perfectteatime | Amani Inbox

[OH SHIT they snugglin now. Obsidian takes the invite swiftly, settling in next to the other man promptly. Oh damn he actually did a good job making this blanket real snuggly, high five self. ~~Somewhere in his mind Fray is reluctantly giving a high five~~]

Ask away. You have my rapt attention.

Well, not to be too nosy, but I saw your conversation with Rosie, and subsequently, Emet-Selch.

I wanted to make sure you were okay, and if you wanted to talk about it, you had a chance to... uninterrupted by tactless remarks.

[Oh. That.

For a moment, Obsidian is quiet, his ears pressing back against his head. Maybe it's better if he was not being so petty, keeping Emet-Selch blocked like that, but this is one of the few subjects he isn't keen on.

But he won't lie. Not to Byleth. Certainly not to himself.]

I've been better.

This sort of place, Amani... it would be much harder for me if was not for you or Zack, honestly. Without a single friend to have at my side, it would be a nightmare true for me. Honestly, I'm not sure how much Emet-Selch knows about how Vieras conduct their lives in their isolated villages; I suppose he'd have no reason to not know. All the more reason for him to piss off.

[He sighs.] I can tell you, if that's what you really want to hear. ...I trust you, Byleth.

Mmm. Yes I'm sure he was... attempting to express his care, but he tends to do so in the worst ways sometimes. His tone had no place in that conversation.

He owes you an apology.

[ His hand rubs against Obsidian's back comfortingly. ]

But he is not what I am concerned with right now. You are. I thank you for your trust, and only tell me if you want to, I do not want to force you to divulge painful memories for curiosity's sake.

That said, I do want to know you.

[I do want to know you.

How rare a treat that is. How so few bother to know him behind the moniker of Warrior of Light or, sometimes, even under the title of Azem, for better or for worse. But Byleth would have no reason to worry about those things with Obsidian, for it is just him, a man.

So that's how he knows he's placed his trust right.]

...Viera, by nature, live away from most other cultures. Isolationists, territorial, determined to live by the Wood, for the Wood. And so there are traditions they follow, for better or for worse.

If you mature into a man or a woman, your life is chosen for you one way or another. I can't claim to know if it's really any better for women, but for men... well. You have two clear expectations: you protect the village, hunt for the village, but you live in the Wood. Only a few years at a time do we return, and that is to breed. Sex had ever been a loveless, empty thing. A role, a job.

[Even then, he'd been known for his duty. Expected to fulfill. Who he was, it didn't matter to anyone.]

There were many reasons why I left my village, but that was certainly one of them. Aye, it's true, all manner of cultures of mankind have absurd perspectives for it, but for us it isn't ever your choice. You don't decide who, you don't decide if you even want to. Just... expected. Decided for you. Who you are, what you do, what you wear -- well sod that. All of it.

[ He listens quietly, attentively. Curling an arm around Obsidian's waist to pull him closer as he speaks. ]

That sounds uniquely horrid. I am so sorry, Obsidian. I can imagine it must be difficult to be at ease with this place then. To trust.

[ He gives him a tighter hug. ]

Thank you for telling me. It definitely sheds some light on matters, and it will help me know the sorts of things to take care of with you. For what it's worth, I'm glad you got out.

It was sometime ago. Leaving was the first and best choice I'd made for myself, though, I won't lie.

[Well, he won't say no to more hugs. Obsidian settles into Byleth's arms with ease and he nuzzles up to his temple.]

You don't need to treat me any differently. With someone I care about, with someone I trust... I've little to worry about, and I'm glad to share what I can with people like that. Like you.

[ His hands stroke over the man's hair and back soothingly. ]

I will endeavor to never give you reason to question that trust, my friend.

Please also know that I am happy to share the weight of your troubles, so please never hesitate to tell me anything you want off your chest, or simply desire someone to confide in.

It does us little good to hold these thing in, when we have friends who can help.

[There has never been any shortage of troubles in his life, but also more rarely time to really address them. More urgently are his friends, protecting them, saving their star, saving the universe --

So how can he possibly begin with the opportunity presented now?]

Can you promise me that you'll do the same?

It's a promise. We'll both do our best. All right?

[ He says this with such assurance. He hopes that's comforting. He can be unwavering at times, but he's far from perfect. ]

Of course. I... certainly do not know how to begin with this sort of thing. Suppose I'm just used to moving forward with no time to worry about what was, but what I can do to protect those who could yet be saved.

I have no such pressing matters here, and so here I am. Too much time to think. [AND FUCK.]

Perhaps this is the perfect opportunity for you to look at some of those things and fully allow yourself to feel them. I know what it is like to be constantly pushed, never having the time to really address your own worries and troubles.

Eventually they add up until something breaks.

A very smart man told me that there is strength in allowing yourself to grieve for what has been lost. I have found this to be starkly true.

[Let himself feel them?

To dwell can bring about some complications. No time to mourn, no time to dwell, move on to the next crisis, serve save slay slave. It could mean overwhelming sadness that's enough to break his heart, or having to actually consider how certain things have hit him. His throat constricts, and ultimately he finds himself... just shrugging.]

I would not know where to begin. It feels like I've been fighting nonstop for years. Maybe I have been.

I think probably the best thing would be to think about how you feel. It will probably take you some time to disentangle your emotions. Sometimes talking about it helps, or creating art of some kind.

You also must rely on the aid of your friends.

[ He gestures to himself, of course. ]

Helping makes me happy, so in allowing me to help, you are helping me. If that makes sense. Of course, not all at once but... it might help also, if you find a way to have a good cry.

I know it doesn't sound dignified but it's better out than in, you know?

Simply saying these things does not make it that much easier to know how to begin with it all. But I suppose I can focus on... I don't know, weaving. Hence the blanket and whatnot.

[He shrugs helplessly. It's not as if he doesn't know to rely on his friends. They are the core of his strength, but at the end of the day it is him who stands. Who must stand.

When has he last cried? Has he ever given himself that moment? Oh, he has felt grief, has gotten close, but the road goes on and on. When was there ever time?]

Mayhap it will come to me. If I need it.

You are right...

Well. What about starting at when you left your village? From there on.

When I left my village... aye, I can do that.

It was almost always snowing in the village and the Wood. Spring was rare, so I had my fill. Felt I ought to go elsewhere completely different. So I set out for Ul'dah, to begin with.

[Discussing most of the war against the Garlean Empire isn't too bad. Aside from Thancred's possession and having to carry the dead bodies of his fellow Scions to be buried, but who's counting? But most of it is positive, at least for him. With the Echo and the blessing of Light, he could face Primals where no other could. He could not be tempered. But then, there was so much reliance on that, wasn't there? Facing so much on his own, serve save slay slave. Walking, doing what others could or would not do. Moenbryda's tearful sacrifice, the betrayal of the Crystal Braves, the Bloody Banquet. On the run, and only able to turn to Haurchefant for safety under House Fortemps with Alphinaud and Tataru at his side.

Ah, Haurchefant. He, too, deserves an explanation. And at length, he does explain the noble knight, so quick to engage and quick to flatter. At first, Obsidian despised how flirtatious he was, but eventually the trust was won with Haurchefant's fervent desire to protect him from Shiva and in turn Obsidian had, too, explained himself to Haurchefant then about his... issues. And then...

The Dragonsong War had personal stakes in it. Not just for the innocents, but because he felt he needed to pay back the friends he'd made. For Haurchefant's home, for Aymeric, for so many. The truth of the dragons unraveled before him, and Haurchefant's sacrifice to save his life.

He'd gone a little mad, maybe. No one really blamed him for it, but since that moment, Obsidian had gone on a personal crusade to slaughter the entirety of the Heaven's Ward. Destroy them, rip out Zephirin's heart, make them pay. At the end of it was the cold truth as ever: the world will not stop turning, even when the ones you love die. Revenge could only put a salve onto that wound so temporarily, but there'd been no succor. True, his vengeance also saved many lives, but there'd also been the loss of Ysayle. At the end of it all, they were able to put Nidhogg to rest -- sort of -- and rescue Estinien.

Yet it would branch off into the tragedy of the Griffin and getting involved in the war between Ala Mhigo and the Empire. The first time he'd unfortunately met Zenos, the massacre of many of the resistance, and the ultimate decision that mayhap fighting for Doma as well would bring success in freeing Ala Mhigo as well. But that too would bring the revelation of how people of their countries were, in some way, let down by their homes and peoples. A feeling he knew too well, especially as Yotsuyu lie dying at his feet. That somehow he would indeed mourn the Witch of Doma.

Then G'raha's master plan to not only save the First, but also his life, the lives of so many in the past and future. Meeting Emet-Selch, fighting sin eaters, and the tragedy of Ardbert and his friends. The bittersweet victories that would follow, and how eventually the truth of their worlds -- how they'd been sundered, and Emet-Selch plotting his own demise, which is an unfortunate running theme. Battling Elidibus, and then eventually...

Fandaniel, tricking Zenos into his own plans and rising the strange towers. The talk of the Final Fays. The Forum at Sharlayan being stubborn about helping. Attempting to offer succor to the post-civil war land of Garlemald, and his meeting with Vrtra and Varshahn in Thavnair. Zenos taking his body and no time left to dwell on it, march forward ever to the moon and back again. Yet, with the aid of so many companions, they would find the source of the Final Days with the Endsinger. That victory, too, was bittersweet, but they would all find reasons to fight on and live, despite it all. They'd been there before, and knew to never give up, and Obsidian will never cave in to despair.

Yet speaking of all this does make him realize just... how much it all is. Remembering Fordola receiving visions of his experiences and asking him in a baffled voice: All that power, all that pain. It's too much for anyone. The things they've done to you, the lies, the betrayal, the endless fighting... yet there you stand, unbroken. How? Why?

What choice is there otherwise?]

[ Byleth listens attentively, asking a few questions here and there to clarify events. It's a lot. The whole weavings of this world seem ever more complicated and tangled with each story. Every account from every individual. From Obsidian to Hades, Hermes to Themis, and even Zero... there is no end to the winding web of troubles.

And of course, his heart aches for it all. At some point, he reaches out to take Obsidian's hand. Keeps hold of it as he continues.

When he finishes at last, Byleth gives a shuddering sigh, wordlessly pulling him into a firm hug. ]

You have endured so much, my friend.

It must be hard, to go through all of that with hardly a rest.

[ Speak for yourself, Byleth. Still, Obsidian's tale is far more protracted than even his own. ]

It is no wonder you struggle to find catharsis. It has been one thing to the next. I know I cannot undo it, but please know that you are safe to grieve here. I can take care of things for a while, and you- you can afford to be small for a time. You can weep here, and leave the lifting to me. I will ensure nothing happens while you do.

Ah...

[For a moment, he feels helpless in Byleth's arms, because he doesn't know what to do. It isn't like his friends treat him as dispensable, but the situation rarely allowed even a moment to grieve or to process. There are things that haunt him, and without Feo Uhl's blessing the nightmares have certainly sunk in again.

But there is so much to grieve. The lives he could not save. The torment not just he has experiences. The lack of justice, the cruelty of it all. How many people who decided to find their death at the end of his sword? There is ever a brighter tomorrow to strive for, and he does not despair, but it doesn't mean there isn't still turmoil.

Do not forget the mournful boy, for he is you too, he can hear Fray say. Grieve as you must, for you have much of it with how fierce you love. But do not forget yourself. Listen to our voice, listen to our heartbeat -- I forgive you, I forgive you, I forgive you.

So for once, the Warrior of Light -- Obsidian -- allows himself to just be a man. To suddenly cling onto his friend and weep quietly against his shoulder, to at last release so much broiling inside of him.]

[ Ah. There it is. Byleth feels himself tighten his embrace as Obsidian falls apart on him. As though he was the only thing holding him together at the moment. He strokes his back. ]

It's all right. Let it out. There is no shame here.

[ He assures, not wanting Obsidian to regret this catharsis. He keeps hold of him, murmuring soft assurances as long as he needs. Until there are no more tears to shed. He holds him up, and bears the weight for a time, because clearly he needs to hand off his burden for a while.

It is only when Obsidian's tears have un dry, and the shaking of his body has quieted, that Byleth dares to loosen his grip, if only to check on him. ]

Do you need some water, my friend?

[There isn't shame in release. It is that suddenly realizes he isn't some immoveable mountain, as he has needed to be for so long. Keep walking, keep moving forward. Like this, it's as if he suddenly stops and just mourns for everything. Everything that was, that could have been. Lost chances, lost friends, lost lives. His hand forced to slay many, his hand unable to save enough.

It is a wretched thing, but he'd never wish the burden upon anyone else either. And so, it is with gratitude he is able to alleviate some of it through tears, words, and a warm embrace from a precious friend.

Roughly, he rubs his eyes, and sniffs.]

Aye. Feel like I've shriveled.

Let's get some of that fluid back into you then.

[ Byleth pulls away reluctantly, going to fetch him some cool water to drink, and some in a bowl with a rag to soothe the redness from his face. He also takes a moment to cut a few slices of his home-made oat bread with a few squares of butter atop. ]

There we go, you get comfortable, eat some if you can, it's plain and shouldn't disagree with an upset stomach. It'll help you replenish your strength.

Take your time to get to feeling like yourself again, yes?

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