Chapter Text
To my esteemed colleague, the honorable Emet-Selch:
It has come to my attention that you disapprove of my latest venture. I would remind you of our ongoing research into aetherial fluctuations, particularly in regards to my most recently published study, but I suspect your protestations have little to do with proven science and more to do with personal feelings.
Jealousy ill becomes such a celebrated member of our Convocation.
Before you accuse me (again) of meddling in another “volcano incident,” I am pleased to inform you that the matter here is all but settled. I have located the parasite infecting these woods, and it will be a simple task to separate it from its host tree on the morrow. (The locals, of course, are convinced it is a hateful spirit exacting vengeance on their villages. Surely if that were the root cause, you might have had reason to tear yourself away from Amaurot.)
Expect my return by midday. I trust you will relay any important details from Convocation proceedings that have occurred in my absence…if there are any.
With much appreciation, gratitude, humility, etc.,
Azem
He actually waited for her.
She arrived at her apartments perhaps an hour or two after midday. He’d taken a seat on one of her sofas and was dozing when she stepped inside — he startled awake when she let her traveling kit hit the floor with an abrupt thud.
“Azem—“
“Look at you, making yourself comfortable. One might think you were living here already,” she said coolly, pulling down the hood of her cloak to level an amused look in his direction.
He scowled in response. “You said midday. Am I not to take you at your word?”
“Oh, I would never advise that.” She removed her cloak and stepped aside to hang it near the door. It struck her, of all the things in her apartment, the coat stand was probably the most used. “But I do apologize for the delay. I was distracted — did you know there is a new shop by the western gates? Not three blocks from the Hall of Rhetoric.” She turned to face him, hands on her hips with a now full-fledged grin. “I couldn’t help myself.”
He hung his head and scoffed, but she could see the tiny smirk he tried to suppress. “I’ll not waste my breath scolding your preoccupation with trinkets,” He replied, extending an arm across the top of the sofa as he settled into a more comfortable position, “But I would like to ask why.”
“Why I have such excellent taste in accessories?” She teased, crossing the foyer slowly towards him.
“Why your invitation was extended to me.” His lips twitched to a frown. “I am sure you are aware how many responsibilities demand my time. Hythlodaeus, no doubt, would be quite happy to fill you in on recent happenings.”
“But you are the only one who can adequately care for my plants.” She heard the joke before she could stop herself, and giggled at his stricken expression — which was even worse. She waved her hands out in front of her as though to physically clear the air. “Sorry, sorry. Though it is true, you know, you’re the only one who cares enough to pay attention to the soil, the leaves, to turn them towards the sun when they need it.”
He looked mollified at that, and she felt herself smile. This still, however, was not an answer to his original question.
She sat tentatively beside him on the sofa, far enough that his outstretched hand could only just reach her shoulder if he were so inclined. She opened her mouth to deliver the explanation she’d prepared on the journey back to Amaurot that morning, but the words dried up on her tongue.
He was watching her expectantly. Faced with her sudden, awkward silence, he raised an eyebrow. She had to duck her head to hide the flush across her cheeks and instead examined her hands in her lap, still dirtied by the day’s travels.
“In fact, I…I find that you treat a great many things with care. The responsibilities you mentioned, your work…our cause.” She scrubbed ineffectually at her palm with an equally grimy thumb and admitted, in a breath, “I admire you for it.” She pressed on before he could reply. “And it is…something I may have taken for granted, before.”
“Is this an apology?” She looked up to find his expression torn between confusion and disgust.
No, no, no. This was all wrong. She reached out to take his hand in hers, afraid he might make for the door if she didn’t rectify this quickly enough.
“Please understand.” She was usually much better at reading people — she searched his face for familiar clues, anything to indicate whether she should plead toward his ego or ideals. But she could see now that both those paths would lead to the same end: losing his trust, perhaps for the final time.
You cannot evince your way into another person’s heart, Hythlodaeus had told her once, laughing, when she had finally sought out his advice. You must meet theirs with your own.
Easier said than done. Was there anything quite as humiliating as letting oneself be so vulnerable?
“I wanted to see you again.” There. She let out a breath as though that confession was enough to knock the wind out of her. “I’ve missed…what we had before. Our friendship, yes, but also — well, as much as I enjoy our banter, I miss…the late nights we spent in research and theorizing. Our walks in the park in the hopes of finding inspiration. Our debates that nearly shook the Hall down, and…” She stroked the side of his hand absently with her thumb. “Making up afterwards.” She leaned in, her voice lowering as she closed the space between them. “I miss those days. And I know it is not just sentiment, because I have spent far too much time trying to put distance between us, and I always come back to the same thoughts: I wish he could see this. I wish he were here with me. Do you understand, Hades?”
He seemed to be searching her face for the same clues she had sought before. Did he think her to be lying? Or worse, did he think her to have simply reached a new low in loneliness? Her heart beat faster with each new, worsening supposition, until his hand lifted from the cushions to stroke her cheek — gently, hesitantly, like she might flinch from his touch if he were not careful.
“Mayhap you do not remember,” he said lowly, “but you spoke of an incompatibility before. My need for control, my meticulousness,” he uttered the word with the generous helping of sarcasm only he was capable of, “against your…free spirit.” He let his hand fall back to the sofa, and his features settled again into cold neutrality. “I do not see how any of that has changed.”
She winced, her own words stinging at her. “Perhaps we haven’t changed, but — look around. You may not have seen the things I have seen, but you have read the reports. You’ve come to the same conclusion, as we all have. If the Final Days are truly upon us, then…” She winced again. “Ah, what I mean to say is…”
He pulled his hand away, leaving hers hanging in midair. “Am I to be your salve, then?” He seethed. “A balm to your despair, your lonely heart?” He pushed himself to his feet and straightened his cloak. “I wish you would think better of me, Azem. I am not so cold or as desperate as you clearly imagine.”
She sat slack-jawed for a moment, scrambling for words as he stepped towards the door. She was usually so much more careful. How did her temper always manage to flare so around him?
“You are mistaken,” she snapped, standing with much less grace than he had. “It’s not desperation. It’s peace.”
That made him pause.
She took the opening and pressed. “If the Final Days are truly coming, then I would meet my end knowing I did all that I could, that I spent the time I had with the people I cared for. I do not want us to go on as we are, with this charade of bickering rivalry. I would have us meet our end, hand in hand, with peace in our hearts — if you would but take mine.” Her voice wavered. She paused to steady herself for words that were long overdue. “I am sorry, Hades. I did not see your love for the gift it truly is. I fled from what you offered without giving it a proper chance. So please, if you still feel any of that same regard for me, let us try again.”
He’d turned slightly away from her as she spoke, but she could see his shoulders trembling. Guilt laced through her. He could play at indifference well enough for others, but anyone who knew him also knew the tempest that raged beneath still waters.
“You are wrong,” he said at last, voice barely above a whisper. “The Final Days are nigh but it is not…this is not the end.”
Her mind reeled. That was what he took away from her plea? “I don’t understand,” she replied simply, advancing towards him slowly since he no longer seemed so keen to leave. She took his arm in gentle hands so that he might face her.
He fixed a withering look upon her, pained and frightened and yet resolute above it all. “We needn’t succumb to despair yet. There is still a chance for us.”
“I see Elidibus’ optimism has rubbed off on you.” She reached up to brush a lock of hair away from his eyes, meeting his gaze intently. He seemed distracted — no, focused. Entirely too focused on something that was beyond her words. “You forgive me?” She asked.
He took her hand and kissed her palm, lips pressed heedlessly against the dust of the road. “I forgive you,” he murmured. “I would join my hand with yours, my heart with yours, and together, we might witness the salvation of our world, rather than its end.” There was a feverish look in his eyes, one she might generously have read as desire, but knew to be something else she would have to puzzle out.
“Everything ends,” she said softly, her gaze dipping to the curve of his mouth. “We could live out our last days in happiness, Hades, and we would be fortunate. Far too few ever get that chance.”
“Ah, but you know how loathe I am to compromise.” He chuckled, and his breath was warm against her cheek. “I want to live, Azem, and I want to live with the woman I love by my side. We will find a way. I am certain of it.”
The fate of the world at stake, and yet she was flooded with a much more selfish relief. “You forgive me, then.” She leaned in, close enough that her lips grazed his ear, and kissed his cheek. “But do you accept me?” Her hands wandered until they found, and unfastened, the clasp of his cloak. “Free spirit and all?”
He turned his head to meet her eyes, his hands at her waist now and pulling her even closer. Their lips met — just barely — but he did not kiss her. Not yet. Instead, he murmured, “I do. I accept you, I admire you. I cherish you.” There was a hopeful lilt to his last words, and she rewarded him a kiss.
Smiling to herself, pleased, she placed a hand against his chest and nudged him towards the nearest wall.
“You will have to show me just how much.”