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Azem’s nails were dirty.
It’s an inconsequential detail that Elidibus has noticed, as the other man waves his hands around dramatically, retelling a grand tale of his recent encounter with wild beasts on a remote island in the far southern sea. It has all the hallmarks of what one could consider an Epic and yet the other members of the Convocation don’t seem to be as enraptured as he is. It’s strange, he thinks, barely able to pull his attention away from the charismatic show being put on before them all in the middle of the hall, with magical manifestations and words, that the others aren’t as excited as he is to hear about Azem’s adventures.
If anything, Emet-Selch is quick to shut them down once he’s deemed the Traveller has told them enough about his travels, a motion Speaker Lahabrea consolidates. The meeting returns to far more boring, mundane topics once Azem has retired to his seat. It’s a disappointment, really. He’d much rather listen to stories of Azem fighting fearsome sea monsters than Mitron argue for the publication of her magnum opus The History of Fishes. The Emissary knew the importance of record, especially that of aquatic life, but could he be faulted for wanting to experience those terrifying creatures first hand, rather than simply read about them in a book?
Surely not.
While Azem’s duties took him to the far reaches of their star, Elidibus found himself tied down to the capital on most occasions. Which, of course, was fine. His own duties were important ones, duties that he was blessed to have and ones he embraced wholeheartedly…but sometimes a change of scenery would be nice, he thinks. Something a bit more natural and less manicured or orderly as Amaurot demanded life to be could be pleasant. Fun. Riveting. Exciting.
Everyone knew the Emissary loved a bit of excitement.
Things were always exciting when Azem returned and this time it’s no different. The dark circles beneath Emet-Selch’s eyes are more pronounced than usual and there have been multiple warnings thrown the other man’s way for his blatant disregard of this or that rule or regulation. Some complaints have already even ended up on Elidibus’ desk, paperwork that he’s pushed to the bottom of the pile stacked high. By the time he reaches said complaints, Azem will have left and be off again on some grand adventure, rendering them null and void. He can’t help but imagine how wonderful it would be to tag along and accompany the Traveller on his travels. He’s expressed as much before in the past, only to get a heavy pat to his shoulder by the taller man. Azem would gladly take him along, or so he says, but the Emissary would have to hold his own in a fight, prove his ability to him specifically.
It’s a challenge Elidibus trains for, with sword, shield, spear and magicks, but the opportunity never seems to arise.
The Emissary can wait though. He’s a patient man and there will always be adventures for Azem to embark on, adventures for him to return from to capture an audience with his tantalizing tales.
Or, at the very least, the Emissary’s imagination.
His imagination is captured right now but for other reasons, as he stumbles upon the sight of a scene he knows he wasn’t meant to witness. Emet-Selch is chiding Azem in hushed whispers at the end of a corridor, arms crossed over his chest, lips puckered into a frown Elidibus knows all too well. Azem seems unconcerned, if not emboldened by this, leaning in to push the other man’s mask up to connect their lips together. Whatever protests or arguments Emet-Selch might’ve had seem to disappear entirely as he’s kissed, the only sound following it a hearty laugh from the Traveller.
Elidibus can’t help but wonder what it feels like.
He catches himself touching at his lips idly for the rest of the day, the pad of his thumb pressed against them, fingertips dancing over delicate skin when he finds himself alone. Lips aren’t the only thing Elidibus finds himself touching that belongs to himself either, although those sorts of caresses are restricted to late hours of the evening when he can guarantee he will have no company or interruptions.
Sometimes though, he wishes Azem would interrupt.
He isn’t so deluded as to think that the Traveller will ever look at him for what he is and see him for the man he is, that he even remotely has a chance. It’s an unspoken but well known fact to everyone in the Convocation that Azem has two paramours already, one being the most eminent Emet-Selch and the other the Chief of the Bureau of the Architect. The Emissary’s true form may have four hands but as far as he was aware Azem only had two, both of which were usually occupied one way or another.
But maybe, just maybe, there could be an extra hand for him someday.
That’s nonsense though and he knows it. Still, there’s no harm in a bit of fantasy now and again, or in a bit of heavy petting if he keeps his hands to himself. It wasn’t as if anyone else’s hands would find their way to him. As the Emissary that would never be socially acceptable…even if, admittedly, it would be nice.
There are so many things that would be nice. So many experiences he would like to have but has given up the right to. It’d be nice to feel the touch of another person’s hands on his skin and technically it was allowed by their doctrine…but impartiality was to always come before personal feelings and desires. Physical relationships and ones of the heart made it messy for one to do their duty effectively, even for those who didn’t hold the ever important seat of the Emissary. No one explicitly forbade him from having a relationship of such nature with someone else but it would, without a doubt, be scrutinized and judged.
Ironic really, when his was the seat of judgement.
It was an indulgence of the heart that was best to keep to himself, as were the nightly indulgences of his own flesh. Pining didn't suit him, especially pining after someone who would never, ever regard him as nothing more than what everyone else did. Elidibus may be special in contrast to other members of the Convocation, and in turn to their star, but he would never be special to someone. Special someone's were out of reach for the Emissary. How could he be someone's special someone if he was to be shared with the star?
There was nothing just about that.
Evenings filled with raucous revelry were something Azem indulged in and, on more than one occasion, Elidibus had crossed paths with the Traveller stumbling his way down the lamp lit streets of Amaurot. He was never alone though, usually with Emet-Selch or the Chief of the Bureau of the Architect, sometimes one or both hanging from his arms, but tonight he seemed alone. Odd, but ultimately nothing so strange to give it much thought, at least until Azem notices him. An enthusiastic wave has Elidibus beckoned over, the Emissary’s arms suddenly pinned to his sides with a tight embrace from the other man. The contact steals the breath right from his lungs as he’s squeezed, eyes wrenched wide behind his mask. The scent of fallen foliage mixed with a hint of musk clings to Azem’s hair as Elidibus finds his nose pressed into the crook of the Traveller’s neck. Before he can truly process what is happening he finds both of the man’s hands settled squarely on his shoulders, his smile so bright it’s as blinding as the midday sun.
The questions begin to spill from Azem’s lips without hesitation. Where was the Emissary off to at this hour? Was he alone? Was he intending on indulging in a bit of revelry himself this fine evening? He ought to - it seemed as if Elidibus never had much time to have a bit of fun.
For a person so well-spoken, Elidibus can barely muster up a few syllables to string together coherently. This is what he’d wanted, wasn’t it? To have Azem’s attention and focus? To have him alone to himself for once…
His mind races, trying to come up with an answer before a soft laugh from the other man breaks the silence that had begun to settle between them. One of those calloused hands finds his cheek, patting it playfully. Elidibus thinks he’s going to pass out from the sudden rush of blood to his face, grateful for the hood over his head hiding his now reddened ears from sight. In contrast, Azem’s hood must have slipped from his head at some point during the night, having settled square on his shoulders. It only makes the sight of his bare neck all the more alluring.
What does eventually come forth from the Emissary is the question of Emet-Selch and the Bureau Chief’s whereabouts, but that just garners another chuckle from Azem. They’re off entertaining one another, Elidibus learns. Three was considered a crowd, or so that seems to be the implication, one that has his face grow warmer. Azem is closer now, the hand that had been patting his cheek tilting his chin up to face him. There’s an unspoken invitation, but it’s one Elidibus can’t seem to decipher, won’t dare to…and before he can the Traveller is being yanked back by his hood in a rather curt fashion by none other than Lahabrea.
Whatever cocky, confident expression had been hiding behind Azem’s mask immediately morphs into one of sheepish embarrassment at the sight of the Speaker. Lahabrea in turn need not speak many words at all to get his point across; a reminder that they all must attend a meeting come dawn is enough for the Traveller to politely take his leave. With the sudden crowd of three now reduced to a pair, a gesture and nod from Lahabrea is the only cue Elidibus needs to follow the other man. At first the two walk in silence, Elidibus unsure as to where exactly Lahabrea means to take the two of them, but it becomes apparent after a few moments that the path the Speaker intends to walk is one that leads back to the Emissary’s residence. Part of him wants to protest, to remind Lahabrea that he isn’t quite as youthful as he looks, that he can walk himself home and he needn’t trouble himself…but he keeps quiet. Lahabrea never doubted him being capable.
“You have fair skin, Elidibus.”
The comment has him taken aback, stopping mid stride in the middle of the street. Lahabrea may not be able to see the quirk of his brow, but he knows the man is picturing it clear as day.
“If you bask in the warmth of the sun for too long, you shall find yourself burnt without question.”
“Ah…”
Chiding. That was what Lahabrea meant to do, it seemed. A warning of sorts, albeit, Elidibus knows, from a well-intentioned place.
“Azem is charismatic. If he were not so, he would not be nearly as successful in the role he plays. Enamored as you are, I pray you keep a respectable distance. The wounds of a burn are far more difficult to heal than you may think.”
“You would know better than most, I presume?”
The Speaker doesn’t see it fit to voice an answer.
The remainder of the stroll back to his lodgings is quiet, silence settled firmly between them. Lahabrea was a man of few words, until he wasn’t. Elidibus doesn’t have the energy to poke and prod a conversation out of him. Not when he would be the topic of discussion.
It isn’t a long walk back to where his apartment is and Lahabrea bids him goodnight with a reminder to not be late come morning. All the Emissary can do is reassure him that he will be there bright and early. Mayhaps, even, he will arrive earlier than Lahabrea will.
He won’t, but the words are good enough for the Speaker to accept and take his leave.
Frustration isn’t an emotion Elidibus allows himself to show often. He feels it, of course, he’s a person with feelings like all the rest…but it isn’t proper of him to let said feelings get the best of him. During a heated debate, sure, one might get carried away, but he was always to be impartial, to have a calm head.
Now, however, he was alone. Alone to take off his mask and push off his cowl. Alone to stare at himself in the mirror, to trace his fingers over the slender curve of his nose and jaw. His brow is furrowed as his eyes roam over his figure and form, still hidden by the drapery of his robe. That comes off too, tossed unceremoniously over the back of a chair as he peels himself out of his podea as well, leaving him fully nude before the reflective glass. No longer is he Elidibus, the Emissary of their people. Bare and naked he’s just himself - just Themis and nothing more. Would anyone ever see this side of him? He can’t imagine they would…and it certainly wouldn’t be Azem of all people.
But there are no rules and regulations to follow when it comes to dreams. They were private experiences one had and could indulge in to the fullest when asleep. What Elidibus can’t bring himself to do during waking hours, Themis finds no problem fantasizing about when he’s nodding off in bed. Now, despite all odds, his bed isn’t empty, and Azem does decide to impose on him. Themis welcomes it, of course, eager to have the other man beside him, under him, atop him - positions matter little - so long as those worn hands explore the expanse of his body. He wants those digits to map out every dip and curve of his being, outside and in. He wants to do the same in turn, fingers and tongue committing to memory every sense of his that the Traveller’s body stimulates. He wants to be praised for how much of him he can take within his smaller frame, how well he’s able to keep up with Azem’s unbridled stamina. He wants to taste him on his lips, feel the scratch of his stubble on his chin and thighs and, more than anything else, burn up beneath him, pinned to his very own mattress.
Lahabrea had warned him that if he strayed too close to the sun he’d be set ablaze…but he’d like to disagree. If anything, would he not simply shine brighter for it? Was the moon not made brilliant for that very reason alone?
Unfortunately, the blinding rays of the rising sun, reflecting off the gilded buildings of the cityscape, rouse him from pleasant imaginings. Themis can’t help but curse under his breath that he’d forgotten to pull his blinds shut. It doesn’t help either that he’s damp and sticky between his thighs. What a way to start the morning.
At least Lahabrea would be pleased that he wouldn’t be late.
—
It’s then, when the Final Days are upon them, that Elidibus wishes he’d headed that warning of Lahabrea’s long ago. Maybe Elidibus had, but Themis was a fool. Azem had abandoned them all now, abandoned those he was close to, abandoned him. It’s a bitter realization to swallow, one that he first rejects on principle. Why would he leave them behind when the Convocation needed him? When their people needed him? When he needed him?
Agreeing to become Zodiark’s heart hadn’t been an easy choice. On the surface it had appeared that way - the Emissary had done his duty to keep the calm, keep the peace, but inside Themis was screaming. To not have Azem’s approval now, when he would be casting his will aside for the collective, for the star in its entirety…it was a betrayal. Nothing more, nothing less. No longer would Elidibus shine brightly in his company, inspired by the Traveller’s tales and heroics, a reflection of the light of his brilliant soul.
How could he when Azem had proven to be nothing more than a coward?
Instead it fell to him. He would take it upon himself, the heavy burden to save them all. He would become the core of their new God that would shepherd in a new age and lead them all to salvation; a Warrior of Light cloaked in Darkness.