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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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.
no subject
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.