Coup D'état
"A great fire burns within me, but no one stops to warm themselves at it, and passers-by only see a wisp of smoke"
(Vincent Van Gogh)
His youth had been like the desert that he was glancing at on that breezy night. Dry, void of life, apparently, but in truth, it hid a great deal of vitality underneath, where nobody could peek. In the folds of his spirituality, Auron concealed especially well. His cocoon was refined with spiran arabesques, swords, austerity, abstinence and reverences. Many reverences.
Inside, he sometimes thought all by himself, he felt more emotions than anyone else.
He wanted to cry anytime he heard night crickets in the Calm Lands.
Fondness was never an option for him: a vigorous feeling like that was too much to bear.
His father said: a man becomes a coward when he is terrified of how much he has to lose.
In the matter of feelings, Auron had everything to lose. Like in battle, he would never spare himself to give everything selflessly.
And he was also extremely bad at being honest with himself. How many years had passed? He still couldn't bear her smile, the airiness that enveloped her.
Nothing could ever be easy for him, not his actions, not his thoughts, not even his feelings of fondness, apparently.
He saw crusaders die at his command. He heard of conspiracies and did nothing to prevent them. He hid secrets bigger than the world, spoke unspeakable truths, schemed manipulations. He lied to Yuna, he let Braska die. He witnessed Jecht transform into a bloody monster.
But his biggest, unspeakable crime had been lying to that girl, the same girl who showered him with affection and who sparkled in him a natural instinct of protection.
He found the courage of admitting it merely now, in his second unfortunate attempt at life.
The disgust he felt towards himself was so strong that he bent over the sand to vomit his bile. He looked straight into the puddle of what felt cleaner than his soul.
The past is the past. Unexpressed motion is forever stillness. You hurt no one.
You hurt the image of her in your mind, the voice in his mind replied. You tainted her.
No use in feeling guilty for something that never was, Auron. No use in talking to yourself as if you're not alone.
It's me, I should say 'me', not 'you'. Me and myself, alone in here, in my mind. Is freedom so unattainable, even in thought?
So the voice spoke again, and this time it had his father's tone: you'll never be free.
Chapter 7 - freedom
The party, as Wantz called it, ended quite quickly.
Maybe it had been Rikku's absence to haste its conclusion. Either way, Auron was glad. Too much new information gurgled in his brain: the poison, Rikku being the Al Bhed leader, Gippal's glances of mistrust. He felt very tired. Old, even. He walked out of the big room slowly, pensive. Wantz quickened his pace towards their quarters, so Auron was left alone. He needed to lay down and sleep, but he was too restless to do so, too tired to hear Wantz's chatters.
So he did what he did best. He wandered.
The metal corridors of New Home were badly lit, and very cold. The sound of his steps echoed sharply, making his walk feel like a funeral march. So empty, so far from the foundation, so unvillagy, this construction. He wondered… Did Rikku herself design it? It surely had a feeling of practicality.
Was she a good leader? He thought so. He had observed people's reactions to her name, and he made it a mind game to note everything they said about her, as his curiosity was unlimited. He trained her in the past. An infinitesimal part of her success was his too. Or so he thought, miserably, walking through the metal corridor. He felt pathetic.
He turned corridor after corridor, following the sound of the desert wind. He wanted to get out, breathe the air, see the sky. He turned corridor after corridor, feeling like a rat. Life was his trap, and he couldn't escape it again. Not yet.
Air, air, air. He followed the breeze and finally, a door, his saviour, appeared in front of him. Beyond it, he found the desert.
Many spiran poets had the bad habit of using the Bikanel's desert as a metaphor for hollowness. He found it electric with life, as he tiredly walked in the sand, his feet sinking with every step.
A sound made him stop in his tracks. A rustle, like fabric moving, and something small, like wood. Like a bead.
"You're a mysterious guy, do you hear this sentence a lot? Yes or no are acceptable answers."
He turned. Here she was. Rikku. Pale in the desert night, a fiery look in her eyes, black circles enveloping her green spiraling orbs, dressed in a demure hospital white dress. Warmth expanded through his chest.
His silence wasn't even a mise-en-scene now. It was a necessity.
"I heard you don't talk. You don't want to, or you can't?" she squeezed her eyes suspiciously. Good girl, being prudent. "I know you said my name, while I was fainting. I heard you."
Auron sat on the sand, lowering the cloak on his face even more. He felt good being hidden. He felt even better being mute.
Rikku sat near him, he could feel her eyes on him.
She sighed, "No use in ordering you to speak, right? I can feel it. You wouldn't. So I guess I'll have to surrender. What a pity, I'll never know who you are, mister," she lengthened her tanned legs on the cold, shiny night sand, "But I like a good treasure hunt!" he heard the smile in her words.
Auron chuckled.
"HA!" she exclaimed, moving her hands like a temple monkey. It was so Rikku that he smiled to himself fondly.
She went silent for a while, the wind the only background sound to his thoughts. They both stared at the night sky, the stars looked as if they could be plucked off the space they occupied on that big, dark silken blanket.
He was reminded of Zanarkand; not the glamourous, technological city of the dreams; he was reminded of his own Zanarkand. City of the dead, of memories and delusions.
Would the images of him, Braska and Jecht still be printed on the city's air? Did those disappear together with the monster, with Sin? His past was history now. Kids were probably studying him through the lines of boring inky books in their wooden Kilika schools. That's how ancient he felt.
"The truth is…" she continued, shaking him from his thoughts, her voice getting lower, and a melancholic note slightly tainting her enunciation, "...I thought you were someone I once knew."
Auron froze, startled.
"I guess you would tell me to shut up if you could!" her laugh brimmed.
Another pause. Another heavy breath.
"You probably aren't him," her eyes went up to the night sky, wandering, her tone got serious again, "I think he would've told me. Maybe not to everyone else, but he wouldn't ever hide the truth from me. Stupid, I know. But stupid hopes are my fuel."
Her legs shifted uncomfortably in the sand, little grains spreading on her skin. Her dainty hand, more womanly now, immersed itself in the sand, and she started to pour the golden terrain on her legs, like a child. So many contradictions danced in her now, even more than before.
She always was a child-woman, grown up in a tragic world without any faith, but bearing a light he had never seen before. She looked old, yet young, now. He felt the same.
"He died, you know? The guy I thought you were. He was our…mentor. He lied to us, to me, and for some weird reason, lately, I can't get him out of my mind. I spent these last years often asking myself why he would lie about something so… vital. Pun intended." she chuckled, bitter. A whiff of wind menaced to dissolve the sand she was pouring on her legs.
Auron felt a strong shiver run through his spine. Raw emotions punching his guts. Sadness, guilt, despair, even. This girl, this woman, was putting in words his own torments. His whole life was a confession she was making to a mute man, in a desert which, now he understood, felt like hollowness.
"But I understand now, I think. I know why he lied," her voice became steadier, fierce, "because when an idea is so important, you have to annihilate everything, even yourself, to make it real. I wish I could tell him… I wish I could tell him I forgive him."
He could sense the tears in her throat. He could taste his own.
She briskly swiped the sand away from her skin, returning to her usual sunny self. "Sorry for speaking this much!" she laughed "It's hard to find someone to say secrets to, these days! Everyone wants to know palace secrets, Pa' warned me! I don't know why I spilt all this Besaid tea over you!" her laugh became even more warm and bubbly, "and to think I only wanted to know your name!"
Auron raised his callous hand over the little square of sand that divided them. He felt magic tingling his fingers. A small water charm wet the ground. With his index, he slowly wrote something in the darker sand.
FARAM
Rikku made an amused sound.
"Thank you for saving my life, Faram," she said, getting up and brushing the sand off her legs, "and for listening. I wish fate will make it possible for me to trust you, somehow."
She walked towards the door to the New Home's corridors. "I don't know why, but I want to trust you. Goodnight, Faram."
She closed the door behind her small figure. Her absence was heavy.
Because I am Auron, because I am me, he wanted to say.
He wanted to. But he didn't. He just looked at the desert, hollow and vibrant at the same time, thinking of her.
The disgust he felt towards himself was so strong he bent over the sand to vomit his bile on the ground.
You'll never be free, said his father's voice.
Sorry for the late, short chapter! Lately, I have been very busy, and kinda sad for some weird reason. I think that the chapter resonates with these feelings in a way. Ugh, why is life so complicated? I love that I have this little space of mine to speak about it, even if it's probably stupid to complain with you guys!
Let me know what you think of the chapter. As usual, I apologize in advance for any mistake, English is not my mother tongue. Tell me if you find any, it would make me better.
Kisses
Silvia