Title: Tears of Zanarkand
Author: TheBlackRaveness
Summary: This will be the last time Braska, Auron, and Jecht will be together, before Yunalesca so brutally rips the circle apart. Together—they cry the tears of Zanarkand.
Disclaimer: I do not own Final Fantasy X nor am I in any way affiliated with Squaresoft—or Square Enix what ever the hell it is these days. This story is just for pure entertainment, and in no way am I profiting off of this.
They sat there in silence, each gazing into the blazing fire, engrossed in their thoughts that would soon consume them. The summoner known as, Braska, sat upon the rock, hands clasped and resting in his lap. Cerulean eyes tore away from the dancing flames and to his companions—his guardians—his friends. Slowly his gaze observed the area around him, Zanarkand Ruins…Jecht was so incredibly torn when he first laid eyes on it. His heart almost shattered when his saw Jecht's eyes—they were…sad. So defeated—the blitzer knew he'd never see his boy again. But on the outside—he was cool and calm, shrugged it off like he saw it everyday. Braska glanced at the silent blizter, he leaned against the sleek rock, arms crossed over a broad tattooed chest, and legs splayed out in front of him, his lips pressed firmly together in thought.
His gaze traveled to the man across from him, on the other side of the flames that danced and wavered so carefree. He was kneeling, hands resting on his knees, and his sword laying on the ground in front of him. A russet gaze watching the fire—yet gazing into nothing—hid the emotions of the guardian so well. A scowl was on his face, and slowly shaking his head, the glazed look left his mahogany orbs as they traveled to mean the cerulean look of concern just across the fire. Braska knew that look—it was a look of determination—of indignant thoughts—of the pain that ran deep into the ex-warrior monk's veins. The summoner bowed his head, staring at his hands clasped in his lap, he didn't mean to hurt any one…but this was his job—he knew the dire consequences once the pilgrimage was completed. But he had to press on…for Spira…for his little girl back in Bevelle. His little girl…a pang of guilt struck his heart—he left his little girl to become an orphan. But at least she will be safe—safe from Sin.
The swordsman's intense gaze watched his charge, the shadows dancing on his stoic face, he turned his head to the left to examine his comrade. The silence began to eat him alive—he had to say something! Turning his russet eyes back to his friend, he saw something he had never seen in his life—a lone crystal tear slipped from cerulean orbs, down, down, down the pale cheek and onto the lavished robes. Azure eyes met his, misted over with—regret? A sad smile adorned the summoner's lips. "My Lord…" The swordsman barely heard himself mumble as he was immediately by his charge's side, an arm slipped around his shoulders. Jecht turned his attention to the two, but sat still.
"My friend…Do not worry yourself…let's just spend our time together, and make the most of it. Okay, Auron?" Braska wrapped his arms around the red warrior, hugging him tightly, and rested his chin on the muscled shoulder. "Please—for me…" His voice whispered, cracking with emotion, Auron kneeled there dumbfounded. Slowly his arms wrapped around his summoner—no—his friend, and embraced Braska, his eyes threatening to spill the tears he held for so long.
Jecht's eyes began to brim with salty tears—the silence except for the crackling of the fire, and the soft wails the pyreflies made as the danced about the stuffy air, began to get to him. He watched his two friends, the most composed, and the least expected to cry, shed silent tears. He crawled over to the hugging two, and threw his arms around them, holding them tightly, as his shoulders shook with his own quiet sobs.
Auron pulled away, wiping away his tears with his sleeve, his lip trembled as he watched his two friends stare back at him. Tears trailed down their cheeks one after another, in a constant flow. He sniffled and looked to the dome in the distance—their final destination. Their last destination—together. "Braska…" His voice wavered as he tried to cough to clear away the sadness that had just over took him so powerfully with just one look at his broken friend.
"Auron—just shut up." Braska smiled through his tears and flung his arms around Jecht and Auron, burying his face in their shoulders.
"Braskie…" Jecht's gruff voice reverberated deep in his chest, "you don't have to do this." His gaze met Auron's and together they nodded sadly—knowing the reply to come.
"I know." Braska's muffled reply was filled with tears and growing sobs.
The group held each other tightly—the soft wailing of the pyreflies in the background and the crackling of the fire unable to drown out the growing sobs. They cried their fears, their sadness, their remorse, their regret, they cried what every summoner and guardian had felt for those thousand years. They cried the tears of Zanarkand—for the first and the very last time as a group.