Ok, seamonkeys! Here's another tale from the depths of my twisted little mind! Its AU, and its an Aurikku. Not a pedophile Aurriku, but one where she's 18, and he's still young and not dead. Braska's still alive, and Yuna is six years old. (See, this fits into the time frame of how old Yuna was when Braska went off to fight the Big Fish. This way there's no making Auron magically young or any other such nonsense.)
I've got absolutely no idea where this will go. It popped into my head one day, and refused to leave. And we all know I'm not one to say no to my muse, so I must type away to make her happy.
If you don't like the pairing, then don't read this. I don't want flames from people who read things that they don't even like.
I do not own FFX-2 or any of the characters in it. Only the ideas are mine. All else is SE property.
He always walked along the beach at night. It was soothing, a calm place away from the rest of the world. Every night for the past three months he had walked on the sand. Auron personally believed that he helped contribute to beach growth by crushing the sea shells underfoot into sand; his small way of saying 'thank you' to the Isle of Besaid. It had been, and still was, a sanctuary for him. Ever since leaving Bevelle, he had wandered, looking for something that he could not define. A vague restlessness, a stirring of the soul that never ceased. It had nearly driven him insane until he got to this island. Whatever it was that kept haunting him, it eased when he was here.
It did not entirely go away, though. It was still there, sleeping instead of awake and driving him onward. Something on Besaid was the key to the situation, if only he could find out what it was. The island was lovely enough. A thousand different scents filled the air, while the ocean occupied the ears with its ceaseless lap of waves. The jungle was full of exotic plants and animals, the beaches pristine and the people friendly and accepting. Not a single person had questioned him about his presence. A former warrior monk, exiled from Bevelle, and no one batted an eyelash. One of the residents had even adopted him into their family. It was the daughter of the islands Summoner who had brought him into their home. Yuna was such a kind girl, and would be every bit as beautiful as her mother one day. Her father, Braska, welcomed him warmly, as did his wife. Auron made it a point never to be there often. Their acceptance was heartening, and their kindness genuine, but wearing out his welcome was not something he wished to do.
A family atmosphere was something he was not at all familiar with. His own parents abandoned him on the steps of St. Bevelle's temple. At first, he had studied to be a simple monk. One of his teachers, a mostly retired warrior monk by the name of Branton, decided to have him tested in weaponry. Auron excelled at it. The long sword being his forte, Branton took over his training as a warrior. He absorbed all the skills and knowledge Branton gave him, quickly working his way up in the ranks of the warriors. Auron was one of the youngest appointed warrior monk in Bevelle in one hundred years. That lead to all manner of problems for him, including political upheavals that the wealthy or powerful wished him to participate in. He was banished from Bevelle's ranks because of one such incident that he refused to take part in. Branton knew that he was not at fault, but there was little he could do for his former pupil. So he went off into Spira, alone and restless.
Until coming here. This place held his answers, if he could find them. He had looked at every corner of the island, searching for something, anything, to grab his attention. He knew every nook and cranny, every tree and ruined building on the island. Having found nothing, he simply walked around, hoping to find what he was looking for. The beaches at night were wondrously calm. It gave him a much needed distraction from his thoughts. It stayed nearly the same, with the waves lapping at the shore and the sand glittering in the moon light. The moon cast its silvery light over everything, taking the edge off of the bright colors, making it seem like a dream instead of reality.
Auron walked on, his mind dwelling on the past, when he was startled by a shape on the sand. A huddled form lay there, half out of the water. He cautiously got nearer, ready for an attack. The form was that of a woman, curled in the fetal position, peacefully sleeping. Her hair obscured her face and fell down her back and side in waves that reminded him of the ocean for some reason. It also had streaks of aqua blue in it. It was the same color as the skirt she wore. Both were faintly iridescent, like the inside of an abalone shell. At first, he thought her shirt had been torn or shredded. He discovered that was not the case upon closer inspection. It looked to be one long band of fabric that crossed in the middle and barely covered enough of her breasts to be considered decent. Sandals with laces that went up her calves were the only other piece of clothing she had.
She was beautiful. Hers was the kind of beauty men traveled continents over to see. On impulse, he gently brushed the hair from her face, revealing nearly perfect features. Long eyelashes fell against her cheeks, and her lips curved in a soft smile even in her sleep. It was the peaceful slumber of a child, dreaming of the day's mischief. Auron had no idea how long he knelt there staring at her. The tide had gone out when he came to himself, leaving the two of them on dry sand.
He nearly jumped out of his skin when the woman moved. She sighed softly and shifted her weight. Auron did not move, partly from fear of waking her, and partly because he was nearly positive this was a dream.
"Hmmm...you smell like Auron..."
Bit odd for me, don't you think? Ah, but its fun! If you took the time to read this, then review it too, huh? It'll only take a few minutes of your time and I'll appreciate it a whole lot.