[Ze offers a shrug that Emet is unlikely to see, bundled as he is and situated as they are. His tutor's passion notwithstanding, while he's not a care for the actual people involved he's a gift for names and faces- as burdensome a talent as that may be. Sometimes it avails him, others- it is a curse.
Had Emet made mention of his thoughts, (for which he could surely never do lest he reveal his game,) Ze would have reminded him of the near fanatic reverence the Empire's citizens seemed to hold of their royalty. That to even make mention of their emperors in even remotely negative a fashion would be akin to sacrilege. For an irony, Ze notes that despite Garlemald's revilement of primals, somehow they yet remain the more zealous of the lot.
Still, as they walk, Ze cannot help but think the stranger at his side knew both the Emperor and his son personally. It was not so long ago, of course, and if Emet is the nobility he believes him to be then that would hardly be unexpected. Yet even so, there is a melancholy to his words that ill-befits one who is not yet wholly consumed by wrinkles and a greying head of hair. (A start, certainly, but he's not unconvinced that it might merely be a fashion statement. Garleans are as vain as they are stoic.)] He was as much a man as any of us- [his words border on blasphemy, to even imply as such] was he not? That is hardly unexpected, then.
[And he shrugs again, ears unknowingly sinking as they near the heart of the capital- betrayed by an unmoving face.] You lot are entirely too reverent of men as mortal and frail as any of us.
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Had Emet made mention of his thoughts, (for which he could surely never do lest he reveal his game,) Ze would have reminded him of the near fanatic reverence the Empire's citizens seemed to hold of their royalty. That to even make mention of their emperors in even remotely negative a fashion would be akin to sacrilege. For an irony, Ze notes that despite Garlemald's revilement of primals, somehow they yet remain the more zealous of the lot.
Still, as they walk, Ze cannot help but think the stranger at his side knew both the Emperor and his son personally. It was not so long ago, of course, and if Emet is the nobility he believes him to be then that would hardly be unexpected. Yet even so, there is a melancholy to his words that ill-befits one who is not yet wholly consumed by wrinkles and a greying head of hair. (A start, certainly, but he's not unconvinced that it might merely be a fashion statement. Garleans are as vain as they are stoic.)] He was as much a man as any of us- [his words border on blasphemy, to even imply as such] was he not? That is hardly unexpected, then.
[And he shrugs again, ears unknowingly sinking as they near the heart of the capital- betrayed by an unmoving face.] You lot are entirely too reverent of men as mortal and frail as any of us.
[Definitely heresy.]