Disclaimer: No, I do NOT own Rurouni Kenshin. That privilege belongs to Nobuhiro Watsuki and the merchandise people. I'm doing this without his permission and have no intention of profiting from it. So buzz off, lawyers.
Note: This fic takes place about a year after the end of the Bakumatsu, way before he meets the rest Kenshingumi and the beginning of the TV series. VERY early wandering days for Kenshin.
Mask of Shadows
The war's over, Battousai. What do you do now?
The young man sat down heavily, red hair splashing back against the dark tree trunk. Himura Kenshin stared quietly into his campfire.
Himura Kenshin. Not Hitokiri Battousai, not Himura Battousai, not even just Battousai. Himura Kenshin. It felt odd to think of himself like that, to even recall that he had a name. For so long he had played the role of a manslayer, gotten used to killing and the people (even his comrades) had referred to him as such. They'd even added that "the" to the name, as if he actually wasn't a real person, like some hero…or monster.
He'd hated it.
The Battousai wasn't a legend, wasn't a figure to revere or hate as such. He was a flesh-and-blood person. And a murderer at that. Of course, the Battousai wasn't exactly a bad person, not like how many made him to be. Oh yes, he'd killed, but so had countless others in the Bakumatsu. Taking lives was their business, and the Battousai had excelled at it. But it was the cold, emotionless way he did it that bothered people, killing as if the victims were nothing but toys or inanimate objects. It was the way he didn't seem to care, didn't care that these people had lives or families or loves outside of the fight. The fact that he was an Imperialist and killed for the ideals of Meiji Government seemed to have been lost.
So the Battousai hadn't been a bad, supremely evil person. But Kenshin didn't like him anyway. His harsh, unmoving features had been a mask, a necessary one to keep Kenshin's howling misery and sorrow at the role he had to play out of view. To break down was to die in the Bakumatsu, and after his own will to live had left, there were still others that depended on him. All the same, Kenshin was glad to discard it after all was done, to leave it behind and become a wandering rurouni. But the Battousai didn't seem to want to leave him.
The Bakumatsu no Douran was not a coat or a pair of shoes that you could just shed easily and have done with. Or forget. It was harder than he had thought, getting used to the peace of the Meiji Era. Often he caught himself setting hand to hilt at an approaching footstep, or listening for possible signs of ambush or enemy. And for the life of him, he couldn't bring himself to use a bed. Lying flat like that seemed was such an unbearably vulnerable position for him and for many months he had slept sitting up against a wall. But sleep was no escape, for nightmares followed him there.
Kenshin had thought he had left all that behind a year ago. He had thrown away any connection to who he once was, had thrown away his katana and wakizashi, had tried to throw away everything. He'd even tossed off all his old clothes, donning the most unlikely choice for a former hitokiri–a magenta gi and white hakama. Who would suspect the Battousai to be wearing such a thing? All Kenshin knew was that it was hard to imagine being afraid of someone wearing such a bright, cheerful shade of pink. And he'd even changed his speech patterns in his rush to tear the Battousai from him, exchanging the masculine "ore" for the apologetic, slightly demeaning "sessha" and adding the goofy, cute "oro?" and "de gozaru".
In other words, he had exchanged one mask for another one. This had bothered him slightly, led him to wonder if he had a real personality after all. In the war, he'd made people believe that he was something he wasn't. And now that it was over, he was doing it again. But, as before, a mask was necessary. The Himura Kenshin inside was still too weak and scarred to survive opening to the light. Perhaps shishou had been right, right that he shouldn't have gone to war…but that was in the past. And in the past, he meant it to stay.
But the Bakumatsu had set tenterhooks in him and wasn't to be rid of so easily. Kenshin could still feel the Battousai lurking murderously beneath his cheerful exterior, evident in the amber eyes that hadn't completely returned to their placid violet and fluid movements that no skilled warrior could look at and not recognize. And it seemed that he would have to make yet more changes as others discarded the high ponytails and swords of their former selves. Kenshin would have to do the same, if he was ever to blend in. The hair was easy enough; he had no wish to cut his hair short, so he would have to lower the ponytail down to the nape of his neck. This made him look rather round-headed and had the unfortunate tendency to make other people think he was far younger than his actual age. But it did soften the sharp, angled features gained from the war, so that was the plus. Kenshin had learned that 90 of being a killer was looking like one…or so people thought.
Still, sometimes, in the dead of night or the pale weak light of early dawn, he wondered if all this was worth it. Should he really expend so much energy trying to fit into this era, for people that didn't even seem to appreciate it? Already there were complaints against the Meiji Government. And why hold true to this vow of not killing? It would be so easy to discard it, to dominate as he once did and travel further down the path of Asura. He was already bloodstained; what would it matter?
He might have given in, if it wasn't for the heavy weight of the sakabatou against his shoulder right now, or the roughness of the cross scar on his cheek. The scar Tomoe had given him…
Kenshin huddled closer in on himself. Tomoe…he missed her with an ache that never stopped hurting. And probably never will. The life of a hitokiri was lonely enough without being known as the Battousai as well…but then Tomoe came and everything was better. She helped save him from himself, granted an oasis of happiness and love that would never go away. He missed her calmness, her easy acceptance. It was all he could do not to break down at the memory of her dying eyes, granting him her complete forgiveness for all he had done. He didn't deserve such a gift, but she had given it to him anyway, unconditionally.
Tomoe was all that kept him alive through the end of the war, and now. If nothing else, he would live for her sake and not throw away the life she had given him. Kenshin would hold true to his vows. He could give her that, at least.
He would give her that…
The young rurouni stared into the fire.
OWARI
Author's notes: Hi! 1st RK fanfic, done! Okay, got a little away from me at the end. Was off topic, I know, but I didn't know how to end it otherwise. Besides, I kinda like it anyway and all the Tomoe fans out there would kill me if I mentioned Kenshin in the Bakumatsu without Tomoe.
As I mentioned before, this is Kenshin in his early (VERY early) wandering days. He's supposed to be still adjusting to the Meiji after the Bakumatsu chaos. And yes, he is still wearing that high ponytail. I don't think that he changed it until a bit after the war. When Kenshin remembers when he got the 1st sakabatou from Shakku Arai, you can see that though he's wearing his rurouni clothes, he still has the high ponytail. That's episode 40-something, I think.
Battousai--refers to sword-drawing technique
Hitokiri--manslayer
Bakumatsu no Douran--the Revolution
Meiji, Meiji Government: name of the Government and time after the Bakumatsu
Katana & wakizashi--notice how many pictures of swordsmen show them having 2 swords? The long one's called a katana and the short wakizashi.
Gi & hakama--what Kenshin wears. Top part is the gi and the bottom the hakama.
Shishou--master
Ore--in Japanese, the most masculine form of "I"
Sessha--something like "this unworthy one"
Oro?--Kenshin's trademark sound
De gozaru--goes at end of sentences. That it is/ that you should not/ that I will/etc.
Sakabatou--means pretty much reverse-bladed katana
Rurouni--a word Watsuki made up to describe Kenshin. Wandering swordsman.
Asura--Japanese demon that revels in battle and bloodshed
Hehe. About the hair. My sister mentioned the thing about his head looking really round and I couldn't resist putting it in.