Work Text:
On some level, he knew that he should be paying more attention to his surroundings. He knew that he was alive, in a field of Elpis blooms of resplendent white. The feeling of hope could only have surged from the Warrior of Light herself and he was vacantly aware of her wiry Duskwight frame ahead.
That was not his focus. Could not be.
Not when Emet-Selch was before him, scant yalms away. The old scar on his back thrummed with pain and he could almost taste the wine from the Crystarium’s first vintage. A roaring fire, a stack of books. He was sure Emet-Selch had only played at intoxication but his looks could not have been imagined when…
“You’re leaving !?”
Alisaie’s offended phrase snapped G’raha’s eyes up to Emet-Selch’s face.
“Of course,” he scoffed. “The encore is finished, and I will not suffer myself to live again by Hydaelyn’s magick.”
“ Don’t you dare! ”
“G’raha, what in the seven hells-”
But he was gone already, sprinting the distance in record time, kicking up shards of flowers as he went. He didn’t so much stop in front of the Ancient as he did run full into him , but Raha grabbed him by his robe regardless.
“Don’t you dare do this to me again! Do you know how long I mourned? I can’t… I can’t…”
Pain. It hurt. Around him, shouting. He felt himself turning. But Emet-Selch was right there… but only for a moment… then he would be gone…
“Calm yourself, my dearest Exarch. Did you face the Light just to crumble here in the dark? I think not. ”
G’raha felt the gibbering shadows fade and opened his eyes. The golden ones that greeted him reminded him of the richest sunsets he’d ever seen, and certainly brighter than his mortal self. As he had not that long ago now, Emet-Selch used his thumbs to wipe his tears away.
“I do have to go, you know. I believe I’ve earned my rest. And you all have much to do here.”
Raha breathed a laugh, then nodded. “I suppose.” A pause, then, with all the authority of the Crystal Exarch, “The Endsinger will answer for her crimes against Amaurot.”
A chuckle, and a squeeze on his shoulder from fingers already fading from reality, until nothing was left but their intersecting circles of rose-colored Elpis blooms.
G’raha trod down the hallway towards his quarters in the Baldesion Annex, two weeks after the events of Ultima Thule. Two weeks after the Warrior almost died. Two weeks after…
He shut the door and locked it with a click . It was the middle of the night. Hours of interrogation by his friends over his relations with Emet-Selch on the First. What happened behind closed doors. How frequently. How earnest his affections. How surprised he shouldn’t have been to be shot in the back.
How betrayed he felt. And now, how betrayed his friends felt. Such thoughts had rolled through his head as he vacantly stumbled around Old Sharlayan, their words in his head.
Now, G’raha slumped against the door and slid to the floor. Hot tears pooled in his eyes. He was a fool, he knew. But he believed, with all his heart, that Emet-Selch was, too.
He watched the moon through his window, half obscured by trees. He hadn’t seen much of the moon on the First and he wondered if there was a piece of Zodiark there, too. If that’s what Emet-Selch was watching, protecting, in the many long decades of their song and dance.
His ears flicked briefly. Aetheric disturbance. Probably Y’shtola, she had mentioned joining the Warrior on some experiment or another downstairs.
Raha stood and walked towards the window, pulling a cardigan from his bed as he went. It was Kholusian make, from when trade had flourished before Eulmore closed her borders. It was a burgundy, and still smelled faintly of wine and spice, as it had for the last few years, and he suspected Emet-Selch weaved the enchantment to torment him. He took a deep breath to keep his emotions at bay as he wrapped himself in that scent. He never wanted to tell the Scions about any of that. Not ever. It was too raw, personal, unfathomable-
knock knock knock
G’raha glanced at the chronometer on the table. One in the morning. He sighed. Something must have gone wrong in the basement laboratory. Probably the lighting again, damnable things, he should petition the Forum to-
knock knock knock
“Alright, alright!” he huffed, rolling up his sleeves as he crossed the room to fling the door wide. “Y’shtola, I promise it can wait until-”
“If you say I resemble that terrible woman, Exarch, I will call for a healer to examine your eyes.”
Raha froze. His eyes locked on the ones that towered above him at Elezen height, gold and shining from the dark doorway. White hair cascaded messily around his shoulders to frame a sour expression. He was dressed in a white poet’s shirt and black trousers - both wrinkled and ill-fitting.
“How… you…”
Emet-Selch’s lips quirked, then. “I don’t remember you ever being one to force a guest to wait in discomfort.”
"Y-yes, yes, of course, uh…" Raha waved the man in and locked the door behind before darting ahead to shove the pile of books off his second armchair, gesturing absently before moving to his small stove to heat a kettle for tea.
how how how hOW HOW-
He brought down two mismatched cups with even more mismatched saucers and set them aside for later.
"You'll have to forgive me for having nothing of finery left to offer. I had to leave nearly everything behind when I departed the First."
" Nearly everything."
G'raha turned his head to see Emet-Selch sitting in his armchair, eyeing the cardigan he wore with a taunting grin. Raha felt his ear tips heat and redden.
"I couldn't leave it," he muttered, worrying the sleeves as he cast his gaze to the floor. A scoff brought his head up.
"What is this boyish shyness you suddenly have, Exarch? This is neither the man who faced me on the battlefield nor in the bedroom. Don't tell me your age has addled your mind."
Raha was saved from answering by the kettle's whistle, which startled him enough to set his tail's fur on end. He gathered his supplies and set the tray on the small table between the two armchairs.
"Honey, sugar, and a small portion of whiskey, as was your preference."
There was the barest hint of half a smile as Emet-Selch inclined his head in appreciation before taking a sip. "Hmm… a Hannish blend, if I'm not mistaken. It cannot have been cheap."
"How are you here?"
"Ah, straight to the point! Much more like the Exarch I remember."
"G'raha. My name is G'raha. I do not claim authority over the Crystarium any longer."
"Very well, G'raha ,” Emet-Selch replied, with a near-perfect Miqo’te “h” that caused his tail to curl in subconscious delight, “It was apparently a scheme dreamed up by your dearest hero and that mad woman I pulled out of the Lifestream. With Azem's stone, they used the aether stored within to drag myself and my companion, Hythlodaeus, back to the corporeal realm."
"Why?"
Emet-Selch went quiet a moment, taking in the sky and the cool night air. Raha watched with him, letting the man gather his thoughts.
"The hero told me that the Elpis flowers around us had turned red," he murmured, "and that you had faced much vitriol from your companions for it."
G'raha sighed and looked into his tea. "Indeed. I faced quite a bit of questioning earlier this afternoon. If Thancred, Urianger, or Alisaie ever speak to me again, it will be some miracle. But… that doesn't explain why…"
His eyes widened in realization. "She brought you back… for me?"
"A gross simplification, but that was a part of it, yes."
G'raha's hands began to tremble, rattling his cup. "Emet-Selch, I-"
"Hades," was the murmured reply. "I am Hades."
G'raha's cup hit the floor and shattered as he threw himself into Hades's lap, bunching the man's shirt into his fists as he pulled him in for a crushing kiss, met with equal intensity as he felt hands snake around his waist. He used the leverage to force Hades back into the armchair, biting his lip hard enough to draw blood, which made the man hiss and chuckle as he pulled away.
"My my, one would think you missed me."
G'raha pressed his forehead against Hades's. "You have ten seconds to ward the room," he growled, the air faint crackling with an old energy.
"As you command… Raha ."
Snap!