[He shudders against her, tilting subtly into her touch, seeking comfort to chase away his lingering fear. His belief that the memories had been coming from the ring is so stupid now, in retrospect. So naive. What had led him to believe that? A desperate hope that it wouldn't be worse? That the memories of a hundred or so rulers over 2000 years was plenty, he wouldn't need more? What changed was the crystal, not the ring. He'd had the ring before. Both times Luna gave it to him, and he'd carried it, worn it, well before meeting with Bahamut. The memories came after, with the promise of Providence and all its power.
He's not a god. He's not even close, even touched by five of the Astrals, by three of their Messengers, he's still just human. Subject to fast healing and incredible power but nonetheless the same limitations as any mortal. He needs a heart to pump blood through his body, lungs to breathe, a brain to function. Human brains have limits, a max capacity. He thinks of Prompto's camera, the journey they'd been on- when they took too many photos, they'd had to delete some, decide every day which to keep and which to discard. Memories of one day erased to make room for another. He's terrified to think about what might've been destroyed to make space for whatever lingers from today, whose memory he'll carry in exchange for something lost. Will he even know it's gone? Will anyone notice, or will the void surprise him one day when he least expects it?
What's done is done, he knows. He chose this path, stubbornly, worriedly, determined to carry what the Draconian gave to him without much complaint, so that he might learn the truth of what it all meant one day, fulfill his destiny, complete the duty assigned to him. If the memories were important, he shouldn't lock them away and hide from it. He'd been trying to handle it.
The truth of it, now, makes it so much worse: he was never supposed to live this long. A year, outside of the crystal? He'd be lucky if he had a week. He would never have had to carry this for months, years. The knowledge of all his world's history, how it grew and shaped over the centuries, how many people lived there, all their hopes and dreams for the future- these memories weren't for him to carry the rest of his life. They were thousands of hands pushing at his back, pulling him towards the throne and his death. Reminders, were he ever to doubt or balk from his fate, that his life didn't belong to him anymore, that there was no happy ending to be found years down the road. He would die for the world or the world would kill him, and that was that.
If that's the case, then... he'd rather give his life to her. She'll care for him better than any god of his own world ever has. She can have it, all of it- these memories, his power, his trust, his love. Whatever he's lost, he'll make new memories, if he's allowed to keep them. He'll make more and more, burying fate and duty and loss and pain with time spent in better company, those who love him and wish him well, who want him to live. No more gods. No more prophecy. Not here. He's given enough.]
Please...
[He doesn't know what else to say. Keep me safe, protect me, love me, stay with me, help me. His thoughts swirl and resonate, and it's all he can do to cling to her and depend on that promise of safety. He doesn't want to be strong, infallible, powerful, carrying the fate and every burden of an entire world. He wants to be small and weak and held by someone who loves him and will fight to protect him from everything else that wishes him harm.]
no subject
He's not a god. He's not even close, even touched by five of the Astrals, by three of their Messengers, he's still just human. Subject to fast healing and incredible power but nonetheless the same limitations as any mortal. He needs a heart to pump blood through his body, lungs to breathe, a brain to function. Human brains have limits, a max capacity. He thinks of Prompto's camera, the journey they'd been on- when they took too many photos, they'd had to delete some, decide every day which to keep and which to discard. Memories of one day erased to make room for another. He's terrified to think about what might've been destroyed to make space for whatever lingers from today, whose memory he'll carry in exchange for something lost. Will he even know it's gone? Will anyone notice, or will the void surprise him one day when he least expects it?
What's done is done, he knows. He chose this path, stubbornly, worriedly, determined to carry what the Draconian gave to him without much complaint, so that he might learn the truth of what it all meant one day, fulfill his destiny, complete the duty assigned to him. If the memories were important, he shouldn't lock them away and hide from it. He'd been trying to handle it.
The truth of it, now, makes it so much worse: he was never supposed to live this long. A year, outside of the crystal? He'd be lucky if he had a week. He would never have had to carry this for months, years. The knowledge of all his world's history, how it grew and shaped over the centuries, how many people lived there, all their hopes and dreams for the future- these memories weren't for him to carry the rest of his life. They were thousands of hands pushing at his back, pulling him towards the throne and his death. Reminders, were he ever to doubt or balk from his fate, that his life didn't belong to him anymore, that there was no happy ending to be found years down the road. He would die for the world or the world would kill him, and that was that.
If that's the case, then... he'd rather give his life to her. She'll care for him better than any god of his own world ever has. She can have it, all of it- these memories, his power, his trust, his love. Whatever he's lost, he'll make new memories, if he's allowed to keep them. He'll make more and more, burying fate and duty and loss and pain with time spent in better company, those who love him and wish him well, who want him to live. No more gods. No more prophecy. Not here. He's given enough.]
Please...
[He doesn't know what else to say. Keep me safe, protect me, love me, stay with me, help me. His thoughts swirl and resonate, and it's all he can do to cling to her and depend on that promise of safety. He doesn't want to be strong, infallible, powerful, carrying the fate and every burden of an entire world. He wants to be small and weak and held by someone who loves him and will fight to protect him from everything else that wishes him harm.]