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You only ever knew me before then, Hythlodaeus. I know naught of what their shard told us I would do, but I know what I have done in pursuit of my duty.

[But he didn't realize it would cause this fear in Hythlodaeus, to make him think he's the one who might be out of place here-- he exhales another huff of breath, instinctively nosing into Hyth's neck once more. Reassuring, maybe for both of them.]

Are you certain you know whether you even desire a place in my present?

Yes.

( Is his simple answer, potentially troubling as it is. Hythlodaeus falls quiet for a moment as he tries to figure out the best way to put what he wants to say into words — words that won't spook Emet-Selch, or cause him to push away from him even more. )

I know ... pieces. Their shard had too much to tell, and too quickly, which made it a little difficut to follow — and there were more pressing matters at hand at the time.

( Hythlodaeus pulls back just enough to look Emet-Selch in the eye, his expression tired, to be sure, but his conviction firm in the depths of those violet eyes. He would never forsake him — that much, Hythlodaeus knows. Whether as Hades or as Emet-Selch, he's the most brilliant man he's ever known, and whatever path he forged for himself ...

Well. It's one they should have always walked together. )

But I know that whatever you did, you did it for us. For Etheirys.

( He presses his lips together momentarily. )

That isn't to excuse the suffering you have caused, Emet-Selch. Whatever you've done is your burden to bear, and only you can seek to make things right.

( A beat. )

But I would bear that burden with you, to help lighten that terrible load. I would share in your darkest moments to remind you of the light.

Edited 2022-10-26 00:45 (UTC)

I would do it again, you know.

[He says it quietly, meeting Hythlodaeus's gaze. He makes no comment on whether or not he wishes to make things right at all, on what it is he'll do about it now (whether there is anything a dead man can do about his actions during life)-- but it feels like something that ought to be said. Like something Hythlodaeus should know.]

If I were to have the power to return, knowing all that I know... I would do all of it again.

( Hythlodaeus lets himself sit with that for a long moment, his gaze setady beneath the weight pressing into him from behind Emet-Selch's golden eyes. Has he committed atrocities? Probably. Their shard alluded to as much, and Hythlodaeus remembers well the sick feeling that had settled into his stomach as he'd considered that future for his dear friend.

Atrocities, to heal their Star from the atrocity that was forced upon it. )

I know.

( Hythlodaeus reaches up, rests a palm against Emet-Selch's cheek, and strokes a thumb along the line of his cheekbone. A soft kiss follows — reassurance that he isn't going anywhere yet. )

You were ever true to your beliefs, my starlight. If you had not believed your decisions to be the best course of action in the first place, you would not have made them.

( A beat. )

... And I would have followed you, had I remained living and unsundered. You, Azem ... you have always been my purposes in life—

( And a tiny smile touches his lips at that, and he rests their foreheads together. )

Perhaps that's why the Gods shepherded me to Zodiark, hm? To help you now as I was then, not— changed, over millennia.

Edited 2022-10-31 00:08 (UTC)

Not changed, and not a shadow of your former self.

[He murmurs, head tilted into Hythlodaeus's hand as his ears slowly begin to relax.]

You would not have agreed with the things we did. Following me would have changed you, as certainly as Zodiark's influence would have-- they would have hurt you, and you would become a different person if you allowed them. If you were to stay with me despite them.

[Hythlodaeus, he's sure, would have hesitated at the extreme measures they took. He thinks perhaps he'd have found more in those shards that was recognizable as a former part of home, perhaps balked more at the enormity of their destruction.]

It was an unfair exchange, still. To lose you for those millenia-- I hesitate to agree that it was meant to be. But to have you returned, here and now...

[His hold on Hythlodaeus tightens slightly, and through their bond... well. It's impossible to miss the possessiveness accompanying it, the clear but unsaid feeling that Hyth is his.]

( And there it is.

Perhaps Emet-Selch doesn't even really realise he's given himself away — perhaps he's spent too long around people who couldn't possibly hope to understand him — but Hythlodaeus knows this man as well as he knows himself. Better, possibly, no matter the millennia that separate them. )

Is that what's been keeping you from me?

( Hythlodaeus holds him a little closer, letting himself guide their embrace for all his weakened state. Possessiveness melts through their bond to warm him low in the pit of his stomach, and he rubs his fingers against Emet-Selch's ears as he searches those golden eyes. )

You think yourself a shadow of who you once were?

No.

[Not quite. He is himself, for all that has happened-- he's clung to his sense of self even when he might be best served letting it go.

Even so-]

I am, and have always been, myself. Yet- I am aware that I have not remained unchanged. That I am not the man you once knew, not in full.

Well, then. You should count yourself fortunate that I want nothing more than to know the man you are now.

( He replies, as his expression lifts into another of his smiles - albeit tired around the edges. One hand reaches up to brush a few locks of short brown hair back away from Emet-Selch’s face: )

Will you let me?

( He won’t remember that day on Elpis where he’d come up with a plan to encourage Emet-Selch to led Hermes a hand, but that doesn’t mean the same tactics won’t work again.

Hythlodaeus’s lashes lower, and his voice softens as he implores his dearest friend: )

Please, Emet-Selch.

[-ugh. He still knows him all too well-- knows there's no way he can turn down such an earnest request from Hythlodaeus, just as he knows this is Hythlodaeus's way of saying he's not going to back down on the matter.

There's a relief in it, a brief wash of it through their bond, even as he grumbles:]

Oh, must you?

[But his ears only lie flat for a moment, giving away the feigned irritation.]

-fine. I suppose if you are certain you're willing, there's little I can do to dissuade you.

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