Chapter Text
His hands are shaking.
They’re shaking and he can’t get them to stop. His mouth is dry, too, and he’s feeling a tad light-headed and unsteady but Jannequinard is concealing it all very well, he thinks, until his eyeglass slips- Falls right off his eye, goes clattering to the floor whilst striking every available surface along the way, and by the time he’s scrambled to fetch it, nearly everyone in the room is staring at him quite unabashedly.
“…Is everything alright, your lordship?”
The nearest astrologian to him looked hesitant to ask at all, but did so nonetheless, looking over with uncertainty as he straightened with the thrice-blasted thing in his grasp.
“Why yes, of course, why ever do you ask?” Jannequinard said immediately— Brusquely. As soon as he had his breath back. His voice is wonderfully calm and not-panicky in the least, and surely not so high to the room as it is to his own ears, surely, but seeing as how everyone is still staring he might as well make use of the situation while he had it- “But by the by, madam,” he began, trying to slip the monocle back in place with his fury take them shaking hands, “If you happen to know the whereabouts of lady- of lord Lev- Rufin! Lord Rufin, yes, might you bring them a message? I’d very much like to speak with them. Just for an opinion on a matter. A small one. If you would be so kind. Thank you.”
…Most worryingly, the novice did not roll their eyes at him, or act as inconvenienced as they would have felt otherwise; but rather, kept their silence and did as he asked.
Now was not the time to ponder miracles. Jannequinard had already been awake since the early bells of the morning (earlier, in fact. Or later?) trying to do what he always had done, except this time it would not be done. Thus he continued, once again, surrounded with star charts and his deck of cards, to draw on the aether of distant stars that they might reveal to him a divination of the future. Usually it went quite quickly. But this time… this time, as he again calculated the stars and their positions— the conjunction of the Spire relative to the peak of the sun, the Spear in the shadow of the waning moon—
…And a host of other interstellar signs and portents that all came filtering down to distill themselves into a single, bleak, message. Now matter how many times he redrew, searching for a new answer, asking again and again with different meanings and different phrases, the answer returned the same.
So he kept asking.
It had only been a casual scrying. curiosity only as to what his former protégé was up to. That his disciple had long since outstripped him of the position and, in fact, was the Warrior of Light was of no concern to him; if anything, it made it infuriatingly hard to keep abreast of any personal news of her, what with how she went charging up and down the length of the star facing down giant beasts and whatnot. She did her very best, of course, to send a communique or two along to her dear old mentor, but such accounts shared very little of how she actually was faring behind the frankly terrifying accounts of daredevilry he heard from every other source. Therefore, he was well within his rights to follow up such reports with consultation of the stars and cards.
Simply to make sure that all with her was… well. She was so rarely in Ishgard these days, after all, and she was… so important. To advocating the importance of Sharlayan astromancy between nations, of course, yes. He even went out of his way to scry when the stars were at their brightest zenith, the most auspicious of times for a wise and knowledgeable astrologian such as himself to have absolutely no margin error, at all.
But…
Even the greatest masters made mistakes, sometimes… right? Therefore, the baffling message he struggled with could only mean he had misread something along the way. Whatever it was, it could be fixed, simply by finding the right interpretation, if only he could find it—
“Jannequinard.”
Oh. Someone was trying to speak to him. Not one of the novices- it was ‘Lord Rufin,’ meaning the lass from earlier had done as asked. Wonders upon wonders to, again, ponder some other time, for Leveva finally being here meant that, maybe, perhaps, some sense could be had from this after all, although his monocle is slipping again despite valiant effort—
“Ah! So kind of you to join,” he mumbled, deciding to hells with it and abandoning the thing once and for all. His eyes ached too much from chart reading anyhow, and Leveva was… squinting? At him. Giving him an odd look as she took in the workspace he’d been pouring himself over through the night, and the look was grating somehow in a way he couldn’t quite place.
“Yes, I was on my way to study session.” Leveva spoke slowly, her gaze lingering across calculations, “Until one of the novices waylaid me. Something about… you.”
The shortened statement implied much more behind it unsaid. He ignored it.
“Well, this should take but a moment, if you would,” he said, trying to get his word in under her piercing stare, “You see, I’ve had a perplexing reading that I cannot make heads or tails of, but—”
“Janne?”
“—hopefully with you here you can point out exactly where my misstep is, as for the life of me—”
“Janne, have you been up all night?”
Oh, now her voice suddenly is very grating to his ear, as she sounded so… concerned. The annoyance slips in before he can stop it, if he even cared to at all as he responded—
“Maybe, but what of it?” Short, but he didn’t snap, he was sure of it.
“I was… informed of such. That you were here the prior evening, and seem to have remained in the same place until now.”
“It has nothing to do with the matter at hand, so I don’t see how—”
“I’m thinking it has everything to do at hand. Jannequinard, do you feel quite alright? Because to me you seem the opposite of.”
Her concern strikes deep with her maddening ability to cut to the quick, and just like that he… tries to deflect, turn away from the fact that he really does look that out of place—
“I don’t know why everyone keeps assuming as such,” he said, feeling the lens of the monocle dig into his hand as he clenched upon it, “When I am really just trying to make sense of this… this blasted array that does not make sense. If you are here to heckle rather than help, then kindly turn yourself around leave me be!”
Dead silence. Everyone was staring at him, Leveva most of all with wide eyes. He’d shouted. Or risen near enough to; she looked quite startled. Until she crossed her arms, that is, and fixed a hard stare even though he towered above her from where he’d jumped to his feet in his… strange fit of temper.
“Right then,” Levea said, glancing about at their audience— they all hastily looked back to what they were doing. “Let us have a look at this reading of yours, and Janne… you will not raise your voice to me again. Or I shall be very. Cross.”
It is all she needs to say, as the shame does the rest. Why he’d gone and shouted at Leveva, of all people… he’s not sure what came over him. Especially now that she’s here, can fix this once and for all, even, so he swallows, straightens his charts, and begins… again.
Jannequinard draws his cards, explains the stars and the signs and all— the moon, the sun, the houses in shadow and light. Leveva is attentive— standing with her arms crossed and countenance unscrutable as he goes through each painstaking portent. The pace is agony but he goes through slowly for her benefit. She’s listening, face grave, brow furrowed in thought. Here and there she comments for clarification, but she seeks not to stop him at all, and indeed, as he trails away and it is finished, reaches the end, has explained all he possibly can, Leveva continues to stay silent, nodding her head deep in thought—
“…Wait, is that all?”
Anxiety flooded into his veins.
“…Yes?” he said, in a croak worth of a frog but certainly not an elezen, “That was the whole of the divination as I have found, yes—”
“But that can’t be.” Leveva pushed him aside, stared intently a the star chart near ruined with notations. “From as you’ve described, there should be… more. This is far too abrupt.”
The cold pit of dread has opened again in his gut. He ignores it- or tries to.
“So— I’m wrong, then?” Jannequinard asked, far took eagerly, far too grasping for threads that would give him any purchase, any new hope—
“No… no, by all means it is complete.” Leveva’s brow knit in consternation. “As far as I can interpret, it simply reads as—”
And from her mouth come the terrible words. The same terrible words that grip his heart in a chill unmatched by even the frigid Coerthan winter.
“Dhusa Mhuunin is… gone… from this star.”
Gone.
Gone.
At once the room beings to swim. It had somewhat when he’d stood so suddenly, but now it returns in full force as he hears from Leveva’s own mouth—
“Oh, Dhusa…” he hears his voice, cracked and feeble, and Leveva looks at him with confusion— then surprise.
Then panic.
“No! Janne, don’t you dare—!”
Her voice rose as she started forward, but too little to late. His hands gripped the table— in vain, as the world went first sideways, and then all at once black.
When he came to, it was on the floor with a splitting headache.
“What,” he slurred rather in-eloquently, and this brought a blurred face into view that turned out to be Quimperain, hovering over him with a look of supreme relief.
“My lord!? Oh, thank goodness,” the man breathed, as sound filtered in slowly. A multitude of voices. Leveva, rising above all.
“Back! Back, you damned vultures, give room! Give room damnit— that’s it, everyone out! Out at once or I’ll bash your own heads with my bare hands-!”
“What happened? Why does—” and Jannequinard winced, from a fresh throb of pain and an uncomfortable amount of sticky sensation, “Why does my head hurt?”
“Because you damn near cracked it open when you fell, you absolute fool!”
…Leveva was absolutely seething, as she knelt over him with astrolabe floating about her. The din must have been from… everyone else in the athenium, most likely, who’d just as likely borne witness to him… him…
“Wait, so I—”
“Fainted? Struck yourself against the corner? Stayed up all night making yourself sick from unfounded worry? Yes, yes, and yes again! Had I known I would have… bah, what’s done is done. But listen to me, Janne, and listen well—”
A flood of light. Healing magics streamed from Leveva’s hand, bringing blessed relief to the worst of the throbbing pain at his temple even as she leaned close and looked him in the eye. “Gone,” she intoned clearly, “Does not mean dead!”
Perhaps it was the head trauma, but it didn’t quite sink in as he stared at her.
“What,” he said, and if looks could strangle…
“Make sure the fool doesn’t move, I’m going to find something for the blood,” Leveva said to Quimperain irritably. “Don’t let him stand. He’s probably concussed and I don’t want him falling right back over. Idiot! I’m surrounded by…”
The ranting trailed some as she stomped away and let them be— one long-suffering Quimperain, holding his head firmly between his knees, and Jannequinard— with a fading ache, a cracked head, and a rising feeling of pure, unadulterated relief.
“Quimperain,” he said.
“Yes, my lord?”
“I think I’ve been very foolish.”
Ever the diplomatic one, the manservant held his tongue and patted him upon the shoulder.
“Perhaps, my lord,” he said solemnly.
Gone, not dead. The words that had brought him dread like no other had been shoved aside by something of an equal and opposite effect, and— and he didn’t know whether to laugh or cry. Best he do neither, for fear of the nightlong stress and hysteria slipping through at last, but it didn’t stop a single pained noised from escaping him. Moreso when he lifted a hand to stop it, the very hand he lifted convulsed in a pain of its own, revealing shards of glass piercing the palm throughout. His monocle. He’d gripped it so tight it had shattered.
Then he did laugh.
“I thought she was dead,” he said aloud, and the words came with a wobble. “I thought she was dead.”
“…I may have missed most of the context, my lord,” Quimperain said quietly, “But we are talking about Mistress Dhusa… correct? The warrior of light? What made you think such a thing?”
“Because the stars said so,” Jannequinard whispered.
“It didn’t occur to you that the stars may have been wrong?”
“The stars are never wrong,” he sputtered at that, twisting some until a warning increase in grip stilled him once more.
“Well. I may not be an astrologian,” said Quimperain with a faint shrug, “But I think at the end of the day I’d have more faith in the warrior of light, than what some bit of light up in the sky has to say.”
…There are entirely too many emotions running through him right now, and he’s afraid of what might come out if he speaks again, so Jannequinard said nothing. The rustle of fabrics signaled Leveva’s return, loud in the quiet aethenium now that none remained but the three of them.
“Once again your manservant proves to have more sense than you,” Leveva sounded less angry now, at least, “Aside from being incorrect on the last count. The stars are never wrong.” She was smug as she resumed her healing. More light, the gentle bob of the astrolabe floating beside her conducting mana to his mangled palm, now, as she dabbed gingerly at his forehead. “Mind you, they certainly can be less than forthcoming. Now is such a time, that’s all. I just never expected you to be affected quite so much.”
…fixed under her judgmental stare, Jannequinard shrank some as if he were some manner of child caught out in some mischief.
“But… every time, no matter what I did, it was the same,” he mumbled, for surely he could save some face in all this. “I… I thought it couldn’t be true, but if it is, then what does it mean?”
“Well… that, I don’t know.” The admission was honest, and Leveva made no attempt to obscure as much. “And in that, I will help you. I’m a little curious now that Dhusa has apparently gone and done something that not even the stars can follow, and that is quite the feat. But this is the warrior of light we’re talking about. So as Quimperain says… perhaps let us have some more faith in our fellow, shall we? What say you to that?”
She winked, and with a rare kindness, Leveva patted him reassuring upon his now healed hand. It was balm to some of the soreness in his heart. A mix of odd feelings he couldn’t sort through, couldn’t pin down, not to mention he may have just humiliated himself in front of the entire Aethaenium Astrologicum— well, that last part was really nothing new, so he sighed, nodded his sore head, winced from the pain, and sighed again.
“I think… that perhaps I should retire for the night I didn’t sleep through,” he chose to say, and if Levava could read through the carefully neutral words (she probably did) she did not comment on them.
“I’m not sorry to say you won’t be doing any sleeping until we get that thick skull of yours in order,” Leveva chided, “Quimperain, help him up now, but carefully! We may as well get him somewhere other than the floor.”
Obedient Quimperain did as he was told, with careful concern of his own as he helped Jannequinard slowly up. The worst of the pain was gone— but privately, he wondered if his head was still, in fact, quite broken, as the only thoughts he could truly focus on in the haze echoed around and around again as he was shuffled away to a friendlier place to retire to. Again and again, as the ambiguous words from the star had not all that long ago.
Not dead. Gone. Not dead. Alive.
Jannequinard should be elated. He was. With all his heart. Yet… even with the wonderful revelation, why did his heart yet... worry?