Major spoilers. Disclaimer: FFX isn't mine. Follows the story, but kind of AU. It's an Aurikku (didn't start that way) but they don't even meet until chapter 7, and don't speak until chapter 8. This is about characters and the gradual building of a relationship. Um, haven't really got a handle on the ratings, yet. I'm pretty sure this is all -T- right now, or even less. Still having trouble with the lines across the page. Given up on the double-spaces between words, but I need the lines. Also, didn't like this chapter title, but couldn't think of a better one. Anyway...


Soldier of Spira


Auron:

Luca.

The big city.

We limped into port on the day of the tournament that opens the blitzball season. Mika and the teams had already arrived. Maester Mika in the city. I wondered if our paths would cross. The last time we spoke had been...unsatisfying.

We tied up at an empty slip. I checked my jug and settled my sword across my shoulder. The boat's crew looked at me anxiously. There were four left—they had tried to murder me in the night. The youngest one was fourteen. His father was dead. Now they were afraid I would want to leave no witnesses behind. None of the crew ever understood that they had committed the crime. I stepped to the side of the boat, then stopped.

"You men," I said without turning. "You can tell your story, how death rode with you to Kilika, and you escaped Sin, but not steel. Tell people the price you paid for your fear. It matters not to me. It will become just one more story in the legend.

"But for your own sake, I tell you make something up. You were attacked by Sin, or by fiends, or by pirates. You were caught in a storm, or a sudden sickness swept your boat. Do not tell them I had to kill you one by one before you would try to save Kilika.

"That's not what people want to hear. Try to tell people a truth they don't want to know, and they will destroy you."


Luca


Auron:

I stood on the pier taking deep breaths. I preferred the slightly stale air of the city—any city—to the sea air just then. It wouldn't last, but for me the sea smelled like corpses. A small boy ran up and shoved a note in my hand. He stared up at me for a moment, then took off. It was the name of a tavern. It was more than ten years since I had been in Luca, but I could find the place. I left the boat, the survivors, and my latest bloody, heroic failure behind.

The city seemed small as I walked the streets. Zanarkand had changed my perspective, but Luca was a large city on Spira. It was the heart of the blitzball world. They willingly withstood attacks by Sin, then tried to rebuild in time for the next games. I've never understood blitzballers, and I've known two of the best. And again, eyes watched me every step of the way. There were whispers. People pointed. If it weren't for the blitzball tournament, I suppose I would have been the talk of the town that day. Yes, I am a legend—the red guardian, death walking, savior of Ocean's Point (don't ask about Starfall Village), hero of Klannathe, greatest warrior of my generation. But this was out of hand.

Just what had the Church been saying about me these last ten years?

I found the tavern near the edge of the city. I'd never been there, but it was a decent place. I knew a hundred like it, and a thousand worse. They had blitzball on the screen of course. I stepped inside and the conversation stopped, then started again. I could hear the words "Auron" and "guardian" over and over. Maybe it's the coat. My eyes were drawn to three people sitting at a table in the corner—the woman I met when I came out of the woods near the sea, the old scholar that spoke to me on the Mi'ihen Road, and an Al Bhed merchant I knew slightly years ago. Interesting. I sat down at their table.

"You were right," I told the woman. "I shouldn't have gone to Kilika."


Auron:

I was headed for the stadium at the center of town. The team from Besaid had made it into the finals. Apparently this was a surprise. I knew I would find Yuna and Tidus with the team. The information came from my new associates. We had come to an understanding. They would help me in various ways, and I wouldn't trust them—the merchant had smiled, the woman had laughed, and the scholar had frowned. Their enemy was my enemy, yes, I accepted that. But then, they were all playing their own games as well. So was I. Perhaps I would trust them in time. Until then, they had given me much to think about.

Little Yuna was a summoner. It didn't really surprise me that she wanted to follow in her father's footsteps, but she was so young. Still, it fit well with The Plan, so well that I wondered if I hadn't somehow known it already. It would certainly be easier—I felt a slight tugging. I looked down to see a small girl pulling on my coat.

"Can I have your autograph Mister Auron?"

"You want my autograph?" She was no more than six-years old.

"It's for my sisters," she pointed. Three teenaged girls looked quickly away and burst into giggles. Number 9 on my List... Oh, well...no harm. I sigh and sign the autograph, and hurry on to the stadium—yes, fine, give me a senior's discount—and up into the stands.

Yes, there he is—the boy. I actually smiled to see him. Naturally, he not only found his way onto a blitzball team on Spira, but into a championship game. (How long since I last smiled? A month? A year?) I sat down to watch. While blitzball isn't on my list of loathed and despised things, it is far from my favorite pastime. But I enjoyed watching Tidus play. The fans always loved him because he was young, because he was the best, and because he honestly loved to play the game. He relished it, and appreciated it, and they could feel that. When he was in the water, passing, or scoring, or defending, he brought his whole heart into it. He held nothing back. He died inside when he missed a shot, and the fans ached for him. When he scored, they went wild. He had always loved blitzball. When he was in a funk, and nothing else would cheer him up, blitzball would. When nothing else would convince him to mind me, I would threaten to take away his blitzball privileges. It never failed. I've never loved anything that purely. I don't think many people have.

The local team had scored a goal, and were leading one to nothing. Tidus took three shots, but each one was blocked. Even I could tell they were desperation efforts. Besaid was behind at halftime by one goal. The teams came out for the second half and Tidus immediately attacked the opponent's goal. There were three blockers plus the goalkeeper. Another desperation shot, as the announcer noted.

"It's the Besaid left-forward taking another shot on goal into the teeth of three of our Luca Goers...it looks like Besaid is just unable to—WHAT! What was that! Folks, the ball just took out one of the Goers—THERE'S ANOTHER ONE! Fans, the Besaid shooter has ju—GOAL! GOOOOOOOOAAAL! The Besaid Aurochs are on the board and two Luca Goers are trying to shake off the effects! What WAS that shot?"

That was the Jecht Shot. I saw Jecht practice it at least a hundred times. He would have smiled with pride to see Tidus now. Or not. He was a strange man in many ways. Perhaps he would have been annoyed that his son was using his shot.

"I'm still recovering from that shot folks, and so are the Goers, they haven't managed to retake the lead. And now the fans...the fans seem to be calling for Wakka!"

I saw Tidus listen to the crowd. I saw him sink slowly through the water, and swim off the field. A little later I saw a man with red, improbable hair take his place. Now, Jecht. Be proud of your son now. He stood aside from the game he loves, yielded his place to another player. Five years ago he never would have done that—given up the thrill, the adulation. It would never have occurred to him. He's grown, and I am proud of him.

I'll tell him one day.

This man Wakka who took his place seemed competent in the water. That would be an advantage later. He scored some sort of shot, raising the crowd and the announcer to new heights of hysterical enthusiasm. In the last seconds of the game the local team had the ball.

"It looks as if Luca has one last shot at tying up the game! The Luca right-forward shakes off one defender, now another! There's no one in front of him—HE KICKS! IT LOOKS GOOD! IT'S GOO—TIME! TimetimetimetimeTIME! Besaid has taken the cup! Besaid has taken the cup! Besaid has taken the cup! Besaid has taken the cup!"

I looked down and saw Tidus swimming out to congratulate the team.

"Besaid has taken the cup! Besaid has taken the cup! Besaid has taken the cup! Besaid has taken the cup!"

People are running. People are screaming. There are fiends in the stands. There are fiends in the water. Interesting.

"Besaid has taken the cup! Besaid has taken—-hey, what! Stop that! Get out of here! Yaaa!"

I get up and walk toward where it looks like Wakka and the boy will exit the water. A vouivre gets in my way. My greatest danger is from its wretched breath. These are not Mt Gagazet fiends. Tidus and Wakka run up to me.

"Auron!"

"Sir Auron!"

Before I can congratulate them on the game, another fiend shows up, this one a garuda, not only more powerful, but a flyer. Wonderful. The blitzballer pulls his weight. He hits the fiend with a dark attack. Handy. Then we all hit it until it dies. Then another shows up, along with a dingo and another vouivre. Not actually dangerous, but tedious.

That's when a really big anchor fell out of the sky.


Auron:

So, that was Seymour, a half-Guado maester playing his own game in addition to Bevelle's. That's what the three in the tavern told me, and I have no reason to doubt what they said. I had never seen his aeon Anima before. My associates had only a few meager clues of its origins, but it was powerful. It had eliminated all of the dozens of fiends with waves of its own incredible pain. It would have fit right in, in Zanarkand.

Seymour was strong, I could sense that. He was also a rising power in Bevelle. We would need to keep a careful watch on him. Because one of the most interesting questions of the day was, where did all the fiends come from? Not from Sin. Sin was nowhere near—I could smell it. So, what game are you playing, Seymour Guado?

In the aftermath of the battle, the introductions to Yuna's party were hurried. The heart of the party, the one who kept it moving forward, was the black mage Lulu. She was the de facto leader, quiet and sensible, making their decisions. Then there was the blitzballer, Wakka. He was their anti-flier specialist. His accent was certainly from the small islands around Besaid, but from his skin coloring and his hair I thought he must come originally from one of the tribes in the western islands. Perhaps when he was young. I knew he was capable enough for the moment, but I distrusted his focus. Would he concentrate on Yuna's safety, or on his game? My first instincts told me that it would be...disadvantageous...to The Plan if either died anytime soon. I was pleased. If things changed later...well, time to think about that later.

Kimahri was there. I hadn't seen him in ten years. I could hardly believe the Ronso was still keeping watch over Yuna after all of these years, keeping MY promise to Braska. I was humbled.

And was this my little Yuna, this young woman in blue and white, all poise and grace? She was only six or seven when I saw her last. She had been a quiet, obedient child. If you told her you would play with her in a little while, she would wait patiently. She seemed to have grown into a quiet, tranquil young lady, a little melancholy, but it was a melancholy world, and she was on a bleak journey.

I needed to talk to Tidus.

"All of this is your fault!" he shouted. We were down by the docks. "It's all your fault!"

My fault. Sin. Not being able to go home. It was all my fault, he shouted, he roared. He always had passion. He got it from his mother.

Well. Who else could he yell at?

"Who are you, anyway?" he asked me. A reasonable question. He had only asked me once before, when he was seven, and met me for the first time. I didn't answer him then. I didn't answer him now. When I find out, I'll tell him. After a moment, he went on, "You knew my old man, didn't you?"

So I told him the bare bones of the story. Defeating Sin. My promises. Going to Zanarkand. I left out a lot. Then I told him the hard part—the part about Jecht. Sin is Jecht.

"No!" he said, his eyes filled with horror. "That's ridiculous! No way! I don't believe you!" But he did believe me and we both knew it. He had touched Sin. He had felt Jecht too.

"Come with me," I told him. He would see the truth for himself.

"What am I supposed to say? You tell me it's my decision but I don't have a choice, do I? I have to go with you! I have to! You're the only one who can tell me what's going on anyway."

He bent over, his hands on his knees, like he did when he was small and wanted to shut out the whole world. We both knew it was true. I needed to go with Yuna. I needed Tidus to come with us. I needed the two of them together—it was the key to The Plan, now that Yuna was a summoner.

"Irritating," I replied, "I know." I thought for a moment. "Or are you afraid?"

He knows it's all right to be afraid. Life can be a frightening place, especially a life turned upside down, into a place you never really knew. And you're still young, I thought. Tidus, I wish we could give you more time, but Yuna needs us now, and I made promises to her father too. I put my hand on his shoulder, and I tell him it will be all right, as I did the night his mother died of fever. As I did the night he almost died in a crash. As I did the night he found me on the doorstep, bloody, not moving, not breathing, the night Sector D burned. The night of the Madman's Ball.

"Auron," he asked quietly, "Will I ever go home? Back to Zanarkand?"

What do I say? If you ever get home, it will mean I've failed, The Plan in tatters, Spira still an open wound bleeding away the lives of its young?

"That's up to Jecht," I told him.

It was true enough. We stayed like that for a moment. Then I pulled him to his feet. It was time to talk to Yuna.


Auron:

When I heard that Yuna's mother had died, I left for Bevelle within the hour. I ate on the move. I never stopped except to sleep a little. I covered seven hundred miles in twelve days. When I reached the city, they told me Braska had dived into a bottle. Neighbors took Yuna in.

She was five. She was sitting on a stone ledge, looking out at the sea the morning I came back to Bevelle. I sat down next to her, and after a while she looked up at me, and I looked down at her. She never cried, they told me, the people taking care of her. She never cried, and seldom spoke, and she never asked where daddy was anymore. I looked at her small, empty face. No tears. Then she turned back to the sea. I watched with her for awhile, then I reached out and wrapped my arms around her, pulled her into my lap and I hugged her very tight. For a long time she just sat there, never moved as I held her against my chest. Then she began to shake softly. She was crying.

----Five-year old Yuna crying in Auron's arms----No One is Alone----Mandy Patinkin----

I held Yuna for a long time. She would cry a little, then later a little more. She asked for her father. When it seemed she was cried out, I held her a little longer, then I stood up and put her on her feet.

"I'll go get your father," I told her.

People had tried to talk to Braska. He didn't listen, if he even heard them. He was in a small shack in back of his home. It was dim when I entered, and reeked of sour liquor and unwashed bodies. There was rubbish on the floor. Braska was slumped on a stool in the corner. They were wrong. He wasn't drunk. He was sober, and empty. He never looked up when I came in.

I had always envied him his family.

"Braska," I said. No response.

"Braska!" Nothing.

I felt helpless. He was my best friend. He hurt so bad that he went away somewhere inside, somewhere he didn't feel anything at all. He didn't need to drink, just to stop feeling. I walked over to him. What was I supposed to do, pull him into my lap? I crouched down until we were face to face. I gave him a right cross that took him down to the ground.

Perhaps I shouldn't comfort people.

He sat there on the floor, blinking up at me. At least he was paying attention. "Braska!" I said. "You have to snap out of this! Yes, I liked her, she was pretty, and a good mother to Yuna, but are you going to let this ruin your life? She was just an Al Bhed! Get another one! Aggh—"

He plowed into my belly, and we crashed into the wall. He was clawing at my face. Then his knee came up between my legs. It lifted me three-inches off the ground. I head-butted him twice—hard!—picked him up and threw him across the room, before I sank to my knees clutching myself, "Mommy..." Damn, that hurt. I still wince when I remember. I had to get up—Braska was crawling toward me, blood streaming from his nose. I didn't make it before he grabbed me and we went at it, rolling on the floor. Braska took more damage, but I took one more shot almost between the legs. I broke his arm, he bit a piece out of my shoulder. In the end we were both lying on the floor shouting vile insults at each other until we ran out of breath.

I lay on my back for ten minutes just breathing in lungfuls of wonderful, stale air. "Braska," I called. "Are you back?"

"Yes," he gasped. "I'm back...I'm back... Let's go get Yuna... Bring her home..."

And he was back. There were bad days, and better days, and some bad nights for both he and Yuna. But Braska never went away again inside his head, to that empty place. Every now and then Yuna cried for her mother. And Braska and Yuna loved each other even more.

Then one day he decided to become a summoner.

Idiot.

Now here was his daughter, standing straight and slim in front of me, a summoner. Why, Yuna? Did people compare you to your father so much? Did he set some impossible ideal for you to live up to? Or do you just want to be like him? Lord in heaven, Braska, what we do to our children. What this world of Spira does to our children.

She seems surprised when I offer to become her guardian, but she accepts. It will certainly be easier than sneaking around after her. The boy will come, too. It will take some effort to keep these people alive until we reach Zanarkand. That will have to be my first priority—training them, teaching them. I think I can count on the mage to handle most of the day to day details. I ask her about the party's plans, as Tidus and Yuna talk. The boy is still a little foolish sometimes, but she can use some foolishness in her life. Then he runs past me, up the stair to the Mi'ihen Road. It's time to leave Luca behind.

I sling my sword over my shoulder and check my jug is secure. A young boy runs up and pushes something into my hand. A note from the Al Bhed merchant—rumors in the city. A story circulating that the Red Guardian boarded a pirate ship, and killed the pirates because they refused to help him hunt down Sin. Three men badly beaten in a waterfront bar for slandering a legendary hero.

As I turn to follow my new companions out of the city and into their story, I think about my meeting with the three people in the tavern. "Auron," the woman had said, "We have a great deal to tell you."

Sit up straight, Auron. Look at the board, Auron. Be sure you take notes. In fact, they did know a great deal that I was interested to learn. They will be very helpful to me, and to The Plan. Why, and why, and why? Why will they be useful? Why do they offer to help? Why do I accept?

These three people—this ancient, bearded scholar, this wealthy Al Bhed merchant, this enigmatic, unknown woman—they are different from other people, set off from the rest of humanity. The world is not what people think. These three know the truth.

They know what I know.

There is a war in Heaven.

Next: Besaid Djose Kilika