FFX. Kimahri. 011. Red
Nov. 3rd, 2006 06:53 pm![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png){kind=small}
dagas_isaTitle: Gratitude
Fandom: Final Fantasy X
Characters: Kimahri, Auron
Rating: G
Word Count: 1110
Summary: Auron is grateful to Kimahri for things the Ronso doesn't even know about. Spoilers for Auron.
The earthy, slightly rancid, air of Guadosalam seemed a welcome after the dizzying wind of the Farplane, and Auron felt himself becoming less undone every step he took from the entrance. The pyrefly body he so carefully maintained for the past ten years had slowly unraveled while he waited alongside Rikku while the others spoke with the shadowed fragments of people who once lived. In a way, though Rikku had tried to make conversation, Auron felt grateful for the presence of another on the outside. The Al Bhed had made his refusal to go on the far plane less suspicious.
Yet, some still did suspect. Lulu certainly, although her mind seemed more occupied with other issues. Jecht's son, maybe. Perhaps he was just too curious as usual, and only Seymour's comment about the scent of the Farplane, had made him curious. Yuna would accept anyone as they were. That he had been her father's Guardian and away for ten years had been enough to appease her. Rikku found nothing strange in refusing to walk into the Farplane, seeing as she could project her own reasons for refusing to go onto Auron. And perhaps, it was true, that Auron would, had he lived, chosen not to see and talk with the ghosts of his loved one. Wakka, of all of them, seemed too caught in his view of the world to question anything odd.
But Kimahri...
Kimahri knew. The Ronso never said anything, never gave any sign more than the usual nodding of his head, but Auron had seen the keen eyes looking at him since his reappearance in Luca. And on their journey to the Farplane, when one of his pyreflies, perhaps one of the hairs on his head, escaped to its proper home, Kimahri had tracked it with a precision no one else could have mustered. And then the nod, the silent signal that Kimahri had finished placing the explanation in his mind.
Ten years ago, ten years four months and twenty-seven days since he had died in the Calm Lands, the Al Bhed Rin, his assistance, and the outcast Ronso as his witnesses. At least he had the dignity to expire while they all slept. And Kimahri had been the last to hear his breaths. He remembered how difficult they had been, how they had hurt. And how easy those breaths were than the ones he had tried to draw afterwards, when his pyreflies had threatened to leave with every exhalation.
Yuna walked into Seymour's chateau, thinking to discuss the question of marriage to Seymour, and Auron took his post outside the door. Nothing could be done for now, except for waiting, and Kimahri chose to do his waiting near Auron. And somehow, Auron became reminded of another time, the first time he had met Kimahri.
***
The Ronso welcomed all summoners equally, for they were the last friendly faces a summoner and his guardians would know. The night Braska, Jecht and Auron had crossed the gates into the Ronso's base camp, a bonfire had been prepared and the smell of warm meat and mountain plants cooking had lured them to the campfire. Songs were sung, including the deep-throated Ronso version of the Hymn of the Fayth. The elder had been at Bevelle when they arrived, but the wiry Ronso who was leader in his stead had set up entertainments for the summoner and his guardians to make them laugh and give them heart on the long climb up the mountain.
And here, Auron had first seen Kimahri. The Ronso warriors had marched in formation, moving their spears in choreographed motions, each one seeming to tower over the next, except for one.
"What's with the shrimp?" Jecht had asked Braska, pointed to the small Ronso at the tail end of the formation. "He's a little young to be with the warriors."
The wiry Ronso had grimaced. "Small Ronso is Kimahri Ronso. Kimahri tries to be bigger than his size."
The woman next to the first Ronso nodded in agreement, "Kimahri is small Ronso, but Kimahri practices to beat other Ronso in combat, so other Ronso cannot call him small."
If the subject of their discussion had heard, he gave no reaction. Instead he completed the formation, apparently completely focused on keeping his motions in unison with those around him. Something about that total concentration had resonated with Auron at the time, a total focus on what he wanted.
"Hmmph..." Jecht said, "sounds like my son. He's a little shrimp, but no matter what I tell him, he keeps wanting to play Blitzball like his pop."
The Ronso had then asked about the son of Jecht, and the grizzled blitzer had been happy to oblige, telling his tale by light of campfire. They had seemed fascinated, more than anyone should be by a man bragging about his son.
Auron had chosen to shy away and contemplate. Braska and the final summoning seemed much closer than it had in the Calm Lands, and perhaps it would seem twice as close when they reached the peak of Gagazet. He had chosen the impossible battle, to find the way for Braska to defeat Sin without the Final Aeon and the sacrifice of the summoner's life.
Somehow he had ended up beyond the camp to brood, away from the bonfire, and at the first rocky outcropping. In the light, the small Ronso, Kimahri, had continued practicing with the spears with a single minded intensity.
Auron had wanted to call out, make the Ronso divulge the secrets of such dedication, but the words failed him, and the young Kimahri had continued on uninterrupted.
Perhaps the Ronso had never known, but Auron still remembered, even after the worries he had that night became trivial.
***
Something should be said, Auron mused. To confirm. To ask. To come to an understanding.
"You know?" Auron said, asking the question only rhetorically.
"Kimahri knows."
"Silence would be best then...if they knew...things would get complicated."
"Kimahri will not tell."
"Thank you."
The exchange stayed that brief, as both preferred to watch the exchanges of others, to making their own conversation.
Auron remembered the Ronso who had made that promise ten years ago. Injured and newly defeated, the majority of his horn hanging down from a rival's spear. The one who had for one moment inspired Auron to pursue his goals. Such luck for both of them. Yuna had grown, the summoner he had hoped her to be, selfless yet defiant, perhaps ready to end the cycle that had taken her father in the end. And for some of that, he should thank Kimahri.
Once again. "Thank you."
Fandom: Final Fantasy X
Characters: Kimahri, Auron
Rating: G
Word Count: 1110
Summary: Auron is grateful to Kimahri for things the Ronso doesn't even know about. Spoilers for Auron.
The earthy, slightly rancid, air of Guadosalam seemed a welcome after the dizzying wind of the Farplane, and Auron felt himself becoming less undone every step he took from the entrance. The pyrefly body he so carefully maintained for the past ten years had slowly unraveled while he waited alongside Rikku while the others spoke with the shadowed fragments of people who once lived. In a way, though Rikku had tried to make conversation, Auron felt grateful for the presence of another on the outside. The Al Bhed had made his refusal to go on the far plane less suspicious.
Yet, some still did suspect. Lulu certainly, although her mind seemed more occupied with other issues. Jecht's son, maybe. Perhaps he was just too curious as usual, and only Seymour's comment about the scent of the Farplane, had made him curious. Yuna would accept anyone as they were. That he had been her father's Guardian and away for ten years had been enough to appease her. Rikku found nothing strange in refusing to walk into the Farplane, seeing as she could project her own reasons for refusing to go onto Auron. And perhaps, it was true, that Auron would, had he lived, chosen not to see and talk with the ghosts of his loved one. Wakka, of all of them, seemed too caught in his view of the world to question anything odd.
But Kimahri...
Kimahri knew. The Ronso never said anything, never gave any sign more than the usual nodding of his head, but Auron had seen the keen eyes looking at him since his reappearance in Luca. And on their journey to the Farplane, when one of his pyreflies, perhaps one of the hairs on his head, escaped to its proper home, Kimahri had tracked it with a precision no one else could have mustered. And then the nod, the silent signal that Kimahri had finished placing the explanation in his mind.
Ten years ago, ten years four months and twenty-seven days since he had died in the Calm Lands, the Al Bhed Rin, his assistance, and the outcast Ronso as his witnesses. At least he had the dignity to expire while they all slept. And Kimahri had been the last to hear his breaths. He remembered how difficult they had been, how they had hurt. And how easy those breaths were than the ones he had tried to draw afterwards, when his pyreflies had threatened to leave with every exhalation.
Yuna walked into Seymour's chateau, thinking to discuss the question of marriage to Seymour, and Auron took his post outside the door. Nothing could be done for now, except for waiting, and Kimahri chose to do his waiting near Auron. And somehow, Auron became reminded of another time, the first time he had met Kimahri.
***
The Ronso welcomed all summoners equally, for they were the last friendly faces a summoner and his guardians would know. The night Braska, Jecht and Auron had crossed the gates into the Ronso's base camp, a bonfire had been prepared and the smell of warm meat and mountain plants cooking had lured them to the campfire. Songs were sung, including the deep-throated Ronso version of the Hymn of the Fayth. The elder had been at Bevelle when they arrived, but the wiry Ronso who was leader in his stead had set up entertainments for the summoner and his guardians to make them laugh and give them heart on the long climb up the mountain.
And here, Auron had first seen Kimahri. The Ronso warriors had marched in formation, moving their spears in choreographed motions, each one seeming to tower over the next, except for one.
"What's with the shrimp?" Jecht had asked Braska, pointed to the small Ronso at the tail end of the formation. "He's a little young to be with the warriors."
The wiry Ronso had grimaced. "Small Ronso is Kimahri Ronso. Kimahri tries to be bigger than his size."
The woman next to the first Ronso nodded in agreement, "Kimahri is small Ronso, but Kimahri practices to beat other Ronso in combat, so other Ronso cannot call him small."
If the subject of their discussion had heard, he gave no reaction. Instead he completed the formation, apparently completely focused on keeping his motions in unison with those around him. Something about that total concentration had resonated with Auron at the time, a total focus on what he wanted.
"Hmmph..." Jecht said, "sounds like my son. He's a little shrimp, but no matter what I tell him, he keeps wanting to play Blitzball like his pop."
The Ronso had then asked about the son of Jecht, and the grizzled blitzer had been happy to oblige, telling his tale by light of campfire. They had seemed fascinated, more than anyone should be by a man bragging about his son.
Auron had chosen to shy away and contemplate. Braska and the final summoning seemed much closer than it had in the Calm Lands, and perhaps it would seem twice as close when they reached the peak of Gagazet. He had chosen the impossible battle, to find the way for Braska to defeat Sin without the Final Aeon and the sacrifice of the summoner's life.
Somehow he had ended up beyond the camp to brood, away from the bonfire, and at the first rocky outcropping. In the light, the small Ronso, Kimahri, had continued practicing with the spears with a single minded intensity.
Auron had wanted to call out, make the Ronso divulge the secrets of such dedication, but the words failed him, and the young Kimahri had continued on uninterrupted.
Perhaps the Ronso had never known, but Auron still remembered, even after the worries he had that night became trivial.
***
Something should be said, Auron mused. To confirm. To ask. To come to an understanding.
"You know?" Auron said, asking the question only rhetorically.
"Kimahri knows."
"Silence would be best then...if they knew...things would get complicated."
"Kimahri will not tell."
"Thank you."
The exchange stayed that brief, as both preferred to watch the exchanges of others, to making their own conversation.
Auron remembered the Ronso who had made that promise ten years ago. Injured and newly defeated, the majority of his horn hanging down from a rival's spear. The one who had for one moment inspired Auron to pursue his goals. Such luck for both of them. Yuna had grown, the summoner he had hoped her to be, selfless yet defiant, perhaps ready to end the cycle that had taken her father in the end. And for some of that, he should thank Kimahri.
Once again. "Thank you."
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no subject
Date: 2006-11-05 06:59 am (UTC)And perhaps, it was true, that Auron would, had he lived, chosen not to see and talk with the ghosts of his loved one. - Small typo - either "ghosts" should be singular or "one" should be plural :)
I absolutely love that Auron knows the exact amount of time that has passed since his death.
And how easy those breaths were than the ones he had tried to draw afterwards, when his pyreflies had threatened to leave with every exhalation. - This sentence feels a little unfinished; I feel like easy should be in the comparative form or there should be some other means of comparing the two, since the sentence doesn't read quite right. I do love the image, though, and the punch that the sentence provides.
I
Date: 2006-11-05 04:10 pm (UTC)The look back at that initial meeting is poignant, evoking a period of infinite possibilities. It is of such material that good stories are formed. This is very much worth the reading. *applause*
no subject
Date: 2006-11-05 07:05 pm (UTC)You slip equally well into the mind and habits of Auron and Jecht. That little comment about the Ronso being strangely fascinated by Jecht's bragging about a shrimp son -- something they wouldn't do! -- is a nice touch.
The understated, pregnant exchange between Kimahri and Auron also feels completely natural.
As ever, I adore your writing. These are just magical.
P.S. Happy belated birthday!
no subject
Date: 2006-11-06 04:42 am (UTC)