Part Twelve: Two Weeks Later

Isaaru shuffled down the long hallways, hampered from taking long stride through the sheer bulk of his robes. Sometimes he wondered why he still bothered with the garments which, even during his pilgrimage, had restricted movement. But then he'd never been a particularly physical fighter, and had never needed to run fast. Especially not down the long corridors which ran the length and breadth of the complex in which Yuna, and to a lesser extent he, had been interred.

There weren't many people to be seen around, but that wasn't very surprising. The complex was little more than a garrison, decked out in finery for when Maesters of the Yevon church had wanted to gather somewhere private and very safe. So there were soldiers and there was Isaaru. He knew there were two white mages in attendance to the men, but they were little more than battlefield medics and commanded not the wealth f healer knowledge that Isaaru had learned at his father's small clinic in a small town close to Bevelle.

Their proximity to the holy city had seemed to protect had seemed to protect some of the outlying towns, but not enough that Isaaru's mother not had been one of those taken from him by Sin. In retrospect, he wondered why his father had been so shocked in his giving up the healing arts to take up those of the summoner.

Still, it was pointless to dwell on such things. Father was dead, and no amount of retrospect could bring him or any of the dead back to the living. The best he could hope for was that he and the villagers had not become fiends. Isaaru's life seemed to be here now, padding down fine hallways to deal with prisoners.

He dimly realised he should feel sickened at himself.

The guards were now gone from outside Lady Yuna's quarters; Ismene had kept her word and relaxed the restrictions she had placed on the High Summoner's movements.

But still Yuna had not ventured from inside her rooms, apparently content to stay within those four walls, only making human contact when Isaaru came to check up on her, or someone brought her food and drink. It was in order to set this situation to rights that Isaaru took himself to her door and rapped upon it.

At first there was no response. Isaaru thought she might have gone wandering outside but dismissed the thought. Though they were not vidible, there were still eyes watching Yuna, and there were standing orders to report back to Isaaru if anything of note happened. The Lady High Summoner Yuna breaking her confinement would be so worthy of note. So he knocked again.

There was a long pause, then finally a tired 'yes' drifted through the doorway separating them.

"It's Isaaru," he announced. There was no answer. "May I enter?"

Yuna's answering 'yes' sounded more akin to a sigh than permission. But it was permission and so the former Summoner entered to find Yuna knelt on the floor beside her low table, drinking tea out of one of the unbreakable cups that they had carefully made sure was supplied since the guards had become wary of the slight girl's physical capabilities. Isaaru tried not to smirk as he thought of the guard he had treated after he had suffered at the hands of Yuna's less than tender mercies.

Yuna was looking at him, eyebrows raised expectantly. She was waiting for him to speak first.

Isaaru couldn't blame her for not wanting to greet him, but bowed respectfully regardless. "Lady Yuna," he began, "I was wondering if perhaps you would care to join me in a walk about the complex."

Yuna continued to regard him for a long moment, before she raised her cup to her lips to sip demurely from it.

Isaaru pressed his lips together, reminding himself that she had every right not to respond and so that taking offence would be quite presumptious. "While you have had the opportunity to leave your rooms," he said, "You have not availed yourself of that. It is hardly healthy, and as I have been charged with maintaining your wellbeing it is my responsibility to ask such things of you."

Yuna finally spoke. "And if I don't care for your attention?"

Isaaru placidly folded his hands before him. "I have my task."

Yuna quietly drained the last of her tea and stood. "I suppose I could use the fresh air."

Isaaru bowed slightly and stood back to allow her to pass which she did, barely glancing at him. He tried not to sigh as he hurried after her.

"I'm not your enemy," he told her, as he caught up to her and slowed to a walking pace. "You need not treat me as such."

"Then why will you not help me leave?" Yuna asked and her tone seemed dejected rather than angry.

Isaaru wanted to tell her that he needed no one's disappointment, that any failings were his and his alone. But there was no call for it. Instead he lowered his eyes to the carpet and repeated, "I have my task."

She didn't understand, but Isaaru hadn't expected her to, he just wordlessly started steering her in the direction of one of the terraces which led down towards the prayer gardens.

Yuna seemed distracted by the sight of the exterior as they passed thorugh the arched doorways that led to the outside. It wasn't much of a view. The ground was mostly barren, the prayer gardens consisting not of the lush grasses, and blossom trees that could be found all over Bevelle. It was mostly sandy dirt, not far from the foothills of barren mountains that were too low to be adorned with snow. Most of the aesthetic qualities in the garden were from tastefully arranged and shaped rocks and ornaments, with sun-bleached prayers written on the pillars which adorned the pathway that led to the meditation area. But even though the air was dry and warm, to the north could be seen dark clouds and the occasional flash of lightning. The island itself was rather small, all things considered, and had a remarkable lack of ways to arrive and depart; one reason why Ismene was not so bothered about Yuna moving about freely.

"Where are we?" Yuna asked, looking around.

"The western isles," Isaaru answered.

"North of Bikanel?" Yuna asked, to which she received a nod in response. "Over there?" She gestured to the storm.

Isaaru shrugged. "Apparently it's been dissipating for a while, even though it lasted for years before I got here."

"Hmm." Yuna's mouth twisted. "The Fayth is gone."

Isaaru blinked in surprise, turning towards the north and peering carefully, though he was too far away to see past the rocky ridges which decorated the northwest of the island. "I wasn't aware there was a temple there," he said, trying not to feel unnerved at having been a Summoner and not knowing of a Fayth.

"Only the ruins of one. The Fayth there..." Yuna bit her lip, as if trying to determine whether she should say anything, then she sighed. "The Fayth was Seymour's mother."

Isaaru didn't realise he was staring in shock until Yuna glanced at him and smiled, just slightly. "Oh, yes, that's right. You didn't reach Zanarkand."

She probably hadn't intended those words to sound insulting, but Isaaru was stung by them all the same. He had put his pilgrimage on hold to protect the people of Bevelle, something which he had not been given a choice about. The Maesters had threatened and bullied, and interfered with a Summoner's sacred task. It wasn't something that he deserved pity over. But he didn't say anything, just let Yuna continue to speak without any explanation for her words.

"She seemed a nice person," Yuna said, kicking the toe of her boot into the dirt and kicking up a flurry of rust covered particles. "I know that sounds like such a childish thing to say, but she was... 'nice'. I don't know what else I could say. Sad, maybe. Sad that her son had turned out the way he had. But, you know, she didn't help. She became a Fayth, abandoned him. Turned into a creature supposed to be so powerful that he could defeat Sin. I'm trying to decide whether that was ultimate love, or... bad parenting."

Isaaru blinked, then came to a realisation. "You're worried about the relationship you might have with your child?"

"It's not like I had parents to show me how it was supposed to be done," Yuna said. "Even the parent I do remember went and died in a pointless endeavour."

"Defeating Sin was pointless?" Isaaru asked, his head reeling from such a sentiment coming from a Summoner, no less than a High Summoner, even.

"Dying to defeat Sin was pointless."

"Death can have a point," Isaaru said, sharply, then turned his head away, hoping she hadn't detected that sharpness. Fortunately, she seemed to be distracted.

"My father shouldn't have had to die," Yuna whispered fiercely. "All I remember is... is this kind person who tucked me in bed at night and who carried me on his shoulders as he took me to the Temple. I can barely remember what he looks like... just what I've seen on the Farplane and in spheres."

"I'm sorry."

"Don't be," Yuna shook her head, earring bouncing against her shoulder with the motion. "It's not something that's your fault after all. And I followed in my father's footsteps, so perhaps I should not complain so."

"I can certainly sympathise there."

"Your father was a Summoner?"

"A healer," Isaaru said, shaking his head. "Something which my father trained me to be as well, though I think I have not become as good a one as he would have liked."

Yuna shrugged fluidly. "You seem to manage."

"I'd rather still be a Summoner," he told her.

Yuna stopped, and turned to look at her. "Why?"

"Why?"

"Yes, why?"

He stopped, turning to peer at her, trying to see if there was an obvious flaw. Eyes unfocused? Flushed? But no, she seemed perfectly fine. "You don't feel it?" he asked, feeling his voice cracking. No, it couldn't just be /him/.

"Feel what?" Yuna blinked those discordant eyes of hers.

"There's a space," he said, racking his brain to think of a way to say what he wasn't sure that he had words to describe.

He instead tried to think of how it felt to him, and so moved to stand behind Yuna, resting his hands on her shoulders. "Here. They no longer walk behind you, a strength you can't quite touch, a presence that makes you walk with your head a little higher because you know the Fayth are with you."

Yuna might have been trembling, but the ache within Isaaru swelled up, precluding his sensing any distress on her part.

"Such a power, protecting and comforting. They Hymn of the Fayth is like a constant low background hum, and it's all you can do not to join in. You have touched their dreams, and in a way it makes you feel just a bit closer to the perfection they are."

He hadn't even realised that he'd moved closer, perhaps the ache inside him had driven his need for human contact. His hands still rested on her shoulder, but his robed chest touched her back. Her hair smelt of the vaguely medicinal herbal soap that was standard issue to the troops who resided in the barracks.

"You feel i," Isaaru said, his voice low. "Don't you?"

"Yes," Yuna grated out through gritted teeth. "Of course I do, you /idiot/."

At which point she drove an elbow backwards into his solar plexus, and when he let go of her shoulders to clutch at his midsection as he double over, Yuna spun around and, though Isaaru would later be sure it wasn't necessary, she followed up her strike with a resounding open-handed slap to the ear, which was enough to send him reeling, stunned, for a few minutes.

As he collapsed to the ground, groaning, Yuna took of running down the pathway back in the direction of the garrison complex, and Isaaru made the mental note never to smirk at the guards Yuna had beaten up again.

Yuna wasn't entirely sure where she was intending to go after she had fed from Isaaru. When she had found herself scramblig up he steps into the complex, she found that she was thinking of the familiarity of the rooms that were her prison was a haven more than a hell at that moment.

Isaaru had shaken her badly, she realised as she stumbled through the halls operating on a fuzzy recall of the path that Isaaru had led her through the wending passages.

Bad enough that he had awakened an ache she hadnt even realised was there.

Yes, she missed the Fayth. It seemed a terrible thing to say, to give it such a mild term as 'missed', and also selfish; their rest had been so dearly earned over a thousand years. But in spite of the pain of their parting, she had let them go, watched the bodies of their Aeons dissolve into pyreflies as she danced the Sending. She had said goodbye then.

But Isaaru... had he ever let go?

Perhaps not, she realised.

In her haste, she failed to lift her foot high enough to prevent herself from catching the lip of the two steps which were placed in the archway of an entrance to the residential section, where Yuna had been confined. She stumbled and fell to the floor, fighting the urge to repeat a few unspeakable and blasphemous phrases in order to best express her irritation with herself at being so clumsy. She bit her tongue in a renewed effort to clamp down on that urge as two metal armoured boots came into her field of view.

She looked upwards to see a tall woman guard, in the silver armour and green undertunic of her positon within Yevon, wordlessly offered her hand to help Yuna to her feet. Yuna debated for a moment, before deciding that she should at least be curteous and accepted the hand up. She tried not to jump back in surprised when she realised the guard was holding something, several somethings, that felt hot and sharp all at once, and was pressing it into her hand.

Then the guard smiled and drew her hand away, and Yuna realised what was happening.

The guard turned and stared away, and Yuna opened her palm and stared in surprise at what she was holding. She first thought that it was the trasnferred warmth of the guard's hand she felt in the glassy chips in her palm. Then she realised her mistake. They were fire gems, unusually potent too, if the heat that nearly burnt her fingers, and their brilliant inner glow was anything to go by.

She opened her mouth, turning to call back the guard, but she was gone.

Yuna felt her lips curving into a smile, quite of their own accord. It was no longer a case of 'if' rescue was coming, or even 'when'; they were already here, and so her escape would be following very soon. She clutched the gems to her chest, tightening her fingers around till the burning faceted edges bit into her palm, then she hurried down the hallway towards her quarters to prepare.

- End of Part Twelve