r e c l a m a t i o n

Title: we make our own meaning [or read on Ao3]

Fandom: Final Fantasy XIV

Pairing: Hades/Hythlodaeus

Rating: Gen

Warning: None

Tags: The Final Days, apologies to the poet Richard Siken, Canon Compliant, Pre-Canon, the Zodiark sacrifice

Author’s Note: The line “this is how you make the meaning, you take two things and try to define the space between them” is taken from Richard Siken’s poem “You Are Jeff.” But everything here is also heavily inspired by that poem—as well as the rest of Crush.

Also as a side note, I am in love with the forward by Louise Glück: “This is a book about panic. The word is never mentioned. Nor is the condition analyzed or described, the speaker is never outside it long enough to differentiate panic from other states. In the world of Crush, panic is a synonym for being…”

I also snuck in an Anne Carson reference.

This was written for the ever-wonderful aegisunmerge, who requested something Siken-inspired.

Summary:

There are two choices before Hythlodaeus. They might not feel like choices, but they are. Most people would say there is one option: sacrifice yourself, save the star. But there is the alternative, unvoiced and whispering seductively: act selfishly, and let others serve instead. Meanwhile, Hades assures him there is still time. The Convocation is looking for solutions, blasphemies have not yet been reported within Amaurot, the rotted aether might still be restored and the course of their star righted. But the suggestion has already been made. One sacrifice, great though it might be, and Etheirys might be restored. Hythlodaeus has not yet made his choice.

『Or, facing the final days, Hythlodaeus considers what it means to make a selfless choice.』

1
There are two choices before Hythlodaeus. They might not feel like choices, but they are. Most people would say there is one option: sacrifice yourself, save the star. But there is the alternative, unvoiced and whispering seductively: act selfishly, and let others serve instead. Meanwhile, Hades assures him there is still time. The Convocation is looking for solutions, blasphemies have not yet been reported within Amaurot, the rotted aether might still be restored and the course of their star righted. But the suggestion has already been made. One sacrifice, great though it might be, and Etheirys might be restored. Hythlodaeus has not yet made his choice.

2
Long ago, a teacher had once told him, “This is how you make meaning, you take two things and try to define the space between them.” Ever since then, Hythlodaeus has been intrigued by the idea. In some respects, creation magicks are a bridge between the space of a concept and the execution. He tries to see between that space whenever he is at the Bureau looking over proposals. What value did the submitter find in the creation? What does he hope to execute? Now, in the Final Days, creation magicks are rebelling. He tries not to find any meaning in that at all.

3
He observed his parents when he was young. They were different than many, he could tell even as a child. They were as one, with no space at all between them. However, there was a discernable distance between them and the rest of the world. Between them and Hythlodaeus. As he grew, he wanted what they had. He wanted to love, selfishly and unseemly and with no distance between him and the other soul. He imagined what the aether of the soul he loved would look like. Surely, it would glow brighter than all others. That person might be like him—a little quiet, a little mischievous, entirely foolish. He could love such a soul with abandon, at least in their interior world, and let himself be possessed by it. Being with them would feel new every day. He hoped.

4
Hythlodaeus meets Hades in Akadaemia and he is everything he hoped for and yet nothing like he thought. Although he is not at all like Hythlodaeus, he is intriguing from the first day they meet. Hythlodaeus is riveted, watching him. Hades is better than fantasy. Every scowl and grimace is real and beautiful. Though he wears a white mask like everyone else, his heart is bared for all to see, if they only bother to look. And despite his vulnerable heart, he is not taken by flights of romanticism. It is fitting that his soul shines brighter than any other to Hythlodaeus’ aether sight. Hythlodaeus kisses him within the first week.

5
There are many candidates the Convocation could choose for the role of Emet-Selch. They offer that mantle to Hythlodaeus. He considers the heavy red mask and the even heavier title. Being the Chief of the Bureau of the Architect, he has often interacted with them. He has seen them wear their duty thick about their shoulders. He does not think he could bear it as they do and also remain Hythlodaeus. He declines, providing the name of his lover in his stead.

Later, he will ask himself the question: Could he have put the star before himself? Before his lover? His entire body is overtaken with shuddering doubt.

6
Hythlodaeus is often taken to imagining. He imagines himself having made a different decision, placing the red mask on his face and doing everything that duty requires. Such a road would mean they would find the fork of these two decisions—to sacrifice oneself, one’s lover—all the same. He can picture Hades informing him of his intent to aid the star, in his own way. He can imagine he would be combative, providing his reasoning defensively. He would take a step away from Hythlodaeus and Hythlodaeus could not, would not reach out— He cannot finish the thought, his hands already grasping, and he has his answer.

He will have to play the role in Hades’ place, eyes open and hands still.

7
He does not have to imagine the conversation in reverse. He tells Hades he has made his choice; he will do what he must for Etheirys, their people. He has arguments prepared ahead to disarm the likely responses: you have to allow this, most imminent Emet-Selch. He knows his lover well. First, there is anger. Then, there is acceptance. A scream is trapped in Hythlodaeus’ throat at the ease of this conversation—but he swallows around it because more than wanting to scream, he wants to cry. And more than wanting to cry, he wants to kiss Emet-Selch as many times as he can while they are still together and able to do so.

8
Hythlodaeus is meant to love the star. Every teacher and every mentor has impressed this into him again and again. Even his parents—joined souls as they were—would have regarded this as inviolable truth. He does love the star. But more than that, Hythlodaeus loves one man, who is made of flesh and blood and aether. For the sake of this man, he would lose his entire self—and does that not amount to the same thing? He will go with the others and become no more all in hope that the star rights its course. He will do this because Hades lives on Etheirys and Hades loves Etheirys. Thus, the outcome is the same and so he tells himself that the reasoning cannot matter that much. But he knows the distance between concept and execution: the meaning lies in the bridge between.

9
The Hythlodaeus who has resolved to prioritize the star’s fate over his own is the same Hythlodaeus who watched his parents love each other and dreamed of someone to love himself. His childish self did not consider the mirror of this: to be loved in equal measure in return. Hades loves him. They are enmeshed souls in every way he could have wanted and in every way he ever desired. But the night before he will leave for the last time, he finds the kindling of resentment in his heart. He wants Hades distraught. Sobbing and begging so that Hythlodaeus will stay. He wants to hear that his soul, above all others, is measured with more value, if only to Hades. Hades does not beg. He does cry. With his face wet, he kisses Hythlodaeus’ mouth, his throat, his wrist. Hades' heart, still pinned open and visible, is breaking. But he does not ask Hythlodaeus to stay.

Hades covers Hythlodaeus’ body with his own. It feels like protection. He doesn’t make any promises and he still doesn’t beg. But he tells Hythlodaeus he is loved, and the small words soothe the kindling of resentment into grief.

10
They stand at the point of no return. There are no longer two choices. All choices have merged and become one. Blasphemies arise by the day. Hythlodaeus will not be there the following morning. He will not know if this desperate act works or what the star will look like after. He tries to envision Hades’ life in the aftermath. They should have talked about this before, but it did not cross his mind.

11
If Hythlodaeus had thought about advising Hades before, he does not know what he might have given as guidance. Here is how you outlive your love, your soul’s matched pair—It is unfathomable. Hades will wake tomorrow in an empty bed with nothing for company except duty and his own sadness. What do you do with sadness when there is nowhere to set it down? And if you could set it down, what would be left? Maybe it is selfish, but Hythlodaeus almost hopes that Hades will carry him in this way. Hythlodaeus can be lodged in a place near his heart in memory.

12
Hades stands before him, resolute. Hythlodaeus knows him well. Knowing him and everything between them, Hythlodaeus—already nestled in Hades’ heart—does not speak of grief in their last minutes together. He does not speak of duty either. He wants to bid Hades to say his name occasionally, even if his name sounds farther and farther away. Even if the sadness is crushing and the distance between them seems to grow. Somehow, there has always been space between them and none at all. That was what it took him so long to see, to understand. He could have explored the meaning of that for years and years and years.

But the moment to leave has arrived, and there was only one choice all along.