Final Fantasy - All Series Fan Fiction ❯ Sometimes ❯ Sometimes ( Chapter 1 )
[ T - Teen: Not suitable for readers under 13 ]
By: Bedlam14 
Fear not, this is not an angsty emo "I hate my life" Yuna. This is "I must do something with my life" Yuna.
Non Anime: Final Fantasy - All Series Fan Fiction | Genre(s): Angst / Romance / Adventure | Type: Continuation | Uploaded On: 07.24.2006 | Pages: 1 | Words: 1.8K | Visits: 467 | Status: Completed
Fear not, this is not an angsty emo "I hate my life" Yuna. This is "I must do something with my life" Yuna.
Non Anime: Final Fantasy - All Series Fan Fiction | Genre(s): Angst / Romance / Adventure | Type: Continuation | Uploaded On: 07.24.2006 | Pages: 1 | Words: 1.8K | Visits: 467 | Status: Completed
Sometimes- she hated herself for it- she forgot what his face looked like. She would try so hard, remember the slant of his narrow, cat-sharp eyes, but then she would remember the way they glinted in the light of the Killica Temple and she would loose it. She always thought of how he looked right as she was coming out of the chambers of the fayth. It was when she wanted him most, needed his strong arms around her. But those strong arms had blown away like the wind, in the wind. She was alone now. She had to be strong. She had to remember. Never forget.
The Al Bhed had come up with an amazing new thing, it took little portraits of people. She wanted one of him so badly it hurt.
Sometimes- she hated herself for this, too- she hated Rikku. Hated, hated, hated. Hated how kind she was to her, how sisterly, how fun, how happy, how bright- how yellow. Rikku was Al Bhed through and through, from the oil that got in her braids sometimes to the feet that had curved callouses from walking on sand barefoot. She belonged. She had her brother, her father, her people.
Yuna had nobody. No, she would remind herself, she had Rikku and Paine and Lulu and Wakka and Kimahri and- was that all? Rikku had her Al Bhed responsibilities, Paine her friends in the Crimson Squad. Lulu and Wakka had each other, and Kimahri had his people. But. She would see the way people would look at her eyes, mismatched, like a goddess people said when they knew she could hear, like a half-breed people said when they thought she couldn’t. Only her status as High Summoner and Daughter of Lord Braska kept her from being just another street girl who farmed and dreamt of being a beautiful, glorious summoner- now sphere hunter, she forgot sometimes that it had changed.
She felt alone even when she shouldn’t have. She missed the way Auron would look at her and see her father. She missed Rikku’s embarrassed requests for feminine travel things when they had been away from a town too long. She even missed Lulu’s beautiful smile when she laughed at both Rikku and Yuna needing travel things. (That was the thing about being a black mage- you never ran out of pocket space, just things to put in them.)
It was the strange things she missed, not the glory of parades and concerts and peace. Little things, like he and Rikku conspiring that one time to steal Auron’s coat for a flag. The time Kimahri told him about the first time she got a scar. The time Lulu lost Wakka’s favorite blitzball in her magespace. Somehow, Yuna felt, these were the most important things to her.
Yuna could remember the dances, still felt the energies contained in the memories of them humming faintly deep inside. It was as though they were currents, waiting to be unleashed, waiting to pull and guide the dead, Spira’s dead, on to the path of the Farplane.
Yuna had thought that everyone could feel the lament and guidance in those dances. She thought that they gave comfort to those left behind, not because the dead moved on, but because the steps themselves radiated surety and strength.
But when Yuna danced on the water of the Moonflow late one night, Rikku gave her such an odd look, as if she were in pain. Later, she pulled Yuna aside and told her she didn’t have to dance anymore, they were the Gullwings, spherehunters, it was all over now and okay, and anyways, the Fayth were- but here Yuna turned away and claimed that she was tired.
She knew Rikku was trying to be kind, to protect her. What Rikku didn’t understand was that the power for those dances came from the dead, from the steps, from the dancer. They were a song to those who could not hear, a leading touch for those who no longer had form. From then on Yuna danced silently, quietly, when nobody was around. There were still pyreflies, and they still needed to be sent. That was something the people seemed to have forgotten, in all the rush of progress and hope: the dead still needed caring for.
She danced one night in Bevelle, on a pond, because just that day there had been a terrible accident, of the type becoming more and more common with the expansion of the cities. So many bodies lay just beyond the wall of the temple that the grave diggers had gone home for the night, to rest. Baralai offered to change her rooms, which looked over the wall that had fallen. Yuna had refused, thanking him. She said that the wall did not bother her, that the monks and nuns had more important things to do right now than help her move. Perhaps later, though...? He had agreed, readily.
She had actually said no so she could dance for the dead. The pyreflies were everywhere when she reached the site, through her room’s garden and out a hedge. They were so thick in the air that they alighted on her summoner’s staff for want of a place to be.
Her staff had been filched secretly from her white mage dressphere some time earlier. The smooth wood handle was cold under her hand in the full light of the moon. This was a real summoner’s staff, unlike what she had placed back in her dressphere. Nowadays they were made of normal woods and strong metals, but the old ones hummed in a true summoner’s hand from all their magic. The staffs were made in Macalania wood a long time ago, and there was a finite number of them. The hum came from the energies contained within them, like the hum of the dances inside the summoners. If one knew how to cast the spell, the staffs would even supply white magical power to a black mage summoner or vice versa.
So now Yuna danced, spinning and luring and drawing and calling. Her staff was heavy in her hands, and she could feel a blister springing up because she had not practiced steadily in a while. The steps she took drew out signs of blessing and health for those who watched her dance, as any summoner knew. But there were no more summoners, and there were no more dances for the dead. Just Yuna, spinning quietly and singing the Hymn of the Fayth as she moved. She was still in good shape, so the song came out strongly, with no weaknesses or warbles. It was essential to dance and sing perfectly, she remembered her teachers saying, or else the dead will become confused.
The spray of the water as it came to life, summoned by the sweeps of her staff, was cooling. She had just finished the water call, so next would be the actual act of Sending. All around her she could see the mangled bodies of the dead, the debris of the wall that had fallen, the shards of the main walkway that had been crushed. The smell of dead bodies was driven away by the water, but even so Yuna could taste it in the air. It was heavy with death.
She cast those thoughts aside and danced, turning her eyes from minute crushed hands and bloody splatters under the stones. Sin had not done this, yet it was worse than much of what she had seen before.
At least, she murmured to the pyreflies as they swarmed around her, at least he is not under there. At least he is at peace.
When she stopped dancing, the water let her down gently. Yuna’s vision was bright and spotted- all she could think of were pyreflies, and all she had seen for a long while were pyreflies. Her eyes adjusted slowly, and when they did she saw Nooj standing there, watching her.
Immediately she colored. It wouldn’t even have been as bad if it were Gippal, but the leader of the Youth League had seen her dancing...
“I apologize if I disturbed you, Nooj.” He was silent for a bit, watching the few remaining pyreflies flit off to follow their mothers and brothers and friends. Just when Yuna was beginning to feel uncomfortable- was he very angry?- he spoke.
“The dead still do need tending.” Yuna nodded earnestly, moving closer to him now that she could see his expression. It was resigned, stern. A Nooj expression.
“They do. It worries me, that the old dances aren’t taught anymore.” A ghost of something- a twist of the lips at most- flitted across Nooj’s expression.
“It worries me that the High Summoner must dance in the darkness, with none to wish their dead good journeys.” Yuna fingered her staff. She hadn’t really thought about that, because it made her eyes fill with tears at the thought of never saying ‘good journey’ to her dead.
“I...” Nooj looked at her a little sideways as she spoke. “I am sorry if I disturbed you.”
“That’s fine.” He turned away and looked at the pond when he noticed the tears in her eyes. “After all, according to legends, a watcher is supposed to gain luck and health.” Before Yuna could smile at him with that child-sweet expression, Nooj continued, “Of course, that’s from a legend spread by Yevon. Simply more propaganda, no doubt.” Yuna smiled at him anyways.
“What are you doing out here, Nooj?” He tossed a look towards the temple behind them.
“Walking. My leg pained me a little, and walking eases any aches I may get.” Yuna cast a look down at his leg, shining metallic in the moon.
“I could cast a Regen spell, if you wished.” Yuna was so very good, Nooj mused, that she might even have offered to heal him if he had scorned her dance. Although, he reminded himself, she might not have. It was hard to tell, with the High Summoner.
The Al Bhed had come up with an amazing new thing, it took little portraits of people. She wanted one of him so badly it hurt.
Sometimes- she hated herself for this, too- she hated Rikku. Hated, hated, hated. Hated how kind she was to her, how sisterly, how fun, how happy, how bright- how yellow. Rikku was Al Bhed through and through, from the oil that got in her braids sometimes to the feet that had curved callouses from walking on sand barefoot. She belonged. She had her brother, her father, her people.
Yuna had nobody. No, she would remind herself, she had Rikku and Paine and Lulu and Wakka and Kimahri and- was that all? Rikku had her Al Bhed responsibilities, Paine her friends in the Crimson Squad. Lulu and Wakka had each other, and Kimahri had his people. But. She would see the way people would look at her eyes, mismatched, like a goddess people said when they knew she could hear, like a half-breed people said when they thought she couldn’t. Only her status as High Summoner and Daughter of Lord Braska kept her from being just another street girl who farmed and dreamt of being a beautiful, glorious summoner- now sphere hunter, she forgot sometimes that it had changed.
She felt alone even when she shouldn’t have. She missed the way Auron would look at her and see her father. She missed Rikku’s embarrassed requests for feminine travel things when they had been away from a town too long. She even missed Lulu’s beautiful smile when she laughed at both Rikku and Yuna needing travel things. (That was the thing about being a black mage- you never ran out of pocket space, just things to put in them.)
It was the strange things she missed, not the glory of parades and concerts and peace. Little things, like he and Rikku conspiring that one time to steal Auron’s coat for a flag. The time Kimahri told him about the first time she got a scar. The time Lulu lost Wakka’s favorite blitzball in her magespace. Somehow, Yuna felt, these were the most important things to her.
Yuna could remember the dances, still felt the energies contained in the memories of them humming faintly deep inside. It was as though they were currents, waiting to be unleashed, waiting to pull and guide the dead, Spira’s dead, on to the path of the Farplane.
Yuna had thought that everyone could feel the lament and guidance in those dances. She thought that they gave comfort to those left behind, not because the dead moved on, but because the steps themselves radiated surety and strength.
But when Yuna danced on the water of the Moonflow late one night, Rikku gave her such an odd look, as if she were in pain. Later, she pulled Yuna aside and told her she didn’t have to dance anymore, they were the Gullwings, spherehunters, it was all over now and okay, and anyways, the Fayth were- but here Yuna turned away and claimed that she was tired.
She knew Rikku was trying to be kind, to protect her. What Rikku didn’t understand was that the power for those dances came from the dead, from the steps, from the dancer. They were a song to those who could not hear, a leading touch for those who no longer had form. From then on Yuna danced silently, quietly, when nobody was around. There were still pyreflies, and they still needed to be sent. That was something the people seemed to have forgotten, in all the rush of progress and hope: the dead still needed caring for.
She danced one night in Bevelle, on a pond, because just that day there had been a terrible accident, of the type becoming more and more common with the expansion of the cities. So many bodies lay just beyond the wall of the temple that the grave diggers had gone home for the night, to rest. Baralai offered to change her rooms, which looked over the wall that had fallen. Yuna had refused, thanking him. She said that the wall did not bother her, that the monks and nuns had more important things to do right now than help her move. Perhaps later, though...? He had agreed, readily.
She had actually said no so she could dance for the dead. The pyreflies were everywhere when she reached the site, through her room’s garden and out a hedge. They were so thick in the air that they alighted on her summoner’s staff for want of a place to be.
Her staff had been filched secretly from her white mage dressphere some time earlier. The smooth wood handle was cold under her hand in the full light of the moon. This was a real summoner’s staff, unlike what she had placed back in her dressphere. Nowadays they were made of normal woods and strong metals, but the old ones hummed in a true summoner’s hand from all their magic. The staffs were made in Macalania wood a long time ago, and there was a finite number of them. The hum came from the energies contained within them, like the hum of the dances inside the summoners. If one knew how to cast the spell, the staffs would even supply white magical power to a black mage summoner or vice versa.
So now Yuna danced, spinning and luring and drawing and calling. Her staff was heavy in her hands, and she could feel a blister springing up because she had not practiced steadily in a while. The steps she took drew out signs of blessing and health for those who watched her dance, as any summoner knew. But there were no more summoners, and there were no more dances for the dead. Just Yuna, spinning quietly and singing the Hymn of the Fayth as she moved. She was still in good shape, so the song came out strongly, with no weaknesses or warbles. It was essential to dance and sing perfectly, she remembered her teachers saying, or else the dead will become confused.
The spray of the water as it came to life, summoned by the sweeps of her staff, was cooling. She had just finished the water call, so next would be the actual act of Sending. All around her she could see the mangled bodies of the dead, the debris of the wall that had fallen, the shards of the main walkway that had been crushed. The smell of dead bodies was driven away by the water, but even so Yuna could taste it in the air. It was heavy with death.
She cast those thoughts aside and danced, turning her eyes from minute crushed hands and bloody splatters under the stones. Sin had not done this, yet it was worse than much of what she had seen before.
At least, she murmured to the pyreflies as they swarmed around her, at least he is not under there. At least he is at peace.
When she stopped dancing, the water let her down gently. Yuna’s vision was bright and spotted- all she could think of were pyreflies, and all she had seen for a long while were pyreflies. Her eyes adjusted slowly, and when they did she saw Nooj standing there, watching her.
Immediately she colored. It wouldn’t even have been as bad if it were Gippal, but the leader of the Youth League had seen her dancing...
“I apologize if I disturbed you, Nooj.” He was silent for a bit, watching the few remaining pyreflies flit off to follow their mothers and brothers and friends. Just when Yuna was beginning to feel uncomfortable- was he very angry?- he spoke.
“The dead still do need tending.” Yuna nodded earnestly, moving closer to him now that she could see his expression. It was resigned, stern. A Nooj expression.
“They do. It worries me, that the old dances aren’t taught anymore.” A ghost of something- a twist of the lips at most- flitted across Nooj’s expression.
“It worries me that the High Summoner must dance in the darkness, with none to wish their dead good journeys.” Yuna fingered her staff. She hadn’t really thought about that, because it made her eyes fill with tears at the thought of never saying ‘good journey’ to her dead.
“I...” Nooj looked at her a little sideways as she spoke. “I am sorry if I disturbed you.”
“That’s fine.” He turned away and looked at the pond when he noticed the tears in her eyes. “After all, according to legends, a watcher is supposed to gain luck and health.” Before Yuna could smile at him with that child-sweet expression, Nooj continued, “Of course, that’s from a legend spread by Yevon. Simply more propaganda, no doubt.” Yuna smiled at him anyways.
“What are you doing out here, Nooj?” He tossed a look towards the temple behind them.
“Walking. My leg pained me a little, and walking eases any aches I may get.” Yuna cast a look down at his leg, shining metallic in the moon.
“I could cast a Regen spell, if you wished.” Yuna was so very good, Nooj mused, that she might even have offered to heal him if he had scorned her dance. Although, he reminded himself, she might not have. It was hard to tell, with the High Summoner.