[It is rare indeed that Emet-Selch shows his irritation, being the consummate politician that time has forged him into. His being is the very definition of a mask, and it does not slip unless he means it to.

It slips now, in his posture, in the way the pitch of his voice rises to a tone that can only be called snotty.]

You brothers are similar in the very most obnoxious of ways, you know. What would it take to convince you, Somnus Lucis Caelum, that your company might in fact be desirable? That to simply exist is not such a great sin that you need not bear it alone?

It is not my place to forgive you what you've done, but nor is it my place to judge. It is, however, my place to tell you, as one who has borne a gods-given duty for long enough to make Ardyn look young, that the path you insist upon serves none. Standing alone and swearing to duty will not redeem you.

[He closes his eyes, clearly still irritated, but tone perhaps a bit gentler.]

It is not my place to say it, but I doubt you will hear it from any other, so I shall. Even in his nightmares, even knowing that it was nothing but his fears wearing your face, Ardyn would not cut you down. He would not want this for you.