By Pavana Lachrimae
Rating: PG-13
Disclaimer: Squaresoft is not mine; no copyright infringement is intended.
A/N: Finally! Argh. I'm not stuck with the story any more, so at least I should be updating more often now, but I sound like the retarded lovechild of Vladimir Nabokov and Jim Theis. Obviously, criticism is highly encouraged, although if you flame me on the basis of the subject matter alone, I shall eat your toes.
A/N II: For my American readers out there (if indeed there are any), ''autumn'' means ''fall. '' Apologies if you already know this, but I have confused people in the past with this.
-x-
Jyscal was a kind man, but power corrupted him. Not in the way that it corrupts most leaders of state that fall, gradually, into disrepute, but in a subtle, more underhand way. It made him rot outwards from within, like a fungus that gradually eats away at the innards of an old oak. His intentions remained benevolent towards the end; that he and his family should remain safe, despite their position- but fear and paranoia had twisted his perceptions so much that the only way he could do this was to shut himself out from them, one by one. First Anima bore the brunt of his detachment, then Seymour. By the time his hybrid son was eighteen, he had lost all ability to show compassion. The love he had for him lay locked too deep inside to retrieve.
It did not help that Jyscal was less-than-approving of his son's likely 'orientation'. The young servant boy, whom we had caught Seymour in bed with several years before, had disappeared promptly afterwards, and though I did not believe that Jyscal would stoop to the level of harming the youth, I have not heard of him since. He may have been more afraid of starting a scandal, and thus harming the family's reputation, than his son actually being homosexual, but still, as with all nobles of his line, he did place that obligatory pressure on Seymour to marry and produce an heir.
The first thing he asked- after, of course, telling me I was absolutely mad and that he was going to make sure I never worked in Guadosalam again; after, of course, I had managed to make him believe me- the first thing he asked was, ''Who did this to you? ''
Picture the scene in your head, as I am doing so now; Seymour, sitting on his bed, with his robes (they hung looser on him then) hanging off his pale shoulders but pulled decidedly shut across his stomach with one hand. The tattoos on his chest and abdomen are partially covered by the fabric, partially stretched where he has begun to 'show'. Beside me (or beside you) is a Guado doctor, whose name escapes me, but he has a messy beard and glassy eyes, and spent a lot of time afterwards telling me about his two young daughters.
The doctor smells like some sort of sharp-flavoured herb, the essence of which permeates the room, which is oddly cool and airy considering that we are underground on one of the first few sweltering days of the early summer. The window, which faces out onto a dank, silent courtyard, has just been hastily shut by Seymour's father, afraid that somebody out there might hear.
Jyscal, for his part, is livid, and his anger is being made worse by Seymour's defiant silence. The expression on his face suggests that he is doing this on purpose. You should not put this past Seymour- when he was younger, especially, he had a clear facetious streak, and though he appeared charming in the public eye, he could be absolutely outrageous in his treatment of his father and his servants.
''Who is… who did this to you, Seymour? '' repeats Jyscal, and Seymour crosses his arms over his stomach.
''Would it make things difficult if I told you I didn't know? '' he replies, looking oddly dignified for a pregnant eighteen-year-old man with blue hair.
''How can you not know? Do you mean to tell me you… you…'' Jyscal's voice peters out exasperatedly. ''Seymour, I don't think you quite understand. This is no laughing matter. You could become seriously ill. That isn't normal! You're pregnant, for Yevon's sake, and I demand to know who the father is! ''
''Does it really matter? '' his son says, offhand, and rests his chin on the palm of his hand, one finger curling upwards over his pale, veined cheek (and this is the part that I didn't tell Darra), ''I'm going to get rid of it, anyway. And I don't think paternity will be all that important when it's a lump of meat in a dustbin somewhere. ''
''We've already discussed this, sire, '' interjects the sharp-smelling doctor. ''It wouldn't be wise to attempt a termination- not wise at all. Especially at this stage, and especially given your- circumstances. We have no idea whether this operation will kill you, or even where on earth to start looking for the child. I'm afraid your condition is too rare for us to know very much about it. ''
''Exactly who do you think you are, doctor? I am not just the son of a Maester; I am a diplomat, and a mage-in-training, and I will not allow this to interfere with my career as either one. '' Seymour was very good at denying things to himself. I don't believe he was actually prepared to accept the risk of dying under anaesthetic; just that he refused to let himself think about that possibility. ''It would be better for myself and the reputation of my family if I took a chance with the operation, rather than going to the expense of trying to cover this up for several months. ''
''Seymour. If you do this, you are more likely to die than survive. '' Jyscal is firm, though slightly inaccurate; Seymour was more likely to die than survive anyway, though the odds were better if he left the child well alone. ''You're my son- my only heir. You have a responsibility…''
''So what are you going to say when people see me like this? That I've put on weight? Are you going to have me hide in the mansion for sixteen weeks, father? What exactly do you think everybody is going to say? ''
Even in his younger years, the boy was shrewd, and fiercely manipulative. He often knew just how to appeal to what people wanted- which proved itself especially useful later on, in his political career and later in persuading Summoner Yuna to marry him. And he was doing that now, with his father. Seymour knew how paranoid Jyscal could be. I have no doubt that he was imagining, at that point, exactly what was going through the old Maester's head. Conspiracies, gossip, plans to overthrow his power… the very things that haunted the nightmares of a nervous leader, no doubt.
Jyscal relented.
It may seem, the way I tell this story, as if the man did not love his son. He did not visit Seymour whilst he was 'incarcerated', for want of a better word- nor did he show very much compassion towards him, even when he was clearly in pain. But the next thing he said convinced me once and for all that he really did love his son.
Bear in mind that Jyscal was not an irrational man. At the best of times, he was wise and benevolent, more like a communal father than a leader. Though some factions- and I hesitate to name any, because they are probably already obvious- did not consider themselves above 'strategic executions' at that time, Jyscal did.
And what he said was: ''If my son dies underneath your knife, doctor, I will kill you. ''