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Entry tags:
[Closed] Convergence
Who: Emet-Selch and Hythlodaeus
Which: Closed log
Where: Emet-Selch's treehouse
What: September 13th; following events in Madhuri's dreamscape version of Aglaia, two friends engage in a long overdue talk.
Warnings: Heavy Shadowbringers and Endwalker spoilers. Sap, probably.
[Emet-Selch isn't altogether certain how long it's been when he first awakens, though judging by the journal resting on his nightstand, it cannot have been more than several days. A mere instant, by his measuring, yet it seems as if it has been far longer. So many terrible truths have been wrung from him (willingly) in such swift (self-righteous) succession, that he cannot fathom how he's to even begin mending the damage they have caused. And there will be damage, he knows. It isn't a question of whether but how much.]
[Had he been one and whole would he have approached anything differently? He thinks not.]
[Dread has him mulling the situation over in resolute silence for another hour more, yet it's that same silence (and a persistent headache) that finally forces his hand. And so it is that Emet-Selch emerges from his bedroom at last. Tea beckons, its aroma nigh impossible to miss, and yet... If there is fresh tea, it also means that someone is waiting for him.]
[No, not waiting perhaps, and yet...]
[Uncharacteristically unkempt and more than a little uneasyyes yes, go on and imagine it, Emet-Selch trudges into the living area of his own temporary abode, feeling somehow, inexplicably, as if this is the first time he's truly stepped into it.]
Which: Closed log
Where: Emet-Selch's treehouse
What: September 13th; following events in Madhuri's dreamscape version of Aglaia, two friends engage in a long overdue talk.
Warnings: Heavy Shadowbringers and Endwalker spoilers. Sap, probably.
[Emet-Selch isn't altogether certain how long it's been when he first awakens, though judging by the journal resting on his nightstand, it cannot have been more than several days. A mere instant, by his measuring, yet it seems as if it has been far longer. So many terrible truths have been wrung from him (willingly) in such swift (self-righteous) succession, that he cannot fathom how he's to even begin mending the damage they have caused. And there will be damage, he knows. It isn't a question of whether but how much.]
[Had he been one and whole would he have approached anything differently? He thinks not.]
[Dread has him mulling the situation over in resolute silence for another hour more, yet it's that same silence (and a persistent headache) that finally forces his hand. And so it is that Emet-Selch emerges from his bedroom at last. Tea beckons, its aroma nigh impossible to miss, and yet... If there is fresh tea, it also means that someone is waiting for him.]
[No, not waiting perhaps, and yet...]
[Uncharacteristically unkempt and more than a little uneasy
no subject
Will a second mind aid in your search for an answer?
["Or would you prefer it if I left you to ponder everything alone?" he almost says, but doesn't. Barely.]
Mayhap some clarification will provide a better angle for your thinking now that you aren't being subjected to yet another unsolicited history lesson.
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Yes... Yes, I do think a second mind would help. And in return, I would offer you answers of my own, should you have any questions for me.
[It's the least he can do now that they've seen the worst of eachother.]
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Always. Yet I'm not about to let you shift the focus of our conversation onto me and my troubles when you're the one who has been suffering in silence this entire time.
Divided or not, I meant what I said.
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[It had been a genuine offer on his part, but he cannot deny that there may have been some small distraction intended there as well.]
Then to begin with, I will apologize on behalf of both my selves you met. Despite your reassurances, any trouble I caused you this time was entirely by accident and deserving of an apology nonetheless.
[Though his smile has faded considerably, it does not entirely disappear as he clings to what humor he can find in the situation.]
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Your apology is hardly necessary, but if it will go some way towards easing your worries, you may consider it accepted. Really, do you think I will hold what occurred against you? I'm well aware it was unintentional.
[A pause follows. And though Hythlodaeus might cling to humor in the moment, none can be found on Emet-Selch's features. Instead, he's entirely serious.]
But though you have given an apology to me, I've none to offer you in return. While I do regret how the truth of our broken world and my own actions within it came about, I would not change them. Any expression to the contrary would merely be a lie to soften the blow.
[And again he falls silent, his brow creasing from some invisible memory.]
The only thing I will apologize for is not having bestowed you with reassurances sooner. I am certain there were times, even back in Amaurot, when you would have benefited from hearing them.
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I don't know that I can condone your actions, [he finally admits] but neither can I condemn them.
Seeing those souls through your eyes in that nightmare, I can see why you would think of them how you do. No matter how they may look now, their state following the Sundering of our star was nothing short of horrifying--and I have yet to even live it.
To want to make them whole and bring back those that were lost is completely understandable. But to sacrifice new life for it... It sits ill with me. Not that I side with Venat's decision either, lest you wonder. To seek the preservation of what life was left is laudable, but to do so in the way she did...
[He shakes his head.]
I suppose what I'm saying is... I understand Azem's decision to try to find a third path, even if they were unsuccessful. But it seems there were no kind solutions left for anyone in the wake of such unprecedented disaster.
[He stares down into his cooling tea as if it might hold an answer that satisfies them both. There is none. There may never be one.]
As for myself, you need not blame yourself for any doubts that I hold. 'Twas inevitable, I think, given my... situation.
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[Even as he speaks of Azem, Emet-Selch remains passive, though it's clear his posture has turned rigid, his jaw twitches as he bites down a retort, and his brow furrows ever lower. There is much he could say about Azem's decision to journey alone. It is a decision Emet-Selch could never have made, for his position and his own sense of responsibility would not have allowed it. To leave his brethren and throw the Convocation and the capital city into further chaos for no more than an inkling of a possibility which (apparently) had never been discovered... Foolishness.]
[He had wondered, though. On occasion.]
[If he had joined them, would it have made any difference? Could they have found this elusive third path?]
[He thinks not. He does not know.]
[Perhaps that goes some way to explaining the venom in his voice when he'd spoken of their abandonment. For even they had bid him stay.]
[It is not until the conversation turns back to Hythlodaeus himself that Emet-Selch abruptly sees fit to break his silence.]
"Inevitable"? Inevitable!
[His outrage seems quite out of proportion considering what little is being said.]
And what situation is that exactly? One thing you're no good at out of a hundred other possibilities. I'll not insult you by mentioning your obvious talents, but what of your wit, your patience, your loyalty? Your infuriating ability to laugh at everything and nothing both at the same time!
Did you think you were only tolerated? That I "blunted my thorns" and coddled you like some injured bird purely out of obligation?
Of course I didn't.
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[Hythlodaeus meets him eye-to-eye, his shoulders squared, his voice firm.]
I remember well both what was said and heard within that dreamscape, but I will remind you that I am whole. You are not speaking to the meeker version of myself who was filled with almost naught but self-doubt.
That being said, I would remind you that, compared to myself, you have all but soared through your studies, and had little trouble with creation besides.
I, in comparison, spent much of my childhood fussed over for my poor abilities. I have spent many an evening poring over textbooks, memorizing form and theory until I could recite it by memory--only to fail the practical exams time and time again.
I still require an aetherial rope at times to make a set of robes, a task, I remind you, that most children are more than capable of without outside aid.
[A slow, heavy sigh. His tea is all but forgotten.]
Your words in that dream were both heeded and memorized, I assure you. But that is the experience they are up against, and it is not an easy battle.
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And yet it is a battle that I should have helped you fight.
You may be correct in one thing: I cannot fully claim to understand your struggle, as it is not a difficulty I have ever personally had to face. Still. It fairly boggled the mind to hear you speak of yourself as a hindrance. You who have never before seemed the least bit ashamed about bringing mischief and trouble into my life.
[After a prolonged moment, Hades lets out a low sigh of his own.]
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[And with that, Hythlodaeus's smile returns, something small and fond and entirely meant for a single man.]
Refreshingly honest, for one, and never afraid to voice your opinion. You do not coddle others, especially if you see potential in them. 'Twas something I noticed not long after that first project of ours at the Akaedemia.
Truth be told, I don't think I ever would have taken on the position as Chief of the Bureau of the Architect without you.
[And before Hades can argue, he holds up a finger.]
Not because I lacked the ability, mind you. But because I never would have thought to reach for it. Every time I thought I should turn the position down I could imagine you scolding for it for days on end.
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[Hades mutters under his breath, finally seeing fit to glance his way again. He's halted before he can voice that opinion of his, but he's listening - as he has been the entire time. Hythlodaeus's assessment isn't wrong, of course; it rarely ever is.]
Well, I would have scolded you for it. Soundly. How thoughtful of you to spare me the headache and yourself the misfortune of enduring it.
[A quiet huff follows as he crosses his arms.]
And besides, untruths and forced pleasantries are exhausting. Imagine my surprise when you found my complaints amusing and worthy of consideration, rather than use them as a convenient excuse to switch study partners. I've never understood it.
But I've never regretted it either.
[In many respects, and mayhap Hades would never admit as much outright, but Hythlodaeus was the first person to ever truly seem to understand him - and to find joy in the attempt.]
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[Even as he deflects, there's a clear fondness to Hythlodaeus's gaze, something gentle and joyful and above all thankful.]
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[Sarcasm and what should be a stern glance follows - just long enough to bask in the warmth of those eyes. It's a warmth he'd halfway believed he'd never witness again, after all that had been revealed.]
[And, right on cue... the aversion.]
Or you could simply wait for the tea to wake me up fully and I should be happy to provide you with a detailed list.
[Take the compliment, Hythlodaeus. He meant it.]
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It's more than he could have hoped for and all he wanted to hear.]
I'll have to ask you to wait on that, I'm afraid.
[His face is bright red as he sits back up properly, having composed himself.]
I'm sure I'll give you plenty cause to add to it, and I'd hate to see such a detailed manuscript left half-finished.
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Fine, then. That can wait. After all, I'm certain you'd like nothing better than to give me cause to fill multiple pages with my grievances - including the margins.
[He takes another sip.]
You've your work cut out for you, however. I've reconsidered my initial tally and have concluded that your guess was correct. There has been only one such moment.
[Yet now is perhaps not the best of times to detail that specific instance, so instead he sighs and rests his chin in his hand, trying to place this particular shade of red.]
Feeling any better?
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Much better. And it sounds as if you're in better spirits yourself, any exhaustion aside.
[His hands wrap around his cup once more, his elbows back on the table.]
But if you've any lingering worries you'd like put to rest, I am more than willing to offer an ear, just as you have for me.
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Your ears are already privy to more than most.
Besides, you heard my tale. Such things do not simply get put to rest. And now, thanks to our little rejoining experiment, I have the distinct pleasure of feeling more about it than I have in millennia.
[The words may be blunt, but he does not lift his chin from his hand and he also does not sound any more upset about it than usual.]
How, then, does one even begin?
no subject
However, there is one unsolved mystery--for both of us.
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[But as to this unique mystery... it takes Hades little time to puzzle out Hythlodaeus's train of thought. After all, he'd told him not to dismiss it out of a hand just a few short days ago.]
You speak of Elpis, I assume.
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Nay. Little of the world you know exists on present-day Etheirys. What does has fallen to ruin, much of it swallowed by oceans and earth.
As for Elpis specifically, naught remains but half-remembered visions. I've found no trace of it.
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Then I would put forward another twist to our tale.
Not long after I arrived, G'raha Tia knew of it. And he mentioned that a friend of his had been there.
And while I'm well aware of how ridiculous the thought may be, when I add this fact to that half-remembered sentiment of yours from the dreamscape...
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[Why though? Hades frowns, staring down at his hands as if he might conjure the details from thin air.]
It isn't nearly as ridiculous as it sounds. If this friend of his is the person I'm thinking of, they'd be the one individual capable of making the journey.
Yet that does not explain how they learned of Elpis in the first place, nor why they might choose to go there.
[Could they have remembered somehow? Are they one of the blurred-out figures he had seen through the lens of the Observatory's telescope?]
[Impossible. Utterly, completely impossible... And yet, a part of him wishes it were true.]
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No, it doesn't. But we do have a fair few individuals here who might know. 'Twould be secondhand knowledge, but I've a mind to see this mystery to its conclusion.
[A smile.]
If only to sate my burning curiosity.
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[Surely they knew what they were getting themselves into...? Why, then, if such an account is true, would they travel into the past only to land on his doorstep?]
[His mind weaves to a particular conversation not so very long ago. When he'd taken the hero aside as the Eulmorans worked together (actually worked - perhaps for the first time in their lives) and reminisced about his people, his city... Had his words struck a chord? Or had some trouble befallen them and they'd come crawling to beg his help?]
[He doesn't know. Yet it vexes him.]
Perhaps I should send them a warning in advance. Nevertheless, I hope you find your curiosity sated. Elsewise, we'll never hear the end of it.
[...Hades is a stubborn man.]
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