It's a pretty story. Not the murder of a compatriot, of course, or the necessary flight that followed in its wake, but the Venatori paperwork. If Astarion had to pinpoint anything in it all to doubt, he'd look there.
But he doesn't care to, is the thing.
Because it doesn't matter to him if Byerly's former companion was a Venatori or a venerated saint, just like it doesn't matter whether or not Byerly did it because he hated the man— or truly did feel the need to defend either himself or the nation he served; to Astarion, Byerly is simply Byerly. A liar, a charmer, likely a manipulator, too, gauging all their similarities. The very same creature Astarion knew he was dealing with right from the start.
The nice thing about liars, is that they'll always tell you the truth of what they are. It's what you do with that knowledge that defines where things eventually wind up.
His smile stays lopsided. Tired, but easy.
"Deeply troubling to hear the very ugly Ferelden portrait I swindled is now likely an accurate representation of the Lord depicted." Vaguely, Astarion wonders if Byerly might even recognize the man.
"But...all right. Call your favors." Hand falling to his chest, tapping there as an idle sort of percussion. "I've a few people who already want to help ferry the wretched things once they've got a place to go. So if you can get me that, we might have the start of something moderately functional, I suppose."
no subject
But he doesn't care to, is the thing.
Because it doesn't matter to him if Byerly's former companion was a Venatori or a venerated saint, just like it doesn't matter whether or not Byerly did it because he hated the man— or truly did feel the need to defend either himself or the nation he served; to Astarion, Byerly is simply Byerly. A liar, a charmer, likely a manipulator, too, gauging all their similarities. The very same creature Astarion knew he was dealing with right from the start.
The nice thing about liars, is that they'll always tell you the truth of what they are. It's what you do with that knowledge that defines where things eventually wind up.
His smile stays lopsided. Tired, but easy.
"Deeply troubling to hear the very ugly Ferelden portrait I swindled is now likely an accurate representation of the Lord depicted." Vaguely, Astarion wonders if Byerly might even recognize the man.
"But...all right. Call your favors." Hand falling to his chest, tapping there as an idle sort of percussion. "I've a few people who already want to help ferry the wretched things once they've got a place to go. So if you can get me that, we might have the start of something moderately functional, I suppose."