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Emet-Selch did not like winter in the sundered world.
Truthfully, he much preferred the autumn months of the year. The cooler temperatures were a reprieve from the heat of the summer, but not cold enough to be uncomfortable. By that logic, spring was also alright, Emet-Selch supposed, but the humidity and the allergies left something to be desired.
Nevertheless, winter may not have been his favorite season back in the days of paradise, but it was at least bearable . Far more so than it was now, at any rate.
Especially when Eleonora was apparently currently beset by the good sense to drag him and Hythlodaeus along to the xenophobic wastes of Ishgard , of all places.
Still, he conceded, she could have chosen worse. She could have chosen Garlemald. And then Emet-Selch would be subject to Hythlodaeus’s constant teasing about his stint as the former Emperor, to add insult to injury, because Creation knew Hythlodaeus wouldn’t pass up such a golden opportunity to slander him.
Now if only his rare, amicable mood would last.
Emet-Selch admittedly hadn’t been paying much attention when Eleonora first broached the idea of whatever mischief had deigned to cross her mind this time (in his defense, it was hardly seven in the morning and he had nearly zero sense of awareness about him save for the fact that the blankets were warm and everything outside them was cold and someone was having the audacity to attempt to remove him from them), but he had tagged along anyways, if only to reduce the chance he was unexpectedly summoned from halfway across the continent and suddenly thrust into a situation he really didn’t want to be dealing with at that moment.
Such was how he managed to find himself standing before the entrance to an imposing manor perched atop the spiraling architecture of the Holy See, red-and-black banners framing the double doors manned by an Elezen gateguard garbed in chainmail.
Before he knew it, Emet-Selch was being ushered into the manor, half by Hythlodaeus who had slung himself around Emet-Selch’s shoulders and was all but dragging him into the foyer because he was cold and half by Eleonora, who was doing her damndest to convince him to not leave immediately so he could socially interact like a functioning member of society.
“No thank you,” he tried to deny, finally prying Hythlodaeus off of himself and letting him flop into the armchair nearest the fireplace. “You will be making me do no such thing.”
“Come on! Just fifteen minutes!” Eleonora pleaded dramatically. “ Pleeeeease , Emet?”
Emet-Selch pinched the bridge of his nose. “One day, you’re going to try that and it isn’t going to work,” he threatened.
“But that day isn’t today!” Eleonora beamed. “This way, there are some people I want you to meet—!” With that, she took hold of Emet-Selch’s wrist and began steering him through the maze of corridors with the enthusiasm of a small child overloaded on sugar.
Hythlodaeus giggled and bounced up from the armchair, helping Eleonora shepherd Emet-Selch towards the large dining room down the hall painted in the vibrant colors of a handful of souls milling about. Yet despite the chaos already suffocating the room, all eyes seemed to turn towards Eleonora the moment she whimsically burst through the doors, two Ancients in tow.
“Eleonora, old girl!” the Elezen leaning against the wall with his hands in his coat pockets greeted brightly. “How good to see you again! And I see you’ve brought guests, how delightful.” He pushed himself off the wall and sauntered towards the trio.
“I do not believe we’ve met. Emmanellain de Fortemps, at your service,” he introduced with a bow, though Emet-Selch could sense his attention plainly lingering on Hythlodaeus. “Say, if I could interest you with—”
Hythlodaeus’s flustered confusion falling upon willfully ignorant ears, he was swiftly dragged towards the long dinner table laden with countless plates of food and all but thrust into a seat by the young Elezen. At the head of the table, the one with thick, wavy hair slumped into his seat and buried his face in his hands in despair, and never before had Emet-Selch empathized so deeply with a complete stranger.
Eleonora, meanwhile, seemed to be having the time of her life watching the proceedings as she took her own seat to Hythlodaeus’s right, beckoning Emet-Selch to occupy the chair to her other side.
“Emmanellain,” the one at the head of the table finally snapped sternly. “Are you a lord or a jester at a children’s party? Sit down ,” he hissed. Instantly, Emmanellain deflated and trodded dejectedly towards his own seat, his footsteps on the carpet echoed by the sounds of Eleonora’s laughter barely stifled in the crook of her elbow.
“I apologize for my brother’s…” He cleared his throat. “ Ignominy . ‘Tis certainly far from the impression I wished to make upon you,” he grimaced. “Nevertheless. I am Artoirel de Fortemps, Count of House Fortemps, and I bid you welcome…”
After a brief spate of introductions, Eleonora fell into comfortable conversation with the Fortemps, Hythlodaeus occasionally chiming in like the sociable extrovert he was, while Emet-Selch leaned back in his seat and stayed silent, counting the seconds until it seemed acceptable for him to take his leave. (Of course, he would grumble and complain, but there was nothing that could get him to actually leave, save for the two sitting nearest him, inextricably bound to one another’s presence.)
At some point, they were joined by the eldest of the Fortemps, the brothers’ father, Edmont, and the Starlight dinner began in earnest. Hythlodaeus did not hesitate to fill his plate, inspecting each delicacy under the light of the chandelier with muted fascination, his eyebrows furrowing together in that way they always did when he was presented with a new concept.
Emet-Selch discreetly leaned over and smacked Hythlodaeus in the side. “You’re thinking too loudly. Stop.”
Hythlodaeus pouted. “Is it a crime now to analyze the aetheric structure of something I have never before seen? You wound me.”
“Hythlodaeus, you are looking at a salad . There is nothing to analyze.”
“Really? Could have fooled me. It looks rather more like someone took a hill and shrunk it down thousandfold, you know.”
Emet-Selch rubbed his temples. “Well, if you’re going to review your food like a concept, at least be more subtle. At this rate, someone is going to notice and ask you about it, and then we’ll have to explain everything about who we are and why we’re really here, and I really do not want to have to admit to them that I tried to kill Eleonora at one point.” He slunk back into his own seat and deliberately did not make eye contact with Hythlodaeus.
Hythlodaeus giggled, twirling the end of his lavender braid around his finger, but heeded Emet-Selch’s advice nevertheless, listening silently as Eleonora continued to converse animatedly with the Fortemps. As the hours whiled on and more and more wine was consumed, Emet-Selch didn’t even realize as he soon forgot about the food, his attention now reserved only for the woman by his side; a small smile teased at the corner of his lip as everything else seemed to fade away, leaving only himself, Hythlodaeus, Eleonora, and a singular, immutable truth.
As much as he despised their incessant shenanigans and everything that he had groused about today and all the days before, Emet-Selch could not deny that everything that had happened up until this point had been worth it. The highs of paradise and the lows of despair, it had all come together to bring him here. To this moment.
To the ones he loved.
To the ones who, in that instant, knew only blinding happiness and contentment, bright enough to illuminate the darkest corner of the universe, their light everlasting.
And that was enough for him.