For the first few hours of her confinement to her room, Yuffie attempted to read a paperback to pass the time. She was continually distracted by her legendary short attention span as well as thoughts of what could be happening in the rest of her home. She wondered what the Turks were getting up to while she was sequestered; she wondered what Rufus might be doing in her ancestral home.
She had been thinking, too, about the intruder—who sent him? Would they send more now that she had taken care of the first? She didn't like the idea that she was cooped up in this room when there could be intruders. The thought of how he had made it past her guards also plagued her. However, she had been noticing some issues with the palace guard recently.
And that was precisely how she made it out of her room after ten hours of fruitlessly trying to sit still. It only took waiting until her guards were changing—sometimes they left a minute-long gap between when two of them left and two more took their place. She thought she would need to address this problem soon, but for now she waited, ear pressed to the door. When she heard their voices fade away, she slipped out and scurried down the left corridor, which would take her past the guest living areas, past the liquor room, and further to the kitchens.
She stopped when she heard voices around the corner. Panic started in her belly, and she thought about darting the other way. After she had edged a careful step backward, she realized the owners of the voices did not seem to be coming closer.
Yuffie was never one to pass up an eavesdropping opportunity. She cocked an ear and hoped she would not be discovered.
"I just want you to know," the first voice said, and Yuffie was shocked to hear Cloud's familiar cadence, "nobody's fooled."
"Was there something you wanted to say?"
"No matter what you've done to help us recently, you're still a Turk."
"None of the things I did were to help you," Tseng replied flatly.
"That's exactly my point. Your loyalty is to Rufus."
Yuffie was dumbfounded to hear Cloud defend her. She and Cloud were friends, but sometimes Yuffie thought he was only tolerating her presence. Looking back now, though, she realized she'd had that feeling less and less in the past few years.
There was a pause. She felt the silence stretch. Then Tseng said, "You know nothing of my loyalties."
"If you don't protect her," Cloud said, and his voice was steady, and Yuffie could picture his hard blue eyes, "I'll make sure you regret it."
She was almost too stunned to hear the footsteps coming her way. She scrambled to hide and realized she had nowhere to go as Cloud came around the corner and spotted her. She put a hasty finger to her lips, eyes wide. He stopped for a moment, then rolled his eyes and stepped around her without saying a word.
After that, she decided to stay in her room. Well, except the two times she snuck out to the kitchen and grabbed snacks. Tifa ate dinner with her once, and she spent the last day mostly alone as anticipation for the wedding mounted.
The first twelve hours of her wedding day were a haze of ladies waiting on her, men and women making arrangements, and people poking and prodding and plucking every inch of her body. She felt bald and smooth and somewhat like a newborn baby.
She stood before her mirror in her underwear – bindings, panties, and nothing else. Someone knocked, and she threw on a robe, sloppy and beyond caring. For three days, someone had been there to monitor her mode of dress, her decorum, her manners, and she wasn't about to pick up in this momentary lull.
"Who is it?" she called.
"Tifa here to see you," replied a guard.
"Come in."
In slipped Tifa, who hugged her before saying anything. Yuffie accepted the affection, grateful for a human touch meant for comfort rather than correction.
Tifa wore a dark green dress, with sharp-cut shoulders and a generous neckline. A bow gathered the fabric on her right hip, and black pumps adorned her feet. A clutch completed the ensemble. Yuffie had the terrible thought that Tifa would outshine her even at her own wedding. She was used to being outstripped in the looks department with people like Aeris and Tifa around.
"Are you ready?" Tifa asked, holding Yuffie at arms' length and searching her face.
She took an unsteady breath. "Always."
Tifa let go and went to the mirror and picked up Yuffie's mother's mother-of-pearl brush. She stroked it gently through the tail of her braided hair. "It's okay to be nervous. I would be."
"Nervous? I'm never nervous."
"So you're always ready and you're never nervous?"
Yuffie walked to the mirror and looked at herself standing side-by-side with the barmaid. "Your faith in me is wonderful and inspiring. Thank you."
"You know I just worry about you." Tifa reached out and tucked a strand of hair behind Yuffie's ear.
Yuffie softened a bit. "I know."
The comforting hand ruffled her hair. "I'm going to help you get ready."
"The ladies Chekhov hired to make me pretty won't like that."
Tifa cracked her knuckles. "Oh?"
Yuffie's eyebrows arched. "Point taken."
"Let's start with getting this monstrosity on you."
"Monstrosity's a good word for it," she agreed.
The wedding kimono was a sight to behold. Just looking at it made Yuffie nervous. First, she had to put on the under-layers. Then the two outer layers. Tifa helped her shoulder into each successively heavier coat. Embroidery of white roses, which must have taken many painstaking hours for a seamstress to complete by hand, adorned the outside kimono.
"How do I tie this knot?" Tifa asked as she fiddled with Yuffie's obi.
Yuffie made a face at herself in the mirror. "I look like a ghost in this thing."
"You look fine, now help me."
The knot on her obi took almost longer than putting on all the layers. It had to be tied in such a way that the obi could only be removed by the groom on the wedding night, and it had to be huge. The fabric from the bow trailed the floor. In fact, the whole set trailed the floor; it would be Tifa's job to help Yuffie maneuver in the bulky outfit.
"Now for the hair – what are the plans for the hair again?"
Tifa stared at her in the mirror, then fluffed Yuffie's boycut hair. Not much they could do with so little.
"The plans are to put on a headdress."
"Do I have to do anything with that?"
"Nope – it's been constructed in advance, for this exact situation. Just part my hair to the side, spray it into place, and pin the freaking thing to my head."
This took some doing, however. Tifa had to reposition it several times. It had to be six inches high, bedecked with beads and feathery bits of cloth and veils and fake blossoms. Its structure made it top-heavy, and Yuffie just knew she would rip half her scalp off when she removed it later.
Later. In her bedchamber with Tseng. She tried not to think about what she was planning to do.
"There, does that feel secure?"
"I… think so."
"Ever walked with books on your head?"
"Um. No. Why the hell would I do that?"
Tifa sighed. "Never mind. I should've known. What next?"
"Makeup. I suck hard at this part, Tifa."
"I'm not bad at it." She winked.
"But are you good at traditional Wuteng makeup? Let me get a picture of my mom for you to mimic."
A moment later, Tifa held an ornate frame in her hands. She studied the photograph there. "She's beautiful, Yuffie."
"I know, right? Dad told me I used to look like her. Then he told me I look more like him lately. I dunno if that's a good or a bad thing. I used to think I'd never be as beautiful as her."
"And now?"
Yuffie stared at herself in the mirror, pulled down one eyelid and stuck out her tongue. "Now? Now I just don't care. I'm Yuffie."
"I like Yuffie."
"Me too." A comfortable pause. "So, you see how to do it now?"
"All these little containers here have what I need?" Tifa gestured to the expansive collection of powders, creams, and brushes on the vanity table in front of them. Usually, they were put away in the drawers, but the ladies had dragged them out when testing colors and combinations on her throughout the day.
"Let's see if we can get this done. We don't have much more time."
Tifa worked quickly with a reference. She looked with sharp eyes at the picture, then dabbed and stroked Yuffie's face with all manner of brushes. The sensation of the cold paints and the fine brushes on her skin was almost soothing. Though usually she avoided makeup like the plague, she let herself enjoy the treatment. She had never had someone else apply it.
"One day," Tifa murmured as she applied paint to Yuffie's lips, "we'll do a proper makeover, where we wash each other's hair and do each other's nails, and put on pretty dresses and go out and look cute and then come back and watch girly movies. Deal?"
Yuffie's lips twitched. Luckily, Tifa had already put on the lipstick.
"Open your eyes and look up."
A few minutes later, Tifa told her to look in the mirror.
Yuffie thought the face looking back at her had to be her mother. Then she realized it was just herself, covered in white paint and white clothes and a white headdress. Her dark hair and eyes stood out starkly. Tifa had added some creative touches to her eye makeup, and Yuffie's eyes seemed large and soft. She looked utterly unlike herself – a phantom bride, prepared to sit quietly by her husband's side on the throne.
Fat chance.
"Let me help you get into these sandals, and then I have a surprise for you."
She knelt and rolled the socks up Yuffie's legs, then slipped the wooden sandals onto her feet. Yuffie cringed at the rub of wood on cloth, gritting her teeth. Tifa held out her hand and helped the Princess rise.
Then, Tifa reached into her clutch and pulled out a black cord necklace, which she slipped over Yuffie's head. At the end of the black thong hung a beaten, tarnished metal circle. Or almost a circle—one open segment kept it from being whole. She thought the charm had seen some abuse; pits and scars marred the surface of the metal.
"Tifa… what is this?"
"This piece is very special to me." Tifa smiled a smile that crept up her eyes and rounded her cheeks. "Master Zangan gave it to me."
Yuffie's eyes widened. "Zangan? You mean the man who taught you to fight?"
She nodded. "Yes, that's him." She took Yuffie's hand and closed it around the metal. The warmth of Tifa's hand lingered on its surface. "He gave me this the first time I bested him in unarmed combat. This is called an Enso, and it's a symbol of the absolute."
"I can't take this," Yuffie protested. "It's yours."
"You're going to earn it over the course of this marriage. The Enso represents the visible and the invisible, the simple and the profound. It means infinity – that's why it never actually closes. It opens into the world to share itself."
Various protests surged through Yuffie. This isn't a love match, Tifa. It's not going to last. I won't be sharing much of anything. But at the look on her older friend's sweet face, she swallowed the squirming mass of objections and asked a questions instead.
"But why are you giving me this?"
"You're going to need a clear head, you're going to need to share yourself with this country. Remember to keep your eyes open. The Enso will remind you. And when it feels like too much, remember you can always talk to me."
Yuffie stared at the disc in her hand, rubbing her fingertips over the rough metal. She thought she might be able to feel the wisdom of many years warming its grooves.
"But hey." She hugged Yuffie hard around the shoulders, fierce and sudden. "What do I know?" Her voice sounded oddly choked. "I've never ruled a country."
"Me either." Yuffie swallowed the sudden lump in her throat. "Well. I guess it's about time."
Tifa pulled back and looked at her wrist. "According to my watch, anyway, we have fifteen minutes to get you out there."
"I'll need all the time I can get in this damn dress."
The metal disc fit into her robes nicely – hidden and secure. The presence against her breast bolstered her courage. She could do this. She knew she could, despite the hot spring of anxiety inside her stomach. Leviathan shifted.
Guards accompanied them on their way to the royal shrine, where they would be married in front of a crowd of Wuteng people. Five of them flanked her, weapons equipped and eyes alert. None made conversation, and Yuffie felt twitchy at their tense silence. The shrine loomed, redolent with colorful paints and eaves. She swallowed hard at the hundreds of people gathered outside, watching her approach. Soon to be her subjects.
"You're ready," Tifa said into her ear.
"I am." But she wasn't sure.
She really wasn't sure when she saw all the people. They stood waiting for her, and a path with guards for walls cut through the swathe. At the center of the crowd, inside the circle of paint drawn on the floor for such ceremonies, stood Tseng, flanked by Rufus and the ex-Turks. On Yuffie's side of the circle, a group of familiar faces waited.
She stepped into position facing her groom, and looked into his dark, calm eyes. AVALANCHE behind her gave her strength. She felt a hand on the small of her back, and Reeve stood beside her. He leaned into her ear. "We're here."
She could only nod. She'd have time for them after the ceremony. For now, gratitude swelled in her just knowing they were present.
The holy man presiding over their union began to speak. His voice rang out above the crowd, which quieted. "The house of Kisaragi and Wei stand before us today, prepared to unite their destinies."
The priest's voice faded to a buzz as Yuffie's nerves jangled. She could only stare into Tseng's eyes, trying to mask her fear. She found nothing in them—they remained blank and free of emotion. Gone was any glimpse at personality she had witnessed in the past few days. She felt like a storm of emotion battering against a Wuteng wall of a man.
She focused on the textures of Tseng's ceremonial robes – the white whorls of cherry blossoms and the shining scales of the dragons embroidered on the hems. All were done in varying shades of white – creams and eggshells and pearls. He seemed to her a blank piece of paper with the trappings of her people scribbled on him.
The traditional blessings were bestowed, words she had heard over and over in her youth, at many a wedding, common or royal. Now they applied to her. Am I supposed to feel special? Are these words supposed to mean something to me?
The priest wished them long life, health, and many children; a successful partnership; happiness and good fortune. The priest wished them many vaguely positive concepts. The priest wished for an obedient wife and a faithful husband.
Yuffie almost snorted. Obedient wife. She made a note to get the wording in the default vows changed.
"Wei Tseng, please present your offering to the Single White Rose."
From a platform to their left, Tseng retrieved something and knelt before her with a regal air. From a small parcel, he pulled a red slipper. Gently, he grasped Yuffie's ankle and fitted her foot into it. His fingers felt suddenly invasive, and she had the urge to flee. He followed up with the other shoe, then rose and towered over her once more. The rest of the bundle contained a red jacket, which he slipped over her arms, and a red veil, which he draped over her elaborate headdress.
In Wuteng culture, red symbolized many things for weddings. The blood of her people and the blood of her family, happiness, prosperity, good health, passion. To Wutai, red represented life and was an auspicious color.
"Your Highness, do you accept his offering?"
In return, Yuffie gathered a bundle from the table and returned the gesture of putting slippers on Tseng's feet. She noted that he had well-groomed feet, not like Cid with his yucky, uneven toenails. At least Tseng knew about the delightful invention of toenail clippers. She followed up the shoes with a red sash which she draped over his kimono.
This action—which made her feel disgustingly submissive, even though he had made the same gesture—meant yes, for her part. She thought about that yes, thought hard in a short span of time. Yes, I'll be watching you like a hawk. Yes, Shinra may enter my country. Yes, Shinra may enter my bed.
The priest joined their hands, and Tseng's long, calloused fingers twined with hers. She felt dwarfed by him. She felt like the ground might shatter beneath her.
"May your union be favorable in the eyes of the gods, Kisaragi Yuffie and Kisaragi Tseng, previously Wei Tseng."
Leviathan, silent up until that moment, rumbled within her. She thought it might be a reaction to the completed ceremony of her wedding, but then he roared, and she heard it ring in her ears and vibrate to the tips of her toes. A pain shot through her chest, right where she thought her heartbeat reverberated, and she gasped and clutched at herself.
"Yuffie? What's wrong?" Reeve asked from behind her.
Her eyes watered, and she almost collapsed to her knees. She sucked air in hard. The crowd began to murmur as faces swam before her vision.
"I think… I think Dad needs me."
Then she was off like a shot, her guards scrambling to catch up.
She might have lost some beads along the way, but Yuffie paid no heed. Her family's God raged within her, crying out in pain, and she knew then that her father was dying. When she shoved past the guards and burst through his door, she heard him call for her over the ruckus.
"Dad!"
"Come here, Yuffie." His voice, so weak, almost made her cringe.
She grabbed his hand from his side and grasped it. If it was a little too hard, he said nothing. "It's gonna be okay."
Leviathan roared his disagreement, and she clutched herself with an audible groan.
"Leviathan knows."
"That stupid fish doesn't know anything," she said through gritted teeth.
"That stupid fish will save your life one day," he said. Then he started coughing, and she scrambled to put a handkerchief to his face. When she was finally able to take it away, blood flecked the white cloth.
"No," she hissed. "No way. You stay with me, you old bastard. We can still fix you."
"The throne is yours now," he wheezed, eyes squeezed shut with the pain.
"Please, Dad."
Using the last vestiges of his strength, he reached up and touched her wet cheek. She was crying. "You were such a difficult child. I always loved you."
"No, please, Dad, you have to hold on a little longer."
He looked past her, and his glassy eyes fixed on the group of people who had pushed past the guards and flooded into the room. AVALANCHE, the former Turks. They had stopped to leave room for the grieving girl, and a respectful bubble of silence seemed to separate them from her.
"Your husband will protect you now, and your friends," her father said.
At this, to her great surprise, Tseng stepped through the crowd of people and bowed deeply to her father. His glossy hair slid forward and brushed the ground. "Your highness," he murmured.
Though he was blind, Godo's eyes seemed to pin Tseng. "Look after my daughter. She attracts trouble."
Tseng straightened. "You have my word."
"Yuffie." He grasped her hand in his again, weak but still trying. "All will be well, my daughter. Don't worry."
And then his hand loosened in her own. Limp fingers slipped from hers. His eyes fluttered, his breath hitched, bubbled, and stopped. Yuffie buried her face in his still-warm palm.
"Bye," she sighed. And so quiet no one heard it, she whispered into his calloused hand.
"I love you, Daddy."
Leviathan's power dried her tears in a white hot flash, and she blacked out.