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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
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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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You make it sound as if I'll be going alone. Surely you don't intend to leave a friend--who, I may remind you, is quite ignorant as to what the future holds--to investigate all on his own?
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And won't you?
Surely you haven't forgotten that the "friendly terms" I share with the people to whom you would take your investigation are complicated and less than pleasant? Doubly so considering I held one of them at gunpoint just a few short days ago.
[So he says, though the words are less "final" than they could be. There is at least some room for argument, though he doesn't seem particularly eager to take part in it at all.]
[But can he really bid Hythlodaeus go alone when he's followed him into far worse already?]
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[He makes a show of sighing and puts on a pout--that would be much more effective if the corners of his lips weren't threatening to tug upward.]
But I suppose I can go alone if you'd like. I could even use that time to gain you some favor with them. A few tales from past travels, you think? They did seem to turn quite a few heads when you were nominated for the Third Seat.
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[The pout (performed though it is) would be quite pretty if the words weren't having the same effect as, for example, a sharp heel being ground relentlessly into an unbooted foot.]
An altogether horrifying suggestion, and one i might easily mistake for personal vengeance rather than a concerted effort to pave the way for productive discussion.
If I was to agree to such a venture, I would be doing so only out of consideration for what occurred the last time I left you to go off alone.
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"Vengeance?" Whatever gave you that idea?
[Though as Hythlodaeus thinks on it, there might be a hint of... displeasure at the fact that half of Hades had been using him.
But Hades was hardly the only one to blame for that, was he?]
Mn, perhaps that first part was a bit harsher than necessary. But the second still stands. Honestly, I'm surprised you don't want anyone to know the good you've done for our star.
[Modesty went out the window once Hades became willing to transform in front of others--or so Hythlodaeus thinks.]
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[He glances aside.]
As to the latter, those efforts account for little in the end. A few "good deeds" toward individuals they have never heard of and cannot remember, for civilizations that no longer exist? What is that worth to them compared to direct actions by myself and my empire? Actions which have impacted their very way of life.
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Hades might have pulled the trigger, hm? He doubts that--or rather, he wants to doubt it. But Hades seems so sure of it, and there were times when that half of him had seemed callous, nearly cruel.
And from the reaction of the half of him he was before and the whole of him now, it's obvious Hades takes no pleasure in the knowledge. A mindset necessary to save their people, to bring their star back to what it was before. The beautiful end to a disgusting duty.
And yet... he cannot judge.]
You are aware that I would have allowed you to kill me if you so desired? That half of mine was not speaking in jest--even if the whole of me would prefer to live.
[Hythlodaeus opens his eyes, but keeps the lower half of his face hidden.]
And I would have done much more as well.
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[Hades is not normally a spiteful man, yet the words here are not blunted. There is no kindness in them, only a harsh, stinging honesty and the festering of an old wound. He won't look at him, yet his voice wavers, stumbling at the last.]
Why you think I would desire it, however, is a mystery completely beyond me.
I would take no satisfaction in your death no matter how noble the reason.
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[Hythlodaeus's own words come out equally sharp. And though half his face remains hidden behind his folded hands, it is clear that he's scowling.]
Unless you've been holding a grudge towards myself for whatever actions I may take in the future, as you do with Azem.
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If you think it a grudge that I wanted both of you to live, then call it whatever you like.
I honored your choices. That does not, however, mean that I must like them.
On the contrary, I will forever be haunted by our final moment together, wondering what I might have said or done to alter your fate.
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Those words do not describe the death of a man who fell in the midst of chaos.]
Hades.
How do I return to the star?
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You don't.
Like so many of our people, you too volunteered yourself as sacrifice to Lord Zodiark for the future of our star.
Your essence, your soul, everything, forever forfeit until such a time as the Great Rejoining comes to pass and our god is made whole once more. Another sacrifice to restore those who gave all of themselves to our cause.
[And because that alone is too much to bear, so devoid of hope at the present moment, he finds himself adding...recalling words the Exarch had once shared, words he can scarcely bring himself to believe:]
...or until He is defeated. In at least one future, that appears to be the case - if our contacts are to be believed. Yet I dread what that will mean for Etheirys.
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So I give myself for the sake of the star...
[His voice is little more than a whisper, washed away into the air as if nothing had been said at all.
And little by little, Hythlodaeus's shoulders begin to shake, until he is completely overtaken by laughter.]
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Willing to share the joke? I hardly see anything funny in all of this.
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No... No, there isn't.
But I suppose... after spending this time believing that I had fallen to the disaster itself, that I left you alone to your future having accomplished naught...
I cannot help but feel some form of relief, even knowing it brings you anything but.
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[Hades feels no relief, yet he does realize something in this moment: to rob Hythlodaeus of this modicum of relief would be an entirely selfish act.]
[And.]
[Had he said the words he'd wished to all those years ago, it would have made no difference at all. Hythlodaeus would still have preferred to accomplish what he could rather than bide his time "uselessly".]
...of course. We of the Convocation hold those who gave themselves to Lord Zodiark in the highest esteem. For what could be a purer act of love for one's brethren and the very star which granted us life?
[The sentiments behind such words might have been lovely, once, yet when Hades speaks them they manage only to sound tired and stilted, as if he has said them so many times that the language itself has become smooth and hollow and woefully empty.]
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It's a lovely thought, and one that Hythlodaeus hopes was foremost in his thoughts when he made the decision. And yet, somehow he can't help but think the reason behind his future self's choice might be more narrow in scope.
But he dares not say it, not when it's clear that choice yet to come has weighed so heavily upon Hades's shoulders.]
'Tis fine if you do not approve. You've made it plain that you would have preferred if I lived, did you not?
But... if I may make an observation, and, hopefully, offer some reassurance... From what you said, one thing has been made clear to me: one way or another, we shall find eachother again.
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[An agreement, even if their views do not perfectly align. Yet it is what Hythlodaeus says next that finally, gradually causes him to turn his head.]
[How? When? The reality of it is that Hades does not know. He does not know when this time will come, when this reunion might be. Perhaps he will already have given in to exhaustion before then, opted to return to the star in defeat, or winked himself out of existence. Perhaps he will be reborn like so many others before him, his memories and his former self scrubbed clean by the aetherial tide.]
[Or perhaps he will continue to wait, hoping against hope, struggling against whatever odds the universe deems fit to deal to him. Because he has a responsibility and a duty, and he will not soon allow himself to fall to some other victor. Not when there are people yet counting on him. Not when he has spent so long fighting already. Would he truly give in after so long?]
[In some way, in some future time, perhaps they will find each other again. Though whether he will recognize that moment for what it is, understand the profundity of it, or remember what it is that he never allowed himself to reveal - that much he cannot say.]
[...]
...Well we found one another easily enough this time. I suppose that alone proves it isn't impossible.
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[Hythlodaeus lowers his arms and leans forward, flashing Hades what he hopes is a look of encouragement.]
And you know just as well as I do that I'm quite capable of being as stubborn as you are. If you can last over 12,000 years, then so can I.
[He pauses a moment to take another drink of his--now cold--tea, and settles back into his seat.]
Which leads us to a question of great import: what shall we do after your duty is complete?
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More stubborn, if you ask me. Do remind me to offer you your congratulations whensoever you find yourself wandering back into my presence. And my condolences to anyone who dares get in the way of your goal.
[Yet it is the latter question which finally startles the scowl off of Hades's face, his brow lifting in obvious surprise. He doesn't answer right away, almost as if someone has just asked him something entirely incomprehensible.]
...what do you mean "what shall we do after"?
[In truth, it is not something Hades has spent a great deal of time considering. Aside from a long overdue nap of at least a century or two...Hades, truly, has not given the matter much thought at all.]
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