Yay! I've always wanted to write this, the wedding segment! :D Still more to come; after all, there are holes need filling. :P
XLVIII.
Bond
{Hell and matrimony, through sickness and in health, Fate}
"Will you be my Guardian?" Yuna requests on their way, arm-in-arm, to the Palace of St. Bevelle. "When I somehow escape and reunite with my friends–."
"No." Her name-mysterious companion masquerades as a groomsman; a ceremonial blue helmet and white veil conceals the upper half of his face, yet his feet tread unhindered by limited sight. "The pilgrimage means everything to you, and the first thing I will do as your Guardian is to take that away from you. I can't do that, and I don't have the strength to watch you persevere, only to martyr yourself to Sin. I'm sorry."
Her hand on his arm, it clenches tight, "It is for the good of Spira," and she confesses, as if her duty warrants a reason.
"And I care about you, more than the people of Spira themselves." She keeps quiet, resigning from this argument. He halts in his stride, relaying his stubborn concern through pseudo eye contact, causing her to pause also. Yuna likewise glares in liquid rage and grief, shoulders touching, postures tense with rigid dignity. His unreasonable selfishness and unnecessary kindness makes her feel guilty, and that is a hindrance to her goal.
They soon resume their deliberate walk, her wedding ceremony with Doomsday their destination. Yuna dares not to look back once she lets go of his arm, because from this point on– everything rides on her resolve.
Seymour Guado, her malevolent groom, stands across from her, anticipation oppressing her willpower. Grand Maester Yo Mika stands present before them as the priest presiding over their holy union, sunken eyes vigilant and glassy. Her Guardians watch, skirmish-worn and helpless under the dangerous supervision of Maester Kinoc and his platoon of alert warrior monks. Clammy palms grip her bare shoulders a moment later, sharp nails pinching into her skin unlike those of tenderness not too long ago.
Yuna imagines him and his gentle eyes and caring words, instead of Seymour's smug glare and cold smile. "You won't be alone out there," he had told her. He trusts her, he has faith in her, he believes Yuna will win, despite the dismal odds. He didn't know her, he had no reason to help, he was– still is– with Seymour, but he is on her side.
Yuna prays for Lady Luck to bless her side, as this obligatory kiss seals her demise.
