The Birth of Pain
Disclaimer: See prologue.
A/N: Major angst ahead!
Nog: Nog is a Spiran alcoholic beverage that is served in a manner similar to sake. Auron in FFX carries a jug of it around. I am not making this up, you can read it on the side of the jug in the Spiran alphabet (not that I mind people who call it sake, it works just the same but the fact is that it is not sake).
An Important Note: Somehow I forgot to include this very important note in the last chapter. Auron never told Braska about Paine, so Braska assumed that she was either stillborn or that the destruction of the building killed her and Auron encouraged him in thinking this. Auron knew that if he told him, Braska would (somewhat hypocritically) not allow Auron to be his Guardian in favor of being Paine's father. Like Braska, Auron wanted to protect her by defeating Sin and so gave her to her aunt and uncle on Kilika to raise. He told them to tell her that her parents died in Bevelle.
I apologize for not including this in the text of the story but it completely slipped my mind and I guess I assumed somehow that people would guess. So anyway, with this mind, enjoy the next chapter!
Braska pulled open the door to the tavern, flooding the street with dim, beer-colored light and harsh laughter from within. Inside the sphere screen blazed, drowning those seated at the bar in watery blue light. The commentary coming from the screen was on the earlier game between the Besaid Aurochs and the Al Bhed Psyches, mostly derisive comments on the crushing defeat of the island team. However, it seemed that even Psyche's stunning victory could not sway deep-seated Yevonite grudges against the machina-using people and occasionally in the midst of praising the Blitz team the commenter would slip in a snide comment about the heathens.
As Braska closed the door behind him he was overcome by the scent of unwashed bodies, stale nog, vomit and other human excrement that the bar owner had not yet bothered to clean. If he ever did. It was all the Summoner-in-training could do to keep from escaping back the way he had come. He compromised by lifting the sleeve of his voluminous robes, the sweet aroma of night air still clinging to the fabric, to his nose and pushed on despite the almost solid wall of stench.
This bar had once had a good reputation as a place where warrior monks and other city officials could go to unwind in a comfortable and reasonably priced setting. The lanterns had once cast a warm golden glow around the entire room and from time to time the barkeeper would hire musicians from Macalania to entertain the patrons. The food, though not as well prepared as some of the more expensive haunts of Bevelle, was the perfect accompaniment to the best nog the city had to offer. Long ago, Wen Kinoc would come here almost every evening after patrol for a few drinks with his squad members. Auron and Leyla had come here when the former was helping her become acquainted with the city.
Yet now the once golden lights were dim and dirty if they were lit at all and the corners of the large common room were completely shrouded in shadow. If the barkeeper had relinquished the small fortune it would require to hire the musicians now there would be no hearing their song over the clamor of the sphere screen and the raucous laughter of the patrons. Food was no longer served. There was no money to be had in it, only in nog which flowed unchecked.
It was no longer a place where one brought a woman, though here and there amongst the crowd you could find them, their tattered tunics hanging loose and low over their breasts in a manner that would have been seductive were they not spotted with bruises and equipped with as dangerous a glint in their eyes as the hired murderers that served occasionally as bouncers.
However, it was still a place where warrior-monks went after completing their patrols.
They had been broken, each and every one of them, their wills crushed and ground into the earth like so much glass beneath the boot heel of Sin. Fighting men all, they had stood helpless as Sin's assault destroyed their homes and massacred their families. Even their victory over the Sinspawn had seemed a paltry thing with which to justify their existence as protectors of Bevelle. They all knew that had it not been for that miraculous barrier, they would all be dead.
Many had sunk so low into their toxin-enhanced depression that the temple had been forced to relieve them of their positions and hire new recruits in their stead. But this had only served to further lower the morale even amongst the recruits. It had taken over a year for the warrior monks to recover their former fighting prowess, and longer still to return to their former glory. New weapons had been investigated, projectiles that would allow the ground troops a higher level of effectiveness should Sin rain terror from the sky again and every squad was assigned two of the invaluable black mages instead of one.
It had now been four years since the attack but still traces of the darkness that had followed could be found everywhere. This bar was the perfect example, despoiled by the warrior-monks who had sought brief solace in the bottle and had never been able to let go, yet had somehow kept their performance or value high enough to be kept on the force.
Braska knew that this place should strengthen his resolve to battle Sin, yet all he could feel was disgust and pity for those who had been lost or abandoned here in the wake of the destruction. The thought of one of those souls in particular inspired the feeling so strongly it twisted his gut in pain.
He winced at the sound of a bottle being smashed over a patron's head and carefully kept his eyes trained at waist-level as he scanned the barstools, not wishing to tip anyone who was looking for a fight over the edge with a direct stare.
Somehow a soft, drunken moan caught his attention in the midst of the overwhelming noise of the common room. Raising his eyes, Braska took in the man he had come looking for and the sight nearly brought tears to his eyes where he thought they had dried up long ago. It took all of his will power to keep from rushing to the man's side but good sense prevailed and he continued at his steady, unobtrusive walk.
Yet the closer Braska came the greater the desire to cry out in dismay and disbelief grew. Could this truly be him? Is this what his year long sojourn away from Bevelle had done to him? Or did the roots go deeper and Braska himself was at fault for not seeing it sooner and aiding this man in his grief?
He was draped over the bar, his arms folded to cushion his head. His hair was longer than Braska remembered, its ebony lengths reaching past his shoulder blades, and had taken on an oily shine from lack of washing. Free of its usual binding, it fanned out over the bar, obscuring most of his face. The tips lay unnoticed in a puddle of spilled nog from the jug beside him.
"Auron," Braska said, shaking the man's shoulder to wake him. The warrior monk grumbled and buried his face further into the crook of his elbow, then stiffened at the realization of who had called his name.
The younger man raised his eyes slowly to the Summoner he had sworn to guard. A weeks worth of beard shadowed the lower half of his face and his eyes were bloodshot as if he had been crying. The din around them seemed to hush as their eyes met.
"Auron," Braska said, his voice gentle but fierce, "Why didn't you wait for me?"
"Braska?" Auron said groggily but there was a touch of fear there that surprised Braska and hurt him.
"Why didn't you wait for me to finish my Summoner's training?!" At first Auron did not answer and Braska wondered just how drunk he was. Then Auron shook his head, leaning away from Braska's grasp. The alcohol stuck his hair together in clumps and the excess ran down the back of his breastplate and disappeared into his coat.
"Get out of here, Braska. This is no place for you. Go home to your daughter, take care of her," he slurred the words but it did not sound as if his ind was overfogged by the drink.
"Yuna will be fine, Auron, it is you now that I am concerned for," Braska realized that this was not the place to force a confrontation. Flagging down the barkeeper he requested a room, just for the evening. The man glared evilly but something in Braska's pristine manner perhaps reminded him of better days, when Summoners and priests were frequently recommended his tavern for its fine food and lodging. His face softened somewhat, or at least lost its feral edge and grumbling he reached down and pulled off a plain looking key from the cluster that jingled at his hip.
"Be out in a few hours. I've got a business to run here," he said gruffly. Braska nodded his thanks and led an unresisting Auron, who only paused to take the jug from the bar, through the crowded common room, ignoring the coarse suggestions and taunts that were tossed their way and down a dark hallway where the tavern's half a dozen rooms lay. Though he tried to block it out, the grunts and squeals of sex could be heard from both sides of the hall and the reason for the barkeeper's parting comment became abundantly clear. Yet the room itself were blessedly quiet. Taking a seat in a rickety chair he gestured for Auron to take his ease on the bed.
Auron sat down, his body slumped as if it took all of his will and muscle power to stay erect, meanwhile doing his best to avoid Braska's piercing ocean blue gaze. "You still have not answered my question. Why didn't you wait for me to finish my Summoner's training though you swore to be my Guardian once I had completed it?"
Auron remained obstinately silent until he realized that this method would not make Braska go away,"I couldn't stand it here anymore," he finally mumbled, shame coloring his voice more than the afteraffects of the nog. Braska sat back in his chair, knowing that there was more and he simply had to wait it out. "Raigar, my commander's brother, was leaving on his pilgrimage. He chose me to be his Guardian, said that he would only have the greatest warrior monk. I felt I owed it to Ralleth," he shrugged uncomfortably, "So I left," still Braska did not move.
"It was…an unpleasant pilgrimage," the apprentice Summoner saw the corners of his eyes tighten in pain and knew that that was an understatement. "The respect inherent in a Summoner status went to his head. He wouldn't listen to advice or accept any jurisdiction above his own. He treated me as a servant rather than a Guardian. Because of him we were landed in several dangerous situations where, had it not been for my training and the Aeons, we would have died," Braska knew that by now the old Auron would have been seething with rage yet the curious dead tone of just voice never wavered, as if all the emotion had been drained out of him by the nog. "The pilgrimage ended in the Calm Lands, as I suspected it would. On the open plains there was no one except for the Al Bhed at their travel agency and he refused to consort with them. There was no one to revere him, no one to tell him what a great thing he was doing. And I think the knowledge that beyond the mountains lay his death finally shook him as it had not the entire time. One day I awoke and he was gone, leaving only his staff to indicate that he had given up. I did not search for him."
Braska realized that even with the lengthy explanation Auron had still effectively dodged the question. The silence told him far more than the account of the pilgrimage. "Was it because of her?" The death of both his wife and child was surely what had driven the man away.
Auron's fist clenched, nails scraping the woolen comforter. "Yes."
"Auron, it was not your fault! You cannot continue to punish yourself so!" Braska said firmly.
"Yes, it is!" Auron cried, showing the first flash of emotion Braska had seen all night. "I should never have left her side! I should have been there for her, protected her, loved her! I chose duty over her and she suffered for it!" he made a choked sound in the back of his throat and Braska realized with a start that Auron was weeping. He moved his chair closer and placed a comforting hand on Auron's shoulder.
"Again I tell you, my friend; it is not your fault. You could have done nothing to save Leyla unless gifted with Yevon's foresight."
"Yes," Auron whispered hoarsely, "Her I failed as well," Braska wondered if he had heard right but let it slide nonetheless, "I have failed everyone I have ever loved. I am not worthy of you, Braska. Only a bastard like Raigar deserves a Guardian like me."
"What nonsense are you speaking? My views have not changed in the last four years, Auron, I will have you as my Guardian and no other," Braska frowned, placing both hands on Auron's shoulders.
"Nonsense, Braska? It is you who speaks nonsense," Auron said, roughly shoving one of the man's hands off his shoulder. "Look at me! I have become everything that I despise! A failure, a drunk, a coward, who could not even protect the most precious thing that life has ever given him! I am not better than those animals in the common room! Now I ask you, leave me be! Go on to defeat Sin if you will, I'm sure Yuna will understand why you abandoned her, she is old enough now. Find another Guardian; do not trouble yourself with me any longer! I-I am a dead man," Auron shoved away the other hand and turned away, hoping for and fearing the inevitable sound of the door opening and closing behind Braska.
"Perhaps that is true," Auron winced at the perceived disappointment in Braska's tone. Somehow it hurt more hearing it from Braska than from his own tortured thoughts. "A drunk, a failure at protecting what he could not possibily have saved…" Auron felt surprisingly strong steady hands pull him back around, "But I trust you and no other with my life, Auron. And I have faith in you. I know that you have within in you the strength to help me to the very end," Auron's face went from anger to shock to sorrow, finally settling on something very much akin to reverence. "Now I ask you again, will you serve as my Guardian when I leave in two years time. This time will you wait?"
Auron hesitated but only for a moment, the grasped Braska's forgiveness like a drowning man clutches a lifeline,"Yes, my lord," Braska felt a twisting in his gut at the worshipful tone of Auron's voice. Whether he liked it or not, the price of saving this man was their friendship, once loose and filled with camaraderie, to be filled with the overwhelming respect that one feels for a beloved lord. Braska mourned its loss but knew that things would never have been the same again and so saw it as a small price for this man's life.
They stood and Auron reached out to grab the empty nog jug that had sat beside him on the bed.
"You will no longer need that, I should hope," Braska said.
Auron took it anyway, "I will keep it. As a reminder and…" Braska cocked an eyebrow, "I have come to enjoy the taste somewhat.""As you wish, my friend," Braska smiled. The road was still long, stretching out before them filled with trials and troubles that would only grow as they came closer to him. And at the end of that long road lay the prize and the punishment that for now did not bear thinking of. Yet despite all this he was comforted by the knowledge that no matter how long it may be, the road would not be walked alone.
A/N: Whew! Things were getting a little intense there, I was really afraid of inadvertently making BoP a slash! Well, actually that's unlikely since I've never written that genre before. Still, from time to time I couldn't shake the image of them throwing themselves into each others arms!
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