Part 10

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We arrive at Kilika in the early afternoon, and take a walk along the even more crowded piers. Jecht eyes 
us both, and then seems to think better of whatever he wanted to say. I can guess. Braska seems to as well. 
"Tired of our company already, Sir Jecht?"

He has the grace to look abashed. "No, it's not that. I just...like these little ports. Reminds me a lot of 
home."

"Not Zanarkand?"

"Yeah. Not the city, I mean, we live on a...we lived on a houseboat. I grew up near the docks, so it's just the 
atmosphere, and the people here."

"Well, go then. Have a good time." Braska tells him, and Jecht grins.

"Right on. Well, catch you later."

"Jecht!"

He looks back at me.

"Whatever you do, don't miss the boat tomorrow." I tell him. He nods and waves, then quickly disappears 
through the throng of people that surround us. 

I watch until he is out of sight. "Are you sure that was a good idea?"

Braska shrugs and responds philosophically. "Time will tell." 

As I expected, that evening Jecht does not return to the boat. 

After dinner and our baths I disrobe with my back turned, being careful not to look in Braska's direction, 
climbing into bed in just my trousers. It does not seem to matter whether I am tired or fully-rested, whether 
I think of him or not, cast my eyes upon him or desperately avert them. All result in the same restless 
yearning in my flesh. I stretch my arms above my head and my fingertips tingle, as does the flesh beneath 
my belly. In my desperation I wish to cry, but there is no relief. I turn my head on the pillow, trying to be 
quiet. Then I hear Braska turn, facing me in the darkness. 

"Auron?"

"Yes, My lord?"

He sighs "I cannot sleep either." I turn to face him. He lies on his side, one hand beneath his cheek and 
begins to talk, dreamily, sleepily. "Being on a boat, is a constant reminder, of her, of the fact that she is 
gone.   

"Sometimes, I have this dream, that she is with me. I will be walking along, and she is walking by my side, 
holding my hand. In the dream, she is always there, has always been and will always be there, and I feel 
such a sense of peace and contentment... 

"I think that she sends the dream to comfort me from the farplane. But when I am not dreaming of her, I 
feel so lonely."

"My lord."

"You've never felt that, I know."

It is my turn to sigh. The longing in his voice calls to me, and despite my fear I rise from my bed. I sit 
beside him, unable to help myself despite my reluctance. His hand clasps my forearm.

"Auron. Are you afraid?" His voice is low, warming me from the inside. 

"Yes."

"I am too...Lie down with me."

I do as he bids me and he shifts to make room, his arm curling under my neck as I rest my head on the 
pillow beside his. I lie stiffly as he brings his other hand up to stroke my cheek. Then he raises himself up 
on his elbow and brings his face closer to mine. 

My breath comes hard and fast, and my racing heart turns over in my chest. My eyes are closed before his 
lips touch mine and he seems to hesitate, I can feel his breath lightly wash over my parted lips and between 
them. 

The feeling is the same, the same, but unbelievably intense as his gentle caress becomes more passionate 
and forceful. His lips nip at mine, sucking against the tender flesh until I cry out. He becomes more gentle, 
soothing my lips, his hand stroking my hair and cheek until I turn my head, and then he rests his own 
against the pillow.

"Auron..." he presses his face against mine and his lips leave a warm damp trail on my cheek. "I want 
to...love you so much...Yevon, I love you."

"My lord..."

"Braska..."

"My lord...Braska..." My words emerge breathlessly and as low as his. He resumes his kisses, now soft and 
persuasive, lulling me into a near slumbrous state as his hand moves up and down my shoulder and arms, 
then over my torso, and lower, slow firm strokes that soothe where he touches and ignite where he doesn't. 
I feel myself floating, growing warmer as liquid heat runs through my veins, pools on my belly as it gathers 
beneath his hand. The cloth of my trousers is no barrier. His hand slides within, beneath the fabric, 
touching hot skin and making me gasp into his mouth. He shifts to press his lips against my ear, touching, 
stroking, until the pleasure I feel gathers, contracting until it must burst, I burst, my body surging and 
shaking as that intolerable aching need is assuaged at last.

I find myself curled against his shoulder, almost sobbing with relief, taking great lungfuls of air. His lips 
move over my face, my brow and my eyelids and his hand slips away, moving to curl around my side. I 
feel the dampness of his palm there, slick against my flank as his fingers tighten, drawing me towards him. 

"It's all right...shhhh...I cried the first time too..."

"My lord. Yo-"

"It's Braska." He reminds me, mildly. "Braska..." He holds me and talks as my body begins to calm. "I told 
you how we met, but you have no idea how incredible it was. She would talk and I would listen and 
understand nothing of her words, but it didn't matter. Everything she felt, wanted, was in her eyes, and the 
touch of her hands. I never thought I would feel like that again."

I feel drowsy, tired, wrung out, drained and light-headed. "My l-, Braska...this is the same? It isn't un-
natural?"

"Oh, Auron! Do you know what the first word I really understood of Al Bhed was? Muja...she would say it 
over...and over...muja, E muja oui. 

"Muja ec muja, Auron."

I do not really understand the meaning of his words, but his body is tense, he speaks with fervour and I do 
understand that. He has released me, yet lies beside me still burning from that intolerable flame, that licked 
at me from the inside until his hands gave me succour. My hand is on his chest, resting against his ribs. I 
begin to touch him as he did me, amazed at the sensory pleasure I derive from the slide of fabric over skin, 
skin over fabric, the way he shifts, infinitesimily closer to me, and the breathy exhalations he makes. 

"Muja sa..." He murmurs.

His eyes are closed, his lower lip softer and fuller in this light. Normally austere, his face has taken on an 
aspect of intense longing that is unaccountably beautiful. It is my turn to lean over him, and I press my lips 
against his, the first time I have really kissed him, initiating the contact that before I've only received with 
trepidation. My hand now on his hip tugs at his shirt, drawing it up until I am touching his bare skin.   

At first I am reluctant to touch him, his masculinity too like my own, and discomfiting. My hand moves at a 
torturously slow pace, aware of the contrast of soft and smooth skin inside his hip, the roughness at mid 
thigh, the damp warmth of his inner leg, knowing how cruel it must seem but unable to hasten my attempt 
to accept this, this feeling.

Braska demonstrates no such hesitation, contrasting yet again with my own stiff and unsure touches, by 
shifting and sighing with each tentative slide of my fingers over his flesh. His mouth opens beneath my 
own, drawing me deeper into awareness of him, his need for me.

With that awareness comes a renewal of my own, as though sparked from sympathy for his plight, and I 
raise my head. His eyes are soft dove-grey as he opens them. I look down at his body, where my hand is 
now clenched on his hip. Contrasts again strike my awareness, light and shadow, soft and hard, cool and 
unbearably hot. I bite my lip as I give in to his desire, closing my eyes to the sight of my hand moving, 
moving without pause. I feel his hand touch my cheek and open them again as he gazes up at me with half-
lidded eyes, gasps with pleasure, and finally cries out as he shifts beneath me, spattering his night gown 
with his own release of pleasure. 

After a few minutes he rises, returning with a damp washcloth. His hands move slowly, unfastening my 
clothing then he wipes my skin with warm soothing strokes. When he returns and pulls the covers over us 
he stretches his body against mine and I can feel the dampness of his shirt and the warmth of his belly 
pressed firmly against my side. 

Despite my lack of sleep for the last few nights and my catch up during the day I am drowsy, and I slide 
easily into dreams.


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Ruins. They moulder all over Spira, reminders of what once was. Empty shells, mostly, although often 
fiends lurk within. They are dangerous to approach, especially at night. The ancient scholar who accosts 
Tidus shows no fear however, he was standing examining the walls as we approached and walked back to 
the road. Tidus was watching him with considerable interest and a look of confusion, which may be why 
the old man chose to address him. 

"Do you know what those ruins are from?"

"Some old city, I guess."

"Correct. A city most ancient." The old man stands gazing at the crumbling walls, the fading symbols of a 
lost world. "It's a terrible testament to Sin's destructive power. I tremble to see them. Compared to Sin, 
humans are mere mudpuppies..."

"But I believe humans are the only ones capable of stopping Sin." Yuna interjected.

"A good reply. I am relieved to hear you say that, m'lady summoner. Where are my manners? I am 
Maechen, a scholar, at your service." 

Yuna bowed and introduced herself. "I am Yuna."

"M'lady. I am on a journey, studying the history of our world, Spira, seeking its stories and secrets...My 
travels have taken me to many places, and I am troubled by what I have seen. Fragile smiles on people's 
faces crumbling at the mere mention of Sin. They are counting on you, m'lady. Give them a reason to 
rejoice once more." 

"I will." 

The old man arouses my suspicions. He is too helpful, too obsequious. And he stood too close to the broken 
wall, as though he was part of that ancient ruin, emerging to accost travellers with tales of a world which 
exists no longer. I am perhaps too suspicious, and if he is a ghost he seems to be a benign one. We pass on 
without incident.


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End of Part 10