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"Well, isn't this a bit awkward?"
The Warrior of light balked at the scene. 'Would it hurt for him to be a little less smug?!' She pinched the bridge of her nose, desperately grasping for an idea that might help the situation as it was... She had come back from the Source to the First, only to enter through the portal... hand-in-hand with Emet-Selch, who they all believed very much dead. Of course, in front of the two were her companions in arms. All of them. As the tall man besides her shrugged, a much too proud smirk on his lips, she wondered if this was yet another "joke" from the fates.
'Gods, why must you test me every moment of every day?'
Of course, Emet-Selch wouldn't approve of her believing in the existence of gods, given his revelation that Zodiark and Hydaelyn were but creations of the original star's people. Though that thought, in and of itself, was odd. For her to consider the feelings and ideas of the man whom she, in fact, had struck down. Nevermind that she and him had yet to have a truly proper conversation, but there they were...
"What in the Seven Hells..." Alphinaud began, reaching for his grimoire just as the rest of the Scions reached for their weapons. Even G'raha Tia, who looked as pale as he had when his wounds were grave (caused by the man who was holding her hand at the moment), gripped his staff...
Oh, she needed to act fast.
"Ah, please..." she began, waving a hand (only one as Emet-Selch seemed far too content in keeping her other hand locked in his, try as she might to remove it). "This isn't..."
"What?" The Ascian's gold eyes gave a sidelong glance at her, mischief in his eyes. "Oh, please, my dear. This is certainly what it looks like."
She tried to glare at him, but it faded as his lips quirked into a smile. Infuriating bastard.
"What... Did he just call you 'dear'?!" Thancred yelled out, his finger hovering dangerously on the trigger of his gunblade. Inwardly, she wanted to roll her eyes. Emet-Selch, of course, didn't even bother to hide it. He did roll his eyes.
"Oh, for mercy's sake," she yelled, grabbing a hold of the Ascian's arm. Looking at her friends, she gave a plaintive smile. "I promise to explain later, but now is not the time..."
And she dashed, dragging Emet-Selch with her, speeding past the bewildered gazes of those who had fought by her side for so long. Bursting into the streets of the Crystarium, she headed straight towards the Pendants and, thus, her private chambers in the city. Slamming the door shut behind her, she made quick work of the lock, and breathed out. For a moment, she rested her temple against the doorframe.
"Hm!" Emet-Selch turned around the room, obviously scanning the various furniture and decorations in the place. "Well, isn't this nice. Your Exarch really spared no expense for your comfort, did he?"
For her part, the Warrior of Light slumped into a chair, a hand to her heart as she tried to calm its erratic beating. She had been so happy that Emet-Selch had lived that she had not considered what she might say to those who had been by her side during her time in the First. She hardly could explain Ardbert's role in helping her overcome her trials in that place, so what was she to do about the Ascian who they all had watched dissipate into aether... not only standing but standing with her? She placed her face in her hands, breathing in deep.
Granted, she didn't really understand what was happening either. She had been so excited at his survival that she had not even thought to question anything other than that he was real. And... and... Her face flushed, remembering his lips on hers in the rift. Oh no. When had she ever let her guard down so?
When she (finally) looked up, she found Emet-Selch's gold eyes gazing intently on her face, his head cocked just a little to the side... and much, much too close. She jolted, almost falling back if it had not been for the Ascian catching her just as swiftly. And... there she was again, in the mercy of his arms as her body pressed against his, her eyes reflected in his.
"My, my," he grinned at her, his voice low--the pitch of his 'public' voice left behind the doors she had closed. "I can hardly tell that you are the same woman who threw a weapon of light threw my chest. Or perhaps I should have foregone polite distance a little sooner...?"
"Y-you...!" She bit her lower lip, trying and failing to be cross with him. She placed her hand against his chest, but stopped there... She could feel his heartbeat even beneath his robes and her voice died in her throat.
"Hm?" Emet-Selch lowered her back onto the long table, placing gloved hands to either side of her face. When he spoke again, she could feel his breath against her skin, the tickle of his bangs against her temple. "Certainly, you are not having regrets now, are you?"
Looking at him, so close, she could see how long his lashes were, a frame to his so very bright eyes. The clasp on his ear caught the light, though, and her eyes turned to the pretty jewel. A simple pearl and gold earring, delicate... and... Suddenly, her vision blurred.
A memory...
-#-
"Hades!" A woman's voice called out. It wasn't exactly the Warrior of Light's, but she knew, somehow, it had come from her lips. Her robes were loose, but comfortable, and she waved a hand to a figure with his back to her. Looking around, they were at the Capital in Amaurot. The figure turned, showing a man with a red mask, though his gold eyes were clear even with the cover, his robes much darker than hers. A smile, lopsided, formed on his lips and he pulled back the cowl, his brown hair contrasted with a small shock of white that nearly fell over one eye. Emet-Selch, as his title had him known as.
He walked to her, his smile widening.
This must have been long before the 'End of Days', the disaster that led to Zodiark's creation.
"Is this where you've been hiding," he began, his voice smooth and soft. "You do know that you should actually come to the Convocation's meetings rather than dilly-dally about?"
She laughed, shaking her head before grabbing his hand, the gesture full of so much warmth and kindness.
"I have always much preferred to act than sit in stuffy rooms," she teased as she led them out into the streets. It was nighttime and the sky was soft with the lamplights around. "Besides, Lahabrea will talk for days if you let him..."
They walked amiably, her hand still in his as she led, stopping only at the small square that held the aetheryte closest to the Capital building. There was a certain peaceful excitement, if that was possible, in her heart and, as she stood under the glow of the aetheryte, she turned to face Emet-Selch. Smiling, she pulled something from a satchel at her waist. A small object wrapped within a soft cloth. Her hands held it out to the man before her, who raised a brow, glancing between her face and the item in her hands. Still, he smiled.
With a soft touch, he pulled his half-mask from his eyes, his countenance the same as it had always been, but with eyes that harbored no loathing, no pain. Just... love.
"Don't tell me..." He half-sighed as his hands unfolded the cloth, his movements as tender and slow as any man could be. His gold eyes widened just a touch and his hands, larger than hers, cupped under her fingers. When she looked... she saw the simple yet perfect pearl, delicate against the gold clasp. "So this is what you were working on..."
"Hythlodaeus had discussed an odd creation he had made, a sea creature that sat at the bottom of the floor," she explained, joy in every word. "that would stay so tightly closed that if earth was trapped in its mouth, it would make jewels! I thought... I thought this might suit you. You always work so hard, Hades..."
"So I am like a clam?" He blinked, looking amused but also intrigued. Teasing.
"No, no," she laughed, gently taking the earring between two fingers, even as her cheeks flushed. "I mean to say that you work so hard that beauty happens whether or not you will it so."
"My dearest..." He sighed, dipping ever so slightly, so that her hands could reach his ear. With a touch, she secured the clasp of the earring, admiring it for a moment as it dangled beneath. Emet-Selch smiled, as well, but his hands drifted to her cheeks. With those hands, he lifted her mask from her face and dipped down, pressing his lips to hers for just one moment. One lingering moment. "I will treasure it forever. I swear it."
...
"I hate you! I hate what you've become!" Her voice again, her hands against a table as she glared at Emet-Selch. "Don't you see? How much more lives will this Zodiark ask for, before he is satisfied? This cannot be the only way!"
He slammed a fist on the table.
"How dare you!" He pointed his finger at her, the same as he had (or would) that evening in the Crystarium, when night had returned to Lakeland. "I do this for you! For all we hold dear and love! We had no choice and you! You walked away from the Convocation when this star was dying and you dare tell me what is right or wrong?!"
Immediately, tears sprung from her eyes, though she remained resolute through the pain.
"I do not ask for your forgiveness, Emet-Selch," she stated, purposefully using his title rather than the name she had always known him by. "It was wrong for me to come here, again. I see that now... and I hope, one day, that you'll see what I do was for you, as well..."
"... What do you mean...?"
She said nothing, only turned away, placing her mask back over her eyes. It pained her, but she knew what must be done. So many lives counted on her... and... yet... she shut her eyes, unable to hold the tears at bay. She could feel him approach but she was out of the room before he had reached her. It would be better, even, if she left him this way. For him to think less of her so that perhaps...
...
"No, no, no..." Emet-Selch held a woman in his arms, her blood seeping into his own robes. Tears glimmered in his eyes and he pressed her lifeless form against his chest, weeping fully now. The Warrior of Light gazed upon the scene, this much more like how she had experienced memories through the Echo before. Still, she had never seen any of his memories before... Not even in the aether-formed city of Amaurot. A ghost of a city that held all the feelings he had harbored for centuries.
A man stepped to Emet-Selch's side. Though she knew not why, she knew it to be Hythlodaeus. The Amaurotine leaned down next to his friend.
"She is gone, my friend." Hythlodaeus placed a dagger on the ground between them, blood still fresh on the blade. "Her life has been given to the one they are calling Hydaelyn. The one meant to cage your Zodiark."
Emet-Selch seethed with rage, his pain and agony only fueling his anger, holding onto the woman still so tightly.
"The fools, the lot of them!" He spat. "Do they even know what they have done?! Everything would have been perfect... Everything would have been as it should have been... As it was... As she was... I would have born all her hate... all her anger... if..."
He stood, cradling the woman's lifeless form. As he gazed upon her face, her eyes shut and her face serene, as if she only were in the deepest of slumbers, he swore that he would do everything in his power, everything, to make it right again. No matter how many eons, he would never forget, never forget his purpose. To make their home as it was.
-#-
Back in the present, she blinked, only belatedly feeling the tears on her cheeks. The Warrior of Light gazed up, still somehow shocked to see Emet-Selch above her, he watching her so very closely. His face was stoic, his eyes inquisitive. So, Hythlodaeus' phantom had been right. Not that she had a reason to question the apparition, but now she had seen it with her own eyes, at least as much as it were possible.
Surprisingly, Emet-Selch only brushed his thumb against her cheek, wiping away the tears. He knew.
"In the space between life and death, I wondered if what I had seen was real." His fingers, even gloved, left such a heat as he made an outline from the corner of her eye and down to her chin. "I refused to believe until the very end, after all. It was too much to bear, the thought that I would have watched you die, yet again. How many thousand times had I glimpsed your soul in some hero, only for that hero to give their life for those who could never deserve that sacrifice.
"And so, I rationalized that if I were to test you and found you wanting, it would be proof enough that you were still lost to me, a fractured reminder of a loss that had been burning in my heart for eons. A torture inflicted again and again by Hydaelyn's accursed blessing... And yet, even as you prevailed again and again, I refused again and again. A product of my tempering by Zodiark, I suppose..."
It was her turn to bring her fingers to his face. She had never touched his skin before, not like this--and she knew that every curve, every angle was familiar. A past she had not been privy to, not until the fates had intervened in what would have been such a simple victory. Her tears began anew, but the pain was overrun by relief. Whatever was to happen now, she could not predict, but at least he lived. Another chance at reclaiming a loss that had beget the very history of life as it stood.
"If... If I can ease your pain, the pain of so many lifetimes," she began, still holding him. "I will do anything, anything to ease this burden you have carried for so long. Please, let me do that for you, at the very least..."
"Hmph," he retorted, though his smile returned. "You have always been so infuriatingly heroic. But... very well. It is not as if I can very well deny such a pleasing request."
There was a mischief in Emet-Selch's eyes and she couldn't help but smile, the tears drying as quickly as they had come. And, as natural as the breeze on the wind, his lips lowered to hers, ages upon ages of hope laced in the touch of her skin against his. Perhaps all her pain and hardship, too, had led to this moment... A reunion that she could not have predicted or known, but one that brought so much joy all the same. And, as he gathered her in his arms, she could not be happier.
Never had she ever felt so complete... Though she could not explain it just yet, she didn't care. In this moment, all that mattered was her hand in his, his lips against hers. Her friends' (and even her own) questions could wait.