, so he's not a thief - he's the Black Fox come again. No wonder Bastien is fond of you.

[ Easily teasing, with no bite in it. The tone remains light as he says - ]

It'd simply look a bit bad if word got out. Even if it is just riff raff. Riftwatch has all those foreign heathens, and they come to prey on our people.

[illithidnapped]

[Memo to look up the Black Fox later then— if only to potentially discuss it with Bastien at some future point.]


Mm. [Light mm, cavalier (yet gently so) mm.

A warning for the inevitable mischief that follows:]

So what I'm hearing is that I shouldn't leave them alive when I rob them blind.

[bouchonne]

[ Just a hint of the stressed, unhappy Division Head creeps through Byerly's light irony. ]

Ah, Astarion...

[illithidnapped]

What?

Oh come on. That was funny. I was funny.

[The jury's still out on that one, Astarion. But still:]

You’ve let your work sink its claws into you far too much these days.

It’s going to break my blackened heart, at this rate.

[bouchonne]

You should have known me before all this.

[ He's droll again, his little stress-bubble forcibly popped and dispersed. ]

Before la responsabilité. I was fun, if you can believe it. I'd have gone with you on those robberies.

[illithidnapped]

Oh?

[Astarion doesn’t sound like he doubts it, actually.]

Surely your desk didn’t just change you overnight, though.

...or if it did, cursed as it might be, I could just burn it. Unshackle you and set you free.

[bouchonne]

Ha. I'd adore you for it.

[ He sounds like he really would. ]

But it sounds like you're accusing me of having been serious-minded for some time. Or are you saying that perhaps there's fun still buried in me?

[illithidnapped]

The latter, more or less. Maybe both. Does knowing you for almost a year now count as ‘quite some time’? Because if so, yes.

And I’m starting to think I might need to resort to drastic measures to save you.