He feels almost sorry for her, when he catches sight of her wandering forlornly through the empty corridors of the castle.
The small-framed girl, porcelain-ballerina delicate, flits through the soaring architraves of the Organisation's stronghold, out of place amongst a flock of black-plumaged jackdaws, like a single lost dove. It is hard to miss her, a ghostly-pale waif with her sea-coloured eyes and simple white dress, the nameless little memory witch who is the newest-discovered plaything of the Superior of the In-Between.
The first time she bumps into him, there is nothing but tentative trepidation on her face; for the briefest instant, he feels a stab of sympathy for the girl, who is as much a vagrant of the worlds as he is, until he remembers who they are.
He is Lexaeus and she is Naminé, and even though there are many things in their existence – or rather, non-existence: Vexen can be pedantic sometimes, and it's easier just to let him rant than to continue to lob hypotheses at one another – that he is unsure about, he knows for sure that they are both Nobodies, and therefore not meant to experience emotions.
Above all, they are not meant to exist.
There is no room for sympathy or fear, just like how she has no real reason to be afraid of him, save for vestigial memories of what it was like to be scared of a stranger, just like how he has no right to pity the girl, and can only remember that in times long past, he would have been the first to try bringing a smile to her face.
Their first encounter flummoxes him; he watches the witchling return his gaze with determined calm, pursing her lips as she twines her fingers together behind her back; tiring of her scrutiny, he hunkers down to her level, meeting eyes that widen fleetingly with uncertainty.
"Return to your chambers, Naminé," he instructs, not unkindly, "it would not do for the Superior to find you wandering out of bounds."
He watches as her lips move in silent pantomime, until she speaks for the first time; her voice, he is surprised to find, is imbued with a certain boldness which he would never have guessed her to possess. "I want to know…"
At the mention of knowledge, of self-awareness and a need to learn, he surveys her with renewed interest, wondering, fleetingly, if Vexen would be interested in a folio of psychoanalysis reports. He gently encourages her by way of a single eyebrow raised in a quizzical curve, and the words tumble from her mouth in a sudden rush, as though she has been mulling over her questions for some time now.
"I want to know who…who you are. Who I am, and why I exist."
And there, Lexaeus realises, he is stymied. Existential theory is not a subject to be taken lightly, idly bandied to the first individual who asks; at the same time, a small part of his mind rebukes him, reminding him of the consequences of carrying the burden of knowledge. Perhaps, he decides, he can spare her the facts, at least for now. In response to her uneasy silence, he rises to his feet, ignoring the shadow of apprehension that flits across the little witch's brow. "I am afraid I cannot help you in that area. Perhaps you will be better off asking Zexion."
With that, he leaves, striding purposefully past her, his movements as firm a dismissal as any. When he rounds the corner and half-turns, Naminé is gone, and the landing behind him is as empty as before.
- - x x x x x - -
epilogue. Takes place pre-CoM. Yes, I am aware of the fact that Lexaeus is not the Big Friendly Giant. However, he strikes me as being comparatively patient and tolerant, no-nonsense and down-to-earth (ha ha ha) in contrast to Zexion's more eloquently, smugly manipulative ways, and Vexen's cold, clinical detachment. And yes, I realise that this drabble makes absolutely no sense, and goes nowhere, which irks the hell out of me, but at the same time, I really wanted to try my hand at writing Lexaeus, underappreciated and unsung (Silent) Hero that he is.