Out of one battle and into another.

Getting into the room had been easier for Manus than Jarl would have expected. The deadened door that had seemed so heavy to his human capabilities had simply livened up and opened up like a breathing tree. It’s moments like this, honestly, that Jarl often wonders about Manus—at his power and ability—and questions if he’s even a kind of human anymore: there’s no way he’s a god but… sometimes…

Sometimes Jarl really has his doubts.

Regardless, getting into the room was easy: but only in so much as opening the door. Once the living bark allowed them passage, they were pretty much on their own. Alone against a livid, raging daemon.

Jarl tries to not feel guilty while clutching the crucifix still in his pocket.

“You!” A toxic green rectangle flies right at Manus’ face (His poor, poor face!), and the flat of it hits him hard. His head knocks against the door’s frame and Jarl attempts to catch him before being waved away. “TRAITOR!”

Manus sighs.

Not even bothering to mutter a healing spell on himself (He’ll get it all later, he’s probably telling himself), the wary magician nods condemningly while leaning against the open door. He holds his head with an idle hand as the other rifles through his bright pink robe, looking for something. Then, he’s begging: “Let me e-explain.”

Áesta only hiss.

“Wh-when I let you go, all those centuries ago, I-I found myself alone.” It’s a photograph—one Jarl knows—with smiling faces and warm sunlight, “Wandering around with n-no one… Until I met this child: Jasey.” Probably wasting his energy, Manus sends the little image to the rage-blind daemon with a gentle push.

It is only glared at in distain.

“He filled my world with joy, Áes.” Jarl glances at Manus in surprise. The softness with which he spoke is a tone he’s never heard before; one filled with some strange aggregation of love, joy, sorrow, and longing—yearning, even.

What is this?

“So much joy—and wonder. He was not afraid—of anything. He looked at me and saw no monster—no mage tainted by a daemon.” Manus laughs, dry and hysterically empty, “He wanted to meet you, too—thank you.”

“hWat business would t’e brot’er of a priest have t’ankin’ me?”

Manus flitches, both at the sudden shift in the conversations tone and the barely bridled rage in Áesta’s voice. He works his jaw for a second, trying to come up with an answer; but it was a trick question, anyway.

“Fer t’at matter, hwat business did ye have sellin’ me ta a priest???”

“I don’t believe you were sold to me,” Jarl finally speaks up while peering into the room. Áesta hisses at him from the bed’s corner. The photo still lays where it landed, untouched. There’s something unbelievably restrained about all of this; like this daemon is otherworldly in the most unexpected of ways…

(Or maybe [a very quiet voice in his mind speaks] all daemons are like this: patient and questioning.)

“Ah was. By him. Ah’d a never agreed ta t’is ot’erwise.”

“Don’t you think I knew that‽” Manus suddenly yells, panicked and desperate. “Don’t you think that was my biggest concern‽” He drops the hand holding his wounded head and spreads his arms wide, placating and inviting all in one. Jarl and Áesta both stare at him, surprised; and, perhaps, even a little frightened. There’s just something eerie about seeing someone normally so chipper and charming loosing themselves like this. (Just how deeply does he care for Jasey?)

But Áesta is not too quick to forgive, it seems: “Ah do; ye aren’t stupid; but why t’e fizz didn’t ya just summon me yerself??? Ye knew Ah’d help ye!”

“I know, old friend,” Manus speaks gently. Jarl’s breath hitches in his throat and fear pools in his belly when the magician dares to step into the room and cross it so he can sit on the bed with Áesta. “But Jarl is a priest and I couldn’t afford him not trusting you or you not willing to work with him; we—I need Jasey back. Please.”

The daemon bares his teeth, “W’y?”

Honestly, Jarl thinks that’s a very good question. The reason he wants Jasey back is pretty simple: they’re brothers. But Manus… Well, they’re just friends, right? Manus is just the weirdo mage Jasey found in the woods one day and brought home despite all of Jarl’s arguing. Why does Manus want him back so badly? How deeply does he care???

“H-he is very dear to me.”

“O?” Áesta raises a brow; and there’s something about it that’s almost playful. Purely mischievous. Cute. “‘Ow dear?”

“W-well, I…”

The green being cants its head while leaning forward, bright orange eyes rimmed in lime glancing down at the picture still displayed on the bedsheets before boring holes in Manus’ mind, “How dear, Manus.”

“… I love him dearly, Áesta.”

Jarl watches, surprised, as the daemon nods knowingly and leans back against the wall behind him. He flicks the photo back to the mage almost boredly and stares at the two of them thoughtfully for several silent seconds. Unsure what expression to wear, Jarl just stares back with eyes that probably belie what his hand’s clutching (the crucifix).

“W’y me, t’ough? W’y not yer magic friends—t’e actual magic ones; not daemons like me?”

Manus shocks them both by snorting, “Those aloof, arrogant anuses? Please. As if I’d trust them.”

“Ye’d rat’er trust a daemon?”

“You’ve never failed me before.”