Chapter Text
Your eyes fall shut as you try to steady yourself. In and out, counting down slowly with each breath drawn in to find some semblance of calm.
Ten. You can do this. You always find a way.
Nine. You cannot falter. You will stand tall.
Eight. You have to keep fighting, always.
Seven. Don't let them down. They count on you!
Six. You know what you want.
Five. They look to you. You have to be larger than life for them.
Four. In the end, you always win the day.
Three. You can carry it all.
Two. Nothing can break you.
One. Remember why you are doing this.
Another deep breath as you embrace the calm. There is no need for fear, you are fine, and everything is as it is supposed to be.
You can do this, no matter how nervous some things make you, and with newfound courage, you move on. You find him in shadows between the larger trees supporting the village. It makes sense that he would avoid the light as best as he can, given that he is very much a being of pure darkness. He sees you coming, but he moves no muscle to acknowledge the fact; he simply remains where he is, sitting on one of the large roots and leaning back lazily against the stem of the tree. His golden eyes follow your steps, and as you are close enough, they move up to your face, giving you an expectant look.
You don't think he would appreciate small talk, and so you get right to the point.
"You could help her," you say firmly but quietly, and Emet-Selch's eyebrows rise.
"Pardon me?"
"Y'shtola. I saw the way you looked when I described the things I've seen."
Emet-Selch lets out a dry laugh at your stab in the dark. It's all that it really is, you know nothing for sure, after all, and he knows it just as well as you do.
"Been watching me, have you, hero?" he says with a self-satisfied look. "And just like that, you've become an expert in what I can and can not do?"
"Look, can you help or not?" you ask impatiently.
The heavy feeling of loss weighs you more than ever before. You can scarcely forget the pain in your companion's eyes when they listened to you telling the tale of Y'shtola's last moments. The expectation that had shone in everyone's eyes, an expectation that you would undoubtedly come up with something that might save her. There had been an unspoken sense of disappointment when you had to admit there had been nothing you could have done for her.
In front of you, Emet-Selch's sharp eyes don't miss a single part of your distress, and his smile widens considerably.
"Perhaps I could," he says with an almost bored shrug. "But what would you be prepared to offer me in return, dear hero?"
Your eyes widen at his words. The mere possibility that he could actually, conceivably, save your friend floods you with relief. That is until you ponder what in the world you could realistically offer someone like him, someone with his powers, someone who can bend most of the world to his will with the snap of a finger.
"I'm not sure what I could give you that you'd want," you admit after a period of silence.
You didn't expect the way he rolls his eyes at you in clear annoyance.
"Really, hero?" he mocks as he stands up and walks towards you. "Your lack of creativity nearly brings a tear to the eye. As does your ability to ignore the most obvious thing you have to bargain with."
At those words, he lets his eyes wander up and down your body in a most blatant way, and you feel your throat running dry at the implication.
"You are not serious," you breathe out, trying to wrap your head around this. "Why would you even want this?"
"Boredom, the opportunity to mess with you, or simply because I can," Emet-Selch lists with a shrug. "Take your pick!"
You question wholeheartedly if any of those reasons are actually true, but at the same time, you carefully weigh your options. It is a preposterous suggestion, but in exchange for what you want from him, it feels like an almost ridiculously small price to pay.
"And how exactly would such an exchange look like?" you ask tentatively, and Emet-Selch's smile takes on a devious touch as he suddenly disappears, only to materialize right behind you.
"Quite easy, my dear," he murmurs, and a gloved hand runs up from your elbow to your shoulder. "You give yourself to me, and I, in turn, return your companion to you once we're done."
You swallow heavily at the way his voice has dropped at those words.
"Give myself to you," you murmur with a hint of disbelief about the fact that you are actually considering this.
"Let me have my way with you for the night, hero," Emet-Selch says in affirmation. "Within reason, of course."
"Reason?"
"I can guarantee your safety. You won't come to any lasting harm by my hand if that is a concern of yours. Well, at least not tonight."
It hadn't been foremost on your mind, even though it probably should be. You stumble briefly over his phrasing, though. 'Any lasting harm.' Is there an implication for temporary harm in there, or are these words really meant as an assurance? You are not sure if you should ask for clarification when Emet-Selch steps around.
"Clock's ticking, hero; I don't feel like standing around watching you battle with your conscience all night," he says impatiently. "You've heard my offer. Take it or leave it!"
You have a clear choice. Technically. But if you truly think about it, there is none. You would never forgive yourself, knowing you could have saved your friend and decided not to out of some sense of moral righteousness or for your own virtue.
"Alright," you agree. "You can have me for the night in exchange for bringing her back."
You sound a lot more steady than you anticipated, and in front of you, Emet-Selch smiles.
"Splendid," he says with an irritatingly cheery smile before he holds out his hand and a portal appears behind him. At your confused look, he clicks his tongue.
"Unless you want me to barbarously take you against a tree and with a possible audience, you should consider letting me escort you away from here."
Right, you are well within earshot and possibly even sight of the village, and the thought of any one of your friends finding out about just what you are willing to do to live up to their hopes and dreams fills you with pure dread. With a determined nod, you take his hand, and a moment later, the world around you shifts and disappears. It takes only a few seconds, and then you find yourself in your room in the pendants, moonlight falling through the open window and dimly illuminating the otherwise darkened room.
Something in the way Emet-Selch still holds your hand in a tight grip gives you pause.
"By all means, speak what's on your mind, hero, while you still can," he prompts as soon as he notices your look.
There is something greedy and vicious in his eyes as they roam over your form. Something that sends a shudder down your spine that isn't entirely caused by fear.
"You look at me like you want to devour me, but at the same time, you snarl like you want to tear me apart."
Your voice is still steady, but it sounds undeniably curious, even to your own ears.
"And that intrigues you, hero, doesn't it?"
Emet-Selch leans a little closer, right into your personal space, and you try your best to not flinch away from him. It wouldn't do your deal any good if you looked like you would run away from him any second now, no matter how much a part of you screams to do just that.
"Oh, what an interesting turn of events," he murmurs, eyes wandering over your tense form before they narrow. "Are the ones kissing your feet and revering your heroic deeds not cutting it for you, my dear?"
His words are like acid, burning through your shields, and this time you do flinch.
"No! They-"
"They worship the very ground you walk on, Warrior of Light," Emet-Selch muses with a menacing look that turns into something thoroughly unsettling when he adds a smile to it. "And that is the opposite of what you want them to do!"
You gasp, looking at him in shock, too stunned for a moment to protest in time. At your inability to deny his claim, Emet-Selch looks strangely satisfied.
"Praise in abundance loses all meaning, doesn't it?" he murmurs.
His fingers trail over your jaw, nudging and tilting your head as he leans forward until you are almost eye to eye.
"Are you such a broken thing that you need someone to step on the shattered pieces and crush you under heel?"
His words are like shards of glass, sharp and piercing, driving home that you should deny everything. To give his words such power over you is pure madness. So what if you are beyond tired from pretending otherwise? What if you desperately wish for someone to see past the veneer of heroism you coat yourself with to match the pedestal people force you on time and time again? Surely that someone can not be him. Should not be him at any cost. The danger inherent in giving so much of you to the enemy, of entrusting truths to him even your closest confidants don't know, can invite only doom.
Then again, the line of people actually seeing you as clearly as he does is woefully empty.
"Yes," you simply say, and the shimmer of excitement in the Ascian's eyes should rightfully terrify you. It does so in the most potent way, as Emet-Selch leans even closer, his hot breath brushing over your flushed skin.
"Here's how this is going to go, hero, since I am in a mood to indulge you," he sneers, watchful golden eyes perfectly aware of how you bite back a small moan at his harsh tone. "I am going to break you apart and use you in every way to my heart's content, and when I'm done with you, I am going to discard you like the sundered, broken thing that you are." He nearly growls his words at you, fingers tightening around your jaw as his eyes burn into yours. "But if you're not completely worthless at this, I might even lower myself to do it again."
The words burn beneath your skin, and suddenly you feel like anything but a hero. The way he looks at you makes you small, insignificant, utterly irrelevant even. Here, in this room, with this Ascian snarling at you, you are no one's savior. Instead, you are the one lost - and for the first time in forever, you feel like you can breathe again.