"He told himself that the child had a right to know something about the world before renouncing it."

-- Book Three: The House in the Rue Plumet, I: The Secret House

Les Misérables – Victor Hugo

CHAPTER ONE: The Nameday

--

Tidus

--

Everything was utterly still.

His skin barely registered the teasing, cool feel of the water lapping against him; he was barely conscious of the electric jolt of energy that signalled the assembly of the playing field. The only thing he could truly feel was his own heartbeat, thumping ruthlessly inside his chest.

Then he came to his feet, and the crowd erupted.

It was the sound of a thousand untamed teenagers who had spent weeks in wild anticipation, it was the sound of a thousand children attending their first game after a thousand imaginings, the sound of a thousand Spiran men and women, waving and yelling and cheering for family members and friends and just for the thrill of it…

It was the sound of Blitzball, and it was enough to deafen a city.

Tidus could have screamed that he was the King of all Zanarkand, and not a soul would have heard him.

He loved it.

--

Yuna

--

It was a quiet existence.

She hadn't always lived in Besaid, but hard as she tried, she could recall very few memories from her time in Bevelle. And yet, she knew there had been a time in Bevelle, because she could still remember how the city lights used to glow in the evening, the exquisite carving on her mother's grave, and an old woman's kindliness.

Her father never talked of those days. He was a stalwart man, a warrior monk from Bevelle, trained in the art of swordsmanship. She knew he had been the participant of many a battle because he kept a large katana in his hut, and he had scars enough to prove that he had used it, including a long, wicked-looking one that trailed over one side of his face, brow to cheek, rendering his left eye useless. When she was young, she'd been sick with worry that it meant he would one day go blind. But now she was older, and wiser – or atleast she liked to think so - and utterly convinced that her father could still see as sharply as the youngest, healthiest of boys on the Isle.

Though suffice to say, there were few of those. The inhabitants of Besaid were mostly wizened old men and women that had fled to the Isle in their younger days in the hope of escaping Sin's notice, as if that was possible, and perhaps a few middle-aged families with squalling babes and young children. Then there was the Blitzball team, of course, a band of healthy young men nearer her age, but they were oft away touring Spira. Besides, her father seemed to have a certain disdain for Blitzball, though why that was, she could not say.

Whichever way you looked at it, there was no one for Yuna to befriend.

And so, as far as she was concerned, there was no better company on the Isle than Auron. She adored her father. He had finished the education that she had started in Bevelle. When she was little she had been proud and delighted to find her father was a clever, knowledgeable man; he taught her letters, sums, geography. He taught her the history of Spira, of its religion and its players, of the Guado, the Al Bhed and the Ronso. He told her about the various creatures to be found throughout Spira, the good and the bad. He explained to her the role of the Summoners of old and the purpose of their pilgrimage. He taught her what the Eternal Calm meant for Spira, and how it would affect her people. He even taught her a few choice words in Al Bhed, which made her extremely curious as to where he had learned them, but she knew better than to ask.

When they weren't at lessons, he took her for walks along the beach or by the ruins, or sometimes read by the side of the hidden lake while she splashed about in it. Yuna had christened the lake "their secret place" in her youth, even though every inhabitant of Besaid already knew about it. But she remembered it had made her father smile.

When she told her father about her decision to learn the Sending, she thought he would have been angry at her for not consulting him, but he had only nodded solemnly and told her he understood. The next morning, on her daily visit to the temple, old Belgemine was waiting for her, and she discovered that her father himself had recruited the woman to teach her the Sending dance. Even better, by some miracle he had obtained a Summoner's staff for her, a beautiful thing, meticulously carved and painted in regal colours.

It seemed he would stop at nothing to please her, and so she never had cause to complain.

Except for one thing that she could never tell him.

Many travellers passed through Besaid, most of them Yevonites adjusting to Spira's new truths, running off in different directions to join factions here, there and all over the place. Her father called them fools, and said they would only cause more conflict, but sometimes Yuna dreamed about running off and joining them. She thought this quiet life might be the death of her.

Besaid's culture was rich in stories and songs of places far away – infact, aside from Blitzball and fishing, that was the only thing it was rich in. And so there was no shortage of fairytales in Yuna's life. Sometimes when she listened, if she tried very hard, she could lose herself in them, taking the place of the protagonist. She could travel to the far countries in the north, wander the sparkling forest of Macalania, or feel the green grass of the Calm Lands beneath her feet, become lost in the streets of Bevelle once more.

Except… whenever she thought about leaving her father behind like that, it hurt her heart deeply. He was happy here on Besaid, with his books and his privacy and the company of his daughter, even a blind person could see it. She sensed a lot of grief in his past, certainly from his reluctance to talk about it, but mostly from the way his countenance changed when she prompted him.

It was for his sake that she stayed, and tried to be content.

Today was her seventeenth nameday, and for the occasion her father had hired a travelling group of troubadours to sing at her feast. He knew well her fondness for "your stories and your songs", as he called them, and she loved him for knowing. Having troubadours at her feast was a rare treat for the islanders of Besaid, and it made her nameday feel special, like something in her life was about to change. Even though she knew it wouldn't, and come tomorrow she would wake up in the same bed on the same sleepy Isle, and nothing would ever change, forever and ever and ever.

But she wanted to believe it, just for tonight.

The troubadours played songs to make the young boys laugh like 'The Guado and the Butterfly', and songs to make the women weep like 'The Last Kilikan', and by the time the feast plates had been cleared away she had heard three different songs about Lord Braska, the High Summoner who defeated Sin.

To her delight, at one point in the evening they launched into 'Land of Light' - a song about Zanarkand, a metropolis city in the far north of Spira.

It was Yuna's favourite song.

Once, when she was little, she thought that someone, not her father, had described Zanarkand to her. They had told her in Zanarkand, there is a great stadium, all lit up even at night. Great blitzball tournaments are held there, and the stands are always full. But it seemed like so long ago that she thought she might only have dreamed it. And yet, sometimes if Yuna closed her eyes while she listened to the song, she could almost see the lights, almost touch them. Then she would sigh with longing, and it would end.

At some point during the sixth song about Lord Braska, her father must have returned to his hut, because when she turned to speak to him he was gone. She couldn't really blame him. Yuna admired Lord Braska without limit, and like the rest of Spira owed him her eternal gratitude, and more. But six songs was a little excessive, and besides, not one of them mentioned any of his Guardians. For some reason that irritated her a little – no one in Spira seemed to know much about them at all, or even what had happened to them. They were important too.

Eager for a change of tune, she ventured to ask one of the singers, "Do you know any songs about women?"

"Aye, I know 'The Fall of Yunalesca,'" he answered her gruffly. "But I didn't think t'would be appropriate, seeing as I've been told she's your namesake." He grinned, showing his crooked teeth. If she had seen them before he had started singing, she would never have guessed his voice would be so sweet.

"Any others?"

"There is one other." said the singer, "But it's rare sad."

"I don't mind so much. Please, if you would…" Yuna entreated, favouring him with her best smile. "It's my nameday."

The singer looked into her face for a long moment, before breaking into another wide grin. "Well, I never could say 'no' to a pretty face." He put his fingers to his harp, and began.

Halfway through the soft, haunting song, she realised that she had heard it before somewhere, though only once. It was a sad song indeed, that began as a love story between a Guado and a human woman, but ended in tragedy as the woman was cast away by her husband, and was so overcome with grief that she decided to become a Fayth, and abandoned her little boychild.

"He glanced a maiden standing there," chantedthe singer. "With locks o' gold that glittered fair..."

"With locks o' gold that glittered fair!" chimed his fellows in chorus.

All of a sudden she noticed her father had returned, and was sitting cross-legged next to her. Being such a large, powerful presence, his ability to disappear quietly and then return again without notice was unnerving, but Yuna had gotten rather used to it by now. She assumed he must have learnt such things from his days training as a warrior monk.

She wished he would tell her more about those days. He had stories too, she knew, stories that she was sure would be more than worthy of a song. If only he would tell them. His face was set grimly as he listened to the singers.

"Her locks o' gold are turned to stone

And now she wanders the falls alone

Oh, now she wanders the falls alone,"

By the time it had ended, old Belgemine was weeping noisily into her wine.

"But what happened to the child?" Yuna asked, turning to her father.

"That's a sadder story," he replied.

--

Auron

--

Everything he had done, he had done for her happiness.

The quiet, serious little thing he had found at Amanecera's grave that night had grown up to be a delightful, laughing child, and full of energy.

It hadn't taken long for him to love her. By the time they reached the Isle, he happily welcomed her child's butterfly kisses, or her clinging to his leg when something frightened her, or her calling him 'father' in her soft, tiny voice. It filled him with an overwhelming sense of protectiveness, and purpose, which he was glad to regain finally. He didn't even bother to correct the Besaid villagers when they took Auron and Yuna for a father and his daughter.

To his relief, she adapted easily to Besaid's leisurely way of life. What's more, she made it more simple for him to adjust to it, too; she sought him out constantly and would chatter contentedly to him for hours, never caring if he had little to say in the face of her innocent observations. She also gave him something to focus on; her education. He based her lessons on those he had learnt as a boy in Bevelle, though for Yuna's sake, he made them significantly less severe. She was a conscientious student, and he was pleased and proud to see how quickly she learned.

Now, on the cusp of womanhood, she was growing wiser and more beautiful by the moment, but with that wisdom and beauty came a sadness and ever-growing silence that both shocked and worried him. When she was young, she had confided everything in him; from worries to wishes. Now she locked her heart away even from his sight.

There were times he thought it was his punishment, for keeping his own secrets from her. The longer I leave them unsaid, the harder it will be, for us both.

Ten years had gone by, and still the same secrets weighed heavily on his shoulders. He thought Besaid had helped to erase his painful memories, but all it had done was push them to the back of his mind, for a time. Back then, it was easier - he hadn't seen the need to burden a young child with such things. But now…

Now, he had only a selfish justification for concealing his secrets, and that was losing her - the only thing he had left.

But now, he was in danger of losing her in another way. He feared perhaps Besaid was suffocating her – it had been a fine playpen for the growing child, but was not nearly sufficient for the girl turning woman. He was terrified she would one day regret her life on the too-peaceful Isle, and grow to resent him.

However, he would be the first person to admit that taking Yuna into the outside world had a whole alternative set of dangers, including the power to tear them apart.

The thought made him angry. In my prolonged absence from the rest of Spira, have I become afraid of it? Have I become a coward?

He was quite certain he knew the answer.

--

Yuna

--

That night, her father summoned her to his hut. His own dwelling was still more of a comfort than her own. It was filled with musty old books, and various things she had crafted for him as a child using rocks and plants she had found on Besaid. When she was little and too scared to be without him at night, she used to sleep in his hut too. But she had outgrown the little bed he had made for her and when she reached thirteen she began sharing a tent with Belgemine.

"Yuna," he said, and beckoned her to sit. She did so, sensing the seriousness in his voice. "Today was an important day for you. I think you realise now, that you are old enough to decide for yourself what you want to become in the future."

"But I'm a Sender," she said, confused.

"Yes," he said. He reached out and touched her cheek fondly with callused fingers. "You are. And it was very selfless of you to make such a choice. A Sender must carry a lot of grief for others, often complete strangers. But you chose to follow that path so you could help release their pain. I'm so proud of you, Yuna."

Yuna blushed in embarrassment, not really knowing what to say. But at the same time, she could feel tears coming unbidden to her eyes. He's really proud of me, she wanted to rejoice. Her father rarely expressed his sentiments in such a way.

"So," he continued, "this will be your birthday gift from me. You're almost a woman grown now, and it's time for you to follow your own dr

eams. Remember… this is your story. And it may be that you don't want to realize your dreams here on Besaid." He smiled at her affectionately, knowingly. "Infact, I understand that you might want to get outside and see more of the world. Maybe you would like to see more of Spira, and return. Maybe you would like to make your home somewhere else entirely, somewhere more suited to you…"

Yuna realised that she was trembling, but not with fear. She was trembling because she truly couldn't believe what her father was telling her. This is my story, she repeated in her head. All these years she had yearned to leave, debating but never daring to ask her father… and now he was freely offering her the choice. She could hardly let herself believe it.

"Yuna, this is what I am saying. If you want to leave Besaid, then we will leave Besaid. Together."

Seeing that he had rendered her quite speechless, her father added gently, "You don't have to give me an immediate decision. You can think on this as long and hard as you want to."

"I… I can choose anywhere?" she said disbelievingly. "Anywhere in the whole of Spira?"

"Name it."

Of course, when it came to it, Yuna didn't have to think long and hard at all.

--

AUTHOR'S NOTES

--

Yes, it was more background. I'm sorry. The background stops now! Because, in the next chapter… Tidus. And. Yuna. Will… finally meet! Next chapter should be up soon because it's practically finished. And yes, the 'Zanarkand' in this story will be the Zanarkand of old.