Chapter 7

Poor Tromell. Even after Melody managed to revive him, he still for some reason thought he was dreaming. His gaze kept moving back and forth between the Guado hybrid and the short dark-haired human that wasn't really a human at all.

"I'm as real as you are," Seymour assured him, "see?"

He took Tromell's clawed finger and placed it against the side of his neck. Tromell jumped in surprise when he felt the strong, steady pulse point along the vein.

"You…you're not an Unsent? But…but how?! The last time I touched you, you were so very icy…your flesh was stiff like a corpse's and you had no heartbeat? How can this be?"

He had paled considerably and Melody made him sit down on a fallen log.

"That," Seymour sighed heavily, "is a very long story."

Tromell's eyes were glistening with tears.

"Oh, please do tell me! I don't really know how much time I've got left here—any of us, for that matter…the forest is dying, Maester Seymour…"

"Just 'Seymour'," Seymour corrected him gently, "I have lost my right to such formal titles."

"My apologies, M—Seymour." He dragged in a great, wheezing breath that sounded like someone letting the air out of a balloon.

"Tell me about the forest, please," Seymour told him.

"Well…judging by the amount of scars on you, I would hazard a guess that you found out the hard way that we were driven from our home and the gates of the Farplane. The Ronso are not a very forgiving bunch, you see…so the few of us that could escape managed to come here. But the magic of the forest is fading without the Fayth and we will fade as well if we don't do something soon."

Seymour noticed that the poor old man was already looking rather weak. The light in his brilliant emerald-colored eyes had dulled. But he was alive for now—it was more than Seymour could have ever hoped for. As long as Tromell breathed, he might be able to make amends in some small way for dragging him into his dark plans.

"Seymour…I…" Tromell's voice caught, "…I wouldn't go any further past this point…the others…they might try to…"

He gulped, his throat constricting.

"I know," Seymour said quietly, "and it's probably no more than I'd deserve, but hiding myself from the world hasn't been very successful so far."

"What I'm trying to tell you is please be careful," the old Guado choked out, "I've already lost you so many times…I don't think I could bear it again…"

"Even with the things that I've done?" Seymour asked warily.

"Yes. Even with the things that you've done," Tromell whispered, "though I do wish I understood why…I've asked myself that question every night since that terrible day in Macalania Temple when I saw you laying there all spread out in the floor. I had hoped once you became an Unsent that you would at least stop your mad dream and rest...join your mother in the Farplane…but it was not so…"

He took a handkerchief out of his pocket and mopped his face. Then he blew his nose noisily. Melody had never seen or heard such heartbreak in a man's voice before.

"I have missed you terribly," Tromell continued, a little more composed now, "but I can't help but wonder what trouble you're planning this time."

Judging by Seymour's expression, Melody guessed that a good lightning bolt to the groin would probably have hurt a thousand times less.

"I do not know why I was chosen to live again," Seymour told him, his own throat sounding constricted now, "and I do not know the entity that supposedly brought me back to life. But I do know that no one comes back from death with a heartbeat…not without a reason."

Tromell's eyes were glittering, but he smiled.

"Let us hope, then…that this means you've changed," he sighed, "forever."

Night had fallen by now and the forest was alive with a faint teal light. It bothered Seymour to see that Macalania Woods did not have its usual luster. In fact, it was very dim.

"If we cannot risk being seen, is there a place we may take shelter out of the way? It looks as though it's going to storm again."

"There is a place not far from here," Tromell said, "that is vacant, but we must take care not to be seen by the others. There are so few of us left that even blood lost in self-defense is too precious…"

He led them in a wide semi-circle around the Guado camp. Thankfully, things were winding down there for the day and most of the children and a few adults were already going to bed. Melody tried not to constantly trip over the knotted roots, but there scarcely seemed to be a clear space for her foot to go. She stumbled along behind Seymour and Tromell, wishing she had their agility. Both were so used to forest environments and root-mazes that they had no trouble navigating them. Branches snagged at her skirt and she fell more than once. She wished she could will her transformation and just fly. Her short, stumpy little legs couldn't keep up with the lithe strides of the two Guado men in front of her. After she'd fallen for the fourth or fifth time, she was relieved to see that they'd reached the place Tromell had told them about.

"Don't come out during the daytime," Tromell told them, "I will bring you supplies. You can stay for as long as you want."

Never had a run-down little shack in the middle of nowhere seemed so inviting. There was no running water, no source of light. But it was cool and dry and would keep any rain out even if they had to put a few pots in the floor.

"Thank you, Tromell," Seymour said gratefully, "I don't know if I'll ever be able to repay you for this…"

Melody decided that they probably needed a minute and busied herself with exploring the place. She turned around just in time to see Seymour give Tromell a hug.

Awww….

Warmth filled her stomach and heart both. It was the same feeling as one gets when they drink hot tea. It was the first time she'd ever seen him openly showing some form of affection. Tromell looked about as surprised as she felt, but he managed a watery smile.

"I shall return shortly," he said quietly.

He closed the door behind him and Melody and Seymour were left alone in the dark. He quickly remedied that problem by picking up a stubby candle and lighting the wick between his finger and thumb with a simple fire spell. The gloom was instantly dispelled, if only slightly. They would have to use light sparingly around here.

The little shack had probably been a cozy little cabin in its time. There were a few pieces of dusty, neglected furniture. There were a few dishes that were mostly good that had maybe a few chips and scuffs but were otherwise usable. When they went upstairs, Melody couldn't help but laugh a little bit: there was a heart-shaped bed, but that was the only one.

"Where do you suppose they got the sheets for it?" she asked, causing him to chuckle a little. Neither one of them was really willing to say what they were thinking: this could make for a very awkward night.

"Something about this place feels oddly familiar," he found himself saying, forgetting about the bed for a moment, "see this pattern here on the walls? I could swear I have seen it before."

He traced the intricate carving with his long fingers, following the design of swirls over and over.

"Didn't you say that your dad was the Maester of this place?" Melody asked, remembering that he'd told her about a Maester being a priest of some sort.

"Yes. But what has that got to do with it?"

"Maybe he brought you here at some point."

Seymour made a face.

"Why? He never took me anywhere. He was ashamed of me."

Melody tugged the drawer open to the end table. It was stuck and she nearly went flying backwards when she managed to dislodge it.

"I found something," she alerted him, "it's a little jewelry box."

Seymour stared at the trinket in the girl's delicate-looking hands. It felt odd to take such a pretty and fragile item into his own strong, reckless ones. There on the lid was his first clue: it was a cameo of his mother, exactly like the one that her Aeon Anima wore around her neck. He blew the layer of dust away and the box began to sparkle despite the harsh light. Then, he flipped the lid up with his thumb. A little Summoner figurine appeared, her staff raised and her body stretched onto its tiptoes. All around her were pearls on springs meant to represent Pyreflies.

"It's a music box," Melody said in wonderment, "and here's the key!"

She wound it up and the Summoner began to dance, the Pyreflies floating around her. Seymour was puzzled. Why on earth would anyone want to make a toy out of something so morbid? It seemed…wrong…somehow. Wrong in a way he couldn't explain. Perhaps that twinge was because the Summoner bore a striking resemblance to Yuna. She twirled and twirled and twirled until her song finally slowed and stopped. Melody picked up the roll of parchment in the box below her little ledge that she danced on and unrolled it.

"Awww…." She gushed, "It's a letter from your dad…to your mom…see? He even drew a little sketch there."

Seymour let her hold the box while he skimmed through the letter. As tempted as he was to rip it to shreds, he didn't do so. Instead, he pressed his fingertips to his head to try and avoid the headache that came with some sort of internal conflict.

"How can this be the same man? All he can talk about is how much he misses her and how he wishes things were different and he sent us there," he snapped, "and everyone hates me for Sending him. If they really knew what kind of a man Jyscal was, they'd have thanked me."

Melody took the letter quickly and stuffed it back in the box.

"People can do really stupid things," she told him, "maybe he meant to bring you back but didn't have the courage to face you."

"I was a child, Melody. I was no more threatening then than…well, you are when you're sick. Sometimes you when you're well. No offense, of course. What the Hell did he have to be afraid of?"

Melody's fingers traced the dark red surface of the bed.

"Well, if it helps any," she said, "I've helped a lot of people. I've traveled with them, talked with them, laughed with them, cried with them. There were some I'm pretty sure I married at one point—I don't remember much of those times—but I can tell you right now that the overwhelming majority of them had terrible relationships with their parents. In a lot of those cases, the parents wanted to fix it but they didn't know how. And a lot of them stopped trying before they even started because they thought it was no good. From what I've heard so far, everybody liked Jyscal and they all thought he was the greatest thing since movie spheres, right? There was literally no one he couldn't impress—except you."

"I wonder why," Seymour said, his tone quite snarky.

"Everyone else was relying on the whole 'Good Ole Boy' mentality, the fact that they knew him for many years and that they'd never seen him do something wrong or bad or even morally questionable. When it did finally happen, they were willing to give him the shadow of a doubt just because they'd spent all that time in a relationship with him. There was only one person he could ever lose face with and that was you."

"He never had it to begin with."

"Yes, and he knew that, I think," she said, watching him go to the window and stare out, "and he was so used to having people like him that the idea of failing was nightmarish. For the first time, there was a very real possibility that he could fail, so he didn't try."

"It sounds as though you're siding with him," Seymour said in disgust.

"No, I'm not," Melody said, coming to join him, "I would never agree with that. I would always push people to try even though it's hard because, well, if they fail, they've at least tried. They might have to try a dozen times or a hundred to make it work, but they should always try. If the other person can't accept them, then that's their problem. But I'm trying to help you see why. Even if you don't agree with it (and I hope no one ever will), you'll understand it and maybe it'll give you a bit more peace."

"As long as I live—or don't live—it matters not these days—I will never have peace, Melody. Never."

In the dim teal-colored light of the woods and the contrasting orange light from the candle, Seymour had aged considerably. He was tired from fighting and not sleeping enough and traveling. Most of all, he was tired from the burdens in his heart. The faint scars that marred his face were more visible in this light and his pale blue-violet hair was limp instead of pointing out in all directions the way it should have been. He'd lost more weight and he wanted to find a safe place and sleep the rest of his life away.

"Yes, you will," she assured him, "I will see to it. Even if it's only for a little while."

"Well, at least one person in my miserable existence has tried."

Not caring about the bed or its stupid shape, Seymour lay down on it and stretched out. It felt so good to lie on something soft even if it had a damp, musty, disused smell. The mattress sank just a little under Melody's weight, but she may as well have had her own gravity well. They were sort of sinking in towards each other.

"Oh, that's clever," she observed, "the way that this bed is shaped, you'd never notice it. But feel the edges—they're a little higher. This bed is designed to push the two occupants together."

"Absolutely wonderful," came the sarcastic reply, "I would love to know more about the man I hated and the woman he murdered."

"Point taken," Melody said, "so…what now?"

"What do you mean 'what now'? Tromell is coming back. No one else knows we're here. You pray to whatever deity this Father of yours is that it stays that way."

He rolled over on his side and caused the bed to creak noisily.

"Charming," he sighed, "it's screaming at me. Oh, the nightmares to come…"

Melody cracked up laughing.

"Don't worry," she said, still laughing, "I'll keep you safe."

The candle went out.

"I hope you can see in the dark, then," he sighed.

"I'll be all right."

"Wake me if something happens or when Tromell returns."

"Okay."

He closed his eyes and drifted off immediately. Melody smiled warmly and spread a blanket over him before going downstairs. She was afraid that if she stayed up here that she'd keep Seymour awake. After all he'd done to help her when she was sick, she felt that she owed him that much. Taking the music box with her, she longed for another sound besides silence and fighting. She closed the bedroom door and went downstairs into the living room. Twisting the key up again, she sighed in contentedness as the music began to play.

I feel as though I've heard this song before…like it was a very long time ago. In another time…another place…

Faint trace images came to the surface. A wreath of flowers on her head. A white dress. A warm touch and family and friends gathered together watching her dance with a man whose name and face she could no longer remember. A tongue that was unfamiliar and foreign came to mind in much the same way as when you hear a song on the radio you like and are later trying to look it up on the Internet.

" Kaze ga yoseta kotoba ni

Oyoida kokoro

Kumo ga hakobu ashita ni

Hazun da koe

Tsuki ga yureru kagami ni

Furueta kokoro

Hoshi ga nagare koboreta

Yawarakai namida….."

She sang it over and over, quietly to herself as she pulled the memory back to the surface. At first, her mouth stumbled, unfamiliar now with the language. Then, she slowly began to adjust.

" Suteki da ne

Futari te o tori aruketa nara

Ikitai yo

Kimi no machi ie ude no naka

Sono mune

Karada azuke

Yoi ni magire

Yumemiru

Kaze wa tomari kotoba wa

Yasashii maboroshi

Kumo wa yabure ashita wa

Tooku no koe

Tsuki ga nijimu kagami o

Nagareta kokoro

Hoshi ga yurete koboreta

Kakusenai namida

Suteki da ne

Futari te o tori aruketa nara

Ikitai yo

Kimi no machi ie ude no naka

Sono kao

Sotto furete

Asa ni tokeru

Yumemiru…"

She had lost count of how many times she'd sung the song and re-wound the music box. When she saw something move in the darkness, she let out a gasp and nearly jumped out of her skin.

"I didn't realize you were up again," Melody said, glad he couldn't see her blush, "did I wake you up?"

"Yes and no. The music had some rather interesting effect on my dreams."

"Sorry….what happened?"

"I heard your singing. The rest is inconsequential."

In other words, you don't want to talk about that. Okay…

"I must have gotten carried away. Sorry…" she sighed.

"Forgive me if this sounds callous, but I'm a little surprised that—"

"That the singing voice you just heard came out of me? That it's weird that I look like a plain little dumpy woman with crazy hair and I can make that sound? Trust me, you wouldn't be the last," Melody laughed, flopping onto a couch a little too hard. It responded by one leg snapping and tipping her into the floor.

"Ow….fudge…." she lamented, "today just must be my day to hold the Idiot's Ball."

She brushed off her skirt.

"Where did you learn that song? It sounds vaguely like the Hymn of the Fayth, but I do not recognize that language."

"Japanese," Melody informed him, "of Earth…I must have lived somewhere in that region when I was alive last. Or was it China? Oh…I can't remember anymore. The only thing I know about it is that it played at our wedding—my wedding."

Seymour was surprised.

"You were married?"

"Yes, I was," Melody said, "at least twice that I know of. But that was a very long time ago."

There was that odd feeling again, a feeling that there was something there that he simply couldn't grasp.

"You can't have been—you're younger than I am!" he objected.

"I'm far older than you think," she said quietly, "I don't remember my true age, but I know of at least six-thousand birthdays I've celebrated. Maybe more. Some of them were earthly ones."

"And your husbands? What happened to them?"

"They died a long time ago. Mortals have such short lives compared to our kind—if you make it longer than sixty or seventy years, that's a miracle on its own. But they were both great men and they both were very Godly men for many years before He took them Home for good. Father loves them both dearly and I know they're enjoying themselves there."

Seymour stared through the darkness. She could make out his silhouette in the scant light, but not his face. He could see slightly better than she could and his pale violet eyes pierced the darkness. His nostrils flared a bit, trying to smell for sweat and adrenaline. The Guado nose he'd been blessed with could even tell him if a person's blood vessels dilated in the instance of a facial flush or the constriction in the case of a paling. But she did neither. He tilted his ear toward her, listening to her breath and her heartbeat. Nothing changed.

"And you never get any older?"

"Yes, I do," Melody said, "I age just like any mortal in this body and I even die. I've died a few times that I know of because the forces I was up against were too strong to be beaten by mortals. By the time I got to that point, though, my body was wearing out. I'm not really meant to stay here for long. Sometimes Father sends me back to live with people for a while. Sometimes not."

He frowned. He couldn't remember ever meeting another Unsent, let alone one who'd been "killed" multiple times.

"Then you must know, then," he said quietly, "what it's like to some extent…"

"Yes," she answered, "and how terrifying that is sometimes. The hardest thing in the world is to trust that Father will bring me back. There's this darkness that gets all disorienting at first and then you're never quite sure what's going to be on the other side even if you tell yourself over and over again that you are."

"Do you miss them?" he asked quietly after a moment.

"Kind of," she answered, "the truth is that I don't remember much about them. Every time I get sent somewhere into the mortal plane, I lose my memory of my last life. I get only flashes, like a song lyric or a feeling…I remember how they made me feel, though. How good it was to be in their presence. How much I enjoyed their company…"

She fell quiet after a moment.

"Children?" Seymour asked, wondering why he asked and yet genuinely curious.

"Oh, yes," she said fondly, "I was never quite sure what I was doing, but I developed a taste for motherhood. Of course, it was something I had to re-acquire every time."

"That would explain a few things," he said, remembering her obsession with his health.

"Yeah…it would…"

"Did you ever sing that song to them?"

"All the time. I think."

He still couldn't figure out why in the world the song seemed so familiar. The part that he didn't tell her was that he could swear his mother had sung the same exact song to him when he was a child and that he dreamed about her.

Tromell was used to appearing calm. It was something he did on auto-pilot most days, something that he could wear as well as his robes. He was careful not to let anyone see his hands shake, nor did he speak in a tremulous voice. He quietly retrieved the food a little bit at a time, smuggling it into a traveling bag. A piece of fruit here and there, a couple of bottles of wine, and so on. The hard part was the waiting. Tromell hated waiting. Since Seymour had died, the Guado had unofficially made him their leader and he had all these other things to tend to. The daylight refused to die for ages. Then came an even bigger shock: Yuna, Rikku, and Paine had shown up. Tromell was very good at faking as if he hadn't seen anything or heard anything. He told them of the Ronso causing the Guado to leave Guadosalam because they'd been run out and mostly massacred. But Seymour never actually came up other than his traitorous past. By the time they made it to a place to stay, he was a nervous wreck on the inside. When he was absolutely sure that no one was paying attention or following him, he slipped into the forest to take the two of them their food. He knocked briefly, looked around, and then went inside.

"Lord Seymour?" he whispered, "Are you in there?"

"Here," Seymour said from somewhere to his left, making him jump, "we thought it best to wait in the shadows."

"Wise of you," Tromell said, breathing a sigh of relief, "…Lord Seymour, I don't wish to bring you more hardship than you have already faced, but I must ask you to leave after tonight. Lady Yuna and her friends have just arrived here…I am afraid if you linger, they will catch you."

He only dared to light one candle, but it chased away enough of the darkness for them to at least see each other. Seymour sighed.

"So, they know then?"

"Perhaps…perhaps not…but I have a suspicion that they do. Lady Yuna is carrying her Summoner's Staff once more."

Seymour gulped. It wasn't that he had to be afraid of the staff, but the machina weapons and guns could inflict fatal wounds. If Yuna found out he wasn't dead, she might want to remedy that situation. Yuna herself could be merciful, but she had vowed to fight him whenever necessary. And her friends…Seymour was sure that they wouldn't back down, either.

"I smelled adrenaline. I smelled fatigue as well," Tromell said, "Lady Yuna does not look well. I think she has been worried about something."

"Then she must know," Seymour confirmed, "I was one of the few that got that reaction from her."

Tromell put the bag on the scuffed kitchen table and slid wearily into a chair.

"Lord Seymour…forgive me, but I demand to know what's going on. First I find out that your father, Lord Jyscal, is dead by your hands…then I find out that you attacked Lady Yuna's party. Then the Ronso, almost wiping them out completely, and then…."

He put his head in his hands.

"…I cannot fathom why you would so such things! It is as though I'm in a nightmare that I cannot wake up from!"

Seymour didn't know what to say or do. Tromell's voice had broken at some point and he was trembling. He looked angry, but he was sad as well. Staring a hole in his adopted son with his big, tearful green eyes, Seymour felt something inside himself crack around the edges.

"Tromell…I truly am sorry for putting you through this. While I cannot say I regret my father's death, I do regret bringing this down on your head. You don't deserve to suffer for me."

"But WHY?!" Tromell demanded forcefully.

"My father? You know why. As for the others…"

His throat had gone dry. Pouring a glass of the wine, he tried to restore some moisture to his throat though it proved in vain.

"I thought I could end their suffering. I thought I could end all suffering here on Spira. That was, of course, after I saw Lady Yuna on the beach with her eyes filled with tears as she danced and danced and danced….I thought to myself as I Sent some of them as well that I might never have to watch another tear fall, another soul resisting being tugged from its body against its will simply so that it wouldn't turn."

Tromell was staring at him disbelief.

"Lord Seymour…you would truly attempt to end suffering and pain by causing more of it? Perhaps it is the ignorance of an old man, but I fail to understand your logic."

Seymour's gut gave a little twist that couldn't have been due solely to the alcohol. Looking at Tromell and Melody sitting there side by side, he realized how much alike they really were. They even both had green eyes and crazy hair, for Spira's sake! Not that he was one to talk, of course. But it was their natures that branded them lost cousins. Their natures were so kindred…Seymour wondered really if they were simply an extension of the same being for a moment.

"Yeah…that's what I've been trying to figure out," Melody admitted. Tromell jerked as if he'd forgotten she was there by his elbow.

"And you…what relation to Lord Seymour are you? I noticed that you were defending him earlier…quite intently, I might add…"

"I'm just a traveling companion for the time being," Melody said, "I know some white magic and I'm trying to learn some black as well…it's harder than it sounds. Seymour's been teaching me, though. In exchange, I try to keep the fiends off of him though he usually ends up killing them faster. I think I'm just the big, meaty distraction."

Tromell smiled, though his eyes were a little sad.

"I see…and have you any family in this area? Anywhere, for that matter?"

"No," Melody said, "I have Father, but He turns up when He feels like it."

Seymour busied himself with inspecting the rest of the bag's contents, feeling an awkward moment coming on.

"So the two of you are…?"

"Friends. Sort of. We've gotten each other out of a few scrapes here and there. A lot actually…" Melody said, "I'm sort of hopeless at fighting, but I can patch a wound in a heartbeat."

"Ah. I had hoped upon first meeting you that—"

Seymour braced himself. Oh, Yevon…here it comes!

"—that in you he might have found the happiness that he never found with Lady Yuna."

Way to go, Tromell…you Blitzed that one out of the water, didn't you?

Melody looked at Tromell, then at Seymour who was intently looking away, then back at Tromell before she burst out laughing.

"That's a good one! I can see it now…the whole world after us and we're leaving a trail of flower petals and lace on the way to some damp smelly cave we picked out for a honeymooning spot," she giggled, her cheeks very red from mirth, "ah…our kids would grow up running before they could even crawl. And then there's the whole 'Don't pet the kitties' thing we'd have to teach them."

She finally regained her composure and wiped some tears away.

"Oh, man…I haven't laughed that hard since…I can't really remember," Melody sighed, taking a piece of fruit, "it felt really good."

Tromell had gotten a lot of amusement out of it as well, but most of it was Seymour's affronted expression.

"The girl does have a point," he whispered, which caused Seymour to elbow him in the gut.

Melody couldn't slow down. She was hungrier than she'd ever been—the fever had caused her to lose a little bit of weight and she was probably a bit on the dehydrated side to boot. She had a second glass of wine.

"I would slow down on that if I were you," Seymour warned her.

"I'm thirsty, though…" she objected. After that third glass, her vision got a little hazy and a strange warmth had built up in her stomach. Her cheeks were quite flushed and her nose was red as a cherry.

"Ooh…this stuff makes me feel funny…"

She tried to get up from her chair, fell, got up, fell again, then staggered towards the stairs.

"I don' feel so good….I'm gonna lay down…"

Seymour heard her hit the bed with a thud followed by a peal of giggles. Tromell snickered into his sleeve a little.

"Apparently, my companion is a very cheap drunk," Seymour said, listening to Melody's laughter.

"And a very happy person," Tromell said, "my mother and father always used to say that a drunk man's—or woman's—mouth is a sober man's thoughts. It's a good thing you aren't full of bubbles tonight, Lord Seymour. You tend to get rather on the brooding side."

"I will be if you bring up my state of marital affairs—or lack thereof," Seymour said darkly, "why did you ask her such a question? Do you want her getting ideas?"

"No, no, of course not! She'd never survive that."

Seymour gave Tromell the Look—the one where he was smiling a little with his fingers touching his chin. Tromell was familiar enough with this expression that he knew it meant trouble. All he had to do was smile that chilling smile.

Touched a nerve, did I? You've had an enormous ego for far too long, my boy…Tromell thought, meeting his gaze squarely. Despite the fact that he only meant it to be a joke, the double-meaning was heavy in the air.

"If your opinion of me is so poor, why warn me?" he asked quietly, "Why not let Lady Yuna come after me?"

Tromell's clawed finger traced the wood's pattern for a moment.

"Why indeed? I have gone back and forth on that several times between her arrival and now. I have no proof at all that I'm not making a terrible mistake…"

Tromell sighed and got up from the table. Placing his hands on Seymour's shoulders, he gazed into his adopted son's eyes. His gaze was vulnerable and pleading.

"Please, Seymour….don't make me regret this…I've only got one more chance left in me."

With that, he left.

Seymour was left sitting alone at the table, head in his hand. Suddenly, the two empty chairs didn't appeal to him anymore and he blew the candle out. Left in the dark, he was free to indulge himself in both the food and drink and his own rapidly darkening thoughts. He took his time eating since he'd hungered for things that tasted like home from the moment he'd woken up. After he was finally full, he poured one glass of wine after another until he began to feel heavy and drowsy. He was tempted to just rest his head on his elbow, but he didn't want to wake up stiff and sore on top of everything else. Seymour reluctantly scraped his chair back from the table and went upstairs. His face-veins were dark, his cheeks warm, and his mind felt pleasantly numbed.

"Melody? Still awake?"

"Mmmm…." She mumbled unintelligibly.

"Move. You're taking up all the room."

"Mmmm…"

He was pretty sure she'd said "no" because she didn't move. Scowling, Seymour grabbed her by the ankles and dragged her over. Satisfied, he lay down next to her. Initially, they weren't even touching. Seymour had only just closed his eyes when he felt Melody roll towards him.

"Melody? What are you doing?" he asked irritably. She had lain her head on his chest and was now wrapping her arm around him.

"It's cold in here," she mumbled.

"I don't care. Get back on your side."

She did, though she let out the loudest sigh he'd ever heard. He closed his eyes and fell asleep into a series of bizarre dreams that reminded him why he didn't drink often. When he first woke up, he felt very disoriented. The soft teal light had grown brighter, indicating that the sun was rising. Despite knowing they had to get out and do it quickly, he felt oddly relaxed. The heavy, comfortable feeling that one gets when they have to get up early, it's a cold morning, and they don't want to get up was tempting him sorely to stay. Then, Seymour's awareness increased a little bit more and he realized something.

Great…

How on earth had he gotten in this position? He realized that he and Melody were both laying on their sides—the same sides, actually. While there was nothing wrong with that, what bothered him was the fact that they were spooning. Her head was laying on one of his arms and the other one was wrapped around her protectively. Her head was tucked under his chin. His heart rate began to increase a bit and he was trying to figure out how to scoot her back over without waking her up when she stirred.

"Morning…" she mumbled sleepily, "….what time is it?"

"Just after sunrise," he said, trying to keep his voice calm, "we need to get going."

"Oh." She sounded disappointed.

"We have to," Seymour said regretfully, "Lady Yuna is looking for us."

"Aww…." She sighed sadly. Then, she opened her eyes. He couldn't see them, but he knew exactly when she did because her body tensed.

"Oh…um…must've been colder than I thought…"

Slowly, gingerly, as if removing herself from a dangerous fiend's grasp, she slid away from Seymour. With equal care, he let go of her. The two of them didn't look at each other as they straightened up their clothes and put their shoes on. Melody had no brush, so she had to run her fingers through her frizzy bed-hair several times. Still yawning, she followed him out the door, mumbling something about how she wished she had some coffee. Seymour was very good at acting indifferent and she was good at acting like she was more concerned about the journey ahead.

I must have been dreaming of Yuna or something, he thought, I must have…

"Well…there's the road," Melody said, gazing down it, "…shall we see where it takes us?"

A slight nod of assent from him.

"All right then," she said quietly.

From where he was hidden, Tromell smiled as their two shadows retreated into the distance.