š„ythlodaeus. (![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png)
lackingtalent) wrote in ![[community profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/community.png)
abraxaslogs2022-08-08 10:34 pm
lackingtalent) wrote in abraxaslogs2022-08-08 10:34 pm
Entry tags:
closed; back where i belong
WHO: Hythlodaeus, Emet-Selch.
WHAT: Obligatory fluff after the nightmare event. Absolutely, 100% not a date. Honest.
WHEN: Early/mid August.
WHERE: Solvunn, open fields. Between the first and the second settlement, and very, very far out of the way.
[It is a fine, long, and slow afternoon. There is residual warmth in the air from what had been an almost perfect day- a day of bright sunshine, a gentle breeze- and a day where not a single cloud had been viewable in the sky. A day almost, so very almost- alike one of theirs which had been the norm upon their world. A day almost perfect. And certainly, one that he feels he would rather see the positives of, rather than what is still lacking.
The sun hangs low, as if proud of the glorious day it has delivered and is thus unwilling to give up its position within the heavens. The moon (or a silvery outline of it) can be viewed should one look upward in the opposite direction. It waits for the inevitable, for the golden hues of the sun's slow, clawing descent to fade, and for its brothers and sisters- stars- to join it as it would claim their dominion over the night sky in the sun's absence.
Hythlodaeus knew that there is no real conflict there. He knows there is no conscious will on the sun's part to linger on for as long as it can, and he knows that the moon is not watching as jealously as it would appear. Of course not. He knows, well, that longer days are simply part of the season.
But. It is easy to allow his imagination to roam. Especially when all is so still, all is so pleasant, and all is so very peaceful. The meadow upon which they had decided to spend their afternoon is utterly abandoned- far enough from all of the working farms in the first settlement for the wind to be unable to carry any unpleasant smells their way. And oh, it is far. Farther than what he had ever been actually. It is unworked land, belonging to nothing and no-one, and other than a few errant sounds- nickering, mostly- from a nearby Grani as it appreciates the open space upon which it has been brought to, other sounds of a babbling brook perhaps five minutes walk from this particular spot, the only other sounds are those of a certain creature- a shoebill- as it clearly marvels in hunting within flowing water with fast-moving prey for a change.
There is scarcely a sound from the man who rests his head in his lap. Even as Hythlodaeus reclines further against the trunk of an ancient tree. And not a single sound is needed. He is content in moving his hand through the other's short hair as he rests, content in moving his gaze down to him, content as he notes so many small things that he views as important.
...Like the particular hue chestnut in his hair. The fact that in this light, it almost seems reddish. And. It is gently that he moves his hand to the temple that he can reach, his fingertips gently stroking along his hairline.
...And quietly, as if he would not intend to wake him should he have fallen asleep;]
It was a wonderful idea to come here.
WHAT: Obligatory fluff after the nightmare event. Absolutely, 100% not a date. Honest.
WHEN: Early/mid August.
WHERE: Solvunn, open fields. Between the first and the second settlement, and very, very far out of the way.
[It is a fine, long, and slow afternoon. There is residual warmth in the air from what had been an almost perfect day- a day of bright sunshine, a gentle breeze- and a day where not a single cloud had been viewable in the sky. A day almost, so very almost- alike one of theirs which had been the norm upon their world. A day almost perfect. And certainly, one that he feels he would rather see the positives of, rather than what is still lacking.
The sun hangs low, as if proud of the glorious day it has delivered and is thus unwilling to give up its position within the heavens. The moon (or a silvery outline of it) can be viewed should one look upward in the opposite direction. It waits for the inevitable, for the golden hues of the sun's slow, clawing descent to fade, and for its brothers and sisters- stars- to join it as it would claim their dominion over the night sky in the sun's absence.
Hythlodaeus knew that there is no real conflict there. He knows there is no conscious will on the sun's part to linger on for as long as it can, and he knows that the moon is not watching as jealously as it would appear. Of course not. He knows, well, that longer days are simply part of the season.
But. It is easy to allow his imagination to roam. Especially when all is so still, all is so pleasant, and all is so very peaceful. The meadow upon which they had decided to spend their afternoon is utterly abandoned- far enough from all of the working farms in the first settlement for the wind to be unable to carry any unpleasant smells their way. And oh, it is far. Farther than what he had ever been actually. It is unworked land, belonging to nothing and no-one, and other than a few errant sounds- nickering, mostly- from a nearby Grani as it appreciates the open space upon which it has been brought to, other sounds of a babbling brook perhaps five minutes walk from this particular spot, the only other sounds are those of a certain creature- a shoebill- as it clearly marvels in hunting within flowing water with fast-moving prey for a change.
There is scarcely a sound from the man who rests his head in his lap. Even as Hythlodaeus reclines further against the trunk of an ancient tree. And not a single sound is needed. He is content in moving his hand through the other's short hair as he rests, content in moving his gaze down to him, content as he notes so many small things that he views as important.
...Like the particular hue chestnut in his hair. The fact that in this light, it almost seems reddish. And. It is gently that he moves his hand to the temple that he can reach, his fingertips gently stroking along his hairline.
...And quietly, as if he would not intend to wake him should he have fallen asleep;]
It was a wonderful idea to come here.
no subject
[Work that he had willingly put into raising an Empire up from nothing, yes, but work all the same - and even the distinctly grouchy tone of his voice says more than he would care to admit. That he cares, more than he wishes to, and hurts, more than he is comfortable with, over their fates no matter if they should be little more than recreations of people who had once lived. But neither can he bring himself to say as much either, instead covering over the emotions with grouchy irritation.
(He's fooling no one, least of all himself, but old habits are hard to break, especially when there has been hardly anyone who had been able to call him on such things, while he and his fellow Unsundered had worked towards furthering their goal.)
He does not turn to look at Hythlodaeus either, despite the gentle brush of his fingers. He doesn't turn away from that gentle affection, but rather than speak further he falls silent. Lets himself take what comfort he can from Hythlodaeus' presence as he does his best to ignore the emotional wound Hythlodaeus has brushed against. The wound that is still too raw for him to want to look at it for any length of time. And while Hythlodaeus is not wrong that eventually he will see to setting it to rights... that time is not now. Not yet.]
I do not. You of all people have the right to see matters... returned to how they ought to be.
no subject
He is aware, so very aware, that it is a cover. That it is not a case of this man feeling so very little that irritation is sparked, oh no. More that he felt so very much. So much that despite his years, despite the fact he had likely seen and experienced and learned from any situation anyone could possibly be put into during his lives lived, even with all of that under his belt, he still struggled with the sheer weight of what he felt sometimes.
And it cannot be helped. The sullen, almost sulking tone, the aversion of his eyes, even the way every single line in his face seems to tense just for a moment, goes right to Hythlodaeus' sentiment. He cannot help it. But he finds himself laughing, the sound soft.
His laugh is quieter than usual, perhaps- for, of course, the suffering of the imaginary creatures formed into the Amaurotine and Garlean shapes- shapes of those unknown to him yet meaningful to Emet Selch- deserve a measure of respect. But he cannot help it. He does laugh. Mostly into his spare hand. For oh. The other man looks so very grouchy.
And, lightly, as if to tease...]
A great deal of work. No doubt work where you did not seek rest until you were too exhausted to even think. I imagine you toiled for days, weeks, months, years, even centuries on end, with none around you daring to remind you that you were robbing yourself of the joy to be had in stepping back and observing.
[So very on task he imagines the other to be.
He exhales then, moving his gaze back to Hades' face, tapping the hollow of his cheek once, to call his attention once more. And then, he speaks earnestly. Not amusedly. Or teasingly. Earnestly.]
Perhaps I do. Yet I think that none deserve things to be as they should more than you. ...So when all is well, I will hold you to delivering a tour of your horizon. We will observe it- how it grows and it changes- together.
no subject
Still, he doesn't address that fact. Instead he merely lets his continued grumpiness speaks for itself, and the fact that he still has not moved from where he rest speaks volumes besides, even when he is clearly less than thrilled.]
Decades, not centuries. And I could hardly well have torn myself away from Garlemald sooner, given the position I held.
[Not that he hadn't been willing to try. Hadn't intended to pass it on to his mortal descendants and spend some time simply letting matters play out as they had been inclined to. But that had been before his initial choice for successor had been stolen away too soon, and he had been all but forced to change his plans once again.
And grumpy though he still is, he still settles just a bit at the touch to his face, though it had been meant as nothing more than a way to call his attention. It's a slight thing, though. Something that would take a sharp eye to notice, and no small amount of familiarity with him, besides.]
And if it should never be well?
[He knows he'll get over the hurt, in time. That the desire to put things to rights will eventually win out. But in this moment, he can no more address that fact than he can cease being grumpy.]