It's a very strange, frustrating and wretched thing to have their mastery over aether curbed like this here. Instinctively, Hythlodaeus tries to reach out with his soul to brush against his friend's, to convey and express all that he feels - the fierce care, the grief and sadness at the fate Hades has been forced to endure, affection and protectiveness and vulnerability, all in one. But he can't, and it feels as though a limb had been taken away - while the mind remembers how to move it, there's no longer anything to be moved, and frustration mixed with panic fills his mind.

Hythlodaeus squeezes Hades's hand stubbornly, trying to chase away the unpleasant thoughts, and combs his other hand through his friend's hair gently. If touch and words is all he is reduced to now, he may as well make full use for it.

"Only if you promise not to throw me into, over or out of things on each one. While I appreciate your new mischievous side, I appreciate being warm more," he answers with a huff of laughter.