Hello everyone! Thanks for the reviews! At the moment I have a lot of spare time (just finished my studies and got my degree!! Yay!) and no job yet, so I've got a lot of time to write. So…here is part 4 of…I don't know yet. twiddles thumbs More reviews would certainly inspire me…whistles But even if I won't get anymore, I'll keep writing for now.

Okay, in this chapter snowy walks, flashbacks to the use of an Aeon, and Braska getting high on summoning : ) Hey, the man's GOTTA have some sort of oddity, right?

4.

"Why," Jecht sputtered after the fifth wave of machina, "are there so many of these things around here? I thought they were all destroyed during the war." Auron gave his famous snort.

"Well, they obviously aren't. Why do you think they all went into the mountains? Nobody's here to destroy them—except for us—and if the cold damages them it's less than the moist air of Zanarkand." Jecht blinked at him sweetly.

"Auron, you do know that water is molten snow, do you?" Auron opened his mouth to reply, but a gust of wind almost blew him down, and his words disappeared in the storm. Braska grabbed his arm, both to steady him and to ask his attention.

"This doesn't work. The wind will blow us away if we go over the ridge now. We'll have to make camp and wait until the morning."

"But, my Lord, what if the wind doesn't diminish? At least now we can still move forwards." Braska looked doubtful. He walked in Jecht's and Auron's footsteps, sheltered, if slightly, by their bodies, but still his breath came in shallow gasps and his face and hands were flayed red by wind and snowflakes. But he nodded.

"If you can keep it up."

"I can."

They moved on against the ever stronger growing storm, covering their mouths and noses with their collars and scarves, squinting to keep the snow out of their eyes. Although it had not started to snow yet, the wind blew up the snow from the ground and the rocks, sent it stinging against every uncovered body-part, and weighed down limbs as it settled on their clothes.

"Hell!" Jecht screamed at one part. "This is undoable! I can't see a bloody thing! We've got to stop!" Auron shook his head.

"Not yet!" He pulled Jecht closer so he wouldn't have to shout so hard and pointed at a dark mass in the distance. "See that thing over there? It's one of those Summoner Memorials. I want to reach that point before nightfall. We can rest there. The stone will shelter us and provide a good support for the tent as well. If we were to make camp here, we'd blow away before we'd gotten all the ropes attached."

"Auron! Fiends!" Braska's voice broke on the last syllable. They were all hoarse from shouting over the storm, and after all the summoning he had done since they had left Zanarkand he could produce no more than a whisper.

"To his left," Auron snapped immediately, and a few seconds later they had taken their positions and whipped out their weapons. It was a short fight and no one got hurt, but it left Braska gasping on his knees and the Guardians hunched panting over their swords.

"I'm…sorry. Just give me…a moment," the Summoner got out haltingly. "I'm not…used to this kind of…physical exercise." He laughed breathlessly, then began to cough. Auron automatically moved his body so that it was shielding his friend's.

"Can you go on, my Lord? I wanted to go to Kilian's Memorial before halting, but if you cannot go…" Braska held up his hand.

"I'm just a bit tired, Auron. That's all. Give me a moment and I'll follow you to the gates of the Farplane."

"That's not funny," Jecht said, with a look at Auron's suddenly frozen features, but Braska smiled sadly and whispered, "It's not supposed to be funny."

"Can't we call an Aeon, like we did when we were on the other side of the mountain, and fly back?" Braska stumbled back to his feet, brushed the snow from his knees. It didn't help much; they were all soaked through to mid-thigh.

"Not with this storm. Even Bahamut would lose his way here. Besides, I've asked enough of them already. I don't want them to think we're too weak to handle Gagazet on our own." He gave Jecht a meaningful look. "They might come to despise me and desert us. I don't want that."

"No shit." And here he was thinking that obtaining and Aeon was for life. But then, he still made mistakes in this world. Like becoming an Aeon myself. Though that did not feel like a mistake. If something, it made him feel proud of himself.

"Come on," Auron said. "Just a little bit farther. We can make it in an hour, if we move on quickly." He waited for Braska's nod, inclined his head and began his struggle against the wind and the snow once more, creating a path for the others.

"Right," Jecht said to himself, and trudged after him.

It was not one, but three hours later when they had finally reached the memorial, and again half an hour later when they had finally gotten up the tent. Auron had been right; without the shelter of the stone they would never have succeeded. As it was, the canvas was quivering beneath the force of the wind, and one side was already heavy with snow. Braska gazed at it worriedly.

"I do hope the wind will lie down a bit tomorrow. Otherwise we'll be stuck here for at least another day, if not a week." Jecht cracked his fingers.

"Ah well. That'd give us some time to practice, wouldn't it?" Braska arched his eyebrows.

"Practice what, Jecht?"

"Well," He tried to crack his fingers once more, but all he did was hurt them. "Me. My…Aeon, or whatever. Me giving you the Aeon. I've never been a fayth before, and you said you'd never had a living fayth before, so…I thought maybe we should practice." Braska shook his head.

"You never do think before you ask something, do you, Jecht," he said, but there was humour in his voice.

"What d'ya mean?" The Summoner reached out and briefly touched his face. Again he felt that strange, deeper-than-skin sensation, then it was gone again.

"I already got your Aeon. You gave it to me in Zanarkand." He pulled back and began to rummage in his backpack. "That is, I asked and asked and asked, and finally you gave your permission." He handed him a bar of dried corn, rye and honey and smiled. "Believe it or not, but you were the hardest Aeon I ever acquired." Jecht blinked.

"I can't remember anything of that! When did you ask?"

"In Zanarkand. In the great room, where Yunalesca conjured the circle of light."

"But…you weren't asking me anything. You were praying!"

"To you. And to the part that would—could—give me the part of you that will be the Aeon." He took a bite himself, and nudged Jecht to do the same. Auron, at the same time, was busy preparing the rest of dinner, and kept quiet. "I am not surprised you cannot remember giving me the Aeon. It is not something you, or a fayth, does consciously. It's more of a…an agreement. A convention of trust. If the fayth finds me capable, it will give me the Aeon. If not…well, you've seen what happened in Kilika. Apparently," and now he smiled brightly, "you approved of me, and thought me worthy. Even subconsciously." Jecht worried his lower lip.

"Maybe so…but still. I don't know how to be an Aeon. Are you sure we shouldn't test whether I can really do it?" Auron sighed, and pushed an apple into his hand.

"Why don't you eat and shut up?"

"What's your problem!?" Auron drew himself up as far as the tent allowed it.

"What's my problem? You are! Don't you ever think? Do you even listen when we answer your endless questions? "Why shouldn't we practice?" indeed!"

"Auron," Braska hushed. "It's not his fault he doesn't understand. I should have been clearer when I explained the Final Summoning.

"Thank you," he added, and accepted a glass of wine. He took a sip, then handed it to Jecht.

"Summoning Aeons takes energy. It's like…well, as if your soul is torn out of your body and then forcefully slammed in again. But then your soul is not yours alone anymore, it is the soul of the Aeon as well. All its strength, its powers, is all yours. You feel every move it makes—because it is you, and you are it." He smiled dreamily and just a little bit sensuously, which made Jecht wonder why exactly Summoners were so eager to give their life. I guess they're all a bit addicted to summoning, and to the feeling it arouses. He looked again at Braska's expression and thought that 'arouses' was probably a very apt word for the situation.

"And when it leaves, something leaves you as well," Braska went on softly, "almost as if a part of your body suddenly goes numb, dead.

'I love summoning," he suddenly addressed Jecht directly, "loved it from the very moment I received my first Aeon, almost twenty years ago. It almost destroyed me, that love, for I would summon her so often that I depleted my own energy. I knew I wanted to be a High Summoner even before I saw Sin or what he did to Spira—and when I finally did see him, almost died because of him, I swore I would be the one that killed him. Even though that would kill me as well." He nodded at Jecht. "The Final Summoning will kill me. Summoning you, your Aeon, will take all the energy I have, and it will leave me dead. And that is why we cannot practice. I can only summon you once, and that will have to be enough to defeat him, and otherwise…well, let's not be negative. I'm quite sure that we will vanquish Sin." He took another healthy bite and sat munching quietly for a while, listening to the storm whistling outside. Auron's whisper sounded like a lament.

"My Lord…" Braska smiled.

"Don't look so downcast. You know I'll be more than happy if I can die in such a way. Imagine," the dreamy look came back, "Dying without having to let go of the Aeon. For you will live, Jecht. Don't be afraid of that. You'll be fine. A fayth, yes, but a living fayth with a purpose, so you won't fade away…Unless you'd prefer to give yourself up and go to the Farplane, of course…" Jecht shivered.

"Could we please talk about something else? This subject's giving me the creeps." For once, Auron seemed to agree with him.

"What do you want to talk about? And don't say…"

"Blitzball."

"Blitzball." He snorted. "I really don't see why you like it so much. It's so infantile."

"Says the old and wizened warrior."

"But it is! Swimming with a ball and kicking it into a goal. I did that when I was twelve, and then I quitted."

"Which is a shame, because I'm sure that you'd be great at it if you tried." Auron goggled.

"Is that a compliment?" Jecht looked flustered. Damn! Gotta watch my words!

"Well, uh, no. You'd be great if you tried, but now you're way too slow. You'd keep everybody up."

"I would not!"

"Yes, you would! Besides, you're a lousy catch. You'd drop the ball whenever someone threw it at you."

"I would not!"

"You are falling into repetition," Braska interjected smoothly. "And I am afraid I'll have to concur with Jecht; your forte isn't Blitzball. Then again, I'd like to see you," a look at Jecht, "recite the complete rites of Yevon without making a single mistake. Or battle twenty lesser fiends with a blindfold covering your eyes."

"Ha." Auron said, mock-superior. Jecht grinned, and threw up his hands.

"Fine, fine. You win. Unless the rites of Yevon count five pages. 'Cause then I can do that too."

"Sixty-seven," Auron said morosely. "and not pages, but scrolls. It took me four years to learn them all by heart. And it takes the better part of a sunny afternoon to recite them all." The other Guardian whistled.

"No shit."

"No." Again a silence fell, but this time it was a companionable silence, in which they simply sat and ate and enjoyed each other's company without speaking.

"Hey Braska,"

"Yes?"

"Why is it that your hair is blue?"

"My hair? I don't know. My mother's hair was blue as well, though not as light as mine; she had dark blue hair, almost black." He pulled out a strand of his hair and idly curled it around his finger. In the half-dark of the tent and the flickering light of a sun sphere it looked a light purple. "But she was born during a Storming Season, and so was I, now I think of it, so maybe that influences the colour of your hair. Or perhaps it's Guado blood, although I can't remember any intermarriages besides Jiskal's and Wineve's. Who knows. My ancestors could have been Guadoes." He yawned. "Why? Fancy a lock to keep in a medal?" Jecht grinned.

"Nah. I was just wondering whether you'd dyed it." Braska groaned.

"You wondered whether I'd dyed it? Jecht, your insolence is such that I should have ordered you flayed a long time ago. Men do not dye their hair. At least I don't." he chuckled. "Imagine a priest of Yevon running around with dyed hair and red lips."

"There are more than enough of those running around," Auron said sleepily. He studied his friends through the fringe of his lashes, not bothering to open his eyes all the way. "This Donna twerp we ran into in Bevelle had great inspirations to become a Summoner, but her lips were so red she looked like she'd been drinking tomato juice."

"How observant of you," Jecht mused. "I didn't even notice her. But then she was a bit young for me."

"Jecht, she wasn't fifteen yet." A remote kind of horror was audible in Auron's voice, but he was too tired to rise to the challenge.

"Like I said, a bit young for me." The other Guardian snorted, and closed his eyes completely. Braska smiled.

"Tired?"

"Mm."

"Sleep for a while. As long as it's snowing like this no fiend will try to attack us—even if they could find us in our tent. I don't think we're visible even to the trained eye. And since you'll be the one to do the most work tomorrow, and have done the most today, you've earned your rest." Auron gave a barely perceptive nod, curled up into a small ball around his sword and buried his face in his sleeves. Within a few minutes he was sound asleep.

"It must be wonderful to be able to sleep anywhere you like," Jecht thought aloud. Braska nodded.

"Yes…though he wasn't like that when he was young. Then again, nobody can sleep when ordered when they are young. I still cannot do that. But if you train all day and exhaust yourself to dropping, and then go on until someone tells you that you can rest an hour, you learn to sleep every spare minute you have, wherever you are, sitting, lying or standing up. He can sleep standing up, you know!" The admiration for this outstanding feat was apparent in his words, and once again Jecht was aware of the friendship between these two men, a bond that was almost the same yet fundamentally different than the one he'd had with Lynn. Love, that's what it is. Nothing physical, although they are perfectly at ease with that as well, but a love that consists of absolute trust, care and friendship. And Auron places Braska on a pedestal to keep a certain distance, perhaps because Braska is of a better family than he is, but even though he calls him Lord, they have the same standing, be it that Braska's older, and Auron's a stubborn and relatively inexperienced. Suddenly he felt left out, not because they treated him like an outsider—which Braska had never done, and Auron had ceased doing since they left Bevelle—but because he would never be able to be what they were to either one of them, and because that left him lonely, even more so because he did like their company.

"You've know him for a long time, haven't you?" Braska shrugged.

"Yes, and no. I met him for the first time when he was born. His mother was having difficulties birthing, and I was the only acolyte in the neighbourhood who could heal, so they called me to assist her. I was but a child, then, and it was only years later that I found out that Auron was that baby I helped being born." He smiled.

'But I met him again, and became friends with him, um…Eight years ago, when I came to visit the Bevelle temple. But I was married then, and they sent me away. We met again four years later, when I returned to Bevelle for good after Ditto passed away, and tried to pick up where I'd left."

"Ditto?"

"My wife. My Al Bhed wife. Yuna's mother. She died in a sand storm on Bikanel Island—but that is not important, at least not for my friendship with Auron. Although…I had fallen because I'd married an Al Bhed, and two years later Auron fell into disgrace because he refused to marry Ennalone, so in effect my marriage to Ditto did influence circumstances." He sighed. "Marriage can make or break you, if you're connected to the Church of Yevon. Cid always did find that ridiculous, but then his views on the world are totally different than most people's."

"Cid? Who's Cid, or am I not supposed to ask?"

"You mean, would Auron frown at you and tell you to mind your own business?" Braska laughed softly. "Oh yes, he would. But I don't mind telling you. He is my brother-in-law, Ditto's brother."

"So he's an Al Bhed too."

"Yes. A very prototype of his kind. A difficult man—gruff, rude, a good heart but a nasty prickly exterior. He almost killed me when he found out I'd been dating Ditto. It took a whole lot of persuasion and Ditto with a frying pan before he…came to his senses." Jecht grinned.

"Sounds like an interesting person."

"Oh, he is. Although I cannot say I'm very sorry I don't see him often. Though it would have been nice for Yuna if he'd been around at this time. He has a daughter, a year younger than Yuna, little Rikku; the girls'd love to be together, and especially now I've gone…" He fell silent. Auron muttered something in his sleep, flexed his fingers around the hilt of his sword. Jecht looked at him, idly wondering how it was possible that such a big man could curl himself up into such a small ball—he liked to sprawl, and couldn't possibly sleep in such a position.

"Are you tired?"

"What? Me? Well, a bit, but…"

"Sleep. I have some components to sort out yet, and you should rest up to regain your strength. Tomorrow will be another hard, tiresome day."

"And you'll be sitting in a comfy chair in a hot room watching us plough through the snow?" Braska smiled.

"Something like that. I'll be walking in your footsteps. Now be quiet and go to sleep." Jecht arched his eyebrows.

"Yes sir, Summoner sir!" He leaned back on his elbows, into his backpack, and pulled his cloak, found on the ledge of the same fountain where he had left it, more securely around his shoulders.

"Good." Braska said, and began to dig into his bag. He looked up twice, met blinking eyes the first time, and closed eyes the second time. When he was sure Jecht was asleep, he upturned the whole bag and sifted through the contents on his lap. Potions, elixirs and gems clinked against each other as he sorted them out, and when he was done he counted them beneath his breath.

Enough to last us through the mountains, if my strength came to fail me here, but we are short on antidotes. I'm not sure that I can make another warming potion with the ingredients I have either…and especially Jecht will be having difficulties without its effects. All the more in this horrible weather. Listening, he could make out the everlasting howl of the wind, but the pitter-patter of snow and hail on canvas had stopped—but that was probably because they were covered with such a thick layer of snow that it did not make a sound anymore. If the weather doesn't improve in a few days I'll have no other choice than to call upon an Aeon to carry us over the mountains. But they won't like that. Bahamut is too proud to carry any of us, let alone the three of us. Valefor wouldn't mind, but she's not strong enough. Besides, we'd have to go to a peak if we want to get over the storm, and that's virtually impossible…No, we'll have to do it on our own. Auron's left foot twitched and kicked him against the ankle.

"Leave…alone!" he mumbled from behind his cloak. Braska's features softened.

"Let it go, Auron," he said softly. "You're safe here, and I am too."

"Whuh?" the Guardian said groggily, but the Summoner shook his head.

"Go back to sleep. You were dreaming. I'll keep watch for the moment."

"Right…" He sighed, and was silent. Braska went back to his potions, and thought about using Ifrit again.

*

Three weeks earlier

They had been ascending Mount Gagazet for two days, leaving even the plumes of Ronso cook fires behind, when the trouble began. Exactly fifteen days later Braska, standing at the foot of the mountains on the other side, remembered that that should have alerted him on the fact that nature was about to go wild—but at that moment neither of them had even thought about a Storming Season; they only thought about continuing their way, and the waves upon waves of fiends had been blamed on Ronso activities and had simply been fought and defeated.

"Is it always like this over here?" Jecht panted after the seventh flaming fiend in as many minutes. Auron shrugged.

"Could be. I was very young when I came here last. Cannot remember much of it."

"I have never been here before," Braska apologised. "But I must say I haven't seen so many living so concentrated…Auron! To your left!" Auron turned and slashed, and a flight of pyreflies passed along Jecht's face.

"I wonder whether things would improve if I performed a sending…" Auron rubbed blackish blood from his sword with a handful of snow.

"I doubt it, my Lord. They'd just shy away, then come back later." He fastened his steps, scouting out ahead of them, then came running back. The man's like a dog, Jecht thought to himself. Covers twice the distance we do and still has enough energy to bark. He chuckled.

"What?" Auron asked.

"Nothing. See anything?"

"Of course I saw anything. The whole place is crawling with fiends. Bashuras, Mandragoras, Grats, Imps, you name it; and machinas scuttling in the middle of them. It looks like a whole party down there." He flashed an unexpected grin. "It does cheer up the countryside."

"Is it passable?" He shrugged.

"If we go slow and run at the right times? Yes. We'll have to be careful, though. They seem to team up in groups of four or five. If they succeed in flanking us, or worse, separate us, we might have a problem. But," and now he took on a pose that Jecht would have sworn was macho if it hadn't been Auron, "if you," to Jecht, "just do as I say and you, my Lord, keep back a little we'll go through them like a knife through hot butter." Jecht cupped his hand around one ear.

"What's that? Did I just hear a boast?" Auron frowned, piqued.

"What are you talking about?"

"Nothing, nothing." The other man snorted, and balanced his sword on his shoulder.

"Hmph. Just do as I say, alright. And I do mean DO as I say, because otherwise things might end less than fortunate for you." Jecht performed the victory sign.

"As you say, oh lord and master."

"Fine. Let's go. Are you ready, my Lord?" Braska nodded.

"All set."

"Good," He turned. "I'll take the lead. Jecht, stay close to Braska. Watch out for the mechs, lest they attack you from behind, but ignore them if they…"

"I've fought them before, Auron." The other Guardian shrugged.

"Then follow me and keep quiet. It would greatly improve our situation if we'd be able to surprise them." Jecht bit back a reply that Auron was the one who had been talking non-stop for the last few minutes, and that he didn't usually have any breath left to make any sound—somehow, Blitzball didn't wear him out half as much as this trudging through the snow and fighting fiends at a great height—and just followed him, keeping close to the Summoner.

            They managed to surprise the first few fiends and dealt with them easily, but then they were alerted, and when they did not charge, the fiends tried to lie in ambushes and attack them when they were least aware. Bahamut roared his challenge two times, Auron kept casting spells that enhanced his and Jecht's expeditiousness and Jecht, well, Jecht finally learned to appreciate all the times both men had been hammering on his studying of the ways of magic and his meagre spell collection. He did not like magic, although it did increase his might—he considered it unnecessary and unnatural, but at times like these he was immensely glad he could gather his and his companions' energy from the air and increase their defence, and cast the odd speed spell as well.

There were several types of fiends he had never seen before, of which the bird-like creatures were least dangerous, and the four-armed beasts Auron called Bashuras were most irritating. One reason for this unpleasantness was the hardness of the thing's fists, the second was the fact that Braska gave a little cry of delight whenever he spotted one, and proceeded to sneak towards the Bashura and rob it blind. After which it inevitably noticed them and attacked.

"Would you cut that out?" Jecht sputtered after the third time an all too solid fist the size of a ham had connected with his face. "These things're nasty!"

"They carry ingredients I need to brew a potion," the Summoner replied cheerfully, and twirled his staff between his fingers before straightening and healing Jecht's broken nose. "Besides, you two can handle them. And if you can't, I can always call on Yevon's servants, can't I?"

Braska, Jecht had already noticed, was in uncommonly high spirits. The more often he had to summon an Aeon, the more jovial he became, until he stood next to Bahamut or Ixion humming excitedly and shouting, "Go! Go for it! Kill it!" Which was something even Auron had never seen him do.

"Braska!" he shouted at one moment, when they sought a brief respite beneath an overhanging ledge, "Are you all right?"

"Never better!" Auron silently begged to differ. His friend's usually pale face was flushed almost feverishly, and his eyes glittered abnormally bright. He almost looked…

High. Jecht thought, and when he caught Auron's eye, he knew the other man thought the same. He's high as a bat. I couldn't get more intoxicated after downing a gallon of wine than he apparently gets on summoning. And suddenly he wondered whether Summoners could get dangerous to themselves and their direct environment when they lost self-control.

"Look after him," Auron told Jecht, and the man nodded.

"I don't need looking after," Braska pouted, and Auron rolled his eyes.

"Of course not, my Lord. But we don't want you to exhaust yourself. Jecht," He pointed two fingers at his eyes and moved on.

"I will." He took the Summoner by one of his wide sleeves, but Braska pulled himself free.

"I am perfectly capable of handling myself, thank you. I am no child and…"

"Jecht! Braska! Ambush!" Auron came skidding back through the snow, slipped, landed on his knees and scrambled back up again. "Four of them!"

"Which ones?"

"Bashuras."

"All of them?" Jecht squeaked.

"Yes. Back to that ridge; if they manage to corner us... Go on, run! Braska, please! Run!" For one moment Jecht was afraid that the Summoner would refuse, but either Auron's authority was even more impressive than he had given it credit for, or Braska could still think remotely sane, because he gave a nod and began to retreat immediately.

Running, Jecht beat away several smaller fiends, stumbled and was hauled up again by Braska.

"Watch it! Cover me so I can summon!"

"I don't know whether that's such a good idea."

"Stop babbling," Auron snapped as they reached the ledge. "We can't possibly handle them on our own. There's the first one. Jecht, guard him. I'll take them on." The first fiend was followed on his heels by two others, and the fourth one came running as well. Auron ran a few steps forwards, took on the opening position and raised his sword. Behind him, Braska began to chant again. The first Bashura crashed head first into Auron, sent him flying to the ground. The two others split up to flank each other and attack the Summoner, but were beat back by the other Guardian.

"I can't summon like this!" Braska shouted as he dodged a blow. "I need more space!"

"Working on it! Auron! I need some help here!" He heard a dull roar and the hum of pyreflies, and a few seconds later the man's red-clad body, hazy with speed, bounded into his vision field.

"I'm here. It's got its fists up. Go!" Jecht attacked, but he no more than scratched the creature, and its retaliation sent a red-hot bolt of agony through his upper arm.

"Damn it!" He tried to hold on to his sword, but his arm couldn't react, and it dropped into the snow. Beside him, Auron cursed, colourfully and inventive.

"Get back! Let him heal you!" He evaded one blow, then grunted as he received another. His empty sleeve flapped against his back as he danced back and forth between the two fiends, struck here, slashed there, ducked and dodged, fell back and attacked again. But his breath came in rasping gasps, and both fiends were still standing.

"Braska!" The Summoner nodded.

"Your arm will have to wait." He closed his eyes and began to chant, relying entirely on his Guardians to keep the fiends away from him. "Yevon, ruler of all, grant me strength through your fayth; Aeon, aid me in my cause. Ifrit, lend me your…" One of the Bashuras exploded in a cloud of light, and Auron spun to confront the third, when the fourth one charged from the left and crashed all four fists against his side.

"Auron! Watch out!" But it was too late, and the Guardian slammed against the ledge with a sickening crunch and fell to the ground, where he lay unmoving, his mouth half open, eyes shut in agony. "Auron!"

"IFRIT!" Braska screamed, and then the ledge quivered under the force of the Aeon's arrival. "Help us!"

"Braska!"

"Not now! Later!"

"But he'll die!"

"If I don't concentrate, we'll all die!" He was right, Jecht knew he was right, but nevertheless he was shocked. Leaving the Summoner to steer his Aeon he hastened towards where Auron lay and flopped down next to him, cursing as he jarred his broken arm. Already Ifrit's heat caused the snow to melt; the knees of his pants were soaked.

"Auron? Can you hear me?" The man gave a tiny nod. He was breathing oddly, very fast and shallowly, making a whole train of small clouds in the air. "Braska'll take care of you in no time. He finally got the Aeon to come down. I think…"

"Finished." Braska pushed him out of the way and kneeled next to him. The Aeon had not left yet, and was breathing hot air on their backs. "Can you sit up?" Auron moved a fraction of a centimetre, moaned and shook his head.

"No. I think I…cracked a rib…or two."

"Open your eyes." He did so, and the Summoner examined his pupils and reaction. "All right. Now, are you wounded elsewhere, or only your chest?"

"Not only…my chest. Side. Back as well." He paused to pant for air. Despite the cold, sweat rolled down his face. Braska bit his lip.

"Right." He pulled off his gloves with his teeth and spat them out. "All right, this may hurt a bit, and my hands are cold, but you'll just have to endure." He deftly unbuttoned Auron's coat, unhooked his belt and slid his hands up beneath his shirt. Auron gasped and dug his fingers into the ground.

"Oww…"

"I'm sorry." Eyes closed, he felt his way up and to the side, pressed his lips together. Auron began to cough, his body convulsing weakly as he tried to keep as still as he could. A small trail of blood ran from his mouth and dripped to the melting ground. "NO! Try to keep still! Don't cough." He shrugged his backpack from his shoulders. "I'll give you something to ease the pain and a sleeping draught so we can move you.

'Jecht, could you hand me your bag as well? I left my sleeping powder in the front most pocket."

"Sure. You mean this?"

"Yes." He bent over Auron and set a small flask against his lips. "Here, drink this. Slowly. That's it. Now for the draught—I'll mix it with wine, then it'll be stronger…"

"Braska."

"Yes?"

"How are you…going to move me? Can't you just…" another pause for breath, "heal me here?" Jecht looked enquiring as well. The Summoner shook his head.

"Auron, I need facilities to heal you. This isn't just a broken bone or a flesh wound. Half of your ribs are caved in, and by the looks of it at least one of the bones has punctured your lungs. It'll take at least three or four hours to set them, and I need you to sit up straight for that, preferably secured…no, we'll have to go back to the Ronso village and take care of you there."

"Ronso village?!" He began to cough again. "But it has taken us…days to get…here!"

"Don't speak. I know it has taken us days, but…well, we haven't got a choice, do we? We cannot go on to Zanarkand with no assurance that we'll find a village soon, and I don't want to lose you simply because you don't want to go back."

"But how do we get back?" Jecht asked. "I mean, he can't walk. And I can't carry him—especially with my arm broken." Braska slapped his forehead.

"Ah, yes, your arm. I apologise. Let me see…no, it's a rather clean break. Hold on." He took Jecht's arm between both hands, closed his eyes and began to pray. A soft blue light played over bruised flesh, and with a soft 'click' the bone mended, and settled. "There. That should do it. Flex your fingers…yes.

'Now, as for transporting you, and us, back to Ronso Village, I have an idea. It's rather unconventional, but then so is our current situation." He looked back, and as Jecht followed his gaze, he stared right into Ifrit's fiery eyes.

"Huh?" he brought out. "You don't mean…" Braska smiled, tiredly. The high colour had gone from his cheeks, and at the moment he seemed more tired than anything.

"Yes, I do mean Ifrit. He can carry us back. He won't like it, and he might even get angry, but since we have not other alternatives I think I'll take that risk." And when Jecht still looked doubtful, "Like you said, Auron cannot walk—even more, I don't even want him to move! We cannot carry him and fight fiends at the same time, certainly not while trying to keep him immobile. So, we need Ifrit."

"Ifrit." He gazed up at the massive fire Aeon and swallowed. "Sure, use an Aeon. But why not Valefor. She, at least, doesn't seem so…unstable." Ifrit growled softly, as in protest. Jecht hastily focussed on Braska again.

"Valefor cannot carry all three of us, and she has no hands, so she cannot lift Auron onto her back, and it would aggravate his injury if we had to drag him on top of her." He rolled to his feet and made a half-hearted attempt to brush the dirt and molten snow from his robes. Even though Ifrit's heat made the temperature more comfortable, it definitely did not improve the condition of the ground. "No, it will have to be Ifrit. Bahamut's too proud to even consider such a request, Ixion's movements are too jerky, Dragonfly has the same problems as Valefor, so…Ifrit." He walked towards the Aeon. "Besides, I'd like to keep him warm."

"I'm still here," Auron whispered sullenly. "You can still talk to me."

"Remind me to give you that potion then," the Summoner said over his shoulder, and then he turned his complete attention on the giant Aeon in front of him.

"Be still." Jecht whispered back. "I think this might be a pretty delicate situation. Let me get my sword in case things go wrong."

Things did not go wrong. Ifrit, although with a grumpy expression on his furry snout, agreed to carry them back to Ronso village. Braska mixed his sleeping draught, and Auron drank it obediently. His body seemed unpleasantly limp and small in Ifrit's huge claws as it carefully lifted him and placed him in the fur on its shoulders, where Braska, already seated, made sure that he would be kept immobile. Jecht sat on the left shoulder and tried to evade Ifrit's ear as it flicked back and forth when Braska talked to it.

"Can you remember where the village is?" Flick.

"So you will take us there?" Flick.

"Thank you. Then, whenever you are ready." Flick. Ifrit crouched down on all fours, tensed his legs and jumped.

To be continued