"Thus these two beings, so exclusively and touchingly devoted, who had lived so long for each other alone, came to suffer side by side, each through the other, without ever speaking of the matter, without reproaches, each wearing a smile."

Les Misérables – Victor Hugo

CHAPTER TWELVE: A Different Chain

Yuna

Yuna stood leaning head and shoulder against the doorframe of her father's room, staring at the katana and wondering.

In her infancy, that sword had kept him at the Temples or else journeying through the war, far away from she and her mother. She had no memory of her father being there when she was a child, though she reasoned he must have been. Neither could she recall ever seeing her parents together, knowing only that Auron had loved her mother deeply; the pain ever-present in his eyes when Yuna spoke of her could come from no other center.

My mother must have missed him too. She was always so sad. When Tidus had drawn upon the memory of his mother easing him from her lap the moment his father appeared, Yuna had felt a stirring in her own heart. In those precious-few hazy memories of her mother she was always distant, as though when she looked at Yuna she saw someone else. Did she see my father always in my face?

She desperately wanted to know the circumstances of their first meeting; warrior monk and Al-Bhed peasant. Atleast, she assumed her mother had been very poor towards the end; Yuna remembered having to sell her finer dresses and sandals.

Sighing, she roused herself from the doorframe with the cold knowledge that she could long for these answers in vain. Her father was more guarded and secretive than ever. Even the sword knows more than me, she reflected sadly. It knows the faces of his ghosts and the history of his scars better than I ever will.

The room needed airing, but Yuna had been expressly forbidden to unfasten even the shutters. Only for a short while, Auron had promised, with an expression so guarded that she hadn't dared argue. Instead she had done the best she could, adorning the rooms with Macalanian seedlings and purifying salt to circulate the air, and dusting the linen and bedsheets throughly every morning. Since Shelinda had taken her leave, she took it upon herself to ensure the house was in order.

Besides, it was a welcome distraction. Here the silence of her old universe had descended upon Yuna like a stone. Gone was the clear ringing laughter of her peers, gone was the vibrancy of their world, gone was the Zanarkand that she had first fallen in love with.

Their new residence was on the outskirts of the ghost district, D-West – Auron had told her that much, atleast. He has taken us the farthest from Zanarkand we could possibly be and still be in the city, she realised. There was a cruelty in that, even if her father was unconscious of it. Once again she had found herself separated by a wall from everything she yearned for, yet this time it was one she could not scale.

Instead she threw her daily energies into tending her father. He did not act fearful or nervous, only absent minded; she had to remind him when to eat, where he had left his Sphere recordings (which he would not let her see) and sometimes encourage him to retire for the evening when he sagged in his chair. She gave him painted smiles and sang him fragments of old songs, chattering to him about nothing as she had done when she was a girl; the morning's news, the flowers she was growing. When he was immersed in his own world, she passed the time beading Besaidian braids and reciting her Summoner's chants. She had not had the heart to practise her Al Bhed, nor open the Blitzball instruction manual she had borrowed from Lulu and Wakka's bookshelf. I will never have the chance to return it to them now, she thought despondently. I hope they will not think ill of me for it.

The memory of the couple's unfailing kindness was painful to her now. You did the only thing you could, she had to tell herself again and again. You had no choice but to leave. You weren't meant for their world.

Such melancholic thoughts were with her often now. Lately, even when she wasn't holding it, it was as though Yuna could feel the weight of the Summoner's Staff constantly beneath her fingers. The Sending meant composure and duty – for almost two years it had leant her strength, and it set her in good standing for the lonely path now ahead of her.

And I'm not truly alone. I was not made to have a sweetheart but I have my father still. I will be like a Summoner of old, and try to help others instead of thinking of myself.

But it was something easier said. Memories of Tidus surrounded her like a sweet clinging scent; his gentle teasing by Shiva's fountain, the warmth of his breath by her ear, lying by his side in the sanctity of the garden. At night she dreamt of him waiting for her beyond the wrought-iron gates, and when she woke to the thought of his fond smile she felt hopelessly that in his absence she was more in love with him than ever.

Her chores suddenly made meaningless, Yuna sank onto the edge of her father's bed, fists full of undusted linen, suddenly feeling weary far beyond her seventeen years. This will not do, she admonished herself. Did I not admit I was ashamed of what I had become? There will be no more jealousy in me now, no fears, no selfish hopes. And… I always knew I could not keep them both.

Across the room, Yuna recognized her own solemnity of expression mirrored in the blade of her father's katana. Her eyes fell obediently to the words emblazoned across the steel.

Live, and fight your sorrow.

Auron

Her moods were changing. Auron looked at her and saw more of Braska in her face with every passing day; a guarded face, eyes clouded with secrets and hooded sorrows.

She is growing older, he thought, full of dreams. Dreams that take her far from me, no doubt.

She had changed so much, even in the short time they had resided in the City of Lights. Underneath the relentless Zanarkand sun her hair had grown a shade lighter, her complexion a touch darker. Even her wardrobe had altered; she dressed less formally these days, her ornamental obi ribbon forsaken for styles more in tune with what Auron recognized among the city's youth.

Yet it was more than that. A new indiscernible distance tore at them, something beyond his old warrior's instincts to grasp. There she sat, gazing into the hearth, her knees curled up behind her, one hand against her temple and a book forgotten in her lap. In the firelight, Yuna's profile reminded him of a statue he had once seen of her namesake, the Lady Yunalesca. The ancient Summoner's likeness had been carved into the walls deep beneath the Remiem Temple, beautiful but darkly melancholic; Braska had been particularly moved. The Lord Summoner had always had that talent of seeing beyond the mask of feminine mystery, but Auron was ever as helpless before it.

"Would you like a cup of blossomwine before you take to bed?" he asked Yuna lightly, desperate to break her silence.

"Hmm?"

"I saved a pitcher from the house," he coaxed. "It's a good vintage. The same as you took on your thirteenth nameday." It had been Yuna's first taste of wine. Her cheeks had been flushed after only two cups and she'd fallen asleep on his shoulder on Besaid Sands. He'd carried her back to Belgemine's hut, smiling all the way.

The memory brought with it a rush of warmth for Auron, but Yuna only smiled at him briefly. "No thankyou, father."

"Are you sleeping better?" he tried again. "Perhaps you should take a pinch of dream powder with your milk. Belgemine used to swear by it."

"My dreams haven't troubled me," she murmured. Yet he noticed that she hadn't taken up her book, and sat ever staring into the softly glowing coals, eyes unreadable.

"How is your grammar coming along?" Auron gestured to the volume in her lap. Ever since their removal to Zanarkand, Yuna had taken a keen interest in learning Al Bhed. It was widely spoken in the North, and he had only ever taught her choice scraps of the language in her girlhood.

The offhand question brought colour to her cheeks at last, though that in itself did more to confuse Auron than reassure him.

"Oh, I wasn't-" she mumbled, flustered. "Ah-" Shyly she lifted the book to show him the cover. It was an old volume of Door to Tomorrow; the chronicles of the Sun Prince who lived in the ancient times before Sin. A child's tale, in truth, all sprawling heroism and forbidden trysts. I thought she had grown out of those tales long ago.

Auron sighed, suddenly feeling as spent as after a day with the Crusaders. Would that Braska were here with us. He would Summon your secrets and Dispel your mysteries, I have no doubt. "Yuna," he said softly, "is anything amiss?"

"Nothing is the matter with me. I am quite well," she said, as though quoting from a book.

She hides behind that answer like a wall of steel. When did she learn to lie so easily? he wondered sadly. A stranger could have read her misery. He had confronted her before, these past long nights; but when pressed, Yuna would only speak of the old house; her garden, the trinkets and memories they left behind. Yet he could not believe that this profound grief he read in her was only for their former home.

Besides, it was too late for all that. Auron would not risk returning to their residence in B-North. Had he not had Yuna's sensibilities to take into consideration, he would have had them on the first boat back to Besaid. It was only for her sake that he stayed… but now even that seemed without purpose.

"Yuna, perhaps you should be in bed," he conceded finally. "The sun went down hours ago."

"Zanarkand never sleeps," she murmured, yawning.

Auron laughed. "Where did you hear that old saying?"

He regretted it at once; her expression shifted like frost covering a flower, features giving way to that all too familiar sadness.

"Oh," she said, and her voice was stone. "I don't remember."

Yuna

It was only when Yuna realised her feet were cold that she knew Kimahri was missing. The kitten – almost cat, now – had developed a nightly habit of curling up by her toes. His warmth had helped lull her to sleep in these past difficult weeks when her thoughts ran astray in the evening. For all her father's talk of blossomwine and sleep powder, Yuna did not want to miss the hazy, half-remembered moments when her friends returned to her in the sweetest of dreams.

Sighing, she slipped her legs from underneath the blankets and touched her bare feet to the floor. She dressed quickly, pulling on a simple white skirt and wrinkled printed vest while snatching up a pair of indoor sandals. The kitten would not take long to find – doubtless he was chasing some unfortunate midnight snack.

Auron had the hearing of a flying Condor - even in sleep, she had little doubt – but months of practise with Shelinda coupled with her Sender's training had given her phantom footsteps. Even a warrior monk such as my father might have found himself matched by a Summoner, long ago when they still walked Spira. The thought might have been mischievous once, but these days mischief was far from Yuna's mind.

The lower rooms proved empty of the little feline – she searched his crawlspaces, beneath the taps he drank from, the laundry basket and windowsills – all to no avail. Still she hunted, yet as the night grew deeper and Yuna was no closer to finding him, realization hit her like a crack of lightening. He's gone back to B-North. She had feared as much ever since they left their old residence. Auron had told her that the Crusaders found Kimahri guarding his former master's grave. The creature had a deep-set impression of home, and he had obviously decided this was not it. I cannot blame him, Yuna thought. B-North was always home in her mind, too. Her heart ached for the little wild garden.

Here in the ghost town of D-West, they owned no garden; the house had only one main entrance which spilled out onto the street. When Yuna unlocked the door, it clicked open softly, like a sigh. The night sky poured in like a wave, a vast starlessness.

She found herself standing in the doorway as though leaning over the stern of a ship, hands clinging to the wood at either side to keep her from falling. She sucked the hot night air into her lungs, the effect like drinking too much champagne at once; leaving her dizzy, intoxicated.

After that first familiar breath, that irresistible taste of Zanarkand, the decision was easy. Yuna drew a deep breath, and slipped into the night.

The movement was soft, fluid, like sinking into a bath. Her feet moved of their own accord, sandals slapping against the pavement; her white skirts swished between her legs, a musical sound. She wanted to run, to lift her head to the sky and laugh.

Such unnatural behavior would have likely gone unnoticed. The street before her was as empty as a beach in winter; the residents here were mostly couples or families searching for an easy escape from the cacophony of the city, yet unable to bear the expense of uprooting to somewhere more peaceful like Djose or Kilika.

A pretty row of regimental orange trees led west towards the old Yevon church - she knew that much – and beyond it, Zanarkand's core. Yuna followed them, sometimes skipping, sometimes raising a hand to brush her fingers against the leaves. Far away she could smell hot spiced Macalania nuts, the scent bringing with it a rush of dear memories. When she passed the Old Yevon church she thought she heard the distant gushing of fountains. It was as though Zanarkand was singing to her.

Soon she began to have company on the road - an old man sweeping the street outside his home tipped his hat to her; a group of young boys raced past her screaming and taunting each other, one almost knocking her to the ground in his haste. A couple broke their interlocking hands to let her slip between them, but they reached for each other as soon as she had passed. Yuna loved them for that, almost as much as she envied them.

She knew she was reaching the heart of the city when rotating machina billboards began to rise up before her. She studied them with a renewed energetic curiosity in all things Zanarkand, scanning all the new propaganda for the ever-growing Youth League movement, admiring the advertisements for luxury vacations in the Calm Lands, even taking note of all the new Potion soft drinks that had been released in her absence.

And then she saw him.

The tagline read 'Abes through the Ages', obviously showcasing several of Zanarkand's most memorable Blitz talents over the years. But it was Tidus that featured front and centre, captured in a daring mid-air pose, beads of water visible on his skin.

Yuna drew as close to the billboard as she dared, lifting her neck to study the detail of him. The sand of his hair, the laughter of his eyes, his face that promised cheer and sunlight and long stretching beaches. And that smile, full of confidence, so painfully familiar to her heart. She pressed her palm against the fabric of her shirt, trying to quiet the desperate thudding in her chest. I wonder what he's doing now. I wonder where he is tonight. She pictured him at a Blitzball game, fierce and dangerous and focused, or buying Rikku trinkets in the A-East market. She pictured him surrounded by his Blitzer girls, smiling in that way she had once thought was only for her.

Reluctantly Yuna pulled her eyes away from him and focused her attention on the other figures in the poster. There was a boy she thought might be the famous goalkeeper they used to call 'The Boulder' (he was one of Wakka's heroes) and a girl with a scar across her eye and hair as white as a Gagazet mountaintop.

Yet it was the last figure who gave her pause. A beast of a man, his dark hair held back from his face with a red bandana and the Abes insignia tattooed across his chest. The scrawl of the tattoo and the redness of the bandana was like a signal flare across her memory and as Yuna looked at him she felt as though she could hear his voice – rasping, gravelly, yet kind. In her mind she remembered how tall this man was, how he towered over her, though never with a threatening air. And yet… Tidus had introduced her to everyone in the Abes and this man was not part of them.

The hazy, haunting half-memory filled her with trepidation, more so because she suddenly felt the full force of her current situation; alone in the labyrinth of Zanarkand as the night wrapped around her. The man's gaze seemed to follow her, an uneasy sensation, and suddenly Yuna wanted nothing more than to run back to somewhere familiar.

In her haste she turned away from the poster, and walked straight into her father.

Auron

"Yuna," he said with as much patience as he could summon, "do you understand what I'm telling you?"

He could still feel his Guardian's fire coursing thickly through his veins. It was a sensation long forgotten, one that he had not felt since the first days of the Pilgrimage and Jecht's early blunders. Of course, while he had always directed the full force of his anger at Jecht, Auron restrained himself when facing Yuna. Remember how young she is, he had to tell himself. Yet he knew also that his deepest rages were borne from his deepest fears. And he could not think of anything he feared more than losing her.

Reading Yuna's absence had been like a sixth sense. As a Guardian he had become deeply attuned to Braska's habits and movements, and he had even longer to grow acquainted with Yuna's. At first he thought she'd been sleepwalking - Shelinda had warned him she sometimes "walked the house like a ghost at night" - but he knew she was lucid as soon as he caught sight of her face in the lamplight – the guilt written there had been quite real, that much was obvious.

"I was only looking for Kimahri," she was explaining, standing before Auron like a criminal on trial, back in the safety of their D-West residence. "I wasn't going far. I think he's going back to the old hou-"

"Yuna, you're not listening!" he snapped at her. "You cannot simply venture out into the streets at night for something with such little purpose. I won't have you risk yourself for a damned beast!"

"Risk myself," she repeated disbelievingly, staring.

"You were never so thoughtless, Yuna! Had you taken leave of all your senses? What has come over you lately? You will explain yourself!"

"There's nothing the matter with me," she repeated quietly, falling on her old familiar response.

Yet her cheeks were flushed pink and he knew at last that dishonesty was playing its part in her tale. And I thought it was her fear that made her silent. Fool, fool! he admonished himself. The certainty that she was lying to his face stirred the embers of his fury. Auron caught up her arm in a rough grip, jerking her forward until she finally met his eyes, startled.

"What are you hiding from me?" he asked darkly.

To his surprise, Yuna pulled free from him, eyes bright and fierce. "No!" she said hotly, "What are you hiding from me?"

Even before he had the chance to register her reaction she had composed herself, summoning control as was her talent. She closed her eyes for a long breath, and when she opened them again they were full of sadness.

"Father, what are we going to do?" she asked him softly. "Are we simply going to shut ourselves away forever?"

"I've told you not to trouble yourself over-"

"There was a man on the Blitzball poster," she continued. "There was a man on the Blitzball poster with dark hair and the Ab – and a symbol. I know him somehow - not from now, from long ago. How do I know him?"

Words failed him then, but his once-guarded eyes betrayed a history shrouded in secrets.

"You know him too, don't you?" Yuna realised. "Is he the reason why you hate Blitzball so much?"

The simple word roused him, bringing with it all those bitter memories. "Yuna, I warn you, I will not hear-"

"Why won't you tell me about my mother?" she interrupted. Auron flinched at the question as though struck, and Yuna felt it keenly.

"I'm sorry!" she cried, "Forgive me, I know it pains you to think of her!" Yuna fell at his feet and clasped her hands to his knees. She looked like the prayer girls he used to see in Bevelle Temple before the Eternal Calm, at the foot of some Yevonite statue, pleading for mercy. "But I'm in pain too, for your sake and for mine. Why can't we share it?"

Why must you always ask me about her? Why aren't I enough for you?

"Why won't you tell me what happened in your past? If we are to shut ourselves away from the world forever - won't you tell me what we're hiding from?" Her eyes were anguished. "Why won't you tell me what has hurt you so much?"

Why did you leave the house, Yuna? What were you really looking for?

They stared at one another, one wanting no answers to their questions, the other desperately desiring all.

"Why won't you trust me? Nothing you tell me could make me love you any less! I'm your daughter."

It was the worst thing she could have said at that moment. Hot anger knifed through Auron. Those damnable, wretched secrets. He wanted to forget, forget, forget. Braska was the one that died, but it's me she kills when she says those words.

Auron had once seen the world break, had seen the face of evil, had seen blood run black down the blade of his katana. He had seen the only thing he loved cut down before his eyes, and he had known true hatred. Auron had fought to put that long suffering behind him; he would never embrace that past while he still drew breath. Not even for her.

When he spoke at last, his voice was as harsh as steel being drawn from its scabbard. "Enough of this foolishness," he told her. "We will not speak of this again. Do you understand me? Enough!"

Yuna stared at him for a long moment in desolation, eyes shining with betrayal. He forced himself to meet that stare until she left the room.

Only then did he allow himself to crumple in his chair and stare emptily at the open door. The argument had stolen all his energy, and most of his hope. It all went to ruins when we left Besaid, he realised. He thought back to the timelessness of that Isle; to those white beaches, rainbow-coloured huts, the innocence of the gently stretching waves. The chanting of the islanders, their lullaby world. Zanarkand in contrast was like a pulsing wound, constantly shifting the very ground beneath their feet. I should have known never to return to this cursed city and all its damned ghosts.

Auron briefly considered Besaid as their panacea – it, atleast, had no memory – yet he knew of course that it was too late for that. If he returned to Besaid, he would lose Yuna forever. He was caught now, swallowed up in Zanarkand, drowning in it. The city had swallowed up his daughter too. No, not mine.

It was Braska he had seen in her eyes a moment ago - accusing him, haunting him, filling his heart with an uncertainty such as he had not felt since the day he had first met his future Summoner.

Auron had been so sure of himself at first, young and vigorous and fresh from his training, black hair long and styled as a warrior's, so eager for service, so hungry for a Summoner to Guard at last. His self-assurance had lasted until the moment he had first looked into the face of his new charge – the tall Lordling with the dark, grave eyes. One glance and Auron knew that the Summoner had more knowledge than he ever would, and that knowledge seemed so vast and profound he had been unable to speak, beyond repeating the sacred oath taught to him. Is this what all Summoners look like? had been his initial thought, struck with awe.

Later he learned that Summoners could be worthy and unworthy, just as their Guardians could be. Braska's wisdom had been all his own. And Auron, who had never known a kind word, had loved his Lord from the first. Yet during the long year of their Pilgrimage, no matter how much Braska treated him as such, Auron knew he had never been Braska's equal.

A servant I was, always. Never a friend. And now... A servant would protect Braska's daughter, nothing more. A servant would spirit her to Besaid and never mind her happiness. A servant would think first of her safety, not fear losing a love that he never had any right to.

Promise me, Auron, rang Braska's voice in his memory. Promise me.

Auron's hand fisted and uncurled on the armrest, the raging internal battle one he had long resisted; her health and happiness, or her safety. And yet… could he secure both? Suffocate the danger at its source, and he would win their freedom. Yes, he decided, yes, it is the only way. To do that, he would need to take up the sword once more. And in his absence, leave a worthy shield… to stand at her side.

AUTHOR'S NOTES

Yikes, I finished this in a total rush-job and it shows. I'm getting so terrible at ending chapters, I just can't do it. I need to take notes from how actual authors do it. But, if I didn't finish it tonight it probably would have taken another month for me to post.

I am clearly in love with the semi-colon. I don't think I'm using it correctly half the time.

Well, it's shorter than the other chapters, but atleast there's a bit of development that I know a lot of you have been hoping to see with Yuna gaining some initiative and not just bowing to Auron's will.

If there are glaring mistakes or any half sentences please let me know in the comments as I didn't check it over very throughly.

I've written almost all of Chapter 14 but almost none of Chapter 13. Handy, huh?

Thanks to those of you who are still with me. Lots of love and appreciation to all of you, I mean it.

Shandy