[Their arrival into Garlemald proper denotes a different type of fanfare.
He bothers not with the frippery or the gilt and the gold- arriving much as he would to any other unknown land- clad in padded armor and with a blade strapped to his back. Nonetheless, the congregation warrants a response of some kind- even if it is merely onlookers who would gaze upon the savage whom is marrying into their vaunted nobility. Their whispers, nor their disdainful gazes, are not missed.
Ze is not particularly offended- for he had never intended to hold a position of affection to these people. The masses will think what they want. Either his actions will change their thinking, or it won't. It is hardly to his benefit to break himself to please their whims.
Alisaie, on the other hand, is wrathful.
"You're going to be their prince. You came all this way for the sake of both of our peoples. It is the least they could do to be respectful." She hisses, clearly unhappy with no clear outlet with which to release her anger. Ze can relate, truthfully, even if he does not respond for knowing it would only fan the flames. Alisaie does not want to be soothed- she wants to be mad and, given all that has transpired to see them there, he is content to allow her to be his temper.
They arrive in proper time, Maxima doing his best to see them in good spirits as they are welcomed by the palace. In no time at all they are greeted and escorted to their quarters, a promise of a bath and dinner to ease them into their first night.
The first true hiccup comes when they attempt to disrobe him after introducing the delegation to their respective quarters. The servants likely mean no ill by it (or perhaps they do) but when the move to take his weapon, the hand he places upon the man's wrist is steel-like.
"No." Is all he says, treating those around him to an uncompromising- if not frightening- stare.
"You cannot be allowed weapons within the presence of-"
"No. The dress, the jewels, the perfumes and silks- you may do as you wish. This, stays." He tone brokers no argument. It has been years since the incident at Ul'dah- a scene of laughter and jewels and merriment. A celebration among purported allies that ended in blood and grief. He has never been without a weapon since and they would require more than those present to see him without- especially in a place where he intends to sleep with an eye open. The point is taken and they leave it alone, even if their gazes speak of disdain.
Eventually he is left to bathe on his own, the blade remaining within reach- even if he can do true damage without it- the sentiment remains and he intends to make his intentions clear. He is here to make peace, but he is not a victim to be encased in a gilded cage.
Following the washing he is pampered in ways that could only be noted as uncomfortable. Lotions and creams and oils to make his hair silky smooth and his skin shiny with health. He fights the urge to squirm when they treat his tail and ears the same, gritting his teeth at the discomfort of the situation and bearing with it until they adorn him in furs and silks that make him feel puffed up and stifled.
Alisaie doesn't bother to hide her smirk when she sees him, succumbing to a fit of giggles- perhaps the first true bit of laughter she's had in days.
"You look ridiculous." Is her remark, evidently she having been spared at least half of his misery. Alphinaud, to his mercy, merely smiles in awkward compliment. Ze echoes her sentiment with an eyeroll.
The days follow much the same as he becomes settled into his new "home." (He worries at how the thought prompts a twinge of unhappiness, swiftly buried and forgotten.) Between the preparations and the instruction for how the ceremony ought to go, Ze finds himself escaping on more than one occasion when there is naught that requires his presence nor his attention. Or, rather, matters that he deems unworthy of his attention. He learns to dance their dances, learns to eat with their manners and even manages to learn a little of their history when all of it would be as boring mummery to him in the past. But he is here to do a task and he is committed to the success of it.
But there are moments when he needs the peace- the freedom he has so willingly given up to secure this truce. He makes for the city when these moods take him, exploring the unknown land with a hood over his ears and a fogged breath buried into heavy gloves. Garlemald is cold- he had known that- he had simply just not known how cold.
And if he should wander a little farther each day, to the very edges of the royal district and then further beyond, who could fault him? He is only curious.
The day before the wedding, when all meaningful preparation is surely completed (to his opinion) and the servants and staff scramble to make the day as perfect as a sham of a wedding can be when he does not even know who is to be his partner, he finds himself at the very edge of the city- staring out at the vast plain of snow with the smoke of ceruleum factories pumping smoke into the air in the distance. He had not thought himself possible of melancholy- not anymore, but perhaps that was arrogance on his part. It is surprising to him to find there is some part of him that truly hopes this will turn out to be a trap. That tomorrow they will spring the steel and gunpower and he can put this farce behind him, for the alternative- years spent masquerading as a royal in this land that would hold him as a political captive- seems hellish. Even moreso when he thinks there will come a time when Alisaie and Alphinaud both will have to leave for their own needs. That the Scions will inevitably have to tend to the needs of the Star and he will be left as alone and trapped as the prisoner he is trying not to think of himself as. Garlemald is interesting. It just isn't where he wants to stay.
He exhales- releasing a fog of white breath into the darkening sky. One more day.]
[ In the passing days, Emet-Selch doesn't do anything at all. There really is no need for him to eat or sleep. Nor is there a reason for him to make his presence known. No, instead he does something that is far more fascinating for him: watching. Oh rest assured, he doesn't actually leave his "bride to be's" side in the waking hours, always hiding out in shadow instead. Hades had observed the Champion here and there, yes, once this plan had been set into motion. Now he lingers at a distance, unseen, to marvel at the reactions.
He sees every set of jaw. Every scowl and frown. Those twitches of fingers and the irritation that this all sparks within. This is a very disgruntled Miqo'te and there is some satisfaction that Emet-Selch derives from it. In fact, he wants to mess with the creature a bit more. There's truly no reason for it other than this would be Her Champion and he would very much like to rub all of this in Her face.
Perhaps that is why he finally comes out of hiding, the day before all of their plans for this hero are finalized. Emet-Selch isn't really impressed by Ze at all. How could he be with someone so mortal? Someone that is only a fraction of who they should be? Yet they can both keep up pretenses. They can go along with this farce readily enough. ]
There is a train station on down the main road, if you are thinking of heading out for the evening.
[ Spoken as if he can tell that this is no Garlean under the hood. Since, well, it would be obvious with the way that this creature shakes and shivers and tries to suppress it. Yet also spoken as someone who is attempting to be a helpful guide! ]
[He stiffens in shock- stiffens in a way he has no business doing considering he has never once dropped his guard while in Garlemald, yet somehow still managed to be surprised by the stranger’s approach. (The shadows ‘neath tired eyes are not there for decoration, dammit.)
Tension bolts like lightning down his spine as he reaches for his blade and turns upon the speaker with all the preparedness of a man in the face of a threat- hood whirling from his face as he does so to expose those ears to the cold.
It’s a Garlean, that much is obvious to his gaze. It is in his height and the way he towers over Ze. It is in the eye upon his brow, denoting a pureblood... but it is his clothes that mark him royalty- the finery of their stitch and the decorations adorning the breast of his coat. Ze had not spent hours upon hours being forced to stare upon the portraits of the royal line all for naught, and it is easy enough to place the decorations and the colorations.
Intriguing, then, for not even Varis had bothered with him- their interactions amounting to at most a distant, passing glance and a scoff. So what should an unnamed royal be doing here upon the outskirts of their precious town, if not for mischief?
Carefully- not having forgotten the skill with which he was taken by surprise- Ze releases the handle of his zweihänder and straightens, though his gaze takes on no less a wary tone.]
…I know. [His tone is careful and withdrawn. He does know, some task or another having taken him that way yesterday. A hesitant pair of lovers fleeing their oppressive parents, if he recalls correctly.] I am where I must be. [He adds as the wind picks up and he flinches for it but stands his ground. It is not the first time he has endured the bitter cold, after all. Garlemald is frozen, yes, so was Coerthas when he had arrived, and he had become accustomed all the same. Ilsabard will not break him.
The man before him, on the other hand...]
You are far from the heart of the city at such an hour. Without even so much as an escort at that. [He remarks, a vague gesture of the hand at the empty streets around them. He cannot sense anyone else, but he begins to wonder if perhaps the cold or exhaustion has dulled him.]
[ Ah the boy is still on his toes. Good, good. He will have to be, to survive in this clime. Emet-Selch is not just thinking about the weather, but the political scene as well. If this one's will i strong then at least the Ascian is to be entertained for a bit of time.
Yet he takes his hand off of his weapon. How quaint. It's true that Hades won't raise a hand to the Miqo'te. Not when things lie in the balance, precariously so. This is meant to be cooperation, after all. A blending of two in hopes of a peaceful resolution for all of this mess. For the benefit of the star! ...At least until the Scions and this Champion pass on an their deeds fade into history. That's what? A few decades at most> ]
"Must be." A pity that where we "must be" is often a far cry from where we would like to be. Personally, I would much prefer to be resting. Yet I often find my much deserved naps interrupted by where I must be.
[ He walks a bit further down towards the main road. Almost as if he is contemplating heading down towards the train himself. ]
Are you not doing the same? Straying so far from the palace without an escort may not end well for you, depending upon the encounter.
[A curious response and one that warrants a baffled tilt of the head.
Ze is not quite sure what to make of that, for the stranger makes it sound as though he has no desire to be here when, seemingly, there are few who can force him to be where he won’t. So why then does he make it seem as if his presence here on the outskirts of the capital is a task? Surely it cannot be to watch him. Some ill-contrived notion of a spy or a bodyguard- not with those adulations.
A test, mayhap. He is forced to consider as the man marches a bit further away, seemingly content to speak on whether or not Ze will listen. A bit of an older royal, that’s for certain, with wrinkles and shadows to proclaim a life full of experiences. Briefly, Ze wonders if he is fit to even be out with the sun dipping below the horizon.]
I am prepared should that be the case. [Is his withdrawn answer as he flicks his gaze to their surroundings once more as he realizes he must make a choice. There are 3 possibilities before him:
The first, that the man is merely that unusual to take a stroll on the very fringes of his family’s territory for the sake of it. Between Varis and Zenos (the actual one,) Ze cannot find it within himself to disregard the possibility. The Garlean royal family is... odd.
The second, it is the very trap he had envisioned. The man is here for a form of violence and has brought with him the means to commit it, though Ze has yet to pinpoint the exact method. It would not be unusual- he is not wholly familiar with Garlemald’s technology and it would not be unheard of for it to get the best of him. Some literal trap to be lured into, one that would incapacitate or render him helpless.
And the third- a political scheme. If the old man is of import- a sire or grandsire to someone notable and he perishes tonight with Ze as his last encounter, it would only spell trouble for the alliance. A means to both end the truce and see him “rightfully” imprisoned. Such underhanded tactics are no stranger to the Empire, after all, for he has not well forgotten Asahi’s ill-attempts and the cold-blooded use of his family to achieve his goals.
Obviously the second and third are of the most concern. If he vanishes, the Empire can claim he ran and resume the war. If he is accused of assassination, it ends much the same.
...he sighs. He hates this.]
‘tis getting late. If naps are your inclination, you are truly in the wrong spot for it. [He makes to follow, boots crunching in the snow as he draws his hood back up to cover the sensitive tips of his ears.]
With your hand so twitchy, ever at the ready to draw your blade? Yes, I am certain you are.
[ He'll not give away the best part. Emet-Selch has no intentions of telling this hero who he is. Who the boy is going to be wed to. Right now it is nothing more than a conversation. A... Getting to know one another, as it were. Is it deception? Oh most certainly. Though Ze already seems to have suspicions. Hades isn't keen on feeding or dissuading any of them.
Instead he seems to stop right at the road, looking beyond it. True to his word, the station is right there. A marvel of a creation. Vehicles and technology found here are beyond what other parts of the world have access to. Many of the contraptions and every day conveniences the rest of the world couldn't even imagine. Truly the Scions and this boy both must be chomping at the bit to see more, despite their grievances.
One outside of Garlemald has truly been inside the main city proper. ]
On that account, you are not mistaken. Would you care to accompany me, if you are not about to take off? I daresay this would be your best opportunity to do so.
[The barb stings little for anyone with sense would know why he’s on his guard, even if there are those who would caution him to not make it so obvious.
More than that, he was not born for luxury- opulence and riches settling as well with him as water to oil. It stifles him much the same as anything in the past few weeks has- suffocating and needless. Not for the first time he thinks one of the others might have been better suited to the task after all, if only for the point of diplomacy. Aymeric would not have struggled so with something as simple as table etiquette and Hien would have likely found worth in their history. (He consoles himself with the fact Lyse would have likely handled it all about as poorly as he is.)
It is those quiet thoughts that mire him in a haze of slowly building depression- the lack of sun in this frozen land hardly helping. It is also not words he can put to voice, for that is not his way and he knows the Twins are worried enough as it is. Only passing messages from the Scions outside and the Alliance beyond are keeping his spirits afloat at this point.
As they come to a halt at the road, he glances once more at the station Emet had made mention of- observing it with as much interest as he had the first time he laid eyes upon it. There is a glimmer of tapered curiosity in his gaze as he inspects it once more- trailing over track and rail. There are no trains at the moment but he had glimpsed them when he had first seen the couple off- had watched it vanish down the line like a metal snake, veiled sunlight glinting off the carriage as it winked away to a place unknown. Unbidden curiosity flares up within his soul and sparks a glow perhaps familiar to Emet-Selch, however muted, but it is swiftly folded back and away as he pulls his gaze from the structure.
Wanting, yes, but remembering his duty. Garlemald has surprised him everyday, but he cannot help but be reminded he would have enjoyed it more were it not a potentially looming cage.
He nods instead to this stranger at his side and falls in-line with them, shuddering once and readjusting the jacket about his shoulders. The weather is practically mild by default but it hardly changes the chill. Suspicion does not leave his gaze but he is already resigned to the matter of having to accompany him.]
You’re beginning to sound eager to see me off. [The remark is mild but the tone is not. As simple a “leave it alone,” as he can make without outright accusing the other of it.]
[ Well if Lahabrea and their other compatriots could follow through on their tasks without their recklessness laying them low, then none of this would be necessary. Emet-Selch could have his rest until the next empire needs to be built and systematically, chaotically torn apart. ]
Not at all. I am merely someone who likes to watch. Regardless of whether you stay or go, I am sure to be given something of a show.
[ He turns at that familiar flicker. Something that is pressing against his soulsight, though he doesn't always use it while in a mortal body. Hades wonders if it is a fluke. A trick of the 'eye.'
Either way, he gives a rather wry smile. ]
You and I both know that you will not leave your companions scrambling around for another solution to this situation. Even if you are able to leave, you will not. Your duty compels you to stay. It binds you here.
[ Emet-Selch only speaks the truth in those moments. Is it a bit mocking? Yes. However, it is the bluntest that he can be at the moment. They are not doing themselves any favors by attempting to fool one another. At least not when it comes to the arrangement that has been made. Ze will not leave and Emet-Selch will do as he is bit for his people. That's just how it is, even if the hero doesn't know that it is this man he will be meeting tomorrow. ]
Now, an answer to my question. Will you accompany me or not? Where I intend to go I imagine you have not been.
[Such words are hardly a reassurance but Ze has a feeling they’re not meant to be. Would that he could find comfort in them instead- that the other is satisfied merely in being a bystander rather than an instigator. That he need not fear his machinations or interference and could enjoy a relatively uneasy truce...
Ah, but that would be far too simple an outcome and such has never been his lot. He scoffs, quietly, but audibly enough and tugs the edges of a breath misted scarf up a touch. ]
You know of me then. [Hardly difficult one would think given he is a Miqo’te walking freely within the heart of Garlemald, but it does raise his suspicions ever so faintly. (Not that they weren’t already incredibly high to begin with.) To have been approached despite of such knowledge in such circumstances seems hardly innocent.
Still, his gaze turns fairly pointed at the mention of an unknown location and curiosity wars with caution. It could be a trap. It could be innocent.
...It’s more likely to be a trap. Everything could be a trap.
He sighs again, hating this never ending bout of overthinking he has been forced to endure.] You might at the very least offer your name before you lead me to Gods know where. [He points out, though he falls in line with Emet-Selch easily enough, arms folded and giving him a look as if to bid him to lead the way.]
It would be remiss of me to not at least know who you are. Generally speaking, a lone Miqo'te meandering about without supervision could only mean one thing. There could only be one such individual which this would be allowed for.
[ Emet-Selch himself is walking back towards the city. More specifically, he is heading towards the residential districts. There is something there that he wants to observe. Fortunately or unfortunately, it won't be a trap.
Just a park, in truth. A park with heated waters that allow for warmth to seep into the surrounding grounds. An installation that has proven to be something for adults and children alike to enjoy in this frigid clime.
As he walks, he raises a hand. Flicks his wrist dismissively. ]
Oh we'll be properly introduced when your fate is bound to another. Allow the mystery to remain a bit longer.
You would not be the first. [Ze feels the need to point out, thinking of several high ranking nobility who had presumed him a second-citizen from the provinces upon seeing his ears and tail. A presumption he had been all too happy to allow them to spare himself their wretched opinions... at least up until their disrespect began to rear its ugly head, anyway, prompting him to take action.
In fairness to himself, passive-aggressive pettiness was the better of the two paths he might take and any complaints that resulted could soundly shove themselves so far up the backsides of their makers that they might never see the light of day again.
(That couple had deserved to have the entire wine decanter emptied over their fronts- appearances be damned. Savage, he would accept. Plaything, he would not.)
It was, among many reasons, why he had begun to wander further and further from the palace. Out here, he at least had the illusion of freedom and solitude. Or had.]
Of relation to Zenos, then. [Ze surmises, as readily accepting of the fact that Zenos- or rather, Elidibus in Zenos’ shape- is as much to be his betrothed as anyone else. Certainly no other has approached him to make themselves known as his fiance and he feels that is something that would happen before the wedding were to take place. If for no other reason than out of curiosity.] I can’t see the resemblance.
[Which is, perhaps, a bit rude but also fairly true.]
Naturally I would think not. However, I would ask that you not lump me in with my other worthless relations. Their tedious little powerplays interest me little.
[ Which is true, to a degree. In the heat of the moment, when he is playing a role, Emet-Selch might just enjoy it a little. Palace intrigue. Politics. Dancing circles around all of the other pieces on the chessboard. He is always several steps ahead, laying the foundations for future moves and advancements before anyone really understands. By the time that they do, it is often too late.
However, watching humans struggle time and time again is not satisfying. Not really. Just when one might think that there is some promise, they fall short. Mortal man does not impress. Even when they have the chance to become more, to overcome such base instincts, they always fall prey to Ascian designs. Power. Might. Gaining an edge. Mortal man of this era will never be different.
This is what he sees even now, the Warrior of Light's own people ready to just throw him at a problem that they, themselves, cannot solve. It matters little how well loved someone is. They are still laying him at the altar. A sacrifice for the "good of all."
Hades wonders about such things. How those people can bear the weight of that choice. ]
I suppose you wouldn't. Zenos, fortunately for him, more closely resembles his mother. Come along now. 'Tis quite the brisk walk back to the park and doubtless you are prepared to be out overlong.
[His ears prick upright in interest at that- that this stranger also has little interest in the political intrigue that seems to dominate the Garlean royal court. Of its vast number of heirs and bloodlines all snapping at the throne like ravenous beasts slavering away at collar and bit.
It’s hardly unexpected- Ze has already met one noble child of similar inclinations- preferring his books and drawings to the games of intrigue his family would rather him invest his time in. It is simply that he did not expect it from one older and more weathered. Surely those who have no interest in the game would seek to remove themselves from it once they were in a position to do so? For their own safety and sanity if nothing else.
Or perhaps this is “must be” the other spoke of earlier, once more begging the question of who it is that holds this man’s leash.]
His mother. [Ze repeats, following nonetheless and seemingly having little trouble keeping up with Emet’s longer stride. Mayhap something to do with the other’s slouching posture while Ze remains briskly upright and swift on his feet. (Not at all to do with the cold, of course not.)] You knew of her? [Is what he asks as they walk, finding himself curious despite his better judgment. In all that he had been forced to learn, teachings of her had been so brief as to be non-existence while whole days had been spent on Varis. (He had skipped the last two. Rather deliberately.)
Even knowledge that Zenos’ looks took after that of his mother was unexpected information.]
How could I not? It's not as though his mother wasn't well known. There was hardly a day where she left Varis' side when she was alive.
[ Emet-Selch raises his arm and flicks his wrist dismissively. Apparently this one hasn't really been given all that in depth lessons if he hasn't seen nary a portrait of the woman. Yet Varis might have had them removed, given how much the boy had loved that woman. ]
Come on then. Tell me what you know of our dear Varis' father.
[ Oh wouldn't that one be rich. Just what are they saying about that particular soul? The one that -
No. Best not to think on that one too much. There's ever a bitter tone there. ]
[Ze frowns, wondering at the other’s aim as they walk through the snow- already piled to the ankles despite an earlier clearing. Snow is a constant in these streets- ever persistent in the drifts and the wind. In the wealthier districts there is infrastructure to keep it from building too high and to melt the ice ere it takes hold. Here, on the outskirts, all clearing is done by physical labour and the hour is late. Doubtless, the drifts will be substantial come morning and were it not his wedding day, he’d have half a mind to come this way in the dawn to see if he might put his talents to better use. Hell, still might if he can be spared the idiotic frippery.
Which, regretfully, the stranger seems to care to indulge in. At least certain aspects of it, if nothing else. His own fault, he supposes. He opened that door.]
Surely there’s naught I could say that you yourself wouldn’t know. [Ze feels the need to point out, feeling it a redundant question. Still, having been asked, he obliges since it’s a seemingly harmless (if boring) inquiry.] Lucius yae Galvus, the Emperor’s sire. Deceased. Husband to Hypatia wir Galvus, also deceased. Eldest son of Solus zos Galvus, founder of the Garlean Empire, and the crown prince at the time of his passing. To illness or somesuch. [His frown widens marginally after he rattles off those words, drilled into him by the overenthusiastic prattling of his “tutor,” who views the nation’s history with no small sense of unbridled passion.
But, perhaps, that is not what the stranger is truly asking, just as Ze hadn’t truly been wanting to know if he had known of Zenos’ mother. Perhaps...]
He was young, to my understanding. [Not quite so young as to not have both a wife and son- Ze’s age perhaps, give or take a few winters- but young enough for his youthful portrait to be an oddity in comparison to that of his brother- Titus- and to his son, Varis who looks as though the weather found him much too tough to chew.]
Someone has been paying attention to lessons rendered...
[ And no one thinks to mention how the attitude of the Emperor had changed during that time? It had been noticeable for Solus had stopped making all attempts of betterment through the arts. Instead his focus had returned to where it should have been - setting the Empire up to be a proper little pawn to sow chaos and spread malcontent. ]
Quite young. The entire empire was less for it. One could say that the Emperor's grieving never fully ceased.
[ Hades continues their stroll. They are returning to the city proper. It would be Ze's last opportunity to actually turn tail, not that the Ascian believes that he actually will. Instead the small creature will likely follow, if only to see what the point of Emet-Selch's question would be. ]
People change, when they experience loss. Even people like Varis.
[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.
[ Of course that much is to be expected. Emet-Selch has done an outstanding job with this empire. The entire point is to make them zealous as well. To seek out and forge their path with blood and steel. An attempt to enforce their ideals and beliefs upon the other races and countries. Then, in return, they would retaliate, being what they are. People do not so readily give up their way of life. Make them desperate and call forth their own gods, their Primals. Drain the lands dry and foster the type of chaotic energies needed to offset yet another Shard as it gives way to another Rejoining.
Emet-Selch is rather well-practiced at this by this point. Yet his demeanor at the accusation, at the statement, doesn't falter. Not in the slightest. ]
All men are, indeed. Mankind is a frail creature, as you have so eloquently put. One that cannot know when the hour of their passing is at hand. 'Tis a world of rather pointless suffering.
[ He doesn't care if he sounds Garlean in this moment or not. Emet-Selch is speaking freely, his words hitting the air with the same amount of chill and dullness that the weather creates in a man. There's no emotion behind it at the moment, at least no other than what seems to be disappointment. Mourning, in a way. As if he would prefer for it to not be this way at all.
Which, he doesn't. Long has Hades desired a return to peaceful days. Oh what he wouldn't do to achieve those ends. Even pair himself off with Hydaelyn's chosen, if for the sake of temporary peace until those interlopers pass and fade into history. What is a few more decades of putting off their plans? Perhaps something might yet be gleaned from all of this. ]
No matter. You do not seem the sort to sit and partake in idle discussions over philosophy.
[The sound of footfalls upon freshly lain snow comes to a halt as Ze turns to look upon Emet-Selch fully, an impassive expression upon his face. While the other is correct in that he has little patience for the ponderings upon one's own existence, there is one point upon which he disagrees- enough so as to feel the need to remark upon it.]
A world of suffering, aye, that I'll not deny. But were it only that, there would be no need to strive nor wish for more. [He feels the need to point out, wondering if his companion is merely the pessimistic sort or if his sullen demeanor might hint at something more deeply personal. Something dark.]
It is because we know pain that we fight for every moment of joy. [And he believes in that, truly. Has had to come to believe in it, having dodged the abyss time and again- whether by luck, by skill or by companionship.] The world, [and perhaps this is what he wishes most to say,] is made whole for its suffering. [For why else would he be here in this Twelve forsaken land, courting politics and making nice with those who have cost him the lives of his companions? Why else if not to extend a hand to take hold of a better future? For himself and all those he has unwillingly come to care for?
The warmth of the fire is made all the sweeter after the chill of a rain.]
[ Spoken like a true fragment of a broken world. Of a broken person. There shouldn't be a need to strive for "more." Not the sort of "more" that people of his world tend to desire. Power. Fame. Fortune. Love and respect. Those things would be a given in the world that came before. When those things are taken care of, as well as peace and a place to call home, it allows for different pursuits. Pursuits and a higher purpose that bring about a different sense of fulfillment and joy.
Not that these people can see it or know it. No, they would prefer to live in their misery. Their pain and suffering. This creature has made that plain with that statement. The world is made whole for its suffering...
Emet-Selch very much disagrees. He could spend bells discussing the ways that this world falls short and why it would be better to bring about that which used to be. Yet he doesn't believe that it would actually foster any understanding. These people, this Miqo'te, are set in their ways just like himself. ]
That is your opinion, I suppose.
[ And he continues about this way. The man leads them both to the park that he had built. There was warmth radiating in the area despite the chill of Garlemald. Steam rising from the various ponds that were scattered about the area.
Here, it might feel like the temperature is comfortable. ]
It is. [Words uttered that seemed to have missed their mark only to strike another entirely, it seems. Ze resumes his march after a moment, the crunch of snow underfoot the only means of silence broken as they traverse down a path that has seen a clearance or thrice in the last handful of hours. That tells him this is a path reasonably well travelled, if nothing else. That shouldn't be half the comfort it is, but he relaxes in tangible amounts.
As the park comes into view, heat rising from the pools for a purpose he can only guess at, he wonders at their presence. At why the other saw fit to bring him here or if it was merely a bit of happenstance- a pleasure for his own satisfaction that Ze was merely a coincidental accompaniment to.
But this far out? At this hour? Alone?
He hesitates, daring not to think it might be a gesture made for his benefit. Wrestling with what he knows he ought to believe and what his forever open heart is choosing.]
... if there is aid I can offer. [He says after a moment, not quite willing to put his back to the other in the face of his uncertainty by getting closer to the pools but willing to broker a truce nonetheless. It is a trailed off thing, his offer. An open hand to a problem he can only scarcely imagine the breadth of. There is a sullen misery to his companion, that he can sense. A resigned sort of exhaustion that has no doubt contributed to the shadows beneath the Garlean's eyes.
But, to be fair, he has offered more for less and for poorer company.]
Aid? You think to offer aid to a country and its people that you see as your enemy? Quite curious, that.
[ No matter, no matter. Emet-Selch just looks amused at it all. Does this hero truly think that the purpose of bringing him here was task-oriented? Because he needs the boy to do something for him? For the empire. ]
Though if it is a task you seek...
[ And now Hades is just going to rub the situation in a little. He offers his arm for the other to take. See? This old man can be civil. Pleasant even!
Oh if only this hero truly knew the depths of this mage's soul. How tattered and broken it is. Exhausted with no hope of ever actually finding rest. ]
[Ze stares at the proffered arm, brow furrowed at the near imperceptible tint of mockery to stranger's response.
Perhaps, perceived as such, his words are merely that- a naïve insult born of a savage's understanding of things. (The Twelve know his tutors have implied as much, even if plenty of them had used politer wording.) And though he thinks to correct the man for a moment- that the offer had been for him and no other- something gives him cause to hesitate. To consider.]
They'll be my people soon enough. [He remarks, finding a humbling truth in that. If tomorrow holds any amount of sincerity- if there is neither bullet nor blade cast upon his person- he will be tied to Garlean society forevermore. A bond forged, no matter how foolish or token. And while he's not a care for the politics nor the pretense, the same could be said of any place he has visited. So really, what makes Garlemald- beyond a bloodied history- all that different?
And so, in faith and foolishness, he offers his own in turn- taking up Emet's arm in what he supposes might be a gallant hold. His tutor's lessons didn't all quite stick.] ...the offer was a personal one, by the by.
[Well, perhaps a little less magnanimous than intended.]
[ As if he cares for what is seen as proper and what isn't at the current moment. If Hades really minds at all, then he shouldn't be out here. He shouldn't be following after this fractured creature to get a better glimpse of it. Yet he is always prepared to play his role. Do what he believes to be right by his people and shoulder the burdens they are not able to...
If that means tying himself to this Miqo'te that seems to be somewhat sincere in his words, the so be it. Becoming this thing's enemy outright hadn't worked out well for anyone. Perhaps there is yet the means to turn this around in their favor after all.
It is something to think about, especially considering that the offer? Ze says it is a personal one. ]
The aid that I seek is not something that can easily be offered. [ Stated with something heavy in his voice. ] T'would be better for you to focus on your own goals and ambitions.
[His own goals and ambitions? The only one he can think of...]
I've none. [Perhaps he ought to think better of admitting that so freely. Ought to pretend he has greater schemes and ideals then that which is before him, rather than to be guessed at as a fool and simpleton... but, well, the hidden subtleties of politics have never been his forte, nor does he have the patience for such an inane game. That, and he has no doubt the Garleans will think so little of him regardless.
So he admits that, to this man he barely knows. That he is a fool with only a simple, tentative wish so dear that can no longer be granted. To see a distant horizon, walk upon unfamiliar shores and feel a breeze rife with scents unknown. To... He exhales, soft. He had just thought himself free of the melancholy this place had kept him mired in. Seemingly, it is back with a vengeance and prepared to cling to the recesses of his mind until he has firmly excised them. A task easier said then done, evidently, given its reoccurrence. He does not look forward to that.]
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He bothers not with the frippery or the gilt and the gold- arriving much as he would to any other unknown land- clad in padded armor and with a blade strapped to his back. Nonetheless, the congregation warrants a response of some kind- even if it is merely onlookers who would gaze upon the savage whom is marrying into their vaunted nobility. Their whispers, nor their disdainful gazes, are not missed.
Ze is not particularly offended- for he had never intended to hold a position of affection to these people. The masses will think what they want. Either his actions will change their thinking, or it won't. It is hardly to his benefit to break himself to please their whims.
Alisaie, on the other hand, is wrathful.
"You're going to be their prince. You came all this way for the sake of both of our peoples. It is the least they could do to be respectful." She hisses, clearly unhappy with no clear outlet with which to release her anger. Ze can relate, truthfully, even if he does not respond for knowing it would only fan the flames. Alisaie does not want to be soothed- she wants to be mad and, given all that has transpired to see them there, he is content to allow her to be his temper.
They arrive in proper time, Maxima doing his best to see them in good spirits as they are welcomed by the palace. In no time at all they are greeted and escorted to their quarters, a promise of a bath and dinner to ease them into their first night.
The first true hiccup comes when they attempt to disrobe him after introducing the delegation to their respective quarters. The servants likely mean no ill by it (or perhaps they do) but when the move to take his weapon, the hand he places upon the man's wrist is steel-like.
"No." Is all he says, treating those around him to an uncompromising- if not frightening- stare.
"You cannot be allowed weapons within the presence of-"
"No. The dress, the jewels, the perfumes and silks- you may do as you wish. This, stays." He tone brokers no argument. It has been years since the incident at Ul'dah- a scene of laughter and jewels and merriment. A celebration among purported allies that ended in blood and grief. He has never been without a weapon since and they would require more than those present to see him without- especially in a place where he intends to sleep with an eye open. The point is taken and they leave it alone, even if their gazes speak of disdain.
Eventually he is left to bathe on his own, the blade remaining within reach- even if he can do true damage without it- the sentiment remains and he intends to make his intentions clear. He is here to make peace, but he is not a victim to be encased in a gilded cage.
Following the washing he is pampered in ways that could only be noted as uncomfortable. Lotions and creams and oils to make his hair silky smooth and his skin shiny with health. He fights the urge to squirm when they treat his tail and ears the same, gritting his teeth at the discomfort of the situation and bearing with it until they adorn him in furs and silks that make him feel puffed up and stifled.
Alisaie doesn't bother to hide her smirk when she sees him, succumbing to a fit of giggles- perhaps the first true bit of laughter she's had in days.
"You look ridiculous." Is her remark, evidently she having been spared at least half of his misery. Alphinaud, to his mercy, merely smiles in awkward compliment. Ze echoes her sentiment with an eyeroll.
The days follow much the same as he becomes settled into his new "home." (He worries at how the thought prompts a twinge of unhappiness, swiftly buried and forgotten.) Between the preparations and the instruction for how the ceremony ought to go, Ze finds himself escaping on more than one occasion when there is naught that requires his presence nor his attention. Or, rather, matters that he deems unworthy of his attention. He learns to dance their dances, learns to eat with their manners and even manages to learn a little of their history when all of it would be as boring mummery to him in the past. But he is here to do a task and he is committed to the success of it.
But there are moments when he needs the peace- the freedom he has so willingly given up to secure this truce. He makes for the city when these moods take him, exploring the unknown land with a hood over his ears and a fogged breath buried into heavy gloves. Garlemald is cold- he had known that- he had simply just not known how cold.
And if he should wander a little farther each day, to the very edges of the royal district and then further beyond, who could fault him? He is only curious.
The day before the wedding, when all meaningful preparation is surely completed (to his opinion) and the servants and staff scramble to make the day as perfect as a sham of a wedding can be when he does not even know who is to be his partner, he finds himself at the very edge of the city- staring out at the vast plain of snow with the smoke of ceruleum factories pumping smoke into the air in the distance. He had not thought himself possible of melancholy- not anymore, but perhaps that was arrogance on his part. It is surprising to him to find there is some part of him that truly hopes this will turn out to be a trap. That tomorrow they will spring the steel and gunpower and he can put this farce behind him, for the alternative- years spent masquerading as a royal in this land that would hold him as a political captive- seems hellish. Even moreso when he thinks there will come a time when Alisaie and Alphinaud both will have to leave for their own needs. That the Scions will inevitably have to tend to the needs of the Star and he will be left as alone and trapped as the prisoner he is trying not to think of himself as. Garlemald is interesting. It just isn't where he wants to stay.
He exhales- releasing a fog of white breath into the darkening sky. One more day.]
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He sees every set of jaw. Every scowl and frown. Those twitches of fingers and the irritation that this all sparks within. This is a very disgruntled Miqo'te and there is some satisfaction that Emet-Selch derives from it. In fact, he wants to mess with the creature a bit more. There's truly no reason for it other than this would be Her Champion and he would very much like to rub all of this in Her face.
Perhaps that is why he finally comes out of hiding, the day before all of their plans for this hero are finalized. Emet-Selch isn't really impressed by Ze at all. How could he be with someone so mortal? Someone that is only a fraction of who they should be? Yet they can both keep up pretenses. They can go along with this farce readily enough. ]
There is a train station on down the main road, if you are thinking of heading out for the evening.
[ Spoken as if he can tell that this is no Garlean under the hood. Since, well, it would be obvious with the way that this creature shakes and shivers and tries to suppress it. Yet also spoken as someone who is attempting to be a helpful guide! ]
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Tension bolts like lightning down his spine as he reaches for his blade and turns upon the speaker with all the preparedness of a man in the face of a threat- hood whirling from his face as he does so to expose those ears to the cold.
It’s a Garlean, that much is obvious to his gaze. It is in his height and the way he towers over Ze. It is in the eye upon his brow, denoting a pureblood... but it is his clothes that mark him royalty- the finery of their stitch and the decorations adorning the breast of his coat. Ze had not spent hours upon hours being forced to stare upon the portraits of the royal line all for naught, and it is easy enough to place the decorations and the colorations.
Intriguing, then, for not even Varis had bothered with him- their interactions amounting to at most a distant, passing glance and a scoff. So what should an unnamed royal be doing here upon the outskirts of their precious town, if not for mischief?
Carefully- not having forgotten the skill with which he was taken by surprise- Ze releases the handle of his zweihänder and straightens, though his gaze takes on no less a wary tone.]
…I know. [His tone is careful and withdrawn. He does know, some task or another having taken him that way yesterday. A hesitant pair of lovers fleeing their oppressive parents, if he recalls correctly.] I am where I must be. [He adds as the wind picks up and he flinches for it but stands his ground. It is not the first time he has endured the bitter cold, after all. Garlemald is frozen, yes, so was Coerthas when he had arrived, and he had become accustomed all the same. Ilsabard will not break him.
The man before him, on the other hand...]
You are far from the heart of the city at such an hour. Without even so much as an escort at that. [He remarks, a vague gesture of the hand at the empty streets around them. He cannot sense anyone else, but he begins to wonder if perhaps the cold or exhaustion has dulled him.]
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Yet he takes his hand off of his weapon. How quaint. It's true that Hades won't raise a hand to the Miqo'te. Not when things lie in the balance, precariously so. This is meant to be cooperation, after all. A blending of two in hopes of a peaceful resolution for all of this mess. For the benefit of the star! ...At least until the Scions and this Champion pass on an their deeds fade into history. That's what? A few decades at most> ]
"Must be." A pity that where we "must be" is often a far cry from where we would like to be. Personally, I would much prefer to be resting. Yet I often find my much deserved naps interrupted by where I must be.
[ He walks a bit further down towards the main road. Almost as if he is contemplating heading down towards the train himself. ]
Are you not doing the same? Straying so far from the palace without an escort may not end well for you, depending upon the encounter.
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Ze is not quite sure what to make of that, for the stranger makes it sound as though he has no desire to be here when, seemingly, there are few who can force him to be where he won’t. So why then does he make it seem as if his presence here on the outskirts of the capital is a task? Surely it cannot be to watch him. Some ill-contrived notion of a spy or a bodyguard- not with those adulations.
A test, mayhap. He is forced to consider as the man marches a bit further away, seemingly content to speak on whether or not Ze will listen. A bit of an older royal, that’s for certain, with wrinkles and shadows to proclaim a life full of experiences. Briefly, Ze wonders if he is fit to even be out with the sun dipping below the horizon.]
I am prepared should that be the case. [Is his withdrawn answer as he flicks his gaze to their surroundings once more as he realizes he must make a choice. There are 3 possibilities before him:
The first, that the man is merely that unusual to take a stroll on the very fringes of his family’s territory for the sake of it. Between Varis and Zenos (the actual one,) Ze cannot find it within himself to disregard the possibility. The Garlean royal family is... odd.
The second, it is the very trap he had envisioned. The man is here for a form of violence and has brought with him the means to commit it, though Ze has yet to pinpoint the exact method. It would not be unusual- he is not wholly familiar with Garlemald’s technology and it would not be unheard of for it to get the best of him. Some literal trap to be lured into, one that would incapacitate or render him helpless.
And the third- a political scheme. If the old man is of import- a sire or grandsire to someone notable and he perishes tonight with Ze as his last encounter, it would only spell trouble for the alliance. A means to both end the truce and see him “rightfully” imprisoned. Such underhanded tactics are no stranger to the Empire, after all, for he has not well forgotten Asahi’s ill-attempts and the cold-blooded use of his family to achieve his goals.
Obviously the second and third are of the most concern. If he vanishes, the Empire can claim he ran and resume the war. If he is accused of assassination, it ends much the same.
...he sighs. He hates this.]
‘tis getting late. If naps are your inclination, you are truly in the wrong spot for it. [He makes to follow, boots crunching in the snow as he draws his hood back up to cover the sensitive tips of his ears.]
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[ He'll not give away the best part. Emet-Selch has no intentions of telling this hero who he is. Who the boy is going to be wed to. Right now it is nothing more than a conversation. A... Getting to know one another, as it were. Is it deception? Oh most certainly. Though Ze already seems to have suspicions. Hades isn't keen on feeding or dissuading any of them.
Instead he seems to stop right at the road, looking beyond it. True to his word, the station is right there. A marvel of a creation. Vehicles and technology found here are beyond what other parts of the world have access to. Many of the contraptions and every day conveniences the rest of the world couldn't even imagine. Truly the Scions and this boy both must be chomping at the bit to see more, despite their grievances.
One outside of Garlemald has truly been inside the main city proper. ]
On that account, you are not mistaken. Would you care to accompany me, if you are not about to take off? I daresay this would be your best opportunity to do so.
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More than that, he was not born for luxury- opulence and riches settling as well with him as water to oil. It stifles him much the same as anything in the past few weeks has- suffocating and needless. Not for the first time he thinks one of the others might have been better suited to the task after all, if only for the point of diplomacy. Aymeric would not have struggled so with something as simple as table etiquette and Hien would have likely found worth in their history. (He consoles himself with the fact Lyse would have likely handled it all about as poorly as he is.)
It is those quiet thoughts that mire him in a haze of slowly building depression- the lack of sun in this frozen land hardly helping. It is also not words he can put to voice, for that is not his way and he knows the Twins are worried enough as it is. Only passing messages from the Scions outside and the Alliance beyond are keeping his spirits afloat at this point.
As they come to a halt at the road, he glances once more at the station Emet had made mention of- observing it with as much interest as he had the first time he laid eyes upon it. There is a glimmer of tapered curiosity in his gaze as he inspects it once more- trailing over track and rail. There are no trains at the moment but he had glimpsed them when he had first seen the couple off- had watched it vanish down the line like a metal snake, veiled sunlight glinting off the carriage as it winked away to a place unknown. Unbidden curiosity flares up within his soul and sparks a glow perhaps familiar to Emet-Selch, however muted, but it is swiftly folded back and away as he pulls his gaze from the structure.
Wanting, yes, but remembering his duty. Garlemald has surprised him everyday, but he cannot help but be reminded he would have enjoyed it more were it not a potentially looming cage.
He nods instead to this stranger at his side and falls in-line with them, shuddering once and readjusting the jacket about his shoulders. The weather is practically mild by default but it hardly changes the chill. Suspicion does not leave his gaze but he is already resigned to the matter of having to accompany him.]
You’re beginning to sound eager to see me off. [The remark is mild but the tone is not. As simple a “leave it alone,” as he can make without outright accusing the other of it.]
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Not at all. I am merely someone who likes to watch. Regardless of whether you stay or go, I am sure to be given something of a show.
[ He turns at that familiar flicker. Something that is pressing against his soulsight, though he doesn't always use it while in a mortal body. Hades wonders if it is a fluke. A trick of the 'eye.'
Either way, he gives a rather wry smile. ]
You and I both know that you will not leave your companions scrambling around for another solution to this situation. Even if you are able to leave, you will not. Your duty compels you to stay. It binds you here.
[ Emet-Selch only speaks the truth in those moments. Is it a bit mocking? Yes. However, it is the bluntest that he can be at the moment. They are not doing themselves any favors by attempting to fool one another. At least not when it comes to the arrangement that has been made. Ze will not leave and Emet-Selch will do as he is bit for his people. That's just how it is, even if the hero doesn't know that it is this man he will be meeting tomorrow. ]
Now, an answer to my question. Will you accompany me or not? Where I intend to go I imagine you have not been.
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Ah, but that would be far too simple an outcome and such has never been his lot. He scoffs, quietly, but audibly enough and tugs the edges of a breath misted scarf up a touch. ]
You know of me then. [Hardly difficult one would think given he is a Miqo’te walking freely within the heart of Garlemald, but it does raise his suspicions ever so faintly. (Not that they weren’t already incredibly high to begin with.) To have been approached despite of such knowledge in such circumstances seems hardly innocent.
Still, his gaze turns fairly pointed at the mention of an unknown location and curiosity wars with caution. It could be a trap. It could be innocent.
...It’s more likely to be a trap. Everything could be a trap.
He sighs again, hating this never ending bout of overthinking he has been forced to endure.] You might at the very least offer your name before you lead me to Gods know where. [He points out, though he falls in line with Emet-Selch easily enough, arms folded and giving him a look as if to bid him to lead the way.]
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[ Emet-Selch himself is walking back towards the city. More specifically, he is heading towards the residential districts. There is something there that he wants to observe. Fortunately or unfortunately, it won't be a trap.
Just a park, in truth. A park with heated waters that allow for warmth to seep into the surrounding grounds. An installation that has proven to be something for adults and children alike to enjoy in this frigid clime.
As he walks, he raises a hand. Flicks his wrist dismissively. ]
Oh we'll be properly introduced when your fate is bound to another. Allow the mystery to remain a bit longer.
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In fairness to himself, passive-aggressive pettiness was the better of the two paths he might take and any complaints that resulted could soundly shove themselves so far up the backsides of their makers that they might never see the light of day again.
(That couple had deserved to have the entire wine decanter emptied over their fronts- appearances be damned. Savage, he would accept. Plaything, he would not.)
It was, among many reasons, why he had begun to wander further and further from the palace. Out here, he at least had the illusion of freedom and solitude. Or had.]
Of relation to Zenos, then. [Ze surmises, as readily accepting of the fact that Zenos- or rather, Elidibus in Zenos’ shape- is as much to be his betrothed as anyone else. Certainly no other has approached him to make themselves known as his fiance and he feels that is something that would happen before the wedding were to take place. If for no other reason than out of curiosity.] I can’t see the resemblance.
[Which is, perhaps, a bit rude but also fairly true.]
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[ Which is true, to a degree. In the heat of the moment, when he is playing a role, Emet-Selch might just enjoy it a little. Palace intrigue. Politics. Dancing circles around all of the other pieces on the chessboard. He is always several steps ahead, laying the foundations for future moves and advancements before anyone really understands. By the time that they do, it is often too late.
However, watching humans struggle time and time again is not satisfying. Not really. Just when one might think that there is some promise, they fall short. Mortal man does not impress. Even when they have the chance to become more, to overcome such base instincts, they always fall prey to Ascian designs. Power. Might. Gaining an edge. Mortal man of this era will never be different.
This is what he sees even now, the Warrior of Light's own people ready to just throw him at a problem that they, themselves, cannot solve. It matters little how well loved someone is. They are still laying him at the altar. A sacrifice for the "good of all."
Hades wonders about such things. How those people can bear the weight of that choice. ]
I suppose you wouldn't. Zenos, fortunately for him, more closely resembles his mother. Come along now. 'Tis quite the brisk walk back to the park and doubtless you are prepared to be out overlong.
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It’s hardly unexpected- Ze has already met one noble child of similar inclinations- preferring his books and drawings to the games of intrigue his family would rather him invest his time in. It is simply that he did not expect it from one older and more weathered. Surely those who have no interest in the game would seek to remove themselves from it once they were in a position to do so? For their own safety and sanity if nothing else.
Or perhaps this is “must be” the other spoke of earlier, once more begging the question of who it is that holds this man’s leash.]
His mother. [Ze repeats, following nonetheless and seemingly having little trouble keeping up with Emet’s longer stride. Mayhap something to do with the other’s slouching posture while Ze remains briskly upright and swift on his feet. (Not at all to do with the cold, of course not.)] You knew of her? [Is what he asks as they walk, finding himself curious despite his better judgment. In all that he had been forced to learn, teachings of her had been so brief as to be non-existence while whole days had been spent on Varis. (He had skipped the last two. Rather deliberately.)
Even knowledge that Zenos’ looks took after that of his mother was unexpected information.]
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[ Emet-Selch raises his arm and flicks his wrist dismissively. Apparently this one hasn't really been given all that in depth lessons if he hasn't seen nary a portrait of the woman. Yet Varis might have had them removed, given how much the boy had loved that woman. ]
Come on then. Tell me what you know of our dear Varis' father.
[ Oh wouldn't that one be rich. Just what are they saying about that particular soul? The one that -
No. Best not to think on that one too much. There's ever a bitter tone there. ]
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Which, regretfully, the stranger seems to care to indulge in. At least certain aspects of it, if nothing else. His own fault, he supposes. He opened that door.]
Surely there’s naught I could say that you yourself wouldn’t know. [Ze feels the need to point out, feeling it a redundant question. Still, having been asked, he obliges since it’s a seemingly harmless (if boring) inquiry.] Lucius yae Galvus, the Emperor’s sire. Deceased. Husband to Hypatia wir Galvus, also deceased. Eldest son of Solus zos Galvus, founder of the Garlean Empire, and the crown prince at the time of his passing. To illness or somesuch. [His frown widens marginally after he rattles off those words, drilled into him by the overenthusiastic prattling of his “tutor,” who views the nation’s history with no small sense of unbridled passion.
But, perhaps, that is not what the stranger is truly asking, just as Ze hadn’t truly been wanting to know if he had known of Zenos’ mother. Perhaps...]
He was young, to my understanding. [Not quite so young as to not have both a wife and son- Ze’s age perhaps, give or take a few winters- but young enough for his youthful portrait to be an oddity in comparison to that of his brother- Titus- and to his son, Varis who looks as though the weather found him much too tough to chew.]
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[ And no one thinks to mention how the attitude of the Emperor had changed during that time? It had been noticeable for Solus had stopped making all attempts of betterment through the arts. Instead his focus had returned to where it should have been - setting the Empire up to be a proper little pawn to sow chaos and spread malcontent. ]
Quite young. The entire empire was less for it. One could say that the Emperor's grieving never fully ceased.
[ Hades continues their stroll. They are returning to the city proper. It would be Ze's last opportunity to actually turn tail, not that the Ascian believes that he actually will. Instead the small creature will likely follow, if only to see what the point of Emet-Selch's question would be. ]
People change, when they experience loss. Even people like Varis.
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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.]
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Emet-Selch is rather well-practiced at this by this point. Yet his demeanor at the accusation, at the statement, doesn't falter. Not in the slightest. ]
All men are, indeed. Mankind is a frail creature, as you have so eloquently put. One that cannot know when the hour of their passing is at hand. 'Tis a world of rather pointless suffering.
[ He doesn't care if he sounds Garlean in this moment or not. Emet-Selch is speaking freely, his words hitting the air with the same amount of chill and dullness that the weather creates in a man. There's no emotion behind it at the moment, at least no other than what seems to be disappointment. Mourning, in a way. As if he would prefer for it to not be this way at all.
Which, he doesn't. Long has Hades desired a return to peaceful days. Oh what he wouldn't do to achieve those ends. Even pair himself off with Hydaelyn's chosen, if for the sake of temporary peace until those interlopers pass and fade into history. What is a few more decades of putting off their plans? Perhaps something might yet be gleaned from all of this. ]
No matter. You do not seem the sort to sit and partake in idle discussions over philosophy.
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A world of suffering, aye, that I'll not deny. But were it only that, there would be no need to strive nor wish for more. [He feels the need to point out, wondering if his companion is merely the pessimistic sort or if his sullen demeanor might hint at something more deeply personal. Something dark.]
It is because we know pain that we fight for every moment of joy. [And he believes in that, truly. Has had to come to believe in it, having dodged the abyss time and again- whether by luck, by skill or by companionship.] The world, [and perhaps this is what he wishes most to say,] is made whole for its suffering. [For why else would he be here in this Twelve forsaken land, courting politics and making nice with those who have cost him the lives of his companions? Why else if not to extend a hand to take hold of a better future? For himself and all those he has unwillingly come to care for?
The warmth of the fire is made all the sweeter after the chill of a rain.]
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Not that these people can see it or know it. No, they would prefer to live in their misery. Their pain and suffering. This creature has made that plain with that statement. The world is made whole for its suffering...
Emet-Selch very much disagrees. He could spend bells discussing the ways that this world falls short and why it would be better to bring about that which used to be. Yet he doesn't believe that it would actually foster any understanding. These people, this Miqo'te, are set in their ways just like himself. ]
That is your opinion, I suppose.
[ And he continues about this way. The man leads them both to the park that he had built. There was warmth radiating in the area despite the chill of Garlemald. Steam rising from the various ponds that were scattered about the area.
Here, it might feel like the temperature is comfortable. ]
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As the park comes into view, heat rising from the pools for a purpose he can only guess at, he wonders at their presence. At why the other saw fit to bring him here or if it was merely a bit of happenstance- a pleasure for his own satisfaction that Ze was merely a coincidental accompaniment to.
But this far out? At this hour? Alone?
He hesitates, daring not to think it might be a gesture made for his benefit. Wrestling with what he knows he ought to believe and what his forever open heart is choosing.]
... if there is aid I can offer. [He says after a moment, not quite willing to put his back to the other in the face of his uncertainty by getting closer to the pools but willing to broker a truce nonetheless. It is a trailed off thing, his offer. An open hand to a problem he can only scarcely imagine the breadth of. There is a sullen misery to his companion, that he can sense. A resigned sort of exhaustion that has no doubt contributed to the shadows beneath the Garlean's eyes.
But, to be fair, he has offered more for less and for poorer company.]
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[ No matter, no matter. Emet-Selch just looks amused at it all. Does this hero truly think that the purpose of bringing him here was task-oriented? Because he needs the boy to do something for him? For the empire. ]
Though if it is a task you seek...
[ And now Hades is just going to rub the situation in a little. He offers his arm for the other to take. See? This old man can be civil. Pleasant even!
Oh if only this hero truly knew the depths of this mage's soul. How tattered and broken it is. Exhausted with no hope of ever actually finding rest. ]
An escort.
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Perhaps, perceived as such, his words are merely that- a naïve insult born of a savage's understanding of things. (The Twelve know his tutors have implied as much, even if plenty of them had used politer wording.) And though he thinks to correct the man for a moment- that the offer had been for him and no other- something gives him cause to hesitate. To consider.]
They'll be my people soon enough. [He remarks, finding a humbling truth in that. If tomorrow holds any amount of sincerity- if there is neither bullet nor blade cast upon his person- he will be tied to Garlean society forevermore. A bond forged, no matter how foolish or token. And while he's not a care for the politics nor the pretense, the same could be said of any place he has visited. So really, what makes Garlemald- beyond a bloodied history- all that different?
And so, in faith and foolishness, he offers his own in turn- taking up Emet's arm in what he supposes might be a gallant hold. His tutor's lessons didn't all quite stick.] ...the offer was a personal one, by the by.
[Well, perhaps a little less magnanimous than intended.]
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If that means tying himself to this Miqo'te that seems to be somewhat sincere in his words, the so be it. Becoming this thing's enemy outright hadn't worked out well for anyone. Perhaps there is yet the means to turn this around in their favor after all.
It is something to think about, especially considering that the offer? Ze says it is a personal one. ]
The aid that I seek is not something that can easily be offered. [ Stated with something heavy in his voice. ] T'would be better for you to focus on your own goals and ambitions.
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I've none. [Perhaps he ought to think better of admitting that so freely. Ought to pretend he has greater schemes and ideals then that which is before him, rather than to be guessed at as a fool and simpleton... but, well, the hidden subtleties of politics have never been his forte, nor does he have the patience for such an inane game. That, and he has no doubt the Garleans will think so little of him regardless.
So he admits that, to this man he barely knows. That he is a fool with only a simple, tentative wish so dear that can no longer be granted. To see a distant horizon, walk upon unfamiliar shores and feel a breeze rife with scents unknown. To... He exhales, soft. He had just thought himself free of the melancholy this place had kept him mired in. Seemingly, it is back with a vengeance and prepared to cling to the recesses of his mind until he has firmly excised them. A task easier said then done, evidently, given its reoccurrence. He does not look forward to that.]
So, try me. I enjoy a challenge.