Maybe he's intelligent. Unfortunately, he's at least equally imaginative, and with so little context Bastien spins out not a conclusion but an array of possibilities. A family Ellis was ashamed of, a family who was ashamed of him. A criminal history or a blood feud that would follow his full name across Thedas. A decision to leave behind something painful, tossing his name into the wind like ashes from an urn.
The heaviness of his no, when asked if he had family in Ferelden, had made Bastien guess his family must be dead—but only a guess.
He looks at Ellis' profile, searching and inquisitive, but he doesn't ask. After a pause he nods, squeezes Ellis' knuckles in parting before slipping his hand away, and strokes the silky spot behind Ruadh's ear instead.
"It's a good name," he says, tentative. Maybe Ellis hates it. "At least by the sound of it."
There are some kernels of truth in these possibilities. His family would be ashamed of the man he'd become, perhaps. Or the many he had been in that stretch of space between refugee and Warden.
And he had let his name turn to ash, scattered across Blight-struck Ferelden lands as he'd boarded the ship that would carry him into the Free Marches.
Ellis' gaze is tipped downward, watching Bastien's hand on his, the flex of his fingers before they lift away. Ellis runs his own thumb over the vacated space as Ruadh's head tips lazily into Bastien's hand.
"It was," Ellis agrees. Bastien's curiosity is not dissimilar to Wysteria's. Ellis is aware of the way it prickles at him, all this unspoken scrutiny. "I'd like it if you kept it to yourself."
Bastien catches that thumb in his peripheral vision. If the dog were not between them, that would be all of the prompting he needed to channel some of his relief at this repaired bridge into leaning against Ellis' solid shoulder again or giving him a silly Orlesian kiss on his serious Fereldan cheek. Some people aren't touched often enough.
But the dog is there, so it would have to be a thing, instead of nothing.
"I will," he says. Barring the unlikely case that giving away Ellis' family name will save a life or the world, he means it.
And then he twists down to kiss the top of Ruadh's broad, scarred head instead, since it's in reach.
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The heaviness of his no, when asked if he had family in Ferelden, had made Bastien guess his family must be dead—but only a guess.
He looks at Ellis' profile, searching and inquisitive, but he doesn't ask. After a pause he nods, squeezes Ellis' knuckles in parting before slipping his hand away, and strokes the silky spot behind Ruadh's ear instead.
"It's a good name," he says, tentative. Maybe Ellis hates it. "At least by the sound of it."
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And he had let his name turn to ash, scattered across Blight-struck Ferelden lands as he'd boarded the ship that would carry him into the Free Marches.
Ellis' gaze is tipped downward, watching Bastien's hand on his, the flex of his fingers before they lift away. Ellis runs his own thumb over the vacated space as Ruadh's head tips lazily into Bastien's hand.
"It was," Ellis agrees. Bastien's curiosity is not dissimilar to Wysteria's. Ellis is aware of the way it prickles at him, all this unspoken scrutiny. "I'd like it if you kept it to yourself."
🎀?
But the dog is there, so it would have to be a thing, instead of nothing.
"I will," he says. Barring the unlikely case that giving away Ellis' family name will save a life or the world, he means it.
And then he twists down to kiss the top of Ruadh's broad, scarred head instead, since it's in reach.