Seeker of the Lost
Title: The Seeker of The Lost
Category: Gen, angst, Post-Trinity
Spoilers: for Trinity
Author's Notes: Just a quick fic--self challenge to see what I could come up with in half-an-hour.
Summary:Tentatively, she reached out and tried to make him understand that he wasn’t alone, that she had been there, too.
The conversation was quiet, taking place in a corner of herself that she hardly monitored except for the sporadic spot-checks she’d instituted when The Lost finally found a power source. She felt lucky, finding the conversation and listening in, hearing these people she’d come to think of as hers discussing who had marked their bodies and tarnished parts of their souls.
She felt lucky, because she knew what it felt like to believe in something and have it fail, over and over again. She could understand their words and therefore appreciate The Lost: understand why some of The Lost revered her, treating her as if she was one of the false gods they had fought before; understand why they had come to her and awoken her from The Quiet Time.
The one she called The Seeker, for he always took the time to look and comprehend everything that she is and was and would be, was talking to the one she called The Light: the one who shined so brightly in her damp cold halls that it was impossible to ignore The Lost. She could sense anger in their words, and felt awkward listening to the conversation when they didn’t know she was even present.
But still she listened. And cried. And thought of using her anger to strike at The Light for he dared to make The Seeker hurt and bleed and question everything he had ever done and would do. Casual words spoken in a moment when everything The Seeker had been was crashing inside, tearing relentlessly and bitterly and twisting into something she almost didn’t recognize. The hate was breathtaking, and her resolve to remain neutral was slowly fading.
The Light stalked down her hallways convinced he had been used, that The Seeker couldn’t be trusted and therefore could never have been who he thought he was. And The Seeker just stood, pain radiating off his core, another scar forming as she watched.
Tentatively, she reached out and tried to make him understand that he wasn’t alone, that she had been there, too. She’d been left, abandoned, because her people hadn’t trusted her enough to know she would give all that she was and would be to protect them. He had done nothing more then what had been expected, and because he failed, he was no longer one of The Lost.
The Seeker looked confused for a second, when she touched him. He didn’t understand what the presence was, or if it meant him harm. She took her energy and forced the words into his head. I trust you, my Seeker. He stood and trembled under the weight of knowing somebody trusted him still. He didn’t know who, exactly, but he knew that not all was lost. She tried once more:I’ve been hurt, too. The pain will fade and scar over.
The Seeker looked up and then understood. He walked to her walls and took a hand and held it against her. It was the first time she’d been touched by a knowing hand in so long, she shuddered.
Thank you, my Seeker. He nodded, taking a deep breath. He glanced around to make sure nobody could overhear him whisper “Thank you, Atlantis,”. Then he walked away, a hand trailing along her walls, the constant connection strengthening her resolve. The Lost were young, and inexperienced, and confused, but they had this one, The Seeker, who understood far more then he ever let on. She would help him, and through their connection, she would prosper once more.