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The Son and the Daughter	By : Ceefax Category: Final Fantasy X > General Views: 954 -:- Recommendations : 0 -:- Currently Reading : 0
Disclaimer: I do not own Final Fantasy X, nor any of the characters from it. I do not make any money from the writing of this story.

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The Son and the Daughter

by Ceefax.

Disclaimer: I own none of the characters or settings, and I'm not making any money off of this.

***

Chapter One

The Making of a Summoner

***
Yuna

It felt warm and solid - real. She had almost expected her hand to pass straight through, as though it were mist or pyreflies. She dismissed her aeon.

It was easy to return the happy smiles of the villagers - she felt elation at her success, also a great deal of relief that the burden of indecision had been lifted from her. The fayth had accepted her, she was now a summoner, and so therefore she would travel to Zanarkand. Follow in the footsteps of her father. Her future was now, at least in her own mind, decided.

There was a feast and a party. Many of the village children followed her around, begging to see the aeon again. She had to explain several times that other summoners needed it to battle fiends, and it would be selfish to summon it just so they could play. Unfortunately, that argument didn't seem very convincing.

She wanted to talk to the strange boy Wakka had found in the sea, but so many people wanted to congratulate her, and so many people wanted to string him up for entering the trials, it was nigh-on impossible.

Darkness fell, the fire was piled higher, and people began to drift homeward. She was glad, the exhaustion was beginning to take over, and she really wanted to sleep, but it would be rude to be the first to leave her own party.

She also craved some time to herself just to sit and think - she felt so different since she'd staggered out of the chamber of the fayth into Kimahri's arms. Somehow, she felt, the blond boy from the sea was linked to the feeling of strangeness, and if she could just figure out how it all fitted together...

She wanted to talk to her friends about all this, but Lulu was nowhere to be seen; Kimahri had also vanished, as was his habit when faced with communal activities; and Wakka was being kept busy defending the blond boy from the more devout villagers.

She sat down before the fire and closed her eyes. Immediately her mind took her back to the trials - to those strange, dank corridors, so different to the lavish, public areas of the temple. She had been expecting... She didn't really know what she'd been expecting, but some sort of battle, certainly... Not the strange maze-puzzle she had been confronted with. She'd been terribly confused, and had solved the puzzle more through trial and error than skill. And that had frightened her, because she'd always been taught the cloister of trials would stop those unworthy to address the fayth. She had even speculated that it could be a trap, a distraction she was supposed to see through and ignore. When they reached the antechamber, and she heard the hymn of the fayth more clearly than she had ever heard it before, she had stopped and meditated, ignoring her growing hunger and exhaustion, trying to rid herself of the doubt and disconcertion (and even a little anger that the trial had not been more difficult), to present the fayth with the clear and focused soul she'd been taught was necessary.

It had taken her a long time. Long enough to worry her guardians, and to worry herself. The self-doubts she had successfully put aside during her training had resurfaced with a vengeance.

But it was over now. And the fayth had accepted her.

She opened her eyes, watched the sparks dancing above the fire.

*I will get to Zanarkand,* she promised her aeon, *and I will defeat Sin.* She looked across to where the blond boy was talking to the Aurochs. *He's here. So that proves it.* She smiled to herself, knowing full well that she was making no sense, got to her feet, and went to meet the blond boy from the sea.

***
Seymour

It seemed that he always managed to be an embarrassment to his father in one way or another, but the worst thing he ever did was to accidentally become a summoner. And, in a way, it was from that accident (if you could call it an accident - which he did) that all their other problems sprang. Because, on that day, although he certainly didn't realise it at the time, his faith began to crumble.

To become a summoner, according to the precepts of Yevon, was a long and difficult path. Apprentice summoners spent many years learning philosophy, art, calligraphy, meditation techniques, survival techniques, politics, self-defense; not to mention the comprehensive study of a summoner's duties, which included a good basic knowledge of white magic (the talents were tied together - all summoners were white mages, although not all white mages were summoners). Then, at last, they and their guardians had to face the mysterious and dangerous cloister of trials. And if they survived that, they had to address the fayth, an even more hazardous procedure. A person had to have talent, wisdom and strength if they were to become a summoner, according to the precepts.

Which was why the news that an unarmed, unaccompanied eight-year-old child had wandered idly into the trials and wandered out a few hours later in possession of an aeon was not welcomed with great enthusiasm. The warrior monk whose duty it had been to guard the entrance to the trials was dismissed from the temple the following day, minus much of the skin of his back.

***

Seymour didn't remember very much, only that someone had called to him from within the trials, and he had followed the voice - that he wasn't supposed to be in there hadn't even occured to him. At least, not until he was scrambling back out afterwards, feet slipping on the slick ice, cold and panicky, not even knowing how much time had passed... And he didn't remember the fayth - all he could remember was a kind, pretty woman. He'd talked and laughed with her for hours and hours.

His father had been very angry. He'd made him swear never to tell anyone what had happened, with one hand on the base of Lady Yunalesca's statue, and the other on the teachings. His hands were still frozen from the cold of the Trials, and he couldn't even feel them.

He cried the whole way home. Partly because his father was so angry with him, but mostly because his hands and feet were beginning to come back to life, and it hurt so much. It felt like little fiery insects had dug their way into the digits - itching and burning at the same time. When they got home, his nanny forced him into a hot bath, which hurt even worse.

While he was worrying over his hands (the next day, the skin began to crack, showing raw flesh like threads of magma), Jyscal was worrying over the church. Within the week, Seymour had been enrolled as an apprentice summoner. Before he left, his father made him promise, yet again, to tell no-one. Except for Lord Nir, who would be his teacher, who knew anyway (and even then, he was to be as brief and apologetic as possible).

He went through the charade of learning to be a summoner. What he learnt was that the church's idea of what made a summoner was very different to the fayth's, and doing things the church's way was much more difficult.

As he became more immersed in the machinations of the church, with their inherent corruption, his belief in the teachings continued to fail; aided by watching his father's faith, once the blind devotion of the late convert, fall in turn.

When he was seventeen, he went back into the cloister of trials, taking as his guardian the bodyguard who had served his mother before him. As far as everyone else in the temple was concerned, he would be addressing the fayth for the first time. The empty ceremony grated, and the cloister wasn't the beautiful, wondrous place he half-remembered, but the fayth... He hadn't realised how much he'd missed her. For a long time, he couldn't bring himself to speak - he simply knelt and gazed, drinking her up with his eyes.

Looking at her, he realised what it had been so easy, in the intervening years, to forget - how much of his strength had come from her aeon, and the love and acceptance she had given him. Overcome, he lay by her statue and sobbed, swore to her that he would always love her, and he would do everything he could to be worthy of her.

It was a promise he would both proudly keep, and bitterly regret.

***

Dona

She was scared. Determined to go through with it, but, nevertheless, very very scared.

To be a summoner was what she had always intended to do with her life - ever since she was a child she had watched them pass through Kilika and had known that one day she would do the same.

In the morning she would enter the trials, and she had no idea what she would face.

By tomorrow, she could be dead.

So, she told herself firmly, either way it was good. Either she would become a summoner, with all the power and glory attached thereto; or she would die, and know the mysteries of the universe.

What, exactly, happened when you died? Were the Al Bhed or the Yevonites (or neither. Or both) right about the Farplane? Did the souls of the righteous dead really live there, and was it all it was cracked up to be? After you died, did you continue to experience time? Could you travel freely within it - did it stop? Was it really as bad as the church claimed to become a fiend? Did your body go with you? Did your memories go with you? Could you decide how your spirit appeared? Could spirits even perceive one another? Could you still feel pain? Or pleasure?

Nobody knew. Not one soul alive in the whole of Spira really knew. But she would. Perhaps very soon; she would know everything.

She thought of all the people throughout Spira, clinging to the dirt, scrabbling through their tiny little lives. Tomorrow, either way, she would be far, far above them.

Which was great, but didn't explain why she was still so scared.

Her idiot guardian was no help. She'd picked the ex-blitzer because he'd looked impressive. She'd been rather disappointed to learn he had all the brains of a mollusc.

Still, at least he looked impressive. And did as he was told. And was handy in a fight. And he had confidence in her - he always spoke of her pilgrimage as if it was a certainty, as if there was no chance she would fail. Which was all very encouraging, but what if she did fail? It'd be like kicking a puppy.

She gritted her teeth and glared at the wall. "Stop being so frightened," she said out loud. Her voice sounded disappointingly shaky. "It's stupid - everything dies. Besides, even if everything goes perfectly and you do become High Summoner, you'll still die." She paused, and gently bit at her lip. "You will die. Even if you run and hide and never go near a temple again, you will die. You want your death to be good, don't you? To mean something? Then why are you so scared? You're as bad as the rest of them - whining for someone to save you from Sin. And everything else."

She got up and started to pace, remembered that she was supposed to be resting, and sat back down on the bed, her body as taught as a bowstring.

"It doesn't matter," she said, softly, precisely, "how scared you are. Because you're not an idiot. Or an animal. You are better than this fear. And no matter how it ends, you will end it well." She gave herself a small smile and sank backwards to stare at the ceiling. "All you have to do is keep control - nobody has to know. Nobody will know. Because you are not just one of the idiots."

Fixing the ceiling with a death glare, she began systematically relaxing her body from the toes up.

She rolled onto her side, and toyed with the idea of marching up to the temple right now and getting it all over with, but practical thoughts about traversing the wood at night guardianless spoilt that plan.

She turned to speculating on how nice it would be not to have a body to keep her awake. Which led to speculation as to whether the dead slept. Certainly, fiends could be encountered at any time of the day or night...

"Now, you are going to sleep," she told herself in her very best commanding voice. "You are also going to stop talking to yourself. You have a mind to do that in, and it is powerful and whole. Now, sleep."

She closed her eyes and directed her thoughts towards herself, carrying the staff of a summoner, flying high above the dirt.

***

Isaaru

Isaaru stood on the edge of the rooftop plaza and looked out over the city of Bevelle. The ornamental stream flowed past, making soft, comforting noises, and the sun was warm on his face.

It occurred to him (somewhere beyond the shock) that he might never see the beautiful view from the roof of St Bevelle again. That he was most likely going to die very soon. He pushed the thought away, and found himself thinking of his brothers.

Only natural - he was a summoner now. There was every chance that Maroda would be raising Pacce alone.

*So, you're feeling guilty,* his brain interjected, *and maybe you should be, and either way we're going to use this. You have people you're fighting for, and that makes you stronger. Think of Lord Braska, he didn't destroy Sin for the people of Spira - he did it for his daughter. Just as you'll do it for Pacce.*

He drew in a deep breath of sea-scented air. *You won't fail,* his mind sternly and confidently told him, using his stepfather's voice.

He turned at the sound of footsteps behind him. A warrior monk, holding a machina weapon. Yesterday, he wouldn't have looked twice at such a thing... *Machina weapons for the monks. Why not? Why not, when the temple...*

"They're ready for you," the monk said, bowing. No titles, not yet. The aeon, hard-won, burned at his heart, but he wasn't yet a summoner...

Not trusting his voice, he simply nodded and followed the monk to the main plaza.

*Shhhh...* his mind whispered, comfortingly. *Just get through this, you can go to pieces later...*

Maroda and Pacce stood to one side with the Master of Apprentices and three of the temple priests. Maesters Kinoc and Kelk were watching from the balcony, and he bowed low to them before permitting his brothers a nervous smile. Pacce waved. Maroda smiled back, tightly.

He strode to the centre of the plaza, gritted his teeth, and began the summoning ritual.

They had practiced the movements until they were second nature, and Lady Selmaie had discussed the physical and emotional aspects of summoning, but he was still unprepared for the reality.

The aeon pulled free. It felt like an extension of his body - but one to which he could only offer suggestions, not control directly. He could feel the sun-warm stone beneath his booted feet, and also beneath his bare, rough claws... If he looked in just the right way, he could look down at himself... The bizarre double vision vanished as soon as he concentrated on it. He could feel his magic draining, dividing between the two of them, and behind all of that, he could feel the amusement of the fayth, who'd seen so many of these ceremonies... So many confused new summoners.

The dark dragon gave him a swift nod, and he bowed back, suddenly aware of the polite applause, and the High Priest of Bevelle, on the balcony standing before the Maesters, already halfway through the speech which declared him a summoner of Yevon.

He performed the shorter and simpler ritual of dismissal as the Maesters spoke in witness, then forced his fingers to loosen their grip on his staff before they lost all feeling.

***

Pacce was asleep. Apparently he'd taken the templeful of shiny machina and the fact that his big brother now had a dragon in his stride. Maroda was sitting on the front porch, sharpening one of the kitchen knives while staring at the stars.

Isaaru sat beside him. "I wish you'd look. A fingerless guardian I can do without."

"It's okay, I know what I'm doing."

"Did you know?"

"About the trials? Don't be an idiot, how could I?"

"I was so... when we got out, I was so scared, I felt like the whole church has betrayed me. I mean... so much machina."

"I know... But then... if it's in the temple, it can't be the bad kind of machina, right?"

"But, once I'd summoned the aeon," Isaaru continued, "it all seemed... Distant. Not important any more." He smiled at the stars. "I'm a summoner. I did it. And now we're going to take on Sin. That's what's important."

"Not as if it's up to us what they keep in the trials, anyway. Do you think they're all like that?"

"We'll just have to find out. I feel... exhausted, actually. But I think we can do this."

Maroda snorted. "Of course we can, my Lord."

***

Braska

At Djose, once night fell, it got cold very quickly.

They stood, watching the stars appear, two summoners from five apprentices.

"Do you think you'll begin your pilgrimage soon?" Turesh asked.

"No, I don't think so. I'm going to Bikanel to be a healer."

"Where?"

"It's the Al Bhed island."

"You won't get any thanks from Bevelle," Turesh said, in a faintly disbelieving voice, not entirely sure if his friend was serious. "They gave up on missionaries a long time ago."

"I'm not going to try and convert anybody - I'm going because they need more healers."

"Then you definitely won't get any thanks from Bevelle. You're really something - you haven't been a summoner for a day and you're already working on getting excommunicated."

Braska scowled. "If they want to excommunicate me for helping people who need help, that's fine. But I'm still going."

"But... But you don't even speak the language..."

"My mother's been dealing with Al Bhed merchants since before I was born. I know enough to get by."

Actually, his Al Bhed was perfect - but his mother had warned him against letting anyone know. Yevonites would get the wrong idea, and Al Bhed customers would not be quite so candid.

Turesh shivered. "You want to go back inside?"

"I don't think I could sleep."

"Hell, no." He grinned. "I feel like taking on every fiend in Spira, don't you?"

Braska laughed. "Maybe not quite every fiend."

"Why Al Bhed, anyway? Aren't there some people around here you could help?"

"Yes, but I want to go where I'm needed the most. There've been terrible storms across Bikanel for the past year, and that means no-one can get out into the desert to keep the fiends down..."

"Yeah, I expect there's a lot of fiends out there."

Braska gave him a look of patient disapproval.

"I'm not saying it isn't a good thing to do, it's just... Why make trouble? You're a Summoner now, you can do whatever you want, it's a free ride."

"A free ride right up to the jaws of Sin."

"Maybe the Calm'll last this time."

"Maybe."

Behind them, with much creaking and groaning, the Mushroom Rock opened and began to spin.

"They picked a nice time for it," Turesh commented. "Maybe they're checking we didn't break anything."

They watched the rocks dance in the electric light.

"You can feel it, can't you?" Turesh said, pressing a hand to his chest. "Can you believe this? When you woke up this morning, did you honestly think you'd be a summoner tonight?"

"Not even remotely," Braska replied. His friend was right - within him, he could feel the aeon stir as the fayth awoke. It was pleasant, in an unfamiliar way. Companionable.

"And I didn't think I'd feel this different, you know? Like when you hear about people who've been through something amazing, and afterwards they always say they're just the same as they ever were? I thought it'd be like that, but I feel like a whole new person."

"I know exactly what you mean."

"It's a shame we can't practise with each other..."

"You still feel like fighting? Better make a start on that pilgrimage, then come and find me."

Turesh laughed. "Yeah, I'll do that. So, how do you say 'take me to the crazy Summoner' in Al Bhed?"

Braska laughed, and Turesh joined in.

"I'll tell you a secret, if you like?"

"What?"

"I never meant to be a summoner. I lied. I only wanted the white magical training. It was my father's idea - he taught me to be a healer, but I'd mastered all the white magic he knew before I was ten, and we didn't have the money to pay for lessons. I was going to drop out once we'd covered all the healing magic, except it turned out I was so good at everything. It seemed so... conspicuous to leave when I was doing so well. I never thought I'd actually make it all the way."

"Braska... You are going to be excommunicated. You're amazing - what do you do for an encore, moon Maester Mika?"

"Don't tell anyone."

"No way! You tricked the temple selectors - they'd shoot the messenger."

They stood in silence. The rocks groaned above them.

"So... Are you just going to be a healer, or do you think you'll ever go on your pilgrimage?"

"I don't know. Maybe not. I'm no fighter - I don't think I'd be much use against Sin. He turned his back to the temple to smile up at the stars. "But we're still in the Calm... I've got years yet to decide."

***
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The Son and the Daughter