(no subject)
The entrance into Guadosalam is a descent. Through a narrow crack in the cliff face that marks the end of the jungle on this side of the Moonflow, into an enormous and dimly-lit antechamber, and then further down and further in.
The space inside is city-sized. Claustrophobic, in a homey way, with windows glowing in the marbled surface of the walls. The city center is dominated by arches and ramps; the widest, crowded with pilgrims and Guado alike, leads slightly uphill into a glowing crevice in the perimeter. She can feel the flow of magic through this place, and everything circulates from there. The entrance to the Farplane.
Pilgrims are in and out of Guadosalam, day and night, and most of the Guado take no notice of them. They're an odd-looking people, to Yuna's rustic eyes. Short, bandy-legged, with long arms nearly scraping the ground and big, spatulate hands. Almost claw-like. Their hair is wild and comes in a variety of bright colors, and there's more facial hair than seen anywhere else in Spira.
There's one Guado who does react, an old man, dressed in green livery. Somehow he gives the impression of dustiness, as if he was found in the back of a library. She's seen him before, and when he comes forward to take her hand, she holds up her own to stop Wakka.
"Lady Yuna, if you'll come with me--" he intones, apparently oblivious to two hundred and thirty pounds of blitzer descending on him.
"Whoa whoa whoa!!"
"I beg your pardon." The man--Lord Seymour's servant, she recalls from Luca--blinks at Wakka. "I am called Tromell Guado. I am in the direct service of our leader, the great Seymour Guado. Lord Seymour has very important business with Lady Yuna."
She makes polite sounds as he leads them to the manor; it was hidden behind the arch leading to the Farplane, but as they come around the corner she sees that it dominates this side of the Guado city, with enormous windows of the same color-stained transparent minerals that line the "sky" overhead and allow dappled light to filter into Guadosalam.
"All will be explained within," Tromell promises. "Of course, your friends are also welcome."
The interior is lit by torches, in addition to the odd, doubly-filtered sunlight. As Tromell Guado is explaining the history of Seymour's family, with copious praise of the maester, she sees him, poised in the doorway.
He's nothing like Tidus, she thinks, and it's not fair that both of them can trigger such powerful feelings. It ought to be one or the other. Where Tidus is compact and athletic, Seymour is tall and straight and lean; pale where Tidus is dark, cool where Tidus is bright and warm. Calming, not exciting, but there's an attraction in peace.
And strong. Very strong; the breadth of his shoulders, the heavy, talon-like Guado hands, and most of all the marble serenity of his stern profile.
She's startled back to the world around her by Tromell's voice. "Truly, a loss for us all." He's speaking, she realizes, of Seymour's late father. "But now a new leader, Lord Seymour, has come before us. Lord Seymour is the child of a Guado and a human. He will be the tie that binds our two races together. But that is not all, I think. Lord Seymour... He will surely become the shining star that lights the way for all the peoples of Spira."
And now Seymour moves, with drifting grace. "That is enough, Tromell," he says, his voice placid and icy. "Must I always endure such praise?"
His eyes meet hers, gleaming in the shadows of his elaborate coif, and she remembers what he said, about bearing the unbearable. How terrible it would be, to fail in the pilgrimage, and still be lauded and beloved, even as you tore yourself apart inside. "Welcome," he says--to her--a thin edge of warmth threading through his seraphic calm.
Her mouth is dry. "You... wanted to see me?"
"Please, make yourself at home. There's no rush." Tromell shuffles off in search of drinks, at a gesture from his master.
"We're tired," Auron says, with his usual bluntness. "And we are in a rush; we don't intend to stay long. The pilgrimage doesn't wait."
"Pardon me," he says, with absolute courtesy. "Only that it has been so long since I had guests. Lady Yuna, if you will step this way?"
She takes a step closer, as he reaches for a sphere ensconced on a plinth. (She feels her Guardians moving behind her, a protective tide, and it's comforting, even if she feels safe here.) When Seymour lays his hand on the sphere, the entire room is transformed; they're floating in vast, meteor-haunted space. The illusion of depth is almost perfect.
"This sphere is a reconstruction created from the thoughts of the dead that wander the farplane." The scene shifts, descending into a city of light and towers. It reminds her, a little, of New York, but the name on her lips is--
"Zanarkand," Tidus says.
"Correct." Seymour sounds, faintly, impressed. "Zanarkand as it looked one thousand years ago. The great and wondrous machina city, Zanarkand. She once lived here."
"She?" The image enters into a tall structure, into a chamber, where a pale woman with white-blonde hair sits on her bed, dressed in a brief white garment. Yuna recognizes her. From the statues. "Lady Yunalesca!"
"Your namesake." Seymour is watching her, his eyes burning with intensity, his outer mien utterly composed.
"It was my father who named me," she says, her voice weak, the words just something to say.
"Lord Braska was entrusting you with a great task. He wanted you to face Sin, as Lady Yunalesca did. However, Lady Yunalesca did not save the world alone. To defeat the undefeatable Sin...it took an unbreakable bond of love -- of the kind that binds two hearts for eternity." It's as if there's no one else in the room, even as another person enters the image, a tall man in golden armor. She takes a step closer to him, even as Zaon approaches Yunalesca; as the daughter of Yevon rises, Seymour closes the distance between them.
He leans towards her, his lips brushing her ear, his hair brushing her cheek. As close as he is, she can see that the unicorns on his bare chest are burned there, not tattoed as she thought; she can see each of the vivid blue veins that stand out in his pale face. "Marry me, Yuna. I will be your Zaon. Let us be made one."
She doesn't know what she was expecting. Not this. Not--like this, right now, out of nowhere, the moment she entered his city.
She takes a step back. She feels giddy, overwhelmed, almost crushed under his reverent regard. Tromell hands her a glass of water; she drains it, without the slightest concern for lady-like behavior. It's so hard to think straight.
"Wow!" It's Rikku, slipping closer, and Yuna lets herself lean against her cousin, subtly. "Your face is beet red!"
"You okay?" Tidus calls.
"He--" She raises her voice, so they can hear. "He asked me to marry me." And he's waiting, his composure unruffled.
Tidus's reaction is unrestrained disbelief; Auron's is brutal realism. "You know what Yuna must do."
"Of course. Lady Yuna -- no, all summoners -- are charged with bringing peace to Spira. But this means more than just defeating Sin. She must ease the suffering of all Spira. She must be a leader for the people. I proposed to Lady Yuna as a maester of Yevon."
Her stomach twists at that. Is it true? Is it better that way? Is it a lie, to placate Auron's sudden protectiveness?
"Spira is not just a stage for your little theaterpiece, Seymour," the grizzled Guardian growls. "A moment's diversion may amuse the people, but it changes nothing."
"And even so, the actors must all play their parts." Seymour sounds--nearly bored, with the Legendary Guardian. And somehow, immeasureably weary. "There's no need to answer now." He speaks now as if of a business transaction, brisk and bright. "Please, think it over."
"Right," Auron barks. "We're leaving." He jerks his head towards the door, but doesn't move. He's going to watch them all leave first, she realizes, with a growing irritation. Ixion's gift, perhaps.
Seymour addresses her--as he should--and not her Guardian. "I await your favorable reply, Lady Yuna." Is it her imagination, or is there still longing, carefully guarded, there?
She waits, a long stubborn moment, before giving in and heading out the door, Auron and Tidus close on her heels. Auron exchanges some barb with Seymour in the doorway, but she's oblivious to it, as she's oblivious to the chatter of conversation among the Guardians around her.
Finally she grabs a tail end of the conversation and inserts herself. Asserts herself.
"Fine time to lay this on us!" Wakka says, sounding dismayed.
"Maybe it is a fine time," she says, trying for Seymour's cold peace. They're all looking at her. "If my getting married would help Spira...if it would make people happy... If I could do that for people...maybe I should do what I can." She wandering, she knows. "I never imagined doing anything like this. But, I won't answer till I know what's right."
"You could always quit your pilgrimage and get married! Have a bunch of kids!" Rikku's voice is bright and brittle with false hope.
"I will go on," she says. On that, there's no question. "Seymour will understand." She wonders if he'll come. She's never heard of a retired summoner being Guardian for another, but--why not? A summoner party uniting all the races of Spira; a high-profile wedding of two famous children of famous heroes. It would be a legend, even if-- "I am a summoner. I will fight and defeat Sin," she snaps, her composure breaking.
"Like Braska before you," Auron says. He sounds proud; she's less pleased about that than she would've been yesterday.
"Tomorrow we go to the Farplane. I'll see my parents there, and then I'll decide. For now, let's just go to the pilgrim's lodge. I'm tired." She doesn't look back, as she descends a ramp towards the lodge, but she feels them behind her once again.
She can feel their uncertainty.
The space inside is city-sized. Claustrophobic, in a homey way, with windows glowing in the marbled surface of the walls. The city center is dominated by arches and ramps; the widest, crowded with pilgrims and Guado alike, leads slightly uphill into a glowing crevice in the perimeter. She can feel the flow of magic through this place, and everything circulates from there. The entrance to the Farplane.
Pilgrims are in and out of Guadosalam, day and night, and most of the Guado take no notice of them. They're an odd-looking people, to Yuna's rustic eyes. Short, bandy-legged, with long arms nearly scraping the ground and big, spatulate hands. Almost claw-like. Their hair is wild and comes in a variety of bright colors, and there's more facial hair than seen anywhere else in Spira.
There's one Guado who does react, an old man, dressed in green livery. Somehow he gives the impression of dustiness, as if he was found in the back of a library. She's seen him before, and when he comes forward to take her hand, she holds up her own to stop Wakka.
"Lady Yuna, if you'll come with me--" he intones, apparently oblivious to two hundred and thirty pounds of blitzer descending on him.
"Whoa whoa whoa!!"
"I beg your pardon." The man--Lord Seymour's servant, she recalls from Luca--blinks at Wakka. "I am called Tromell Guado. I am in the direct service of our leader, the great Seymour Guado. Lord Seymour has very important business with Lady Yuna."
She makes polite sounds as he leads them to the manor; it was hidden behind the arch leading to the Farplane, but as they come around the corner she sees that it dominates this side of the Guado city, with enormous windows of the same color-stained transparent minerals that line the "sky" overhead and allow dappled light to filter into Guadosalam.
"All will be explained within," Tromell promises. "Of course, your friends are also welcome."
The interior is lit by torches, in addition to the odd, doubly-filtered sunlight. As Tromell Guado is explaining the history of Seymour's family, with copious praise of the maester, she sees him, poised in the doorway.
He's nothing like Tidus, she thinks, and it's not fair that both of them can trigger such powerful feelings. It ought to be one or the other. Where Tidus is compact and athletic, Seymour is tall and straight and lean; pale where Tidus is dark, cool where Tidus is bright and warm. Calming, not exciting, but there's an attraction in peace.
And strong. Very strong; the breadth of his shoulders, the heavy, talon-like Guado hands, and most of all the marble serenity of his stern profile.
She's startled back to the world around her by Tromell's voice. "Truly, a loss for us all." He's speaking, she realizes, of Seymour's late father. "But now a new leader, Lord Seymour, has come before us. Lord Seymour is the child of a Guado and a human. He will be the tie that binds our two races together. But that is not all, I think. Lord Seymour... He will surely become the shining star that lights the way for all the peoples of Spira."
And now Seymour moves, with drifting grace. "That is enough, Tromell," he says, his voice placid and icy. "Must I always endure such praise?"
His eyes meet hers, gleaming in the shadows of his elaborate coif, and she remembers what he said, about bearing the unbearable. How terrible it would be, to fail in the pilgrimage, and still be lauded and beloved, even as you tore yourself apart inside. "Welcome," he says--to her--a thin edge of warmth threading through his seraphic calm.
Her mouth is dry. "You... wanted to see me?"
"Please, make yourself at home. There's no rush." Tromell shuffles off in search of drinks, at a gesture from his master.
"We're tired," Auron says, with his usual bluntness. "And we are in a rush; we don't intend to stay long. The pilgrimage doesn't wait."
"Pardon me," he says, with absolute courtesy. "Only that it has been so long since I had guests. Lady Yuna, if you will step this way?"
She takes a step closer, as he reaches for a sphere ensconced on a plinth. (She feels her Guardians moving behind her, a protective tide, and it's comforting, even if she feels safe here.) When Seymour lays his hand on the sphere, the entire room is transformed; they're floating in vast, meteor-haunted space. The illusion of depth is almost perfect.
"This sphere is a reconstruction created from the thoughts of the dead that wander the farplane." The scene shifts, descending into a city of light and towers. It reminds her, a little, of New York, but the name on her lips is--
"Zanarkand," Tidus says.
"Correct." Seymour sounds, faintly, impressed. "Zanarkand as it looked one thousand years ago. The great and wondrous machina city, Zanarkand. She once lived here."
"She?" The image enters into a tall structure, into a chamber, where a pale woman with white-blonde hair sits on her bed, dressed in a brief white garment. Yuna recognizes her. From the statues. "Lady Yunalesca!"
"Your namesake." Seymour is watching her, his eyes burning with intensity, his outer mien utterly composed.
"It was my father who named me," she says, her voice weak, the words just something to say.
"Lord Braska was entrusting you with a great task. He wanted you to face Sin, as Lady Yunalesca did. However, Lady Yunalesca did not save the world alone. To defeat the undefeatable Sin...it took an unbreakable bond of love -- of the kind that binds two hearts for eternity." It's as if there's no one else in the room, even as another person enters the image, a tall man in golden armor. She takes a step closer to him, even as Zaon approaches Yunalesca; as the daughter of Yevon rises, Seymour closes the distance between them.
He leans towards her, his lips brushing her ear, his hair brushing her cheek. As close as he is, she can see that the unicorns on his bare chest are burned there, not tattoed as she thought; she can see each of the vivid blue veins that stand out in his pale face. "Marry me, Yuna. I will be your Zaon. Let us be made one."
She doesn't know what she was expecting. Not this. Not--like this, right now, out of nowhere, the moment she entered his city.
She takes a step back. She feels giddy, overwhelmed, almost crushed under his reverent regard. Tromell hands her a glass of water; she drains it, without the slightest concern for lady-like behavior. It's so hard to think straight.
"Wow!" It's Rikku, slipping closer, and Yuna lets herself lean against her cousin, subtly. "Your face is beet red!"
"You okay?" Tidus calls.
"He--" She raises her voice, so they can hear. "He asked me to marry me." And he's waiting, his composure unruffled.
Tidus's reaction is unrestrained disbelief; Auron's is brutal realism. "You know what Yuna must do."
"Of course. Lady Yuna -- no, all summoners -- are charged with bringing peace to Spira. But this means more than just defeating Sin. She must ease the suffering of all Spira. She must be a leader for the people. I proposed to Lady Yuna as a maester of Yevon."
Her stomach twists at that. Is it true? Is it better that way? Is it a lie, to placate Auron's sudden protectiveness?
"Spira is not just a stage for your little theaterpiece, Seymour," the grizzled Guardian growls. "A moment's diversion may amuse the people, but it changes nothing."
"And even so, the actors must all play their parts." Seymour sounds--nearly bored, with the Legendary Guardian. And somehow, immeasureably weary. "There's no need to answer now." He speaks now as if of a business transaction, brisk and bright. "Please, think it over."
"Right," Auron barks. "We're leaving." He jerks his head towards the door, but doesn't move. He's going to watch them all leave first, she realizes, with a growing irritation. Ixion's gift, perhaps.
Seymour addresses her--as he should--and not her Guardian. "I await your favorable reply, Lady Yuna." Is it her imagination, or is there still longing, carefully guarded, there?
She waits, a long stubborn moment, before giving in and heading out the door, Auron and Tidus close on her heels. Auron exchanges some barb with Seymour in the doorway, but she's oblivious to it, as she's oblivious to the chatter of conversation among the Guardians around her.
Finally she grabs a tail end of the conversation and inserts herself. Asserts herself.
"Fine time to lay this on us!" Wakka says, sounding dismayed.
"Maybe it is a fine time," she says, trying for Seymour's cold peace. They're all looking at her. "If my getting married would help Spira...if it would make people happy... If I could do that for people...maybe I should do what I can." She wandering, she knows. "I never imagined doing anything like this. But, I won't answer till I know what's right."
"You could always quit your pilgrimage and get married! Have a bunch of kids!" Rikku's voice is bright and brittle with false hope.
"I will go on," she says. On that, there's no question. "Seymour will understand." She wonders if he'll come. She's never heard of a retired summoner being Guardian for another, but--why not? A summoner party uniting all the races of Spira; a high-profile wedding of two famous children of famous heroes. It would be a legend, even if-- "I am a summoner. I will fight and defeat Sin," she snaps, her composure breaking.
"Like Braska before you," Auron says. He sounds proud; she's less pleased about that than she would've been yesterday.
"Tomorrow we go to the Farplane. I'll see my parents there, and then I'll decide. For now, let's just go to the pilgrim's lodge. I'm tired." She doesn't look back, as she descends a ramp towards the lodge, but she feels them behind her once again.
She can feel their uncertainty.