Saidan no Hitsuji

Chapter One: Anfang der Reise (Start of the Journey)

By Seishuku Skuld (skuldchan@gmail.com)

Series: Final Fantasy X

Pairing: Jecht + Auron

Warnings: shounen-ai, a healthy dollop of angst (a part of your complete breakfast! ^_^), and death. Spoilers! Yay.

Date: Spring 2002

Author's notes: Here's a fic that just popped up when I was obsessively thinking about Auron and how angsty he is. ^_^ He's my favorite character, so this piece is for Auron. It's about Auron, what he feels, what he thinks, what he does.

This fic was begun in the late winter of 2002, when I was still learning the ropes of writing expressively, trying to find Auron’s voice. You will undoubtedly see a great progression in my writing style as the piece goes on. It was a great learning experience for me, and I hope you all enjoy it as much as I did.

The title means "Sacrificial Lamb."

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Table of Contents:

Chapter One: Anfang der Reise (Start of the Journey)

Chapter Two: Cécité (Blindness)

Chapter Three: Ablehnung (Denial)

Chapter Four: Descoberta (Discovery)

Chapter Five: Fukujuu (Submission)

Chapter Five-and-a-half (aside, lemon): Eden

Chapter Six: Diluculo (Daybreak)

Chapter Seven: Eien no Hate ni (At the End of Eternity)

Chapter Eight: Zue Zhan (Decisive Battle)

Chapter Nine: Coppelia's Heartbeat

Chapter Ten: Sosei (Rebirth)

Chapter Eleven: Never Ever

Chapter Twelve: Canta Per Me (Sing for Me)

Chapter Thirteen: Preghiera Della Morte (Prayer of Death)

Chapter Fourteen: Zui Hou De Meng (The Last Dream)

canta per me ne addio

quel dolce suono

de' passati giorni

mi sempre rammenta

Sing for me farewell

that sweet sound

of the past days

it always remembers me

- NOIR: Canta per me

*~*~*~*~*~*

We all stood solemnly as Braska announced his decision to go on a pilgrimage to defeat Sin. He had just emerged from the Cloister of Trials at Bevelle, weak from his efforts, sweat running generously down his forehead. It was a momentous decision; we all knew. Since his wife had died, leaving little Yuna motherless, Braska had changed. He became a man driven, a man determined to end the plague of Spira known as Sin. It took his beloved wife, and yet he wanted to give himself as well, to stop the suffering.

I'd known Braska since I was a child, we grew up together in Bevelle at the Temple, saying our prayers to Yevon and singing the Hymn of the Fayth daily. As we grew, we became the terrors of the Temple. Pranks were being played upon the priests and monks daily, and it seemed that we were invincible in our tower in the sky.

The wind would blow our hair playfully, mine black as night and his a light sky blue as we ran from our angry teacher chasing us down the halls of the novice dormitory after we glued his chair to the floor. Surprisingly, we got away with a lot. The instructors knew we were the best, slated to become the best warrior-monks in all of Spira.

But times change, and people change even more.

I sobered up as I got older, leaving the childish play behind me. Braska kept a lot of his spunk, he left the Temple to travel the world. When he returned he had a beautiful Al-Bhed woman his arm.

That had hurt a lot, it was no secret around the monks of the Temple where my preferences lay. Braska's quiet boldness, his kind and open face had attracted me since I'd known how to spell "love," and I was not one who could resist his charms. We joked about it of course, but it always seemed that the more ardent our play-kisses were, the more he laughed and brushed my feelings aside.

By the time Yuna was born, I had basically consigned myself to the fact that no matter how much I loved Braska, I would never have him. I would simply stand in the background, worship him, and hold his daughter in my arms when his hands were full. That seemed fine at the time.

But the happiness was short-lived, Yuna's mother died in one of many of Sin's attacks, and the Braska I knew was never the same again. He lived for one thing. It pained me to see him take a path which would most assuredly kill him, but because it was what he wanted, I could not object.

I would willingly follow Braska to the ends of the world if he asked. I was the next one up for promotion at the Temple of course, I was a young and promising warrior-monk, but nothing would allow me to waver from my decision to accompany Braska. Not even the hand of a maester's fair daughter.

I rejected her on the spot, surprised she didn't know about all those other young monks I'd been sleeping with the past few months. The news spread like wild-fire among all the ranks of the Order of Yevon, and suddenly my standing wasn't so good anymore.

Not that I cared, I was going to be Braska's guardian. That's the only recognition I wanted.

So we picked up a filthy-looking mangy jailbird, one that I watched with suspicion from the beginning of his sojourn in the dungeon. He was too loose, too casual around Braska. He talked to him as if they'd been life-long friends, not some benefactor which had gotten his sorry behind out of prison.

There was something distinct about him I did not like, I couldn't pinpoint whether it was his disheveled hair, his tendency for heavy drink, or the flashy tattoo on his chest. Frankly, I didn't trust him, and couldn't understand why Braska would bring street-trash like him along on our journey.

Needless to say, we didn't get along. I thought of a snide remark to every comment he made, and he matched me with a clever rebuttal nearly each time. I made it a point to dislike him to his face. He didn't really care. He was drunk off his ass most of the time, anyway. Braska would laugh good-naturedly and say he really livened up our group. I would only glower, taking small sips of sake from my tokkuri. At least I could drink in moderation, I would think and snort.

I didn't believe his stories about a flashy Zanarkand. I told him multiple times that Zanarkand was in ruins and had been for a thousand years, but he wouldn't listen and kept insisting on his version of his glowing city. Braska commented that I snorted too much.

We stayed far away from each other, glaring at one another, each competing for Braska's attention. It was a childish game, but one I was determined to win, no matter the cost.

And so we traveled Spira, a curious band of three, a man from another world, an inexperienced summoner, and a fallen warrior-monk.

"How amusing would it be if we succeeded in defeating Sin?" Braska wondered one night.

Jecht shrugged, and upended a bottle of Gin and Tonic, some of the liquor slashing over to the sides of his mouth and dripping down his chin. "We will."

For once I had to concur with him, I nodded quietly. Braska had a dreamy smile on his face, but one that was filled with sadness and sorrow. The drunken idiot didn't know enough about pilgrimages, summoning, and Sin yet, and he remained happily oblivious as he took out another bottle of hard liquor. I snorted my disgust, and did my best to cheer up Braska.

I smiled at him as reassuringly as I could, certain then that I would die too if Braska did. I cupped his cheek in my hand, and he leaned into my caress. We played our old game of seduction, this time with a twinge of guilt and sorrow, and perhaps I felt something real between us as we sought comfort in each other's arms. I never knew what it quite was, not even ten years after. I didn't care.

We made our way leisurely across Spira, standing faithfully by Braska's side every time a fiend unexpectedly jumped out onto the road between us. Slowly, we all learned to work together, and Jecht and I found some common ground: our concern for our summoner. And for a short while, the journey was pure happiness.

~*end chapter one*~