[He blinks at the contact, inwardly startled when realization dawns that his thoughts have outed him.
He considers telling her that she doesn't have to tell him this, because, objectively, he knows what she means. He considers it, but all he can think about is what drives her to be this way.]
. . . You really are kind.
[And it's the kind people who always suffer in silence.]
[it's what she's been used to. until about a year ago, she'd been-- horribly lonely, taking a hopeless job upon herself and just pushing forward, cut off from her family by necessity. even after bringing them in, she couldn't let herself just be close to them like they had been before.
to have someone here she could work with to help the others... even if it was short-lived, it was something she valued, and she never doubted he was doing the same in death.
still-- I don't know if you'd say so, if you knew the things I'd done.]
[Her silence amplifies her thoughts. There's so much to unpack in one thought alone, and the candid directness of it snaps his gaze from their hands to her face.]
[The week they shared memories was uncomfortable for him. When she frames it that way, however, he feels that it would be a disservice to feign ignorance.
[even after offering, even after explaining this before-- she still takes several moments.]
I... never told you how, exactly, the plan to reclaim the relics functioned. What it relied on at its core. The wars over them had to be stopped, in order to prevent further damage and bloodshed.
I erased all knowledge of the relics and the suffering they caused from our world-- I modified memories on a global scale, using a creature that could delete information from reality. No one but us remembered the wars, the destruction, the people who died in them. When members of the Bureau passed, we... we erased their memory, too. I inoculated everyone who I chose to bring into the Bureau, making them immune to the effects, but-- no one I hired was able to overcome the relics' thrall. Every Reclaimer I hired was lost to them.
The only people who could recover these relics were the people who made them in the first place, but... they didn't remember creating them, either.
[He listens, and through it all his mind races to piece the fragments of context together. He says nothing of the losses she created, of the precious people she erased from the lives of others. At the very last statement, he has but a single question that seeks to understand it:]
Why not?
[Why was it that their memories had to be erased when she remembers? Why was Lucretia doing everything alone?]
...the original plan to make the relics was meant to save our entire reality from something called the Hunger. If it obtained the power source that we hid inside those relics, it could absorb entire worlds-- we traveled to one hundred of them, and there were... many of them that we failed to save. But by splitting up that source, the Light, it wasn't able to find us. We were able to hide, we could stop running from world to world, and we thought... some danger in the world was better than losing the entire thing. I never wanted to do it, I had my own plan, but I was... overruled.
And we were wrong, Sieghart, what we did was-- it was a mistake. We damned that world. Lived apart from it and watched as it slowly killed itself over the relics we made, and I watched my family grow-- colder. Distant and withdrawn. I couldn't stand what coping with our mistakes was doing to them, that wasn't who they were, but I... I couldn't go against their will and the decision that we all made.
So... I had to change that will. If they forgot, I could fix it myself. They could live in that world and be happy, I could save all of us and let them remember when my work was done.
[What she's done is, by all accounts, horrifying. Manipulating the minds of people is an egregious sin—one that removes autonomy and spits on dignity. Memories are what shape people, and he's seen what their loss has done to the souls of the departed. For her to have done it to the entire world is chilling.
And yet, his mind can conjure only a singular question as he looks at her with empathy in his eyes:
[she's not looking at him-- she doesn't see the way he looks at her, but she hears that thought, and draws in a quick breath.
much as she tries to stifle it, there's: I missed them so much.]
...I know-- I know that it's something I'm going to have to atone for, I don't know yet just how I'm going to make up to them for what I've done. For pulling them into my work when they didn't even know me. But my plan will work. With the Light I drew back out of the relics, I can use my barrier to shield the entire world. Even the Hunger won't be able to break it-- I'm going to save them, Sieghart. All of them. We're not dying to this mission anymore.
[Does she mean the people who've died in the past and who've fallen to the corruption?
He wonders. He wonders if her plan truly will work, and if the desperation she clearly feels amid her loneliness and guilt hasn't clouded her judgment. As an outsider, he doesn't know enough of the story to make a call, though he recalls that she said she was close last time.
(What he does know is that he trusted her to watch out for everyone while he was out of commission. She isn't some deranged maiden. She's the Director. She's Lucretia.)]
While we were fleeing the Hunger-- we'd stay in each world for one year, at which point it would arrive at our location, and we'd be forced to run. It wasn't possible to travel to a different world before its arrival, but whenever we did... we were-- reset, I think is the best word, to the physical state we were in when we first left home. Even if we'd died.
If any of us died on a world, then so long as just one of us lived and escaped... we could all come back for the next cycle. It only happened to me occasionally, but some of them-- Sieghart, one of my friends died fifty-seven times.
[she's so tired of their lives being at risk, of seeing them die-- death still hurts, it's not an experience anyone wants to keep going through, and they lived with the risk of all of them being taken out. of that being the end of everything.]
[Fifty-seven deaths. Fifty-seven cycles. One hundred worlds. One hundred cycles.
For a century they shouldered the weight of each other's existence. Who wouldn't desperately seek another solution after that? Yet what broke them was the loss of lives from their mistakes. And Lucretia . . .
His gaze drops back down to their hands. She remembers it all.]
It was the only thing I could do. I could shoulder it.
One of those cycles-- they all died, almost immediately.
[none of them ever went through that same hellish experience, none of them ever held that weight, with everything on their shoulders. everyone's lives, the rest of the universe's safety. their mission, in its entirety.
she knew. she did it before. she could survive it again.]
[He sits before her, parsing everything that she tells him. This intimate knowledge, he realizes, is her origin story. Just as he changed when he was reborn, she realized what she was capable of when everything came down on her shoulders.]
...it is. Before that year-- I chronicled our expedition. I stayed behind, I wrote everything down, I documented the others' experiences without being an active participant, myself.
I couldn't sit back, after that year.
[she gained more confidence, she became decisive, because she had to be. she realized what she could do, what she could contribute, and knew that she wanted to be there with them.
her grip tightens on his hand, just slightly.]
But I'd experienced being alone, and having to do all of it myself. The others never did.
[Some may call it arrogance, what she did. And perhaps it is. Even so, he can't fault her for thinking this way—not when, during his own arrogant youth, he'd elected to complete missions alone, because he'd known his fellow knights' limits as much as he'd known his own ability. Because he'd known with absolute confidence that he could do what they couldn't, and had wanted to protect them by plunging into danger first.
But there's a difference between a lone wolf and a wolf who's lost the pack.
Finally, Sieghart lays his other hand over hers and says, not unkindly:]
His smile widens as he pulls back, straightening, and folds his arms in front of his chest.]
Ah, how enviable. It doesn't change what happened, but not everyone's able to go back and fix the consequences of their actions, you know. You're really something.
![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png){kind=small}
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He considers telling her that she doesn't have to tell him this, because, objectively, he knows what she means. He considers it, but all he can think about is what drives her to be this way.]
. . . You really are kind.
[And it's the kind people who always suffer in silence.]
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to have someone here she could work with to help the others... even if it was short-lived, it was something she valued, and she never doubted he was doing the same in death.
still-- I don't know if you'd say so, if you knew the things I'd done.]
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Lucretia?
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[a brief moment of confusion, before she realizes that-- ah. that must have kicked in again.]
...which part of that did you happen to hear.
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I don't know what you've done, and I won't ask.
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...I've spoken of it with others, here, after-- our memories were shown to everyone. If you asked, I wouldn't refuse.
[it's a part of why she accepted the offer to join the murder club, after all.]
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All he takes is a brief moment of consideration.]
Then tell me what you want me to know.
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I... never told you how, exactly, the plan to reclaim the relics functioned. What it relied on at its core. The wars over them had to be stopped, in order to prevent further damage and bloodshed.
I erased all knowledge of the relics and the suffering they caused from our world-- I modified memories on a global scale, using a creature that could delete information from reality. No one but us remembered the wars, the destruction, the people who died in them. When members of the Bureau passed, we... we erased their memory, too. I inoculated everyone who I chose to bring into the Bureau, making them immune to the effects, but-- no one I hired was able to overcome the relics' thrall. Every Reclaimer I hired was lost to them.
The only people who could recover these relics were the people who made them in the first place, but... they didn't remember creating them, either.
[because of her.]
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Why not?
[Why was it that their memories had to be erased when she remembers? Why was Lucretia doing everything alone?]
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And we were wrong, Sieghart, what we did was-- it was a mistake. We damned that world. Lived apart from it and watched as it slowly killed itself over the relics we made, and I watched my family grow-- colder. Distant and withdrawn. I couldn't stand what coping with our mistakes was doing to them, that wasn't who they were, but I... I couldn't go against their will and the decision that we all made.
So... I had to change that will. If they forgot, I could fix it myself. They could live in that world and be happy, I could save all of us and let them remember when my work was done.
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[What she's done is, by all accounts, horrifying. Manipulating the minds of people is an egregious sin—one that removes autonomy and spits on dignity. Memories are what shape people, and he's seen what their loss has done to the souls of the departed. For her to have done it to the entire world is chilling.
And yet, his mind can conjure only a singular question as he looks at her with empathy in his eyes:
Just how lonely were you?]
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much as she tries to stifle it, there's: I missed them so much.]
...I know-- I know that it's something I'm going to have to atone for, I don't know yet just how I'm going to make up to them for what I've done. For pulling them into my work when they didn't even know me. But my plan will work. With the Light I drew back out of the relics, I can use my barrier to shield the entire world. Even the Hunger won't be able to break it-- I'm going to save them, Sieghart. All of them. We're not dying to this mission anymore.
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[Does she mean the people who've died in the past and who've fallen to the corruption?
He wonders. He wonders if her plan truly will work, and if the desperation she clearly feels amid her loneliness and guilt hasn't clouded her judgment. As an outsider, he doesn't know enough of the story to make a call, though he recalls that she said she was close last time.
(What he does know is that he trusted her to watch out for everyone while he was out of commission. She isn't some deranged maiden. She's the Director. She's Lucretia.)]
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If any of us died on a world, then so long as just one of us lived and escaped... we could all come back for the next cycle. It only happened to me occasionally, but some of them-- Sieghart, one of my friends died fifty-seven times.
[she's so tired of their lives being at risk, of seeing them die-- death still hurts, it's not an experience anyone wants to keep going through, and they lived with the risk of all of them being taken out. of that being the end of everything.]
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For a century they shouldered the weight of each other's existence. Who wouldn't desperately seek another solution after that? Yet what broke them was the loss of lives from their mistakes. And Lucretia . . .
His gaze drops back down to their hands. She remembers it all.]
. . . You've endured for a long time.
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One of those cycles-- they all died, almost immediately.
[none of them ever went through that same hellish experience, none of them ever held that weight, with everything on their shoulders. everyone's lives, the rest of the universe's safety. their mission, in its entirety.
she knew. she did it before. she could survive it again.]
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Was that how you knew you could do it alone?
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I couldn't sit back, after that year.
[she gained more confidence, she became decisive, because she had to be. she realized what she could do, what she could contribute, and knew that she wanted to be there with them.
her grip tightens on his hand, just slightly.]
But I'd experienced being alone, and having to do all of it myself. The others never did.
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But there's a difference between a lone wolf and a wolf who's lost the pack.
Finally, Sieghart lays his other hand over hers and says, not unkindly:]
Lucretia. That's enough.
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[she exhales a brief huff of what's almost a laugh, at that. almost.
the gesture is appreciated, though, and she just lets her hand fit comfortably between both of his.]
But I thought you should know. We've had-- a lot of missed time.
[she'd prefer not to end this with him thinking she's someone who wouldn't do anything she's done.]
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When he lifts his head, it's with a gentle smile.]
Thanks for sharing. But Lucretia . . . I don't think of you as an unkind person.
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...and I couldn't think that of you, either.
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His smile widens as he pulls back, straightening, and folds his arms in front of his chest.]
Ah, how enviable. It doesn't change what happened, but not everyone's able to go back and fix the consequences of their actions, you know. You're really something.
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[she lets him pull back, but she's watching him with a slight furrow in her brow.]
I do appreciate that, but-- of course I see you as a person.
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Of course. Even though I'm a Highlander, I'm still human.
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