A frozen morning was breaking over the peaks of Gagazet, though it was a gray morning, a layer of clouds sitting thick on the spine of the mountain and slicking the snow over with a sheen of ice. The rays of the white sun could only kiss the earth through a few tiny holes in the barrier, though enough to wet the icicles which tinkled together like a windchime, dangling precariously above Auron's motionless body.
The cold drops of ice water on his cheek and an ubiquitous ache roused him from unpleasant dreams, and still taken by sleep he smiled warmly. The nightmare was done, and he would wake in the candlelight of the cloister in Bevelle, comfortable under blankets in his cell, among his books and the beads of prayer which dripped from the walls in graceful parabolas. He would stretch, and yawn, and shuffle to the lavatory to shave the shadow of a beard from his jaw. At nine o'clock he would suffer through Choir where he would do his best to hide his voice behind the other men, and afterward he would breakfast with Wen Kinoc, who would lace his beard in porridge with every spoonful. His stomach gurgled loudly and Auron shocked awake. He felt his heart drop into his belly and a sweat began to bead on his forehead as he focused his vision on the tiny crystals of ice beside him which melted with every increasingly frustrated breath he puffed into the snow. His pillow was far away. Thoughts of millet porridge and the warmth of home curled his lips into a grimace. Thoughts of Braska welled tears, and Auron bit his lip.
Focus. Focus. Order of Yevon keep me strong for I am but one man and I have no strength without the fear of Death. Order of Yevon keep me strong for I am but one man and I have no strength without the fear of Death. Order of Yevon keep me strong -
He stopped himself short. The familiarity of it was calming, but the time to abandon that ritual prayer had passed the moment Yunalesca took gentle Braska and Jecht into her sanctuary. Now was the time to awaken. Lying on his left side, Auron tried to right himself, once, twice, three times, unsure how he could possibly be so stiff from a restless few hours' sleep, though the pain which began to flower through his body sent a wave of panic through him as he realized his flesh was frozen solid in the snowbank. Breath short, he chipped away at his icy shackles with his gloved hand, frustrated by his slow progress. Auron looked for the sun in the sky to judge the time, but unable to find it, clenched his teeth, and counted down from ten before ripping his body from the clutch of the ice.
Red seeped into the snow like a syrup. Auron had never felt such an intense pain, seething and panting as his side and arm throbbed, partially debrided of skin and frostbitten black as coal. He cursed himself for having fallen asleep in the drift. Examining himself he could see the extent of the damage; purple strains of frozen arteries ran up the length of his arm, black patches spreading in his armpit, and Auron found it nearly impossible to force his stiffened arm to his side. His right hand probed frantically underneath his shirt, forcefully shredding away the icy crust that had formed within his wounds, and for a brief second he noted the sudden appearance of a frozen abscess in the place of his nipple. The fingers on his left hand were frozen stiff and black with rot, swollen beyond recognition, fingernails brittle and ashen. Mouth agape, he swallowed dryly, unable to conjure an emotion to express the thoughts shooting through his head.
"This is nothing. Let's go. Let's go," he repeated to himself in a hushed tone between coughs, over and over as he tried and failed to bring himself to his feet. Come on. Almost there. Toes frozen and rump cold, he managed to struggle to his knees, and resigned himself to crawling over the precipice of the mountain top. From his new vantage point, he could see the whole of Northern Spira stretching out before him. The evergreen Calm Lands which lay past the craggy heights of the mountain glowed soft in the sunlight where a break in the clouds illuminated the land, and the weary monk could just make out the Scar in the landscape left by Sin so long ago. He touched a hand to his cheek. A sign of life suddenly caught his eye. Directly below, down the mountain four miles, maybe five, smoke from Ronso bonfires rose in black columns and filled Auron's nose with the scent of cooking meat. Ronso would mean food, it would mean medicine, and rest.
His body felt instantly light. His vision sharp. Teeth bared, hunger voracious, Auron staggered down the pathway with revitalized energy, looking equal parts confident and cannibalistically insane. The past few days had seen his beard grow in, and while it had always been, in his opinion, unattractively patchy, the stress of the mountain groomed it with ice and blood and shaped it into a sawtoothed tangle. This, combined with his dangling eyeball and frozen black hand, gave him the appearance of some vengeful red-faced demon woken from his den in the snow, and Auron certainly felt monstrous. The scent of food, so close, nearly sent him into a fit. His mind raced as his careless footfalls took him slowly down the mountain face.
Curried goat in brown sauce with boiled onions… Ronso herb paste and spinach with a bloody, juicy steak! Roast lamb shoulder… with seasoned vegetables and… Sanubian spices… A whole basket of warm honey rolls... with sweet buttermilk… my...
My... body is falling.
The ground collapsing from underneath me. I'm falling? Why do I feel a thousand miles away, above myself? This is happening. No. My stomach is dropping, I want to vomit, everything is white but I look down and see the slope coming up fast, here it is now, closing my eyes, help me! Someone! I don't want to see, I don't want to see!
Auron wondered just how much Yevon must have hated him. How much it must have despised him. After all, Yevon sent him to the field. Yevon had seen Auron's fellow monks split clean in half. Heads crushed, brains splattered in the dirt. Screaming, gathering their entrails as they were eaten alive by some vicious, damnable fiend. And while their last moments were no doubt seized in absolute terror, in a second it was over with. It was merciful. Their suffering sparked like a flame and was extinguished in a flash, quick enough not to leave even a smoke trail.
He wondered why Yevon would prolong his suffering. Auron looked down his blood soaked front, flecked in quiet falling snow, silently pondering his fractured body; his splintered right femur jutting through his skin and clothing, his left shinbone shattered in four places, his kneecap dislocated, right foot bent backwards. Pelvis fractured. Vertebrae compounded. The ghost of his scream echoed off the faraway cliffs and for a moment he wondered if Yevon would send an avalanche to bury him. He shook his head and tried to continue, though he was unable to move. A clenched stomach was the only evidence of his effort. Frostbitten, miserable, he sat in the gathering snow like an old statue, weather beaten, loved once, but a broken relic forgotten on a faraway mountain top, beholden to an antiquated tradition of death.
Auron did not feel like crying. Truth be told, he did not feel capable of even parting his lips. He merely sat, ruminating, crumpled forward as warm blood and urine pooled around him.
He prayed.
My Lord Braska .. keep me strong. I am but one man and I have no strength without the memory of you.