Aegis
A Rurouni Kenshin fanfic by
Joak Drysso
Boring Disclaimer: I don't own Himura Kenshin and other characters, they are property of Nobuhiro Watsuki and affiliated persons.
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Hiko Seijuuro the Thirteenth walked away from him. The rain continued to fall around him. Everything seemed so close it was claustrophobic, but so far that he could reach for nothing and grasp it. He was adrift in a whirlwind of confusion and terror. He knew that he had just escaped from a brush with death. But that wasn't what terrified him. It was the situation itself. The form of the ougi, he could see it in his mind's eye, and he knew that it was something he would have no problem form-wise.
It was the fact that the technique was what it was that terrified him. Death was something he constantly faced. In his years as hitokiri, he had confronted it enough times, and delivered it even more often. He could compartmentalize that, ignore it. On some fundamental level, he probably even believed that he deserved death to compensate for his sins. What drove him onward though was the thought that even his death wouldn't be enough, that he needed to accumulate enough good karma that when he died his sins might balance out.
He had no way of knowing that it was that thought, the notion that sins could be so easily absolved, that would lead to his death through the ougi. He could feel it though, a gut instinct that had allowed him to master the style in the first place. He had not the natural skill with the sword that belonged to that boy, Soujiro. He had a kind of childish perseverance, a drive not to fail that dominated him. It was this part that contested his notion of salvation through death. On some instinctual level he realized that it was not the answer. However, he fought against that realization, kept it on a subconscious level because acknowledging it would mean dealing with things that he had no interest in dealing with again.
He drew the sakabatou Shin-Uchi, the rasp of metal being drawn bringing a flicker of amber to his blue eyes. He could feel it, the murderous rages of the hitokiri. The part of him that he had tried so desperately to seal off ten years ago was so integrated into him, that no matter how tightly he tried to control it, bits and pieces would always escape until the pressure became too much and his restraint shattered.
A shudder worked its way down his spine at the thought of his fight against Saitoh inside the Kamiya dojo. He had been reduced to something animal, inhuman during that fight. A being of instinct, filled with the urge to kill. It was so contrary to the way he had lived his life since the Bakumatsu that the thought of reverting to what he had once been was at once disgusting and horrifying. And yet he knew that somewhere inside of him, there rested a coil of murder and hatred that fueled his every action. On some level he was aware that it was in his nature to kill people, and curbed it as much as possible through self-restraint and his sword.
But even as he thought of that, he knew at once that it rang hollow. Human nature was something that Shishio espoused; that some people were born strong, and some were born weak, and it was the weak's duty, nay, privilege to die feeding the strong. If Kenshin admitted to the idea that human nature drove him to kill, then he was admitting to the idea that Shishio's ideology was correct. If he admitted that, then what could possibly drive him to fight against the man rather than throwing his lot in alongside him?
Kenshin frowned. What, then, was the central problem? His eyes traced the curve of the Shin-Uchi. The back of the sword glistened, as beautiful as the day he had drawn it. That memory drew a slight smirk. He had believed that he would break his oath that day, certain that Arai Shaku's last sword was traditional, rather than a sakabatou. It was a sacrifice he would have made, believing that the trade of Cho's life for the life of the baby was more than fair. The fact that he hadn't, in fact, killed his opponent meant that his oath remained intact, in theory, but it maintained a sort of raw amusement value for the ex-assassin that led Kenshin to believe he would cherish that memory for…other reasons.
That thought struck him, and threw his train of thought onto another track. His eyes now followed the front edge, already showing signs of wear from the constant abuse it suffered from training with Hiko. He had been ready to kill to protect. His life, after the Bakumatsu, had been one spent protecting people. He was, then, no longer a murderer, but a protector. This should have been obvious, but Kenshin began to realize that it was more than just a matter of words.
"I have lived a lie." His voice wavered, but at the same time possessed a strength he had not known since his days as a hitokiri when he had commanded an absolute conviction in his purpose and duty. He was beginning to understand now. That truth, that unobtainable truth was now right beyond his grasp. He could begin to see the shape it took, but its definitions and dimensions were still beyond him. This frustrated him, and he shook his head. "No, that cannot be…" But even then the words rang hollow in his own ears.
"Have I been wrong all this time? Defending people can't be wrong. If my methodology isn't wrong, then…" His voice trailed off. The implications were terrifying. Had he been wrong these last ten years?
What was it that Hiko had told him all those years ago? Kenshin strained to remember. He knew that it contained part of the answer. His mind, made muddy by all of the questions that bogged him down, focused itself, his nigh-eidetic memory drudging up that memory. It had been nighttime in winter, years ago during his training.
Hiko had been drinking sake, as he was wont to do when the sun set. After again lecturing Kenshin on the nature of good sake, his thoughts had taken a turn for the oddly philosophic. "Have you ever wondered why I chose to rescue you of all people, and then take you in?" The young redhead had glanced up at his teacher in quiet contemplation, wary of the possibility that this was simply a feint designed by his teacher to maneuver him into a situation ripe for teasing. Seeing no such intention in his master's face, only a bizarre seriousness, he had nodded.
Hiko had stared into his cup, swirling the rice wine around as he gathered his thoughts. "Hiten Mitsurugi is a killing style, but it has been one that was designed to be wielded for the people. Do you understand that? We kill for the people. But at the same time, in order to keep our style pure, we cannot allow ourselves to ally with a political force. That's why we keep ourselves removed in this time of war. I saved you because you were simply under attack by a group of thieves. If you had been caught in the middle of a battlefield, you would not have been so lucky."
The large, black-haired man had heaved a heavy sigh. "I sometimes wonder if this is the right path. What good is Hiten Mitsurugi if it is not out in the world, saving people? But then, what good is Hiten Mitsurugi if it is only wielded for the sake of politicians? It is a paradox that leads to our reclusiveness and inactivity. And if we do not act, how can it be said that Hiten Mitsurugi is a sword of the people? At best it's a pretty phrase that describes nothing. A sword that is never drawn is not a sword, but an ornament." The man had gulped down the cup of sake, poured himself another one. "Know this, Kenshin. You will constantly be torn between action and inaction. What you do, not why you do it, will decide who you are."
In the present, Kenshin was jarred from his reverie by the crack of thunder. His lips pursed. What you do, not why you do it, will decide who you are. "What am I, then?" Resheathing the sakabatou, he continued to stand, letting the rain wash over him. He would probably catch a cold if he stayed out in the rain much longer. He would not be welcome back into the house, but he knew where to find shelter. But try as he might, he could not move himself from the spot, and resolved instead to find the answer he needed.
"I am rurouni." No, my stupid pupil. Kenshin's eye twitched – even mentally he could not escape Hiko's abusive tendencies. What you do determines who you are. What do you do? "I defend people." More. "I defend people so that they can build a better future." Do not rely on hope. What you do matters, not why you do it. What do you do? "I…" His shoulders slumped. "I defend people who cannot hope to defend themselves against forces they have no control over." Good. You have defined what you do. Now who are you? "I am a sword of the people." No. Not good enough. "Hiten Mitsurugi is the sword of the people. I am a practitioner of that art. I must be a sword of the people." A sword is an active force. It actively seeks blood. You are not a sword of the people. Who are you? "If I am not a sword…then I am a shield?" Are you? Kenshin paused, and then nodded.
"I am a shield of the people."
That acknowledgement filled him with a sense of something. Purpose, perhaps? There was a weight upon him now, but he found it easier to focus now that he had that weight. Himura Kenshin had always done his best when he had a sense of purpose and urgency. However, this realization did not carry him all the way. There was something else that was escaping him. If the problem of death wasn't the issue with learning the ougi, then it had to be something with life.
Kenshin mentally blanched. The answer seemed so obvious suddenly. The problem that he faced was a lack of a will to live. He paused. Could someone not fear death and still have a desire to live? Was such a thing even possible? He looked back at the men he had fought with and against in the Bakumatsu. Certainly, many of them had no fear of death. The Shinsengumi in particular sprang to mind there, the Wolves of Mibu who were some of his fiercest foes. Saitoh especially.
Kenshin used this new angle to delve into the mystery that he explored. Saitoh was a man of purpose. He was a sword, governed only by his desire to see justice done by this government that had replaced the regime he fought for. It was his own way of remaining loyal to the ideals of the Shinsengumi and his dead comrades. Saitoh, Kenshin knew, would never shy away from a situation that meant death. But could Kenshin claim that Saitoh did not will to live?
This gave Kenshin pause. What could drive Saitoh's justice? Saying the motto was one thing, but the fierce obedience to such ideals required a devotion that could not waver at all. Saitoh's hands were as dirty as Kenshin's, if not dirtier, and yet he still walked the path of bloodshed. What could drive a man to those depths if not, on some level, a desire to live in this world? Saitoh, in some sense, embodied everything that the Shinsengumi was, and through him they lived on. Was that what drove him, spurred him on to new heights every time he fought? A will to survive, to make the sacrifices of his comrades mean something?
Kenshin sighed, and began his trek toward the outcropping of rocks that he would sleep under, still pondering the implications. The pile looked almost undisturbed from all those years before, when he routinely used this place to hide from Hiko's wrath and ire. Such fond memories brought a smile to his face. Better, more innocent times.
He finally left the rain behind, setting the sheathe down and plopping down next to it. A small part of his mind recognized that this was exactly the same position he adopted so often during the Bakumatsu, and the coil of hate and murder pulsed. Blue eyes watched the rain fall, the rhythm lulling him to sleep. Even in the last vestiges of consciousness, though, that question continued to plague him.
Why can I not understand the will to live?
Time passed, and before he realized it, his body was waking itself up. The confrontation that would take place minutes from now would seal everything. If he couldn't find his answer within that time, who knew the punishment Hiko would visit on him. He returned to the location of their first confrontation, and stood in place. The majestic form of his master appeared, and stood opposite him. Silence ruled between them until finally Hiko spoke. "Did you find what you were looking for?"
"No." Kenshin replied softly.
"I see. Well, then that's that." Kenshin heard the distinct click as his master's sword was loosened in its sheathe. "You cannot defeat Shishio as you are. You cannot reign in the murderer that lurks inside you. You will go insane and murder hundreds. So you will never leave this mountain alive. This is my final duty as your master. Prepare yourself, Kenshin." Hiko took a step forward him, the splash dimly registering over the reality that Kenshin now faced.
He is coming to kill me. This thought didn't surprise him; Hiko was never one to say he was going to do something and then not do it. The sheer overpowering aura from his master forced him to concede a step. Am I…afraid? No. I've fought in countless battles. It takes more than this to deter me. And yet… That coil of hate and murder, so tightly compressed, jumped a bit. Flecks of amber were injected into Kenshin's eyes.
"You fool!" Hiko cried, before charging. His speed, the god-speed that was the trademark of Hiten Mitsurugi, and the Kuzu Ryu Sen, the nine headed dragon that came to claim his life, Kenshin could overcome neither without removing the obstacle that kept him from the ougi. And yet even knowing that all of this came at him, Kenshin could not react.
Is this my death? Have I done enough to account for my sins? Have I shielded enough people that my karma has balanced itself? My atonement is here. And for that fraction of time, he was ready to die. But then the thought occurred to him. If he died, who would finish Shishio? Who would protect Lady Kaoru and the others? If he died here, if he allowed himself to die, how could he claim himself to be a shield between the people and those who would prey on them? It was so contradictory that he didn't know where to go.
A flickering memory of the last of his impromptu sisters, imploring him to live on so that he could choose how to live his life, ran unbidden through his mind. This would happen to more people if he died. This would happen to everyone he loved and cared for if he died. By dying here, by actively seeking a time to die, he was dishonoring everyone that he had saved and killed. He could never atone for the crimes of murder, but he could not afford to die. Not anymore.
In that instant, he moved.
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I blame Sartre for this one. In any event, this piece is dedicated to my good friend Phoe-chan, in honor of her birthday. There's not really much to say for this piece, except that I kept wanting to take it a step farther with Kenshin, but I had to leave everything he hadn't answered empty because in-series, it's not the appropriate point for that realization. I could have moved it to Jinchuu, but that would have brought the focus to bear on a different part of Kenshin's character than I wanted to highlight here.
I hope you all enjoy reading this.