“You should eat something.”
Jarl gently sets down his Sunder Inn bag and carefully opens it up—mindful of any spills or leaks—for Manus. It’s been more than two hours now and the holy man’s become a touch hungry (Áesta might be, too…); so, even after all the stew he shovelled down, the magician is probably going to need a nibble as well.
He’ll also probably need more than a nibble to replenish before using the Axis Mundi.
Manus turns from watching Áesta frolic in the loch with a warm smile to gaze at the container of Dory’s stew being presented to him by the priest. The bag was a thermal one—unlike Manus’ which had thermoses—so the stew is surprisingly still warm; it’s not hot like both of them would prefer, but it’s not cold and congealed.
The mage smiles, “Thanks.”
The two settle down on some large, almost flat rocks after dusting them of snow and checking them for ice. Before them, Áesta continues his exploration of the lake, seeming to have already planned for them to dine, as the two humans dip their spoons in warm stew and watch him play in his winter wonderland from afar.
Briefly, Jarl wonders if he began playing on purpose—so they’d have more of an excuse to stop and fuel up—or if it’s really just a coincidence and he actually just prefers playing in water after dark.
Regardless of which, he hopes Áesta doesn’t get sick.
(Can he even?)
~
“It was me, you know.”
Silver brows furrow as Manus glances over at Jarl. Golden eyes take in the priest’s somber and contrite face as he stares gloomily into his stew. He looks like a guilty child and Manus wishes he could laugh at that. But it’s not funny when he doesn’t understand what’s causing his friend so much anguish.
“The one who pissed off the trees.”
“Ah…” Manus fidgets with his spoon, remembering how frustrating it had been to wind up at the lake, instead of the village, and feel like a monumental failure at his own beloved craft even though it wasn’t actually that far off (In fact, it’d still have been seen as a pass if he’d been doing it as an apprentice.).
“Yea… sorry…”
“It’s fine, Jarl.” And it is. Yea, sure: it means his and Hagen’s careful planning in regards to where they land went to waste; but it did end up being a somewhat elegant solution to that problem, not that much a bother, and—hey—they now have live entertainment in the form of Áesta swimming while they eat. Not too bad. “Though… I am rather curious: what did you do to piss off the Oak so much?”
“Ah… I told her the truth—about where we’re going.”
“… What???”
~
Jarl looks at Manus in confusion—he doesn’t sound all that angry.
To his surprise, Manus doesn’t look that angry either.
Instead, he just seems really confused.
But why?
~
“Why would that piss them off???”
Jarl watches the magician furrow his brows even more, his golden eyes unusually piercing in the moonlight. He’s trying to figure out the answer to his own question—but he can’t if he doesn’t have all the pieces; so, Jarl tries to help: “I don’t know; I thought she’d have been madder if I lied about where Jasey was.”
“… Where Jasey was?”
“Well, yea: I told her why we were, um, using the Axis Mundi—to find Jasey.” Jarl scratches his head, suddenly unsure of himself. “She, um, compared this place to where we were trying to go before—”
“Bailecastle.”
“Right,” the priest nods. “And she said she could take us here.” He struggles for a moment to put what he’d felt back then (Literally just two days ago… It feels like eons, though.) into words. Finally, he manages: “Just… the way she’d said it… It reminded me of what you and Áesta said: how they don’t really care about us and how we’re really just entertaining ants to them... and I panicked. I wanted them to care so they wouldn’t…” He swallows thickly. “So, they wouldn’t just say it’s too dangerous, like last time, and…”
“… Dangerous.”
Jarl looks up, confused. He furrows his own brows at the way Manus has almost knotted his together.
“You say… they called Bailecastle… dangerous.”
The holy man slowly nods, “Yes… Her words, exactly: You are travelling to a dangerous place, child.”
(What has he just unearthed?)
~
As Manus furiously storms off with his Lay Tablet, Áesta finally leaves the loch.
He sets his soaking self down beside Jarl and stares after the incensed magician warily. “Hwat ‘appened?”
“I’m… not really sure…”
Somehow not shivering, Áesta peels back his sopping wet hair from his icy face to look at Jarl more easily. “Hah? Well, hwat were ye talkin’ about?”
“The… well…” Jarl stutters, suddenly remembering that his silence two days ago led to Áesta being yelled at. “… I… I’m sorry.”
“… Hah?”
“If I’d spoken up earlier, he wouldn’t have kept thinking it was you.”
~
Embarrassingly enough, Jarl can’t bring himself look at Áesta.
Instead, he fiddles with the empty container of Dory’s stew.
And imagines the look of fury on the little daemon’s face.
While wishing, desperately, to take the moment back.
(If he had looked, he’d have only seen understanding.)
~
“… Ye mean ‘ow we got ‘ere—instead o’ in t’e village.”
Jarl nods, still not daring to look at the other.
Until, of course, he hears the tiny evil laugh.
“Ah already knew, silly: Shiva told me!”
~
“So… you aren’t mad?”
Jarl blinks back at the little devil, finally looking at him. Where he was expecting to see anger and even hate, he, instead, sees amusement and even happiness. It’s like looking at a teacher who already knew the answer and was just waiting for you to figure it out on your own. It’s like a parent who’s proud of you for growing up.
(It’s like being praised by God…)
“O’ course not; Ah already f’rgave ye!”
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