A/N: This was written in response to a challenge issued by mon ami noctepanther when he was bored. I very obviously do not own Final Fantasy X, if I did, do you think I would be here? No. I'd be in France. Drinking chai in the Latin Quarter.
This takes place a few years before Yuna's pilgramage, and I assume a little before Lulu and Chappu did their thing.
Don't worry, Mother, I'll make you proud, make your sacrifice worthwhile, he thought, walking out into the light of day beyond the temple doors. He found himself on the island of Besaid, almost the last stop in his Pilgrimage, and having just spent the better part of the day acquiring the aeon Valefor, Seymour was drained. And he had no Guardians to share the weight of his task. No one wanted to be seen with a half-breed like him. And no one knew the sacrifice that had been made for him to begin his training as a Summoner. No one ever could know; it would only serve to alienate him further from the races to which he belonged, or rather, didn't belong.
He sighed as he looked at the small arrangement of huts around him. He looked with disdain upon the Crusaders' tent, standing nearest to the temple as if in mocking. And as his gaze swept the tiny village before him, where it was rumored that the daughter of the High Summoner Braska had been deposited after his defeat of Sin. But he didn't particularly care about her. He hadn't lain eyes upon her since his arrival two days ago. One would think she would spend more time near the temple, he mused. A figure walked through the gateway into the village as he stood watching, and he regarded it with an outwardly detached interest.
She stood out starkly in the village, both against the light colors of her surroundings and against the other inhabitants. Her black dress clinked gently in the sounds of the afternoon as she made her way down the large central expanse of the village up to the temple. No one knew why she wore it. There were certainly theories, but no one bothered to ask. As was often the case in small gatherings of people such as this one. There were a grand total of six little huts, counting the lone shop and Crusaders' tent. He had already heard several of these rumors in passing, as if no one had anything better to talk about. Seymour slowly shook his head, wondering at the idiocy of the human race. Yet still, he could not help but watch her walk towards him, and unaware if she noticed him, he reentered the temple, standing close by the doorway. After a few minutes, she entered the temple, standing momentarily in the door, just letting her eyes adjust to the dim light within.
"Good afternoon, my lady," he greeted her coolly and politely, just as he always did others.
"Oh!" she gasped, swinging the moogle she held with an instinctual movement. It caught him in the side of the face, stinging the skin there. He reached a hand gracefully up to his reddened cheek. "What are you doing here?" she demanded just as coolly as he had greeted her, yet with a slight edge to her voice. She had counted on the time alone, as it was the time of the afternoon during which most were eating or catching a nap before the evening set in.
He stepped forward. "My lady, I am a Summoner on a Pilgrimage. It is natural that I be found in a temple," he answered smoothly. "I apologize if I have startled you." He rubbed his cheek tenderly, making a small bow to her. She flung the long black braids she wore back from her shoulder, making no response. He watched her for a moment. "May I know your name?" he asked at last.
She looked at him, her expression entirely unreadable. It irritated him being unable to gauge her response as he so easily could those of everyone he had encountered thus far. "Lulu," she told him curtly. "As if it is any business of yours." She turned her head to regard the statues on the far side of the cavernous room in which they found themselves. Seymour laughed a low, warm chuckle.
"Point taken, my lady," he answered with another bow. "I am…" He hesitated, unsure of whether or not to include the natural surname his father and half his breeding brought him. "Seymour Guado," he finished, "Of Guadosalam." Her mouth twitched.
"Well, Lord Seymour," she responded, putting a rather irreverent emphasis on the 'lord' part of the address, "If you don't mind, I have some praying I need to do. And would like to do alone." Lulu turned away sharply, dress clinking with every movement, and proceeded to walk quickly over to the pedestal awaiting the arrival of the statue of the newest High Summoner. Seymour stood quietly in place, watching her go, before turning away to exit the temple once more. She intrigued him. But he knew well enough to leave her be. He walked slowly through the village, wondering if there were somewhere…more suitable to stay than the Crusaders' tent which doubled as an inn. People looked away as he passed, very obviously trying not to stare. Few of them ever left the island, let alone made it to Guadosalam. It didn't matter to them that he looked more human than Guado. He was still different.
Sighing, he realized his search was futile. He would have to stay in that blasphemous tent. But it was not yet time for sleep. Sleep is such a waste of time, he thought. Instead, he wandered out of the village to get a better idea of the island. After all, it was unlikely at best that he would ever see it again. It was not as grand as Bevelle, that much was certain; but he nonetheless wanted to see more of it. The idyllic serenity spoke to him. It was much different than the dead calm that had surrounded the home he had known most of his life. A cold rage broke out of the cage he had built for it at the thought of his father, but he smothered it almost immediately and continued on his way, the sea birds cackling around him as he passed ruin after ruin, soon reaching the promontory that bore a single, idol-like pillar long broken from the machina city that had previously occupied the island. He stood there near the edge, by a small roping that separated him from the jungle far below his feet, and just watched the sea beyond the village, seeing the people move like ants as they stirred from their rests and resumed their daily activities. He closed his eyes, wondering at the differences between all the places he had seen in his journeys, yet unimpressed by the similarities therein. Seymour thoroughly dreaded the trip to Zanarkand; as it required he pass through Macalania Woods again, and thus, Guadosalam. He sighed again, deep and sorrowful, before turning around to go. But his plan was thwarted as he bumped into something, or rather; someone.
"Excuse me!" she spat, rocking back a step from the impact, dress and hair ornaments clinking again as she did so. Seymour's eyes opened, and to his disguised embarrassment, he beheld one of the most beautiful creatures he had ever seen. He could see the defiant glint of her fiercely violet eyes out here in the light, her dark hair shining in the glory of the late afternoon sun. Her mouth was half open as if preparing to give him a proper tirade for not watching where he was going. Seymour swallowed, smiled warmly, and bowed.
"My apologies once again, my lady," was his instinctual polite response. This was so because his mother had always taught him to be polite, and because he had seen how it often infuriated those who meant to make a mockery of him. "But it seems now that it is you who invades my peace," he teased.
"It is you who invades my island," she countered sharply, her tongue always able to keep pace with her temper.
"Then perhaps you would prefer that I continued on my way." Seymour stepped to the side and began to walk off.
"Hmph," was the only response he heard behind him. The Guado kept walking, turning around only when he knew she would not be. Yet he caught her whipping her head back around to the village below as he did so. He smiled to himself. Perhaps there is hope yet…he thought. He touched a hand to his chest, just above his heart, and with a final small dip of his head, resumed his trek to the beach he knew lay at the end of the path.
Seymour stood at the end of the port, just watching the sea as the sun began to set over it. It was a much different sea than he had known as a child, and somewhere within him, he loved the difference. The warmth and friendly air of this sea reminded him of his mother, his one companion unto the start of this very journey…and he had done it for her. She had wanted him to have the strength to protect himself from the world they both knew would not accept him, and she had given her all for him to have it. And as his thoughts drifted, they began to sway back and forth, mimicking the motion of the water around him. As he heard the footsteps behind him on the wooden planks of the pier, he didn't bother to turn. He knew who they belonged to. Even if he hadn't, the gentle, almost melodic clink that accompanied them would have told him.
She walked with steady, measured steps until she stood just behind him, nearly treading upon the slight train of his robes. Their blue matched his hair wonderfully, odd as it was. "Lord Seymour…" she began.
"Just Seymour, my lady," he responded as usual. "There is no need for formalities."
"As you continue to use them?" she retorted, leading him to give a low chuckle.
"As you would have it, then, Lulu." He gave no hint of the tremble his use of the name so recently told him lent to his heart's unsteady beating. Finally he turned, looking at the new glint in the eyes that now reflected perfectly the purple of the clouds in the setting sun behind him. He smiled. Lulu smiled back. And he lowered his head gently, his pulse racing as he felt his lips connect with-
-her moogle. He recoiled in shock, confused. He looked at her, the moogle still held in front of her face so all he could see was the playful shine of her eyes above its fuzzy head. She lowered it, smiling wryly at him.
"I don't think so," she said. His brow furrowed and he opened his mouth to say something, all thoughts of maintaining his shell gone, and then he stopped. He couldn't say it. He just couldn't.
It was absolutely impossible for him to have said anything as her lips found his, the glow of the sunset spreading beneath his closed eyelids as his heart raced harder than it ever had before. He hesitantly reached out and lightly placed his hands on her back, holding her gently as though afraid she would crumble away and leave the kiss to linger on his lips as a fading ghost. But feeling her tremble under his touch, he tightened his arms around her, wanting her to know that he was there, that he would never leave.
His Pilgrimage was over.
A/N: Was that ending alright? I did write two for it. The other is...less happy. But don't you worry; it shall show up.