By Pavana Lachrimae
Rating: PG-13
Disclaimer: Squaresoft is not mine; no copyright infringement is intended.
A/N: As always, apologies for the sporadic updates, inconsistent voice and bizarre plot, and thank you to everybody who reviewed. Please feed my back; constructive criticism is, as per usual, encouraged. Bon appetit!
This chapter is dedicated to Jillzebub, because she rocks and she shouldn't forget that. I hope some day I can offer you something worth reading, but until then, this will have to do. :D-x-
Thus began my official incarceration in the home of Jyscal Guado. Under the premise that both Seymour and I were in 'quarantine', the two of us were kept in adjoining apartments, forbidden to speak or have contact with anybody except the few who knew the truth. This meant, of course, that it was usually either Tromell or Riana who brought us our food. If it was Tromell, we were in luck. Despite the numerous grudges we both held against him, he was not unpleasant to talk to, when we finally decided to start talking to him again.
Usually, it was Riana.
I will not lie. It hurt to see her. It hurt even more to know that she hated me. As far as she knew, I had not only betrayed her trust, but I had also condemned her to a life of virtual enslavement- chained in marriage to a man she neither loved nor knew. Whether the child lived or died did not matter, because as far as the people were concerned, the union had already been consummated. All that remained now was the ceremony. Riana was doomed.
But what could I have done? I was the sole link keeping this whole elaborate lie together. Destroy it, and I would lose my livelihood, my home, and possibly my life. However many times I dreamt of finding some way to slip a message to her and escape in the dead of night, it did not change the fact that I was as powerless in this situation as Seymour was. I had to accept this. I had no other choice.
Somehow, I managed to keep on going. It was not easy. Every time I heard that knock on my door, and I checked the padding on my stomach and tied a cloth around my mouth to stop the imaginary infection from spreading through the house, my hands would shake, and I would pray to whomever was listening for Tromell to be there when I opened the door. The first time Riana came to see me, she shoved the tray into my hands, looked down at the lump beneath my dress (which was actually a pillow) and burst out crying.
I shut the door on her. What could I have done?
Usually, when it was Riana, I would bring Seymour's food in to him. He was not allowed to see her, for obvious reasons. I am not sure whether he was really interested. Although he, too, was facing the prospect of marriage to a woman he barely knew, he never told me whether he really objected to the idea or not. When I asked him what he thought- and I only did it once- he said, ''She comes from a good family, '' and shrugged. That was all.
Over the weeks and months that followed I spent most of my time either alone or with him. I saw the gradual changes in his body and mood; every time I examined the young man, (him with his head turned away from his swollen stomach as if in disgust), I noted in my head that the ritualistic tattoos across it were becoming a little more diluted each time. And, each time, I noted that his wrists when I took his pulse were just that little bit more slender. It was almost as if you were sapping the life from him as you grew, Darra, although you must remember this: both you and he were strong enough to survive.
Understandably, things were awkward between us. Seymour spent most of his time in his room reading and sleeping, when I was not trying to get him to exercise or open the window. I, too, read a great amount, although I tried regularly to coax the half-Guado into some sort of conversation (he had, after all, only the doctors and Tromell to talk to). However, Seymour was very much at the mercy of his mood swings. Although he could be civil and even pleasant when he wanted to, there were many occasions on which I had things screamed or thrown at me, and many more occasions on which I was simply ignored completely.
Sometimes, especially during his first few weeks with me, he would refuse to talk altogether. Within a month of my being detained, Tromell and I had endured a week-long silence due to us having removed every wire coat-hanger from the young man's wardrobe. In fact, we did not speak properly until thirty days after I had first found him; the day of Lord Braska's calm.
Seymour had slept through the whole day. It wasn't until the evening that I heard him stir and wake up. When I came in, he was standing by the window, with the blind half-pulled down, as always. The air was thick with incense and music and laughter- even here, in Guadosalam, people were celebrating the defeat of Sin. Over his shoulder, I could just about see two young women (was one of them Riana?) embrace and pull away from each other in the courtyard below, then link hands childishly and rush back in the direction of the main streets. I could see the dark smudges beneath the boy's eyes as he turned to face me.
''What's going on? ''
''Summoner Braska has brought the calm, '' I said quietly. ''He defeated Sin early this morning. ''
Seymour looked down, and for a moment, I could see the sadness in his expression. Envy, perhaps, at not being able to go outside and join in the celebrations. The last time he had seen the beginning of a calm, he and his mother had been in virtual exile on Baaj island. Was he remembering that, then? Looking back, he may have been thinking about something else entirely. But the emotion was there, all the same- there until the very moment he forced it down again, lifted his head up, looked me in the eye.
''I see. And what of his guardians? Sir Jecht and Sir Auron? ''
''Tromell didn't tell me. I don't think anybody knows yet. '' I paused, and remembered something. ''I thought he came here with three Guardians. There was a young man you spent some time with-''
''You mean Isaaru? No. Not a guardian. '' Seymour turned back to the window. ''A summoner-in-training. He was simply travelling with them on his way to the farplane; I believe Lord Braska used to be his mentor, at some point. Although I may have been mistaken…'' His voice sounded suddenly weary; quieter than it usually was, and, in a strange way, older.
''I am tired. You will wake me up if you hear anything of Braska's guardians. I spoke briefly with the two of them whilst they were visiting Macalania temple. I know it is probably… of minor importance, given… the circumstances, but… I am keen to know that they are safe. ''
Something in his tone told me that it was best to leave. I bid him quietly goodnight and walked out, but as I turned around to shut the door, I saw him- for the first and last time in all those months- resting his hand against the curve of his stomach. He was staring at the window as if there was a distance to look out into. It has always made me wonder.