[ There are very few things Meara allows herself in this life ─ a moment of rest, the comfort of a hot bath, a meal consisting of more than what can be gathered from the area around her campsite ─ unless such things are forced upon her. Too busy has she always been looking after others rather than herself. Too focused on the well-being of the world around her while ignoring her own needs. The Scions came to this realization quite early on in their time together, making certain such things are given in such a way that their esteemed champion cannot refuse.
They only want what is best for her, of course, making certain she receives the self same care she gives onto others ─ friend and foe alike ─ as they take some of her duties upon themselves and leave her with naught to do but rest. A cruel fate, truly, for one such as she.
Unable to lay her head down upon a pillow Meara resorts to wandering, to taking in the sights and sounds that usually are little more than a backdrop on the world-ending crises she spends so much time working to thwart. There is no destination she has in mind, nor any goal, allowing her feet to take her where they so desire. Perhaps it should not surprise where exactly they lead, and to whom, given how often her thoughts seem to flit back towards that long coat and slumped shoulders. Once such things were met with anger unending, a similar feeling she held for most of his fellows, but something somewhere shifted in her opinion of Emet-Selch, and that anger was replaced with something much softer.
A need, perhaps, to stay at his side. To listen, to learn, to understand. To take comfort even in somehow who understands the very fabric of her soul. ]
Taken to brooding, have we? [ Her presence would be no surprise, she thinks, not with how easily he seems to pick her out from a crowd. Still, she thinks to pretend if only for a moment, that she surprised him this time. ] Be careful, should your brow furrow anymore you may gain another wrinkle.
[ Comparatively, Emet-Selch could claim to a life familiar with the richest of comforts - but he finds himself less inclined to them these days, unconcerned with feather beds and the warmth of a fire in the wall. There have been other worries on his mind, other matters to think of, and he is oft lost in the notion of the past overwhelming him. It is difficult, then, to focus on the present when he longs for a world long gone.
He is harried around like a prisoner, urged to stand and sit and move with the Scions as if he was meant to be a pinned animal, but he can only find it in him to complain briefly when the time comes. The world's end has paused for now, a brief thing, and he wishes that it had not; the ache of eternity has often been too much to bear, too much grief to muster the strength to withstand it. Company eases it, but it is nothing like the people of the past, friends long gone to the Star.
Her soul sings to him before she approaches, his sight not wavering in the years, so he barely turns as she approaches. Emet-Selch can read her spirit like a novel, and when her words reach his ears all he can do is breathe out gently, trying not to fumble his speech, burrowing into the depths of his wants and wondering how long it will take before he breaks once again. ]
I do not brood. Your Scions' inability for critical thought does not make mine something so poor. [ And the look he gives her is sour to say the least. ] You whisper wrinkles to an immortal? You must be tired.
[ Questions still sits on the tip of their tounges when the other Scions look at him; Why? Why does he still draw breath? Why does he hold such sway over their vaunted champion? Questions often posed when they think he is out of earshot when they think perhaps this time Meara will have the answers they seek. She never does, unable to find the right words to properly express all that swirls within her chest. Still, they trust her in this, as they do in all other things, for not once has Meara ever led them wrong.
Despite herself, a smile finds her lips, and her eyes light up with amusement that always comes to greet his sourness. Truly, she cannot help but wonder if he even has the ability to smile or to laugh in unbridled joy rather than contempt. ]
You do brood. [ She counters, a hand reaching up to brush a lock of stray hair behind a horn. ] More so than any man I have ever encountered in my life.
[ It is then that she turns and reaches up towards his face, finger hovering at the corner of an eye. ]
Right there, it makes you look more tired than I could ever be.
[ The look he gives her can only be described as withering, a lowered gaze that settles on her features - before he thinks better of it and shakes his head, accustomed to the notion of her teasing by now. There's something familiar in it, of a friendship borne and lost a lifetime ago, and he can do little more than welcome the tenderness it offers. He has long been bereft of such things, after all.
Leaning down, he tilts his head, as if to be judge and jury rather than ally. ]
You have quite literally spoken with dragons and creatures beyond imagination. I cannot be worse.
[ His gaze flicks to her hand, her horn, her face, before he scoffs and rises up to full height once more. ]
Again, I have been gifted the certainty of immortality. One might imagine some tiredness walks with that notion.
[ And who would she be to deny him such comforts? Bereft as he is of all he has ever known. It would be a fate too cruel, she thinks, one worse than the shackles that seem to bind him now. She lifts her head, smile widening just enough to reach her eyes.
It was good of her feet to carry her here, to him, instead of into whatever trouble they could find. Much better than the soft pillows her of bed, as her friends would so dearly want. ]
You may be right, I know a dragon who still mourns his lost love. [ It has been some time since she had been to Zenith, she thinks, she ought to visit. ] Alright, you are not the worst but you are a close second.
[ Absently she shifts on her feet, watching him rise, moving to follow just a touch before remembering her height prevents such things. Instead, she shifts her weight, tilting her head to the side. ]
Then you should be resting rather than brooding out here.
I am sure you know many people who could make that claim. I am hardly impressed.
[ A shake of his head follows and Emet-Selch lets himself gaze out at the morrow. There are many things that might drown his mind in these days gone by, but he does his best not to let himself fall and trip into that ocean. It hurts, truly, of course it does, but it is an ache and pain that he is all too intimately familiar with.
Emet-Selch can make an assumption about why she is here, carrying her own burdens as she does, but he is not to offer anything without her offering first. There is so much more he could do, but only if it is at her request. He is not quite so generous. ]
Why should I rest? I have little I aught to do of late, do I? I should rather enjoy the scenery.
[ Too many, she thinks, discarding the subject to the side. But truly who mourns lost loves more than Emet himself? All pale in comparison his display, to the city that sits beneath the waves in the First. Unbelievably large and sentimental.
Meara follows his gaze to the horizon, the sun burning bright as it begins its slow descent down. ]
For those wrinkles of course. [ Her gaze snaps back to form beside her shifting herself closer. ] Or mayhaps to keep another company? I know someone you see, she has been all but relieved of her duties and commanded to rest. Her fellows have taken to the winds and, with them, taken some of her duties leaving her a simple request: Rest.
[ It comes with a shake of his head, a soft little laugh, but he relents and allows her what she wants. Let her poke fun; he has lived long enough that he has heard it all by now. Little can offend, at least in terms of appearance.
Emet-Selch gazes out forward, feeling his age all of a sudden. ]
And how do you intend to spend your time of rest? It seems unlike your ilk to simply obey.
I have never been good at listening to such requests.
[ She has always been one of the most stubborn of the Scions ─ marching forward when she ought to stop, fighting on when she ought to retreat. A trait that began many years ago in the forests of Gridania and only grew as the years passed both to her benefit and detriment. The fact she is here, beside him, is telling enough that she has no real intention of doing as her friends asked her to do. Even absently she sought him out. ]
In truth, I haven't entirely decided what I want to do. [ Too long has she prioritized the wants and needs of others, only now is she starting to learn how to listen to her own. ] A part of me hoped you might have a suggestion.
Yes, yes, I am well aware of your failings, no need to list them all to me.
[ It's not entirely serious, all things considered, but it is all that he can really do in response. It's not as if he knows how to take care of another person, especially not in a world like this where people barely feel real.
Looking down at her, his brows raise slowly. ]
What makes you think I have anything of worth to suggest?
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slams into
They only want what is best for her, of course, making certain she receives the self same care she gives onto others ─ friend and foe alike ─ as they take some of her duties upon themselves and leave her with naught to do but rest. A cruel fate, truly, for one such as she.
Unable to lay her head down upon a pillow Meara resorts to wandering, to taking in the sights and sounds that usually are little more than a backdrop on the world-ending crises she spends so much time working to thwart. There is no destination she has in mind, nor any goal, allowing her feet to take her where they so desire. Perhaps it should not surprise where exactly they lead, and to whom, given how often her thoughts seem to flit back towards that long coat and slumped shoulders. Once such things were met with anger unending, a similar feeling she held for most of his fellows, but something somewhere shifted in her opinion of Emet-Selch, and that anger was replaced with something much softer.
A need, perhaps, to stay at his side. To listen, to learn, to understand. To take comfort even in somehow who understands the very fabric of her soul. ]
Taken to brooding, have we? [ Her presence would be no surprise, she thinks, not with how easily he seems to pick her out from a crowd. Still, she thinks to pretend if only for a moment, that she surprised him this time. ] Be careful, should your brow furrow anymore you may gain another wrinkle.
no subject
He is harried around like a prisoner, urged to stand and sit and move with the Scions as if he was meant to be a pinned animal, but he can only find it in him to complain briefly when the time comes. The world's end has paused for now, a brief thing, and he wishes that it had not; the ache of eternity has often been too much to bear, too much grief to muster the strength to withstand it. Company eases it, but it is nothing like the people of the past, friends long gone to the Star.
Her soul sings to him before she approaches, his sight not wavering in the years, so he barely turns as she approaches. Emet-Selch can read her spirit like a novel, and when her words reach his ears all he can do is breathe out gently, trying not to fumble his speech, burrowing into the depths of his wants and wondering how long it will take before he breaks once again. ]
I do not brood. Your Scions' inability for critical thought does not make mine something so poor. [ And the look he gives her is sour to say the least. ] You whisper wrinkles to an immortal? You must be tired.
no subject
Despite herself, a smile finds her lips, and her eyes light up with amusement that always comes to greet his sourness. Truly, she cannot help but wonder if he even has the ability to smile or to laugh in unbridled joy rather than contempt. ]
You do brood. [ She counters, a hand reaching up to brush a lock of stray hair behind a horn. ] More so than any man I have ever encountered in my life.
[ It is then that she turns and reaches up towards his face, finger hovering at the corner of an eye. ]
Right there, it makes you look more tired than I could ever be.
no subject
Leaning down, he tilts his head, as if to be judge and jury rather than ally. ]
You have quite literally spoken with dragons and creatures beyond imagination. I cannot be worse.
[ His gaze flicks to her hand, her horn, her face, before he scoffs and rises up to full height once more. ]
Again, I have been gifted the certainty of immortality. One might imagine some tiredness walks with that notion.
no subject
It was good of her feet to carry her here, to him, instead of into whatever trouble they could find. Much better than the soft pillows her of bed, as her friends would so dearly want. ]
You may be right, I know a dragon who still mourns his lost love. [ It has been some time since she had been to Zenith, she thinks, she ought to visit. ] Alright, you are not the worst but you are a close second.
[ Absently she shifts on her feet, watching him rise, moving to follow just a touch before remembering her height prevents such things. Instead, she shifts her weight, tilting her head to the side. ]
Then you should be resting rather than brooding out here.
no subject
[ A shake of his head follows and Emet-Selch lets himself gaze out at the morrow. There are many things that might drown his mind in these days gone by, but he does his best not to let himself fall and trip into that ocean. It hurts, truly, of course it does, but it is an ache and pain that he is all too intimately familiar with.
Emet-Selch can make an assumption about why she is here, carrying her own burdens as she does, but he is not to offer anything without her offering first. There is so much more he could do, but only if it is at her request. He is not quite so generous. ]
Why should I rest? I have little I aught to do of late, do I? I should rather enjoy the scenery.
no subject
Meara follows his gaze to the horizon, the sun burning bright as it begins its slow descent down. ]
For those wrinkles of course. [ Her gaze snaps back to form beside her shifting herself closer. ] Or mayhaps to keep another company? I know someone you see, she has been all but relieved of her duties and commanded to rest. Her fellows have taken to the winds and, with them, taken some of her duties leaving her a simple request: Rest.
no subject
[ It comes with a shake of his head, a soft little laugh, but he relents and allows her what she wants. Let her poke fun; he has lived long enough that he has heard it all by now. Little can offend, at least in terms of appearance.
Emet-Selch gazes out forward, feeling his age all of a sudden. ]
And how do you intend to spend your time of rest? It seems unlike your ilk to simply obey.
no subject
[ She has always been one of the most stubborn of the Scions ─ marching forward when she ought to stop, fighting on when she ought to retreat. A trait that began many years ago in the forests of Gridania and only grew as the years passed both to her benefit and detriment. The fact she is here, beside him, is telling enough that she has no real intention of doing as her friends asked her to do. Even absently she sought him out. ]
In truth, I haven't entirely decided what I want to do. [ Too long has she prioritized the wants and needs of others, only now is she starting to learn how to listen to her own. ] A part of me hoped you might have a suggestion.
no subject
[ It's not entirely serious, all things considered, but it is all that he can really do in response. It's not as if he knows how to take care of another person, especially not in a world like this where people barely feel real.
Looking down at her, his brows raise slowly. ]
What makes you think I have anything of worth to suggest?