Work Text:
They sit in the swirling blue, observing the pinpricks of far-off stars.
“I must admit, I didn’t expect it to go quite that well,” Hythlodaeus remarks, his hands resting on his knees. “I thought they’d lose a city or two, at least. I suppose Garlemald did get the short end of the stick.”
Emet-Selch huffs as he stares out. “They’ll rebuild,” he says. “If there’s one thing to be said for man, it’s that they’re damnably persistent.”
Hythlodaeus raises an eyebrow. “Is that the slightest hint of fondness I hear for the empire you so painstakingly nurtured? Careful, Emet-Selch, one might think you cared about something.”
“Hardly,” Emet-Selch says. “I’m simply stating facts, that’s all.”
“Of course,” Hythlodaeus says, in the fond tone of an argument older than many civilizations.
They sit in silence for a while.
“Azem seems to be doing well for herself,” Hythlodaeus offers. “Still up to her old tricks.”
“What’s left of her, at any rate,” Emet-Selch says, making a dismissive gesture. “It’s not her, not truly. Just a piece with some coincidental similarity.”
“Coincidental,” Hythlodaeus muses. “I wonder about that. Did you notice that her soul is a little fuller than most? Another piece found its way in. A piece with its own similarity. Curious, that Azem’s nature would appear in both, if it is merely coincidence.”
Emet-Selch’s lip curls down. “If that’s true, there must be a whole host of Azems running around the worlds. I can scarcely think of anything more insufferable.”
Hythlodaeus laughs, a clear, bright sound in the blue stillness. “It’s something to think about, at least,” he says. “Now that we face it ourselves.”
Another quiet fills the space.
“What sort of life would be nice to have next, do you think?” Hythlodaeus asks, after a while.
“It could hardly be worse than the last one,” Emet-Selch replies, his voice derisive.
“Oh, I’m sure there’s much and more suffering to be found in a life,” Hythlodaeus says casually. “But at least this time it wouldn’t last as long.”
Emet-Selch gives him a baleful look. “You’re not doing a very good job of selling it,” he says.
Hythlodaeus returns the look with a smile. “Well, let’s think of some pleasant options, then,” he says. “There are so many exciting races to choose from these days. It might be fun to be a Lalafell.”
“Tell me you’re joking,” Emet-Selch says with a theatrical grimace. “Those tiny beasts are a prime example of why man is better off standardized. Who would want to be mistaken for a child all their life?”
“Different perspectives have their value,” Hythlodaeus says. “Literally, in this case. I imagine the view from so low down must be a different perspective indeed.”
“Different, not good,” Emet-Selch mutters.
Hythlodaeus shrugs. “If you’re going to be difficult about it, then let’s say…a scholar, always searching for new knowledge. An artist, creating beauty out of nothing. A farmer, proud in the value of their hard work.”
“A soldier, dying far from home for a meaningless cause.”
Hythlodaeus leans back, resting his hands behind him as he stares up at the swirling blue. “Even that could be tolerable, if you were there too,” he says.
Another silence falls.
“After all that I have done, I would not expect the universe to offer such kindness,” Emet-Selch says quietly.
Hythlodaeus gestures at the wide space around them. “I don’t think that matters much, here,” he says. “Victim and aggressor are the same substance in the end, and as the sea washes away our memories, so it will our sins and virtues.”
Emet-Selch lets out a huff. “Sins, you say, as if it is a list of crimes, easily tallied. I ushered in the end of uncountable lives, far more than any mortal could even attempt. Thousands of years I spent raising civilizations so I could bring about their violent, cataclysmic downfall. If the seven hells were real, I would not be sitting here now.”
“…all right, then.” Hythlodaeus sits back up, and turns to him. “If we’re talking about who does or doesn’t deserve a degree of kindness from the universe, surely I’ve earned a share. So for my apology gift, I choose you. If the universe has something unpleasant planned, it can’t have you, because I’ve staked my claim. There. Nothing to worry about.”
He reaches out, and laces their fingers together.
Emet-Selch looks away. But he doesn’t let go.
“And perhaps it isn’t one-to-one, anyway,” Hythlodaeus says thoughtfully. “There always was a school of thought that new souls are a mix of old ones.”
“So we’d each have neighbors to deal with,” Emet-Selch says, his tone heavy. “Lovely.”
“Well, perhaps,” Hythlodaeus says. “But I was rather thinking it might be nice if a piece of you and a piece of me twined together to make something new.” His voice is light, but there is a softer layer in it. “We spent enough years apart. I’d quite like an assurance that neither of us is going anywhere without the other.”
“How can you be so optimistic about it all,” Emet-Selch says quietly. “Everything we ever worked for is gone, and our attempts to restore it resulted only in further calamity. We sit at an end neither of us could have wanted, and with every possible future a mockery of what we lost.”
Hythlodaeus makes a musing sound. “I don’t know about that,” he says. “There may have been some twists along the way, but ultimately, I did reach the end I wanted. To return to the star with you.”
When Emet-Selch does not respond, Hythlodaeus squeezes his hand.
After a moment’s pause, Hythlodaeus says, “I did hope that Azem would be here as well. But I’m sure we’ll see her around one way or another.”
Emet-Selch makes a sound that is almost a laugh.
He turns his face back to Hythlodaeus.
Hythlodaeus smiles, warm and content. “There you are,” he says. “My old friend. I missed you so.”
Emet-Selch’s smile is a crooked thing. “Given all that occurred, it could be argued that I missed you more,” he says.
“And here we are at last,” Hythlodaeus says. “Quite the journey it has been. Care to go on another one?”
He stands up, bringing Emet-Selch with him, their hands still entwined.
“It may be a harsh one,” Emet-Selch says. “It may be that we never find each other again.”
“Or it may be that we find each other from the start,” Hythlodaeus says softly. “We’ll never know if we don’t try.”
He takes Emet-Selch’s other hand in his. Even in the empty atmosphere of the aetherial sea, it’s warm.
They stand facing each other, scarce inches apart.
“Might as well get on with it, then,” Emet-Selch says, and brushes his lips against Hythlodaeus’ forehead.
Hythlodaeus’ final smile is unbearably fond. “Goodbye, my friend,” he murmurs. “Whatever happens next, it will not be the end.”
The hint of a smile on Emet-Selch’s face is the last thing that happens before the aetherial sea washes them away.
It is never the end. Not the next time, nor the one after that. And sometimes they meet, and sometimes they do not. And sometimes they meet their other oldest friend, and sometimes they do not.
But always, in the times between, they return to the sea. And in the sea, no one is truly apart.
All sins and virtues long forgotten, the winding ways of time and memory and self leaving only the deepest part of what makes a soul, or a pair of them.
Hello, my friend.
Let’s try that again, shall we?