tvk | ⚔ 016; [video]

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lancer (diarmuid ua duibhne)

⚔ 016; [video]

I-if anyone has a moment, I'm having a small problem. [This was the understatement of the millennium.]

I'd like to ask how...h-how...er...forgive me, I am having some trouble articulating things today. [Diarmuid adjusted the glasses he wore, seeming hesitant to look directly at the camera at first.]

Imagine one that...has gone through life without anger or hatred. This individual had never felt spite, resentment, or even a shred of those kind of things. He did all he could to put others and their happiness before himself and his own, finding contentment and joy in doing so. But after a certain point, that person...he found someone that did something so deplorable that it left that person filled with rage and spite.

He found someone that he hated. And no matter how he tried, that person could not simply forgive what was done to earn that hatred.

I beg of you, Prospero. Someone please tell me how that person can go back to the way he was. Before he could feel anger and spite, back when he could still grant forgiveness.

[Diarmuid looked away for a moment; he was unsure, even worried.]

Fionn, Grainne-- [Gods, what would they think of him when they knew?] ...there is something I have not yet told you. Forgive me for not doing so until now.

Arturia... [Another pause. She had been there when he had died, she knew the horrible rage he had unleashed that day. Cursing her, Kayneth, Kiritsugu, even the Grail itself. Again he worried that she must secretly detest such a hateful spirit.] When you have the time...I would like to speak with you. Please.

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That's better progress than most could ask for. Far better, in fact.

Servants...don't dream. But since my arrival here--and this is something I've not even told Arturia--I've found myself having them disturbingly often. Another new experience for me, frankly.

Did you not dream in your original life? [Topic changes help!]

Of course, but certainly not of my own death.

[Edgeworth pales and looks away. That hit closer to home than he was counting on.] I... see.

...I should continue.

As you wish. Please, take your time.

...The earthquake... was intense, one of the worst to strike the region in many years. Part of the courthouse collapsed, and the remainder lost power. The elevator was in the part which survived, y-yet... without power, it... stopped, and w-went dark.

[Edgeworth's struggle to contain himself is a blatantly difficult one...]

[Lancer nodded slightly to acknowledge he was still listening, waiting patiently for Edgeworth to be able to continue.]

[Edgeworth forces himself to breathe slowly, then struggles to open his eyes and look at Diarmuid. The panic that he's remembering, that he's trying not to outright flash back to, has to be obvious, but right now it's more important that the prosecutor sees reminders that he's not there.]

This... requires clarification, I suppose. Some elevators are poorly designed. While all are required to... to h-have sturdy doors not easily opened by hand lest people fall out or be struck by passing floors while it's in motion... [...shaking harder, including vocally...] n-not all... are p-properly ventilated. Under normal circumstances, it matters not, b-but that day...

We were trapped for hours, Diarmuid. Three of us, in the dark, in a tiny box... a-and eventually, the air grew thin.

...I imagine things must have gotten somewhat tense.

[Things usually did when one's mortality came into the picture.]

Extraordinarily so. Furthermore, for lack of oxygen, we weren't thinking entirely straight. It... is remarkable th-that... that F-Father retained his composure to the end... t-to his end.

[The prosecutor begins to tear up, and clenches his jaw in an attempt to hold back sobs.]

...Please, don't feel you have to rush yourself. I have plenty of time, and I will listen as long as you have something to tell.

[Edgeworth nods with a slowness that would almost seem unnatural if one didn't take into account how much he's having to restrain himself. He's silent for a moment, then takes in a wheezing breath before continuing.]

Yanni Yogi in particular... grew desperate and frantic. H-he decided to try to stop Father from breathing -- by ch-choking him, if my nightmare can be given any weight. In my half-conscious desperation, I... grabbed a gun that was lying at my feet. I didn't know if it was evidence, or the bailiff's; indeed, I... was so addled in the mind at that moment that its proper use eluded me. It merely registered... as a d-dangerous object to th-throw at Father's assailant.

[Edgeworth leans his head on his hand, and the remainder of what he has to say is whimpered as much as stated.] Somehow, it m-misfired. We all l-lost consciousness with two sounds ringing in our ears: the gunshot, and a blood-curdling scream.

...I'm sorry, Edgeworth. [He couldn't think of anything else to say. This was a considerable thing to bear even for a knight, and he could scarcely imagine what it took for a civilian to live with it.]

[Edgeworth seems unable to acknowledge Diarmuid's comment, continue, or indeed do anything but sniffle and struggle to hold back sobs.]

... [Cautiously, Diarmuid again tried to place a light hand on Edgeworth's shoulder. What else could he do? There was little if any comfort he could think to offer, having been raised by a loving foster father. He couldn't even imagine losing him in such a way.]

[This time, Edgeworth is too far gone for his shoulder's reaction to the touch to be anything but halfhearted. He's shaking, and with one hand seems to be fumbling for something in an inner coat pocket.]

...you're not alone, Edgeworth. If nothing else, I can offer you that much as consolation.

[Edgeworth shakes his head weakly, then finally pulls out what he's been fumbling for -- a handkerchief, which he uses to dry his eyes as he continues to sniffle and choke.]

[Diarmuid didn't say anything further, patiently waiting for Edgeworth to regain his composure.]

[It only takes a couple of minutes for Edgeworth to calm down enough to attempt to tell the story further.]

Th-that... is the context. I... I deeply admired my father. Th-the events that came n-next... s-seemed calculated to s-spit upon his memory.

[In other words, we're getting into the hate part now.]

Please, go ahead. I'm listening.

The police... investigated the scene of the crime for months to little avail. In the end, their desperation was so great that... they secretly consulted a spirit medium in their attempt to find a direction, despite the reality of such things not being accepted in the justice system and the risk of a fraudulent performance even were such things to exist. She was to channel Father so that he might provide his testimony.

[The disgust that was evident in the words "spirit medium" spreads to more words as Edgeworth continues.]

The accusation that emerged was against Yanni Yogi. Through what I can only assume was forgery, a case against the bailiff mysteriously formed, and a mockery of a trial occurred. In the end, no one was found guilty of the crime -- not because of the evidence faltering under scrutiny, but because the defense attorney, Robert Hammond, sidestepped the matter. He argued for having Yanni Yogi declared brain-damaged by the deprivation of oxygen -- not guilty by reason of insanity.

[Spirit medium? What the hell was a spirit medium? No, better to wait and have that much explained later.]

I see...so what happened after that?

As I was considered beneath suspicion and no other possibilities were apparent... the case remained open, but unpursued. Yanni Yogi, while free, had his life ruined.

As for myself... I had, by this time, been haunted by a nightmare version of the events in question for months. In that nightmare, it was clearly the misfired bullet from the gun that I threw which... which penetrated Father's heart. I couldn't accept this version of events as anything more than a dream, lest I be driven mad with guilt and shame, yet the adults surrounding me had failed to uncover the truth. I was desperate for a place to lay blame, lest I crush myself with it.

Ultimately, my spite landed in four... no, five places, in truth. Three I fully acknowledged: I hated Robert Hammond for protecting Yanni Yogi from the true scrutiny of the law, I was disgusted at the police for their incompetence in investigation, and I hated the spirit medium for... I assumed at the time, taking advantage of the police's gullibility with a charlatan's act and trying to pervert justice.

As for the other two targets... I hated myself, believing myself to be unworthy of following in my father's footsteps as I had dreamed -- even in the event that I was not guilty of the crime, I feared that it was still in some way my fault. And... though I've only realized it since my Shadow forced me to, I... I hated Father, too. For betraying his own faith in the courts and the truth... with false testimony. If not for that... perhaps my hatred for Robert Hammond would have remained centered on that man alone, and not spread to the entire profession.

Needless to say, my emotions were rather confused. It was while I was in this vulnerable state, enraged and with tears in my eyes, that Manfred von Karma approached me.

[Still silent and attentive, Diarmuid spared a brief thought to the realization that he knew what it was like to be frustrated with oneself. 'If I had been stronger, I wouldn't have failed in life'. 'If I had only been a better Servant I could have made Kayneth understand'.]

[Diarmuid's self-loathing was evident; that was why his Shadow had only ever truly attacked him and no other.]

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