Wow... really cracking down on us'n's, eh? Now we're not allowed to have in-story review replies! Yeesh! What, is this a publishing company now? Whatever. I can't complain too much. It's free! Beggers can't be choosers, right? oO

Anyho! Hope you enjoy! I think I screwed up the last part really bad, but oh the well.

Diary of a Madman's Son

11/17

I usually only write at night before I go to bed, but… now I write in the morning, right after my studies of the Teachings. Mother has for now condemned me from the kitchen, that evil, vile woman! I can smell pies… tarts… vegetables smothered in marshmallows… honey glazed ham… what's it all for, though? The surprise Father spoke of yesterday night?

Rah!

I cannot think here… the alluring smells overwhelm me…

Outside, now, where the fiends run rampant, attacking everything that moves… oddly enough, they keep away from me. I am outside the under-tree city of Guadosalam… Mother gooded up the air in that place to no end…

Bah, what is there to write about?

Father has often encountered this problem when writing in his own journal at the dinner table while Mother and I put the plates out. She tells him just to write about what he sees… for that…

I see trees. Lots and lots of trees… there is a tiny song bird chirping at me from his branch, the bright red plume of the Cardinal shining in the noon-time sun flooding from the leaves. Maybe he's griping at me for taking one of the only branches in the forest with full access to the sunlight due to a cavity in the canopy above.

Looking to the right, I see… an old, pointy bearded Ronso? Kwue?

Now I write at night… the preceding went as:

A tiny gasp of surprise escaped my mouth and his ears, ancient, but sharp like his powerful fangs, captured it. He looked to me, a short chuckle escaping his maw. He spoke, deep, wise, and clear.

"Good afternoon, child. Is your father arrived yet?" he asked. I scoffed and looked back to my journal, randomly doodling on the pages to make it look like I was busy.

"Depends who's asking…"

"You're a tad bit rude for to be the son of a Maester… especially one as great as your father," He coughed, insulted. His comment caught my ears.

"How'd you know whose son I was?" I asked, leaning over to look at him.

"You hold your father's image, young Seymour Junior. Now, where is the Lord Maester?" he asked, yet again. I folded my arms and leaned against the tree.

"Nothing doing," was all I said, closing my journal and my eyes.

"Seymour Reiko Guado!" Father's booming bark jolted me so that I almost fell from my perch, my heart racing a mile a minute. He was on the ground on the opposite side of the Ronso, glaring dangerously. "Down here, now!"

His usually unusually high voice was deep- a sign of either annoyance, anger, or in most cases, just trying to make himself heard. Carefully, I slid down and stood a good distance from him to avoid any smacks he may deliver. My feet were interesting now.

"You dare show rudeness to a fellow Maester?" Father demanded, his voice high again, but slow and menacing, interrogational… irritated, I think was also in there. My eyes darted to the Ronso when Father spoke. Now that it was pointed out to me, I did recognize the fancy and elegant garb.

"Sorry, Father…" I muttered, keeping my gaze low.

"Don't apologize to me, son…" he looked over to the Ronso.

"Sorry, Maester… um…" I didn't know the name. He spoke to me his name, then moved forward and patted my head with one giant paw.

"Think nothing of it. You're no more than a child, after all…" this comment was targeted more to Father than me.

"Perhaps," my paternal unit smirked and held his arm out to his side. This gesture I knew well, and in normal, natural response, I ran over and stood between his side and his arm. The hand came to rest on my shoulder and I looked up at him smiling, his own soft, loving gaze looking down at me. "But, he is my child, and any Seymour Reiko Guado Junior is expected to have the same manners as his Seymour Guado Senior."

Kelk Ronso nodded in understanding agreement. I expected us to start back home, but we didn't. Upon inquiring, Father explained coming to our house for lunch, then later, dinner, was the Maesters, all except for Wen Kinoc who had some personal business to attend to tonight. My surprise?

Father and the other Maester spent a while talking together, sitting on the ground with my head on Father's knee until the last old guy arrived, followed by a few of his bodyguards. The two performed the bow, but seeing as how I was assumed to be asleep, I got out of it. Good. I always felt awkward doing it.

(Apparently, I inherited this from Mother, as well as my eyes, nose, allergy to the peel of an apple, and obsession for strawberry cake.)

I heard Father speaking about me to the other Maesters, his fingers running through my hair and his claws scraping my scalp gently. The one known as Mika reached over with a chuckle and tugged gently on my forelock. It caused me to sit strait up, and I surprised myself when I growled shortly. The Maesters laughed, Father's hand patting my shoulder.

"Calm down my son… he didn't mean anything by it," he told me.

"Let's go, now! I'm starving!" Mika said, his old bones creaking as he stood. Father agreed and picked me up into his arms, holding me in the crook of one elbow.

"You helped your mother, did you not?" he asked.

"I did," I promised, "But she did ban me from the kitchen after messing up the first pie…"

Father chuckled and hugged me tightly for a moment.

"I believe you children are too in love for your own good!" Mika laughed when Mother suddenly shot through Guadosalam and jumped into Father's waiting embrace, him twirling her around so much that her habit flapped loudly in the wind created by their movements.

Mother laughed at Maester Mika's comment and shook his hand and the paw of the other.

I've never seen Mother perform the bow so sacred to Yevon. I'd asked father about it a few weeks ago, and he said that Mother wasn't trying to be disrespectful or insulting… she just was too rebellious to do it, refusing to signal it under any circumstances, and the hierarchy of the Church accepted this. She wasn't excommunicated, like most of the world thought and believed. Apparently, she hadn't done anything worth being excommunicated for. She was good friends with all the Maesters, and the mother of ones' son.

(Note: Father even explained to me that she had a very open mind and knew tomes of facts and volumes of myths and series of trials and mass amounts of parables and the like about the Yevon religion, and she was a major asset to the "missionaries" of Yevon. Apparently, she's converted a running 623 people, 23 of which are Al-Bhed. People who wouldn't listen to the Maesters and their sermons would sit and listen to the unbiased speeches of "that atheist 'wedded' to Maester Seymour.")

(Another note: Most of Spira thinks Father married Mother as a political move, those of Spira who actually believes Father married Mother at all, like his father before him. He swears against it with everything that is his being saying that all they say is lies and lies about their love for each other. Father claims to have loved Mother since they were children, her leading him through adventures all over the place, getting him into tons of trouble, though she took all the blame, even if it was his fault. Mother believes him, saying to know him too well to let a lie like that pass unnoticed.)

I write now in the bed with Mother and Father, who is writing in his own journal. He looks odd, missing his fancy Maesters' robes, bows, ties, and such. Mika is asleep in my room and Kelk was reading on the couch when I walked through the front room for water a while ago. I'm here with Father and Mother, as I've said before. Mother sleeps now, and it's a good idea. She's pretty. I'm tired…

To Reiko: Poor boy; you fell asleep with your book open and pen still clutched in your hand, your head resting gently upon your mother's breasts, just like when you were a young child. You have that habit of hers, to spit when you sleep. You're drooling on her chest, son- that's my job! You speak of your mother's being pretty, but you know not of the understatement of which you speak.

You will never be able to know it- see it, maybe, but never feel it beneath your hands, the frail fragile skin caving in and shivering to your powerful, yet gentle Guado touch; nor will you hear it call you in that gentle, loving voice such as is that of a Shepard calling forth his fold of sheep that come to his beckon. You will never smell the scent of her beautiful perfume as she walks past you with that seductive little smirk of hers. You will never taste that which is what made you what you are.

All this is mine. Perhaps you may experience something related to this with your own Madame in due time, but you will never know what it's like to have the best woman in Spira pulling you to the secrecy of the room and the love that lies within. Never.

Son, you will face in your days many things, but no matter what happens, know this- I love you, I love your mother, and nothing EVER will change that. Should anything attempt to take you or her from me, I swear to unleash every bit of energy and rage in my entire being and soul to protect you. I have fought even in death for something I half heartedly believed in- to guard something as precious as the two of you… words can't express it. Only feelings. I love you, my son.

­Your Father,

S. Guado