Summary: My take on what might have happened if the wedding wasn't intercepted in time. I've been having fun writing about Seymour's darker side. One-sided Seymour/Yuna (at least as far as I've decided).

Chapter 1

It was only a few hours after he had died that he returned as an Unsent. The darkness slowly faded as his Pyreflies reassembled a physical body. It was beyond bizarre that there were two Seymours in the room: the chilled, stiffening body that lay on the slab and the other standing next to it. Seymour had ascended out of the tomb and given poor Tromell quite a fright. The poor elderly Guado had let out an astonished gasp when the door creaked open.

"Oh! Lord Seymour!"

"You know me," Seymour said casually, letting the door close with a thud, "I could never stay away for long…"

Tromell grasped Seymour's hand in his only for a moment, as if to be sure that the giant Guado half-breed before him wasn't an illusion. Seymour's hand was even more icy than he expected.

"I was afraid you'd become a fiend," Tromell admitted, releasing his grip.

Seymour chuckled darkly.

"Why are there no guards, then? Surely you'd never stand a chance against whatever I would have changed into by yourself."

Not wanting to spend another minute in the damp catacombs, they ascended the stairs and went back to the mansion. It was late at night, so the others were not aware of his return. They would, no doubt, be overjoyed that their beloved Maester had been returned to them.

"I do not wish to pry," Tromell began, interrupted by Seymour's cold smirk, "all right, yes I do…what is it that holds you here, Lord Seymour? You must have some very strong convictions indeed to resist the Sending."

"I think you know," Seymour responded.

"The Lady?"

"Of course."

"So now what do we do?"

"We go and find her and carry on as planned," Seymour said, lounging casually on his favorite couch, "and we make her fulfill her end of the deal. She wanted to see me brought to justice—but there's not much more anyone can do to me now. Wouldn't you agree?"

"Yes, of course, but—"

Seymour's expression shut him up.

"Very well," Tromell said, resigned, "what do you need me to arrange?"

After everyone had gotten separated, everyone turned up at Bikanel Island—everyone except for Yuna. After several days of tracking, the Guado managed to find her. She was lying on the beach with only the slightest shred of consciousness remaining. Exhausted from treading water for so long, half-drowned, and injured, she couldn't even bring herself to climb all the way out of the water. The waves washed in and out, continuing to soak her skirt and boots. Her staff lay on the ground in front of her, three of her fingers still clinging to it. A cut marred the side of her face and half-dried blood congealed there, matting in her hair. She could vaguely hear the sea birds crying above her, the waves going in and out. The warm sun was getting uncomfortably hot now. She heard a heavy tread approaching through the sand towards her.

"What a pity," a familiar voice said quietly.

I must be dreaming…for a second, that sounded like Seymour…she thought vaguely.

The person bent over her, casting her in shadow. Her fingers twitched on the staff, but she couldn't move otherwise. Hands lifted hers, hands so large that they practically swallowed hers. Fingertips probed her pulse point in her wrist, checking for a sign of life. They needn't have bothered—the person's touch was so cold that it caused her to shiver. For the time being, she thought it best to "play dead"—not that it was hard, of course. She didn't resist or even move as the man turned her over and gathered her up. Carrying her bridal-style, he took her out of unmercifully hot sun and the relentless waves.

On the outside, she was still. On the inside, she was panicking. She recognized that earthy scent that the Guado had. There was only one of them that was big enough to bear her weight easily.

"Do not wake her," the now very familiar voice said, "she is injured. Let her sleep for as long as she can."

"We should get her some dry clothes," another familiar voice said. This one sounded like Tromell. She felt her boots being taken off and heard the water trapped in them dribbling to the floor.

"Lord Seymour…perhaps we should ask one of the women to do this," Tromell suggested. She heard them retreat. Someone else came in, someone that had a very distinctly feminine smell of flowers and fruit. Whoever the girl was, she didn't speak at all and had mastered the balance between efficiency and gentleness. She patched up Yuna's injuries, dried her off, and changed her clothes. Yuna even felt a brush being tugged through her hair in an attempt to rid it of sand and tangles. After that, she really did fall asleep again.

I'll be with the others again when I open my eyes next…she thought drowsily.

When she opened her eyes, she was alone. Her still-damp dress was laying over the back of a chair next to a fireplace. She was laying in a small bed with a brightly colored quilt. The gown she had on was a bit big for her, but it was warm and at least dry. The sleeves were so long that they covered her hands and the collar, though meant to be modest, slipped down her shoulder a bit. She felt the confinement of gauze banded around her head and gingerly touched the area that she knew to be gashed. One of her arms was in a cast. She felt a little sick to her stomach, though that could have been from lack of nourishment.

But if this is real…

Yuna's heart rate began to increase. The door opened and she assumed that the Guado woman from before had returned. As with all the others, her bright red hair grew in spikes and the veins on her face contrasted sharply with her tanned skin.

"Ah, good, you're awake," she observed, "I was beginning to think you'd be out for days. We tried to give you some potions and even a Phoenix Down, but Sin's toxins seem to have made them inefficient…"

Yuna was wishing she'd stayed asleep. Her head was pounding now.

"Here—try this. At least now you won't choke on it."

She took the potion bottle and gulped the contents.

"Where are we?" she asked when it was gone.

"We're near Bevelle," the woman said, "it's about a day or so away."

"Who else is here?"

"Oh, just the standard entourage: guards, servants, including me, Tromell, and Lord Seymour."

The potion bottle shattered noisily as it slipped from Yuna's fingers and hit the floor.

"Seymour?" she cried in disbelief.

"Yes…I was in a bit of shock as well," the servant said, moving to sweep up the glass, "we Sent him, of course, but apparently he felt that his work here wasn't done. You were the first person he asked about when he emerged from the vault. I went to the Farplane to visit him, but he wasn't there. I should have known what that meant."

Yuna thought she was going to cry. The color drained completely out of her face—what little of it had remained. She buried her face in her quilt, trying to calm her breath which came in short, panicked gasps.

"There's nothing to be frightened of, dear," the servant said gently, "he's just the same as he always was! No indication that he became a fiend."

Yuna swallowed hard and finally asked "Where are my guardians?"

"They're on Bikanel Island as far as we've heard," she said, "Lord Seymour chose simply to leave them there. They weren't aware of our presence."

Yuna breathed a sigh of relief. As long as they were safe, they might return for her. But in the meantime, what was she going to do?

"Lord Seymour will want to see you now that you're awake," the servant said, finishing up with the broken glass, "I'll go and get him."

Yuna opened her mouth to protest, but it was no good. She was gone already. While the servant was gone, she looked around the room. There were no windows, which bothered her. There weren't even any pictures on the wall, only the repetitive stone. Besides her bed, there was a chair by the fireplace, a night table, and that was about it. She shakily poured a glass of water from the pitcher there and gulped it down. It seemed to have no impact on her dry throat which constricted more with every step that approached. The door opened again and Yuna stared down at the empty cup in her hands, not wanting to look up. She heard the rustle of fabric as the back of his robes grazed the stone floor.

"Awake at last," his cold voice said quietly, "I'm glad you've returned to us."

She didn't say anything. Out of the corner of her eye, she saw him close the door behind him. This was worse than being trapped with a bunch of fiends or even dark Aeons. It didn't help that the only light came from the fire, which made him look dark and even more sinister.

"It was a wonder that nothing happened to you on that beach," he continued, "Tromell believes you were there for at least a day or two before we found you."

Silence. She felt him place an enormous hand on the side of her head. At precisely the second she was going to pull away, she felt the pain beginning to dull.

"Don't fight me," he said, an edge of annoyance in his voice, "I'm trying to help you."

She hated herself for it, but she gave in and let the curve of her cheek rest against his palm. Her eyes slid closed as the white magic flowed through her battered, bruised body. His hand was freezing, but it felt good against her hot cheek.

"There, you see? I mean you no harm."

"That wasn't the tune you were singing in Macalania," she said accusingly.

"You forget, Lady Yuna, that your guardians were the ones who threatened me. Did I not have a right to defend myself?"

"You threw the first spell!" she snapped.

"That's only because three against six hardly seemed like a fair fight," he reminded her, "and I took great pains to be sure I didn't hit you."

"Like that makes me feel any better," she snapped.

He chuckled quietly.

"I should take this as a good sign," he remarked, "if you want to argue, you must be feeling better."

"I want to go back to my guardians," she demanded.

"They are miles away on Bikanel Island," Seymour informed her, "it will take them days to reach us. And I don't intend to be here when they do. When you have regained some of your strength, we will go to Bevelle. You may get your next Aeon there."

"I can't travel without my guardians! I won't!"

"Yes, you will," he said firmly, "I am your guardian now, Yuna. And in this form, I have more strength than all five of them with none of their weaknesses."

She didn't like the expression he had. It was that cold, calculating smile, the one that was even icier than his touch.

"Remember the day you agreed to my marriage proposal? I assume that you did so in order to bring me to justice for my father's death. It was you who declared me guilty and delivered my execution. Now you must hold up your end of the deal."

"But—"

"Think of your precious guardians," he said in a dangerously quiet tone, "I chose not to harm them when I easily could have. Even now I do not act against them because I know it would crush you. The price you will pay for all their lives is so small in return."

Yuna felt as if her heart had dropped out of her chest, through the mattress, and into the darkness beneath the earth. She thought of Tidus's smile and gulped back the lump of unshed tears in her throat. On the outside, however, she remained perfectly stoic and calm.

"I suppose I have no choice, then," she said dully.

He ran her fingers through her hair.

"Do any of us, really?"

Without another word, he rose and left. Yuna felt everything inside her deflating. It was only when she was sure that no one else would see that the tears began to fall. She thought of Kimahri's strong arms, Rikku's undying supportiveness, Lulu's gentle firmness, and Sir Auron's gruffness that concealed how much he really cared about all of them. Tidus came to mind last but certainly not least. He hadn't made her feel the way Seymour had—his presence was warm and he was easy to talk to. While Seymour had previously made her feel dizzy and shy before she learned who he truly was, Tidus had the presence of a candle-flame: warm but not overpowering. Then, her thoughts turned to what was left of her life with Seymour. His hands were so cold…she hated his touch now because it felt like death. It was death. There wouldn't be even the slightest comfort in his cold embrace. It was aggravating how he kept acting as though he was doing her a favor when she was now essentially his prisoner. Another emotion surfaced that she didn't expect: pity. Seymour was so convinced that he was doing the right thing and his convictions had only strengthened in death.

That's why I have to Send him…he will grow increasingly mad. There's no way a person can hold onto a twisted idea like that before it destroys their mind, she thought. She remembered that day on Mushroom Rock, the fateful Operation Mi'ihen. When she was crying brokenly over the waste of lives, of the ocean littered with bodies, he had tried to comfort her in his own very awkward fashion. Take me as your pillar of strength, he had said. For one moment, she thought he was going to hug her, but he hadn't. And the sad thing was that she'd very much wanted him to.

Why did you have to be the bad guy? She wondered. There on that beach, she'd helped him fight the escaped Sin Spawn. It had made her feel good to constantly cast healing spells while he tore the creature apart with fire, lightning, and ice. There was something about having to fight together just to survive that brought people closer. Even if things hadn't gone this way, she and Seymour might have been friends in another life.

Her brooding only made her more tired. She gave in to the exhaustion and went back to sleep. However powerful of a white mage Seymour might be, it was still having to compete with Sin's toxins.

Her dreams were terrible that night. It was one nightmare right after another and they all got progressively worse. Her reactions to them ranged from just twitching and mumbling a bit to full-blown screaming. When that last part happened, Seymour and Tromell both burst into the room at the same time. Whatever was haunting Yuna's dreams must have been very frightening to her. She had fallen out of the bed and was now all tangled up with her covers.

"It's only a nightmare," Seymour told Tromell, "let me deal with this."

"As you wish, my lord," Tromell replied shakily. He was very pale—he cared almost as much about Yuna as he did Seymour. Grateful to get away from the shrieks, he disappeared rather quickly. Seymour knelt next to Yuna and stroked her hair. She jerked awake, eyes wild and dark.

"Oh…." She breathed, embarrassed and feeling a bit violated, "what are you doing here?"

"I came to see what you were carrying on about," he said, tugging the blanket loose, as it looked like it was about to choke her, "it must have been a terrible dream to make you scream like that."

Her eyes were filled with tears, but she angrily blinked them back. Despite all the important places being covered, her nightgown was askew and the skirt of it was showing a fair bit of leg. She tugged back down.

"It must be the toxin…" she said shakily, "…Tidus did the same thing in his sleep when we first met."

She got out of the floor and sat on the edge of the bed. Immediately for reasons she couldn't explain, she felt guilty about talking to Seymour about Tidus. She had planned to keep everything about her friends deep down where he couldn't reach it. Seymour rose and settled next to her. Once again, he was easily three times her weight and she felt the mattress sink in, creating a gravity well once more. He wrapped his arm around her and she shivered, curling up into a little ball.

"My apologies," he said quietly, pulling away only long enough to wrap the blanket around her, "I forget how cold I seem to the living now."

She was glad that the blanket insulated her somewhat from his touch, but she could still feel the pressure of his arm as he drew her close once more. She realized, very disturbed, that his scent had changed. During the time he proposed to her, he had leaned in closely enough that she could smell him. He had a damp, earthy smell that was like a rainy springtime—all the Guado carried a similar sort of smell like that with slight variations. This one, however, stung her nose. It was the way the winter air smelled on a frosty morning. It was odd that a person could actually smell like coldness. She shouldn't have been surprised.

"I'm sorry I disturbed your sleep," she said haltingly, "I think I'll be all right now."

He knew she wanted him to leave, but he made no move to get up.

"I no longer need rest," he told her, "I should thank you for freeing me from such a weakness."

The color drained out of her face, leaving it even more ashen than before. No sleep? Oh dear…that was going to make escaping a lot more complicated if she decided to try it. No doubt he would suspect her of that. Her chest tightened along with her resolve to Send him as soon as possible.

This is for Spira, remember? She thought to herself.

"Oh…well…surely there are other things you'd like to be doing right now?"

Again, he had a rebuttal: "Not more than this."

She felt very flustered. Why wouldn't he just take the hint and go away already?! Then again, Seymour was very good at pushing buttons. He always had been. She wondered if he'd leave if he actually got what he wanted—but how would she know what it was? How far was this going to go? She tried not to make any noise as she swallowed, but she was sure that she gulped so loudly that he probably did hear it. The thumping of her heart was also something she was sure he could hear. Ever so slightly, she leaned in against his side. It was uncomfortable to say the least: her thigh was already brushing his a little bit and she could feel the cold seeping through his robes. Nevertheless, he held her there for a minute.

"Relax," he whispered, "you have nothing to fear from me."

As long as I do what you say, she mentally finished for him. Unwelcome drowsiness overcame her as she sat there and she actually began to yawn a bit. Her body, having a will of its own, slumped against the half-Guado's massive frame. This was apparently what he had wanted all along, for he gently eased her back down onto the bed and spread her covers over her.

"Good night, Lady Yuna," he said with that smirk that she so despised.

Funny how I used to be terrified of monsters in the closet, she thought, or under the bed. Now I have a real one that creeps in at night…