aodhan scene two: hi jade how u

[oncedriven]

"After escaping the palace," Estinien continues, easily accepting the shortcut to his storytelling that is the Echo, "we were waylaid by a young man. Gaius identified him as 'Hadrian rem Peisis.' An impressive rank, given that I'll drink dragon blood myself if he was more than twenty."

"Impressive indeed," Krile says, bringing a hand to her chin. "Yet I gather that it isn't his rank that caught your attention."

"Nor was it his willingness to hide the ones currently fingered for the death of the Emperor," Estinien agrees. "It was how he addressed Gaius that first drew my attention. I've only heard one other who can put so much loathing into the 'van' of a legatus." And he gestures one hand almost lazily at you, as though it wasn't already obvious who he meant.

Your heart jumps into your throat, blocking out your ability to breathe. And something surges up inside you, a fractured mirror coming to the front -

You don't have the words to fully explain the difference, between being Aodhan and being Asch. Sometimes it's like being two separate people, and other times it's like the mental equivalent of the urge to vomit, something that isn't how your mind is supposed to function except to relieve itself of distress. Something that you can't stop, only put off for a few seconds so that you don't explode all over the floor.

You can't not be Asch, right now, striding forward and so intimidating that anyone but Estinien would have taken a step back from your gaze. (Out of the corner of your eye, you see that Tataru has, more out of surprise than genuine fear.)

"Tell me everything," you demand, voice too rough and too musical. Why couldn't the Echo trigger now, when you're so desperate for it?

Estinien is unhurried, unaffected as ever by the implied threat in your tone. "Naturally, I commented on the resemblance," he says. "Seemed to give him a bit of satisfaction, and he thanked me for the confirmation. Stashed us in a cellar for two days until the worst blew over, which is longer than I would have preferred in such tight quarters with anyone, nevermind the Black Wolf and his pack."

He shifts, reaching into a pocket of his gear, and pulls out a slightly crumpled piece of paper. "Handed me a letter when we parted from the capital, and one look at it was enough to convince me to bring it here directly."

You take the paper with greedy hands, only barely short of ripping it, and the heartbeat in your throat crashes back down into your chest, aching and burning the whole way. For a moment after you unfold it, you can't even read the words, too caught up in the familiar shape of letters you never thought to see again. The fonic alphabet, almost delicately looping, is as different from Eorzean as that of Norvrandt, and the underlying words are a different language besides. Words on a page that no one could fake, proof that your world existed outside of your own memories.

But it's more than that. A familiar handwriting, even if you've only seen it a few times, sharp and clean. And the first word is your name, and -

It speaks to how deeply drawn in you are that you don't notice Krile's approach until she lightly shoves one hand against your hip. "Best sit down to read that, my friend," she says, "else you'll certainly fall over."

You hate that she isn't wrong and that now everyone knows it, but you somehow sit in the chair behind Tataru's desk, wings curled around your shoulders.

Asch -

Rumor travels quickly even in this snowbound country. I would be lying if I said that I was surprised, that the first news I could confirm was you was telling off an Emperor at a formal parley. You're as troublesome as always.

You owe me a full explanation when next we meet, of course. Try not to die before then. It would be impossible to replace you at this juncture, but I'm certain you've heard that before. I will be praying for your health, as you're certain to need it, throwing yourself at problems as you do.

As for myself, I intend to remain here a while longer. There is still a great deal of information I can gather here, even limited as I am. I ought to thank Largo for the fon slot seal - it was good practice for the limitations of the Garlean race.

But this isn't the place for an old man like myself to complain. We will meet, and I will discuss everything you need to know at that time. If you know anything of any others, I would appreciate the information. Otherwise, you need not trouble yourself with a reply.

Yours, in memory of a song,

Hadrian rem Peisis

né Jade Curtiss

Malkuth Imperial Forces

You read it, and then you read it again, and then you find yourself laughing. This is authentic, all right, even if it's somehow softer than you would have ever imagined Jade writing. Softer than he ever would have written in a letter to you, at any rate.

"Well, it must not be bad news, if you're smiling like that," Tataru observes, calling you back to the present, reminding you that there are other people in the room, in the world.

"It's Jade," you respond, not thinking through your words at all, forgetting for a moment that 'Jade Curtiss' is a name that has probably never been spoken aloud in this world, nor put to paper save on the sheet you hold in your hands. "He's always bad news."

And yet, embarrassingly, there's enough fondness in your voice that you can tell not a one of them takes the words seriously. They're waiting for you to elaborate, to explain (how typical that even a continent away, Jade manages to force someone else to handle the explanations), and you don't know where to begin.

You fold the letter and tuck it into your breast pocket.

"If you're headed back to Garlemald, tell him I don't care what information he thinks he can get," you say to Estinien. "Either he can come here, or I will go get him. I don't want him anywhere near where Zenos can get him." You suck in a breath, hold it, and let it out. "The bastard scares me enough that I don't want Jade near him, handicapped as he is, and you can tell him I said so in exactly those words. Maybe he'll take it seriously."

You think he will. Issues of Luke aside (and you don't even want to touch those right now, don't want to think about them, because Jade existing in the Source is enough world-upheaval for you for one day, you're reaching your limit on the amount of emotions you can deal with), he tends to respect your judgement.

Estinien doesn't reply, only nodding with an expression that you know means he took your words seriously. (As damn well he should, considering he had to save your ass from Elidibus wielding Zenos' body like a weapon, his hands an extension of the sword instead of the other way around.)

Tataru, however, repeats the word "Handicapped?" with obvious concern in her voice.

It's as good a starting point as any. You sigh, dragging your fingers through your hair. It still feels strange short, though reaching your shoulders isn't most people's definition of 'short.' (Isn't Aodhan's definition of short. It's a compromise, like the rest of you.) "Jade is a genius aetherologist and one of the best combat mages Auldrant ever produced," you say, translating as you go into terms they will understand. (The Echo would probably translate 'fonist' well enough, but sometimes it's easier to cut out the nebulously understood middleman.)

Krile follows your reasoning, at least. "But a Garlean body wouldn't be able to manipulate aether at all, nevermind with the skill a mage of that caliber would require," she says. "Quite the handicap indeed."

You know she's thinking of Zenos, too, thinking back to a lab in Gyr Abania and her own capture.

"I'm sure he's come up with some kind of work around," you say, as much to reassure them as because it's true. "But it's still a work around. He's bothered enough by it that he mentioned it in his letter, and Jade isn't one to complain." Or tip his hand about much of anything at all, which is why the amount of 'don't get into trouble' written between the lines would be appalling if you didn't get it. If you weren't certain that he's been exactly as alone as you are, this entire time.

If he had anyone else, he would have mentioned them, instead of lowering himself to what nearly qualifies as begging by Jade standards. You wish you had news to give.

(You wonder when you got so good at understanding what people aren't saying. Then again, Jade is somehow more transparent in a letter than he ever was in person.)

"Keep safe," you tell Estinien, sliding out of your chair. "Don't feel like you need to physically haul him back here. I meant it when I said I'd go get him."

Estinien snorts. "If I knew you any less well, I'd think you worried. I'm certain I can handle one Garlean boy, no matter what genius he may have been in another life."

"Leave the fretting over Garleans to us," Tataru says. "Jade or Hadrian or whatever he decides to call himself, we'll have him here before you know it. You just worry about resting and getting the others home from the First."

You smile weakly and nod, then pause as you turn towards the door. (Admonishments to rest or not, you need to move so that you can think and you're almost hoping for news of a primal to slay.)

"Score," you swear under your breath. "If he comes here, he's going to meet Y'shtola, and I'm going to have to deal with both of them."

This, apparently, is a succinct enough summary of Jade's character that Krile bursts into giggles and Tataru attempts to stifle hers behind a hand. "Gods," Krile says. "If it's like that, then little wonder you're fretting."

"However bad you think it is, Jade's worse," you say, and turn to go. "Trust me on this one."

The only thing Jade's more skilled at than fixing problems is causing them. You have a piece of your mind to give him, to be sure, but more than anything...

This world does seem somehow so much brighter, when you aren't alone in it.