The Birth of Pain

Disclaimer: see Prologue.

A/N: Again, sorry for the wait. Real life has been a bit of a priority lately. Originally this chapter was just supposed to be a filler, a transition, but in the end I really wanted to do a good representation of Auron's death. However the length and the wait were getting a bit ridiculous so I cut the chapter into two parts to tied you over. The following poem is by Robert Frost and I thought it went quite nicely with the chapter. Special thanks to Silvie-chan for beta-ing!

The woods are lovely, dark, and deep,
But I have promises to keep,
And miles to go before I sleep,
And miles to go before I sleep.

-Excerpt from Stopping By Woods on a Snowy Evening, by Robert Frost.

The winter wind moaned its despair over the heights of sacred Mount Gagazet, cutting through the thick blue fur of the Ronso asleep on their beds within their toasty caverns. The sounds of it hollowed the heart of those who heard it, making them shudder from the feeling of loneliness that swept through them, emptying them and engulfing them with the realization of how tiny they were in the midst of the immense splendor of the mountain and the wind that had shaped it for time out of mine.

The wind, the sky and the shadows were all the same shade of navy so deep it was nearly black, the snow glimmering under the marble white moon only a shade lighter. Standing alone on those peaks one would feel like a single star lost in the vastness of space, surrounded by the bitter cold of perpetual snow that cut the heart as surly as the skin and freezes the moisture of tears to one's face. There are no words to describe this feeling; it can only be experienced on a night such as this, so desperately alone amidst the new-fallen snow.

Against the luminous blanket lay a smudge like an old bloodstain, a man sprawled on his stomach, one side of his face hidden by a cavity in the snow. He coughed, a ragged hoarse sound and pushed himself up on to his elbows and looked around, one side of his face stiff from the frozen blood that caked it. It is a blessing, the crimson ice like a cracked shell that protected the ruin of his face. He tried to ignore the sensation chips of ice resting too far inside his damaged eye socket. He wanted to cry, alone on the mountain, to lie down in the snow that is beginning to feel like a warm blanket and fall asleep with the tears still staining his face. He wishes, as he has not wished since he was a child; that his mother would come and take the pain away, wrap him in warm blankets and carry him to a place that is without pain or snow. But his tears have been used up and his eyes stung with the dry bitter cold. Like a waking nightmare on endless loop he can seem them, writhing in pain that he can only imagine now in this state as his life seeps out of him with the blood of his wound. Their pain drives him on, their cries as they lay dying even as he is now, the promises they had begged of him with the knowledge that soon that pain would render them incapable of speaking.

His own pain was negligible and unwanted compared to theirs, it only slows him down. His pain only asks him to lie down and give in, only whispers seductively about warmth and safety and protection from this biting wind that hollows out his insides and the soft snow that numbs the agony of his disfigurement with more pain.

Only his agony and his Paine would keep him from fulfilling his promises.

Reaching forward with his bare hand he grabs a clump of snow and pulls himself another foot forward down the slope, his belly scraping through the snow. Behind him, reaching all the way up to the Trials is a slug-like trail, splattered with pink blood. Occasionally the tracks would show where he had stumbled to his feet, placing one foot slowly in front of the other in a feeble attempt to gain distance before collapsing back down to the snow, tears of frustration springing up in his good eye.

Every muscle screamed in agony as he reached forward with the other hand, grasping a clump of snow further down the path and dragging himself another foot. So great a distance yet so little. The climb had begun the night before, he had watched the sun set and rise and set again yet he could not sleep, he could not allow his remaining eye to shut, to give in to the mirage of snuggling inside warm blankets that tried to overcome his senses. Another reach, another foot, searing pain lancing through his body as if he were being impaled by the icicles that had hung like slavering jaws from above.

He felt more than saw the bandersnatch that prowled in lazy circles like a vulture around him, ropes of saliva dangling from its yellow fangs. There were more fiends hidden in the shadows he was sure but none dared come any closer. The lupine monster was bolder than any of the others so far, undoubtedly newly dead for it did not know the way of things on Gagazet. The older dead knew the scent that clung to him; they knew her scent, the oldest of them all. It was the one blessing she had bestowed upon him, an ironic convenience that left a bitter taste in his mouth. There would be no quick death in a fiend's jaws, no crumpled red form like a bloodstain on the snow, steam radiating out of his wounds even as his flesh dissolved and reformed itself into some grotesque monstrosity. A small blessing, for surely his end was near; but one that would allow him to reach the base of the mountain.

An hour, a moonset, an eternity later he curled up on his side at the base of the path where Braska had left his sphere should Yuna ever walk the same path. For a wild moment Auron wanted to crawl up that short steep slope, lie next to the sapphire sphere and watch Braska talking, just talking, as he slipped into unconsciousness then death. The thought became more appealing by the second as he lay there, curled into the fetal position on the snow, his breath coming out in heavy gasps that stung his throat. He could feel himself unraveling, flesh separating from spirit and wondered if it was not his due to spend his final moments in peace, listening to his best friend warm, steady voice advising the daughter he had loved and left on her future.

Yet his own failing body betrayed him. As he reached out to begin the climb, so short compared to his long trek down the mountain his body shuddered and refused to move, unable to take anymore pain and bereft of energy even if he could summon the will. A sob choked him and he buried his face into the thin layer of jagged frost that lay over the snow as his cries of pain and exhaustion sapped him of his will.

I cannot die here; he thought for he could not speak, I must fulfill...my oath. For Jecht and Braska, for Yuna and Tidus. This is nothing, I can overcome it.

With a grunt of pain he willed his hand to move, closing his eyes in order to focus his will on that one tiny movement, trying to convince himself that that was all it was. But his body was not as easily fooled as his mind and no progress was made. He could feel his other eye closing as his burning tears froze to his eyelashes, gluing them shut for what he knew was the last time.

"'m sorry..." he whispered before consciousness left him in a puff of steam that grew and dispersed as it rose to the sky.

"Wake up," the deepest voice he had ever heard rumbled, lifting him from his unwanted doze. He felt something poke his side then before he could even gasp in pain he was on his back, gazing through frosted eyelashes into the dim pink light of dawn. He tried to cough to relieve the tightness in his throat but all that came out was a mix between a whimper and a sob. "You're alive," he heard a tinge of surprise in that deep bass voice, "Don't move." Auron's world shifted and his breath caught in his throat just short of a scream as he felt himself lifted from the ground, causing the slash that stretched to his collarbone to flap open. The Ronso, for now he could see that it was one of the cat people from the blur of blue and white that took up most of his vision, stopped and made a small sound of vexation like a grunt. The arm that supported his legs was slowly removed and they thudded to the ground.

"Drink this," the Ronso commanded. Auron tried to close his frozen lips around the vial that was placed between his teeth but all it did was shoot a fresh twinge of agony through the wound on his face. The sweet clear taste of some sort of potion washed over his taste buds, but there was no accompanying rush of energy, no zinging sensation as the healing process was jumpstarted. He may as well have been drinking flavored water.

"No'ting," his voice cracked. His vision was steadily becoming clearer and he could see the slight baring of the teeth that served as a frown amongst the Ronso. "Please... must go to...Bevelle."

The Ronso shook his head. "You must rest. Kimahri will bring you to his den." The Ronso began to walk down the slope, his long stride easily devouring the snow covered ground. For a moment the Guardian did not complain, the relief that coursed through him at being brought so much closer to his goal was too overwhelming. But as he flickered in and out of consciousness, occasionally jostled awake with a growl from Kimahri, he felt a sense of urgency overcome him.

No amount of rest would heal his wounds. Every heartbeat brought him closer to his last. He felt almost detached, watching the last grains of sand in the hourglass of his life fall away. And there were so few left...

These thoughts haunted him as the morning sun darkened before his eyes. No! I cannot...Lord Braska needs me...He began to thrash helplessly as if to push away the specter of his own death. Pain, fresh and sharp as a razor honed to a hair's breadth sliced through his side, every bit as painful as the first time her nails, enhanced by unholy power, left him to fend for himself at death's door. He gasped and went limp, panting hoarsely. It was then he saw that it was not death's shadow but the roof of a cave that blotted out the sun. A cave that grew warmer as he was carried further into its heart.

He felt himself being carefully placed onto something soft that tickled at the back of his neck and face. Warm furs enshrouded him and through his cracked eyelids he could see a fire, its smoke released into a shaft that ran upwards into darkness, crackling blithely in the middle of an exotically decorated room. A far cry from the opulence of Bevelle or the Spartan quarters of the warrior monks, the Ronso's dwelling was comforting yet foreign at the same time, decorated and furnished with furs. Auron realized he was lying on a stack of them that served as a bed and found it just as comfortable, if not more than the one in his old quarters so long ago. Spears and halberds lined the far walls of the large circular chamber and close by he could hear the crystalline tinkle of water as it melted into a tiny pool.

His eye still shut, he felt the Ronso unbuckle his thick belt, thus freeing his bloodstained crimson coat. He cracked open his good eye and saw Kimahri examining his wounds, then without a sound the Ronso padded over to a cubby near the entrance of the cave and removed a small vial along with a roll of gauze bandages then went over to the small spring in the corner of the cave to fill a bucket. These items in hand he knelt beside Auron and began to carefully remove his breastplate, his hands surprisingly gentle for all their strength. The sting of the cool water was nothing compared to the pain he had endured over the last few days and so he remained silent as the Ronso washed his wounds then dabbed them with the fragrant salve. Placing his large furry paw behind Auron's back he gently propped him up and began to wrap the long white bandages around his right side of his face and his shoulder.

"Please," Auron whispered as Kimahri tied off the last bandage. His voice was dry and scratched, barely audible even to his own ears "Please, I must go to Bevelle," He could feel his strength returning slightly with the warmth and the comforting pressure of the bandages. "I swore to my friend that I would watch over his daughter. I...must get her to safety before my time ends."

"Potions not work. Rest, recover strength," Kimahri said, obviously unwilling to allow the man he had found half-dead on the mountain to finish the process.

"I cannot! I am cursed, I...I have little time left," Auron said, "I must complete my duty."

Kimahri laid aside the extra bandages and regarded him solemnly. Auron tried holding that golden gaze but he felt the room spinning around him and the little energy that had been restored by the warmth was being taxed by his insistence on leaving. After what seemed an eternity to Auron's fevered mind, the Ronso nodded. "We go."

The Ronso helped Auron stumble to his feet and carefully replaced his breastplate and coat. For a moment the black-haired young man swayed as the spinning became almost unbearable. What was that crying sound, those flashes of color just out of the corner of his vision? No. He swallowed. Just a little farther. Can't rest yet...

Leaning heavily on Kimahri's arm, the two warriors exited the cavern and into the white light of morning. As Auron's vision and mind cleared he noticed for the first time that his savior's horn, a symbol of status amongst the male Ronso, was broken half way down. In addition, the location of Kimahri's den, on the fringe of the settlement and closer to the base of the mountain than any other, indicated that he was currently in very low standing. Yet the furnishing within the Ronso's den was too rich for the low status to have been a lifelong stigma, perhaps coinciding with his height. It could only mean that Kimahri, like Auron, had fallen far and fast, perhaps only a short while ago.

However, it seemed the mystery would remain unsolved, not in the least because of Kimahri's aura of unmovable silence. The subject was likely a delicate matter and Auron knew instinctively that he was not in a position to ask after it.

"Bevelle is close but chocobo is fastest," Kimahri rumbled as they entered a short circular cavern that dove down into the earth. On the other side was a thin layer of snow that quickly melted into spring green grass and beyond that was the bridge that breached the gorge. Auron had traveled this route so long ago, three days? He could not remember the journey, only the rage that had consumed his vision. Rage at her betrayal, rage at their deaths...

He shuddered and banished the thought from his mind.

Even with Kimahri's help the short trek down the mountain and to the border of the Calm Lands was painful, as if every indentation left by his boots in the soft ground was filled with his life's blood. Clinging to his dignity, he resisted the urge to lean more heavily on the Ronso's arm as they crossed the bridge and came in sight of the vast plains. Smoke still billowed from the distant edge, where Braska's Final Aeon, no, Jecht had fought and defeated Sin. He hoped they were at peace on the Farplane, waiting for him to join them. But not now, not yet...

Overlooking the Scar was a woman in all yellow, almost indistinguishable from the Chocobo she rowed. Several other rider-less mounts were tied to her reins, and occasionally bent to peck at some unseen morsels on the ground. Auron and Kimahri approached her, the sound or perhaps the smell of the feline warrior alerting the birds before they came within a hundred feet.

"Oh, hello," she said cheerfully but as they got closer she noticed the sorry state of the red-coated man being supported by an abnormally short Ronso. Something was very familiar about man but it was hard to tell why he triggered her memory for his half his face was enshrouded in bandages. "Umm, would you like to rent a Chocobo?" the Ronso said nothing, only nodded and handed over the fare, enough for a journey across the plains. She accepted the money without further comment and went about freeing one of the mounts.

"I thank you for your generosity. I hope that one day I will be able to repay it, but I fear that I will never have the chance," Auron said. Kimahri nodded and carefully eased Auron's weight off his shoulder. For a moment it seemed as if the Guardian would fall but he retained his balance, albeit shakily.

"We will meet again," Kimahri rumbled, then turned back they way he had come. Silent, as was his way.

"Not for a long time, warrior," Auron whispered, certain that they would see each other only on the Farplane. Then he turned to go his own way, mounting the offered Chocobo and guiding it towards the opposite end of the Calm Lands then collapsing, the last of his energy and will spent, against its downy neck.

Kimahri gazed down from the lower plateau of the Ronso settlement on Gagazet, hardly blinking even as icy wind pierced his golden eyes. Far away he could see the figure of the red coated warrior whom he had tended, growing smaller and smaller with every bound of his chocobo until Kimahri's keen eyes could not even make out a tiny black speck on the verdant plains. He watched for a moment longer then turned away, backs towards his den at the outskirts of the Ronso village. Thoughts whirled in his head like tiny flakes caught in snowstorm but his face was as impassive as ever, even to the other Ronso. At the last minute he changed course, following a path he could have walked blindfolded towards the Elder's cavern, the largest and most ornate of all them all that lay in roughly the center of the comings and goings.

It was a custom that when the Elder was not needed to serve his office of Maester in Bevelle that he would hold audience and act as a judge for disputes that had sprung up amongst his people before they escalated into possibly dangerous duels. Oftentimes however his judgment was that the two fight it out, but under controlled circumstances that would prevent any from needing the service of a Summoner. A week ago Kimahri had stood before the Elder alongside Biran and listened to the location that their duel was to be held in, along with the rules of the proceeding. Only week yet it seemed an eternity to the young Ronso for so much had changed in that short time.

"Will little Kimahri yield?" Biran had taunted as he stood over the bruised and bleeding Ronso. The yellow haired warrior towered above his opponent and when he did not answer dealt him a kick in the side to hasten it.

Kimahri lay there for a moment, his breathing harsh and ragged in his own ears. He could see a tightening ring of familiar blue faces around him, concern visible on a few. It seemed very far away but he could also hear the raucous laughter of Biran's companions, certain that their leader would have another defeat to add to his already illustrious name, and what a defeat it was! Kimahri could not... would not allow it.

"No," he grunted, pushing himself to his feet, slowing his movements to hide his stagger. His hand flickered out, instinctively searching for the smooth shaft of his hunting spear but met only air. One of the conditions of the match was bare handed combat, a style which naturally favored the larger, stronger Biran. With his spear at his side, Kimahri knew he could make easy work of the cocky older Ronso but when resorting to his fist the fight became, at best, equal.

A ripple past through the audience and Kimahri could see that Biran was surprised by this turn of events. But the surprise was quickly masked beneath a growl of challenge, "Kimahri not know when he has been beaten. Biran will show him," Biran launched himself at his stunted opponent but instead of grasping Kimahri around the waist and attempting to wrestle him to the ground he grabbed him by the throat with one hand and by the horn with the other. His muscles rippled under his navy blue fur and Kimahri was lifted to his toes. Yet he did not cry out. Not a sound escaped his lips and with a low snarl Biran brought him face-to-face, his hot breath rank in Kimahri's nostrils as he rumbled under his breath, "Yield or Biran will rend you asunder."

Kimahri's eyes were unfazed and a slight hitch in his breath was the only indication that Biran had him in his power, "No."

Throwing back his head, Biran roared to the crowd, "Hear this! The weakling Kimahri refuses to yield! Let his shame be seen by all!" there was a might crack that reverberated like a tree snapping under the weight of the thick winter ice in the silence of the mountain. Kimahri roared in pain and disbelief, the only sound he had made the entire fight. Biran brandished the broken horn then cast it over the side of the mountain, where could be seen spinning end over end, glimmering in the sun like an icicle before plunging over the side of the cliff.

A hiss of disbelief was raised amongst some of the spectators but it was drowned out by the cheers of Biran's lackeys. Biran through Kimahri carelessly to the ground and strode towards his companions, laughing uproariously and flexing his impressive muscles, yet their joy was dampened slightly. It had not been a clear win. Biran had only ended the duel in the lead but nonetheless the shame of losing one's horn was a Ronso warrior's greatest fear and no great shame could be inflicted short of banishment. For now, Kimahri had been beaten by Biran would have to do better to reap the full glory of a victory.

For a long while Kimahri sat there, his cat-like eyes wide and empty, with one hand on the ground for support while the other was braced against his forehead. His breathing was heavy, a moment ago it had been the steady controlled breaths of a warrior now it was the deep ragged pant of one who saw the long road of Purgatory stretching before them and had to be silent to keep from moaning their dismay. He hardly heard the quiet fall of padded feet as the spectators left, their eyes downcast until only the Elder remained. Yet Kimahri did no acknowledge his presence until he felt a heavy hand on his shoulder. "Kimahri's knows what he must do to regain his honor?" came the solemn inquiry,

"Kimahri knows."

"The road will be hard for your shame is great. If you falter there is no hope."

Kimahri remained silent after this and soon after the Elder left as well, his light steps leaving only slight indentations in the snow that were quickly washed away by the wind.

Kimahri did not move though the sun set and the moon rose. Only as the rose light of dawn stretched out over the eastern side of the sacred mountain did the emptiness leave his slit-pupil eyes and he rose to his feet to greet the hard path that lay ahead.

He came to the entrance of the cavern just as a weapon-smith left, clasping a piece of parchment that contained the Elder's edict. Kimahri did not hesitate to enter and would not have even if the Elder had been holding an audience. This was old habit and had he not been lost in thought he would have perhaps reconsidered his actions in the light of his new status.

"Kimahri wishes to speak with the Elder?" an attendant asked him, a slight curve of contempt in her feline smile. Kimahri nodded and she pointed beyond the hide doorway into the main hall. Elder Kelk sat upon an ornate throne depicting scenes of the hunt and filled with the symbolism of leadership in the power the hunter had over his quarry and the mercy he could show unless such mercy should weaken or endanger his family. The Elder raised his head and nodded towards Kimahri yet the younger Ronso could see a trace of surprise in the face he knew so well.

Stopping a few feet from the dais Kimahri made the sign of prayer and bowed to Elder Kelk. "Why are you here, Kimahri?" Kelk asked. For a moment Kimahri stared down at the floor as he chose his words, "Kimahri wishes to leave sacred Mt. Gagazet. He wished to tell Elder before he goes."

"Why do you ask this?" Kelk exclaimed, visibly recoiling as if struck, "Do you not know the consequences of leaving the mountain before the time of shame is over? Only on Gagazet can you redeem yourself in the eyes of the mountain. Leave and you face disgrace and disownment. Will you not reconsider?"

Kimahri remained still and solid as a pillar but his eyes were fixed on the distance as if to look past Kelk and into his uncertain future, "Kimahri will not."

A pained expression crossed Kelk's face and he closed his eyes for a moment to hide the turmoil within. He opened them again and spoke in the slow deliberate voice of a Maester passing judgment, "So be it."

Kimahri turned to leave yet before he took a step he grimaced and turned desperately back towards the Elder, still and dignified as a statue upon his throne. "Father, Kimahri--."

"Why do you address me so, fallen Ronso?" Kelk rumbled but his face was also distorted in pain as he fell victim to the strict laws of their race, "You have no family and I... I have no son. Regain your honor and one day you may return to assume your place amongst the warriors and..." he unconsciously lowered his voice as if to keep his words from Yevon's ears, "after I am gone, to take your place as Elder of our race."

Kimahri's eyes widened at the breach in decorum but before he could say anything Elder Kelk waved a hand in dismissal. As he left, Kimahri made a silent vow not to return until he was strong enough to take his place once more amongst the warriors and worthy enough to once more be his father's son.

He left the way he had come, stopping only briefly at his den for a few days rations. He wondered how far the red-coated man had gone and if he would be able to catch up with him in time.

A/N: Well, there's part 1. It seems that unexpected family ties is quite a theme in Birth of Pain, huh?

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