[In a strange way, that admittance was reassuring. A claim to the contrary he would've doubted; at the very least, he wouldn't have sympathized with it. Irhya's answer at least implied she understood something of the difficulty involved- what was being asked of him when it came to accepting them, in living with them, in making any sort of attempt at reconciling his feelings about them, and their feelings about him. True understanding could only come with living the years as he had, Emet-Selch thought- but this version was likely the closest a mortal could manage. Some recognition of the scope involved....
He rests a hand against the back of her head, half-stroking at her hair, half just letting his fingers rest there as he thinks, distracted from even the small gesture.]
...'Tis a comprehensible goal. [Is something he has to reluctantly admit. Caring about someone while not remotely forgiving them at least sounded plausible in its difficulty, rather than outright insurmountable.] Except that life does not go on. It hasn't. For you it might be settled, this battle concluded, but I- how can it? My course became set at Amaurot's fall. For all that it's lost, I cannot abandon it. Even here, even in thought.
[He wasn't allowed to. He didn't want to- and Emet-Selch could hardly tell the difference between the two. If there was compulsion involved he couldn't resent it; if it hadn't been there, would he have given up years ago?
But it was a constant reminder. Of what he should be doing, what still needed to be done, what Irhya and the rest had prevented. Somehow- he was meant to accept their actions, their care, alongside his inability to give up or move past. He couldn't acknowledge that it was over, because that was the same as giving up, and he couldn't. Bitterness still burned in him, but he keeps his hand steady against her head. Refocuses his breathing; giving into that pain wouldn't accomplish anything other than hurting the both of them again, but oh, how he wanted to. To lash out, trapped and broken, unable to die or to live--
His hand trembles slightly but his tone is even.]
But I'll agree without reservation that nothing wanted is easy. Would that it be otherwise, if only on occasion- but the world never provides what we want without a fight.
no subject
He rests a hand against the back of her head, half-stroking at her hair, half just letting his fingers rest there as he thinks, distracted from even the small gesture.]
...'Tis a comprehensible goal. [Is something he has to reluctantly admit. Caring about someone while not remotely forgiving them at least sounded plausible in its difficulty, rather than outright insurmountable.] Except that life does not go on. It hasn't. For you it might be settled, this battle concluded, but I- how can it? My course became set at Amaurot's fall. For all that it's lost, I cannot abandon it. Even here, even in thought.
[He wasn't allowed to. He didn't want to- and Emet-Selch could hardly tell the difference between the two. If there was compulsion involved he couldn't resent it; if it hadn't been there, would he have given up years ago?
But it was a constant reminder. Of what he should be doing, what still needed to be done, what Irhya and the rest had prevented. Somehow- he was meant to accept their actions, their care, alongside his inability to give up or move past. He couldn't acknowledge that it was over, because that was the same as giving up, and he couldn't. Bitterness still burned in him, but he keeps his hand steady against her head. Refocuses his breathing; giving into that pain wouldn't accomplish anything other than hurting the both of them again, but oh, how he wanted to. To lash out, trapped and broken, unable to die or to live--
His hand trembles slightly but his tone is even.]
But I'll agree without reservation that nothing wanted is easy. Would that it be otherwise, if only on occasion- but the world never provides what we want without a fight.