[Final Fantasy XII] Midsummer
Characters/Pairings: Fran, Mjrn, Jote
Rating: G
Warnings: Minor spoilers for Eruyt Village.
Summary: The viera dance at midsummer.
Notes: first_seventhe, shanaqui, and evillotto are owed massive thanks for a very last-minute beta. This was written for the spring round of yuri_challenge, though it ended up far more gen than yuri. ~1100 words.
Disclaimer: Final Fantasy XII belongs to Square Enix. I own neither the characters nor the setting, nor do I gain any profit from my fanfiction, which is purely for my own enjoyment.
She knew not if it was habit or some instinct she had buried since leaving the Wood six months past, but she woke a half-hour before dawn on midsummer's day. She rose from her bedroll and stretched slowly. During the day, Ozmone echoed with the sounds of Zaghnals and Mesmenirs stomping around, punctuated by the flapping of Zus. Yet now, there was a stillness to the air, as though all Ivalice held its breath in anticipation of the dawn of the Longest Day.
In the village, they would have spent much of the night fasting and meditating, preparing themselves for the day of celebration to come. With eyes half-closed, she listened to the wind rustling in the tiny, scrubby bushes that dotted the plain and breathed deep of the early-morning air. The scents here were so different than the Wood. The air tasted dry, and carried the scent of sagebrush and juniper from the nearby Giza Plains. In the Wood, the air was heavy with the constant misting rain. One could always smell the multitude of flowers and plants that graced its floors, as well as the smell of decaying leaves and branches. The air here seemed almost empty in comparison.
The first hints of pink in the eastern sky were beginning to show. By now, the village would have gathered. Those with musical talents would be carrying their instruments. Mjrn would be fidgeting in place, never able to keep still until the dance began. Jote would stand with a distant, fixed look on her face. Fran knew she spent the time rehearsing the words of ritual carefully. Jote had stammered a bit as a child, and had taken her role as first Maiden and then Elder seriously.
Fran watched the first bright rays spear up from the horizon. The slow, steady beat of the drums would just be beginning. They would line up along the forest floor, beneath the branches of the largest tree in the Wood. The sun's rays would not reach here for quite some time, if at all, but that did not matter. The viera knew the precise moment when the dance must begin.
Like so much the viera did, the dance was slow and stately. Mjrn's hand would be tense and faintly trembling in hers, as her sister struggled to hold her pace to the beat of the dance. Jote, always on her other side, had to concentrate to keep her pace fast enough, lest she stop in the midst of the dance, caught up in the Green Word. She danced with a fierce focus as she sang the chants of their Wood, reminding them all of the way of the Green Word. Mjrn gave herself over to the dance, Jote to the careful, comforting script of ritual. Fran simply savoured the oneness with the Wood, the way their steps brought them closer to Her beating heart.
The grass whispered beneath her feet. Step, step, turn, a crossover step, another turn. Fran had best liked the steady, even pulse of the midsummer and midwinter dances. Jote preferred the solemn nature of the harvest rites, when the Wood's voice assured them that they had held Her traditions sacred for another year. Mjrn loved the spring dances, welcoming the viera who had just come of age to the ranks of adults.
Fran had not heard the voice of the Wood since she committed the worst violation of the Green Word and left their ancestral home. Her feet traced a spiral path in the crystal glade, circling inwards slowly. Once, this dance would have called up the Wood's spirit for her. It began as a feeling of peace, a heartbeat that matched the beat of the drums. As the dance moved inward, the flutes began to play, and Fran hummed the melody to herself. The dance was never so fast that the musicians could not draw breath to play. The dense, rich darkness of night would slowly give way to the faint green light that filtered through the leaves to illumine their ritual place. The dance went on, spiraling inward, and as the light grew, so did the feel of the Wood watching over them. The jungle scents grew stronger and Jote's voice, soft in the beginning, rose slowly until her words rang out to all the assembled viera.
Fran knew it mere fancy, but she thought that amid the alien scents of Ozmone, she caught a hint of the Wood's rich fragrance. Her feet continued to trace the steps of the dance, and she hummed louder. She closed her eyes and held her arms out to her sides, hands curled as though she yet danced with her sisters. It seemed to her that she could feel their hands in hers, though of course that was folly. The dance moved inward, inward, the spiral tightening, until at last she stood at the center. Yet instead of the feeling of buoyant peace she was accustomed to, she felt empty, a vast aching loneliness. Goodbye, our sister, the wind murmured, rustling through the trees, and Fran bowed her head.
She had left them right after the midwinter dance. She had thought to leave without telling Mjrn, for Jote's anger when Fran divulged her plans had been great, and Mjrn with her impetuous nature would be like to immediately declare her intention to leave as well, and that would not do. Yet her younger sister had followed her to the gates of the village.
"Where are you going?" she asked, and Fran did not have it in her to lie.
"I must leave the Wood," she said.
"I'm going with you," Mjrn declared.
Fran sighed and turned to her sister, embracing her carefully. "You are not. Do not throw away the companionship of our sisters so lightly, Mjrn. I know what it is that I do."
"But if you leave the Wood, I'll never see you again!"
"No," Fran said, "and Mjrn, I shall miss you. But the Wood is not the only path that we may choose. It is not my path."
"What if it is not mine?" Mjrn asked in a very small voice.
Fran touched her sister's hair lightly. "Then, in time, perhaps you will follow me into Ivalice. But I would ask you to bide here a while yet, and think if the call of new places is truly worth what you would sacrifice in return."
Mjrn hugged her hard before she left, and months later, standing on the Ozmone Plain as the rising sun illuminated the crystal glade, Fran felt the ghost of that embrace once more. For a moment, she thought of going back; the entrance to Golmore was not so very far, and truly, she missed her sisters very much. But she had made her choice, and Jote would not welcome her return.
Fran's feet stopped moving, slowly, as the dance ended. She gathered her things and turned south, away from the Green Word and her sisters and a world she was no longer a part of. Never again did she perform the dances of the Wood.
Rating: G
Warnings: Minor spoilers for Eruyt Village.
Summary: The viera dance at midsummer.
Notes: first_seventhe, shanaqui, and evillotto are owed massive thanks for a very last-minute beta. This was written for the spring round of yuri_challenge, though it ended up far more gen than yuri. ~1100 words.
Disclaimer: Final Fantasy XII belongs to Square Enix. I own neither the characters nor the setting, nor do I gain any profit from my fanfiction, which is purely for my own enjoyment.
She knew not if it was habit or some instinct she had buried since leaving the Wood six months past, but she woke a half-hour before dawn on midsummer's day. She rose from her bedroll and stretched slowly. During the day, Ozmone echoed with the sounds of Zaghnals and Mesmenirs stomping around, punctuated by the flapping of Zus. Yet now, there was a stillness to the air, as though all Ivalice held its breath in anticipation of the dawn of the Longest Day.
In the village, they would have spent much of the night fasting and meditating, preparing themselves for the day of celebration to come. With eyes half-closed, she listened to the wind rustling in the tiny, scrubby bushes that dotted the plain and breathed deep of the early-morning air. The scents here were so different than the Wood. The air tasted dry, and carried the scent of sagebrush and juniper from the nearby Giza Plains. In the Wood, the air was heavy with the constant misting rain. One could always smell the multitude of flowers and plants that graced its floors, as well as the smell of decaying leaves and branches. The air here seemed almost empty in comparison.
The first hints of pink in the eastern sky were beginning to show. By now, the village would have gathered. Those with musical talents would be carrying their instruments. Mjrn would be fidgeting in place, never able to keep still until the dance began. Jote would stand with a distant, fixed look on her face. Fran knew she spent the time rehearsing the words of ritual carefully. Jote had stammered a bit as a child, and had taken her role as first Maiden and then Elder seriously.
Fran watched the first bright rays spear up from the horizon. The slow, steady beat of the drums would just be beginning. They would line up along the forest floor, beneath the branches of the largest tree in the Wood. The sun's rays would not reach here for quite some time, if at all, but that did not matter. The viera knew the precise moment when the dance must begin.
Like so much the viera did, the dance was slow and stately. Mjrn's hand would be tense and faintly trembling in hers, as her sister struggled to hold her pace to the beat of the dance. Jote, always on her other side, had to concentrate to keep her pace fast enough, lest she stop in the midst of the dance, caught up in the Green Word. She danced with a fierce focus as she sang the chants of their Wood, reminding them all of the way of the Green Word. Mjrn gave herself over to the dance, Jote to the careful, comforting script of ritual. Fran simply savoured the oneness with the Wood, the way their steps brought them closer to Her beating heart.
The grass whispered beneath her feet. Step, step, turn, a crossover step, another turn. Fran had best liked the steady, even pulse of the midsummer and midwinter dances. Jote preferred the solemn nature of the harvest rites, when the Wood's voice assured them that they had held Her traditions sacred for another year. Mjrn loved the spring dances, welcoming the viera who had just come of age to the ranks of adults.
Fran had not heard the voice of the Wood since she committed the worst violation of the Green Word and left their ancestral home. Her feet traced a spiral path in the crystal glade, circling inwards slowly. Once, this dance would have called up the Wood's spirit for her. It began as a feeling of peace, a heartbeat that matched the beat of the drums. As the dance moved inward, the flutes began to play, and Fran hummed the melody to herself. The dance was never so fast that the musicians could not draw breath to play. The dense, rich darkness of night would slowly give way to the faint green light that filtered through the leaves to illumine their ritual place. The dance went on, spiraling inward, and as the light grew, so did the feel of the Wood watching over them. The jungle scents grew stronger and Jote's voice, soft in the beginning, rose slowly until her words rang out to all the assembled viera.
Fran knew it mere fancy, but she thought that amid the alien scents of Ozmone, she caught a hint of the Wood's rich fragrance. Her feet continued to trace the steps of the dance, and she hummed louder. She closed her eyes and held her arms out to her sides, hands curled as though she yet danced with her sisters. It seemed to her that she could feel their hands in hers, though of course that was folly. The dance moved inward, inward, the spiral tightening, until at last she stood at the center. Yet instead of the feeling of buoyant peace she was accustomed to, she felt empty, a vast aching loneliness. Goodbye, our sister, the wind murmured, rustling through the trees, and Fran bowed her head.
She had left them right after the midwinter dance. She had thought to leave without telling Mjrn, for Jote's anger when Fran divulged her plans had been great, and Mjrn with her impetuous nature would be like to immediately declare her intention to leave as well, and that would not do. Yet her younger sister had followed her to the gates of the village.
"Where are you going?" she asked, and Fran did not have it in her to lie.
"I must leave the Wood," she said.
"I'm going with you," Mjrn declared.
Fran sighed and turned to her sister, embracing her carefully. "You are not. Do not throw away the companionship of our sisters so lightly, Mjrn. I know what it is that I do."
"But if you leave the Wood, I'll never see you again!"
"No," Fran said, "and Mjrn, I shall miss you. But the Wood is not the only path that we may choose. It is not my path."
"What if it is not mine?" Mjrn asked in a very small voice.
Fran touched her sister's hair lightly. "Then, in time, perhaps you will follow me into Ivalice. But I would ask you to bide here a while yet, and think if the call of new places is truly worth what you would sacrifice in return."
Mjrn hugged her hard before she left, and months later, standing on the Ozmone Plain as the rising sun illuminated the crystal glade, Fran felt the ghost of that embrace once more. For a moment, she thought of going back; the entrance to Golmore was not so very far, and truly, she missed her sisters very much. But she had made her choice, and Jote would not welcome her return.
Fran's feet stopped moving, slowly, as the dance ended. She gathered her things and turned south, away from the Green Word and her sisters and a world she was no longer a part of. Never again did she perform the dances of the Wood.