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starwardbestrewn2021-09-19 05:00 am
oncedriven) wrote in starwardbestrewn2021-09-19 05:00 am
Entry tags:
and love you shall find
A leader has a duty to those who follow him. Even if you can no longer call yourself their commander, they (always) (still) have called you Father, and so it is your duty to -
A hand, on your raised blade, the light leather gauntlet keeping the sharp edge of Heirsbane from cutting into his fingers. You don't even know when it is that the Warrior of Light stepped into your path - he certainly seemed content to let you and Alfonse finish your business with Valens without his interference.
(Some small part of you is grateful. At this point, Eorzea's hero owes you nothing. Just the opposite, in fact.)
"Hold," he says, and there is a hint of desperateness to the voice of Aodhan Feol that you have only heard once before, on dead white sands in the Far East as he dashed forward to relieve you of a precious burden. (The comparison comes easily enough to your mind - you have no true way of guessing to Aodhan's age, the viera race notoriously difficult in that regard.) "Please. There might yet be something I can do."
"Do not be cruel," you reply, and there is something lancing on your tongue, because how dare he give you cause to hope, now, after already losing so many of your children. "There is nothing more anyone can do for him. Alfonse is already gone; this is but an echo."
A faint twist of an amused expression punctures the seriousness with which Aodhan always regards you - he's made no secret that he has no love for you, after all, and whatever shadow he carries has stronger feelings than that. The other side of the coin called the Warrior of Light hates you, and you will not begrudge him that even if you know not the reasons. It's well enough deserved on any number of counts.
"And we both know what Echoes are capable of in the right hands," he replies, cutting and clever with a phrase as with a blade. His expression grows more somber again, and he continues, "You'll like it not, and I will not beat around the bush regarding that. But if his soul is still present - which I think it is, this is far more awareness than was expressed by the other Weapons - then I can still..."
He hesitates, sighs, looks away from you and drops his hand away from the blade you have slowly, unconsciously, lowered. "You're Garlean to the marrow," he says, the beginning of what seems to be a non-sequitur. "Not an ounce of faith, and - whatever, I don't care. But you've always been raised to see gods only as another weapon of war. Why do you not repeat the trick that served you so well at Cartenau - " It's always startling, how perfectly he can throw your words back at you, inflection and accent perfected. " - which it didn't, for the record, but..."
Another sigh, and a flick of one hand through the loose bangs that hang across the side of his face. You are beginning to see his intent, and you like it naught. Your hand tightens around the grip of your gunblade.
"An eikon would not be capable of such a thing," you say. A glance at the Diamond Weapon - the core is still running, though at a low power. "Even they cannot restore the dead."
"Because they can't call back the soul," Aodhan counters, pitched to argue. "The body is - forget the technicalities, there's time to explain them later. Will you permit me to try?"
Until it was put so baldly, you didn't realize that he was, truly, awaiting your permission.
"Why?"
Aodhan misinterprets your question, perhaps willfully. "Because it's not without its risks even if I can manage it. And considering that they still call you Father, it's not my place to decide."
Not his place to decide Alfonse's fate, perhaps. But there is judgement in the gold eyes, as he awaits your answer.
You close your eyes, with a sigh that drains something out of you. You could bear the loss, you have borne worse. But Allie...
"I will stand clear," you say, and something of the old arrogance finds its way back into your voice as you finish, "Show me what this god of yours is made of, Warrior of Light."
Aodhan laughs, just the faintest sound, before he replies, voice heavy with that unsettling accent that you have no ability to place, "Gods are what men make of them, Gaius Baelsar. They always have been."
It's likely all the warning you're going to get. You stand clear, as far away as you can in that brief moment (remaining as close as you dare). As you step away, you see Aodhan reach for the linkpearl set into his high ear, and hear, "Jade? I'm going to do something terribly reckless. Drag Alisaie and one of her porxies to Terncliff as soon as you get a chance, just in case."
Not the most reassuring of things to overhear, though you're mildly comforted by the idea that there are some precautions on place. One should not summon an eikon on the merest whim, even if they have the ability.
It starts small, and it is unlike the handful of beastman summonings you have witnessed. Certainly, the way Aodhan pulls his hands into his chest and tips his head forward is very much like prayer, and the quiet melody that flows from his lips - if you are generous, it could be a song of worship, though unlike any you have ever heard. It sounds strange to your ears and the reason why does not catch up to you for a line or two. You are far too used to the idea of the Echo as something which translates regardless of language (its second most practical use, and why its bearers make such unmatched diplomats, no doubt), but these words remain foreign and meaningless in your ears.
You are not blind enough to miss the gathering of the aether, however. It comes largely not from the land, but welling up out of the summoner directly; you've heard of vessel-based summonings, rare as they are, but this is the first time you've borne witness to one.
It is impressive enough, you must admit. The light gathers gold on the warrior of Light, like the rays of the now-setting sun have been trapped by the summoning, until it shatters. Breaks, with a sound like crystal, expelling a glitter of crystal that vanishes instantly into the air.
The eikon so summoned is unlike any you have ever seen. The figure now floating in the air is still, on some level, shaped as its summoner - the face is the same, or near enough, though if the viera's trademark ears remain, they are hidden among the loose billows of red-golden hair. Robes and flutters of fabric disguise the silhouette, trailing off into glittering particles, a cloud of gold that glows with its own light.
You cannot help but shiver, when the eyes of the eikon fall upon you, and you feel the specter of your own tempering pass you by when it simply smiles and turns away, to set about the work for which it was called.
Work which takes but a moment, even if it is a moment that stretches into infinity. A sweeping gesture, which reveals a chaotic mass of golden jewelry and suspended green-gold crystals from among the fabrics, ringing the eikon's wrist, a chuckle, and a snap of the unnatural fingers. The sound hangs sharp in the air, as the Diamond Weapon shatters into glittering pieces like fragments of the gem for which it was named. The silver-white light transitions, in the space of two heartbeats, to the same glittering gold that surrounds the eikon, except for a core that the light forms almost delicately around.
It is hypnotizing and unsettling, to see light condense into the form of a body. Alfonse is bare, at least what you can see of him, and what you can see of his shoulders is testament to precisely how twisted Valens was. You inscribe every scar into your regrets, before the eikon snaps its fingers once more and fabric covers them from sight.
Then it turns back to you, only by a twist of its head, and says, in a voice too deep to be the Warrior of Light's, "Gaius." The sound of your name is packed full of more meaning than it ought to be - would-be conquerer, emperor's hand, fallen from grace. Once more you repress a shiver.
But you do pull yourself up and face the eikon directly. There's a twist of a smile to its lips still, like it is keeping a secret, or perhaps more secrets than you can ever know.
"Rest easy,," the eikon says. "I did not touch him in the way you fear - that is not in my nature. My vessel is particularly careful to hold close to the nature of the me he knew before, even knowing now the truth."
"You'll forgive me for not taking the word of an eikon at face value," you reply, and there is a tension in your body that prepares for battle regardless of the apparently gentle nature of this god.
The entity simply chuckles, and shakes its head, hair rippling through the air. "I expected no less. Though it might behoove you to call upon Master Garlond for assistance, since you cannot carry the both of them back by yourself, and my vessel's aether is spent."
And before you can reply, there is a shimmer through the air, and into so many crystals does the eikon's form shatter - leaving only the form of the Warrior of Light, sinking to the ground, unconscious.
You stare at them for a moment - your son and the savior you did not seek for him, both breathing the quiet breaths of the deeply exhausted upon the ground - and only when you have begun to believe it do you call Cid to bring the airship back around.
Your wits seem yet to be your own, but you cannot help but mislike the feeling of owing a favor to a god.
A hand, on your raised blade, the light leather gauntlet keeping the sharp edge of Heirsbane from cutting into his fingers. You don't even know when it is that the Warrior of Light stepped into your path - he certainly seemed content to let you and Alfonse finish your business with Valens without his interference.
(Some small part of you is grateful. At this point, Eorzea's hero owes you nothing. Just the opposite, in fact.)
"Hold," he says, and there is a hint of desperateness to the voice of Aodhan Feol that you have only heard once before, on dead white sands in the Far East as he dashed forward to relieve you of a precious burden. (The comparison comes easily enough to your mind - you have no true way of guessing to Aodhan's age, the viera race notoriously difficult in that regard.) "Please. There might yet be something I can do."
"Do not be cruel," you reply, and there is something lancing on your tongue, because how dare he give you cause to hope, now, after already losing so many of your children. "There is nothing more anyone can do for him. Alfonse is already gone; this is but an echo."
A faint twist of an amused expression punctures the seriousness with which Aodhan always regards you - he's made no secret that he has no love for you, after all, and whatever shadow he carries has stronger feelings than that. The other side of the coin called the Warrior of Light hates you, and you will not begrudge him that even if you know not the reasons. It's well enough deserved on any number of counts.
"And we both know what Echoes are capable of in the right hands," he replies, cutting and clever with a phrase as with a blade. His expression grows more somber again, and he continues, "You'll like it not, and I will not beat around the bush regarding that. But if his soul is still present - which I think it is, this is far more awareness than was expressed by the other Weapons - then I can still..."
He hesitates, sighs, looks away from you and drops his hand away from the blade you have slowly, unconsciously, lowered. "You're Garlean to the marrow," he says, the beginning of what seems to be a non-sequitur. "Not an ounce of faith, and - whatever, I don't care. But you've always been raised to see gods only as another weapon of war. Why do you not repeat the trick that served you so well at Cartenau - " It's always startling, how perfectly he can throw your words back at you, inflection and accent perfected. " - which it didn't, for the record, but..."
Another sigh, and a flick of one hand through the loose bangs that hang across the side of his face. You are beginning to see his intent, and you like it naught. Your hand tightens around the grip of your gunblade.
"An eikon would not be capable of such a thing," you say. A glance at the Diamond Weapon - the core is still running, though at a low power. "Even they cannot restore the dead."
"Because they can't call back the soul," Aodhan counters, pitched to argue. "The body is - forget the technicalities, there's time to explain them later. Will you permit me to try?"
Until it was put so baldly, you didn't realize that he was, truly, awaiting your permission.
"Why?"
Aodhan misinterprets your question, perhaps willfully. "Because it's not without its risks even if I can manage it. And considering that they still call you Father, it's not my place to decide."
Not his place to decide Alfonse's fate, perhaps. But there is judgement in the gold eyes, as he awaits your answer.
You close your eyes, with a sigh that drains something out of you. You could bear the loss, you have borne worse. But Allie...
"I will stand clear," you say, and something of the old arrogance finds its way back into your voice as you finish, "Show me what this god of yours is made of, Warrior of Light."
Aodhan laughs, just the faintest sound, before he replies, voice heavy with that unsettling accent that you have no ability to place, "Gods are what men make of them, Gaius Baelsar. They always have been."
It's likely all the warning you're going to get. You stand clear, as far away as you can in that brief moment (remaining as close as you dare). As you step away, you see Aodhan reach for the linkpearl set into his high ear, and hear, "Jade? I'm going to do something terribly reckless. Drag Alisaie and one of her porxies to Terncliff as soon as you get a chance, just in case."
Not the most reassuring of things to overhear, though you're mildly comforted by the idea that there are some precautions on place. One should not summon an eikon on the merest whim, even if they have the ability.
It starts small, and it is unlike the handful of beastman summonings you have witnessed. Certainly, the way Aodhan pulls his hands into his chest and tips his head forward is very much like prayer, and the quiet melody that flows from his lips - if you are generous, it could be a song of worship, though unlike any you have ever heard. It sounds strange to your ears and the reason why does not catch up to you for a line or two. You are far too used to the idea of the Echo as something which translates regardless of language (its second most practical use, and why its bearers make such unmatched diplomats, no doubt), but these words remain foreign and meaningless in your ears.
You are not blind enough to miss the gathering of the aether, however. It comes largely not from the land, but welling up out of the summoner directly; you've heard of vessel-based summonings, rare as they are, but this is the first time you've borne witness to one.
It is impressive enough, you must admit. The light gathers gold on the warrior of Light, like the rays of the now-setting sun have been trapped by the summoning, until it shatters. Breaks, with a sound like crystal, expelling a glitter of crystal that vanishes instantly into the air.
The eikon so summoned is unlike any you have ever seen. The figure now floating in the air is still, on some level, shaped as its summoner - the face is the same, or near enough, though if the viera's trademark ears remain, they are hidden among the loose billows of red-golden hair. Robes and flutters of fabric disguise the silhouette, trailing off into glittering particles, a cloud of gold that glows with its own light.
You cannot help but shiver, when the eyes of the eikon fall upon you, and you feel the specter of your own tempering pass you by when it simply smiles and turns away, to set about the work for which it was called.
Work which takes but a moment, even if it is a moment that stretches into infinity. A sweeping gesture, which reveals a chaotic mass of golden jewelry and suspended green-gold crystals from among the fabrics, ringing the eikon's wrist, a chuckle, and a snap of the unnatural fingers. The sound hangs sharp in the air, as the Diamond Weapon shatters into glittering pieces like fragments of the gem for which it was named. The silver-white light transitions, in the space of two heartbeats, to the same glittering gold that surrounds the eikon, except for a core that the light forms almost delicately around.
It is hypnotizing and unsettling, to see light condense into the form of a body. Alfonse is bare, at least what you can see of him, and what you can see of his shoulders is testament to precisely how twisted Valens was. You inscribe every scar into your regrets, before the eikon snaps its fingers once more and fabric covers them from sight.
Then it turns back to you, only by a twist of its head, and says, in a voice too deep to be the Warrior of Light's, "Gaius." The sound of your name is packed full of more meaning than it ought to be - would-be conquerer, emperor's hand, fallen from grace. Once more you repress a shiver.
But you do pull yourself up and face the eikon directly. There's a twist of a smile to its lips still, like it is keeping a secret, or perhaps more secrets than you can ever know.
"Rest easy,," the eikon says. "I did not touch him in the way you fear - that is not in my nature. My vessel is particularly careful to hold close to the nature of the me he knew before, even knowing now the truth."
"You'll forgive me for not taking the word of an eikon at face value," you reply, and there is a tension in your body that prepares for battle regardless of the apparently gentle nature of this god.
The entity simply chuckles, and shakes its head, hair rippling through the air. "I expected no less. Though it might behoove you to call upon Master Garlond for assistance, since you cannot carry the both of them back by yourself, and my vessel's aether is spent."
And before you can reply, there is a shimmer through the air, and into so many crystals does the eikon's form shatter - leaving only the form of the Warrior of Light, sinking to the ground, unconscious.
You stare at them for a moment - your son and the savior you did not seek for him, both breathing the quiet breaths of the deeply exhausted upon the ground - and only when you have begun to believe it do you call Cid to bring the airship back around.
Your wits seem yet to be your own, but you cannot help but mislike the feeling of owing a favor to a god.
no subject
"You're fine," says Alisaie Levillieur, dismissing the porxie following her through the Terncliff medical ward with a wave of her hand. You've been secluded in that ward since returning, under your own orders, even though you didn't think yourself truly in need of the examination.
You've met eikons before without falling under their sway, after all. But Garuda and her ilk were at a much further distance, and their power safely consumed by the Ultima Weapon. The entity Aodhan summoned was close enough to touch, had you any desire.
"You're certain?" you cannot help but ask.
Alisaie rolls her eyes. "Yes, I'm bloody well certain."
Across the room, the figure of Hadrian Peisis - or Jade, as he's become almost exclusively known outside the Empire - adjusts his glasses, before saying, "Lorelei's aether is incredibly distinct. In a case such as yours, the presence of it would be obvious."
"Very well," you say, because as little as you like the tone he takes, you can accept that whatever history there is between him and Aodhan puts him in a better position to know what that entity was. To Alisaie, you add, "Thank you for your hard work."
"Only because I owed you one for keeping an eye on Alphinaud," she replies. You nod, because you understand that well enough. A debt paid and nothing more.
With the matter of your own status off your mind, you can turn your attention to other matters. "And what of Alfonse?"
"His case is more complicated," Jade answers. "In essence, his corporeal body is composed of the same aetherial composition that would affect someone tempered by Lorelei. While he appears to be lucid and in possession of his faculties, he's awaiting an examination by a specialist in possession of the Echo, just in case."
You cannot say you entirely understand, but you are a soldier, not an aetherologist, and certainly no expert in anything about the tempered save how to put them down. Before you can reply, Jade adds, almost as though thinking aloud for his own benefit instead of yours, "I'm not sure that Asch considered Lorelei to be an entity capable of lying. Following that logic, the Lorelei he summoned into himself would not be."
You are saved responding to that by Alisaie saying, "Allie is still unconscious. Physically she appears to be recovering well, but..."
The girl trails off, but you understand her meaning well enough. You nod. "And what of Aodhan?"
"Sleeping, eating, more sleeping," Alisaie says. "He'll be fine as long as he rests, the idiot."
"Then I suppose I ought to express my gratitude in person," you say. "If I am cleared to leave, that is?"
The Resistance soldier at the door, who is with little doubt the least dangerous of the four people in this room, nods and steps away from his guard position. They are at least well-trained, you'll grant them that.
no subject
You see no signs of Severa or Valdeaulin as you exit, but nod at the soldier anyway. As you're leaving, you hear Jade's voice from behind you, "Two doors to the left and across the hall," and nod your thanks over your shoulder.
You might have guessed that, you suppose, seeing as there are a pair of guards posted there as well, who look you up and down. "You might as well go in," says the one on the left, not entirely bothering to hide his distaste. "He's awake, and he said to expect you."
Again, you only reply with a nod, before one of the soldiers swings the door open.
Within, Aodhan's room is not so different from the one you've been confined to these last few days, though there is a wheeled desk extended over the bed instead of the proper one your not-quite-cell had. There are a few papers on it, mostly neatly bundled except for a wide scroll with an unfamiliar diagram on it. A bowl, spoon handle sticking out over the rim, sits to the far side, the scent of stew still present in the room.
The Warrior of Light himself looks uninjured, but worse for wear regardless. Propped up by pillows, he seems barely able to keep his eyes open, even though they snapped to you at the sound of the door opening with well-honed reflexes.
You close the door, and the silence stretches, until you ask, once more, "Why?"
"For those we can yet save," Aodhan answers, a phrase that rings clear as a mantra, "and to take back as much as is taken." Rote as the words appear to be, they are spoken with no small amount of resolution. Even the act of speaking seems to draw on his strength in a significant way, however, because he slumps then into the pillows, staring at the ceiling in clear frustration before muttering, "Asch? Help."
You cannot say you are entirely prepared for what next occurs. You've heard rumors of the shade that sometimes appears by the side of the Warrior of Light in battle, hair not a natural red but the color of fresh blood on white, but you're seen the young man, Luke, who Aodhan has seemingly adopted as something like a brother, if only at a distance. His hair is as red as the rumors say, but nothing else about them aligns, and so you assumed the rumors to be merely conflating him with the black clouds of a shade that you have seen Aodhan call upon in battle.
The young man who appears at the foot of Aodhan's bed appears in the same manner as the shade, but there is no billowing shadow or mystery to him. Not solid enough to dent the bed under his weight, perhaps, but real enough, especially when you know well that the person before you is capable of summoning an eikon out of whole cloth.
You tense, involuntarily, as his eyes narrow on you, before he glances back at Aodhan and says, "You shouldn't be summoning me either, you know. Aetherial exhaustion."
Aodhan, weakly but smiling, makes a rude gesture before slumping into the pillows and closing his eyes. This appears to be the end of the exchange between the two, because with a disgruntled toss of his head, the shade turns his full attention to you.
It isn't the same as being under the eye of the eikon. It is, perhaps, worse, because in the entity that you now know to be called Lorelei, there was neither judgement nor malice, while in the green of the shade, you can see both fairly easily.
"Let's get one thing straight," 'Asch' says. "I don't like you, and I don't forgive you. You'll find no absolution from me, Gaius van Baelsar, no matter what sympathy Aodhan might regard you with at this point. Frankly, if it had just been you, I would have told him no, because Lorelei is mine and of me, not him and his, and as far as I care, you haven't changed enough to justify not leaving you to rot."
It is a statement to take in. Lorelei is mine and of me, to begin with - the rest is not surprising to you, because you are not unused to the sharpness of Eorzeans towards you. That Aodhan regards you with any sympathy at all is news.
You are not foolish enough to miss such obvious pieces, however, so you say, "It is you who spoke to Emperor Varis at the parley, then, I presume."
A nod with no softening of expression. "Varis was a pawn of the Ascians and a moron," Asch says. "And a worse father than you by all accounts, which is a high bar to pass."
He knows precisely where to strike. You do not give him the pleasure of seeing you flinch. You say, "And yet you helped me."
"I helped Alfonse," Asch says. "You didn't enter into it. The sins of the father shouldn't determine the fate of the child."
no subject
That gets a snort. "Most beast tribes aren't calling on gods who don't fight," Asch replies. "Gods of protection, gods of conquest - Lorelei isn't either of those. Insofar as it's a god at all, it's a god of memory and healing."
You've always been raised to see gods only as another weapon of war. "What other purpose would a god have?" you say. "Why put faith in something that cannot protect its people? Whether it be a god or a ruler, people always want for something stronger to defend them."
"Do they?" Asch asks. "Why don't you go ask the Resistance guards on the other side of that door that question?"
You're taken aback enough that you can't reply before he continues, "People will protect themselves so long as they can do so. They only turn to gods for the things they cannot do. You've seen for yourself how advanced Garlemald's weapons of war are in comparison to the rest of the world. If you're facing down the likes of the Weapons or even a magitek cannon armed with only bows and melee arms, wouldn't it seem an impossible task to defend your home and family? What recourse besides gods do those people have to protect their freedom?"
You don't answer. You think of the Diamond Weapon picking Valens up, crushing him in one great mechanical hand, armor and all, and you do not have an answer. In comparison to mortal men, that machine may as well have been a god, that you cannot deny.
Asch leaves you long enough to consider it, and then adds, flippantly, "Anyway, Lorelei's purpose was to drain the planet dry of aether and then collapse into itself in order to trigger a Rejoining, so it doesn't matter. The Ascians created it and the prophecy that sustained it, and then it was just a matter of waiting around for Auldrant to die."
That draws your attention. "A creation of the Ascians?" you say. "And still you make use of it?"
"I'll use every tool at my disposal," Asch replies. "To take back as much as is taken. To create as much as is destroyed. To give as much as is received... And to save as much as has been lost. For that, I can rest when I'm dead."
It's a tall order, a heavy oath. You begin to understand why this shadow, this dead soul of a dead world, is not a face that Aodhan shows to just anyone. You wonder if it is a measure of trust that you have seen it.
You glance further up the bed, and find that while he may be too exhausted to speak, Aodhan is still watching you from half-closed eyes. Viera ears may not be as expressive as those of miqote, but you can imagine them turned towards you attentively all the same.
"I suppose," you say, "that one who regularly kills gods has no need to call upon them to fight on his behalf."
Asch snorts, a quick burst of laughter that takes you by surprise, and Aodhan smiles weakly. "Calling on a primal any time things get difficult is stupid," Asch says. "The power of Lorelei is and always has been a last resort. I'd thank you not to go telling everyone about it."
"Understood," you say. "And, as regards Alfonse - "
"He'll be fine," Asch interrupts. "It's a replica of his body from before. He won't leave a corpse when he dies and he can't donate for a blood transfusion to anyone who isn't a Seventh Fonist, which is all of three people on the entire planet as far as we know, but otherwise there shouldn't be any complications."
He adds, almost as an aside, "And I'm not explaining any of that to you, so deal with it however you want to deal with it. We of the Seventh have a right to control what remains of our world until it is well and truly gone."
You dislike the not knowing. Not sharing the details, after all, is how it is that Lahabrea was able to pull the wool over your eyes. "Swear that it will not harm him," you say, trying to land on 'order' instead of 'demand.'
Asch's eyes narrow on you, sharply, and you think you must, somehow, have misstepped, but it is too late to take the words back. "It'll do him less harm than your fucking idea of parenting," he spits back at you. "Get the hell out of our room, Gaius."
It would be beyond foolish at this point to make enemies, so, not without reservations, you get.