A/N: There will be an illustration for this chapter, too. It's called "Grief"—it goes with a scene later on in this chapter. Here's the link (remove the spaces) mysticaqueen. /art/Grief-446604694

Chapter 6

"What in the Via Infinito have you done to my house?!" Seymour raged, a ball of flame erupting from his palm.

"Your house?" Leblanc inquired, "this house was empty when I moved in. It was very sad…such a big, beautiful space laying empty for so long…of course, the Guado corpses had to be removed first…"

No longer caring if someone knew who he was, Seymour shook his head and his hood fell back.

"Get. Out." He growled menacingly.

Leblanc's face paled a little upon seeing him, but she recovered quickly. A naughty little smile played over her lips.

"Oh, my…can it be? Maester Seymour…I've always wondered, shall we say, certain things about the Unsent…"

Melody stared at her incredulously. She didn't like the way Leblanc was looking at her friend—and yes, though he was still mean to her most of the time, Melody still thought of him as her friend. She stepped between Leblanc and Seymour, giving her a warning look.

"Oh! And who's this?" Leblanc asked, slightly disgusted.

"I'm his guardian," Melody said, "and he doesn't like being touched."

Seymour bit back a laugh.

"I'm sure that depends on who's doing the touching," Leblanc retorted.

"Enough," Seymour sighed, scooting Melody to the side as though she were an annoying child or pet, "I want my home back. Now. And I want to know where the rest of my people are."

Leblanc chuckled.

"Well…that depends. The dead ones are already buried, burned, whatever. I'm sure plenty of them are the fiends we've gunned down recently. As for the live ones…well…they're probably hiding in their precious woods. The Ronso came looking for you and when they didn't find you, they took out their yowling kitty rage on the rest of the Guado. You didn't exactly win any points when you killed so many of them on Mount Gagazet."

Seymour thought he was going to throw up. His expression was troubled and Leblanc stretched out across what used to be his bed, making sure to pose very suggestively.

"You poor, poor man," she sighed in fake sympathy, "this must come as a complete shock to you."

To say it was a shock was an understatement. He felt as if he'd had the wind knocked out of him. He couldn't say anything, couldn't think. His heart was thundering. He turned without a word and started to stride out of the room.

"Where are you going?!" Leblanc demanded.

Seymour didn't answer. Leblanc pushed some sort of button on the wall and they were instantly surrounded by a bunch of the people in jumpsuits.

"We can find our own way out," he huffed.

"And lose such interesting company? Never," Leblanc said sinisterly. The click of guns being cocked split the silence in a jagged staccato. Melody clung to Seymour's arms, her breath coming in short, frightened gasps.

"Please," she begged, "just let us out—we were going to leave anyway! We don't mean any trouble!"

"But I do!"

Seymour felt it again, that strange vibration that had come before. He glanced over at Melody who was doubled over and looking pained. She gave him a helpless, pleading look just before she erupted into her other form. The "goons" began firing all at once and Melody threw her arms around Seymour, using her wings to protect them. The feathers had turned diamond-hard and all the bullets ricocheted off. She seized him and burst through the door with him, eyes blazing hotly.

"Go! That way!" he yelled, pointing towards the front room. She beat her wings against the still indoor air and hurtled down the hallway at an alarming speed. More gunfire pelted after them, but only one bullet grazed his arm. The last thing he noted before they literally exploded through the door was that the fruit laid out on the table 2 years before was still there.

Ah…the magical fruit that never spoils…too bad I'll never get to taste it again…he thought glumly before his thoughts turned back to survival.

"Go left!" he shouted. Melody did so. She was letting off strange pulses of energy that knocked everyone back. She probably was only just managing to hang on to reason because she was actually carrying him this time. It wasn't long, however, before her strength began to fail her and she was forced to stop. Her wings gave out, disappearing with the sound of shattering glass, and they both landed in water. Seymour emerged gasping for breath while still holding onto his pack while Melody dog-paddled for shore. She had turned back into herself and was now spitting out water.

"What do we do now?" she choked out.

Seymour joined her just at the edge of the lake, shrugged out of his pack, and raked his bangs out of his face.

"I don't know," he admitted quietly.

She could hear the despair mixed with fury. He'd hinged all his hopes on reuniting with the Guado—even if they probably sought revenge—and now that hope was gone. Someone had moved into his house, someone of obvious influence and power. Melody felt sick thinking of that woman. She had no shortage of darkness within her either. It had been all that Melody could do to escape without unleashing her deadly powers.

"Seymour? Are you all right?" she asked. He didn't answer, only slammed his fist into the surface of the water. He was absolutely quivering all over. The veins in his face had darkened considerably and she saw the darkness inside growing. His breath came in shallow gasps and it seemed that he couldn't get enough air into his lungs. The surface of the pond they'd landed in crackled as it iced over and thunder crackled overhead.

"Seymour? Can you just…"

He gave her a look so dark that she didn't dare finish the sentence. He was glad she was smart enough to know that any variation of "calm down" would just send him into a bigger rage. Her shoulders slumped and she left him alone. He took his fury out on some fiends that just happened to wander by and Melody left him to it. She watched, stunned, as he poured his wrath into the monsters. He got quite scraped up, but nothing serious and the physical pain only spurred him on harder. He poured massive amounts of magic into them. When they were all gone, he stood with shoulders slumped, watching their Pyreflies escape. She moved cautiously towards him and didn't resist when he shoved her away very hard. She landed on her butt and cracked her head against a tree. He heard the air being knocked out of her lungs, smelled the metallic tang of her blood. And somehow that made him even angrier.

Then, the salty smell came.

Anything but that…

Tears.

Melody tenderly touched the back of her head and looked at the sticky traces of blood on her fingers. Her lip was trembling and her eyes were shining with moisture. She didn't make any noise at all, but she blinked and two very big fat drops rolled down her cheek. More lightning split the skies and he glanced up to see the storm clouds there. He couldn't tell if this was natural or if it was caused by his out of control magic. Either way, they needed to find shelter soon. He walked over to Melody and was going to offer her his hand to help her up, more for speed's sake than for desire to actually help her, but she cowered away from him.

Ptttt….

The first raindrop fell, then another. Soon, it was coming down so thickly that they were both drenched in a matter of seconds. Seymour turned away from Melody and leaned against another tree a few feet away for support. He suddenly felt horribly drained and sick to his stomach. Reality began to set in that this was not home anymore. He didn't have a place in the world where he belonged. And now, he'd made the only person who still even remotely liked him afraid. A tremor raced through his body and he felt like a deflating balloon as the air whooshed out of his lungs. The first tears he had shed since childhood began to flow burning hot down his cheeks. One right after the other, they were washed away by the chilling rain. His head ached terribly, but he didn't bother to stem the flow. It didn't matter about being strong—no one was watching anyway.

But then, there was that presence. As usual, when Seymour opened his eyes, he didn't see anything in his immediate surroundings. He blinked away the blurriness caused by his silent tears and looked around. Nothing. But he felt the distinct touch of a hand on his back. He jerked, startled, but the presence was gentle. He felt another touch across his forehead the way someone would check a child for fever. His ragged breath calmed just the slightest bit. For once, he didn't question it. It was nice just to not feel so alone. The presence was there in front of him for a moment—he could actually see a sort of shimmer in the air. The scent of something paranormal was there as well. Then he felt a tug on his robes and glanced up. Melody—she was still sitting where she had fallen with weary eyes and an expression of pain.

Go help her, the presence seemed to urge him. And for once, he obeyed it. Melody was sitting slumped over, her knees pulled up to her chest and her arms hugging them. He cast Cure on her and the smell of fresh blood faded. Kneeling next to her so he could be heard above the storm, he said "I'm sorry." His lips were only a centimeter or so away from her ear. One of her wet curls actually grazed his face as she turned her head to look at him. Her cheeks were red and splotchy and her eyes were puffy, but the ghost of a smile was in them.

"Come on," he said, urging her out of the mud.

She clung to his arm again, tightening her hold every time there was thunder. This time, he didn't try to pry her loose. Despite his annoyance at his movement being restricted, he felt like he owed her this one for hurting her. She had, after all, gone through a lot just to make sure he didn't get blasted to pieces. Just to make her feel safer, he cast NulShock on both of them. The sight of the yellow orb circling her seemed to distract her long enough for him to urge her forward. He couldn't keep walking with her hugging his arm for dear life, however.

"You're going to have to let go," he told her, "you keep throwing me off balance when you do that. It's nothing personal—but the ground is very slick here."

She released his arm and bit her lip, shrinking into his shadow as much as she could. After she'd accidentally stepped on his robes two or three times, he decided that he would have to try something else.

This is getting truly ridiculous…he thought. Taking her hand in his, he hoped that would at least be enough for her. And it was. The first thing he noticed was how icy her fingers had gotten—he was cold, too, but the material of his robes was at least enough to insulate him a little. She was shivering violently and it was making it hard for her to walk very fast. His hand was enormous compared to hers and all but swallowed hers up—she couldn't wrap her fingers all the way around, but she didn't have to. He had a good enough grip on her that he could keep her moving. There were a few times that actually came in handy—she slipped frequently and it kept her from falling in the mud. The tremors continued through her body, but he doubted they were due so much to fear now as they were to just being cold. She didn't complain, however, and they continued like that until they finally found a cave to rest in. He told her to sit down and managed to get the fire going on his own—thank goodness for Fira. If he didn't have magic, they'd have stayed wet and miserable.

"Take that dress off," he ordered, "here, wrap up in this."

The blanket he held out was still damp, but it was much drier than her soaked dress. She didn't wait for him to turn around before she started to yank the drenched garment down and he had to move quickly to avoid awkwardness. Did this girl have no sense of modesty on either side?!

He heard the wet gown splat against the stone floor of the cave and the rustle of the blanket.

"Are you covered up now?" he asked.

"Yes," she answered. He turned around, seeing her huddled in the worn blanket. He could see nothing except part of one shoulder. He picked the dress up and laid it over one of the rocks. He was going to dry it with a fire spell, but his reserve of magic was too low. They'd have to make do the way they were. Seeing that he wanted to get out of his wet clothes as well, she finally took a hint buried her face in the crook of her elbow.

The blast of cold air hit him like a cannon and every muscle in his body wanted to seize up and not move, but he willed himself to keep going. He spread the robes out across the floor and smoothed them as flat as he could so that they would dry all the way. Then, he knotted the other blanket around his waist like a kilt. She heard him coming closer and risked a glance. It was safe now.

"It's a pity your first time through here was such a letdown," he heard himself saying, "I had hoped to give you a better introduction to my birthplace…Tromell would have loved you. He'd have fussed over you even more than me because you were the one who brought me home."

"Who's Tromell?" Melody asked.

"There are many answers to that question," he told her, holding his hands over the fire to thaw them out, "a butler. A friend. A sort of substitute for my own father. He was never far from me and was one of my closest companions."

He closed his eyes for a moment, gathering the courage to say what he was thinking: "But I don't know if I'll see him again now…I can only hope that he was one of the few who escaped the Ronso's wrath."

Scooting closer to the flames as well, Melody asked, "Is it true?"

He gulped, his throat feeling drier than it should have been. He could have played dumb and asked what she meant, but there was no point in prolonging the inevitable.

"It's true," he confirmed reluctantly, "everything that that woman said about me was true…unfortunately."

"So you did kill off a bunch of people? Why?"

He dearly wished he had a good answer to give her, but he found one lacking. He watched the orange flames dance and crackle and wished he didn't feel as though the silence was suffocating. The discomfort he felt at having to tell her what happened was muffling every sound: the pouring rain outside, the thunder, the fire, even the breath flowing in and out of his lungs.

"I wasn't after them," he said finally, "I wanted to catch up to Lady Yuna's party and separate them. I had no intention of killing her—I just wanted to take her away with me. Everyone else got in the way because they were so keen on defending her. The Ronso were especially relentless. They all fought me, trying to give the group a chance to escape, but I tore through them as easily as wet paper."

He bowed his head, squeezing the bridge of his nose as if to ward off a headache.

"I should have known they would retaliate—I almost drove them to extinction. They are a proud race and do not take such things lightly. I didn't think about how it would affect the others. I didn't think it would go this far. Of course they would cry for my blood—it is only fitting—but why the others? They were only acting under my orders."

"Why did you want Yuna so bad? Did you love her?" Melody asked.

"I was attracted to her, yes. What man wouldn't be? She was beautiful and far stronger than I'd initially thought. She had a very real chance of defeating Sin. But that wasn't why I did it."

Melody waited patiently for him to continue. The veins on his face had darkened to almost black and his cheeks were flushed brightly. He felt weary, but there was no use in stopping now. She would find out everything anyway if this all continued—it was better she hear it from him. So there, in the relative safety of the cave and the darkness, he told her everything in clipped, formal sentences. She had noticed that every time he felt ill at ease, his speech would become stiff and almost aristocratic sounding. His position had called for that so many times that it was a habit he'd gotten into when trying to negotiate his way out of some really rough situation. She listened to him without interruption for a long time, only asking the occasional question. Though she looked concerned and ultimately sad, she didn't seem angry or outraged with him. After what seemed like an eternity and there was no more to tell, Seymour took a long drink of water. His voice was wearing out.

"So that's where all that darkness comes from," Melody remarked, "it's a lot to have on your conscience."

He slumped against a stalagmite feeling more bone-weary than he had in a long time.

"Yes, it is," he admitted, "and now the world has found out just what kind of man I really am. An entire race is paying for my actions. I'm surprised they didn't all kill me on sight."

Melody inched closer to him.

"So what will you do to fix it?" she asked.

He stared at her incredulously.

"There is no 'fixing it'," he said bitterly, "you heard what she said. The Ronso are slaughtering them—we'll be lucky if there are any Guado left to come after me. And they will when they hear of this—you won't have enough power in all the cosmos to put me back together once they catch up with me."

Melody put her hand on his shoulder. She felt him stiffen at her touch, but he didn't push her away.

"Well, we can try, anyway," she said gently, "you'd be a hero again."

"I could care less," he responded darkly, "I brought it all on myself anyway. Just promise me you won't let them rip you to shreds as well—I deserve it and you don't."

"I won't let them," she said quietly, "and neither will Father."

"I hope he's listening," Seymour muttered, "I'd rather be put out of my misery right now than have both Guado and Ronso stabbing me together."

"He already knows," Melody told him, "or He wouldn't have sent me."

For a moment, there was a stunned silence.

"He knows and he still sent you? After all the people I've killed? Wasn't he afraid I would hurt you, too?" Seymour asked incredulously.

"No," she responded, "because He knew you wouldn't. Not really."

"But why? The least he could do is save someone worth saving," Seymour said, his gaze dropping to the floor, "like that…what was his name? Tidus? That noisy little whelp would have been most people's first pick."

"You're missing the point, Seymour. He did save someone that He thought was worth saving," Melody said, "He chose you. If He didn't think you were somehow worth it, He'd have let you languish in the dark forever."

Somehow, this made him feel all the more guilty—more guilty than he'd ever felt in his entire life.

"I don't…understand…" Seymour said weakly.

"Most people don't," Melody responded, "but they usually do in time."

She still hadn't stopped shivering even though he had. Concerned, he placed his hand on her forehead. It was extraordinarily hot, but her hands were still freezing.

"It's all right…I'm just tired," she said quietly, "…I'm sure I'll be better in the morning. That rain was just really cold…"

They both doubted there would be any fiends wandering around in the rain tonight, so they both skipped dinner and went straight to sleep. Neither of them really felt like eating and the food would be cold anyway. The hard floor of the cave was not at all fun to sleep on without any padding, but they both made the best of it. Melody had cocooned herself into the blanket so tightly that he couldn't even see her face—her head was covered up. She was curled up in a ball, he noticed. Since she usually either did that or slept on her side, he didn't think anything of it at first. He woke before she did, which wasn't such an unusual occurrence, but he'd been awake at least two hours and she still hadn't moved. Frowning, he tried to tug the blanket back, but he met some resistance. She yanked it back so violently that he heard a seam tear.

"Melody, stop it!" he scolded, wondering what her problem was. Why was she acting like the very air out here was poisonous? He tried again, and this time he pinned her arm down before she could catch the corner of the blanket again. Even in the very dim light, he could see that her cheeks were blood-red and her eyes were squeezed shut. The tremors had never stopped and were now worse. His hands were cold, true, but she pulled away from him as if he'd hurt her just by touching her face. She was burning up.

Seymour sighed. Now what? There were a million different scenarios in his head that he'd entertained and worked out some sort of solution for, but so far he had nothing for the set of events that had actually occurred. He certainly hadn't counted on her getting sick. He tried casting various healing spells on her, but not a single one of them seemed to touch the heat searing through her veins. He wondered what manner of illness this was and began to feel a little nervous. He managed to talk her into drinking a couple of different potions, but they didn't really work either. She wouldn't eat anything and kept complaining that it hurt to swallow. He didn't doubt it.

How strange that the entire situation has reversed…

He realized that the same situation that they'd previously been in was now unfolding: they were out in the middle of nowhere with very little to help them, they were both trying to keep sheltered from monsters that threatened their lives, and one of them was now incapacitated and afflicted with fever. But now, it was up to him to get her through this. He sincerely hoped that no one would happen across this cave or they were done for. The first thing he had to do was get Melody's dress back on her so that she'd at least have some resistance from the cold.

After we're done, there will be no secrets between us whatsoever, he thought darkly. The only woman he'd ever seen even partially unclothed before was his mother and that was just because he'd walked in on her changing once. After that, he'd been more careful not to sneak up on her. He reminded himself that this wasn't supposed to be a big deal, as Melody wasn't able to even move let alone dress herself. She was shaking too hard. He had a very disturbing mental picture of her rattling to pieces and just laying in glass-like shards on the floor of the cave. He retrieved the dress and walked over to her. She was still laying in that same spot and in the same position.

"Melody, I have to get this on you. Can you please sit up?"

Of course, she either didn't hear him or was just refusing to acknowledge him. He had no choice but to force her to sit, then they had a tug-of-war with the blanket. Her temperature was so high by now that she seemed beyond all rational thought and started crying. She fought him, of course, and he was afraid at the end that he'd actually hurt her by trying to force her arms through the sleeves.

I wonder if I was this much of a trial when I was young, he wondered, a mixture of pitying and annoyance by the time it was over. He smoothed her skirt down over her short, chubby legs and she crawled away from him, wrapping the blanket around her while giving him the most pathetic angry look he'd ever seen.

"Glare all you want," he said crisply, "I'm getting used to that expression."

They were getting low on food, so he tried to ration out what they had to last the longest. There was no telling how long they'd be stuck here and how long it would be before she was able to travel again. Seymour wanted to scream, punch something, zap something with a Thundaga spell, or worse: all of the above at the same time. But he didn't. Used to putting up a calm and indifferent front, he did the best he could to assemble a meal and try to talk Melody into eating. She refused, of course, and actually started crying again.

Doesn't she ever dry out?!

"Fine! Lay over there and cry until you turn to dust! I'm finished trying to help you!" he snapped furiously. She obliged by shrinking into the far corner of the cave and refused to even look at him for the rest of the day. He realized it was just the frustration talking, but he didn't want to admit how truly worried he was. He'd never seen something he couldn't cure before. It made him feel helpless and he despised that with a passion. He tried not to make it obvious that he was continuously glancing over there into that accursed corner, but it was still happening. The quiet and the fact that he couldn't really leave her in this state allowed him entirely too much time to think.

If she really isn't human…at least not in the sense of being born that way…she may not even understand what's going on…she knows how to treat fevers, but she may not have the experience of having one, he thought, it must be terrifying if you don't grow up with it happening once in a while.

He'd eventually just started staring into space, letting the fire get low and not really paying attention to anything in particular. The sensation of pressure on his thigh and the sudden warmth coming through his robes brought him back to reality. A familiar mass of blue-black curls was taking up residence on his leg.

"So…forgiven me, have you?"

She didn't say anything and she was facing away from him, so he couldn't tell by her expression what she was feeling now. He was just glad she wasn't throwing a fit anymore and placed his hand on her head. Despite her very messed up mental state, he was glad for the company.

After a while, he had to rouse her from her fever-induced sleep so that he could stretch. His leg was going numb and his butt was sore from having sat there for so long. She didn't object and he stuffed his own crumpled-up blanket under her head so that she'd have something soft to lie on. With a few second thoughts, he left the cave to take care of a few things. They were low on both food and water and she'd probably get even sicker without that. He also wanted to make sure that there were no unwelcome guests lurking about. He took her sword with him, doubting that she was strong enough to use it. About ten feet from the mouth of the cave, something very interesting happened.

One of those strange crystal creatures jumped out at him. Out of reflex, Seymour swung the sword, but it flashed brilliantly and lengthened. He realized that he was now holding a staff—it was still white with the blue gems in the handle, but it had the shape of his old Summoner's staff. Grinning wickedly, he used it to draw more magical energy from the air and thoroughly thrashed the fiend. His friends must have heard the death scream because the woods around him came alive instantly. Seymour couldn't have been more thrilled—though it was an inconvenience, he had been itching for a fight since that awful day he'd heard about his kinsmen being slaughtered. The air vibrated with magical energy as he fought and fought and fought. After the whole thing was over, he let out a breathless chuckle. He didn't know about Melody, but he was certainly feeling better. Stripping the fiends of their belongings (and in some cases, their meat), he hurried back to the cave and left everything there. Then, he solved the water issue by filling their canteens at a nearby spring. Rather than bother with drinking out of one himself, he just thrust his whole face in. It did a good job of cooling him off and slaking his thirst at the same time. Hoping he could coax Melody to take a drink, he used Blizzard to periodically chill the canteens to keep the water cold on the way back.

For his first attempt at cooking, the meal wasn't too bad. The meat was a little charred from his impatient Fira spells, but at least they wouldn't get food poisoning from it. He persuaded Melody to take a few bites on the promise that he'd cause a snowstorm in the cave if she didn't do it. Then, he cleared everything up and reclined back in his favorite spot feeling more accomplished than he could ever remember. It actually hit him that he was trying very hard to preserve a life instead of ending it. How easy it would have been to kill her in this state…he hated that she was suffering so much. But he'd bought her at least another day now.

"Seymour?" she called weakly.

"Yes?"

"Thank you."

Later on, she would be sure she imagined it or hallucinated or even dreamed, but she could swear she saw him truly smile for a split second.

It was cold that night—unseasonably cold for summer. It was cold enough that he built up the fire as big as he could and positioned their packs so that there might be somewhat of a wind break. Melody, of course, was miserable and huddled near the back of the cave. He stayed awake for a long time to keep the fire going, as the wind was really bad. Despite his intentions to stay awake, however, he was out before he knew it. When he woke, he felt something warm pressed up against his back. Puzzled, he turned his head to see Melody laying there behind him. Her arms were curled around his pack, apparently in desperate want for something to hold, but he and the fire were the only things here that she could draw any warmth from. She could only get so close to the fire, but he didn't think he was any safer than the flames for her. Still, though, the heat from her back eased the bitter cold somewhat and he stayed where he was. At least she wasn't trying to cuddle with him—he wouldn't have been able to tolerate that no matter how sick she was. Seymour was simply not an affectionate man.

The morning dawned gently blue and the wind was only a slight breeze in the warm, humid air. Seymour realized that the pressure of Melody's back was no longer there. He sat up, rubbing his eyes, and looked around. When he didn't see her, he actually felt a little nervous.

"Melody?"

No answer. He realized that her blanket had been draped over him. Frowning, he let both slide to the floor and got up. Sniffing the air, he followed her scent like a wolf, chasing it to the shore of a lake he hadn't realized was there. It ended with the water. Just as he was beginning to wonder if she'd drowned, he saw her head bobbing amongst a clump of water lilies. In fact, she was wearing one on her head like a hat.

"What are you doing?" he demanded. Melody glanced up from the flowers she was playing in.

"Having a bath," she answered, "I felt kind of yucky with all the sweating I've been doing. I thought I'd be done by the time you were up, though…sorry…"

Her eyes were clear, he noticed, and her cheeks were only tinged with a little bit of pink instead of flaming red. Then he noticed something else: the water was pristinely clear. She dog-paddled over to him and he took a very intense interest in a crystalline flower that bloomed on the lake's shore. There was a series of noisy splashes as she got out and a bunch of water trickling as she wrung out her messy, tangled hair.

"What?" she asked, puzzled as to why he was suddenly so quiet. Then, she remembered.

"Oh yeah…humans and the whole 'being naked is weird' thing…sorry! I forgot about that," she said, going to retrieve her undergarments and dress. A few rustles of fabric later, she said "You can look now."

"Don't your people wear clothes?" he wondered out loud.

Melody giggled.

"Well…yes and no," she said, "when we appear to humans, we've usually got robes on or sometimes we even just have regular clothes. But we don't have bodies when we're at Home, so we really don't have a reason to keep them around. We're pure energy, so what you see right now isn't actually what I look like."

"Good to know," he mumbled, "let's get out of here. We've pressed our luck by staying this long."

"All right, you killjoy."

He thought about replying with a quip of how much a killjoy her illness had been, but he thought better of it. Instead, he asked "Have you eaten?"

"Yeah, actually. I had no idea you could cook."

"There are a lot of things you don't know."

"So what else can you do besides cook, zap things, and k-…take care of people when they're sick?"

"Apparently, I'm still finding out."

They had crossed into the Macalania Woods for certain now. Melody saw a blue butterfly and squealed loudly. Seymour gave her a Look and she clamped both her hands over her mouth.

"Sorry…" she whispered.

"You should be," he said accusingly, "the fiends you've dealt with so far are nothing compared to these."

"There are fiends here? But it's so pretty!"

He gave a dry chuckle.

"Don't let that fool you. And whatever you do, stay away from those damn butterflies."

"Why?"

"Let's just say they're far more trouble than they're worth."

"Okay."

But it turned out that his guardian had a special weakness for the delicately winged creatures. More than once, he'd hear her plowing off the path into the foliage to chase them and only his stern expression would bring her guiltily sprinting back to his side.

"You really ought to stop that," he warned, "it's only a matter of time before—"

But it was too late. While the sapphire-colored butterflies were probably the greatest treasure to the angel-turned-human, the brilliant ruby one was just too much for her. She gasped and watched it as if it were the most beautiful thing in the world to her. Entranced, her hands stretched towards it. Before Seymour could do anything at all to intervene, it was too late. The vibration tore through the air. It was a frequency too high for humans to hear, or so he thought, but Melody tilted her head curiously.

"It's singing," she said in wonderment.

"And that's why we should really go—"

But it was too late. He heard it before he saw it though it happened so fast that it was only a second or two of a delay. The beast came charging through the brush and Melody let out an ear-splitting scream. Her sword was out in a flash—he noticed it had changed back when she'd touched it earlier—and she cast a Shell spell. He didn't have time to wonder how she'd learned it. The chimera reared back one of its ugly heads and exhaled a jet of flame at them. Melody swiped at it repeatedly, but she was trying to avoid all four heads at once. Seymour pounded it with spell after spell while trying to keep an eye on her in case it got her. And it did. Just as the beast finally fell and caused the ground to shudder, he saw Melody stagger. She had a faint green shimmer about her, a clear indicator of poison affliction. Thankfully, this was something he could deal with. A second later, the poison was gone and he had healed the deep fang-marks in her shoulder.

"Thanks for that," she said gratefully.

"Next time, slice that head off first," he advised, "even if the other three look scarier to you. It will save you a lot of trouble."

"Noted," she said, still rubbing the spot even though the injury was gone, "so…do all the red butterflies hang out with big, scary things?"

"Yes, they do," Seymour said, "they're blood-colored for a reason. Just remember that."

Melody shook her head.

"Goodness…what kind of place is this? I can't even catch a butterfly without getting clobbered? How do you guys get anything done? How do you sleep at night?"

Not five minutes after that, the same exact thing happened except for Melody chasing the butterfly—it had just happened to cross her path at the wrong time. After having to fight three chimeras in a row, he was treated to the very amusing sight of Melody seeing a butterfly, getting a look of utmost horror on her face, then literally running away and screaming bloody murder. He laughed so hard that he had to take a minute to recompose himself. She gave him a Look which made him laugh even harder. It was the first time he'd laughed like that in a long, long time. Years, probably. And despite the fact that it was at her expense, it was music to her ears.

When the day was finally drawing to a close, Seymour froze in the middle of the path they were walking.

"What is it?" Melody asked, wondering if he sensed danger. She drew her sword just as a figure emerged from the shadows. He saw her pupils dilate, saw her muscles twitch, and knew she was going to strike.

"Wait!"

He stopped the blade, though he got a very big gash in his arm. Melody gasped in horror at the gush of blood that sprayed out of the severed artery, at the clang as the blade struck bone.

"You should have let her, sir."

Seymour grunted in pain, but the wound shone with light as he willed his flesh to heal itself. Melody contributed her own light and watched as the blood-flow stopped and the wound knit itself together again. Within seconds, all that was left was a faint pink scar and a tear in the sleeve of his robe. More embarrassed than she'd ever been (at least that she could remember), she offered her hand to the stranger that she'd nearly killed on accident.

"Melody," Seymour said, his voice thick from his constricted throat, "meet Tromell."

"Dear Yevon…" the old man's voice squeaked out, "…Maester Seymour!"

He moved to throw his arms around the enormous half-Guado, but fainted before he could quite make contact. Seymour caught him before he could hit the ground. Melody was about to walk in the direction of where he had come from, but Seymour stopped her.

"No use in going in there until he wakes up," he lamented, "if they see me with Tromell like this…well…you know what they'll think."

Melody nodded and put her healing abilities to work once again.

"Just watch for butterflies," she said weakly, breaking the tension only slightly.