Namco owns Tales of Symphonia, its characters, settings, etc. I'm only responsible for the (bad) plot and (even worse) story.
The snow bit through his thick boots, all the way through his weakened muscles to his quivering bones. Every step he took, the chill chomped a little bit more away at him, eating away at his very being. The wind howled all around him, as if rending his eardrums, replacing them with the same filmy sheets of ice that coated the ground he walked on. He wouldn't be surprised if he'd soon turn as pale and blue as the world around him.
He let out a grunt and willed his body forward, regretting every step he took away from home. The scent of Iselia was but a distant memory to him; he regretted partaking in a fruitless quest to collect the Exspheres of the fused worlds. With his chafed lips he muttered curses to the peoples of the world for being to stubborn, for being too greedy with their power. They held the key, he mulled, that may release them from the evils that came with those accursed gems. But no, they did not want to lose anything that could possibly give them dominance over others. He spat into the frigid drifts, at the faults of the very people he swore to enlighten and save.
Yet, instead of letting out the liquid insult, it seemed the ground bent in favor of the people, sending the swordsman to tumble sloppily into an agonizingly bright white drift. There, the pained fingers of winter closed his eyes and stole the last of his warmth away. As his vision blurred and faded, he could see nothing but white and grey. As he let out his final sigh, he thought he saw a flash of gold and a sliver of a feather.
To Lloyd Irving, the only angel he knew rose to heaven.
He awakened with a sharp roar, his body drenched with sweat and chest pumping in and out as he gasped for a respite. He felt his chest and head, then the sudden pain of a thousand arrows piercing his face shot him and he collapsed onto the unknown bed he had lain in for who knew how long. His arms and legs still felt slightly numb, but at least the warmth of the nameless room calmed him down somewhat. He absorbed the faint scent of hardwood and the ashen flavor of a fire burning somewhere nearby. He propped himself up slightly, just enough so that the dizziness wouldn't affect him, and saw all of his clothes hanging just near the fire place. For now, he cared little if he was naked or not. What he wanted was food.
On cue, the room door opened and the strong scent of ginger emanated from the unseen kitchen as well as a feminine sigh as she struggled to get the tray balanced. He gazed even more intently as a tiny shock of blonde hair flashed before his eyes and the seeming hint of a white and blue outfit teased his memories. His heart pounded painfully in his ears and he felt too close to passing out to care, but he had to know just who this unknown caretaker was.
It was if a tower was built, but suddenly vanished just as the final shingle of its roof was about to be cemented in; that was what Lloyd felt. No, it wasn't really her. It was someone else, but she was unsettlingly too similar for comfort. Her hair was the same length, texture and had the same sheen as her's. She walked a tad clumsily, and flashed him a haunting grin of reassurance that only the girl he could barely remember could ever produce. She strolled toward him, both hands occupied with the tray and set it down on a small end table next to the bed and spoke.
"It's chicken soup with a little bit of ginger. It's really good for warming people up!" She gave him yet another kindly smile before quietly walking away and shutting the door behind her.
It was too close to his heart. The way this girl looked, the way she walked and talked… The way she smiled… He felt a single streak of warmth crawl down his weather-beaten face, which was the last place where she had left her mark for him far too long ago.
Lloyd never did eat that soup.
Late the next morning, he still felt sick but he already found himself strapping on his boots and clothes long before lunch time came around. He wanted to leave before she came back again, before the pains of the heart would entangle him. He took his mind off things by looking outside while adjusting his sword sheaths. He realized that he was in Flanoir. It was a rare occasion that a sunny day would ever arrive in the snowy city, but he saw that in spite of the city's snowy beauty, the light reflecting off the icicles and drifts shown just as beautifully as any jewel on a crown. He managed a tiny smile through his hardened face. He turned around, but that simple turn of his feet threw him into a mild round of dizziness.
When the door opened, he let out an indistinguishable curse as he sat himself down on the bed. It was that girl again, now decked out in her snow gear. She held a small bowl with rice and some greens scattered in it as well as a small mug of sorts. She seemed to be as cheerful as always.
"Hey, since when did you get dressed?" She asked, half laughing and placed the tray on the end table.
"Just now," he said tersely. He eyed the food cautiously and sat the bowl on his lap and took the fork into his right hand. He looked reluctantly at the girl, who sat in front of him, eyes upturned in approval of his eating.
She kept staring at him as he ate, her eternally deep, blue eyes seemingly scanning his every move, keeping note of every aspect about him. He kept his head low in order to keep his eyes focused on his food, for surely if he looked at her, he'd drown himself in his tears. He tested her, eating painfully slow, but he could see no bit of impatience or restlessness from her, as if he was a soul meant to be watched over. Only angels would even try to peer so deeply into my soul, he wanted to say, but the only sound coming from his mouth was the sound of the rice grinding in the back of his mouth. He eventually ate it all and returned the bowl, reaching for the mug at the same time. It was warm, and that surprised him.
"An old friend taught me to appreciate what it felt like to feel warmth, even if it did come from a cup of coffee," she mused, eyes looking upward searching heaven for the memory. She let off a tiny curl of a smile on her lips when she found it.
Lloyd stared into the brown liquid and gasped at the sight of his face reflecting back. He could only vaguely recall his face from the last time he looked at himself, at a small pond near a town. That was the place where lost her. He could only remember the contorted folds of his forehead, reddened eyes and the frequent raindrops that marred the reflecting pool. All he could see now was a face of defeat, of tired, baggy eyes, a face that lost its faith in everything. He knew that he looked much older than he actually was. The problem was he felt as old as he looked.
The girl stood up and picked up the bowl, leaving the tray and said, "You're really strong to even have gotten up especially since the doctor found you stranded in that storm two days ago. He said you would have had pneumonia or something, but I'm really surprised! I still think you should stay in bed, though. You don't even need a doctor to understand that, so take it easy and go to sleep, all right?"
Lloyd turned his head up just to see her back as she crossed the tiny room towards the door, silently closing it. And he just sat there, staring at the door, feeling the coffee grow cold in his hands until his eyelids fell. The weakness of his body told him to stay, even though his mind raced in endless circles.