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His fingers slowly unmake her. Layer by layer he peels away the clothing, strips her from all the heavy burdens and grandiose titles until she is nothing more but a filthy savage. An imperfect, broken reflection of a once beautiful soul. Even seven times rejoined she is still severely lacking - what better example than the light pouring through the cracks in her heart and oozing out of her skin like a deadly poison? It curls around her limbs, bright and suffocating. She may not see it the way he does, but she most definitely feels it. He can observe how she moves her fingers over invisible, intricate patterns on her naked shoulders. She eyes them with interest, not fear. Emet-- No, Hades, can’t help but wonder when did she start feeling so comfortable with them, with him.
Silently, they sit in a bathtub. Every now and then she splashes around a bit, watches how a handful of water flows through her fingers, while having the most mesmerized expression on her face. With the pale petals floating around them and the calming smell of lavender oil it almost feels like the world around her is not falling apart at the seams. Even for all that he has seen in his prolonged lifetime, it might be the most bizarre scene. The one who was once glorified as the Warrior of Light, or darkness if you will, accepted the pity he extended towards her. She came to him with shattered faith and he let her in like he promised he would. Hiding within the darkness of Amaurot like a rat, scrambling through the massive streets to say her final goodbyes to the shadows of the past. She knew he would let her spiral into madness, let her bend and break as she would usher in another calamity of his design and yet she accepted it with a smile. In fact, he has never before seen her so… peaceful.
She touches his leg with a foot and he twitches as the water rises around his calf. There is a quizzical look on her face when he looks up, followed by that little head tilt she does whenever greatly confused. His brow furrows even more than usual, golden eyes reluctantly moving away from her form and towards the window overlooking silent streets of the haunting replica. He has no intention of sharing his most intimate thoughts with this hollow shell of a former friend. Even if he were to try and make her understand the complexity of his emotions, where does one even begin expressing the internal turmoil, the conflict burning within ever since she laid her all too familiar eyes upon him? No, it’s easier to just swallow the bitter words, accept the reality. She will soon become nothing more than the tool of destruction and this world, this reflection of his past, this bath, all of it will be swallowed by light.
All of the sudden he can feel her wet fingers threading through his locks, nails scraping against his scalp in a calming motion, almost as if she could sense his distress. And maybe she really could. Some semblance of recognition flashes through her eyes, for a moment it’s so palpable as though it is Azem themself staring at him. They are dotting on him again, as they always used to after a long day hard at work. In these rare moments both of them would lay in the safety of their shared space, far away from the buzz of the city and heavy responsibilities. They would find repose in each other, him more than them - beyond all the jokes and warm smiles Azem always seemed like this untouchable, unbreakable entity always there to take care of him. He can almost hear Hythlodaeus scolding them, claiming they indulge Emet-Selch far too much. ‘Mark my words my friend, you will spoil him rotten!’ What is it they answered then? They-- She, she blinks and the moment is gone.
― What is it? ― she asks, messing with the white strand of his hair.
― What is it indeed. ― His voice is sour, much like his face, when he nearly spits these words at her playful smile ― What is all this nonsense, what do you wish to accomplish with this charade and what in the seven hells are you doing to my hair? There are a lot of what’s here, my dear, and since you so generously decided to speak up for once, you might as well bother yourself to answer them.
She snorts and as he eyes her it becomes apparent that she is trying her best to hold in a giggle. It’s definitely not the first time she seems to find amusement in hearing him speak and yet he still cannot fathom what it is she thinks so funny. And the face he made in response? Oh, it must have been truly hilarious because it takes her only a moment to burst into a warm, genuine laugh. While he cannot claim to hate the sound, he suddenly feels overwhelmed by this lack of any distance between them - both physically, as she is almost laying on top of his chest, as well as mentally. It’s just not right. He shouldn’t be having these moments, not when this giggling mess of a broken being is the key to bringing back his fallen compatriots. The ones that were not there to see the world saved from the end. Both as Emet-Selch and Hades he made a promise - it was an oath he couldn’t break and a worldview he couldn’t discard. Not even for the fleeting feeling of something so close to home.
Angered greatly by her antics as well as his own thoughts, the man swiftly catches her chin in between his slender fingers applying only a little pressure to tilt her head towards him. She puts up no fight, in fact her body almost slacks in his grip as though leading her was exactly what she wanted.
― Riddle me this, warrior. What purpose does it serve? Do you intend to mock me? Change my mind perhaps and make me pity you? You think if you try hard enough I will spare you and yours out of some newfound kindness of heart--
― You really think me so naive? I know your intentions full well by now, the strength of your resolution even better. I’ve fought my share of ascians after all. There is nothing I can say or do to make you stray from this path of insanity. And besides... ― Her fingers sink just an inch under the water surface, playing around with the small waves and the petals that get caught in the miniscule maelstrom that she creates. ― No fight left to fight. No life left to live. Whatever can a damaged puppet like myself do? You said it yourself - I’m nothing more than a liability to them now. The biggest kindness I can offer is to spare them the sight of my, ah, fall from grace. In the meanwhile… I might as well enjoy the lesser things. I think I earned it.
He blinks once, blinks twice. Never in his life would he imagine to see her, the beacon of hope for not one but two shards, so flippant about her death and the chaos that will ensue after. It was as though she has truly given up on anything she has ever stood for, the determination that has carried her throughout all these numerous hardships fully burned out. She is allowing him a glimpse into all the suffering of hers and the others she has diligently carried throughout the years. If only he could truly look beyond his deeply rooted prejudice, he might just discover a tiny speck of sorrow. In the back of his mind he feels a seed of doubt, a little thought that she never deserved what he put her through and maybe never even wanted the mantle in the first place. Much like Azem. Too much like Azem. He immediately cuts the train of thought there, knowing how dangerously close he is to the edge.
― So this you consider your reward? A bath with your executioner within the imaginary walls of a city that ceased to exist long before you were even a measly concept? Ludicrous. Truly, some would say the famed warrior has lost her mind! ― he says mockingly, trying to hide his moments of hesitation.
― Oh, I’ve lost much, much more than just that, Emet-Selch. But I think you know it already. Now, all this talk made me weary. ― She gets up and stretches like a coeurl, her eyes closed and jaw clenches like she is holding something in, again. If he looks closely enough he can almost see the tears that threaten to spill.
It takes her a few lazy movements to get out of the tub and as she’s patting down her wet skin with a warm towel he finds himself entranced with her every movement. Not for any disgraceful reason, however. No, for the first time Emet-Selch takes in the sight of all of her scars. Ones that he might have caught a glimpse of on earlier occasions and then those he had never seen - and there were many. She was almost like a book the blind could read, peppered with roughened patches telling the story of her rise, her victories and the inevitable fall. Then he observes the blinding light still swirling in patterns against her naked skin. But there is something different about it now. Instead of being this suffocating presence engulfing her entire being, this constant reminder of failure, she is now bathed in it. It’s almost like a sign of ephemeral purity of the true Warrior of Light laid bare. His breath hitches in his throat, but he does his best to cover it up with annoyance as she turns around, now fully clothed and with a tried smile.
― So? Will you oh so magnanimously fullfill my wish to the end? You could show me around the town, tell some stories? Now now, don’t look so grumpy. I won’t bother you much longer. It will be my time to… Depart, soon enough.
Emet-Selch can feel the vibration of foreign footsteps traveling nervously through the dark streets of Amaurot and somehow he knows she does too. Without a doubt they must belong to the jolly company that warrior likes to keep around and he is quite sure they will not leave without a fight. And what a fight they will get, once all is said and done! He is not sure whom to pity more, her or her friends. For now he will let them wait, the city has a number of intricacies to keep them occupied. He has a promise to keep, one that he silently swears to uphold no matter what. To the end, until he can no longer recognize her shape.
― Very well ― he says waving his hand, but as he emerges from the barely lukewarm water, he seems to hear her mumble. His head instantly snaps up to meet her gaze, but she is no longer looking at him. Her eyes are settled over his shoulder, looking through the big window straight to a fairly unremarkable plaza. A few shades move around aimlessly like the simple reflections he made them to be. What is it that she finds so fascinating about this empty patch of a memory, he wonders. Is it her friends he underestimated? Did they make their way through the elaborate traps and many antagonistic creatures crawling around the streets? Gods damn this black mage stray with her eyes. Suddenly he hears the warrior speak up again and this time the words and the message they carry is clear as the day, leaving him frozen in his movement.
― Remember me, Emet-Selch. Remember that I once lived.
The skin of her cheek snaps, like glass breaking underneath pressure.