Work Text:
Closer to the Sun
Hades reached up at the horizon, towards the everlasting expanse of the Aetherial Sea. With each pass and pinch of his hand, little stars that were the souls of the dearly departed returned to the great band and some cycled in, maintaining a balance in the population of the world, never growing more than due, but never shrinking beyond needed. A fair and just balance that he was content to look on and embrace, and one of the most beautiful sights he ever laid eyes on. Well… He was until cold hands snaked and scraped over the nape of his neck, causing him to tense and shiver as his eyes were strewn shut in annoyance. “Azem!”
“Oh, sorry, Hades,” they chuckled and began to kneel next to him, swaying gently in tune with the breeze. “I wanted to surprise you with my return.”
“Did you now?” He grumbled and began to adjust his red mask, since it nearly fell off his face from the movement.
“Oh? Did a certain someone get a promotion and neglect to tell me?” They inquired and leaned in with a teasing grin.
“You would have known sooner if you didn’t leave home so often, you know,” he grumbled and dismissed them with a wave of his hand.
“Oh, come now, Hadeeeeeeees,” they drawled as they began to mock pout from their black and red mask. It was clear they had yet to change back to the customary robes of Amaurot, and was instead dressed in black leathers and cloth, suitable for travel… or combat. Ever the rebel, Hades thought, as they adjusted the mask just enough to see freckles dotting their otherwise pristine skin.
“Cheeky little…”
“Ah, ah! Watch your tongue around the children, or I’ll tell Hythlodaeus,” they teased before running off, beckoning for him to come and chase after them. Why, you..-!
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“Emet-Selch?” He heard a voice not unfamiliar to his ears as the astral blue of their aether glittered behind his eyelids. Such a bittersweet dream, he mourned as his tired eyes fluttered open and saw the Warrior of Darkness leaning over him, wreathed in a halo of golden amber light.
“Are you to be the eclipse to the sun?” he mocked as his surly face jabbed pointedly with large expressive eyes.
“What?” They blinked and looked upwards. “I don’t see any sun to eclipse. Do you?”
He snorted bitterly and shook his head. “Of course you don’t. Well, is there any reason for you to interrupt my napping?”
“Well…” They pursed their lips and scratched at their chin, an expression that was near nostalgic to the ascian. “You look uncomfortable napping somewhere that hard and crooked.”
“Is that so…” He drawls, his voice already thick with sleep and bemusement.
They sighed and shook their head, crossing their arms. “Alright. You can complain later about how much your back hurts, or you get up and come with me to use my bed and actually get a decent nap.”
This perplexed the Ascian in question, furrowing brows and a pensive scowl marred his features. “Why are you offering comfort to your sworn enemy, hmm? Don’t you and your pesky little companions prefer a being such as I in a poor state?”
They snorted. “They might. I don’t. Come on, you offered a truce, and I’m going to honor it.” The warrior extended their hand, smiling that same carefree smile Azem did. Well, a pallid form of that warmth and mirth, anyway, as he took it and stood, looking at them in the eye and scrutinizing them. It was a shame that the wretched blessing of Light is now intermingling with the light from the Wardens, slowly starting to tear the pieces at the seams that were so carefully reconstructed before with each rejoining. He would have to think quickly on how to save this malformed shadow of his dearly departed friend… if they were even a shadow salvageable.
-
They eventually arrived at the warrior’s suite in the Pendants, the elf attendant there raising a brow but wisely keeping mute of the company they kept. The room was rather plain and homely compared to the many palaces the ascian had a hand in creating over the eons, even in the time before magic. Though there was no magic before the first Calamity, it was all too easy to crumble their world with capitalist greed. Each time became easier, as science, technology and more aether poured into the world. Not that the warrior before him would care, all things considered. Better to leave some information without if possible to stay in their good graces.
“Here. The bed's over there, and there’s some towels and bathrobes if you want a bath, too.”
He frowned and snorted as they made their way to their desk. “And what do you plan on doing while I do so, hmm?”
“What I always do,” the warrior replied as they sat firmly in the chair and pulled out a worn out journal, along with pen and ink.
Emet-Selch snorted and rolled his eyes as he sauntered over to the bed and laid down on his back. “What, remark on the flavor of stones?”
“Hey, that’s scientific research!”
“Of course it is,” he scoffed and rolled so that his back was turned away from them. First the prattling about meaningless things such as geology, then the studious intent with which their focus remained. The scratching of quill on the page was not dulled even with the wetness of the ink, only given haste of some sort. It was continued, droning on in a cursive drone, but that did little to tame the irk laden in his brow. Even the rhythm in which they wrote was a pale comparison to them, to the true owner of that very soul. It bothered him greatly that even after all these eons, they were still there… incomplete and utterly sickened. No, he refused to hope. Hope is meaningless. It was all a trick designed by Hydaelyn to continue his torment. And yet…
He looked over his shoulder and saw how the moonlight filtered through the window, pale and wan, but so delicate as it softly contoured the warrior’s features. Cheeks scratched and marred from harsh terrain and combat smoothed and became soft under the light, and hair that had been scorched by light and flame, one way or another, seemed healthy and enriched in nutrients. Strangely, that was the moment that with the pensive, distracted gaze, they looked less like the person who brought so much ruin to carefully laid plans and more like a scholar of eld…But that was preposterous. No scholar would willingly bloody their hands. (Azem did.) They would be at the very least censured, and to soil the ground with something as precious as life is unthinkable. (And yet we did so.)
The object of his observations sighed and pushed the journal away, pouring the pot of tea into their cup and took a slow sip. “Rather exhausting, isn’t it? Being judged on the basis of who you are and regarded as only a tool for destruction.” They looked at him directly then, shrugging their shoulders. “I didn’t hear your breath even into sleep.”
“How can I, with all the scratching?” he retorted indignantly.
“Right. You slept through my combat drills just fine at that same tree and it was just as droning.” They pushed themself from their desk and stood, striding to him with much less of the confidence they fronted among their peers in the Scions, and more as someone with the weight of the world on their shoulders. Not unlike himself. (I refuse to admit that.)
“So, since you’re not sleeping, and I can’t really fall asleep easily, may as well pass the time doing something more productive.”
Emet-Selch wrinkled his nose in disgust and turned over, his right arm posturing himself on his other side as his left hand hovered over his abdomen. “And what, pray tell, is more productive?”
“Getting to know each other better, so we can see eye to eye.” They pulled a chair over and sat next to the bed, giving the Ascian ample space to feel comfortable. “Do you want to start first, or should I?”
This perplexed Emet-Selch. In all the eons he has lived among the Sundered, very few bothered to befriend one of his own, let alone wanted to entreat with him. “What, so you could mock us and use whatever information against us?”
They shook their head. “When I meet new potential allies, I always ask for information, so I can better greet them and make them more at home with me. I’m the stranger in their culture more often than not, so it’s better to not be rude.”
(Just like Azem to say that…) “I see. Is this your way of admitting ignorance? How paltry.”
“It’s at least honest. For example, I’d like to know why you wear masks as a rule, and why you don’t actually wear one among us.” They took a bite from an apple on the table, and grimaced at the taste.
Emet-Selch made no comment at the grimace, knowing full well that this was part of the taint of the Wardens’ Light causing the change in their sense of taste. “Well, in our culture, it was to identify ourselves from the other. Our unique trait of expression, as your hair and clothes do now. All of us wore clothes that removed the distinguishing markers of appearance, as to not create dissent among our people, so our signature, as it were, are our masks and our aether.”
“I see,” they said thoughtfully, as they made another attempt to eat the apple. “Must be nice, not having to worry about how haggard you looked to others.”
“Oh, we could tell quite well when someone is ill without needing to see the entirety of their face or how poorly groomed their hair was.” He smirked as the warrior frowned, as if he had spoiled a good plan. “But it did serve as a way to also make people feel safe. There was no discrimination based on race nor sex, and neither bore any ill will amongst the peoples. It was true equality.”
They palmed around the apple between both hands, deep in thought. “But what changed?”
The man before them frowned and let out a weary sigh, turning his head. “The Sound did, and it resonated deeper within the Echoes of our very souls, and corrupted the aether and everything with it. But enough of that, for it is long ago, and you promised exchange. So tell me, where did you pick up the habit of writing on pages?”
They smiled then, relieved to have some sort of breakthrough with the man. “I noticed that memories began to fray here and there early in my adventures, so if I wanted to keep note of something I learned, or for a tale I want to tell should I ever have children of my own, I want to keep a record, so they don’t get too lost. Foolish, I know, with how often I get whacked in the head, but it works. And, well…” Their gaze flittered down to the apple again, and the smile dropped. “It means they’re still alive, somewhere, even if it is just my memories.”
It was then that Emet-Selch noticed the shift in their aether, the taint of grief and other emotional scars weighing hard on the pallid fragment of Azem. (No, not you too. Curse your Mother for bringing you into this mess.) “Well, had your Mother not deigned Herself to devour the memories of those within the Underworld, you surely could have had a final goodbye. Alas, she rather keep lies and secrets hidden from view, so as to never have them unearthed from your gaze.”
The warrior nodded, and lifted up their gaze. “Yeah. I don’t exactly fault your bitterness. Part of me is quite bitter about some of the grief I had to endure because of her, even if I don’t trust Zodiark either.”
(Just like you to say that. How I wished we listened to your initiative and protests.)
“May I remind you that Lord Zodiark was the reason my world was saved?”
“At the cost of eating people’s lives. Though, then again, Hydaelyn did eat their lives, too, so it’s not like she is any different.”
It was then the Ascian’s turn to frown. They doubted their own Mother? Oh, how utterly ironic. “How so?”
It took a pregnant pause before their lips parted once more, and it was then they lifted their gaze, eyes gleaming with emotions unsaid, as if they were carrying the pain of a thousand lives. “They didn’t need to die. Haurchefant, Ysayle, Minfilia, Papalymo… Hells, even Tsuyu deserved a kinder fate, even if her counterpart tormented an entire country. Ilbert didn’t need to die either, and his desperation to save his people and forcing himself to become a primal born of hatred made it even worse. Life is needlessly cruel as it is, and all this tragedy…” They loosed a shaky breath as the rest of their body followed suit. “Sometimes, it is more than I can take, but they rather I remained silent, for I was their Warrior of Light. Their Weapon of Light. I hate it. I hate it so much that I cannot tell them to shove it and let me rest. And yet, they need me.”
It was then the furrow turned into an icy glare. “And they think themselves so different from us Ascians. Truly, the side of Light is also filled with such drivel. It’s maddening.” The venom of bitterness coated his tongue then, knowing full well how both sides had twisted the two into perfect weapons for each side’s weaknesses. Was there truly no escape for them, after all this time? (You shouldn’t have to be a hero for everyone, Azem.)
He sat up then, and cupped the warrior’s cheek, wiping away at the tear that fulfilled its threat of leaving its prison. “Weary Wanderer, you should rest.” (You’re still You.)
“There’s only one bed, and it’s rather awkward to make you leave.” (Stupid. Stupid, stupid, stupid-)
“I am the guest and I say there is room for more than one here. Come. You should rest, my dear.”
They nodded and got up, moving the chair aside. “Let me change clothes first. Rather poor choice to go to sleep uncomfortable in armor.” (You could sleep naked, for all I care. Just let me hold you.)
Emet-Selch slumped back into the bed and waited as the warrior’s figure dipped behind a dressing screen and got undressed. Had this been Amaurot, this would have caused a scandal upon scandals. (Not that it mattered, considering we already consummated before out of wedlock multiple times without risking getting censured.) It did please him, though, that this incarnation chose a body quite close to the original, many of the dips and curves of the silhouette achingly familiar behind the screen, and promptly taken away as they redressed in what he assumed to be some sort of flimsy assortment of casual attire and undergarments.
When the warrior approached the bed, they gave him a wry smile. “Now you’re overdressed,” they joked half heartedly as they crawled into a space in the mattress and gave him ample space. He rolled his eyes just as half-heartedly, and snapped his fingers, changing the attire he wore to something akin to what his present sleeping companion wore. “Better?”
“Much.” They curled up to their side and faced him, finally getting the chance to study his face clearer. Had there always been that faint shadow of violet and magenta within his eyes? So that’s their Tempering mark… (Zodiark help me, you have the same studious, deep gaze.)
“Will you be requesting anything else, or is it fine to turn off the light now?”
“...You can turn them off. Just don’t leave me here alone.”
“Afraid of the dark, are we?” He snorted and playfully smirked as he snapped his fingers, snuffing out candle and lamp alike.
“No. I’m…” they trailed off and paused, their voice sounding much smaller, much frailer then. “I’m more frightened about being alone.”
Oh. Oh no. (You mean you died alone..?)
He hummed noncommittally as covers were pulled over both their bodies, not that he really needed the cover before. “Alright. I will stay ‘til morn.”
“Thank you,” he heard softly after a while, and even longer he heard the soft breathing from uneven sleep. It was then he finally dared to brush his aether against theirs, mingling with it, and taking a soft caress of a taste. There were cracks in their soul, and they were starting to run deep. Not even Azem’s abundant aether at this level of strength should be capable of carrying the burden this far, but here they were. He could only pray, even within the shackles of madness he was bound to, that there was a way for them to finally be saved, even if it meant twisting himself into the villain everyone else saw him as. (I love you. You left before I could say it one more time. I love you. I love you. I love-)
“Azem… What have you done?” he whispered softly at the sheer horror of watching the one he loved most, the one he resisted falling for once again, be at the precipice of their own doom.