Childhood

yet another Seymour-centric Final Fantasy X story, written by

Lucrecia LeVrai

Disclaimer: Seymour and his parents belong to Square-Enix; all other characters are mine.

Author's Notes: Why did I start a new fic when there are so many others I need to finish first, you ask? Well, it's mostly because this particular story was written about three, four months ago… and, honestly, I thought I'd go crazy without posting it soon. So there, I put it on this site, instead of updating one of my older works... just don't kill me, okay? ;) It's only a few chapters long and should be finished quickly… I hope.

Anything else I want to say before you start reading? Ah, yes – writing serious stories about Seymour has most definitely become kind of… my little, personal mission. Well, the game was released such a long time ago, but there are still so few good fics about him! And it's soooo (censored) frustrating!

-glares at all those Seymour fans who are too lazy to write anything, then punches herself a couple of times for being equally lazy-

Ah, but let's not forget that some people actually do write and/or read Seymour stories… and I'd like to thank them all! You guys are great!

...Riiiight. Back to work, I guess. Please, ignore the lame beginning and enjoy the story. :))

Part One

Grandfather

Bevelle was definitely one of the most spectacular, busiest places Seymour had ever seen. Colorfully dressed people, masked soldiers, broad alleys, incredibly tall buildings, running water… Mesmerized by the fascinating sights the city offered, the six-year-old child found himself practically glued to the carriage window. The vehicle moved slowly through one of Bevelle's most representative districts, but the pace was still too fast to the boy's liking. He scowled, tapping his long fingers against the cool pane, in a characteristic gesture he must have clearly learnt from his father.

"What is it, honey?"

A bit reluctantly, he looked away from the window, meeting his mother's suspiciously amused gaze. "Can't we tell the driver to slow down a bit?"

Lady Avalon gave her son a small, affectionate smile. "Not really, dear. It's getting late and we have to hurry."

"It's early," he protested. "See? We can even take a walk–"

She silenced him by putting a finger to his lips. "We don't have time for that, Seymour, at least not today. But we'll stay here for a couple of days, I've already told you that. So, if you really want to, we can go for a walk tomorrow… Isn't it a bit too hot for that, anyway?"

"Why not today?"

She laughed quietly. "Can't you be a little more patient…?"

Unfortunately, there was no point in arguing with her. She was kind, gentle and understanding… but when she made a decision, she simply wouldn't change her mind, no matter what. Sighing heavily to demonstrate his disappointment, Seymour nodded, once again turning his head towards the window.

They were only passing through Bevelle, on their way to some far-away island called Baaj, where they were supposed to stay for at least a couple of months, possibly much longer. They hadn't taken too many servants with them; about forty, to be exact, and considering Lord Jyscal's general wealth and prestige, it was not a very large number. Most of these people were human, especially now, after Avalon had forcefully dismissed nearly half of the Guado guards.

The journey was tiring, but it proceeded quite smoothly, without too many difficulties. Truth to be told, Seymour didn't really understand the reason behind this sudden turn of events in his life; he only knew that it had been his father's idea all along. Everything had happened too quickly, anyway. One day Lord Jyscal had simply announced that his wife and child should leave Guadosalam for their own good, and about forty-eight hours later, Seymour had already found himself on some large boat, sailing down the Moonflow. It had been very confusing, to say the least – in fact, it still was. Mother stubbornly refused to tell him anything; she had only asked him once, if he had missed home… to which, naturally, he had replied 'yes'. She hadn't spoken again for a long while, after that. And, ever since then, they hadn't really talked about it anymore.

They would stay in Bevelle for a couple of days. It used to be her home once, he knew; so now, when she was finally able to see the city – for the first time in seven years – she wanted to visit a couple of old friends. Seymour wasn't looking forward to this; he already knew what such meetings looked like. Usually, it began with some stranger (in most cases, it was a woman about his mother's age, wearing as much diamond jewelry as her spine and neck would allow) gasping and squealing in delight at the mere sight of her long-absent friend. Then there would be tears and rushed words, and after some necessary introductions – why did all these women always have to look so strangely at him, anyway? – he would be left with some caretakers in a completely unknown place, where he wasn't allowed to touch anything. Without having much to do, he often simply ended up asleep on a sofa, with a worried servant looming over him all the time, until his mother came to pick him up – and then there were even more weird glances from his mother's friend, but it didn't really matter, for they were finally leaving, thank Yevon!

No, Seymour didn't like these meetings at all. Besides, a nap in somebody's private chambers wasn't exactly the worst scenario possible, for sometimes his mother insisted that Seymour actually ate a proper dinner, meaning that he would be forced to come to the table. And the adults talked, and talked, and laughed, and talked even more, completely forgetting about his presence, while he had to sit still and mind his manners, and be polite, and being polite meant absolutely no yawning–!

For a six-year-old boy it was pure torture.

Still looking out of the carriage window, Seymour scowled, suddenly feeling quite angry at the whole world, his mother in particular. The upcoming week in Bevelle would probably look very much like this, he realized, and for a moment he was ready to throw a fit, to whine and cry like a little kid, until mother agreed not to visit anyone this time… but she never listed to his complaints, anyway, so he bit his tongue, concentrating on the outside world instead. The carriage was moving much slower now, and the boy wondered if they were perhaps going to stop any time soon. He closed his eyes, remembering his mother's words from a short while ago, when he had asked her about their destination.

Well, it seemed that today was going to look a bit different, after all.

Ever since she had told him about visiting his grandfather, Seymour couldn't help feeling excited… and terribly confused. Mother had never mentioned her other family before; the boy had somehow assumed that she had none, not that he had ever given it much thought, anyway. As far as he had been concerned, his family consisted of only three people, but obviously, he had been mistaken – his grandfather lived somewhere in this city, and today Seymour was going to see him for the first time in his life. Unfortunately, he had absolutely no idea what to expect.

"Mother…?" he finally decided to ask, keeping his voice quiet. "What's he like?"

Avalon stirred, the question must have startled her. She blinked at her son, not quite understanding, looking for all the world like a person who had just awoken from a deep trance. "…Who?"

"My grandfather," Seymour frowned. Something didn't feel right, but he couldn't tell what it was. He could only sense his mother's rising nervousness, and this puzzled him a bit. She was always such a calm, self-controlled person, very much unlike the tense woman that was sitting next to him right now. In fact, he had never seen her so… frightened before.

"You will soon see for yourself, Seymour," she lowered her gaze, absently smoothing out her dark dress.

"Is he nice?"

Avalon laughed softly at her son's childish, naive question. Then, as if remembering something, she sighed, her face suddenly growing darker.

"Mother?" The boy tugged at her sleeve, pouting adorably as he demanded a reply. It brought another smile to Avalon's lips.

"Most of the time," she said, with a strange, far-away look in her eyes, "…but he's also a very strict person. Please, remember to behave properly."

Seymour nodded, apparently satisfied with her answer, and once again turned his head to the window, resuming his people-watch. Avalon thought that the matter was finished, when all of a sudden the boy spoke once again, startling her even more.

"…But we won't be staying with him. Why?"

"We can't," she shook her head in response, inwardly cursing the child's perceptiveness. "We promised your father we would go to Baaj, remember?"

We? Honestly, Seymour couldn't recall making any promises, but he nodded anyway. "Why?"

Lady Avalon sighed. Heavily. And when she spoke, there was some odd, unusual tiredness in her voice. "Because it's safe there, honey."

Stubbornly refusing to let the matter drop, the boy looked away from the window, meeting her troubled gaze. "Isn't it safe here?"

Ah. It hurt, didn't it? Smiling despite herself, she ruffled her son's beautiful hair, smooth and soft to the touch, yet already starting to grow in a typical Guado fashion. "Don't worry about it so much, Seymour. You'll like it in Baaj… I promise."

His grandfather's house had turned out to be a huge mansion situated in one of the most luxurious parts of the city, but at the moment Seymour couldn't care less. The heat – it was the middle of the Harvest Month, after all – and the long ride had made him feel sleepy. He yawned and stretched in his seat as the carriage rode past the gates, crossing a wide yard and eventually stopping in front of the main entrance. One of the guards immediately went to open the door, and much to their relief, the two passengers were finally able to step outside.

Lady Avalon, who had recently become quite tired of splendor and extravagance, wore a modest, relatively simple green dress – one that certainly didn't look its price – and almost no jewelry, except for a golden necklace and a pair of small earrings. Her dark hair was set in thin, elaborate braids, some twisted around her head, some falling down to her thin shoulders. She was only twenty-nine, yet looked a couple of years older. The life in Guadosalam, where the sun hardly ever reached, a diet that consisted of no meat (Guado customs were very strict about that) and the lack of proper exercise took their toll on her once beautiful body.

Her six-year-old son looked considerably less energetic than usual, too; slightly disheveled after such a long ride. He kept yawning, not really bothering to cover his mouth, until Avalon glared at him pointedly. A moment later, she sighed and knelt down, absently running her fingers over the creased sleeves of his white, gold-lined shirt. When she was satisfied with the result, she put a hand on the child's shoulder and hugged him briefly. "Come, Seymour. Remember to be a good boy, okay?"

Seymour nodded distractedly, without paying too much attention to his mother's words. At this point, he was beginning to feel rather interested in his surroundings. He was surprised to discover that a large part of his grandfather's mansion was actually built of wood; not of stone, like all big human houses he had seen so far. It made him feel almost at home. Almost… for unlike all houses in Guadosalam, this one was made of a very different kind of wood. It didn't breathe. It didn't feel. It was dead.

He didn't really know why, but the thought made him shudder, and he reached for his mother's hand, instinctively seeking protection. He was still clinging to her warm fingers when a couple of unknown servants led them both inside, through the main door, into a bright, spacious hall. Another surprise awaited him there; it was a large, white fountain. Well, people didn't usually have fountains inside their houses, at least not from what Seymour could tell, so the sight made him wonder what kind of silly person his grandfather was. Besides, the spring seemed a bit unusual in itself, too – it was a white statue of a maid, holding a basket in her outstretched hand, surrounded by a small shoal of fish that swarmed at her feet, with water spurting out of their open mouths. Seymour knew that fish were not domestic animals, at least not in Macalania, so…

"Mother?" he asked curiously, raising his head to look at her. "Why is this girl feeding–"

"Shhh," she gave his fingers a light squeeze. "Not now, honey."

She didn't even meet his gaze and the boy felt horribly ignored, but something in his mother's voice made him refrain from protesting loudly. Meanwhile, she had turned towards the servants, who had brought them here. "Please, leave," she said politely, though her pose showed clearly that she was used to giving orders. "It is a very private matter."

In fact, Avalon was so distracted that Seymour easily slipped his hand out of her loose grasp. However, just before he could take a single step towards the fountain, a frightfully cold voice cut the air, causing the boy to all but jump behind his mother's slender frame.

"So," the voice said, practically dripping with hostility, "you actually dare to show your face here, after all these years."

The man who had addressed Avalon in such a terribly rude manner stood a bit to the left, at the top of broad, wooden stairs. 'Huge' was the first word that crossed Seymour's mind, but it wasn't exactly the most suitable adjective in this case – the man was very tall, yes, but not overly muscular. His face seemed sharp, stiff with anger and almost untouched by wrinkles. In fact, even in spite of his graying hair, Lord Gwyan didn't look half as old as Seymour had imagined him to be.

And he was very furious, too, doing absolutely nothing to conceal his displeasure, glaring down at Seymour's mother with contempt written all over his face. For a brief moment his gaze swept over the boy as well, and Seymour trembled, clinging to the green robe for his dear life. Only then did it finally hit him that his mother hadn't even objected to such a harsh greeting, as if she had somehow accepted it from the start… but with her head up high and eyes narrowed into slits, she didn't appear defeated, either. In fact, her semi-calm posture practically screamed of stubbornness and defiance. The six-year-old boy found it quite reassuring.

Still clutching his mother's dress in both hands (though, as the silence prolonged, his grip loosened a bit), Seymour waited, more or less patiently, for the man to throw them both out. After all, he looked so much like Father, when he was angry… and when Father was this angry – thank Yevon, it didn't happen very often – he would always throw people out without as much as a second glance, regardless of who they were.

However, Lord Gwyan did nothing of the sort. After a very long pause, he spoke once again, this time in a slightly less hostile, yet still frightfully cold voice. "We need to talk… in private."

The woman didn't reply at once; in fact, she didn't reply at all. And when she finally looked down at her son, there was a sad, helpless look in her eyes. He tensed, letting go of her dress.

"Seymour…" she said softly, "…please, wait for me outside, will you?"

Swallowing a lump in his throat, the boy nodded, quite reluctantly. He had a bad feeling about this… a very bad feeling, indeed. He could still sense cold fury behind Lord Gwyan's expressionless facade; so much hostility that it really scarred him. He was genuinely afraid of what this man – despite being his grandfather and all – might do to his mother, and yet he had no choice but to bow and walk away.

They were both so loud that even a thick, wooden door couldn't muffle all their shouting. Leaning against that very door, Seymour listened in to the conversation, his anger, fear and confusion growing with each furious yell. He was still too young to comprehend even half of the things they were saying, but what he did understand was more than enough.

Lord Gwyan hated his father, that much he could tell. The man was also furious at his mother for marrying…

-that greedy, antisocial bastard-

…who, as Seymour quickly found out…

-will eventually tire of you and leave you for good-

…unless, of course…

-he already did-

…and it was all because his mother had…

-made the biggest mistake of your life-

…possibly by…

-believing in everything that son of a bitch says!-

It was the first time Seymour had heard anyone talk this way about his father. And judging from what he could hear from behind the closed door, his mother was also upset with these words… terribly so. She tried to fight back, to reason with the man in a semi-calm manner, but she was quickly loosing her patience and her temper with it.

Their shouts were growing louder and louder.

-well, I don't care! It's my life and I can do whatever I want-

His mother's voice, this time… so furious, so hysterical. He had never heard her yell at somebody with such contempt before… and it was absolutely terrifying. Somebody, please… make them stop… Seymour thought, inwardly torn between panic and anger. Just then, though, his grandfather's voice rang;

-You should just send the damn kid back to him and stay in Bevelle!-

Panic won. Seymour wanted to scream, run back into the room, make them both fall silent… but he found himself unable to. His traitorous legs simply wouldn't cooperate. He sank to the floor, head hanging low, hands clenched into fists.

What if his mother actually listened to these words? What if she really decided to send him back to Guadosalam… alone? Sure, he missed his father, but the idea of leaving her… for good…

"No…" what was meant as a scream, came out only as a broken whisper.

The shouting eventually faded into silence, but Seymour didn't notice. The adults must have left the room, using some other door, but he no longer cared. He didn't even realize he had been crying, until, several minutes later, some servant found him slumped on the floor in a very ungraceful manner.

"Shimoa-sama!"

Yevon must have taken pity on him, sparing him a great deal of humiliation, because it wasn't a completely unfamiliar person, just one of the Guado guards. Slowly looking up, Seymour met the man's anxious gaze.

"I'm fine…" he replied a bit shakily. The tears in his eyes stung a bit; he wiped them away with his bare fist, already finding the strength to calm down. He had to maintain his dignity, didn't he…? "It's nothing."

The servant only stared at him, as if unsure of what to say next… and suddenly, Seymour felt himself hate the man. He quickly pulled himself up, practically glaring at the tall Guado with all intensity a six-year-old child could muster. It didn't make the pity go away from the man's eyes, though.

"Shimoa-sama, please, come with me," the servant bowed slightly, remembering his place at last. "Avalon-sama will be staying here for the night. I'll take you to your room."

There was a bed in his room, of course, one that was large enough to accommodate perhaps up to three people his size. As soon as the door closed behind him, Seymour literally threw himself at the white mattress, landing softly on his stomach. For a short moment he just lay there, unmoving, with his nose pressed into the smooth sheets, until his lungs eventually started to protest and he had to roll onto his back.

He was no longer crying, but the deep, heavy uneasiness remained. He still felt upset and scared. Try as he might, he could not imagine a life without his mother. Perhaps it was a bit different in his father's case, but she… she hardly ever left his side, even if she was quite absent-minded at times. In a way, he took her presence for granted.

He was so used to her always being there for him that… that the idea of her leaving him… to stay here with this man… was simply unthinkable. Nevertheless, he couldn't stop himself from thinking, and it made the tears instantly return to his eyes. It took a considerable amount of blinking to hold them back. He might have even fallen asleep somewhere in the middle of that, because the next thing he knew, the shadows in his room were much, much longer.

The nap didn't really make him feel better in any way. He was still frightened. And miserable. And angry. And it was all that person's fault…! The boy scowled, clenching his hands into fists. Yes, he needed to speak to him… as soon as possible. Preferably before his mother started to listen to his stupid ideas…

It was a very impulsive, spontaneous decision, and the moment it was made, the door to Seymour's room opened, revealing a dark, thin silhouette of a woman.

"Mother!" The boy jumped to his feet and ran across the chamber, falling straight into Avalon's arms. All of his previous bravery suddenly gone, he desperately hung onto her waist, seemingly unable to let go.

"It's okay, Seymour. I'm right here."

"Promise me you won't leave me!" he cried, burying his face into her dress. "Promise me you won't stay here and make me go home without you!"

"Seymour…" the woman's eyes widened in a guilty, unpleasant realization. "Why… When did you–"

"Mother!" he insisted, without letting her finish. "You have to promise!"

"Silly," she whispered a moment later, bending down to reach one of her son's ears. "Of course I'd never leave you. I love you." Still shaking slightly, the boy mumbled something incomprehensible in reply – and she simply held him close, waiting for the tears to stop falling. Just as she had expected, he calmed down rather quickly, finally letting go of her robe.

"Better…?"

"Mhm…" Glancing up, Seymour discovered that his mother had also been crying, though not so recently. Her eyes were dry by now, but they still seemed a bit red and swollen; the small wrinkles around the corners of her mouth looked deeper than usual, too. In fact, she was doing her best to appear cheerful and collected, but it didn't quite work. "Mother, it's alright… you can go now, if you want to…"

Maybe she really wanted to be left alone for a while, because, after a brief consideration, she nodded slightly. "I'm sorry, Seymour… I'll be back soon, okay? It's a bit too early to go to bed, yet already too late for you to play outside… and besides, you must be very tired." She paused uneasily, struggling for words. "I know it was a rather unpleasant day… but I promise we'll do something nice tomorrow… together, hm? What do you think?" She stroked his cheek. "Deal?"

"Deal," he nodded, eyes lighting up a bit.

"If you need anything, just ask someone, okay?"

"Mhm… but you'll be back? In the evening?"

"…Of course," smiling apologetically, she brushed her lips against Seymour's forehead in a soft, gentle kiss. Then she left, leaving him alone in the warm, sun-bathed room.

After she was gone, the boy once again sat down on the bed, carefully wiping the tears away, until he felt calm enough. A couple of minutes later, he tiptoed to the door, discovering, much to his relief, that they hadn't been locked from the outside.

Though quite smart for his age, Seymour was still a child, so his plan was actually very simple. He was going to find his damn grandfather and give him a piece of his mind. As soon as was out of his room, he approached the nearest male servant – he knew, from what little experience he had, that men didn't usually ask stupid, unnecessary questions – and asked the said person to bring him to Lord Gwyan chambers. The butler merely raised an eyebrow at him, but Seymour, straightening himself up, announced, in the most serious and authoritative voice he could muster, that it was an order. Well, he might have been just a little boy, yet the huge difference between being 'just a little boy' and 'a little boy who is actually a maester's son and probably also his heir' didn't go beyond the servant's notice… and, as a result, Seymour quickly found himself in front of a huge, heavy oak door that led to his grandfather's study.

For a couple of long moments he simply stared at the brass handle, summoning his courage. Finally, he took a deep breath and knocked at the wood. A muffled and dry 'come in!' was his only reply. Swallowing hard, for he still felt quite hesitant, the boy pushed the door open.

The room looked surprisingly small, maybe because it was so cramped, filled with books from floor to ceiling. It had only one window, which was now wide open. In front of that window stood a large desk – Lord Gwyan sat there, with his back turned on the door, obviously engaged in some paperwork. "Well? What is it?" he barked, not even bothering to move and see who had just come in.

It was already too late for second thoughts… but, exactly at that moment, Seymour discovered a few essential flaws in his plan. After all, coming to his grandfather's study and actually talking to him were two very different things. What was he going to do, shout at the man…? It suddenly didn't seem like such a great idea…

Meanwhile, the elderly nobleman had grown impatient. Violently slapping an open palm against the desk, he began to turn around in his seat. "What on earth do you–" he didn't even manage to finish his sentence as his eyes finally fell on the child.

The room was suddenly so quiet that only a soft swish of curtains could be heard. Seymour found himself unable to move, unable to say anything, unable to look away from his grandfather's gray eyes. And then, after a couple of long, agonizing moments, Lord Gwyan spoke once again, his expression unreadable.

"Oh. It's you," he began slowly. "What are you doing here, I wonder…?"

Seymour bit his lower lip, just to stop it from trembling. Memories from a short while ago started to rise in the back of his mind, slowly at first, yet running faster with each passing second. His mother's hands, trembling slightly, when she was getting out of the carriage. Her absent gaze. His grandfather's furious voice. The wooden door, so rough against his back. The shouting… Suddenly, all his previous frustration flooded back to him, and Seymour could no longer stop himself from shaking – this time in anger.

"H-how could you!" he cried out. "You shouldn't have said all those nasty things! Now she's all upset! You made her sad! Go and apologize!"

The man was up on his feet somewhere in the middle of Seymour's childish outburst. Covering the room in a few quick strides, he stopped right in front of the boy, who fell silent at once, taking an involuntary step back from the tall, menacing adult. For a brief moment, neither of them moved or said anything; then, unexpectedly, Lord Gwyan crouched down, leaning closer towards his grandson, until their faces were only an arm's length apart.

"My, my…" He smirked, tilting his head to the side. "Quite a spoiled brat, aren't we? Those were definitely big words for such a small boy. Where are your manners? Has nobody taught you how to address your elders properly?"

"I-I'm sorry for being rude…" Seymour's cheeks turned slightly pink, his grandfather's casual remark made him feel somewhat embarrassed. However, as quickly as it had disappeared, the defiant look returned to his eyes. "B-but, Gwyan-dono, you should still apologize…!"

"'Gwyan-dono'… Why, yes…" The man cursed under his breath, his lips curled up in a bitter smile. "After all, we are complete strangers to each other, aren't we?"

Seymour couldn't think of any answer that actually made sense, so he wisely stayed silent. He was already beginning to really, really regret his decision to come here… when Lord Gwyan spoke again, this time in a fairly calm manner.

"Oh, well… forget about that," he shrugged. "Heh, I see that you have at least some spirit… I must congratulate my daughter next time I see her." His serious expression belied the subtle mockery in his voice. "…Your name is Seymour, right?" The child nodded slowly. "And you are what… five, six?"

"Six," he squirmed under the piercing, gray gaze, already praying for this strange conversation to end. However, it seemed that the man wasn't finished with him, not yet.

Ignoring his startled yelp, as well as his indignant stare, Gwyan unceremoniously took Seymour's chin in one of his hands, lifting it up, moving it towards the light. He studied the child's features, finally having to admit that his little grandson didn't look much different from an ordinary, human boy. Sure, he had blue hair – and violet eyes, for that matter – yet it didn't really made him ugly, quite the opposite. Besides, his young face was still smooth, unmarred by veins that normally lined all Guado faces, after they went through puberty.

Seymour wordlessly endured the unpleasant examination; only his fear kept him from pushing the man's hand away. Well, physically, it wasn't all that bad, yet there was something unnerving in his grandfather's gaze… and it felt worse, much worse than the stares he usually received from other people.

"Hmph. At least you don't look exactly like that bastard," Lord Gwyan eventually said. There was a trace of anger in his voice… and perhaps some sadness, too.

"Father is–" Seymour began, but the elderly man silenced him simply by putting a hand on his shoulder. The boy blinked in surprise; such a gentle gesture, coming from this huge, brusque person, was something totally unexpected.

"Alright… Seymour," the man sighed, then paused for a long time… and when he spoke, his voice was troubled, heavy. "I have to admit that I do feel a bit confused about everything. And that it was rather brave of you to come here, but you should not pry into other people's affairs. I'm not sure if I will apologize to your mother."

"But–" Once again, the child wasn't allowed to finish.

"I'm sure you will understand this when you grow older. Now go." Seymour didn't move. "Go!" Lord Gwyan repeated, gently but firmly pushing the boy back.

Already in the doorway, Seymour turned around to take one final look at his grandfather, who was now facing the window. No, he decided quickly, adults didn't make any sense at all.

End of Part One

Coming up next – Part Two, Escape from Zanarkand

Author's Notes:

1) It's very, very hard to write from a six-year-old's point of view… and it didn't go very well, I know. Anyway, I tried to concentrate on Seymour's feelings as much as possible, purposely ignoring the adults' perspective on what was happening. Basically, I wanted to show why was his childhood so unhappy, even before his mother's death. Unlike some other fic writers, I don't think that he actually experienced much physical or verbal abuse (just think of his father's position; people would be simply too afraid to do or say anything), but it didn't change the fact that he had to deal with many other unpleasant things: his parents' separation, people's weird stares, constant tension, a growing feeling of insecurity… and so on. That alone makes a child's life bad enough, doesn't it?

2) Nobody knows the name of Seymour's mother; it's never mentioned in the game, not even when you have that single opportunity to talk to her… a real mystery, huh? And no, I don't think it's 'Anima', 'cause it's only what her aeon's called, nothing more… Anyway, she needed a proper name, soooo…

-crickets chirp, people stare-

Heh, why 'Avalon', I have honestly no idea… but I guess it simply sounds nice… (and yeah, all associations with King Arthur are correct).

(PS: It's actually pretty sad, the way they discriminate all mothers in FFX. Just think of Tidus, Yuna, Seymour, Rikku – do we eventually get to know their fathers? Why, yes! Do we even know their mothers' names…? Nope. …Gyah! Stupid patriarchal society!)

3) Gwyan is actually a good guy, in case you're wondering. He may not seem very nice at first, but… just how would you react, if your beloved daughter ran away with a freak, disappearing for long seven years? And then, when you are already beginning to suspect that she is dead, she happily turns up on your doorstep, as if nothing has even happened? Worse still, she brings a kid with her, and that kid is kind of different from the perfect, little grandson you always imagined? Well, I guess that most people would be – at least initially – rather pissed at the said daughter, don't you think? ;)

4) Now, about this chapter…

Silly? -nod, nod-

Sappy? -nod, nod-

Strange? -nod, nod-

Well, that's what I think… but what's your opinion? Please, review… and if you don't feel like writing a long comment, just drop me a line or two, saying that you were here to read this fic… please? -smiles hopefully-

A short note to all people who aren't Japanese-obsessed freaks like me:

'Shimoa' -the Japanese (read: Guado) version of Seymour's name.

'dono' -an old, extremely formal honorific, reserved for people you respect and want to be polite to; translates roughly into 'lord/lady'. Used mostly by older people.

'sama' -another respectful honorific, added to the names of people you admire/worship/serve/obey.

'roushi' -maester.

'taichou' -captain.

'chichiue' -a polite, archaic way of addressing/referring to one's father.

'tousan' -short for 'otousan', which is how you may speak of somebody else's/address your own father. It's a fairly neutral term.

'kaasan' -mother (from 'okaasan'), see above.

'hashi' -chopsticks. Also called 'o-hashi', when one wants to be formal, polite and respectful.

'haori' -to make a long story short, it's a coat/overrobe worn by samurai; often decorated with family crests and such...

Well, that's all you will need for now. I'll add more stuff later, if necessary.