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Final Fantasy X - Braska+Auron - The Dance

Title: The Dance
Series: Final Fantasy X
Pairing: Braska + Auron
Rating: G
Warnings: N/A
Written: Once again, around '05.
Summary: Braska practices. Auron watches.
A/N: This is probably boring, but I really like this pairing.

He stood in a white robe, a robe that fell to his ankles and was thin like stratus clouds feathered across the sky. It was his sleeping robe, but he also called it his "dancing robe," because he wore it everytime he danced. He practiced the Sending everyday, before bed. It was a ritual, not just of a religious nature, but of a daily one as well. He was a determined man, and he was determined to be the man to end Spira's suffering, if only for a short time. After the death of his wife, Jinna, his resolve became even stronger, and everyday he prayed and danced and sang to the fayth, practicing his rituals and prayers. There were many who said he had the gift, but still many who said he was a heretic and didn't deserve to study the summoner arts. But Braska heard nothing but his own heart, crying loudly to save them all, heretic and believer alike. This suffering was needless, maddening, and more than he could now stand.

So now, after little Yuna had been put to bed, he stood in his bedroom holding a green, wooden practice staff painted with small black symbols. He started with the staff held by his side, loose in his hand, and he bowed his head and said a small prayer, lips moving in silence. His thick hair was pulled up into a high ponytail so that it wouldn't get in his eyes or distract his focus. Softly he began to sing the Hymn of the Fayth, his voice a smooth, light tenor that carried quietly in the large room, and in his hand the staff spun, then cut a wide arc around his body as he moved, spinning on the balls of his feet. He continued to sing with reverance, with spirit, lifting the staff over his head and spinning it with both hands before inscirbing a circle above his head, left arm held out at his side as he spun again. In his chest he could feel his heart swelling with grief as he imagined the dead with their grieving spirits ascending to the Farplane, at last free from their pain. It was his duty to end pain, his duty to serve the Temple and protect. His voice trembled with emotion as he swung the staff close to the ground, and his robe bilowed around his ankles as he turned and turned again.

He only stopped once the dance was done, holding the staff parallel to his body, his eyes closed as he felt the staff slide down his middle finger as it came to rest in its final position. It was a dance all his own, created by himself for the Temple and the people and Yevon. In it was his entire soul, in it was the his raw determination and grief. It was the essence of the summoner's sadness that released the souls of the dead, therefore the Dance of the Sending had to convey that sadness with stark, graceful beauty. It had to hurt if any good was to be done.

And hurt it did. The end of the practice staff hit the stone floor with a harsh clunk as he sank to his knees, tears in his eyes, his spirit exhausted. It was as if the floor reached up and caught him with gentle, strong arms, until a familiar voice said, "Save your passion, my lord, for when it is needed most."

Braska opened his eyes to see Auron looking at him, clearly concerned and saddened himself. He had been watching the whole time from the curtained doorway, listening to Braska sing and watching Braska dance, entranced. Braska always had a smile for him, so he showed it now, unashemed tears running down his face.
"If I don't learn to hold the grief now it will only weaken me. Then I will never become High Summoner."

Auron's eyes searched his face, plainly troubled. He was so easy to read, nothing ever hid in his young handsome face. His whole existence was plain in his eyes, so dark and deep, like spilled burgundy reflecting Braska's image.

"Lord Braska..." He wiped the tears from Braska's face with the calloused pad of his thumb. "You know I will follow you wherever you may choose to go. If Yevon blesses you, then I will be happy. If Yevon refuses you, then I will be happy. I will guard you with my life for as long as you want me."

Braska chuckled and rose to his feet, as if nothing had happened. He set the practice staff back in its gold brackets on the wall and said, "You give me too much credit, as always. But I will be happy to have you follow me to the ends of Spira and back, no matter what happens."

Auron was silent, watching the way the robe swayed around Braska's ankles as he walked to his bed and sat on the edge. "I will do whatever it takes to end this suffering. You understand that, don't you?"


Braska smiled. Any evidence he had been weeping was completely wiped from his face now. "Then stop looking so forlorn." He patted the bed. "Come, sit next to me."

Auron did as was asked, sitting beside Braska in silence for a moment, before he murmured, "Your dance was very beautiful."

Braska was silent for a moment before asking just as quietly, "Did it make you sad?"

Auron bowed his head and closed his eyes. "Yes. Very sad."

There was a pause, then Auron felt Braska's cool hand on the side of his face, lifting and turning his head to look at him. There was shared a look of knowing, a look that said, Forgive me, and a look that said, I will always forgive you.


love is a grave mental disease
Po is a writer, a writer of fictions

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