It hurt. Worse than he ever could have imagined pain to feel. All through his life, he had been cut, he had been beaten, he had exhausted himself to the point of sickness… but this did not compare. This was torture… the product of a sick mind with twisted beliefs, the same beliefs that used to be his. He bled, everywhere, so much that he didn't even feel it anymore. Long ago, at least a few hours, he had been slashed straight down the right side of his face. Blood, or perhaps blindness, had obscured the vision in his right eye since then, and he was left to drag himself on. Behind him, his sword and useless leg left a trail in the thin layer of snow. They had been dragged all up – and down – the mountain, dead weight he could do without at the moment. His head throbbed, and it hurt to train his eyes anywhere other than the ice below him.
He had to continue. He had promised… he promised them both.
But that didn't stop it from hurting.
There was a strange sense of the ethereal about him, leading him to believe he was in a dimension other than the world he knew and (used to) love. Within an instant, the world around him had shattered, taking away his friends, his livelihood, his faith. He was no longer a guardian, a warrior, or a monk. The foundation of his life, what he had built everything on, was gone. All he could do was fall, fall, with nothing to catch him.
How far the mighty could fall! For years, he had prided himself on his immaculate reputation. Pure, chivalrous according to both his personal code and the code of his work, fiercely loyal, and righteous to a fault, he'd had the perfect life. His job rarely ever required the same… unpleasant requirements that the lesser monks had. The position was cushy, to say the least, and he had been first in line for the highest honor someone in his position could get. He was an almost-maester, with upstanding family heritage, and (he grudgingly admitted) had the privilege of being one of the most eligible bachelors in Bevelle. Despite the pain in his head, he couldn't help but give it a little shake. He doubted he looked so good now.
Snow faded to rock, dirt, grass – he was halfway there. The nightmare that mountain had given him was over, and all he had to do was last a little longer… he would be there by nightfall, should Yevon smile on him – no. No more of that. His faith was gone.
Without warning, something surged its way through his system, forcing him to heave and almost drop to the ground. His head bobbed on his neck, sending throb after throb down his spine and into his limbs. Even for the pain, he felt himself shivering, and he recognized the feel of a substance sliding past his lips. Was it blood from his face or from within that was flecked through it, giving it a pink stain that made him feel he would be sick again?
He was disgusted. The man he once was would never have been this weak.
"Well, then," he heard dimly. "Isn't it a lucky thing I came this way?" It was a man who spoke, accent thick and heavy. He set himself just a foot in front of the vomit, showing no signs of revulsion. Was the situation different, he would have been ashamed to be seen in so weak a state… but today he didn't care. "Can you speak? Tell me your name." Could he speak? Would the stirrings in his gut and pounding in his head allow it?
He struggled a moment. When he did speak, voice slippery as the blood, it startled him. It was ridden with hate, pain, humiliation, sorrow, anger, defeat, and perhaps a twinge of fear. So much emotion in just one word. "Auron."
"Sir Auron? I thought… how did… never mind." Was he that unrecognizable? If this person knew him as 'Sir Auron,' surely he would have known… he must be in worse shape than he had thought. "My medicines may be of some help. We'll fix you up, oac?" Of course, no wonder the voice was so familiar. Auron almost smiled in relief. A friend had found him.
"Rin." The man laughed, standing a little straighter. He was still a moment before beginning to walk around Auron in a circle, surely inspecting all the damage he could see. It made Auron wildly uncomfortable, like he would were monsters sizing him up for the kill… like they had been earlier.
"So you remember. I am flattered." He stopped again in front of Auron, and now he recognized the boots. Rin – the man who had so graciously offered them a place to stay the last time they (what they? there was no they anymore) were here. "It is a wonder you can still move. You have fractured your skull in numerous places. Your right eye has been damaged beyond anything one could do. Judging by the blood there," he gestured to the vomit "you also are internally bleeding. We must get you somewhere you can rest and I can treat you. My agency would be best." The sky was tinged now, casting a shadow of sunset around them. The blood under Auron glinted from the sunset, mocking him.
Here, it said, see what flows through you like it did your friends. They are gone, and you will be gone too. I will kill you.
Surely, it would, with the way it was fleeing him. For ages now, he had felt ready to collapse. "Zanarkand," Auron said suddenly, needing to tell. His throat burned with disuse. He had not spoken since those words… that rueful scream as he sought to strike down his foe… How could Rin know what to do if Auron did not explain? Al Bhed, surely, could not cure wounds inflicted by the supernatural, and surely in more ways than one, she was not of natural earth or mind.
"Hush. Cyja ouin ahanko." Rin bent down so that they could look each other in the eye. It was painful, but Auron did lift his head. There was serious concern on the man's face, and he felt truly touched. Still, he could not let Rin take him away. He had a promise to keep, and at the rate he was going… yes. He would die. He would accept it – there was no life for him here anymore.
Rin's sudden silence brought him back from his reserve, and he knew he had missed something from the look on his face. Taking a step forward, he gently pushed Auron back until he could qualify as sitting up. After he realized what Rin planned to do, he was too late, and the smaller man had already bent and grabbed him around the waist.
"This will hurt," he said, and without another word Auron was hefted over his shoulder. In his other hand, he carefully carried the precious sword, spattered with fiend's and his own blood. Yes... he knew Auron would never want to leave it behind.
Rin walked gently, enough so that Auron didn't find himself coughing up blood again. It surprised him, how readily this man – this Al Bhed – who he had only met twice before was willing to drop everything and help him. Had the native inhabitants of Mt. Gagazet lifted a finger to help him? Had the fiends showed him any mercy in their ruthless attack?
It was then that Auron realized that perhaps Al Bhed weren't anything like what Yevon claimed. As a matter of fact, he had never met a man who would have done this before… except for Braska and Jecht, and look where they had ended up - dead, just like he would be soon. Rin would not keep him long. He had to keep his promise, if it was (and it would be) the last thing he did.
It took a few minutes for Auron to muster enough strength to speak more than a word at a time. Though he could not see Rin's expression, he was sure the Al Bhed was surprised. "You have been… calm… about this," he whispered, though Rin had told him to be quiet. He did not care if it sapped his strength, for he would not need it much longer.
There was a smile in Rin's voice. "I am calm about most things."
Auron tried to smile back, rejecting the feel of bile rising in his throat again. He had to make it… the instant Rin took his eyes off him, he would go.
"Here," he heard a while later as the sun seemed to set instantly. Auron was set down in what looked to be a tent, atypical from the inns most Spirans used. Still, a bed was a bed, and he did not resist being placed upon it. "I have sent word for curatives, and hopefully they will be back from Bevelle within the hour. For now, Sir Auron, try not to move. I will return momentarily, with my own brand of medicines."
"Thank you," Auron said, voice a little stronger now. Now, while Rin was gone – did he have the strength to stand? If he did, he should use it fast, for he would soon fade. It was a strange thing, his absence of fear – but then again, his training had forbidden the terror of death. Death was welcome, they had said, if it is honorable. Honor… yes, there was honor in giving your life to a promise. He did not have to worry. He would not mind dying.
-.-.-
Somehow, he stood. Somehow, he walked out and made his way across the Calm Lands with his head held high. Somehow, he managed to hold tight to life until he was just steps from the gateway to Bevelle. When he did finally drop to the ground, just in front of a blue-furred Ronso who looked at him in surprise, he was not ready to give up. Ready to hear his last request, without needing to be asked, the Ronso crouched beside the dying man.
"Find Yuna… daughter of High-Summoner Braska. Take her to Besaid… that was his wish. I promised…" The Ronso nodded, taking this duty solemnly.
"Kimahri shall keep that promise."
Promise… Life finally slipped from his grasp. It was a strange experience, feeling the last of your strength evade you and flee into the air in the form of light. Heart stopped beating, vision was lost, and his last conscious thought was a disturbing one. I can't leave. I promised Jecht.
Auron had forgotten. His mind, so pained and burdened by the more recent loss of Braska, had pushed Jecht's request from his mind. How had they known he would last beyond them? Why had they requested that he give safety to their children? Had it not been for their favors, he probably would have killed himself anyway. It was not in his training to live after his master – his friends.
But that no longer mattered. He would live yet, if he had the choice. After all, he was a warrior monk – a guardian – a friend, and a promise was a promise. Auron would find a way to Zanarkand… and then he would go. Death would be his reward for a job well done.
-.-.-
Ten years later, aged and weary enough to be fifty instead of in his mid-thirties (were he not dead), Auron stood in a hallway of Cid's airship as Rin delivered the news that fiends and their masters were onboard. He was slightly amused to hear the typically bored tone in his voice, ever aloof and friendly. Cid rightly exploded.
"You're awfully calm about it!"
No one saw Auron's shoulders shake with surprised laughter when Rin spoke, and no one heard the soft chuckles. By the time Tidus and the others ran out to take down the fiends, Auron following, he had calmed himself, and there was no trace of a smile on his face. Still, perhaps Rin had heard after all. Later, he gave him a smile, the same one he had seen on his cheerful and ambiguous face as he was placed on what would have been his death bed.
"I am calm about most things."
Author's Note: I always wondered about how Auron might've actually died – or at least the few hours beforehand, anyway. One day, I was scribbling stuff in my notebook and out came the phrase "it hurt." From there, this story sort of came out on its own… I tried to describe what was going on with him without being brutal, too – even in that avoiding sense, I almost made myself throw up when I was thinking about him doing the same. I've always had a low threshold for pain, so props to Auron if his final moments were anything like I described.
Oh, yes. "Cyja ouin ahanko." I never knew if Auron spoke Al Bhed or not, so I left it sort of ambiguous, but translated it means "Save your strength." Ahanko… pretty word, don't you think?