Chapter One

They stayed in the Temple that day, and Braska woke them early the next morning, a quiet smile on his lips. He was already in garb, his staff balanced over his shoulders as Auron and Jecht finished readying.

He grabbed Auron's sleeve as they left the Temple's door, and gently said, "The first chance we get, we should find him a weapon."

"He could complain at the fiends we encounter," Auron grumbled, crossing his arms over his chest. Braska chuckled, and smiled very softly.

"You really don't care for him, do you?"

Auron wanted desperately to inform Braska just how much he 'didn't care' for Jecht and his brash nature. Instead, he ducked his head, and shrugged one shoulder a little. "It isn't my place to judge your choice in Guardians, Sir Braska."

"Auron . . ."

He quieted as Jecht joined them, looking tired and a little hung over. Auron shook his head, and stepped into the growing half-light of early morning. Most of Bevelle was still deep asleep, and would be so for some hours. It was comforting, and well suited that they leave before anyone would see them.

Jecht was walking just behind him, erratic and distracting. Auron grumbled, and finally turned to glare at him a little. The large man had a sphere-recorder between his hands, and was swinging it about as though taking in the entire landscape. Braska was chuckling again.

"What are you taking?" Auron demanded, thinking of snatching the contraption away from the man before he broke it.

"Well, you said it was going to be a long trip." Auron shook his head as Jecht stopped, and he and Braska strode past him. Jecht continued, "We'll be seeing a lot of neat things, right? So I thought I'd record it all in this." He was quiet for a moment, before adding, "To show to my wife and kid, you know."

Auron whirled, and glared at Jecht a little. "This is no pleasure cruise!"

Jecht ignored him. "Hey Braska. Ain't this supposed to be a grand occasion? Where're the cheering fans? The crying women?"

"This is it," Braska said, his voice light but a little strained. He was looking off into the distance. "Too many goodbyes—people think twice about leaving."

Jecht wasn't happy with that answer. He walked on a little bit, still waving the sphere recorder around like a mad thing, taking in as much of Bevelle as he could from the Highbridge. "Hm . . . If you say so. Well, it better be a lot more colorful when we come back. A parade for Braska, vanquisher of Sin!"

Braska laughed, shaking his head a little. "We should go. Day will break soon." Auron watched Jecht turn off the recorder and stuff it in among his things, and they turned to head pointedly away from the Temple.

They turned back a little when they heard a tiny 'omf!' behind them, and stared at their small follower. Yuna had her pink pack held before her, and was stumbling down the High Road towards them. Her very sleepy watcher was just starting up behind her, calling her name gently.

She tripped over her pack, and stumbled, making that small sound again. Braska jumped a little, and hurried towards her. Jecht sniggered under his breath, watching the young father picking up his daughter and hugging her gently.

"Ah, Braska. Don't coddle the kid; she'll end up soft!" Braska wasn't listening, but inspecting Yuna like some tiny porcelain doll.

Yuna finally proclaimed, as she grabbed her father's headdress, "I'm coming too, daddy!"

"Yuna . . ." His eyes were sad, but hers were firm, meeting his gaze evenly. Auron smiled a little, and thought that she would make a very strong woman one day. But today would not be that day.

Her watcher stopped at Braska's shoulder, and took Yuna from her father. The little girl did not scream, or reach for her father, but stared at him with those same sad eyes. Braska kissed his fingertips, and applied them softly to his daughter's forehead, before turning his back to her and striding away.

As he passed Jecht, he said simply, "See what I mean?"

Braska inspected a map idly as Auron tried to explain to Jecht why he needed a weapon of some sort during the pilgrimage. The man was positively maddening, so firm and set with his resolve that he could defend with his fists alone—there was a boastful story, which Auron suspected Jecht had created on the spot, of defending his wife from seven thugs single-handedly.

After a while of arguing with the older man, Auron threw up his arms in aggravation, and strode away, darkly snarling, "Fine! Do whatever you damn well please. But I'll not be the one to spare a Potion for you when some fiend decides to take a bite out of your—."

"Gentlemen?" Braska was smiling softly, his hip a little cocked. His calm attitude defused Auron's frustrations almost immediately; he settled instead for shifting his sword at his hip and his pack across his shoulders. "If we're prepared?"

He turned away then, and Auron dutifully strode behind his summoner, his eyes carefully downcast as though he was some chastised youth. Jecht bumped his shoulder from behind, and strode a couple of steps ahead of him.

Red eyes darted back at him, and then up to Braska. A dark brow shot towards Jecht's hairline, and he smirked a little, thumbing at his nose. Auron felt his cheeks heat a little, and sneered at the implicating glance he was receiving.

They walked in silence for some time, along the stretch of road between Bevelle and Macalania. The frigid wind barked at their exposed skin. Auron watched Jecht as the time dragged on, taking in his increasing unease with their lack of conversation.

He finally broke, tossing his arms up and then cradling the back of his head. "So, Braska. Where're we headed, anyway? I mean, besides south."

"Well, we have to head quite some way, until we get to Djose. That's fairly far south. Then we head to Luca, and the islands of Kilika and Besaid. After that, we head back north to Bevelle, and then on to the end of the pilgrimage."

"That's Zanarkand, right?" Braska nodded without looking at Jecht. The man chortled a little, and shook his head. "It's gonna be great to get home."

"Anxious to see your child?" Jecht's laugh was harsher, a bit more rueful and brutal.

"My wife, really. I mean . . . I wanna see Tidus, but the kid's such a pansy . . ." He shrugged a little, then laughingly said, "I think my Tidus and your little girl would get along pretty keen. They're both a little slow on the up-take."

Braska looked over at Jecht, offense sparkling in his eyes. "Yuna isn't slow."

"Tidus is." But there was a smile in his voice, which Auron couldn't see. He supposed it was a little feral and unsettling. Suddenly, Jecht shivered violently, and shook his head. "Crap, it's cold 'round here. Isn't it summer or somethin'?"

Auron had been to Macalania once, during his training. The fiends were hard in the ethereal forest, and had shown themselves almost as soon as their trio had stepped within the weald.

Jecht hissed as Auron shoved another Potion at him, grumbling under his breath a little. He was still bleeding in a couple of places, but the light green liquid had done wonders for most of the major wounds.

"Sir Braska and I both told you to get a weapon, you stubborn—." Jecht shot him a withering little glare, and downed this fourth Potion. He pulled a little face at the taste of it, and handed the bottle back.

"Kid, I don't need you babying me." Auron bristled a little, his fists clenching. He looked around the clearing a little, trying to distract himself from the suddenly overwhelming urge to pound in Jecht's face, and sighed as Braska strode up. It had been foolish, of course, to send their Summoner back to the Macalania Inn alone, but somebody had to sit around with Jecht and make sure the idiot didn't manage to kill himself.

Braska handed over a High-Potion, and leaned against his staff as Jecht swallowed the contents of that bottle as well.

"Gah, ya'd think they'd make these things taste better."

"It's probably to discourage people from getting injured." Braska was swaying slightly in his spot, staring into the middle-distance. Auron sprung to his feet, oblivious to the look Jecht was giving them both, and grabbed Braska's shoulder gently.

"Are you alright, sir?"

"Fine, fine. Just a little tired."

"Should we go back to the inn—." Braska shook his head a little, and straightened. He smiled breathlessly, and assured Auron that he'd be fine, that they should keep moving. Auron slowly nodded, and grabbed his things.

Jecht strode behind them, and Auron was only half aware of those red eyes watching him and Braska both.

Braska spoke softly: "When we get to the Thunder Plains, we'll have to move through pretty quickly. But we should probably get you a weapon of some sort while we're there, Jecht."

"Yeah, sure." He didn't sound terribly keen on the idea, and Auron suspected that perhaps in Jecht's home, he'd spoken true about fighting thugs off with only his fist (though Auron more suspected he'd fight them off with his sheer imposition). Any sudden transition to a weapon was bound to be a little unsettling.

He strode back towards Jecht as he unbuckled his sword, and shoved the weapon into the man's hands. A dark brow rose skeptically at him; he shrugged.

"I'm stronger than you are, and you might as well get used to a sword now, rather than later."

"Who said I'd wanna use a sword—?"

"Your choices are rather limited," Auron pointed out brusquely, and stepped back up to stand at Braska's shoulder. Braska smiled a little, almost thankfully it seemed, and Auron ducked his head, shrugging his shoulders absently.

The winding pathways within Macalania gave way, over what felt like ages, to the vast stretch of the Thunder Plain's perpetually scorched earth. They stood on the edge of it, looking out over the expanse and from lightning tower to lightning tower.

"This is somethin'," Jecht commented idly. He was balancing Auron's sword on his shoulder, staring around at the bleak landscape.

"Come on. It's not that far to the inn." Braska gestured into the middle-distance, and they struck off from the withering edge of the forest.

The lightning and thunder, crashing around them, reduced their meager directions to vague gestures and emphatically shared exasperated looks. Jecht, being the tallest and with Auron's sword hefted as it was, seemed perfectly oblivious to the strikes quickly raining down around them.

It took them nearly an hour of lightning-dodging before they reached the inn. Auron huffed a sigh of relief, and leaned against a structural support of the building, staring back the way they'd come. It didn't seem that far, from the inn.

Auron started as Jecht tossed the sphere-recorder at him, and blinked stupidly. It took him a minute to switch the damn thing on, and focus it on their surroundings. By then, Jecht was standing at Braska's side, looking around idly.

He turned back to see what Auron was doing, and cringed a little. "Hey! Hold it steady."

"Why am I doing this?" Auron grumbled, and switched it off. Jecht stepped over, and took it, messing with it for a minute. As he played with the contraption, Auron strode to Braska's side. His hands were suddenly once more filled with the recorder, and he shot a venomous glare at Jecht.

He looked back at Braska, taking in his somber expression and distant eyes. "What do you see there, my Lord?"

Braska started out of his stupor, and looked over at Auron. "Oh. I was just . . . thinking."

"This is important; no foolin' around!" Jecht snarled, waving around at the vast expanse. Auron rolled his eyes, looking over at him. "You're gonna spoil it."

There was a sudden flash of lightning, surprisingly close, and Jecht gruntedin surprise. Braska stepped over quickly, Auron a step behind him, suddenly very intent with the recorder.

"Are you alright?" Braska asked.

With a vindictive little smile, Auron observed, "Now there's a scene for prosperity!"

"Yeah, yeah," Jecht grumbled, climbing to his feet. He snatched the recorder away as Auron shut it off, and stuffed it back in among his things. With a stretch, he turned back to Braska, and asked, "Are we staying here?"

"That'd be best, I suppose. We can rest, and get you a weapon before we leave in the morning."

"Yeah, sure." He shrugged, his hands tucked behind his head. His eyes were a little unfocused as they darted between Auron and Braska, and Auron tried to ignore the heavy stare on his back as they stepped into the inn.

An elderly woman beamed at them energetically, and welcomed them to the inn. Her voice was coarse from years of talking over the incessant thunder, but kind. Braska smiled at her gently, paid for their room, and then disappeared back out the door.

Auron placed the care of his things with Jecht, threatening him with a glance instead of words, and then stepped out onto the plains to find out what was worrying Braska.

The young Summoner was sitting a few feet off from the inn, his headdress removed and placed at his feet. His dark brown hair waved in the breeze coming from the east, swaying around his face slightly as he stared off into the middle-distance once more.

"Sir Braska?"

He looked up, startled, and smiled slightly as he patted the hardened earth at his hip. Auron settled beside him quietly, crossing his legs and keeping his gaze intent on Braska's profile.

He didn't speak for some time, but smiled softly when he did.

"I met my wife in this inn." Auron only half-noted that Braska spoke of the woman as though she were still alive. His smile was gentle and nostalgic, his fingers combing through the loose soil he'd managed to work up from the ground. "I was traveling from Luca to Bevelle. She was with a group of her friends and family, to Guadosalam, if I remember right. We were both very young then—this was some years before we met again, and many more years before married."

"This place reminds you of her?" Braska shrugged a little. His eyes were sadder than they had been when they had left Bevelle.

"I wonder," he murmured.

"Sir?"

"I wonder if the Al Bhed's souls arrive in the Farplane as well." Auron stared at Braska's profile for a moment, taking in the soft anguish hidden beneath his firm resolve. With a shy and shaking palm, he touched Braska's shoulder gently, squeezing in what he hoped was a reassuring manner.

Braska smiled nostalgically, chuckled at himself. "I'm rambling, aren't I? You should head back in, get yourself settled in our room."

"Will you . . . be alright, sir?"

"I should be."

Auron nodded, and slowly stood. He wasn't convinced that Braska would be alright, but he wasn't going to contest the point.

His hand tingled slightly, where it had curled on Braska's shoulder. The inn was surprisingly quiet, considering the perpetual storm roaring around them. He sighed, and strode down the hall to their room. Doubt at leaving Braska alone gripped him as he spotted the door to their room, and he nearly started back.

"Hey."

Auron looked over at Jecht, and tried to stifle the annoyance that bubbled in his chest. He shook his head a little, and ducked into his collar protectively, moving to step around the larger man. Jecht grabbed his arm, tugged at him.

"Not now, Jecht," he grumbled.

"What the hell's up with you?" the dark, scarred man growled. His breath was hot and smelt of alcohol, making Auron lean away and scowl up at him.

"Let me go," he demanded. Jecht shook his arm a bit, leaning in a bit closer. The hall felt tight with Jecht leaning that close, the door suddenly cold through his jacket and shirt, against his back. Suddenly, Jecht leered a little, his eyes trailing over Auron for a moment.

"You been spendin' a lotta time with Braska," were his coarse words, almost accusing. Auron bristled.

"I am his Guardian." Jecht let out a barking little laugh. His free hand was on the doorknob that was digging into Auron's back; his flesh was warm through the fabric of his jacket and shirt as well, and he arched away from the light brush.

"Still . . . that's a lotta time ta spend, just lookin' at him." He laughed again, and jangled the knob against Auron's back a little. "You stare at him a lot, Auron . . ."

"Shut up," Auron snarled up at the older man. Jecht leered down at him, and laughed again; Auron flinched at the smell of alcohol on his breath, and leaned heavily against the door. It gave in as Jecht turned the knob, and Auron stumbled back into the room, barely catching himself before he fell. He glared at Jecht as the man slammed the door shut behind him and leered at him through the darkness.

"Did I hit a nerve, kid? Bit sensitive about havin' the hots for the boss?"

"Shut up, I told you!" He made a lunge at Jecht, not sure whether he was going to strangle the man or hit him or just knock him to the ground and run off to some seclusion.

Whatever he was going to do, it was halted. Jecht's knee came up in a harsh, practiced movement and caught Auron in the stomach. His breath rushed out of him, and he groaned as Jecht grabbed his shoulders, whirled him, and pressed him harshly to the door.

He was gasping for breath, and finding only the hot, fetid exhale from Jecht's too-close mouth. From the short distance, he glared up at the man with vengeful eyes, promising an undeniable pain, just as soon as the feeling came back to his extremities.

But, as before, he never got the chance. Jecht was perhaps too close, too quickly, and Auron was not quite sure what do to when one did that with their tongue. His fingers flexed at the wood beneath them, and his eyes widened, perhaps comically, and stayed as such, even when Jecht pulled away, one brow cocked.

"Ya know," Jecht growled, his voice huskier and deeper than normal, "you're supposed to kiss back."

Auron snarled at him, struggled against the hold on his shoulders, lashed out with legs and arms that could barely move from the weight of Jecht against him. Jecht just growled back at him, his hands harsh and hot and tight, his thumbs tracing at his shirt and his skin and . . . and perhaps that didn't feel too bad, to have Jecht lean in that way, though his breath was still unpleasant against Auron's mouth.

But suddenly, Jecht let out a barking laugh. He pulled back with such violence, his hands still on Auron's shoulders, that Auron fell to the ground when he was released, staring up at Jecht incredulously as the older man opened the door, and left without a word.

At the end of the hall, Braska stood, looking worried and confused. Jecht passed him, slowing slightly as his eyes darted over the Summoner, before he continued on with a quiet curse and shake of the head.

Braska hurried down the hall to their room, approaching it just as Auron left, straightening himself idly. He reached for the young warrior-monk, but pulled his hand back as the dark haired young man flinched a little and blinked at him.

"I think . . . I'd like a separate room, Lord Braska?"

"Of course, Auron," Braska whispered, and watched as Auron stepped around him and strode, almost as one dead, down the hall towards the reception desk. "Of course."

There was no mention of the incident, or implication as to Jecht's reasoning behind his assault. Auron wasn't sure if he was thankful for the ignorance, or frustrated beyond belief.

They stayed in Guadosalam for a full day, and then continued south, towards the Moonflow. Auron became ever cautious of Jecht's drinking binges, and carefully arranged himself so he was rarely in the older man's company.

He was not unsettled so much by the brusque advance itself, so much as his reaction to the entire ordeal. From an early age, he had been trained to be a stoic pillar of strength, be it for a Summoner or simply for the military. Yet four days' travel with two other men—one of whom he was finding increasingly repulsive—and his resolve was swiftly becoming threadbare in his tenuous grasp.

Jecht grew quickly enamored of his new sword, and grew quite good with the weapon, in so short a time. He was a formidable fighter, and Auron supposed that had something to do with the frustration and anger roiling beneath his boastful exterior. Then again, it was that same frustration and anger that drove Jecht to the bottle nearly every night they stayed at an inn.

Braska attempted to get him to speak about his malcontent. Jecht only smiled and laughed it off, before springing to the forefront the next time they were ambushed by fiends.

Auron stretched widely as they followed the path towards the Moonflow docks. The forest edging them in towards the river was breathtakingly familiar, and Auron was thankful for that. It had been nearly two decades since he'd passed through the area last, but everything held the same peaceful, effervescent quality it had during his vague and distant childhood.

He stared out across the river with his arms crossed over his chest, and sighed softly. The pyreflies swarmed over the water, and a few curled around his ankles listlessly on their journey skyward. When this was over, he'd like to come back to the Moonflow, to his family home some miles beyond it. That would be a peaceful existence, suiting for a former Guardian.

There was a sudden commotion up ahead, closer to the docks, and Auron thought he could distinctly pick out Jecht's voice above the general rabble. With a groan of despair, he buried his head in his hands, and then jogged off to see what the idiot had done this time.