Disclaimer: I do not own the rights to any of the material or characters mentioned in Rurouni Kenshin.
Tranquility
Prologue
Shades of Red
Snow fell from the darkness of a winter night and onto the small shed in which a single swordsman rested. With the occasional breeze ushering in the cold and snowflakes, he slept with his back to the wall of the wooden shed with nothing other than his sword held close.
If not for the crimson that stained his clothes and the way that he held his sword, one could easily be led to believe that he was merely a traveler or something of the sort. In a way, he was, though. He traveled frequently and the landscape changed like the seasons.
Sometimes, he traveled along the coast, kicking up sand as the summer sun blessed him with a radiance that he thought he didn't deserve. He climbed mountains with nothing more than the clothes that he had on his back and the sword at his side. He fended off hungry animals when he ventured through the forest and turned down many a woman when he walked down streets.
In a sense, he really was a wanderer, but his real job was far more gruesome.
His fiery red hair swayed as he sneezed, and he briefly opened his eyes before falling asleep again--the nightmares that plagued him sure to return as he made the best of what little rest he could get.
He did little to shield himself from the cold as I stared at his lonely profile with a heavy heart. No one understood how he really felt, and it came as no surprise that I was the only one that ever tried. I was the only person that knew how much he silently endured in hopes of bringing about an era where people could truly enjoy life in the way that they were supposed to.
He was shivering, his cheeks tinted with a faded red as his body did everything that it could to keep him warm, but he slept on like he always did. He sneezed again, and the hand that I lowered to touch him was stilled upon remembering what laid between us was more than just mere distance.
I was dead.
I expelled a held breath, but it failed to fog in the cold. The hand that was meant to touch the man I loved with all my heart was the same one that returned to my side. I stood beside him, but he couldn't see me—and more importantly—he couldn't feel me. I longed to comfort him, to reach out and tell him that I was right there the whole time, but reality was cruel.
I tried many times before to get his attention, but nothing worked. Instead of experiencing a reunion, I was witness to his privacy and had access to knowledge that no one deserved to have. It was only now, long after I had died saving his life, that I realized that I agonized him like no one ever did before.
It was ironic, I noted in hindsight, that what I accomplished in saving his life was the same thing that I once meant to do by taking it. He was the man who stole my fiancé from me. He had to be a monster so I thought of him that way despite not knowing who he was or how he looked. That was the only way that I could come to terms with the despair the fractured my heart but…
He was still a boy.
He was just a child that happened to wield a sword that he should never have been given in the first place. Against a victim of circumstance, my righteous vengeance felt like the same sword that I saw him carry.
So I dropped it.
Instead of getting my revenge, I did something for more wretched, something far more despicable as I followed him intent on seeking out anything to justify the flickering flame of vengeance that lived inside of me. Why did he never think to ask me why I looked at him that way? Why was he was so happy to have a house in the middle of nowhere?
Why did I marry the murderer of my fiancé?
I closed my eyes and forced away the thoughts of days long since passed. The only thing that made me his wife was a piece of paper with an official seal on it. We did not share a bed and I did not love him. In all honesty, I pitied him.
I stayed with him for that long because I felt sorry for him…
My musings were cut short at the sound of calf-high snow being waded through. Heavy footsteps plodded through the dirty slush on the ground as fast as they could, and it was more than loud enough to wake the sleeping assassin.
Assessing the situation with a drowsy mind, he dashed out of the shack, and I followed him into the night.
"It's the Battousai!"
All of the men tensed, one of them pointing at the blur that ran across the snow so fast that he left no footprints behind him. The navy of his clothes and the scarlet of his hair were a violent contrast to the soft whites and grays of the scenery, but neither party paid the setting any mind as swords were drawn.
"Ha-" The largest of the men had a laughed heftily as he stared at the assassin. "Escort him to the meeting place. I'll take care of this."
The swordsman smirked as his companions rushed away, and he shrugged off the animal fur that he wore to shield himself from the cold. He, too, wore clothes that didn't match the season, but my attention was snatched away by the slab of metal that I guessed was supposed to be a sword, and yet didn't have an edge. It was thick and blunt—something that was made solely to smash.
"So you're the famous manslayer? Don't look like much to me." His gruff voice matched his massive frame, but the reply that he waited on never came. The assassin stood his ground with his sword raised for nothing other than murder. The man smirked as he acknowledged the silence, "I figured you wouldn't say much. That's good since I'm not one to talk much either!"
With his declaration echoing through the night, he ran forward and left what looked like holes behind him with every step. He took the air with a smug look on his face and brought down his sword with ungodly speed.
Though I wanted to look away, I watched as the slab of metal returned to the ground with enough force to seemingly make it explode. Clumps of snow flew through the air, some of them returning to the earth stained in a nasty shade of red.
Blood was spilled.
The man raised the bloodied stumps of what used to be his hands to his face and looked down at the sword on the ground, his extremities still firmly wrapped around the hilt. A horrible cry escaped his lips as he turned to run but, Kenshin descended on him before he could take another step.
The man fell to his knees and then to his face as blood started to pool under him. Kenshin plucked his sword out of the man's neck and quickly followed the retreating footprints to catch up with the rest of the group. I followed him, but, even though I went as fast as I could, I was left behind in his haste.
I caught up just in time to see the clashing of swords, and a quick look around the snow-covered path made it clear that he was dealing with his adversary. The ground was littered with bodies, some of them still trying to move as sparks flew through the air.
"I… I won't fail!"
I raised my head and looked at the fight as the man made a declaration that promised death. With experience honed by winning unfair fights and ending lives, Kenshin merely slapped the advancing sword away with his scabbard before stabbing the surprised man through the chest.
The moment his attacker lifelessly slumped forward on the sword that impaled him, Kenshin withdrew the blade and started walking towards his screaming target. The man was older than the others—the wrinkles in his face showed that much—and the death that approached him in the form of a young man with scarlet hair made him look so much older than he probably was.
He tried to run and I turned away when I heard his screaming cut short by the raw sound of a grown man being cut down.
"It's over…"
A voice I rarely heard anymore touched the air with a sadness that matched the chill in it. Kenshin looked down at the blood on his sword before turning to see the carnage he left behind him.
This was the last mission that he would have to do. I was there when he was told that he had a new, safer job as a bodyguard protecting the Imperialists. I was just as thankful as he was. The fact that he wouldn't in nearly as much danger was reason enough for me to be happy.
The assassin breathed out a sigh as he walked away. He brushed his fingers across the scar that I left on his face. "I…" He stopped, a particularly brutal gust making him pause. "This will be the last time I kill, Tomoe," he whispered before swiping his sword through the air to rid it of the blood he shed.
I stopped at the mention of my name.
His words felt like a twisting blade in my heart, but that was nothing compared to what he went through. I stood in place, and watched flakes of white settle on his hair, but he didn't move. He stood in the snow, shivering as he leveled his gaze at the horizon, but the view that it afforded him was the furthest thing from his thoughts.
"I won't kill again…" The fear that the exposure finally got to him subsided, but the way that I felt when he looked so sad would never leave me. "I promise."
The voice that once accepted me into his heart and greeted me every morning was so far from happy that it pained me to remember how he used to be. It was the content of his statement that bothered me more than way he said it—it was the way that he looked when he said my name that felt like he effectively killed me along with the men that he stepped over.
I watched him pass me as a snowstorm started. I looked at him through flurries of ice and, unconsciously, reached out a hand to touch him, if only to let him know that I was there.
"Will you ever be at ease…?"
I muttered the words knowing that he would never hear them and my heart felt just that much tighter in my chest when he walked through my outstretched hand. I prattled on about how I understood him, but, at the end of the day, it did neither of us any good.
I was beside him every night and every day, but he strived on, oblivious to my presence. Though he was finished with one gruesome job, what kind of future would he have as a bodyguard? There was no doubt that his services would still be needed.
He would definitely have to kill again.
I had felt this kind of hopelessness before…
I remember feeling this way when I left the small house that we lived in to go to the temple and persuade the Shogunate spies to leave him alone. I ended up being held captive with a dagger placed in front of me to release myself from the shame of loving the man who killed my fiancé.
How many impossible situations will he be faced with in the future? How many people will seek to kill him? How will he go on without me? Did I make the right choice in going to rescue him when he came to rescue me?
I knew the answer to at least one of the questions that I posed to myself as I stood in the snowstorm and watched the unmoving crimson before me. I let myself smile because it was the only thing that I could do for him.
The assassin softly touched the keepsake of the single most important person in his life. Tears threatened to come forward, but he pressed on, regardless of the feelings that welled up inside of him. He removed his hand from the scarf, intent on not dirtying it with his soiled hands as more snow started to fall.
"Tomoe…"
"Kenshin…" My smile almost slipped but I kept it as he started to weep. "I love you."
Words I never said to anyone while I was alive belonged to the man who I once thought ruined my life. I wanted to hold him, but I couldn't, and I couldn't let him know that I was there, either. All I could do was follow him and attempt to shoulder some of the misery that I left him in.
The scarf wrinkled in his hand as he grasped it, needing it to take another step in the cold that conquered his shivering frame. He marched through the storm intent on keeping the life I gave him.
"I love you."
-Fin
Author's Note: First of all, I'll like to thank my Beta Reader, Iris Omega, for helping me out a whole lot. This is the first time I've really seriously gotten help from one and she pointed out a lot of stuff I did wrong. I'll try to get better and thanks again Iris.
Other than that, this story isn't really high priority so I probably won't be updating for a good while. It's more a side project for me and it won't have more than four or five chapters.
In any case, thanks for reading friends and I hope you liked the prologue.
CF
