There's little he can do prove the truth of his words; that this is no dream. Not beyond simply remaining. Beyond making that when she does wake (whenever sleep should claim her) that she does not do so alone. Still, there's a moment's silence before he answers, and that alone might nearly be damning enough.
"I cannot answer that without bias. We are-- ah, no, that terminology came later, I believe."
There's a brief pause then, as he regathers his thoughts and tries again.
"Do you recall how our aether - our souls - became ... marked, after we summoned Zodiark? We were all of us bound to His will, in that moment. To His desires, and those that brought Him forth. And not even the ultimate fate of our world could undo that mark."
It does not surprise her—not after what Hyth had told her—but it does disappoint her. She curls in upon herself more securely, shying away from her companion's touch.
"The sound of half the souls of our star being consumed by that thing took years to drown from my mind. Then you did it again." She shivers. "Licking at the heels of a monster, it is no wonder you didn't answer when—"
When I needed you most.
"...At least you had your fellow thralls until the end."
"If that should be what you choose to think of me..."
There's a shrug with the words, and he cannot deny it hurts, to know that she thinks so little of him. To imagine that she might believe bias alone - even that granted by his tempering - would make him incapable of caring. But he knows too that words alone will not be enough to prove otherwise. That her belief in who he is - who he has always been - will need to be something he earns. Something born of action, and not mere words.
(Still, it will give him something to do, he supposes. Something to work on, though it might take time.)
"But we are tempered, not so altered as be unrecognizable. Halmarut's speeches - while well-meaning - still tend to run overlong. And I would rather suffer the unending droning of insects than spend another moment of eternity forced to endure Fandaniel's utterly inane prattle."
She flares with anger brought upon by grief and betrayal, and it hurts enough to steal her breath. One fisted hand unfurls itself, sliding down to press firmly against her abdomen while the other remains steadfast against her sternum. There is the hiss of air between her clenched teeth, and no doubting the resentment in her tone.
He knows he shouldn't ask. That the answer will likely be no more comfortable than the ones she has already given. But the question is already past his lips before he can stop it. And perhaps it's just as well. If she would blame him no matter what he should choose to call himself, surely it's better to know sooner rather than later?
"Or would you blame me for what I have not done - could not do - regardless?"
"If Hades cares, it is not for me." A quiet sound rises in her throat, angry and anguished in equal measure. Slowly, it rises in volume until she's all but yelling:
"What you did was ensure I was forever alone! Has your precious master been worth all the sacrifices?!"
She takes a gasping breath, fingers digging into the flesh of her chest until the flare of pain eases.
"Tell me, Hades," Hemera demands in a dangerous whisper. "If He had demanded it, would you have sacrificed my child to sate His monstrous hunger?"
He flinches, just a little, at her first comment. He'd known it would hurt, had known that there had been all but no chance it wouldn't - had been expecting it to hurt - and it still does. It's harder, too, to think of setting it aside, when it is something that has been so directly pointed, from one of the people he'd cared for most. But he has lived with sorrow for thousands upon thousands of years. He can manage a little longer, or so he imagines.
...And then she mentions a child, and any thoughts but that promptly flee his mind, leaving him blinking as he processes the news. Enough so that he does - for a moment - wonder if there is still a child. (Now that he's actually looking he can see the physical signs pregnancy has left on her body; small changes that he had all but written off as his memory being faulty after so long.) Logic kicks back in then - if there had been he would have seen it from the first. Thus, it is a matter of there having been a child. A potential that was never realized, and there's some part of him that might almost mourn that, deep under the tempering.
"Have I fallen so far in your graces that you assume I would even want to?"
There's hurt in his voice - how can there not be, at such an accusation - but there's echoes of loss, too. Of sorrow, both for what could have been and what was. He might not have had the chance to know Hemera's child - neither of them have - but he knows all too well the pain of losing a child. Even if his had managed to exist, for a time.
The hurt she can hear-sense-taste in his voice catches her by surprise, as does the fact she spoke of a child at all. To her it had never been more than a possibility. A promise made to her by the star only to be broken. Her breath catches, damp with emotion she hasn't confronted in decades.
"...I suppose it doesn't matter," she says, ignoring the wetness in her eyes. "Zodiark or no, I could never have done it all my own. There was never going to be a child."
It might have been no more than a possibility, perhaps. But that it had - for that one brief moment - been a possibility is enough to dig at wounds he had thought very nearly closed. Memories that he would have been otherwise perfectly content to let lie, to remain as simply that. Memories, of something that might have been. Fragments, echoes of what she has, with that single suggestion, spoken into the world. There may not have been a child. But there could have been. Without Zodiark. Without the Final Days. Without the decisions that had been made and not made.
It takes a moment, before he finds the right words. Before he finds it in himself to speak at all, when he knows that there are too many 'what if's to speak of the possibility of there having been one, had they not had cause to summon Zodiark.
"Emotions rarely care for if a thing should matter, I've found. The hurt is real. The possibility was real, if but for that brief moment."
The hope was real, though he can't say for certain if she'd allowed herself to do so the way he had, when she'd realized what could have been. Nor does he mean to ask. Some things are better left unsaid, and this, he suspects, is one of them.
"I was too ill." For a time she had thought it from grief, but then it worsened. "It was killing me."
There was so much pain. So much blood—
Hemera curls into herself further with a quiet, agonized gasp. Her soul shudders along with her, guttering like a candle flame before eventually steadying again. (She wishes it didn't.)
Her voice falters, turning into no more than a broken whisper.
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no subject
Date: 2020-12-08 06:03 am (UTC)"I cannot answer that without bias. We are-- ah, no, that terminology came later, I believe."
There's a brief pause then, as he regathers his thoughts and tries again.
"Do you recall how our aether - our souls - became ... marked, after we summoned Zodiark? We were all of us bound to His will, in that moment. To His desires, and those that brought Him forth. And not even the ultimate fate of our world could undo that mark."
no subject
Date: 2020-12-08 06:18 am (UTC)It does not surprise her—not after what Hyth had told her—but it does disappoint her. She curls in upon herself more securely, shying away from her companion's touch.
"The sound of half the souls of our star being consumed by that thing took years to drown from my mind. Then you did it again." She shivers. "Licking at the heels of a monster, it is no wonder you didn't answer when—"
When I needed you most.
"...At least you had your fellow thralls until the end."
no subject
Date: 2020-12-08 09:05 pm (UTC)There's a shrug with the words, and he cannot deny it hurts, to know that she thinks so little of him. To imagine that she might believe bias alone - even that granted by his tempering - would make him incapable of caring. But he knows too that words alone will not be enough to prove otherwise. That her belief in who he is - who he has always been - will need to be something he earns. Something born of action, and not mere words.
(Still, it will give him something to do, he supposes. Something to work on, though it might take time.)
"But we are tempered, not so altered as be unrecognizable. Halmarut's speeches - while well-meaning - still tend to run overlong. And I would rather suffer the unending droning of insects than spend another moment of eternity forced to endure Fandaniel's utterly inane prattle."
He means that too, by the annoyance in his voice.
no subject
Date: 2020-12-08 11:19 pm (UTC)She flares with anger brought upon by grief and betrayal, and it hurts enough to steal her breath. One fisted hand unfurls itself, sliding down to press firmly against her abdomen while the other remains steadfast against her sternum. There is the hiss of air between her clenched teeth, and no doubting the resentment in her tone.
"It should have been you."
no subject
Date: 2020-12-16 05:55 am (UTC)He knows he shouldn't ask. That the answer will likely be no more comfortable than the ones she has already given. But the question is already past his lips before he can stop it. And perhaps it's just as well. If she would blame him no matter what he should choose to call himself, surely it's better to know sooner rather than later?
"Or would you blame me for what I have not done - could not do - regardless?"
no subject
Date: 2020-12-16 06:24 am (UTC)"What you did was ensure I was forever alone! Has your precious master been worth all the sacrifices?!"
She takes a gasping breath, fingers digging into the flesh of her chest until the flare of pain eases.
"Tell me, Hades," Hemera demands in a dangerous whisper. "If He had demanded it, would you have sacrificed my child to sate His monstrous hunger?"
no subject
Date: 2020-12-29 06:00 am (UTC)...And then she mentions a child, and any thoughts but that promptly flee his mind, leaving him blinking as he processes the news. Enough so that he does - for a moment - wonder if there is still a child. (Now that he's actually looking he can see the physical signs pregnancy has left on her body; small changes that he had all but written off as his memory being faulty after so long.) Logic kicks back in then - if there had been he would have seen it from the first. Thus, it is a matter of there having been a child. A potential that was never realized, and there's some part of him that might almost mourn that, deep under the tempering.
"Have I fallen so far in your graces that you assume I would even want to?"
There's hurt in his voice - how can there not be, at such an accusation - but there's echoes of loss, too. Of sorrow, both for what could have been and what was. He might not have had the chance to know Hemera's child - neither of them have - but he knows all too well the pain of losing a child. Even if his had managed to exist, for a time.
"Of course I wouldn’t have.”
no subject
Date: 2020-12-29 06:24 am (UTC)"...I suppose it doesn't matter," she says, ignoring the wetness in her eyes. "Zodiark or no, I could never have done it all my own. There was never going to be a child."
no subject
Date: 2021-01-12 06:19 am (UTC)It takes a moment, before he finds the right words. Before he finds it in himself to speak at all, when he knows that there are too many 'what if's to speak of the possibility of there having been one, had they not had cause to summon Zodiark.
"Emotions rarely care for if a thing should matter, I've found. The hurt is real. The possibility was real, if but for that brief moment."
The hope was real, though he can't say for certain if she'd allowed herself to do so the way he had, when she'd realized what could have been. Nor does he mean to ask. Some things are better left unsaid, and this, he suspects, is one of them.
no subject
Date: 2021-01-13 03:55 am (UTC)There was so much pain. So much blood—
Hemera curls into herself further with a quiet, agonized gasp. Her soul shudders along with her, guttering like a candle flame before eventually steadying again. (She wishes it didn't.)
Her voice falters, turning into no more than a broken whisper.
"...It would have been our masterwork. A family."