Oops, forgot to give credit. FF X isn't mine, but Squaresoft's. Not meaning to infringe or making any profit, though I could sure use the money! I've made use of the FF X script, but did not completely follow it all the time. Right. In this chapter, Jecht notices little change after being turned into an Aeon, they suffer Yunalesca's hospitality and have dinner
: ). On with part two!
2.
Braska was half-leaning, half sitting on the remains of a pillar, gazing down on his lap and drawing figures in the supple fabric of his robes. Auron stood in front of him, one hand on his katana, the other, unconsciously, kneading the edge of his sleeve. Both men were listening, straining and at the same time afraid to hear what they both expected to hear: screams of pain and anguish, as their friend's body was ripped apart by a magic more powerful than they both could fathom, and changed into a weapon of light and energy. But apart from the constant low humming that was the sound of Zanarkand, the tittering of mice and the far-away rumble of collapsing debris, all was silent. As silent as death. Every movement they made caused a deafening noise; even the stroking whisper of Braska's fingers over his garments rustled absurdly loud, and seemed to echo through the chamber. Auron's boots clicked on the floor as if he wore iron on his soles.
"My lord?" Braska looked up from his knees.
"Yes?" His voice was a whisper.
"Jecht…I'm." He paused. "I'm sorry. It should have been me." His friend blinked, then smiled.
"It's alright." Auron shook his head.
"No. It is not. I…it should have been me. I went along to protect you, and now I am finally tested…I refuse."
"It was not a question of refusing," Braska said softly. "Auron, I had never imagined that a situation like this one would ever come upon us. If I'd known…But no, I would have done the same. To do differently would be betraying myself." He held out his hand to Auron, and the younger man took it, feeling the fine, soft, fingers against his own callused palm. "And you, my friend, would have betrayed yourself by acting differently than you have done."
"By showing more courage, you mean?"
"Don't be so bitter. You have shown nothing but courage." The corner of his mouth quirked up, and his eyebrows went with it. "Courage, and stubbornness, and foolishness, and friendship. And pride. You would have made a terrible Aeon, Auron."
"My lord?"
"Oh hush! Sit down, you're making me dizzy with your constant pacing." The Guardian sat down at his feet, legs crossed, elbows leaning on his knees. His sword was poking against the back of his head, but he ignored it, ponderously looked up at Braska. The Summoner rolled his eyes.
"There is still place beside me, Auron."
"Why would I make a bad Aeon?" Auron asked, piqued against all odds. Braska chuckled. He resisted the temptation to run his fingers through his Guardian's messy hair, as he had done when the man had been a boy.
"Well, for once, you are much too obstinate. Imagine me calling on you to defeat Sin, and you saying, 'No my Lord, I will not have you exposing yourself to such a dangerous creature,' picking me up and carrying me away." Auron coloured.
"Braska…" The man's mouth softened.
"But seriously Auron, I would not have you as my Aeon. I need you as my Guardian."
"But why? Jecht would be just as effective as a Guardian—maybe even better than I am." Braska shook his head.
"Jecht is my friend, and I believe he has even grown to be your friend as well, and I like him and trust him absolutely, but he is as unfit to be a Guardian as you were to be a married man." Auron nodded, he could agree with that. Poor Ennalone would have had a lonely life if he had married her. "And apart from that…I think that Jecht thinks the same way about this as I do. You are still so young, Auron. Your life holds so much promise for the future."
"What's that supposed to mean?" Auron asked sharply. "You are only twelve years older than I am."
"That is not what I mean." He pulled the head dress down completely and placed it on his lap. His light blue hair was white in the pyrefly light. "What I mean is, that you still have a whole life before you. There is so much to live for…" Auron sprang to his feet.
"My Lord, that is nonsense! I have the least of the three of us! You've got little Yuna, Jecht's got Tidus and his wife…all I have is you."
"And the oaths you've taken." He smiled apologetically. "I heard you talk to Jecht, just before he approached Yunalesca. You promised him you'd take care of his son, didn't you?
Do you know what that request implies, Auron? Do you understand what he told you by asking you to find Tidus? That he will not be able to do it himself. And that he trusts you to do it for him."
"I know, but…he could have done it himself…" Braska shook his head.
"Jecht was transported to Spira by Sin. It touched him, and brought him through time to this era. Do you remember the attack in Luca? We both thought he had gone crazy."
"He endangered everybody with his actions." A hint of anger sharpened the younger man's words. He and Jecht had stopped baiting each other ever after that incident in Bevelle, but the Luca disaster still irked him. Jecht's race for Sin had forced the other Guardian to leave Braska behind and get him back, in which he had finally succeeded, but not without getting bitten by Sin Spawn and having to carry Jecht back all the way because the man had been rendered unconscious by Sin's taint.
"But it was a test. A test to see whether it would happen again." Auron sat down next to the Summoner, drew up his legs and rested his chin on his knees.
"Whether he would return to Zanarkand?"
"I think so."
"But he did not return."
"No. And neither was he affected by Sin's poison. He was unconscious, but perfectly sane afterwards."
"So, if— and I still say if, one is sucked up and transported by Sin…it works only once."
"Yes."
"So that's what he wants me to do. Travel Sin."
"If that is the only way, yes. Basically, all he asked you to do is watch over his son. Well, you've promised me to take care of Yuna." His eyes flickered. "You'll become quite the family man yet, Auron." The Guardian opened his mouth to reply, but before he had the chance, Yunalesca's voice drifted down the stairs.
"Come to me, Summoner. Link with your Aeon." Braska rose, put on his head dress.
"I must go."
"I will go with you."
"Certainly."
Jecht was standing in a circle of light, Yunalesca's fingertips pressed against his forehead. He looked unharmed and unchanged, perhaps a bit fuzzy at the edges, but still himself.
"Wait here," the Summoner said. His friend nodded, and watched as the man entered the circle.
"Take my place," the Lady commanded. "Feel his soul. Do your thing, Summoner, and do it well. If you fail now, you will both lose your life."
Witch! Auron snarled silently. This time he met her red gaze head on, and stared back defiantly. You won't scare me, Yunalesca. I know what you are. I know that you hate us, and hate the fact that you have to help us. You love your own hate, and that binds you to this place more securely than any chain would. You should have been sent— let yourself get sent ages ago.
Braska let out a small cry when his hands came into contact with his eldest Guardian; a flash of light sparked between him and Jecht, enveloped them both, then winked out. They were both glowing with the pyreflies that were floating around and through Jecht's body.
Jecht, the Fayth. The lump manifested itself in his chest again, but he unhooked his sake cask and swallowed the lump with a mouthful of alcohol. Braska began to chant the prayer to Yevon. Even through the light, Auron could see Jecht's raised eyebrows.
A prayer for me, Braska? Then his eyes flicked to Yunalesca, who had begun to sing. The Hymn of the Fayth.
*
"What is that sound?" Auron rolled his eyes, amazed by the amount of things the man from Zanarkand did not know.
"Don't tell me you don't know that either."
"Auron." Braska's tone was one of long-lasting patience.
"It's the faith, singing." He pointed to the enormous pillar in the distance. "That's Djose Temple. The sound you hear is the song the Fayth of the temple is singing, the Hymn of the Fayth."
"It's beautiful." His voice was huskier than usual, and when Braska looked at him, he saw that his eyes were moist. The Summoner smiled. Jecht never ceased to surprise him.
"It is, isn't it?"
*
Under his breath, Auron hummed along with the Hymn. Yes, he thought, looking at his two friends standing in an embrace that had little to do with physical contact and was yet closer than the most intimate touch, I will keep my promise to the both of you. Jecht's request had both honoured and moved him.
*
"Um, Auron? Can I ask you one last favour?" Auron gave a soundless nod, but Jecht suddenly blushed and looked away again. "Nah, never mind."
"Out with it." The other man smirked.
"Won't cut me any slack, will ya? Okay. Listen good. I want you to take care of my son. My son, in Zanarkand. I told you about him. Tidus. He's such a crybaby—he needs someone there to hold his hand, see?" His own eyes blinked a few times. "Take care of him, will you?" Auron frowned.
"But how am I supposed to go to Zanarkand?"
"Hey! You said it yourself! There must be a way to get there, right?" He patted the other man on the shoulder. "You'll find it." Auron nodded, and for the first time in the last few days his chin came up all the way.
"All right, I will. I give you my word. I'll take care of your son. I'll guard him with my life." Jecht nodded as well.
"Thanks, Auron, I knew I could count on you." And to Auron's surprise he laid both hands on his shoulders and gave him a short, hard hug. As he released him, Jecht cleared his throat and looked elsewhere. "You were always such a stiff, but that's what I liked about you."
*
Braska's prayer ended, and Yunalesca's voice echoed softly. The circle of light that surrounded Jecht and Braska suddenly winked out, and Braska collapsed against Jecht, who automatically caught him in his arms. In a second, Auron kneeled beside him to take the limp weight over.
"Hey, Braska!" Even his voice remained unchanged. "Auron, what's wrong with him?" The younger man carefully lowered Braska to the ground, tenderly removing the ornaments from head and throat and laying the staff beside him.
"He's all right. But he should rest."
"You should all rest," Yunalesca stated from where she was standing, a few metres away from them.
"No…I'm all right," Braska murmured. "It's only a spell of dizziness…"
"You should all rest," the Lady persisted. "Follow me." She turned and began to walk away, neither looking back nor caring whether they decided to follow her or not. Jecht arched his eyebrow.
"Something tells me we should do as she says."
"Give me my staff," The Summoner struggled to regain his footing, finally climbing to his feet with Auron's help, "I can walk." He tottered dangerously, and both Jecht and Auron grabbed an arm to keep him straight. "Auron…Jecht…please! I'm fine!"
"Yunalesca's getting impatient," Jecht informed no one in particular. "She's doing that foot-thing again. I think she might be getting pissed-off at us."
"Right." Auron took an even firmer hold of the Summoner's arm and began to walk. Jecht immediately followed. Braska, stumbling on buckling legs, had no choice but to go along.
Yunalesca gave the impression of being close to exasperation when they finally reached her. At least, that was what Jecht imagined, for her countenance was as serene and peaceful as it had always been.
"In here," she purred. "This room is still intact; all Summoners who come to see me rest here before continuing on their pilgrimage." The door opened at a slight push of her hand, and a surprisingly luxurious room stretched out in front of them. "Rest well. All your needs will be provided. There are bathing facilities, beds and several kinds of nourishments. You can stay here for as long as you like, but do keep in mind that Spira is suffering—and you have the means to end that suffering." She nodded at Braska, who nodded back weakly. Released by his Guardians, he was propped up against the wall, using his staff to keep from falling sideways.
"I thank you," he said, and lifted his arms to perform the sign of prayer. Yunalesca stopped him with a touch on his head.
"Rest well, Summoner. May your strength grow in the sight of Sin. Yevon be praised." She made the gesture herself, bowing her head to each man in turn. "Guardian. Aeon. Be strong." Then she turned around in a flurry of hair and gauze and walked away.
"Right," Jecht said with a lopsided smile. "Let's see whether they've got something to eat over here, okay?"
A few minutes later Braska was fast asleep on the bed that was closest to the door, tucked in by the ever vigilant Auron; the Guardian himself sat next to Jecht at the table and tried to stop cramming food into his mouth like a three-year-old. The fact that Jecht seemed to be starved as well, and was hardly allowing himself the time to chew, wasn't much of a comfort to the fact that he couldn't control himself. The first thing he had learned in the temple was that food should be consumed in restricted quantities, at a slow, thorough pace. At the moment he was almost choking on a chunk of bread, and yet he was trying to stuff even more into his mouth.
I really should eat more slowly, he thought absentmindedly, washing the bread away with a glass of wine. It's undignified and boorish. A large, thumb-thick slice of meat followed the bread, was swallowed and replaced with most of the contends of a bowl of vegetables. Not to mention bad for the digestion.
In the next seven minutes he wolfed down three more slices of meat, a dozen parts of something that tasted like sweet potatoes, another half bread (Jecht wordlessly relieved him of the other half), two bowls of soup (for which he didn't even use a spoon but simply poured it into his glass and drank it like water), a piece of cake the size of his hand and four glasses of wine.
When he was finally satiated, he leaned back in his chair, wiped the sweat off his forehead and looked at Jecht, who was still eating. We are pigs! He was hunched over the table, elbows down on the wood, an enormous terrine of vegetable soup in his hands and slurping the soup right from the bowl.
"Jecht." At the sound of Auron's shocked voice, Jecht lowered the terrine.
"What?" Soup and vegetables dripped from his bearded chin and made greasy spots on the table. Some wisps of hair had escaped his headband and were now also sticky with soup; a flat round of carrot stuck to his left cheek. "What is it now?"
Auron began to giggle. He couldn't help it. Yevon, behold the men who will save Spira! Precisely at that moment Braska gave a loud snore, and Auron burst into laughter.
"What?!" Jecht cried, slamming the bowl back on the table. The piece of carrot fell from his cheek and went 'ploop' into the remains of the soup.
Auron began to howl with laughter.
"Whuh? Something wrong?" Braska mumbled, sat up and, after swaying drunkenly on his bed, fell to the floor with a dull thump.
Auron dropped his head on the table, hooting like an idiot, buried his face in his hands and wondered whether he would die of asphyxiation.
"Auron?" Jecht even began to sound worried. "Are you alright?" And to Braska, "I think he's having some kind of fit or something." Braska pushed himself back on the bed and let his eyebrows dance in reply.
"I don't think Auron ever had a fit."
"I…I…" was all Auron could bring out before collapsing in another fit of near-hysterical giggles.
"I think he's laughing." The Summoner chuckled himself. "Either that or he's choking." The Guardian in question lifted his head from the table and made a feeble attempt to wipe his streaming eyes.
"I'm…I'm fine." he hiccupped. Jecht looked at him with soup and wariness dripping down his chin.
"Damn," he said when Auron doubled up again, "You really are laughing. I didn't know you were capable of such a thing. You didn't even smile when that fiend tripped over that red butterfly and fell down the tree in that crystal forest…" More chortling from Auron, "…or when that Al Bhed guy found out Braska spoke his language fluently and asked what exactly a 'Cruubiv semg-tnehgehk, faent-ycc pmia-ryenat sunuh' was. Or…" The younger man beat his hand on the table.
"Stop…please stop…" Jecht eyed the empty flasks on the table and grinned.
"Exactly how much wine did you drink, Auron? And how well do you usually handle it?"
"I don't think it's the wine," Braska thought aloud. He sank down on the third of the five chairs around the table. "I've seen him drunk only once, but he did not laugh, then."
"Figures," Jecht mused, shoving a plate with cold cuts in Braska's direction. "Stiff guy like him, doesn't seem the kind of man to go yodelling when he's had a few." Auron chuckled; Braska, at the thought of a yodelling Auron, sniggered as well. He fished a slice of ham from the plate and stuffed it wholly in his mouth.
"Cou you paff me fe bwead?"
"There…must be something…in the air here." Auron brought out haltingly. Tears were still running down his cheeks, no matter how hard he scrubbed his eyes. "Something that makes us…I don't know…"
"Ravenous?" Braska asked, stuffing his mouth with bread. "I mow I am."
"Something that weakens our self-control." Jecht shrugged, and sprayed soup.
"I haven't noticed anything. Okay, I'm pretty full now, but…"
"You don't have any self-control." Auron and Braska said in unison. Jecht threw up his hands.
"Hey! I never claimed I did!" Auron grinned.
"You still have soup in your beard."
"What?" He searched for a napkin, found none and wiped his face on the tablecloth.
"I'm going to…die," Auron cried, dropped his head on the table and cracked up again.
"Do pass me the wine," Braska said.
*
Although they had all wanted to bathe before they went to bed, fatigue caught up with them. After dinner it was all they could do to stand up from the table and reach a bed before they fell asleep. Auron had wanted to keep watch, but he was simply unable to keep his eyes open, and before he could even take off his boots he was asleep. Jecht and Braska nodded off long before he did, the former still with a peace of parsley stuck to his chin.
The air, or maybe the wine…or the amount of pyreflies…or maybe just a spell of Yunalesca's…
They all slept without being woken by dreams or unfamiliar sounds, and while they slept the room was cleaned and the food was refreshed. Unsent and apparitions moved silently through the room, held their transparent fingers above each head and cast spells to keep them sleeping. Such were the Lady's commands: the guests should be rested, and therefore they were to be kept asleep until they were fully restored. Two days in this Chamber of Strength, and even the most ravaged Summoner would be able to face Sin.
Yunalesca herself appeared to look at them while they slept, and performed the gesture of prayer for each of them.
"Be strong." Her words were soft but clinging, as if they were substantial. "Refresh the spiral. It has taken long enough—the people's hope is diminishing. Of all Summoners, Braska, you should succeed. Renew their hope, renew the spiral. Sacrifice yourself, and give up the man of the fayth." In his sleep, Jecht muttered something. Yunalesca pursed her lips. I should never have made you an Aeon. You are too dangerous, too close already to the fayth…Then she shrugged, and left the three men to their rest. If she had made a mistake, time would tell. First, they had to face Sin. When they had, she would know whether she had acted in accordance to her husband's wishes or not. Yunalesca wandered through the dead halls of the Dome, her way lit by thousands of pyreflies. She did not think she would be visited again, in the near future.
*
Auron opened his eyes to a white ceiling. There were no windows in this room, but his internal clock told him it was near noon.
Where…Yunalesca's room. Sitting up, he noticed he still wore his clothes and even his boots. On the other side Jecht, also fully clothed, was lying on his back on another bed, his mouth wide open and his arms and legs flung about like a boy's. Braska was curled up around his staff on the bed near the door, without robes but still dressed in his travelling pants and boots. We fell asleep before we could even undress, Auron thought. Strange. He rubbed his face and winced at the stubble. Two days, I think. Did we sleep that long?
It does not matter. I need a bath and a shave. Careful not to wake his companions he removed his boots, searched his gear for shaving utensils and entered the bathroom. He clicked his tongue. Nice. I wonder whether this was the Blitzball players' bathing room. Several baths large enough to hold three people were lined up on one side; on the other side a wide screen separated the showers from the rest of the room. On a small table at the back of the room he found a bunch of towels, another table sported several fresh cakes of soap. No one would say that this place has been in ruins for the last thousand years. He sniffed at one of the towels. It smelled as fresh as the soap. Clean. Yunalesca takes good care of her visitors. All the baths were filled with warm scented water. He stripped, hung up his coat and threw his shirt, pants and socks into a bath to soak, and experimented on how the showers worked. They had changed very little, these many years.
After he had shaved and washed, he scrubbed his clothes with soap, rinsed them out and hung them to dry in the back of the bathroom. It occurred to him that he had no idea where or when they would fight Sin. It could take weeks before we finally find him, if he doesn't want to be found. Somehow that thought cheered him up a bit. It was odd; he vaguely remembered being cheerful, of laughing so hard that his sides ached. Now, he could not imagined why he had laughed.
"Auron." Braska, his hair standing like fluff around his head, stepped into the room, yawning. The Guardian nodded his head in greeting. "Ah, our Lady has provided all our needs, just as she said." He looked at the clothes steaming in the tub, smiled and threw his own clothes into the next bath. "How long do you gather we've slept?"
"Two days at least, I think. Maybe longer." Braska nodded. He ducked his head beneath the shower, gasping a little at the cold water.
"I believe so too. It must have been something in either the food, the drink or the air. Or a spell, although I haven't felt any magical energy. Then again, I was hardly aware of anything." Auron smiled. No, you were not, my Lord.
"How do you feel?" The Summoner's hazy figure brought its hand to its chin in thought.
"How do I feel? Hmm, interesting question. I feel fine. A bit…odd, as if…but no, I feel very well. And you?" Wrapped in a towel, he stepped from behind the screen. "You were awfully cheerful last night." Auron shrugged, colouring slightly.
"I feel fine as well. But, about last night…" Braska waved his apologies away.
"It was good to see you laugh. You should do it more often."
"My Lord…"
"He's right! You should…" Jecht entered the bathroom, took in the half-naked Summoner, the naked Auron, and their easy stance, and raised his eyebrows. I'd never have thought that prude would converse in less than his coat 'n armour. Unless, of course, I interpreted their relationship the wrong way. "I'm not…uh…interrupting something, am I?" Auron frowned.
"What could you interrupt? Or rather, what COULDN"T you interrupt? You always interrupt." And then suddenly noticing the way the man was looking at him, "What are you looking at?" Jecht shrugged.
"Nice scar."
From just below his right shoulder a thick, pink scar ran all the way across Auron's chest, curving down an inch before his left nipple, and ending, much thinner, above his navel. In a world where magic could put you back on your feet if you had died within less than a quarter of an hour, the wound that had made a scar like that must have cut him almost in two.
"You have got a few of your own." Somehow, his remark had touched some sort of sore spot, for the dimple between his eyebrows was back, and his reply had been challenging, as if the other's words were an accusation. Jecht held up his hands.
"No offence meant, kiddo. It's just that a thing like that is hard to miss."
"Don't. Call me. Kiddo." Well, it was too good to be true anyway, Jecht sighed as the younger man swept out of the bathroom. Auron with a sense of humour. Aw hell, can't have it all, I guess.
"So, what did I do wrong this time?" he asked. Braska shrugged, and began to dry his hair.
"Nothing. He's just a bit sensitive about his scars."
"Because…?"
"That, my friend, is Auron's story. Although I would advise against asking him to tell about it.
But enough of Auron. What about you? How do you feel? Is there any…change?" He dropped the towel and gazed at him with those impossible eyes. Okay, I'm not familiar with their bathing habits.
"I feel just fine, Braska. Would you mind if I took a shower first, before discussing my mental and physical health?"
"Hm? Oh, no, of course not." He actually seemed a bit flustered. "I did not mean to keep you. It's just…I've never had a living fayth before. You cannot begrudge me some excitement."
"It's okay." He hastily took off his clothes, flung them into the nearest bath and retreated behind the screen. "I'll let you know as soon as I'm finished."
To Be Continued
And? And? Comments, please!
