The Imperial Palace, 3 weeks after Martin defeated Dagon.
A light knock at the door and Emmerson stirs slightly where he sits at his desk. He's hunched over a slew of papers. Letters from the different provinces of Tamriel. He sits on the Elder Council, now, and is one of the leaders of the Reconstruction, Ocato at their head. He doesn't turn from his work, but says: "Come in." Ocato enters quietly, the only sound their conjoined breathing and the slight creak of the door. Ocato clears his throat slightly as he passes the threshhold and closes the door behind him. "Apologies for the interruption, Emmerson, I know you like to busy yourself into all hours of the evening," the elf says, concern clear in his voice at the hour, being long past the rise of the moon high into the sky. Emmerson smiled to himself as he scribbled a few notes down on the paper in front of him. "No bother Ocato, so long as you don't mind me writing and talking. I've got 12 letters to finish and send off by tomorrow morning and I'd like to get at least a few hours rest before the meeting at noon," he says with a chuckle. Ocato smiles tersly, but concern is plain on his face.
"Of course, it's just that... well..." he pauses for a moment and a long silence ecompasses the two. After what felt like an eternity, he finally spoke. "It's just that you've been going nonstop, since that day. I made you a member of the Elder Council because I trusted your wisdom and judgement, and you've not failed me yet, just so you're aware. But I am concerned because... well... you've not given yourself much time for... well... yourself." He paused, and Emmerson appeared visibly tense. His hand had stopped moving, and the rythmic scratch of his quill on parchment vanished. "I... I know we're not friends, Emmerson. But it's not healthy to... twist your emotions up inside to be forgotten. It's... alright to grieve... to mourn. And again, I know we're not friends. Nothing more than peers, associates in our business. But... I'm still here... if you need someone to talk to..." His voice trails off, and they are left in silence once more.
Emmerson breaks the silence as he speaks, his voice almost cracking as he attempted to maintain his composure. "I loved him, you know," he said, standing and turning to Ocato. "Martin, I mean. My uncle... He was... the only family I had left. And... well... With everyone else gone... grieving on their own, which... I hope helps them... it's just... very lonely." His composure cracked slightly, as tears began rolling down his cheeks. He brought a hand up and choked out a laugh as his fingers felt the wetness. "I appear to be crying, Ocato. Look at that," he said as more tears began to stream down his face, a sob escaping his lips after a moment. Ocato stood still, wanting to comfort him but not quite sure how. "Could I..." Emmerson hesitated. "Could I please hug you, Ocato." He took a tentative step forward. Ocato nodded as he replied, "Of course, Emmerson, of course you can." Though he'd not finished his sentence when Emmerson was suddenly before him, arms wrapped tightly around his torso and tears staining his red robes. Emmerson sobbed then, a heart wrenching sound that tore through the usually composed elf like a jagged knife. He felt his own composure falter, and he wrapped his arms tightly around the boy, and he was, still, just a boy. Only just turned 18 yet he'd seen more and faced more than most men would in their entire lives. And so they stood, together, for a long time. And Ocato did his best to comfort someone so broken and alone.