What We Keep Hidden [1335AE, Long Live the Lich Arc]
The person you love more than anything in the world burned 21 people to death.
Time offers clarity, in some ways. You can take yourself out of the tragedy much more than you could in the past. You can cry for Bakhshi because of the tragic circumstances of his lineage, for the man he could have been. And you still fear the man, but you fear him like every other Sunspear and citizen of Elona does. You can dedicate yourself to a project designed in part to spare the patron’s life, without resentment for the bonds his allies forged.
It’s not about you, after all. It never really was to begin with.
But still, moments come. In words spoken or left unsaid. In the wary glances of those who know. In Trisbaine’s winces, as he attempts to diffuse with a quip about fire or therapy. The uncertain fate of Tanareh. The absolute certainty that Elysium will face the Warden soon. Bakhshi might not care at all, not with Joko at the helm. Not with Tanareh returned.
You don’t know how not to care. How not to hurt. Is it really clarity that time wroughts, or stretches of reprieve from the unfathomable reality of his sins? Do you even deserve a chance to leave the past behind? 21 skeletons in his closet, and you begged everyone not to open the door, lest the boogeyman seek his revenge.
Eventually. Far too late, you turned the key. He gave the skeletons an overdue proper burial, the price to be unmade and reforged for each lost soul. The boogeyman was a myth made larger than life by your own imagination and a dearth of information from those who knew better. You both had your reasons, but does it matter? Not to the living. Certainly not to ghosts either.
The whispers still rise from the grave. A softer, more gentle reminder than the past. You fear that they will reach the ears of those who weren’t there for the day your lives changed irrevocably, and every time they do you’ll have to relive your mistakes all over again because how dare you live one day like you’re a normal couple with normal problems. When so many would never get the chance.
Isolating. Your greatest contradiction, to be someone who values life so much, and yet to love the person with the highest civilian body count in Elysium history. Doesn’t matter that it was an accident. You’ve been told so many times.
You wish that you could help them understand how it feels. That you could find the words to explain rather than melting into a weeping mess for him to mop up every time.
You wish that you could have been there that night. Better yet, you wish that you could erase the whole tragedy from the time continuum. Should the opportunity ever arise, there is little that you wouldn’t give. Consequences be damned. 21 lives isn’t worth the character growth.
But you’ve never been a mover and shaker of the universe. You’re just a man, learning to live without your fairy tale ending. Realizing that you’re just as messy, as contradictory as everyone else on the planet. You’ve given your heart to a fellow fool, and you wouldn’t take it back for anything. Because you carry that burden together.
Instead of clarity, perhaps the term you look for is hope. Tomorrow, the memories will fade. You’ll wake up nestled in his arm, the scent of poinsettia filling your nose. You’ll dress, have coffee together. You’ll remember that years of tenderness and care far outweigh one horrible night of fire.
Hope won’t stop the pain from coming back, every now and then, but it will help you find a way forward.
