Notes: The dialogue of the conversation with Jecht in the locks is verbatim from the US release of Final Fantasy X.
Japanese Used:
Watashi no iu-tōri ni shiro!: Do as I say!
Gomen nasai, tono: I
am sorry, Lord.
Dashio: A set of matching handled Japanese blades (katana
and tanto) used only by Samurai or those of higher rank.
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Braska's Journey
Bevelle – Chapter Two – Man from Zanarkand
"Thank you, Shana," Braska said with a smile as the housekeeper filled his teacup. Auron sat across from him in a training gi. The two were in the midst of a heated discussion.
"I do not understand, Lord Braska," Auron was agitated and he was not letting up on the issue. The attempt to cause peace with service on the part of Shana was a ploy in which he had no interest. "What is the point in going to see the man? He is obviously sick or insane."
"Yes, Auron, but I am a healer - the most skilled healer in the temple. The attempt to assist him must be made. It is a matter of good will and charity. If he, as I suspect, is not insane or ill, then he will join us on our quest." Braska took a drink of his tea and sat the cup back on the surface of the low table. His placid and serene exterior had not changed. The soft controlled voice continued to try and soothe Auron. However, through their bond, the warrior could tell that the Summoner was becoming impatient.
"To even suggest that we bring this man on the Journey is ridiculous!" Auron's voice raised another notch.
Braska's eyebrows rose. Auron had just insisted that his Lord was in error and done so without using the honorific. This was tantamount to a tantrum on the part of the warrior and the Summoner was almost amused. He would have laughed if the situation were not so gravely important to him.
"Perhaps you do not understand, Auron. This issue is not open for discussion. When I finish this cup of tea I will go to the temple locks to see the man. Once I am there, I shall ask him to accompany us. I would prefer that you go with me and support me in this, but if you insist on being belligerent, I will go alone." Strong, delicate fingers tapped together before the Summoner as he leaned against the table toward his Guardian. It was a natural impulse for Braska to try to appease the warrior with touch, but Auron was too far away. As a result, the man merely leaned in his direction to try and close physical distance.
"I must protest! Braska, you know nothing of this man! He may be a danger to you!" Auron's face now showed clear consternation.
"All the more reason for my Guardian to attend to me," Braska replied calmly.
"I will not allow this." Auron dug in his heels.
Braska was shocked. This kind of response was completely unexpected and, unfortunately, could not be tolerated. With an internal sigh, the Summoner pulled rank. Drawing himself up he said in a stern voice, "Watashi no iu-tōri ni shiro!"
A hurt look of realization passed over Auron's face. He had been arguing with his friend, but the man was also his Lord and Summoner. This was an issue of the Journey and he must defer, no matter how he felt. He bowed toward Braska and said contritely, "Gomen nasai, tono. I apologize. My words were inappropriate, at best. I am only concerned for your well being…"
A sad look passed over Braska's face. He hated to chastise his friend. He loved Auron and did not want to discourage him from being familiar – yet he had his reasons for the decision and he would not allow the Guardian to change his plans. "You are forgiven, Auron. I understand. You, however, must understand and support this in return. Very little information exists about Zanarkand. If this man is truly from the holy city, his information and help may be of great value to us. I wish only to ensure the success of our Journey and to do all I can to protect you – as you protect me." Braska reached forward a hand toward his Guardian, palm out, in a gesture of friendship. "Please, come with me."
Auron sighed heavily and closed his eyes. He reached out and clasped the offered hand over the table. "I am your Guardian, my Lord. I will obey your command." The warrior released Braska and rose from his seated position on the floor. "You have only half a cup of tea left. I must change. Please excuse me."
Braska nodded unhappily as Auron bowed and crossed the floor of the common room toward the master's quarters. Emerline came in from the gardens with a basket of cut flowers and greeted the Summoner formally before beginning to arrange them in a vase on the mantle. Shana, having heard every word of the conversation from the kitchen, decided it was time to put in her two cents. Taking Auron's place under the pretext of clearing his tea things, she sat and spoke.
"Lord Braska, I couldn't help hearing. Are you sure what you are doing is wise? Auron does have a point." The gray haired housekeeper wouldn't meet his gaze as she questioned the decisions of the Summoner. It was rather presumptuous, but she liked the man and they had an understanding between them. She was sure he would not be offended.
Chuckling, Braska smiled at Shana. "Yes, I am sure. I must do all I can, Shana, to ensure Auron's safety and my own." The old woman looked up into the beautiful blue green eyes of the man across from her. "I take no offense at his words. It is his caring that motivates them."
The old woman nodded. She was satisfied there was no rift between the young man she thought of as a grandchild and his Lord. It pleased her.
Auron returned wearing gray pants and his breastplate. He crossed the room again to put on his modified red kimono and secure it with his weapons belt. Thinking for a moment, he took the dashio set from the holder on the mantle. Emerline stopped what she was doing to smile at the warrior and adjust the epaulet on his shoulder. She said, "Lord Braska, I truly do like the new addition to Auron's attire. It is such a pretty piece."
"Had it not caught Yuna's eye, I would never have thought of it. When she visits, tell her you like it, Emerline. It will please her." Braska rose from the floor and moved toward the door. He took his robes from the peg as Auron put on his boots. The warrior moved to take up his Lord's helm and waited patiently as Braska adjusted his attire.
"Thank you, Auron." Braska smoothed his hands over the complicated garment and tucked up the amice that covered a large portion of his hair. Taking the bulky headdress, he placed it on his head and turned to the two women. "Shana. Emerline. Thank you for your hospitality. It is always appreciated." The Summoner performed the sign of prayer.
"You are welcome, Lord Braska. Come again whenever you wish. It is always a pleasure," said Shana. The housekeeper and young woman both returned the prayer motion.
"Auron." Braska turned to his Guardian to confirm he was ready to depart. He received a small, almost imperceptible, nod. The Summoner opened the door and the pair left for the temple.
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Braska and Auron descended the long circular stairwell that lead to the locks, the Via Purifico, and the onward to the Hall of Records and the Well. Stopping to speak with a guardsman coming off rotation, the two had learned that the prisoner was surly, loudmouthed, and insisted his name was Jecht. The warrior had tried one final time to dissuade Braska from his chosen course to no avail. Both could feel through the Call that they were stubbornly set in their opinions on the matter and would come to no meeting of minds. The warrior loitered behind his Lord, sulking, and thumbed absently at the hilt of his katana.
Nearing his goal, Braska's steps quickened in anticipation. A page announced their arrival to one of the Crusaders on duty. The young woman placed a recording sphere on a nearby post and activated to record the visit with the prisoner. The pair of guards then performed the sign of prayer to the Summoner as he strode with purpose toward the cell. Braska came to a stop before the grate and gazed on the man inside with interest.
"Who are you?" Jecht asked. His voice was curt and he didn't bother to get up.
"You are the one they call Jecht, the man from Zanarkand, are you not?" Braska inquired politely.
The blitzer looked the Summoner up and down as though he were a three-headed cat. "What of it?" Jecht's tone was downright belligerent.
Having been outdistanced by Braska, Auron rushed to catch up and darted into the chamber to take his place beside his Lord. He'd heard the tone that Jecht used and it agitated him. "Watch your tongue, knave!" The warrior leaned toward the iron cell grating in a threatening manner.
Braska turned to Auron and a look passed between them. It was clear that the Summoner wanted no more of that kind of behavior from the Guardian. Seeing that Auron understood, he nodded lightly and then turned his attention back to the man in the cell.
"My apologies. I am Braska, a Summoner." The fine boned face smiled placidly. "I have come to take you from this place."
Jecht's eyes narrowed with interest. He decided to get a better look at the man in the strange outfit. He got up and approached the grating of the cell. "Sounds sweet," he said. He crossed his arms over his chest and his dark eyes bore down on the Summoner. His voice was filled with suspicion when he asked, "What's the catch?"
Unable to help himself, Braska laughed. "That easy to see, was it?" Schooling himself, the Summoner put on a straight face and began to approach the reason for his visit. "I soon leave on a pilgrimage…to Zanarkand."
Dark brown eyes flashed open and Jecht went right for the kill. "Seriously?"
The fact that the man in the cell was completely untrusting was not lost Braska. The Summoner was concerned. He wondered if he had been mistreated. With a solemn look on his face, Braska nodded at Jecht. "I would like you to join us." Braska held nothing back. He had to gain this man's confidence. "It will be a dangerous trip. Yet, if we do reach Zanarkand…my prayers will be answered, and you will be able to go home, we think." The Summoner implied that Auron agreed with his decisions regarding the man in the cell. Though he knew that the warrior had concerns and reservations about the matter, he was certain that his honor and vows would not allow the monk to refute this implication. Braska needed the man from Zanarkand. Yevon had brought them together. Nothing was going to stand between him and the Final Aeon.
"Great, let's go!" Jecht readily agreed to the situation with only scant information. He was sick of being in the cell and even sicker of the fact that no one seemed to know who he was. Everyone knew who Jecht was! He was the most famous man, alive or dead, in the history of Zanarkand. For that matter, the idiots in the uniforms didn't seem to believe that Zanarkand existed. They weren't a friendly bunch either. He'd tried, at first, to make conversation and gotten only stoic faces and monosyllabic responses. When friendly overtures had met with silent response, he tried getting pushy and throwing his weight around. That had gotten even less reaction. Finally, in frustration, he'd gotten pissed off and shouted for a while. Getting a quick outcome to that, some huge blue monster of a bi-pedal cat had come in, growled at him from the other side of the cell, and then put his paws forward. The result had been that Jecht was enveloped in multicolored light and fallen fast asleep in no time flat.
Braska seemed worried that the man had agreed so fast. "So quick?"
Ever blunt, Jecht responded, "Anything to get outta here!"
The Summoner shrugged. He understood. Braska had been in confinement before and it was not an enjoyable experience. "Then it's settled."
Auron had watched the exchange with growing alarm. He'd hoped that things might go badly – that the man would prove to be ill, or would be so obviously disturbed, and Braska would give up the absurd notion of bringing him along. Now, with hardly any ceremony, the two had made a pact to Journey! "But…I must protest!" The warrior made a last ditch effort to stop this from happening. "This drunkard, a Guardian?" The distain in his voice was practically tactile.
Jecht turned his attention to the young man in front of him. He was done putting up with insolence and other people's bullshit. He wanted out of here and this jerk was now an obstacle. "Hey! You wanna step in here and say that?" he growled.
The testosterone level was rising astronomically. Braska turned to Auron and tried to control the situation. "What does it matter? No one truly believes that I, a fallen Summoner wed to an Al Bhed, could possibly defeat Sin." The soothing voice reached out to the warrior and wrapped him in logic. "That is what they say. No one expects us to succeed."
A look of concern crossed Auron's face. The way his friend was treated by others in the temple upset him. Braska was a kind and good-hearted person. The Call spoke to him and told him that his Lord was unhappy and melancholy. He realized he was adding to Braska's mood. "Braska, sir…"
The Summoner interrupted him. "Let's show them they are wrong." A wry smile played across Braska's lips, as though he were sharing a private joke. "A fallen Summoner, a man from Zanarkand…and a warrior monk, doomed to obscurity for refusing the hand of the priest's daughter." He looked at Auron with a strange expression of satisfaction. "What a delightful irony it would be if we defeated Sin!"
The blitzer, forgotten as the Summoner and Guardian became absorbed in one another, was tired of waiting around. His need to be the center of attention, and to get out of the cell, trumped all other concerns. Jecht interrupted the meaningful look that was passing between the Summoner and Guardian with a terse directive. "Stop gabbin' and get me outta here!"
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