DiZ | Ansem the Wise (![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png)
darknessinzero) wrote in ![[community profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/community.png)
voidtreckerexpress2021-06-08 11:50 am
darknessinzero) wrote in voidtreckerexpress2021-06-08 11:50 am
Entry tags:
[CLOSED] how could I ever think it's funny
Who: Ansem and Xehanort, later Vexen. Also Special Guest Elidibus!
Where: Quiet Car, later elsewhere
When: Llama 21
What: Ansem informs Xehanort of his actions upon others, and offers him a choice.
Warnings: Horrible Decisions and Regret. Highlight the following for spoilers, but this is a heavy log and has some heavy content. CW for manipulation, attempted murder/suicide via poisoning, and talk of trauma/death/etc.
Ansem's memories were coming back in time on their own. Mostly, they came dreamlike, in slow bits and patches that he was eventually able to connect to others for a larger pictures. Occasionally, though, there was a sudden connection, a sudden flash; most often, these came upon a familiar action or face.
Such as Xehanort's own.
After speaking with others, learning more- it was, perhaps, no surprise that the memories that surfaced afterwards were ones primarily connected with the other man. His apprenticeship. His betrayal. His actions on to others- and Ansem himself, trapped in darkness, with only anger and rage to sustain him. Letting it drive him once he escaped to spread further harm to others, all in the name of revenge...
He could not change the past. He knew that. But...perhaps. Perhaps one could keep it from repeating.
And so he sought out the other, first checking his room, then the library- and then, as he moved past through the quiet car, he happened to glance through a window and find him. Well. That was convenient. A light rap on the door, and-
"Xehanort- I'd like to speak with you, please."
Where: Quiet Car, later elsewhere
When: Llama 21
What: Ansem informs Xehanort of his actions upon others, and offers him a choice.
Warnings: Horrible Decisions and Regret. Highlight the following for spoilers, but this is a heavy log and has some heavy content. CW for manipulation, attempted murder/suicide via poisoning, and talk of trauma/death/etc.
Ansem's memories were coming back in time on their own. Mostly, they came dreamlike, in slow bits and patches that he was eventually able to connect to others for a larger pictures. Occasionally, though, there was a sudden connection, a sudden flash; most often, these came upon a familiar action or face.
Such as Xehanort's own.
After speaking with others, learning more- it was, perhaps, no surprise that the memories that surfaced afterwards were ones primarily connected with the other man. His apprenticeship. His betrayal. His actions on to others- and Ansem himself, trapped in darkness, with only anger and rage to sustain him. Letting it drive him once he escaped to spread further harm to others, all in the name of revenge...
He could not change the past. He knew that. But...perhaps. Perhaps one could keep it from repeating.
And so he sought out the other, first checking his room, then the library- and then, as he moved past through the quiet car, he happened to glance through a window and find him. Well. That was convenient. A light rap on the door, and-
"Xehanort- I'd like to speak with you, please."
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To say nothing of not recognizing Even at first.
"Understand, as well, that much of this...was hidden from me. Deliberately. I do not know all of the specifics, only that at some point, we began further experimentation in to the Darkness in Hearts- and then, seeing the damage we were causing, I forbade it from continuing." A pause, and then; "You continued behind my back, and you brought your fellow Apprentices in to it, as well."
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If it were anyone else...
"And what became of it?"
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"You turned your peers in to creatures without Hearts through a mixture of deception, manipulation, and violent force. Not simply Heartless; empty shells of persons, animated by the barest semblance of life. You stole my name for your own reports, my very identity; and when I found out about this and tried to put a halt to it, you and the others banished me in to Darkness to rot."
His voice is even, steady. His Heart? His Heart is not. Even now, he remembers the emotions tied to it; the shock, the fear, and then the seething broil of rage. Ansem, perhaps understandably, takes a moment to compose himself before continuing;
"Radiant Garden and its people were used as subjects for your experiments. Most became Heartless. The world itself was warped beyond recognition, and before long, you set your sights on ones beyond."
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Isn't it strange that nobody at all except Ansem himself tried to put a stop to anything? What control did he levy upon those who's loyalty to Ansem should go deeper and further than his newest apprentice, that not only did they not try to stop him, they helped?
It seemed... to defy common sense. But no-one else was being implicated with such dire words and fervent anger.
"Other worlds are a theory." Well not anymore he can acknowledge that. "This train aside, there were other ways to even think of venturing to other worlds?"
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"You ravaged worlds, Xehanort." Softer. "World after world, you - I cannot even begin to fathom how many lives you destroyed, how many more became monsters in your wake." Heartless or not- and himself included.
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But it would have to wait.
So much would have to wait.
For a while there's no response, visibly or verbally. If nothing else, Ansem still believes what he was saying, else there wouldn't be that current of anger, of fear and suffering and betrayal. Were it anyone else, anyone at all - even ironically solidly trusted Braig, who had been nothing but loyal to him, a constant presence at his back he was certain would be there til the end - then he would deny it all as obviously ridiculous nonsense. Impossible, obviously. How could any of it be true? He wasn't capable of such things! He knew he wasn't.
But Ansem was not known for being a king of lies and deceit. He wasn't known for playing games with the lives of his subjects, and he spoke the truth when he chose to speak at all.
If anything could be faithfully believed, it was that Ansem would not attempt to twist words or pass blame, and whether it was unpleasant or not, would bring the truth to light. Which meant.
Which meant.
World after world is too big. It implied millions, billions, numbers he can't grasp, can't care about. They were numberless, faceless, pointless - they could be anyone, or no-one and it would make no difference, the matters of their daily lives unknown and unimportant.
Xehanort collapses it. Radiant Garden. Many people, with bright hearts and bright lives and bright hopes. He knew many of them, by appearance if not name, but not all of them. They were important, in a more distant sort of way.
Minutes tick past.
"You survived it. Did the others? Even spoke of being a 'Nobody'." Not to him, never to him but open posts across the network are not private things.
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Another short pause.
"You lied to them, even then. You claimed their only option was to follow you, and you crushed whatever progress they could have made to regain their Hearts on their own. For ten years, you used them as tools- Even. Dilan. Braig. Aeleus. Ienzo."
Oh, Ienzo, only a child.
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"To what purpose?"
On the surface, with the storm inside utterly unseen and the knifelike headache twisting through his head unreacted-to, it might seem a terribly callous question.
"What could be gained from all of this, that could not be gained as things had been?"
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How the fear of him trying to take over the train - while Ansem had faith in the other passengers - was a very real one?
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The headache twists along with the rise and fall of agonizingly sharp internal conflict. "Were any other besides you speaking of such things, Master, I would brand them a liar." It was ridiculous, impossible - but Ansem does not lie. He doesn't act out of self interest, he doesn't torment others for entertainment, and certainly wouldn't be spinning such a tale for amusement.
He rests his elbows on the table, fingers clasped at his chin, eyes focused on some speck on the table that had failed to get brushed away at some point. "But understanding is not required, I think."
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Nothing would erase them again, short of being lost once more in that dark place of sapping everything. And nothing could change them. The scars he, they bore- they would be with them as long as they lived, and in whatever came after. But.
But.
"So, let me ask you this, as well; if you could ensure none of it would come to pass. Would you act?"
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Never forget sounds a lot like never forgive, in the whispers of Darkness.
Multiple worlds.
Irrelevant.
Radiant Garden ... harder, but he knew them. Merlin and his strolls, the duck selling icecream.. what did they do to deserve such a future? How would they feel in Ansem's place? He constricts it further.
It was his home. And there were those within it that he could, and did, put a lot more concern into. Else why would Even's shattering ice be so deeply, painfully shocking? Why else would the thought of seeing them ruined be so unsettling?
This is his future.
No place to call his own. No kith, no kin - he'd see to that, eventually. The And for what?
For what? For what?
This was the rage of a king who's lost everything. And he.. and he deserved it, or would--
In the silence that follows such a question, there's no motion to mark it, no sound of response, no assurance that it would never happen, he'd see to it - just quiet, and stillness, and the music of the dark that only he could hear. It wasn't restful, it was painful and chaotic and told him he would, he would, if only the conditions were right, if only the reason were right, everyone, everything was replaceable--
Dark eyes close. "There is a duty that falls to each of us, to minimize the suffering we inflict." There's no obvious emotion. In another decade, in an older body and deeper voice, animation from him would be more tangible than this moment. "Whether or not that suffering makes sense. Its origins, its reasons don't really matter. I should have stayed on the platform."
cw; suicide suggestion
Nothing. It is as painful as anything could possibly be. Not for the first time, Ansem wonders of his part, where he went wrong; could he have changed things, had he been more observant? Had he been blind? Something had been missed...
Ansem lets out a breath at the response. It is not what he wanted to hear; he did not want to hear about duty. He wanted to hear about what Xehanort wanted, but- his own eyes close.
"Be that as it is," he murmurs, slowly reaching in to his pocket, "you are here. And there...is an option that is available to you. I am not certain how studious you were in herbology, but...I found Sleeping Nightshade in the greenhouse."
In his hand is a small pouch. In that, a fine powder. He sets it on the table, then withdraws his hand, letting it sit between them.
"It is a sleep aid, in minor doses...but enough of it, and one's slumber is final. I have...prepared an overdose, if it falls in line with your thoughts."
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Objectivity.
He had been warned so recently from Elidibus that Ansem might not be truly objective, might act out of fear or vengeance or something else, and Xehanort had denied it. Too they had spoken on the greater good, and what must be done to ensure the lives of others. That sacrifice sometimes had great worth, if ...
As Ansem sets a small pouch between them, it becomes apparent that Ansem didn't come here to simply speak, and divulge knowledge he'd sought. He'd come to kill, to see to conclusion what had begun on the platform. Judgment, final and terrible and utterly reasonable. From the only one Xehanort was sure could read a situation clearly and concisely and act as was just ... a price in blood, for crimes not yet committed. His own teacher, a man he would have regarded as close to a father as he was ever likely to get, wanted him dead.
A powder is hardly a challenge, he had a drink with him. Easy. Quick, in theory.
"...In these years that stretch into the future." And it's still that subdued, controlled tone. "Do you know if I ever discover where I am from? If I have family or friends who might have been searching for me?"
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But for now- for this moment. He tells himself that he is simply offering a method. Bringing it to light. A kind method, all told; Sleeping Nightshade is as painless a method as anyone knows. To drift away in slumber, to not wake up...
Now is his turn to close his eyes, and to slowly shake his head.
"We found nothing. If you did have bonds, before- they remained lost."
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He uncoils, in one smooth motion pulling the little pouch closer, his earlier disregarded drink of nothing more than by now lukewarm water likewise set in front of him. It's almost as if he intends to call a bluff, so steady are his actions, the dust simply poured within and then shaken a little to prevent it from settling.
And then it's gone.
The container is set back down, a brief expression of disgust crossing his face. Bitter. "...I don't think it'll change what you've endured, Master, time ... may not allow for it." Bitter and unpleasant, lingering on the back of his throat. How long did such things take? Calm is hard to maintain, but he does his best.
What's one life? One life no-one will miss, one life that only brought ruination. A roil of nausea, fought down easily; instinct and body know damn well when there's something wrong, but it settles out in slow spreading numbness. It's the numbness, not the previous action, that is frightening, that burrows under his skin and makes his hands unsteady as he nudges his drink aside and betrays his determination to be as calm and collected as Ansem was in gesture and in voice. "If anyone asks. Tell them I attacked you. You had no choice. No one-" A crack, and he pauses before continuing, force of will winning out by degrees. "...No one will doubt it or blame you."
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-then it is gone, and his heart feels as though it has stopped beating. The herb is quick, he knows, from experience; he had taken a test dose when he had first found it, if only to confirm it was what he suspected. A dreamless sleep, unplagued by memories had followed- the first restful one he'd gotten since the platform. And now, Xehanort is on a path to the same, only...
Only from this one, he will not awaken. Of his own violation. His own decision. And now, as Xehanort slumps, he instinctively reaches out to steady the man. Much as he had with others, recently, when he had both confessed and been confessed to regarding memories, pain...
"No," he whispers, "they would not."
Only he would know what he had done, but with Xehanort losing strength before him, his Apprentice having dutifully followed his King's command- Ansem is beginning to feel a clawing in his chest as his heart is suddenly beating rabbit-fast. An anxiety as the enormity of what he has done settles upon him.
He has saved worlds. Lives.
He has taken one by his own hand, one that has trusted him. Would follow him.
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The sound in the darkness changes, the whispers less intelligable than usual, but louder and urgent, terribly urgent, and a dull distant part of his thoughts wonders if he'll finally understand soon.
"No regrets." He's not as easy to understand. For who? Himself, with vision blurred by pathetic, childish tears and the horror of what he'd done, future and present? For a king who would surely face some consequence for this impulse? He's going to die. He's going to die and there's only going to be relief when he's gone, why did he drink the damn.. no. There's more important things, even as that too becomes harder to grasp. "There's another Radiant Garden that's safe now. Another castle, other lives." Words are as hard to keep clear as the mask of tranquility splinters. "They'll live. Not just survive."
That's what's important, isn't it? No names on a list, hollow shells and empty lives, surviving but not living. In the last fragile moments of wakefulness, there is no steady mask of someone resigned to their fate, only the bitter terror of facing the inevitable closing too fast, a lifetime of wants and dreams spiralling away into the rising song of Darkness. "Don't." Words slur, they're failing too, barely intelligible, blurred by sleep. "Don't look at me like that."
Like there could have been another way.
If there was anything else he would have added, there's no time to, only a glassy-eyed, blank slow blink, and when his eyes close next they don't reopen. One could imagine the steady breaths to be that of sleep, but they grow shallower as swiftly as the rest had come on.
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"Xehanort."
There was no lie on the platform; Xehanort was fully willing to stay behind. To spare them the pain of his simple presence, even if he was, by all rights? Innocent. He was not their Xehanort of memories, who had transgressed against them so, and who was to say that being warned would not have been enough?
It's then that Ansem realizes he is trembling. He pulls his hand back, looking down at it, then at the now-still body of his Apprentice. A strangled sound escapes his throat before he stumbles to his feet, not to run, no, but there might be-
-there could be-
There's no panel in this carriage. Hating himself for leaving for even a moment, he nonetheless speeds out to the next carriage over, slapping the ICP on the wall to activate it. And though he tries to keep his voice steady, an undertone leaks through as he speaks. "Even- I need you in the quiet carriage."
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There's no warning, before a dark corridor abruptly appears in the hallway, fading as quickly as it appeared and leaving Even standing there. He can see...a painful, but not hostile, darkness coiled around his king's heart, and behind him...is that Xehanort? But his heart is fading, at a speed that he realizes with a jolt is alarming. He should find it a relief, and yet...
"What is going on here?"
His words come out as a harsh hiss, but not out of anger. Ansem will recognize the note of urgency in his voice, the fear driving him to take stock of the situation and search for a solution...even if it means making demands of his liege.
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Tell them I attacked you.
No. No, he would not lie, not to Even, not to anyone else. Swallowing, he manages to rasp, "I need your help. It's- sleeping nightshade. An overdose. My doing." Responsibility taken, he straightens to look Even in the eyes. "I need an antidote."
He knows Even could disagree, and there is nothing he could do to force him short of trying to order him. And while Xehanort has shown that at least one Apprentice would follow his words, Even is...different. Both in nature, and in history. It is a very real possibility that he will be denied, and he allows a trace of desperation to crack through.
"Please, Even. I have made a mistake, and I must fix it."
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A moment of concentration and a flick of his wrist causes the white strands of life magic to coil around Xehanort, fading into him to provide a buffer. It won't clear the poison, but it will buy them time. Then he's pulling a wooden briefcase from nowhere in a cloud of dark and cold mist, which he opens to reveal a compact chemistry kit. His motions are quick and efficient as he sets up what he'll need, including an agate mortar and pestle and some medicinal herbs from the greenhouse.
"Do you recall the recipe for an alchemical antidote?"
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"No. And I'm not clearheaded at the moment enough to try and remember." An admission of clouded judgement, as well as an unspoken acceptance of Even's temporary authority. "I recall how the herb works, at least," with how it effects the body and such. Which he'll share, but otherwise try and stay out of Even's way unless bid to assist.
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"My spell will restore him partially if his body perishes, but we still have little time. Help me prepare the necessary ingredients."
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"He took it," he whispers without realizing it. "I put it before him, and he took it, without protest."
Horror? Wonder? For as quiet as Ansem's voice is, it is filled with many things. And-
"-and was that Life magic, you cast upon him? When..." Even Ansem doesn't know that spell.
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