Desires of a Martyr

The elders liked to ask Yuna if she remembered her mother. Do you catch glimpses of her shadow at a particular scent, they'd ask. Do you still hear her voice on the air as you rise from dreams in the morning?

She didn't like lying to the elders, but she couldn't disappoint them either. But despite what Yuna told them, she had no memory of her mother, no blurry images of a smiling face or warm arms around her neck. What she knew of her father's wife came from what everyone had told her, which was to say nothing.

No one wanted to talk about the Al Bhed woman who tempted the pious Summoner away from home; even those closest to Yuna and her family wouldn't say a word.

No one would, except Lulu.

Lulu didn't ever seem to be afraid to say anything. If the elders disapproved and started upon tirades of ancient and long-held beliefs, Lulu would listen and nod respectfully and then go on doing whatever it was they disapproved of in the first place. Amongst the little village of Besaid, she stood out, and when others tried to tear her down for it, she refused to let them.

Yuna admired everything about Lulu, but in particular the strength of will which made her stand out more so than her stark gothic attire. That she dressed and spoke and looked how she wanted, and never let fear or disapproval change her mind. Yuna wanted that.

Desperately she desired to be able to lift her head and look into a person's eyes, to disagree and not tremble in her boots, to raise her voice and not be punished for the raising. But whenever she tried to speak, it was as if her lungs stopped taking in air. Whenever she tried lifting her eyes, gravity lugged them back to the ground.

In those moments where Yuna faltered, Lulu always seemed to appear. When other children started asking her about her eyes and she trembled and quaked beneath their questions, Lulu would come striding out of the forest like a mage from legend, all cool distance and half-lidded eyes, intimidating without an effort. With a few sharp words off her velvet tongue she'd send the bullies running, leaving Yuna sweaty and shaking with wide eyes transfixed upon the savior before her.

She wanted to be Lulu, for the longest time. Somewhere along the line, where exactly she could not say, that desire changed; or, perhaps more accurately, it shifted. Though her drive to be as respected and intelligent and collected as Lulu never wavered, it somehow also became an attraction to those same features.

Yuna would take whatever time she could to sit with the older woman when she was young. Sometimes it would be to hear stories about her father; sometimes her mother. They'd sit in her home at the foot of the temple, torch light barely illuminating nighttime's darkest hours, the elder running a brush through Yuna's unkempt hair.

"Soon you'll have to do this yourself," The woman chided, when the girl was just shy of fourteen. "Summoners can't have knots and bits of the forest stuck in their hair from playing all day." She said it warmly; a soft edge of smug humor softening the blow, but it still fell sharply against Yuna's adolescent chest, which was always so easy to bruise.

The tone Lulu used was the tone of a beloved elder, speaking to a child. A scowl came over Yuna's face and she pouted, all the while ignoring what it said that her response to being considered young was to act childishly in reply.

Years passed; the brushing of her hair became a daily ritual, when Yuna was old enough to be taught how to care for it herself, when she was mature enough to be given the beads to place upon her ears, and the robes to wear along her blossoming form. Where long gangly limbs and a thin, bony torso had been, were now full thighs and a bosom enough to fill out the soft white cloth the temple gave her.

So she was older, and wiser, and sworn to an order older than herself, and still her eyes lingered over black leather and grey fur, a rarely-given smile of lilac lips.

It was not to be something to grow out of, apparently. Teenage crushes were one thing; but a Summoner could ill afford romantic dalliances, let alone with one of their guardians.

Well, she was not quite a summoner (yet), which made Lulu not quite a guardian – there was still some time left for bittersweet pining without the sting of knowing with definite certainty it was not to be.

Life went on, in Besaid.

Yuna continued her training. During day's hours, when the sun was brightest, she could be found nose-deep in a dusty text, accompanied by scholars who knew the words much better than she, but who would never put them to the test. Then, as day's hours waned, she was given her staff and made to practice spells of healing and defense, summoning rituals, and the Sending on more grueling days. For many hours she'd swing it round, this thing which weighed more than she had when first she'd gripped it.

But by sixteen she could rule it, twist it with a minute movement of her smallest finger, she could determine its trajectory with the feel of it in her hands. The dances and spells were becoming routine, the exhaustive exercise a more relaxing adventure. Yuna liked these hours best, for though they wore her to the bone, it was then that she could be outside of the temple, taking in the salty air and ocean breeze before the sun began to set.

It was also when Lulu would often appear.

Though sometimes it would be Wakka, instead, to bring her a midday meal; and though Yuna truly loved him and would not disparage his actions in her name, she could not help a slight stab of remorse each time she realized, by the tuff of orange hair rising over the hill, that it was not Lulu coming to join her.

Lunches with Lulu were fantastic. There was never much said, for the elder was reserved and the younger shy, but what was said repeated itself in Yuna's mind for days afterward, treasured like precious gems inside her mind. What Lulu said was gospel to the young Summoner; she seemed the most wise person in the world, more than the elders who only preached what they'd been told when they'd still been young, or the temple guardians who never left the aging walls of their aging home.

"Do you think I can do it?" The question had leapt from her lips one day, unbidden, and brought a blush to Yuna's cheeks as soon as it was free. Lulu glanced up from her meal, finishing what was in her mouth before muttering a word.

"That I never doubted." She replied. "But whether you should is a different matter."

The response managed to be what she wanted to hear, and what she was afraid of as well, and left the young would-be summoner more unsettled than ever with the choice she'd made and was unsure of whether or not it should be regretted.

While it was an honor, it was also true that Summoning had taken a great deal from Yuna, daughter of Braska. Her father was not all the honored tradition had forced her to lose.

Once she began to wear the white sash with the pleated blue skirt decorated with so many lovely flowers by volunteers who'd been honored to design a suitable set of robes for the new Summoner, the people of the village changed.

Those who had been unkind to her suddenly lowered their eyes and let her pass before them. People who had smiled and waved her way now bowed and called her by honored titles. Children her age looked upon her with awe and went the other way; her elders gave her recognition, special seating at great celebrations, and the best of what was offered in the village by way of living.

She was no longer Yuna. She was "The Summoner".

Yuna had known all along there would be a price; but the reality of her new, isolated existence made the transition even harder. Standing in the temple looking down upon her finery, made by the hands of people whose very lives could be in her hands, whose futures depended on her, hands which sweated and bled and worked to the bone to earn the money and take the time to make such a splendid thing, she wondered, who was she to wear it?

It was during this time, when her studies increased so drastically and her loneliness grew, that Wakka and (especially) Lulu became so dear to her, for they were the only ones to still call her "Yuna".

Not "Summoner", not "Lady", just… Yuna.

Even as she grew older, she still asked about her mother.

Did my father talk about her, she'd ask. Were they happy? Did she love me?

To these questions, Wakka would flush and laugh, run a hand through his hair and look away. The elders never seemed to hear these questions, if she dared ask them.

The few times I had the honor of meeting your father, she was all he would talk of, Lulu answered. I think they were as happy as most couples can be. She loved you, I am sure, and would be proud of you today.

To anyone else, it must've seemed that Lulu had become the mother Yuna had never had, but she did not see it that way. Lulu did not tuck her into her bed at night, did not scold her for playing rough or soaking her clothes in the ocean.

Lulu made her laugh, stood up for her when she could not do so for herself, made her think about her choices but never tried to change them. Yes, Yuna learned a great deal from Lulu; but she never saw in the woman anything resembling her mother. Her mother was a ghost other people told her about. Lulu was a friend, a guardian, a dream to clutch breathlessly at night. None of those things were motherly.

But most of all what made their relationship anything but familial in any sense was that desire Yuna couldn't seem to shake.

It only grew worse as they both grew older. What had been childish admiration and a youthful crush, became a smoldering passion unrealized, all the more intense that it was felt by one so new to the feeling, so unused to that rush in her veins.

At night though she feared to do so she could not resist toying with this new feeling, exploring new horizons no one had ever taught her. No priest, no elder, certainly not Wakka or Lulu had ever told her how it would feel to twist in the bed sheets, warmth erupting through the pores and setting skin on fire, sweat soaking her hair, fingers trembling as they explored as-yet-unknown folds and creases of skin.

Perhaps this was something a mother told their daughter about.

Yuna was left to discover for herself how she gasped hoarsely at the thought of Lulu's lithe fingers touching her between her thighs; to realize how it might tingle when fingernails ran over the curve of her behind, and what heights doing so and picturing Lulu might bring her to.

The barrier between her room and the outside was so thin, their homes so close together. Yuna took to biting her pillow when silence was impossible to keep.

When she began her pilgrimage, she tried to leave that all behind.

She was truly a Summoner now, someone whose life was lived in service to Yevon and Spira, who could not afford to be distracted by midnight imaginings. Lulu was her guardian, and her friend, and asking anything more was dangerous and selfish. Even if it were not completely unlikely, it would only lead to pain in the end.

She tried not to think of that, the end. That if she succeeded she would die without ever feeling anyone's touch besides her own, let alone Lulu's. That she would go to the Farplane having never spent a night in someone else's bed, die without having held someone dearly through the night… pass on without a love to call her own.

Traveling, during the day, Yuna did not allow herself these thoughts. At night, they came regardless, and the young mage was forced to practice crying herself silently to sleep.

All the training in Spira could not prepare her for the reality of her first Sending.

On Besaid, performing the moves with precision before the priests, to be commended or corrected with objective concern, the Sending had been merely another exercise. The meaning of it had never fully penetrated her mind but for those rare times the thought occurred, that if she ever did perform it in her work the reasons for its use would be dire. But those thoughts passed quickly.

It is at her first Sending that Yuna smells death for the first time; the acrid stench of blood drying upon shards of wood, added to the salty air of the ocean that so many bloated bodies rested in. It had taken hours for the corpses to be gathered and prepared for Sending, all the while with Yuna waiting in the background, those nasty smells rotting beneath her nose.

Crying children and husbands and wives, the cries of the wounded and the soon-to-die, the panic of families who had lost everything; the sense in the air that life was over, life as it had been, all of it became overwhelming. Yuna occupied herself with healing, darting amongst crowds who ran back and forth looking for loved ones, clearing up debris, hauling bodies out of the mess as family nearby succumbed to tears.

What horrific chaos. What absolute misery. Even before she'd started one move of the dance, Yuna felt her heart ripped to shreds, her strength faltering as one, then another, failed to be saved by her healing. Spells she'd only ever used in a grassy field upon trees and rocks were tried for the first time upon people with stumps for limbs, blood and sweat drenching their clothes, pieces of the docks piercing their skin and bile rose to her throat every time her trembling hands reached out to touch them. She should not be disgusted by her duty, she should not be – the first time someone died, Yuna threw up into the sea.

Then came the dance itself, performed from memory in front of a crowd of the mourning, performed for its true purpose for the first time. Yuna could hardly feel nervousness, though some nerves did dry her throat; her heart was too preoccupied with suffering. Before she'd even spun her staff through the first arc tears were pouring down her face, and they only grew worse the longer it went on.

When it finally ended, Yuna let her shoulders slump under the weight of the staff and the burden of her heart; unthinking, her concentration faltered and the spell ended. She sunk into the water like a stone, robes billowing out as a halo around her, rising up her waist, her neck, and still higher. She fell under, sputtering with surprise, - and her eyes open. Salt stung them, but there beneath the waves she saw the pyreflies, the caskets floating away, and the dead she'd sent upon their journey.

It seemed, for a moment, as if she'd heard their voices. Don't weep for us, they said. Don't cry for us. We're at rest now, and we'll see you again soon.

She struggled to the shore herself, to the crowd of guardians who appeared to be seconds from jumping in and pulling her ashore. Multiple voices inquired for her, but she shook her head, raised a hand to hold them off, dripping water everywhere.

Lulu was at the center of the crowd, hands half uplifted as if to embrace her; with a cry, Yuna fell willingly into that embrace, and Lulu's arms came fully around her back.

The guardian spoke into her ear, commended her. "But no tears next time," said that smug, gentle voice, that knowing voice, the same one which had spoken to her of adulthood and hair brushing years before.

Am I still a child to you? Yuna wondered in the darkest recesses of her mind, where propriety was a passing concern. Even after today?

They passed from temple to temple, down long roads and across vast stretches of water. People from villages across Spira kept a respectful distance from Yuna, called her 'lady' and begged her blessings, and all the respect and kindness only served to remind her of how alone she was and would always be, until she died.

Lulu remained the same as ever; distant, but she was that way with everyone, and Yuna did not feel quite so alone with her. The older mage still called her Yuna, still looked at her with that fond exasperation which wrinkled the skin around her eyes. They ate meals together, though often it was with six other people gathered round the same campfire.

Tidus and Wakka would speak wildly and tell outrageous stories, with Auron or Lulu chiming in as the voices of reasons to tone down the exaggerations. Kimarhi, if he paid attention, said nothing; and though Yuna certainly listened she rarely spoke either. She still wasn't the type to be brave enough to speak up and say her mind, or at least, not so often as she would have hoped, two years ago when she'd dreamed of growing up to be brave.

The older she got, the more likely it seemed that dreams were something other people had. Dreams were for those without the duty which hung over Yuna's head, a constant cloud blotting out the sun, a reminder every day that the closer she came to achieving her goal, the closer she came to…

So, she stopped dreaming. She stopped imagining what it might be like to grow to be a stronger person, since it was unlikely she'd be alive long enough for it to matter; and she stopped pretending that one day Lulu might notice her as an adult, as an equal, as someone to be desired, because that wasn't likely to matter, either.

"Yuna?"

The curtain of thoughts parted, and Yuna lifted her eyes. A blush came to her voice and she gave a slight gasp as she stood, straightening out her hair.

"Oh – I'm sorry!" She wrung her hands together; eyes darting about as the very focus of her daydreams came striding into her room. "Is it time to leave?"

Lulu entered the suite the motel had given her, an overly plush room compared to the rooms down the hall that the guardians had been given. Yuna's blushed intensified.

"Not yet." Lulu replied evenly. She sauntered into the room, eyes drifting over the ornate candle holders built into the walls, the cushy mountain of pillows against the large window overlooking the world outside.

"I see." Yuna muttered quietly, fidgeting as Lulu stepped further in. "Am I… needed somewhere?" Perhaps someone had been injured? Or travelers had asked to speak to the Summoner?

"Relax, Yuna." Lulu smirked as she turned to face the younger woman. "I am not here to drag you away. Tidus told me that your rooms were far and above ours, and I thought I might investigate."

Somehow, that didn't seem like Lulu, but Yuna let it slide. "I'm, ah, sure he didn't just 'tell' you."

Lulu laughed at that, and the warmth in it sparked a fire in Yuna's chest. "No, he didn't. He was quite upset about it."

Yuna began to chuckle but faltered, as if afraid her laughter might not be appropriate. "I bet."

"Do you see me as a child?"

Something about Lulu seemed to always loosen Yuna's tongue; the question was said before she realized she meant to say it, and though embarrassment made wooziness take over her head she could not regret asking.

Lulu's brow furrowed slightly, her crimson eyes narrowing. "No." The way she said it was so matter of fact, it was impossible to disagree; though all Yuna's experience said otherwise. "To be honest… I regret that you were not allowed to be a child longer."

That surprised her; she could not keep her eyebrows from lifting. Lulu smiled at the look, bemused. "But… you always…" How could she say what she meant to say without insult, without being obvious about the secrets she kept close to herself?

"If I treat you as a child, it is because I am your guardian; and in many ways the relationship between guardian and summoner is like that of a parent and a child." Slowly, Lulu approached Yuna, taking predictable, even steps, as if the younger woman might bolt like a frightened animal should she move too soon. "But you are far too mature to be considered a child anymore… more mature than I was at your age." She stopped just ahead of Yuna.

"I'm sorry, it's only…" A half-hearted laugh interrupted her words. "It seems everyone thinks of me as being very young. But, what I am doing… I don't feel young at all."

A hand came up to card through her hair, nails scraping lightly against her scalp. "The people expect a pious young girl to revere – the Maesters, a dutiful young woman to command." Lulu said. "That leaves no time to just be Yuna, does it?"

More laughter; somber, and shy. "No… it doesn't."

The comforting hand kept moving, tracing over her neck or across her cheek as it ran through her hair. Yuna desperately hope Lulu could not tell, from how close they were, how her mouth dried at the touch, her pulse steadily increasing.

"Yuna…" Lulu's resonant voice shocked Yuna out of her timid thoughts, eyes jumping to meet her gaze. "You can always be yourself with me… you know that?"

She began to nod. "Of course, I –"

The hand in her hair tightened slightly; her head movement aborted, breath caught in her throat. "I mean to say, you don't have to hide anything from me." Her brilliant eyes seemed to reach into her thundering heart and tear the secrets out.

"I…" Yuna's eyes darted to the plush lips just inches from her – then widened in panic as she realized her reveal. She looked back up and saw smugness radiating from the red gaze. "I –"

Lips met hers for the first time, and heat exploded upon her face, her gasp swallowed by flesh. The hand in her hair remained, the other coming to her upper back, caressing the skin revealed there. Yuna's own hands floundered in the air, unsure, fingers clenching instinctively as her mouth, opened by her shocked gasp, was plundered mercilessly.

The fire that took over her trembling form was hotter than summoning Ifrit into battle, more burning than the flame which took over her staff when using fire spells. But it was good; it cleansed all the fear and nervousness and regret, burned them away, leaving only a trembling mass of limbs.

They parted briefly, lips still touching as they both sucked in air. "You – you knew!" Affronted and embarrassed, Yuna made to pull away, but Lulu held her tightly to her; she faltered, hands instinctively going to catch her and gripping the ample breasts just in front of her. Horrified, she made to pull away, but the hand in her hair moved to cover her palm, and press it down upon the mound of flesh.

"There's nothing to be ashamed of, Yuna." Lulu murmured as her lips descended to the younger's neck, and she could not help but moan.

"But –" Between sharp, hitch groans and gasps, she spoke. "Am – Am I allowed – this?"

Lulu briefly leaned away. "I suppose even martyrs are allowed desires, behind closed doors." Their eyes met – and then their lips were drawn together again. Yuna squeezed the breast in her hand and earned a heady groan in reply.

They left the motel an hour later. Lulu and Yuna descended to the first floor together, bags collected, and found their group impatiently waiting for them.

"What took so long?" Tidus mumbled, arms crossed, a petulant pout on his face. "We've been waiting forever!"

"If 'forever' is fifteen minutes." Auron corrected dryly. The boy harrumphed as he took Lulu's luggage from her, and moved towards the door.

Yuna couldn't help the blush that came over her face. She had delayed the mission – Spira's only hope! – to indulge in passions she had no right having. Oh, what had she done? When had she become so selfish? What would the priests back home think? Or, heavens, Yevon himself?

A hand came over hers, rough and calloused, and Yuna squeaked and jumped in surprise. Auron lifted an eyebrow, amusement clear on his face. Realizing he meant to take the suitcase in her hand, she snatched her hand away from it, apologizing profusely.

"Ignore him." Auron interrupted her, nodding towards the door where Tidus had gone. "We'll wait for as long as you need, Yuna." His one eye met hers knowingly. "But you may want to… clean up, afterwards."

Confused, Yuna watched him go with perplexed eyes, before she gasped and raised a hand to her face, understanding dawning. Her gaze snapped to Lulu, who looked mighty pleased with herself and in no way guilty for what she'd allowed to happen. Yuna put a slight frown on her face, but could not truly mime the displeasure she thought she should feel, but did not.

Her lips were tinged lilac, and after a moment's hesitation, she decided to leave them that way.