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True enough.

( Hythlodaeus confirms, and a pang of nostalgia lances through his gut at the thought of all three of them snug and safe, together, in the warmth of his bed. The moment quickly fades as he realises there's yet more pressing information he needs to pass on: )

Speaking of Azem. You might find that there are ... ah. ( Hythlodaeus doesn't want to keep Emet-Selch in the dark and maintain the idea that they're Azem's familiars, so he considers his words carefully for a moment before pressing on. ) A number of people here bearing the same hue as our dear friend's soul — the same hue as the soul that killed you, if I'm able to put all this together correctly.

( His expression takes on a far-away quality as he looks towards the window, his gaze fixed somewhere on a sliver of sky. )

Each one of them is a shard of their own world's Azem — who may differ still from the Azem we remember. ( But that's not entirely accurate, is it. ) ... That I remember.

( Which has certain implications for the two men in this bed, doesn't it? )

...not merely more of Azem's shards, but shards of different Azems entirely-? Are you quite certain? There are bound to be a certain number of them from various shards of the Source, after all.

[And that's much easier than thinking of the idea of-- multiple of his own self, somehow, who knew these other Azems.

Other Hythlodaeuses, by the same token, which he suspects may explain why he turns his gaze from Emet-Selch.]

Tell me of the Azem you recall, Hythlodaeus.

[Just to be certain. It can't possibly be a different one.]

( Hythlodaeus doesn't want to.

Of course, it isn't that he's especially invested in witholding information from Emet-Selch, but rather the fact that he doesn't want to face the possibility that Emet-Selch might not be— his. That the man in his bed might have another Hythlodaus, he might belong to another world, and a deep, wavering breath escapes him as he closes his eyes for a moment.

Tch. He never could deny him anything, though, could he? Not when it comes to the things that truly matter. )

A man. Handsome, of course, with shaggy brown hair and eyes of the most piercing blue — as bright as any meteor.

( Hythlodaeus's eyes flutter open as he finally looks back at Emet-Selch, his expression unreadable. )

What of yours?

[He dislikes the thought, as well, much as he expects that no matter what-- they would know each other. They know their souls by sight, don't they? How could it possibly be too different, between any existing pair that might exist?

But:]

He is the same.

[That answer comes with a slight quirk of one corner of his mouth; see, nothing to worry about after all. They are stable, whatever ridiculousness there might be with these supposed shards.]

He— is?

( There's a moment of pause as Hythlodaeus forces himself to pull himself together; he doesn't let his lip wobble for all a little pink immediately rises into his cheeks. A single breath, then a smile of easy contentment as he lifts his mug to his lips again: )

He is.

( He's the same. Emet-Selch is his, they remember the same friend, and Hythlodaeus feels the knot of panic sitting low in his gut finally begin to unwind. He sags noticably, letting his head drop back against the headboard for a moment as he exhales a shaky sigh. )

Well, then! That settles the first of what I assume will be the myriad of difficult questions ahead.

...for it to be such a concern, I presume the same has not held true with others.

[Why else would Hythlodaeus seem so thoroughly relieved? It prompts a little concern, really, to see how clearly troubled he was that there might be any other answer.]

( Hythlodaeus nods as he drags a hand through his hair. )

You presume correctly, my friend. While it has effected others much more than it has me, I—

( His hand moves to curl at his chin, his expression becoming thoughtful. )

I am not the first Hythlodaeus to appear here, nor are you the first Emet-Selch. There was a pair before us — and it seems they were well-loved by all I've met here. I think my arrival after their leaving was ... well.

( A wry smile touches the corners of his lips. )

Perhaps not a disappointment, but certainly the cause of a lot of heartache.

Edited 2022-09-11 11:00 (UTC)

...well, they shall simply have to learn to manage their expectations. I certainly have no intention of allowing some previous self of mine to have made all my decisions for me.

[If this previous Emet-Selch was indeed him, then it ought to work out regardless, shouldn't it... but if what Hyth says about different selves is true, then there's a chance two of him might not have the same inclinations. Should that be the case--

Well, it's not his responsibility to deal with people who knew another self. He sinks back into the pillows with a sigh, taking another sip of coffee.]

Simple as that, hm?

( Hythlodaeus just chuckles, shaking his head at the other man before setting his own drink to the side. He turns just enough so that he's semi-propped up on his elbow, facing Emet-Selch as he settles down into the pillows, and spends a long moment just soaking in the moment before speaking up again. )

I know I don't really have to say it, but you're welcome to stay here as long as you like.

( He smiles, reaching a hand out to lay his palm against the crook of the other man's arm. It's ... strange, now that the effects of those mischievous flowers have worn off: centuries of history separated by centuries of statis have left Hythlodaeus unsure of what Emet-Selch might want—

What he might feel. For him, specifically. How many hundreds of years has he had to mourn and move past a man he once knew? )

... I'd like you to, even. But, if you're concerned about the proximity to my incessant chattering, I'd be happy to help you register for some housing of your own when you're ready to do so?

...you ought to have space of your own, regardless of aught else.

[The place isn't exactly built for two, and considering everything--

Hythlodaeus most likely doesn't know what happened, while he remained within Zodiark. What Emet-Selch has done with his time after the Sundering, how shards of the Source were rejoined, how he influenced events upon shards and Source alike. There is much he has done that he's certain Hythlodaeus would not have accepted, if he knew... especially considering it was done partially on his behalf. On behalf of all of them.

He's missed him, for so long. But he knows better than to think they can simply-- pick up where they left off, with so much unsaid in between.]

I will acquire my own, yes, but we needn't leave in a hurry.

[He wants to stay here a while longer, too.]

As you like.

( It's true: Hythlodaeus doesn't know what's happened beyond what their Azem shard told them that day in Elpis, and even then, it was a very brief account of thousands of years of history. He can't quite shake that stirring urge that it was somehow more awful than they'd recounted — that the distance between them for all they're sharing a bed is somehow the result of that. )

Oh, good. Hurrying never was in my nature.

( He replies easily, letting his hand slip from Emet-Selch's arm to fold over his middle. )

And I can't let you leave without a decent breakfast, which I simply can't be bothered to make right now—

( A playful glimmer touches violet eyes. )

So it looks like we'll be here a while yet.

Go on and drink your own coffee, then, else we'll be abed the entire day. I know very well how you linger.

[He huffs that out with a roll of his eyes, but... it's not without a touch of fondness. A little nostalgia.

Maybe he doesn't mind lingering, right now.]

Well, someone has to make sure you don't fall back into your "all work, no play" routine so easily.

( He tosses back, but he reaches for his coffee all the same even as a smirk twitches onto those smiling lips. One thing it is easy to do is slip back into their playful bickering, although there's something about Emet-Selch's choice of words that stirs a hint of discomfort through him again.

Emet-Selch knows how he likes to linger, it's true. But what of Hythlodaeus? How well does he know the man beside him, and how much time has passed to change him? )

... Alright. The next difficult question, if I may.

( Not that it matters, he thinks idly, as his gaze drifts back to the single streak of starlight among that dark, cropped hair. Whether his changes are superficial or otherwise, he is still himself, and Hythlodaeus will spend however long it takes to learn of the man he is today. )

Emet-Selch. How long has it been?

...wasting no time with the truly difficult ones, I see.

[That's exhaled on a sigh, with a little shake of his head. He admitted to being dead easily enough, to nearly finding his rest, but putting this into words...

When he answers, it's quieter.]

It has been several thousand years since our star was sundered. Thirteen, perhaps fourteen all told.

[Thousands of years since he last truly saw Hythlodaeus-- his true self, not his shade. It still almost doesn't seem like a reality.]

( Fourteen thousand.

Fourteen thousand years.

Hythlodaeus had some inkling that it had been a long time — Azem's shard had revealed at least that much that day in Elpis — but fourteen thousand? It takes a moment longer before the horror of it all truly sinks in to Hythlodaeus's breast: Emet-Selch tried for so long, strained for so long to put their world back together, with only an empty shadow of their home at the bottom of an ocean to go to for comfort.

Only a shade of himself to hold him when he needed to let go. )

That day in Elpis, Azem's shard told us something of that future. It seems you're yet to have your memories restored to you in full, but— we knew, if only for a moment. You refused it outright and left in a rage; I had to run after you, even—

( But then they'd had their memories wiped and Hythlodaeus had made the decision to give himself to Zodiark, unknowing of the solitude to which it would confine his dearest friend. )

I am sorry, Hades. That I wasn't there with you.

( Hades. The man he knew before the Convocation, before the Sundering.

The man he's finally found again. )

-no. No, you needn't be. You made your choice, and I would not begrudge you it.

[Despite everything, despite being left without him and Azem both-- it was a choice he respected then and still does, now. He doesn't remember telling them in Elpis that he would hold in high regard those who chose to sacrifice themselves, but it remains the truth, regardless; he missed Hythlodaeus dearly, but he cannot hold trying to help save their people against him.]

But what do you mean, we knew-- we knew what was to come, and still it was our only recourse?

( Hythlodaeus takes another sip of his coffee before shaking his head. )

Not ... exactly. The incident in Ktisis Hyperborea — you recall how we lost some time there, yes? It was those memories that were erased.

( He explains, careful not to implicate Hermes as the architect of it all just yet. The fact that Hermes himself has no momeory of what he did — that he's confused and hurting — is enough for Hythlodaeus to treat this revelation with caution. )

We learned what was going to happen, learned what would come of us—

( Of you, he doesn't say. )

And then it was taken away. We— you acted as best you could on the information you had at the time, not knowing that we'd seen the truth of it already.

...of course their shard was involved, somehow.

[They always are. He reaches up to rub at his face, frustrated.]

Then that incident-- we could have known. We could have kept any of it from ever coming to pass, and some... chance accident brought us to our ruin regardless.

( A silence falls between them that stretches too long to be natural. Emet-Selch seems to have take that little crumb of information as well as could be expected: no flying off the handle, no unplanned transformations, no crackling of ancient, arcane magicks at his fingertips.

Alright. )

... Not entirely.

( Fourteen thousand years. Hythlodaeus can't keep it from him — not when he's waited this long for his answers to questions he doesn't know to ask. )

Hermes's familiars, the Meteia ... he sent them on a mission to find what made life worth living. He was hurting, Emet-Selch, but none of us could see how much— and when their report returned that the best course of action would simply be to put all life out of its misery ...

( Hythlodaeus bows his head ever so slightly, his hair slipping forwards to veil part of his face. )

Something broke within him. He used Kairos to alter all our memories, including his own, and our challenge would be to prove that we could survive Meteion's ruin-song. To prove that we were worthy of life.

( Hythlodaeus looks up again, his smile a bleak, tired thing. He's spent so long affecting his easy, upbeat demeanor that he'd almost tricked himself into believing himself to be fine, but here, with Hades, Hythlodaeus is finally being made to feel the true weight of their past. )

He's here. ( Said simply. ) He doesn't know.

He did what?!

[There's equal disbelief and anger in his voice, once he finds it again after weighing the enormity of the information. Hermes-- the future Fandaniel, the one who identified the stagnation in the aetherial currents, who led them to their solution to avert the Final Days-- allowed it all to happen to begin with. Used the potential loss of everything they knew, of their lives, as a challenge.]

Whether he remembers or not-- if it was by his choice that we were prevented from stopping it, that such knowledge was taken from us, then he is still the person who chose to do so.

[Just as he won't deny that he is still the person who went to such great lengths to undo what Hermes allowed to happen.]

I know.

( Hythlodaeus says simply, setting his coffee down again. )

I know. I'm not— this isn't a defense of him or his actions, Emet-Selch. Just a warning that the man you may meet here is already broken, and that he has no idea what it will lead him to do.

( He shakes his head just the once. )

I feel—

( There's a pause, followed by a sigh. )

Well. I knew him, after all. I feel some responsibilty for the fact that I never noticed the pain as it festered within him.

You could not possibly have expected he would go so far, even if you had seen aught amiss. And why would anyone expect it of him? He was the very chief of Elpis. He had every reason to be satisfied with his work and position.

[It's still somewhat unthinkable, now, that he could have been so malcontent with their world that he was willing to see it break.]

Perhaps not. That doesn't mean I couldn't have been a better friend.

( Hythlodaeus replies, evidently unmoving in feeling as though he could have done more for Hermes. Perhaps, he thinks, that's why he wants to find him and talk to him — to tell him what happened, to hear more of his thoughts, and to try and understand what it was that opened that void within him.

He can't forgive him, but at the very least he can try to see him. )

... What will you do?

( Wanting to mete out some kind of punishment would be understandable, he supposes, but that doesn't sound much like the Hades he once knew. )

A better-- his actions killed you, and you're concerned with whether you were a good enough friend of his?

[A harsh interpretation, maybe, but-]

And do not try to soften it now. I know very well it was your choice, but that choice would not have had to be made had he not kept us from stopping it all in the first place.

[As for what he'll do, though... he says nothing of it yet. He's still working through it, still thinking of the shard Fandaniel he knew more recently. He'd thought Hermes' shard ended up quite different from the original soul, but-

Mayhap not.]

Yes.

( He says simply, closing his eyes for a long moment before turning to Emet-Selch again. )

My death was part of my past— part of a world that no longer exists, and a life that is no longer mine.

( His breath catches in the back of his throat, and for a moment the raw emotion of finally saying the words aloud threatens to overwhelm him. )

I don't forgive him. I can't. But to hold on to that pain would destroy me, and now that my soul has found yours again— Stars, I want to live. I want a future. I need to take responsibility for what I did wrong, that I might never allow such a thing to happen to us again.

( A smile touches the corners of his lips, soft and sad. )

I need to do this.

Edited 2022-09-16 18:37 (UTC)

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