Author's Notes: I'm very sorry for being dead and unproductive for so long. Well, it's time to get back to business…

Surprisingly enough, this chapter doesn't start with a flashback (yup, I just love writing these). As you can see, it's about as long as the previous ones, and I can only hope you won't find it terribly boring. ;) As usual, you should expect unhealthy amounts of angst… but you'll be spared random acts of happy fangirlishness – yes, just this once I'm letting Seymour walk around in one piece, which means no blood, no earrings and absolutely no make-up. Oh, dear. What a pity. :P

Unfortunately, it's also a huge Faris' comeback… Ah, but Seymour just had to interact with someone (or do you really need huge, angst-ridden monologues that badly…?) and making an entirely new OC was definitely out of question. Why create a brand new superstar for the show, I ask, if we already have one? -snickers-

Most importantly, though, with the final journey to Baaj, Seymour's childhood will slowly be coming to a close. No, it's not the last part, either, but I certainly don't plan on making this fic longer than necessary. For now, simply enjoy this chapter and tell me if it needs any improvement (okay, it's not a question of 'if', but 'where' and 'how much' :)).

PS: If you're trying to imagine Baaj, as it is pictured in this story, just think of something vaguely resembling Kilika Temple. :) I'm too lazy (and incompetent) to describe things in detail. My apologies.

Part Five

Changes

Baaj was nothing but a tiny dot on the horizon––a dot that was steadily growing larger, stretching into a thin line, and then changing into a misty outline of a lonely island, no bigger than a couple of gentle, average-sized hills. On the top of one of these hills, there stood a round, cream-colored building, partially hidden from view by a small forest.

"Hm, not exactly what I've expected." Faris raised a hand to his eyes, unsuccessfully trying to shield them from the brilliant, morning light. "It doesn't look that bad, does it?"

"No, I suppose not," behind the man's back, Seymour only shrugged. In broad daylight, on a warm, magnificent day like this, one could easily call this place beautiful… "You've never seen it in winter, though."

…Beautiful or not, he really wished he hadn't been forced to take this trip. Nevertheless, two years ago Lord Jyscal had thought it suitable to have his wife's soul buried here, on this distant island, and basically, that was that, no 'buts' allowed, even if it meant yet another insanely long, tiring journey for his son––which was why, on this very morning, about two months after his thirteenth birthday, a very unhappy, very frustrated Seymour had finally found himself less than six miles away from his previous 'home'.

"In winter?" the captain mused, leaning back and letting go of the ship's railing. "But… aren't these things palm trees? Does it ever get cold on such tropical islands?"

It could've been worse, Seymour thought for perhaps a thousandth time since he had left Macalania. At least he had someone to keep him company. And even though he knew that asking Faris to come along had been quite a selfish request on his part, he had never truly regretted it. So far, the man's presence had been making the whole experience slightly more bearable; not only less dreadful, but also much less boring.

"…No. But it does rain. A lot."

Faris' shoulders tensed slightly at this. Just like most other Guado, born at least two hundred miles away from the coast, then raised under a thick forest canopy, where rain hardly ever reached, the captain wasn't particularly fond of anything that consisted of large amounts of water… such as tiny, showery islands surrounded by stormy seas: Baaj, in other words. Once again, Seymour felt a bit guilty for dragging Faris into all this, but the uneasiness was quickly gone. After all, he wasn't having the time of his life, either. Right now, for example, he couldn't even walk up to the older man, simply because it would mean coming too close to the railing. True, the ocean was calm today, but the ship's considerable speed still made the cerulean depths boil, and the mere sight of it made Seymour weary, not to mention slightly nauseous.

"It's a good thing we came in fall, then," came Faris' simple reply.

"Oh, but fall's basically the same."

The captain craned his neck to get a better view of the clear, blue sky. "Somehow, I can't believe it."

"Maybe it won't rain, then." A tiny smile tugging at the corner of his lips, Seymour finally turned his head in the island's direction – and his eyes instantly regained their previous, somber look. "How much longer?"

The young officer sighed. He had very little experience with ships, which made him unable to answer the boy's question with much accuracy. Still, it wasn't too hard to guess that no more than four miles separated them from the shore. "Soon enough, my lord. You'd better get ready."

There was no real port on Baaj, only a small, lovely bay, equipped with a short, wooden pier. Just as expected, a couple of men were already standing there, patiently awaiting the ship's arrival.

Naturally, the first people who caught Seymour's attention were the three priests from the Temple, the only humans in a group of Guado. Two of them seemed to be about his father's age, and generally didn't make a very fine first impression. Dressed in heavy, splendid robes that matched neither the weather nor the occasion, they both looked as if they could use some serious dieting. The third one, on the other hand, was an old, lanky man who appeared nearly fragile, especially compared to his two plump companions. It didn't make him any more likeable. He had strange, almost empty eyes, one glance at them was enough to send shivers down Seymour's spine.

A tall Guado to his left bowed deeply, pulling the boy out of his thoughts. "Shimoa-sama, it is an honor to meet you," he began in a formal, official tone. "I am Eregi van Alanya, and I have been in charge of this island for the previous eight months, making sure that everything would be ready for your arrival. These men are the priests kindly sent to us by the Temple. Idlib-dono, Malin-dono and Orsa-dono."

The three men obviously didn't understand much of what van Alanya was saying, but each of them nodded slightly at the mentioning of his own name.

"I am very grateful for your hard work, Eregi-san," Seymour absently recited the well-known cliché. Now it was time to exchange all the official bows with the priests, and he could only hope that none of them would feel obliged to actually say anything. The sooner it was over, the better–

"Welcome to Baaj, Your Highness. I trust that your journey has been safe?" –No, it just wasn't his lucky day. Seymour wordlessly tilted his head to the side, trying to give the man his best 'yes, do go on, I'm not really listening to you' look, but the hint obviously wasn't taken. – "I'm pleased to say that the temple is almost finished by now. A couple of murals still need to be polished, and we had also encountered a small problem with–"

"Spare me the details," he interrupted abruptly. No 'please' at the end of his sentence immediately earned him a small hiss of disapproval from Faris' direction, but the boy simply ignored it and went on in a nearly identical manner, "Just finish your work as quickly as possible. I don't care about anything else."

"…Of course," the priest nodded. If he felt offended, he certainly didn't let it show. Seymour was about to excuse himself from everyone else's presence, when suddenly the oldest cleric broke the silence.

"Oh, but there is no need to worry. I understand how you must feel–"

Did he, really? The sleeves of Seymour's shirt were spacious enough to hide his clenched fists from view, but there was no way he could keep his anger away from his face.

"–for we are all very impatient. It is not often that a new fayth is born to the world of Spira. Such an event is truly going to be a joyous day for us all! Soon enough, summoners will travel to Baaj, seeking the powers buried within this Chamber of the Fayth, looking for–"

Travel to…? The boy froze, too shocked to think of a coherent answer at once.

"–a powerful ally that will aid them in their sacred journey to defeat Sin." The priest paused to catch his breath. "Of course," he began after a while, a thoughtful expression on this face, "it is a bit unfortunate to have this temple situated so far away from the continent, but I am certain that Maester Jyscal had his reasons to–"

"There will be no pilgrimages to this temple," Seymour had found his voice at last, and it was much, much colder than usual.

"–choose this locati––I beg your pardon?" Idlib just blinked at him, a look of mild annoyance finally crossing his features.

"Are you serious, Your Highness?" This time it was one of the middle-aged priests who had spoken, the one called Malin.

"Yes," the boy hissed. "And I would've really appreciated it if you didn't talk about matters that you can't understand."

Idlib aep Lani wasn't silent for long. "No pilgrimages? I am afraid that it would have been very much against the teachings," he declared sternly, completely oblivious of the boy's murderous glare. "All aeons are created to assist the summoners, to fight for the people of Spira. They are a gift from above, the ultimate proof of Yevon's infinite mercy! Their powers alone should serve as a reminder of His glory! Trying to keep an aeon from fulfilling its duties is an unforgivable sacrilege that–"

A direct blow to his face would have been probably less painful. Duties? Yevon's infinite mercy? It was all rubbish! She had died for nothing, trying to break a cycle that––as he had learned only a couple of moments after her death––could never be broken!

(…was beautiful; she will make a splendid aeon…)

Yunalesca's pale, delicate face flashed before his eyes, and he quickly shook his head to make it go away, but it only made things worse.

(…suit yourself…)

(…but then…)

(…your mother's sacrifice…)

(…all in vain…)

"YOU–" Seymour really, really wanted to continue, but he was never given the chance to.

"You are forgetting yourself, my lord," Faris' voice was deceptively dispassionate, but the boy knew better: the captain's sharp, polished nails were digging hard into his right shoulder, so hard that it actually hurt. He fell silent at once, his entire body still tense, fists clenched in a gesture of defiance. At least the old priest was quiet now, too, perhaps startled by the child's sudden outburst.

"You will respect His Highness's wishes, whether you like it or not," Faris' tone was perfectly polite, but it left very little room for disagreement.

…And then there was something else being said, something about Maester Jyscal's orders, most likely, but Seymour was no longer listening, trying his best to calm himself down, finally managing to stop shaking. Only then did the captain's hand raise from his shoulder.

"My lord, you shouldn't have lost your temper like that," Faris' voice was oddly serious, marked by a slight hint of reproach.

"…You heard them," Seymour kept walking, not even bothering to look back at the man, as they were both climbing a long row of white, uneven steps that lead to the top of the hill, all the way to the building's main entrance. "It was just… all wrong."

"I understand, but still, these men had no idea."

No, of course not. "…And you have no idea, either."

"Your Highness…?"

This time, there was no calm reasoning in the man's voice, only sheer disbelief. Sighing heavily, Seymour finally came to a halt, turning around to meet a pair of worried eyes. Yes, Faris was familiar with the real purpose of this trip, he knew who the Fayth was… yet he had only heard Lord Jyscal's dry, official story. A story that had nothing to do with the actual nightmare from three years ago. The story that had never mentioned anything about the whole teachings of Yevon being a huge, fabulous lie…

In fact, Seymour had never told his father about the truth he had learned in Zanarkand. Unable to predict the man's reaction, and at the same time unwilling to go through his memories once again, he had kept everything to himself. And things were most likely to remain so.

"Your Highness?" the captain asked quietly. "Are you alright?"

Ever so slowly, Seymour shook his head. "It's… complicated. More than you could possibly imagine." He looked down at the large, polished rocks. "I just… want to leave, as soon as possible. I thought… I though that I wanted to see this place again… but now I don't. Not anymore."

"Has it changed so much?" Faris asked calmly, turning his head away from the motionless boy. They had already climbed enough steps to be rewarded with a splendid view of the bay, complete with a narrow, sandy beach, the jungle, and also their small, red-white ship, surrounded by a circle of perfectly clear, shimmering water. Though not as beautiful as the forests of Macalania, it was definitely a very nice sight––honestly, the captain couldn't find anything wrong with it.

"No…" Seymour shook his head once again, already turning around to resume the climbing. "It hasn't. But I certainly have."

Strangely enough, it felt more like coming home than it ever had two years ago, in Guadosalam.

As soon as he had managed to leave Faris behind, he stumbled into the poker-faced Eregi van Alanya, who immediately offered him his company, not to mention a completely unnecessary tour of the temple. Without thinking too much, Seymour quickly sent the man away, back to his work. He knew the former palace like the back of his hand, and the only thing he needed to ask about was the location of the soon-to-be Chamber of the Fayth. For now, he decided to avoid this place like a plague.

Eregi had told him that the major part of the temple rooms was situated upstairs, which meant that downstairs was perfectly safe. Seymour absently wandered through the corridors, taking his sweet time to peer into every open chamber, ignoring all servants and workers he might have startled with his sudden appearance. Much to his relief, the main building really hadn't changed much. Sure, a couple of years ago it had looked… brighter. There had been more windows, more flowers, and certainly no decorative, religious symbols on the walls. Still, if one forgot about those slightly disturbing improvements, everything else appeared pretty much the same…

Well, not exactly the same.

"What are these things? And what are they doing here?"

The tone was harsh, angry, demanding, definitely not something to be ignored. Asnam, a young, sixteen-year-old servant, instantly jumped to his feet, whirling around only to find himself no more than a few inches away from a very angry, scowling… prince? Of course, he had never seen this boy before, but one look at the beautiful, elaborate hairstyle was enough. With a loud, startled yelp, which had probably alarmed half of the building at once, Asnam took two or three hurried steps back, almost tripping over an empty bucket in the process. Then, overcoming his initial shock, he finally remembered that he was supposed to bow––so he did, inwardly cursing his sudden clumsiness. And when he straightened himself up, the younger boy's cold, lavender eyes were still fixed directly on his face.

"The… furniture…?" he tried uncertainly.

"No, not the furniture. These things. What are they doing here?"

"Your Highness…" Asnam quickly looked around the chamber, "…I believe these are mostly Lord Malin's belongings."

"If you say so," Seymour crossed his arms over his chest. "But why are they here, in this room?"

Now, things were getting even more confusing. "Um… because it's Lord Malin's room…"

"No, it isn't," the boy insisted in a slightly raised voice. "Take them out!"

"But would it be wise, Your Highness?" said a tall man who had just appeared in the doorway; Asnam instantly backed away, relief written all over his face. "After all, Malin-san will be staying here for only a couple of more days. It would've been extremely inconvenient for him to–"

"It doesn't matter," Seymour interrupted coldly. "He can sleep in the grand bedroom down the hall, for all I care. Just get his things out of here."

There was a short pause; the older servant had finally realized that the argument was lost before it even began. "…Of course. Anything else Your Highness wishes us to–?"

"Yes. Hurry."

He couldn't really blame the stupid, ignorant priest for storing his belongings right here, of all places, now could he? After all, none of these people had any idea of what they had done… but still, it should have never happened. Which, of course, didn't change the fact that it had, and the mere thought of it was enough to make Seymour furious. How dared this man live here?

It had always been her favorite chamber, her sanctuary. True, it might have been nowhere near as lovely as her bedroom––at least they had left that chamber intact––and not half as beautifully furnished as her study, but she had always used to spend the rainy days here, in this armchair, sometimes with a book in her lap, and sometimes simply staring at the fireplace with a distant, thoughtful expression he had never really liked.

Back then, all those years ago, he had rarely ventured into this place. Mother had always valued her privacy, and as much as her occasional indifference hurt, he had always tried not to disturb her too much, especially when she had wanted to be left alone. Besides, he had always preferred to play outside, at least when the weather had been decent enough… and on the rainy days, there had always been other things to do, such as getting one of the younger maids to play hide-and-seek with him, for example–

It seemed that eternity had passed since that time. Back then, he had been but a mere child. And now…

He had no idea who he was now. Not an adult, all right. But definitely not a child, either.

Why did it have to be so confusing…?

The armchair no longer smelt of her perfume. Disappointed, he sat down, absently watching the servants walk past, carrying various things out of the room. Certainly somewhat uneasy in his presence, and perhaps also a bit irritated, they tried to work as quickly as possible. As soon as they were finished, he ostensibly locked the door behind them. He didn't really care how silly it looked. He just needed some time alone, and wanted to make sure that no one would disturb him.

His initial anger was gone rather quickly, washed away by a huge wave of bitter-sweet nostalgia, mixed with a much, much worse feeling of utter loneliness. Things were never going to be the same again, he had accepted this truth quite a long time ago. He had moved on, just like he had been told to. His life, though as chaotic and pointless as ever, certainly wasn't over yet, and for that he was grateful. He only wished he would stop being helpless; he wanted to have enough power to control his own fate.

If he had been wiser back then, he would have surely realized the consequences of her actions. If he had been a bit braver, he would have confronted her about the whole point of their journey. If he had been smarter, he would have tried reasoning with her. If he had been more independent, he would have stopped relying on adults before it was too late. Finally, if he had been more powerful, he wouldn't have to run away from anyone or anything…

Back then, however, he had been none of these things. And so he needed to change, get rid of all his weaknesses. He needed to make sure that he would never have to live through anything even vaguely familiar again.

Lost in his dreams and memories, he had entirely forgotten about the quick flow of time, until it was really late and Faris himself came knocking at the door, wondering loudly if everything was fine.

"Come in," the boy sighed, raising a hand to rub his tired eyes.

"The door is locked from the inside, my lord. Shall I perhaps break it down?"

"…No," Seymour blinked in response, and then finally remembered how to smile. "Wait a second, will you?" He quickly walked up to the door, noticing how stiff his body felt, as if he had dozed off for a while.

"A storm is coming," Faris announced calmly, as soon as he was able to step inside. "I'd better close all the shutters," he added, already making his way towards the nearest window. "Hmm. And it's quite cold in here. The fire's almost died out."

Seymour absently glanced at the fireplace; yes, the captain was right. Not only about the chill and the fire––he hadn't really noticed it until now, but the air smelt vaguely different than before.

"See," he began softly, "I told you it would rain."

"Pity," the man sighed. "Well, in any case, we'll be staying here for at least a week, so–"

"A week…?" he echoed.

"Yes, Your Highness. I've already spoken to Orsa-san, he told me that their work should be finished in about five days–"

"But that's too long!" Seymour hissed. "You know that I want out of here as soon as possible."

"I'm afraid there's very little I can do," Faris replied calmly, still trying to figure out why one of the shutters wasn't working properly. "You should try to be patient, my lord."

So that was it… The boy's shoulders sagged in defeat. True, there was very little any of them could do, besides, he also wanted the temple to be perfect, didn't he? Didn't he?

If she had really been dead, a splendid burial site wouldn't have mattered this much…

If she had really been dead.

Because she wasn't.

Not quite.

"–you hungry, my lord?"

Shaking his uneasiness away, he was finally able to hear Faris' last question. It took him a couple of seconds to realize what was being asked, and a few extra ones to find an answer.

"I guess so…" He raised a hand to his stomach. "…Actually, I'm starving."

"No wonder," the man laughed. "A boy your age, my lord, is always hungry, and you haven't eaten pretty much anything since, what, breakfast? I'll send someone to the kitchen and we'll see what–"

"I want to sleep here, Faris," he blurted out suddenly. There was a brief pause, and the captain eventually turned away from the window.

"I expected this much," there was no surprise in his voice, only seriousness. He carefully looked around. "What was this place? Lady Avalon's…"

"…Her favorite room," he finished quickly, just to avoid further questions. And Faris seemingly understood.

He had thought that spending the night here would make things easier, but it had soon proved to be a huge mistake. First of all, there was a storm raging outside––no real thunderbolts or anything, just tons of plain rainwater banging against the windows, which was already bad enough. Then there was his bed, or the lack thereof. Not willing to move any extra furniture into the room, he had decided to sleep in the armchair, which, in the long run, had turned out to be slightly less comfortable than expected, as far as some real nap was involved.

Then again, maybe it wasn't the armchair at all. Maybe it were simply his memories that kept him awake in the middle of the night, pacing around the dimly lit chamber.

Most of them were quite happy, really, filled with sleepy mornings and lazy afternoons, colorful books and a couple of favorite toys, climbing trees in the garden and 'unintentionally' running through every single puddle in his way, much to his caretaker's frustration. And there had also been her gentle, comforting hands, and her low, quiet voice when she had read him stories…

He had lived in his own, peaceful world, rarely questioning his father's absence, or his mother's increasingly strange behavior. Too bad it hadn't lasted for long… Suppressing a small sigh, Seymour slumped to the floor in front of the warm fireplace. A moment later he was already sprawled on his back, staring up at the ceiling with a pair of blank, tired eyes. The rain kept pounding outside, its presence almost reassuring, and the boy's head slowly rolled to the side, away from the cracking logs.

There was something vaguely white glistening under the huge armchair, something like… paper, barely visible in an equally small gap. Seymour just stared at it for a couple of minutes, wondering if it was even real and worth getting up for. Probably not, but then again, he really was bored, and sleep wouldn't come no matter what, so…

Slipping his fingers into the gap hadn't been easy, which was why he tried pushing the armchair away… only to find out that it wouldn't bulge, as if glued to the spot. Now positively curious, he dropped to his knees once again, and after several unsuccessful attempts he was finally able to pull out a slightly crumpled piece of paper… which looked too good to be discarded as mere rubbish. What was it, then? Some secret document, belonging to that Malin priest? Seymour carefully unfolded the page. And froze.

It was her handwriting. And one look at the opening paragraph instantly told him that he was holding a letter. A letter addressed to his father, one that had never been sent. The date read clearly: the 27th of the Fower Month.

Only two days before their final departure to the continent.

End of Part Five

Coming up next - Part Six: Interlude: Her Reason

Author's Notes:

Oh, boy… it took me forever to rewrite this chapter, and I guess I'm not very pleased with the result – whenever I think of the final paragraph, I can't help but cringe. How come that nobody was able to discover Avalon's letter before? What a convenient plot twist, huh? Yeah, right, the gap was tiny, and the armchair wouldn't bulge, and you needed to press your cheek against the floor to see the paper hidden underneath- …Damn. There excuses are pathetic. :)) …But then again, a secret hiding place in the wall would've been just as cliché… and much more difficult to describe.

So, um, what do you think about this chapter in general? Hopefully, I wasn't that bad. :)

PS: In case you've been wondering… 'Flower Month' is supposed to be April, whereas 'Harvest Month' (anybody still remembers the first part?) was naturally meant to be August. :)