Tiaumil watched on as Siax mourned for what his people had once been, and what they had become.
Tiaumil had never been one to mourn, not in the way that Siax clearly did. Siax, the inheritor of a once great kingdom knelt there, chosen by the moonblade for a second time, his great well of empathy plumbing deep in the way that Tiaumil had been taught that his people had once done.
[Aguathen] sat noted in his tome, the ledger of the God of the End of All Things, and if there was a part of Tiaumil that could have mourned for them, he would surely have felt it then, as Siax did. But he was not made of the same dust and nature as Siax was, and while he did feel something for the moment, it was the gulf between what he had been taught the Merdelanians had once been, and what he saw before him. It was the impotent anger deep down, beneath the impassive expression on his face, that raged because all he could feel was the slight contempt for such a pointless endeavour, the annoyance at the delay, the vindication that even back then, even before the fall of Merdelain, they had just been as corrupt, just as power-hungry. But beneath all that, like black fire cinders that smouldered, there was the absolute proof that even he, who had wanted so fervently once upon a time to have Merdelain regain what it once had been, was too corrupt since birth, too far from what they had once been, for any reconciliation to take place between the two world views.
No, it was better by far to just destroy the system, to tear it down and let people like his sister build from the rubble something more fitting.
In his mind, the God of the End of All Things sat watchful, words of acknowledgement there; a reassurance that through this whole endeavour that had taken him from the material realm where he'd carved a life for himself, that the God was pleased with his efforts; that the scars and trials had been enough to grant him some clemency for the God's good favour. He was useful to Jergal, perhaps one of the most useful at this particular time and place; bound to him, commanded by him, and apparently the vessel by which Jergal now used to view the tower and further within it.
Much like looking at Siax, he felt no great awe, no great feeling at all, to know the God moved him on the chess board. It was to be expected, having been placed exactly here for this purpose. The words of reward seemed to pass through the hollow where he was self-aware enough to understand that his hope for himself had been; carved out of him with every whip mark on his back, every moment he witnessed Siax and what his life might have been if Merdelain had not been flung by greed and curse into the shadowfell. The words gained no purchase, no matter how he had spent his life chasing the fundamental avarice for knowledge.
But then Jergal was the God of the End of All Things, and just like he would have known that Tiaumil would get captured as he had, so too he must also have understood that it wasn't just the Merdelainian Empire that would fall in the wake of Tiaumil being there.
Perhaps, once it was over, and if he ever made it back to the Material Plane, the end of his hope to reclaim for himself what he had learned his people might once have been, would ease once more. It had taken many decades for his contentment to settle when he had first made it there after his deal, but it had happened. The cravings, the intrusive thoughts, had eased. Perhaps they would again, if he remained alive past this. If he had enough life left in him to make it that long. His youth was far behind him, after all.
But for now, he looked on as Siax knelt, and he kept himself from poisoning the air with venom. It was as much as he could offer, when the sight of what his people had once been was just as offensive to him as the cause for the fall of it.
He turned his gaze to the carvings around the wall to distract himself. It was as much mercy as he had left in him, to leave Siax to his grieving.