Title: I Keep Dreaming
Disclaimer: Everything belongs to Square Enix. Don't own.
Author's Note: I've changed things in the story after the point of Bikanel Island. This does still, however, contain game spoilers.
Summary: The link between the young blonde guardian of Lady Yuna and the missing personal guardian of Lord Braska had peeked the interest of Seymour Guado after the critical battle at Macalania Temple. This interest would soon alter Seymour's perseverance, renegotiate his wedding plans, and eventually break the heart of someone who's love found its way unto the Guado leader.
Bikanel Island.
What a name.
Tidus had spotted the crushed wooden sign half-buried beneath a thin sheet of sand almost immediately after he'd awoken in the oasis pond, nostrils clogged with warm water and hair sticking to his face, the sign was almost lost under the soles of his soaked shoes. Bikanel Island. A plane of desert and dunes that stretched as far as the eye could see. Its hot damp air was just barely breathable, thickly being pulled and released from your lungs in steady heaps that made you dread your next breath. Tidus had become no stranger to this over time. It'd been nearly an hour since he'd come to consciousness in the oasis, alone and hot, constantly being pelted by sandy gusts of winds and having the grains stick to his damp skin under the glaring sun.
His blonde hair was a stringy mess that littered itself around his young bronze face, a stark golden glow that attracted the curious eyes of fiends that pitter-pattered the area. The gently bubbling Brotherhood wasn't given a moment's rest due to this constant attraction. Hissing and groaning and thick wads of venomous saliva were clumped beneath the sands and threateningly making themselves known from within hidden dunes, never quite removing Tidus' weakening guard.
It was frightening being there alone. There was no denying that. The muscles in his right arm were cramped and laced with pain, forcing him to drag his sword behind him to try and savor what little strength he had left for the animalistic fiends that stalked him across the plane. At times Tidus wanted nothing more than to stop and just hit the dry ground, give up and let himself die. But the thought of Yuna being like himself, out there somewhere, alone, kept his burning feet in motion. Yuna. That was what was important. That was his duty as a guardian. Protect Yuna. Protect Yuna. Protect Yuna. Protect...
Tidus' knees buckled and before he could catch himself, he was down.
It wouldn't be the first time. Hot scratches marred his bared knee and tore through the black cloth that attempted to protect his other, all obvious displays of his having fallen and maybe even crawled a short ways in a sense of desperation. All those times, all those desperate times, the thought of Yuna had gotten him back up again and he would continue down the unpaved sandy paths. But not this time. He stayed where he was, on all fours, eyes clamped shut tightly to block out what he knew might be coming. No. He wasn't the crybaby anymore. Don't cry. Don't cry. Protect Yuna.
"Yuna..." Tidus' teeth sunk into the flesh of his bottom lip at the thought of the young summoner, the image of her small frame trudging through the desert all by herself, desperately trying to ward away the fiends with her weakening aeons. He tried to push himself up onto his feet with this image firmly imprinted in his mind; tried with the constant encouragement that reminded him of his duty, the duty granted to him by Auron in Luca. He tried. Again and again, he tried. His elbows buckled under his weight and his knees just barely managed to pull themselves an inch above the ground. But before he knew it, Tidus' chest slammed into the dry grains of burning sand at the first sign of weakness in his legs.
He was exhausted. Too exhausted to try again. His right arm was like a hot block of lead at his side, pain crimped in every which angle and making it almost impossible for him to so much as twitch without feeling a pinching sensation that lasted a lifetime. His heart was pounding viciously, angrily, cursing his body for the pressure it was being forced under, the circumstances that had it jumping in terror at each passing moment of panic. Tidus knew he was vulnerable like that; lying there, his sword fallen from his fingertips, eyes closed to the soft hisses and growls that flowed with the desert wind.
But he was so tired...
Sleep and death were much the same in their essence. Lack of awareness, a dreamless cradle lulled away by an endless sea buried beneath the stars. Seymour could believe this. He could believe that for just a short moment in time, when his pale violet eyes had caught the image of the battered figure collapsed in the Bikanel sands, that they, the guardian and the maester, were alike. Seymour's feet were on the border when this possibility arose. The corners of his lips were twitching into a suave smile, Tromell beside him offering a slightly confused look when a light chuckle rippled into the air.
"Tromell..."
"Yes, Lord Seymour?"
The Guado maester carefully brought a long, sharp fingernail up to his parted lips in thought, his eyes narrowing into sinister slits. Sinister. Was that really the correct word to adorn the leader's expression? Tromell thought about this for a moment, but any show of silent negativity was quickly swept away in a violent blow. For a moment he could hardly believe he'd nearly considered the beloved Lord Seymour 'sinister'. How dare he. Tromell would remind himself to reserve a private punishment in his chambers to make sure that sort of word would never be used again in the presence of such a mighty Guado.
"Inform the pilots to lower the ship. Our search has been redirected."
Tromell's eyes widened. "Redirected, my lord? We are allowing Lady Yuna to go free?"
Seymour gently swept the deep blue stock that rode the front of his forehead, giving his vision the freedom of clarity. "Summoner Yuna, daughter of Lord Braska, traitor to the people... Perhaps it is time we set our sights on another candidate to display before Spira." His clawed finger reached out and gently traced the machina-aided screen that stretched before the main deck, a display of what lingered beneath the slow-paced airship's path. "Our future, the future of the Guado, lies not in a murderer. But perhaps right here." The tip of his finger halted on the distant body fallen unto the sands.
"The lady's guardian?" Tromell asked quietly, the confusion on his face becoming more and more evident. "My lord, he—"
"He is the son of Sir Jecht. He is what will lead me to my ultimate goals, Tromell." Seymour paused. "Do you object?"
"No. No, my lord, the young man will be captured and detained in the cargo hold until we arrive back at Guadosalam. But... if I may ask, what will become of Summoner Yuna and her remaining guardians?" Tromell's voice almost developed a slight tremble at the edge of his words as though he feared questioning the maester any further. But Seymour seemed unfazed.
"Surely the lady and her companions will either be eaten by the desert or taken in by the Al Bhed... After all, the plot of land to which they've all clustered to in the past few years is quite near to where this young one has fallen. " Seymour's violet eyes flashed in such a way that again Tromell felt a sense of awkward confusion. His own gaze had again risen to the machina screen to where the guardian's body had begun to fade into the distance, the glinting blue of his sword shockingly bright amongst the pale sand dunes. "Perhaps for safety measures, we should unleash a minor assault upon the Al Bhed's territory."
Tromell gave a curt bow in the direction of his leader at the understanding of Seymour's words. Destroy the territory, keep that traitorous Lady Yuna from being rescued and having her return to finish the beloved maester off. But... The part about capturing her collapsed guardian in Bikanel when he could just diminish amongst the rest, Tromell was dubious. His faded green eyes wavered with uncertainty. "Understood, Lord Seymour. I'll inform the pilots and the guards of your utmost sublime decision."
"Thank you, Tromell." He returned the polite bow to which he received, though it was much more dominant and satisfied than his aid's. When the other Guado had turned on his heel and headed in the direction of the main piloting cabin, Seymour once again found himself fascinated with the airship's compelling detail of the land below them. He could spot almost every grain of goldenrod sand that passed as the ship came to a slow halt then made a smooth turn once the Guado at the controls were given their brief orders.
The maester couldn't suppress the daring smirk that slid over his face when yet again, the image of the young guardian came into his line of sight. Yes, absolutely, this man would in fact, lead him to his ultimate goals. There had been not a touch of disinformation when he spoke those words to Tromell. In the very beginning, when he had first caught the blushing gaze of Yuna, the daughter of High Summoner Braska, an undeniable idea struck him in such a sharp way that for a long time, he felt absolutely compelled to follow her. Study her and her friends.
Plans for the future of Spira began to blossom in the back of his mind like moon lilies, closed and vulnerable to change at their births, then gently sweeping open after time and accepting their fate during the darkness of night. Seymour knew what he must do in order to liberate the pain of Spira. He saw this girl, this small, kind and soft-spoken girl, and came to the understanding that it would take so little to manipulate her. And in the course of that time, the plot that had been gathering in his mind began to unfold beautifully.
Step one, earn her trust. Open the gates to allow the child to continue her pilgrimage unto Mushroom Rock Road, where eventually, the Temple of Djose would be waiting. She would blush and stutter and then continue along her way. Of course, though the battle involving the Crusaders wasn't meant for her eyes, Seymour couldn't help but take a thrust at another chance to woo the Summoner into his arms, convince the young woman how pure his intentions really were. Step two, hint at a proposition. Make that little poppet swoon at the image of her destiny being intertwined with his.
From there, he waited, silently in his manor for the time when Lady Yuna would finally be forced to pass though the area on her way to the Thunder Plains. And it happened. Tromell brought him the news, and Seymour knew, the third step was being set in motion. He called the lady and her friends into his manor and spoiled them with delicious Guado goods, showed them his sphere of the once beautiful city of Zanarkand, where Lady Yunalesca once resided, then finally leaned down to whisper into the young Summoner's ear.
"As a maester of Yevon, I, Seymour Guado, ask you to marry me, Lady Yuna."
The girl had been stunned out of her skin. She had, of course, run to her friends for guidance, and because of them, Seymour believed, his reply was to be put on a solid hold. Yuna and guardians left the manor in an uncomfortable silence. But the maester knew. He knew that his little poppet would return in a matter of time, and he knew she would say yes. It was, after all, for the good of the people. And Yuna was quite well known for being completely unselfish when the moment in time called for it.
"My lord, the young man has been detained..."
"So quickly, Tromell?" Seymour asked, not having to waver his gaze to come to terms with the fact that it was his aid speaking to him.
"He put up not an ounce of struggle, my lord, though at first, our guards believed him to be dead."
"He is not well?" Seymour turned to face Tromell with his left eyebrow quirked somewhat unto his forehead. "Perhaps it would be best to have a medic at his side for the time being, until we return to Guadosalam."
"My lord...?" Tromell questioned quietly, his ever-swelling confusion most obvious on his crinkling face. "This young man inflicted dire injury upon you. He is an enemy of the Guado. He is—"
"These are no excuses to be rude, Tromell."
Seymour's eyes took on a chill that remained almost constant ever since his 'death' in Macalania, a pale barren chill that could easily stop a raging Behemoth in its tracks. Tromell found himself almost stepping back in a failed attempt to evade this icy stare.
"My lord... I will personally make sure the young man will be cared before until we return to Guadosalam..."
"Thank you, Tromell," Seymour murmured darkly. "You are most helpful."