There is no greater agony than grief, and it is one that Baneites are not permitted to afford themselves -- never should they become attached to anyone or anything, beyond themselves, that the loss of it could do so much harm to them. Enver Gortash had been committing a grave sin to allow such a thing to dig its claws in and never completely excise it.

And if the Plot had continued forward as it had been envisioned, especially with him standing alone at the end of it (worse still, if Orin and Ketheric were both still there), this weight would have found no release, following him for eternity, burrowing in the pit of him until they both festered.

So even if there is fear of being seen in a way that is ghastly to what he used to be and in some ways still is despite himself, even if the pain is vibrant and real, it is a comfort to let go of it and hold onto this at long last, to feel the Dark Urge's arms around him, his lips and his breath in his hair.

It would have been enough. It is. And he has it. His hands grasp feebly at the front of his armor, one at last slipping around his waist.

For a moment after the storm, he is quiet, just breathing, warm, existing. When at last he allows himself a second to dry his face, look up, and his eyes are searching for and remembering every line and feature.