Title: Farplane Wind

Author: Zalia Chimera

Rating: PG

Pairing: None

Summary: Auron muses aboutthe past and his quest.

Mild spoilers for the end of the game.

Disclaimer: I don't own Final Fantasy X or the characters.

"I ain't tired," came Wakka's stubborn reply, sending a scornful glare towards the Travel Agency.

Auron pushed past him. "Well I am."

It was true. He was tired. Tired with a cold soul-deep weariness that he had first felt climbing the slopes of Mount Gagazet away from Zanarkand for the second time... alone, blinded by rage and pain and the blood from his ruined eye; feeling every breath and every heartbeat; feeling them fade, cursing the one who had taken everything from him. A weariness born of the knowledge that everything he ever believed in was a lie, that the sacrifices made meant nothing.

Even the warmth of the Travel Agency did nothing to relieve the cold that gripped him.

Wakka muttered something insulting under his breath as Yuna negotiated rooms for the night. Lulu shot him a withering glare.

Auron would have found it amusing if it hadn't been so truly depressing. He could remember himself saying something similar outside the Lake Macalania Travel Agency before flushing brightly when his brain caught up to his mouth and he remembered the wedding band on Braska's finger, the symbol of his union to an Al Behd woman. Braska has just laughed softly and spoken in the gently chiding tone that always made Auron feel like a child. "The 'grease-monkeys' have their uses." Jecht had just looked at him, not understanding the resentment Auron was displaying.

A flash of bitterness towards his younger self overtook Auron for a moment. How he hated that person, that version of himself. The stupid, naive, foolish child he had been. The one who listened to everything he was taught and took it as truth, believing it without question. Who didn't say try to see beyond the lies until it was too late and his friends had died, allowing another generation to be coerced into accepting the cycle of death.

He gripped the door handle for a long moment, knuckles turning white, until Tidus shot him a questioning look. Auron pointedly ignored it and entered the room.

Absently he wondered whether Wakka would let one of his companions die or whether loyalty to them would win out over the Yevonite teachings that the Blitzer held so dear.

He closed the door softly and lay his katana on the bed, shedding his heavy crimson robe to pool on the floor. He crossed the room and cast open the window, breathing the cool evening air and pretending that he could feel it. He blanched as another wave of dizziness overtook him and he grasped the window frame for support. Since returning to Spira, they had become more frequent. Perhaps it was simply the strength of reality reasserting itself after ten years in the Dream of the Fayth.

The breeze grew stronger, tugging at him and infusing him with a deathly chill. It called to him, pulled at him to let go and leave the world to it's fate because he didn't belong there any more. He choked back a sound of pain as a pyrefly escaped, succumbing to the wind's call.

With a great effort, he shoved the window closed and fell against the wall breathing heavily. He couldn't leave yet. He wouldn't betray them again by leaving before he had kept his promises and atoned for past mistakes. Until that time, the call of the Farplane would remain unheeded.