Author's Note: Whee! New story for Sephira-chan! Eventually this'll tie
in to my as-yet-unfinished fic, Priestess of the Guado. Go and have a look-
see if you want.
---***---
The ocean spray tickled his face and settled on his eyelashes and eyebrows as the boat nosed into Bevelle Harbor. It was a foggy, overcast day; the chill wind blew right off the ocean, filling the sails of the frigate, the bow of which he stood on. It shoved the backs of his fine robes against his legs and the backs of his arms, and mussed the fine blue hair that he had spent a lot of time getting into place that morning. Irritated, he shoved the offending hair behind his ear for later adjustment, and kept his head high.
The spires of the Palace of St. Bevelle were hidden in the mists, and seemed to go on into the heavens. They were even taller than they had looked when he had emerged from his cabin that morning and the deck hand had pointed them out. Now they were docking; sailors tossed ropes as thick around as his arm to people on the pier. The robes were as deftly caught as thrown, and soon the frigate Siren was docked at Bevelle, and for the first time in all fifteen years of his life, Seymour de Jyscal Guado stepped onto the mainland.
Having been brought up on a tiny, desolate island called Baaj, Seymour was naturally fascinated with all the sights and sounds that his escort tried to rush him past; the normal sounds of an active wharf that normally no one would have had any second glances to. Looking down over the edge of the pier into the deep green water, he saw seals passing under them, diving for the scraps of fish that fishermen tossed off after cleaning. A vehement tug from his bodyguard kept him moving. Grumbling a little - the guard had pulled a little too hard - Seymour kept on moving down the pier.
At the end of the long wooden structure, a man with such similar characteristics that Seymour did not doubt for a second who he was, waited. His robes were ornate; embroidered with various holy signs. Nervous, Seymour stood a little distance off from his father, unsure of what to do. To his relief, Lord Jyscal de Fathi Guado motioned to his son.
"Come now, I'm not going to bite. Let me have a look at you."
Seymour moved a few steps closer and stopped again. Jyscal went in a full circle around him. "You are your mother's son," he said at last, a little sadly. "Yes.she died."
"This Midsummer past," Seymour finished a little more stiffly than he'd intended to. Lord Jyscal nodded.
"Very well. You are to finish your formative years in my ward; however, you will be here in Bevelle, at the Palace School - "
Seymour blinked. "What?"
"Of course you cannot stay in Guadosalam with me. If the Guado knew that I had a son with a human woman, they would never convert to Yevon and would be no better than those Al Bhed heathens."
Seymour contained his high-handed nature and nodded. The angry serpent (for that was how he imagined his rage, as a serpent) reluctantly coiled back down - for now. Seymour pretended to be happy as he received gifts from those who knew - a warrior with a red coat, and a man named Braska and his wife, Usoa. Seymour listened to their silly prattle about how much they prayed for a child, endured the good-natured teasing that he would one day be unable to keep the ladies away, and instead turned his thoughts inward.
As he was on his way out of the last store that Jyscal said they'd need to visit to "properly" outfit Seymour for city life, someone tapped him on the shoulder. Turning around, Seymour's lavender-blue eyes met crystalline blue ones, so light they appeared gray. A boy about his age was standing behind him. The boy already had an ear-length, shaggy head of hair that hung roguishly in his eyes. Girls passing them by looked appreciatively at Seymour and at the boy's muscle structure.
"You're Seymour Guado."
Seymour stiffened. "So what if I am?"
The boy extended a hand. "I am Aubrey Braeden. I heard you'll be attending school at the Palace."
"Yes."
"Right. I'll see you there, Seymour Guado." Aubrey touched his forehead and spun round, disappearing into the swarm of people in the store. Seymour blinked, then hurried to catch up with his escort.
Still watching the young man, Aubrey's eyes flashed red, and he smirked.
---***---
The ocean spray tickled his face and settled on his eyelashes and eyebrows as the boat nosed into Bevelle Harbor. It was a foggy, overcast day; the chill wind blew right off the ocean, filling the sails of the frigate, the bow of which he stood on. It shoved the backs of his fine robes against his legs and the backs of his arms, and mussed the fine blue hair that he had spent a lot of time getting into place that morning. Irritated, he shoved the offending hair behind his ear for later adjustment, and kept his head high.
The spires of the Palace of St. Bevelle were hidden in the mists, and seemed to go on into the heavens. They were even taller than they had looked when he had emerged from his cabin that morning and the deck hand had pointed them out. Now they were docking; sailors tossed ropes as thick around as his arm to people on the pier. The robes were as deftly caught as thrown, and soon the frigate Siren was docked at Bevelle, and for the first time in all fifteen years of his life, Seymour de Jyscal Guado stepped onto the mainland.
Having been brought up on a tiny, desolate island called Baaj, Seymour was naturally fascinated with all the sights and sounds that his escort tried to rush him past; the normal sounds of an active wharf that normally no one would have had any second glances to. Looking down over the edge of the pier into the deep green water, he saw seals passing under them, diving for the scraps of fish that fishermen tossed off after cleaning. A vehement tug from his bodyguard kept him moving. Grumbling a little - the guard had pulled a little too hard - Seymour kept on moving down the pier.
At the end of the long wooden structure, a man with such similar characteristics that Seymour did not doubt for a second who he was, waited. His robes were ornate; embroidered with various holy signs. Nervous, Seymour stood a little distance off from his father, unsure of what to do. To his relief, Lord Jyscal de Fathi Guado motioned to his son.
"Come now, I'm not going to bite. Let me have a look at you."
Seymour moved a few steps closer and stopped again. Jyscal went in a full circle around him. "You are your mother's son," he said at last, a little sadly. "Yes.she died."
"This Midsummer past," Seymour finished a little more stiffly than he'd intended to. Lord Jyscal nodded.
"Very well. You are to finish your formative years in my ward; however, you will be here in Bevelle, at the Palace School - "
Seymour blinked. "What?"
"Of course you cannot stay in Guadosalam with me. If the Guado knew that I had a son with a human woman, they would never convert to Yevon and would be no better than those Al Bhed heathens."
Seymour contained his high-handed nature and nodded. The angry serpent (for that was how he imagined his rage, as a serpent) reluctantly coiled back down - for now. Seymour pretended to be happy as he received gifts from those who knew - a warrior with a red coat, and a man named Braska and his wife, Usoa. Seymour listened to their silly prattle about how much they prayed for a child, endured the good-natured teasing that he would one day be unable to keep the ladies away, and instead turned his thoughts inward.
As he was on his way out of the last store that Jyscal said they'd need to visit to "properly" outfit Seymour for city life, someone tapped him on the shoulder. Turning around, Seymour's lavender-blue eyes met crystalline blue ones, so light they appeared gray. A boy about his age was standing behind him. The boy already had an ear-length, shaggy head of hair that hung roguishly in his eyes. Girls passing them by looked appreciatively at Seymour and at the boy's muscle structure.
"You're Seymour Guado."
Seymour stiffened. "So what if I am?"
The boy extended a hand. "I am Aubrey Braeden. I heard you'll be attending school at the Palace."
"Yes."
"Right. I'll see you there, Seymour Guado." Aubrey touched his forehead and spun round, disappearing into the swarm of people in the store. Seymour blinked, then hurried to catch up with his escort.
Still watching the young man, Aubrey's eyes flashed red, and he smirked.