"Perhaps not? I do appreciate the sentiment." It's a noncommittal response, as much question as agreement. He wasn't so different as a Nobody--that was what all three of the others seemed to think, anyway. Rock-solid, unshakable Aeleus, faithful and dependable through and through, as unchanging and impossible to move as a mighty mountain, anchored as deeply and stably as impenetrable bedrock, miles underfoot.
He had acted much the same, hadn't he? Loyal to a fault, hard-working and responsible even when Xigbar had shirked his duties and Vexen had sneered at fieldwork, shouldering as heavy a burden as Xemnas and Saïx saw fit to lay on him without complaint. He'd trained and fought tirelessly, and protected his comrades with strength and courage and resolve that, if anything, had only grown after losing his heart. Becoming a Nobody, more than anything else, had only seemed to magnify what was already there, rather than changing it--taken Aeleus and made him even more intensely who he already was.
It really was quite remarkable the way deliberate rationality, diligent conscientiousness, and focused discipline could be so powerful when emotion couldn't interrupt them, wasn't it?
The others believed he had remained unchanged, but Aeleus himself wasn't so sure. He had felt so different as to be unrecognizable, sometimes..... The heart was a tremendous thing, after all, and looking at himself after losing it was like trying to look at your reflection in a shattered mirror. But he always had been a creature of habit, and one inclined to act, rather than react..... He had seen no reason to change behavior and a persona that had, up until that point, worked fairly well for him. What had been broken about him, so to speak, could be fixed with simple, practical changes--nothing nearly so dramatic as the way so many of them had ended up transforming themselves--, and he could simply hold onto the rest of himself, as whole and intact as it was possible for a Nobody to be. It was easier that way, on him and on the others. They had been--and still were even now, honestly--counting on him to be as he always had been..... and so he had obliged, no matter what else happened to be at play. Those days especially, his identity had been just as much a carefully crafted and maintained tool as it had been genuine.
(He had never turned his back on or betrayed a soul. He had always been there, and been what they needed--it was everyone else who changed, in the end, if not abandoned or betrayed him outright. And yet, even then, he had remained until the end--beaten dogs always did come back to their masters no matter how they abused them, didn't they? To this day, he still couldn't fully settle on whether that had been laudable, or the rankest sort of stupidity, especially knowing now what he did about Xehanort.)
What was it, exactly, that defined who you were? Was it what you felt, in your heart or otherwise? The chains of memories that helped to give your heart its shape, and bind you to your own life and sense of self? Your bonds with others? Your words? Your deeds? Some inscrutable element of the soul that even Even hadn't managed to study, in all his explorations of human metaphysics? The choices you made? Your intentions? The consequences of your actions? He didn't know. Maybe he never would.
Whatever the case may be, Lexaeus was rarely antagonistic towards Aeleus, or Aeleus towards Lexaeus, when they did come together in his (their?) dreams--and even if he was, it was never so direct and brutal as Dilan had described. He murmured thoughtfully, closing his eyes to adjust to the light as it was turned on; it seemed wiser, or perhaps just kinder, to ask such a personal and unpleasant question while Dilan was turned away. "What do you feel now, then? Or in the dream?"
With the lights on and Dilan's back turned, it was ample opportunity to look him over, carefully scrutinizing the man's back and shoulders for anything different or out of place in the waking world. Translucent and clingy with sweat as the night shirt had grown, it was easy to see the outline of Dilan's muscles..... And in that, at least, he could find no faults. Everything seemed to be as it should, if perhaps held far more tight and stiff than was healthy--but then again, wouldn't anyone be tense and on guard, after being nearly literally stabbed in the back? If there was actually anything to see, he probably wouldn't be able to pick it out without Dilan stripping down a bit.
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timeasmymeasure
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Date: 2015-07-20 01:33 am (UTC)He had acted much the same, hadn't he? Loyal to a fault, hard-working and responsible even when Xigbar had shirked his duties and Vexen had sneered at fieldwork, shouldering as heavy a burden as Xemnas and Saïx saw fit to lay on him without complaint. He'd trained and fought tirelessly, and protected his comrades with strength and courage and resolve that, if anything, had only grown after losing his heart. Becoming a Nobody, more than anything else, had only seemed to magnify what was already there, rather than changing it--taken Aeleus and made him even more intensely who he already was.
It really was quite remarkable the way deliberate rationality, diligent conscientiousness, and focused discipline could be so powerful when emotion couldn't interrupt them, wasn't it?
The others believed he had remained unchanged, but Aeleus himself wasn't so sure. He had felt so different as to be unrecognizable, sometimes..... The heart was a tremendous thing, after all, and looking at himself after losing it was like trying to look at your reflection in a shattered mirror. But he always had been a creature of habit, and one inclined to act, rather than react..... He had seen no reason to change behavior and a persona that had, up until that point, worked fairly well for him. What had been broken about him, so to speak, could be fixed with simple, practical changes--nothing nearly so dramatic as the way so many of them had ended up transforming themselves--, and he could simply hold onto the rest of himself, as whole and intact as it was possible for a Nobody to be. It was easier that way, on him and on the others. They had been--and still were even now, honestly--counting on him to be as he always had been..... and so he had obliged, no matter what else happened to be at play. Those days especially, his identity had been just as much a carefully crafted and maintained tool as it had been genuine.
(He had never turned his back on or betrayed a soul. He had always been there, and been what they needed--it was everyone else who changed, in the end, if not abandoned or betrayed him outright. And yet, even then, he had remained until the end--beaten dogs always did come back to their masters no matter how they abused them, didn't they? To this day, he still couldn't fully settle on whether that had been laudable, or the rankest sort of stupidity, especially knowing now what he did about Xehanort.)
What was it, exactly, that defined who you were? Was it what you felt, in your heart or otherwise? The chains of memories that helped to give your heart its shape, and bind you to your own life and sense of self? Your bonds with others? Your words? Your deeds? Some inscrutable element of the soul that even Even hadn't managed to study, in all his explorations of human metaphysics? The choices you made? Your intentions? The consequences of your actions? He didn't know. Maybe he never would.
Whatever the case may be, Lexaeus was rarely antagonistic towards Aeleus, or Aeleus towards Lexaeus, when they did come together in his (their?) dreams--and even if he was, it was never so direct and brutal as Dilan had described. He murmured thoughtfully, closing his eyes to adjust to the light as it was turned on; it seemed wiser, or perhaps just kinder, to ask such a personal and unpleasant question while Dilan was turned away. "What do you feel now, then? Or in the dream?"
With the lights on and Dilan's back turned, it was ample opportunity to look him over, carefully scrutinizing the man's back and shoulders for anything different or out of place in the waking world. Translucent and clingy with sweat as the night shirt had grown, it was easy to see the outline of Dilan's muscles..... And in that, at least, he could find no faults. Everything seemed to be as it should, if perhaps held far more tight and stiff than was healthy--but then again, wouldn't anyone be tense and on guard, after being nearly literally stabbed in the back? If there was actually anything to see, he probably wouldn't be able to pick it out without Dilan stripping down a bit.