Work Text:
Lord Braska—or rather, his statue—was finally coming to Besaid. Wakka had been less than tactful about delivering this news, bursting into Yuna's home early in the morning and hollering excitedly about it. For that, he'd gotten more than an earful from Lulu, although Yuna didn't think it was a bad way to be woken up. However, the pride and elation that she felt about her father being so honored soon gave way to a creeping, knotted feeling in the pit of her stomach.
"Excuse me," she said, interrupting Lulu and Wakka's spat. Lulu crossed her arms and looked at her expectantly. "Since my father's statue is going to be erected inside the temple after all these years, I think it's time for me to start my own pilgrimage," she said at length, threading her fingers together and staring off into the distance. "I feel like maybe … it's a sign."
"Yuna, you're really serious about this?!" Wakka pleaded. She opened her mouth to make her usual protest, but Lulu did it for her.
"We've been over this. She has made up her mind. The best you can do for her is to give her your support." Lulu nodded at Yuna before continuing. "You'll need to inform the temple."
"Yes, of course" Yuna agreed, tucking her unkempt hair behind her ears.
"Are you nervous?" Lulu asked. She gave Wakka a stern look. He sputtered something about blitzball practice and ducked through the entrance, leaving the women alone together. Lulu picked up a comb and sat beside Yuna. "Well, are you?"
"I suppose I have a few butterflies in my stomach …" Yuna trailed off as Lulu took to attacking the kinks of her mussed hair with a comb.
"You're our Yuna," said Lulu. "You will do fine."
"Mm, I promise I will." She agreed.
Lulu then managed to convince her to wait until after breakfast to go to the temple to make her formal announcement. Becoming a summoner was more than a matter of simply being accepted by the Fayth and calling forth aeons. She had to be well-versed in the teachings of Yevon, and most importantly, able to perform the Sending ritual. While she had full confidence in her knowledge of Yevon's teachings (Lulu quizzed her constantly), the Sending daunted her. The fact of the matter was that most summoners did not complete their pilgrimage, but they did make a very real impact on people's lives through the Sending. Preventing loved ones from becoming fiends was an immeasurable comfort.
And so it was with butterflies still whirling around in her stomach that Yuna met with Besaid Temple's clergy.
"A representative from Bevelle will be accompanying Lord Braska's statue," said the cleric. "I am sure that he will very much like to see how his daughter's training has progressed. We look forward to your dance tomorrow, Lady Yuna."
She dismissed herself with a bow and skittered to the outskirts of town to practice. For hours she went through the paces of the ritual, trying to remember when to twirl her staff, and in which direction. Every movement had meaning. In the presence of the tormented dead, every moment also had power. It wasn't something one could do lightly.
While the sun was dipping low on the horizon, painting the landscape shades of red and orange, Kimahri found her.
"Yuna practice enough. Come, eat dinner."
She smiled wanly at him, and sat beneath a tree. "Just a little while longer, Kimahri. I've almost got it."
"Look good to Kimahri," he retorted.
"I want it to be as good as my father's," she sighed, closing her eyes and trying to recall the one time she saw her father do it. Funny, how time had taken away the details of the memory. Looking back on it, Yuna realized that it couldn't have been her mother that Braska Sent that day: she had died hundreds of miles away at sea, drowned by Sin, months before he'd completed summoner's training. Despite that, her six-year-old self perceived that Sending as one for her mother.
Perhaps her father had thought of it that way too.
She'd clung to a cleric's sleeve as she watched her father perform the ritual, and was scolded by him when she couldn't suppress the desire to copy her father's movements. The Sending was only for summoners. It was sacred. Be silent. Watch. Pray for the dead. Feeling crushing guilt, she bit her lip and watched on in silence. It wasn't the last memory she had of her father, but it was the most poignant. He moved with such purpose and grace in his crimson robes lit by the pyreflies arcing and swirling around him. A crowd of on-lookers and grievers stood by, transfixed in reverence, sorrow, and relief all mixed together. For the first time if she wondered could ever measure up to him.
All that was a little over ten years ago now. Sin had returned, and she had no questions about her path. She would become a summoner, just as her father before her. That meant learning the Sending before she could be deemed fit to enter the inner workings of the temple to meet with its Fayth.
Yuna bit her lip to prevent crying out as she peeled her boots off to inspect her feet. They were raw and bleeding from hours of practice. It still wasn't perfect, though, and time was running short. Braska's statue would arrive in the morning: she had to be ready for the cloister of trials.
"Please, I just need a little more strength," she whispered to no one in particular, and proceeded to chant Cure. Tales of heroism and great feats accompanied the name of every High Summoner: some were great warriors, others great mages. It was expected that summoners would take up some form of additional training in order to protect themselves, as those who attempted the pilgrimage seldom had more than one guardian.
Yuna chose white magic.
Lulu urged her to consider black magic for her own protection, but Yuna declined, reminding her that she already knew one person skilled enough in that. Moreover, since she intended to free Spira from the pain of Sin, wouldn't it be only natural that she ease the little sufferings on the way as well? Although Lulu had then relented and even done her best to direct Yuna in her magical studies, it had fallen by the wayside lately. As such, she'd never cast a single spell on a living patient before. Her first may as well be herself, then.
Power coursed through her fingertips and over her ragged feet, cooling stinging flesh and knitting it together. She let out a sigh of relief: she could carry on with practice for a few hours more. Wriggling her toes, she got to her feet once more and decided that the boots could stay off for the rest of the night.
Kimahri grunted. "One more, then eat. Need strength for tomorrow."
"All right," Yuna agreed, feeling the toll of working magic on top of exerting herself all day. "Just … just one more." She took her staff in hand and filled her thoughts with memories of her father.
Then she danced.