Archive of Our Own ^beta

Takes place after resurrecting Y’shtola.

“Why did you do it?”

Eyes of molten gold swam with a myriad of emotions as they raked over the Warrior lazily.

“Why not?” A shrug. Feigning aloofness once more, it seemed. His eyes betray the raven-haired sorcerer, seething in a poorly hidden concoction of emotions. Though well-crafted, his wall was weary and full of cracks within its surface, wont to becoming rubble in the Warrior’s palms. They sought the light flickering beneath; its amber glow wafting through the surface. The Warrior saw through him. They always had.

“I don’t understand,” tail flicking behind them crossly, they study the man with added scrutiny. “This goes directly against your… goals? Unless you are vastly underestimating her.” Narrowing their eyes, they grimace. “I cannot for the life of me understand your game. You know she is our greatest asset, due to her aetherial sight. And yet…”

Pinching his nose between a thumb and index finger, Emet-Selch sighs in what he hopes comes across as only mock irritation. At this point, he could hardly wager a guess. “Because there is no game, and she is no gambit. Is it so hard for you lot to believe that I simply wished to aid you in your pitiful plight?” He snorts, crossing his arms. “Would it be more believable if I told you I merely despised the pathetic look of brokenness, the melancholy that blanketed your visage?”

The Warrior flinches at his venomous tone, blinking back the slight sting in the corner of their vision. Seemingly aware of this, he softens.

An honest mistake.

“My words earlier were no bluff. I truly sympathized with your loss. You may choose to believe whatever you wish, but I assure you – I have been ever truthful with you.”

Pondering this, the Warrior finds the dandelions at their feet most interesting. Counting their plumes one by one, silently praying a wish, they consider him wholly. “Then… you truly believe I am lesser than you? That we are broken?” Throat cracking with anticipation, the corner of their vision reveals Emet-Selch raising both arms in mock horror, furthering the Warrior’s rage.

“That we are nothing?” Anger left over from the light boiling just underneath their skin, they return his earlier venom with a vengeance. No sorrows left to spare after the emotions of the day swirled into a foul concoction.

Genuine shock paints his features at the strength of their outburst for a split second, unnoticeable to the Warrior as he collects himself in record time. Straightening his shoulders, clearing his throat, he toys with his left cuff- a rare display of awkwardness that was almost so eerily uncharacteristic of the Ascian that it left the Warrior blinking dumbly at the oddity. “Ahem. Perhaps you mistook that meaning,” he begins, and is interrupted.

“What is there to possibly mistake? You made yourself quite clear,” they scowl, snorting in disbelief.

“Must we always resort to an argument? It is as if you are hellbent. Reasons or no, the deed was still done.”

The Warrior crosses their arms, leaning their weight against one hip slowly, eyes darting about, calculating him as if he were a complex algorithm the Allagans had once solved.

“Alright, then.” He stills to return his gaze to the Warrior slowly, sternly, their breath catching in their throat at the sudden depths the molten gold pools contained. “Allow me to correct that blunder. You, yourself, as an individual- could never be any less to me. I merely refer to the state of soul, that we-”

“You are dodging the question,” the Warrior hisses, teeth bared fully, tail lashing wildly in defiance. “I care not for your honeyed words, especially when they are so blatantly insulting.”

He rolls his eyes and attempts to hide his wry half-smile. “That was meant to be anything but an insult, my dear.” As expected, he fails, and contracts more of the Warrior’s ire.

“You will not refer to me as such.” Turning their body away from the man and towards the woods, boots gripping the forest floor vines in angry stomps, they begin their trek away from him, huffing in an almost childlike manner. It takes every ounce of Emet-Selch to refrain from laughing openly at their silly demeanor.

Until he realizes his Warrior is not turning back around.

Lurching forward suddenly, he grips their arm then with a fierce glare of determination, surprising them both. “Wait.”

Furrowing a brow, they move their shoulders in a forward motion, as if to say ‘get on with it, then.’ Golden eyes close tightly as he draws in a deep breath, as if recalling something. He tightens his grip, and the Warrior shivers with nostalgia, an odd scent of lavender and apples washing over them. When he returns from his reverie, his ochre depths burn with a renewed fire that frightened the Warrior in their intensity, lashes fluttering slightly. “You…” He hesitates, hot breath far too close to their cheekbones for the Warrior’s liking.

Realizing words had failed him during a critical moment, he quickly pulls the arm he held towards his torso, aligning their chests together in a motion smooth as silk.

Tensing from the sudden intimacy, the Warrior freezes. Weaving their locks through his fingers, he makes one last attempt to soothe them in the only way he ever could.

Internally, the Warrior’s thoughts screech to a halt with a resounding thud. Wills clashed viciously inside of them, two powerful coeurls locked in a snarling stalemate, yellowing teeth peeking over marred lips in a grotesque manner inside their mind.

Emet-Selch pulls their head flush against his chest, and one coeurl goes for the jugular. Dripping scarlet drops down its throat as he cranes his neck forward slightly to rest his chin upon their head with a soft, forlorn sigh. Tail tucked beneath its hind legs, what was left of the Warrior’s inner monologue fades into the recesses of their mind; forgotten with the presence of what felt most familiar; their defenses successfully worked down into rubble and dust.