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It's so strange, being back.

Ishgard hasn't changed in hundreds of years, strange to think it would have changed since he'd been here last, but then, everywhere else he'd been has changed just in the time he's been there. So it's strange to be walking streets he knows from his childhood but with eyes that are so different.

Beside him, Emmanelain chatters on about the different facets of city life. He had made sure Haurchefant knew to petition his former family with as much discretion as possible. They, of course, had simply said their son had died and they were certain some fugitive from Uldah couldn't be him anyway. He hadn't expected any differently. He feels like that person is dead and he breathes on as someone wholly different anyway, but it's strange, to be being shown around the place he grew up in by a member of one of the High Houses, someone his parents would have killed for him to be friends with just a few short years earlier, as though he were a stranger to this place.

He has always been a stranger to this place.

Dressed in Gridanian fashion and tanned lightly by the sun, he doesn't expect there's anyone here who would recognize him. He'd been barely more than a ghost when he left, hardly a warrior of anything. But as they pass through the Jeweled Croizer and Emmanelain gets caught up talking to some girl he's been trying to woo, there's a sudden, strange sensation at the back of his head, something like and unlike the Echo, and he turns, eyes scanning the busy street for... something. Someone.

(For some reason, unbidden, he remembers the night of the Calamity, giant pieces of some other part of Eorzea raining from the sky..

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He has to find Phillip.

He knows that the information he has is vital to the entire world, but there's only two people in the entire world for whom the information he has is personal. He needs to talk to Phillip. He needs to talk to Phillip alone. But when he hurries to the Annex, everyone is already there. He manages a breathless,

"We need to talk. Right now, before--" everyone finds me, is the end of that, but then everyone does, in fact, find him and suddenly they're dragged into a larger conversation. A conversation that, as much as he tries to avoid it, has to contain the story of Elpis, Kairos, Venat... Hades.

Throughout the telling, he's distracted, distant. No one seems to notice beyond just that obviously he's gone through an ordeal. His eyes keep drifting to Phillip, can't stop himself, but he has to keep going with the story, can't stop to check in without telling everyone something he'd rather keep to himself.

Phillip had been waiting, anxiety having been coursing through him since Gustavain left. The reappearance of the Final Days has been traumatic for everyone, but in particular-- this is not a thing someone wants to experience twice. And all the clues they've been given have made little and less sense to him. What could Elpis have possibly had to do with any of this? He'd only been a few times himself, but nothing that passed concept there should have been anywhere near that large of a threat--

He knows something is wrong the second Gustavain breaks through the door, addressing the room but clearly trying to talk to him. None of the rest seem to notice, focused on the unwinding story, the solution to the problem and the weight of it all. But he keeps his eyes on the hero, recollection coming to him as key points of the story are revealed-- the bird girl Hermes had been working on, Hades and Hytholdaeus in Elpis together, the same day as Venat, the same day there was an "accident" in the memory wiping facility--

The Ascian stands towards the back of the room, leaned against the wall, a hand in front of his mouth as he seems to ponder what this all means. But his eyes are wide and stunned, because he knows some parts of the story Gustavain isn't sharing.

He's mostly been perfectly happy to not reveal any part of who Phillip was beyond that he was a "childhood friend" of his to the rest of the group. He's not sure they would understand. In some ways, he doesn't care if they don't but, in others, he doesn't want to make this more difficult and strange of a situation than it already is. But it does make this moment, this conversation, even more difficult because he can't give any indication that there's any reason Phillip in particular might get a different version of the story from everyone else.

And yet, how can he not check in? Particularly when he has to finish it with a bold-faced lie to the rest of his friends,

"And then I came back as quickly as I could." He's a terrible liar, but if anyone suspects he's not telling the whole truth, it's perhaps excused in him not being able to share more details all at once.

But of course, then the questions do come, not about that obvious lie but about everything else and he's stuck there answering them, trying to figure out how to save the world, instead of being able to worry about the one thing and the one person he wants to.

They knew he's an Ancient, have known for a while now-- mostly because Y'shtola can smell lies and Phillip knew that eventually he'd have to fess up if he ever wanted to have a normal conversation with her. (Plus, reappearing as a Viera certainly would have risen some questions.) But the rest of it? No. They've never even really asked if he was one of the Unsundered, much less his relation to the rest of them.

This time, however, Krile is getting the slight peer that something else is going on, because she's the one nearby when Phillip mutters that he needs some air and he steps outside, leaning up against the wall, head tilted towards the sky. He doesn't go any further than that, would not, can not just abandon Gustavain, but he needs a minute for his mind to stop racing, to make some peace with what he's learned, and there is no way in any of the seven hells that he'd be able to do that with all the Scions clamoring over solutions.

He sees Phillip exit and there's a hurt look on his face a moment, but only a moment, because he knows that there's nothing in the world that would keep him inside this room right now if all eyes weren't on him. He does manage to, finally, (and with some help from Krile) get away the better part of a bell later, however, having answered every question that they could reasonably answer. All of them need time to sit with the information, reasons Krile, and hurried minds rarely came up with the best decisions. Gustavain is allowed to go and it takes everything in him to not bolt.

Hopefully Phillip doesn't mind being dragged or possibly bodily carried towards the room that's been set aside for Gustavain's use here in Sharlayan, because that's what's happening the moment Gustavain sees him. If they need their space more in a moment, fine. If Phillip decides to storm out again, fine. But this conversation needs to be private and Gustavain needs to have it right now.

Oh like hells would he argue. Phillip isn't sure what he's feeling at the moment, but being alone and without him is really not what he wants. So he's less dragged back and more darts after him once it's clear he's free, following him into the room and making sure that damned door is locked behind them.

He doesn't hesitate, wrapping his arms around Gustavain and pressing his face into his neck, burrowing there, like it's the only place he can feel safe. He doesn't know what to say. He doesn't know what to do, other than this. It's just-- too much, all at once.

For the moment, that's all there is. They are on the same page about this, in this moment. Gustavain doesn't know what Phillip remembers about that day, if he's fully put two and two together, but he knows that Phillip will have remembered Elpis, his brother, the events that Gustavain has just seen. It's one thing to have lived it and it's another entirely to have lived it without knowing you had. But, regardless, they are both affected profoundly, even if perhaps it's different for each of them.

He's not sure how much more of this he can take-- the past and the present, the pressure, the way it all keeps coming back around to this. He'd deflected with sex before, on more than one occasion, and maybe once he's a little more balanced he would again, but right now this is what he needs, just the two of them, hearts and minds racing, in a way no one else can understand.

He has done so much of this alone. He is not alone right now. That is enough.

For now. He's not sure how much longer all of it holds.

The silence stretches between them for a while, Phillip stubbornly keeping his hold and refusing to be moved. There's some wetness on Gustavain's shoulder, though not enough to indicate real tears actively being shed, more just the overwhelming emotions needing some minor outlet.

They are going to need to talk, and their usual methods are just not up to par right now. But gods, where do they even start? He's not sure he can tell the important from the frivolous right now. He's not sure if one of those would be an easier way to get into this.

He eventually speaks, but he doesn't move, face still pressed into his neck. "I am so furious with Hermes." That is... a bit of an understatement, considering his connection to Meteion, not to mention what he'd done to Hades, but it's about all he can manage at the moment.

Edited 2023-03-27 19:11 (UTC)

"I... don't know what I am. About any of it," he says, after a moment, but he also doesn't refute Phillip being angry.

"To be so alone and apart," he adds, after a moment, "and to have no one see or understand it. It doesn't excuse the end result, of course, but it... makes me more sad than angry, I think. I know Azem left, when it was all falling apart. Seeing how people treated Hermes, I think I understand why. To be the only one who understood that there was still suffering when everyone around you insisted there was not... how could one not go a bit crazy?"

"I'm more mad at everyone else. That there was no recourse. That Emet-Selch wouldn't have known Hermes well enough to know not to use Amon as Fandaniel, even after all the rest of the years. What good is a society that fails it's most vulnerable? They didn't deserve it any more than we do, but..."

... but I can't help but think we maybe deserve it a little bit too. He doesn't say it. He's supposed to be the bastion of hope. And he will be again, eventually. It's not in his nature to give up and there is such beauty in the world. But there is no defense for it, either.

This is still too much. There's tension throughout every bit of him, and speaking riles him enough that he has to let go, he has to move or he feels like he'll explode.

What Gustavain is saying doesn't really help matters- Phillip knows Emet-Selch was far from perfect, but especially when it comes to the old him, he's always been the type to act like no one was allowed to criticize his brother but him (with Hythlodaeus and Azem having special privilege). And even the slight implication that they all could be deserving of this horror--

"Well he certainly would have known if his bloody memory hadn't been erased," he says, his fingers reaching up to almost aggressively braid his hair, an old comfort gesture that probably can't hold up to the amount of agitation he feels, "And if everyone is to be judged by the worst of them, then literally every single thing you've saved deserves to rot in all seven hells."

That was harsh, and he knows it, judging by the way that in the beat after he says it he focuses on his hair rather than the man in front of him, becomes more pensive. "...Gods, he probably remembers now," he says softly, "If the theories are true, about the aethereal sea." That, somehow, may hurt the most.

There might have been a point where this would have been the start of an argument. But Gustavain just looks away, silent for a moment, voice quiet when he speaks,

"It would mean that, wouldn't it."

For once, there is nothing to follow that with, no other words to weave into a story or a song. It is the brutal truth: there is nothing holy about them, tiny ants on a tiny, backwoods star. They have only lived this long out of a wretched combination of desperation and love.

Somehow, that is worse.

Phillip looks up from his braid, his eyes sad. "...We shouldn't be judged by our worst day or our worst feature, is the point," he says softly, "At least, not it alone. There is more to us, all of us, then that. And, for the most part, we try our best to make it all the best it can be."

He's quiet a moment, before dropping his hair and stepping closer again, though not yet touching. "There is an old saying, that it is better to have loved and lost, then to have never loved at all." It is a saying he holds dear, and Gustavain may remember the time where it all came lose, where he'd said as much- that even though he was doomed to live years beyond Gustavain, he still wanted this, wanted the time they could have together. "Is it better, then, to have existed and suffered, or to never have existed at all?"

That is, essentially, Hermes's question, with Meteion answering in the later. But Phillip can't believe that. Not for a second. Life is too precious to just throw away because not all of its parts are pleasant.

"I don't know," he says, and it's honest, not a deflection or an argument. "I know my own answer, but I don't know that I have the right to make that decision for everyone, for good or ill. To force everyone to continue to suffer and die and be reborn, over and over again. To know that it will not get better, because if it does get better, it will only lead back around to the very despair that Meteion found out in space. Gods, if you could have heard her... listing off the fate of thousands, millions of other people, the emptiness of their hopes and dreams, what became of them."

He shakes his head,

"I can't be angry at Hermes, or at Meteion either, even though I believe what they did, what they are doing, is wrong. Not without being an utter hypocrite."

Phillip reaches out, taking one of his hands and squeezing it. "And it's not hers or Hermes's choice to make for everyone, either," he says, "And... I don't know exactly what she said, but it was just their ends, wasn't it? She didn't know what their lives had been before, the highs and lows of their lives. That's far from all of their stories."

He supposes he understands a bit more now, having heard Gustavain mull over it, but... he's not going to stop being angry. It's-- well. It's bit more personal, for him. He had to live through the whole damn thing.

"No, it shouldn't be their choice, either." He doesn't respond to the rest of it. He's too tired to argue any of this. It's true that it's more personal for Phillip, but it's more recent for him. And what he mostly feels, worn bright on his sleeve, is worn thin, to the point he's almost surprised anything is solid, that he's still solid. He's no stranger at this point to carrying the hopes and dreams of others, their lives and their deaths, but it never gets easier for him, and it's never been heavier.

He'd been there. He'd seen her-- Venat. Hydaelyn. He'd failed to prevent anything-- even if he was told not to expect he could change things, it still feels horrible, to know that, instead, he caused it, in a way. He doesn't want to debate anything right now.

He's quiet for a moment, just rubbing Gustavain's arm gently. He doesn't really wan to argue it either- though he might if he knew the man was blaming himself- but... unfortunately that is how he tends to deal with these things.

"...It doesn't really matter," he concedes after a moment, "We can't change it. We just... well, right now you need to rest." Though how to get that rest, when physical fatigue isn't the problem...

"Rest sounds lovely," is what he says, but the tone of his voice, the almost desperate tint to it, says that he's having similar thoughts about how to even attempt to rest given what he's seeking solace from. He'd feel guilty about taking the time to rest if there was anything, anything at all that he could actually do right now. But he's done what he does best, flung himself headlong into something only he could do and see and experience, and brought back the knowledge for everyone else. Now it was their turn for a while-- he's an excellent tactician once he has something to fight, a set of known variables. But the research and deep thinking and problem solving that is likely going on in his wake is not something he will have any meaningful contribution to. They will come up with a crazy plan that relies on him being crazy and he will do whatever it is.

If he was anyone else, perhaps that would feel belittling or exhausting. He does have some Thoughts about how much he occasionally is used as a weapon or a tool rather than a person, and he's learned not to bury those too deep, lest they consume him again. But truthfully, most times, he's grateful that this is the part he can play and not any of the others. Even when he's threadbare to the core, he'd rather be here than in there trying to figure out how to make sense of what's next.

"Do you remember your time in Elpis much at all?" he finally says, because there is something else to deal with here, something that doesn't have the fate of the world hanging on it.

Phillip will try to steer him to the bed, to at least get him to sit, running a hand contemplatively through his hair. This... does need to get talked about, too, but somehow he feels like he has less of an idea where it was going.

"I do now," he says, twisting a bit of hair in his fingers, "It-- sort of faded from memory, I suppose. Not sure how in hindsight." There's a bit of tease in there, even though it's not really surprising he forgot in the massive span of time one little incident with one of "Azem's familiars".

He lets himself be steered. He doesn't show any particular desire to lead himself to anything or do anything without being prompted, but it doesn't seem like a particularly dangerous fugue or anything so much as just that he's exhausted, in every way it was possible to be exhausted, and the thought of navigating, of thinking through, even so much as the path to the bed, seems an impossible climb. Far easier to just trail along easily with Phillip's prompting.

(And though Phillip would almost certainly say he's still too selfless, he's not above enjoying being fussed over a little bit.)

"So... you do remember what just happened. Or well... what just happened for me, I suppose."

"What just happened for you," Phillip repeats, because it's not a fresh memory by any means. He strokes Gustavain's hair, possibly moving him to lay with his head in his lap if that seems like something the man would fall into. "I may be missing some details, but perhaps you'd refresh my memory on another occasion."

Listen, the day that Gustavain isn't going to latch onto something like that when given a chance is a day when he's dead. Or at least an indication that Phillip would need to be seriously worried about him. He's easily lead anywhere, head in Phillip's lap included, and he shifts to look up at him with a sly little grin,

"I'd be happy to refresh your memory about it whenever you'd like," and if there was any ambiguity about the kind of thing that he's referencing, if Phillip hasn't really remembered one of Azem's familiars and how... well, familiar he would be now, the tone doesn't leave much. Not that that's definitely going to jog the entire memory loose or anything, but it definitely gives it the context.

"It was strange," he adds after a moment, shifting back to more properly use Phillip's lap as a pillow. "For it to be you and also not you."

Oh, he definitely remembered the context. He doesn't remember any specifics of conversation, or how the familiarity got so personal. But frankly, this does explain a lot about what he does remember.

"I can imagine." He will not add that he probably has a better idea than most, given Azem and... all of that. "...I was very different back then." They all were, in a time before any real threat really existed. It wasn't quite as perfect as Emet-Selch had made it out to be, but it was certainly less fraught with danger than this one.

"It was... intriguing," he decides on the word after a moment, and then can't help but laugh, though it's a short, sharp one, "Obviously I couldn't resist you even then. I did try, I assure you." He falls silent for a moment, just closes his eyes and lays there, lets Phillip fuss over him a bit if he's doing so, before he adds,

"I'm biased, of course, but I prefer you like this. To steal a glimpse of something that was cannot be described as anything but lovely, to learn someone new who isn't new at all. It was unique and precious. But in this time and this place and this... me, I suppose, I wouldn't wish for you to be any different than you are."

Oh he’s definitely fussing, mostly through soft affectionate touches through his hair and around the lines of his face. He laughs a little too, smiling. “I was not unhappy that you failed,” he hums.

That admission gives him pause, and he leans down to press a kiss to his head. “Flatterer,” he says, though it’s impossible to hide that he’s a little surprised, his tone a little softer. He wouldn’t have thought anyone would have reason to prefer this tired and cynical version of himself.

"I've no need for flattery when I can just tell the truth," he returns, doesn't really let Phillip run from that opinion. In fact, he rolls back over slightly, enough that he can reach up and cup the side of Phillip's face, "I am certain that Azem had little to complain about in how you were, but I prefer you like this. I could never compare to the heart of someone from that time, to have never known loss, to have never feared death. It would be like falling in love with a god-- distant and hopeless and uncommunicable. In the world I have always known, tragedy and beauty cannot be unwound from one another."

His lips curl into the smallest of smiles,

"That's why we're going to save this world. Meteion isn't wrong. But I can't believe that is wrong, either."

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