My first story! Yay!

Disclaimer- I do not own Samurai 7 or anything trademarked that stems from it (we all wish we did, though, don't we?)

Chapter 1

His long nimble fingers danced across the ivory keys. The heat of the noon's light was stunted by a cool breeze that barely lifted the blossoms off of the cherry tree. His music glided along with this breeze, that same music he had played that afternoon. The garden, the gazebo, the flowers, the breeze; they almost all disappeared. He could almost see the room he had used to play that same song in. A faint smile quickly crossed his face. I'm old, he thought. He chuckled softly. And on he played, every note making all the memories flood back to him. It's amazing how much one small moment can make you recall so many others. It's amazing how much one can remember. And on he played, his thoughts making him slightly dizzy.

Of course he had heard the man; the funny man who acted old, the only one who bothered to try and make himself silent and invisible. He could hear the man straightening himself up, pushing the creases off his clothes. The man waited for the song to end, but it didn't. He wondered if he should interrupt. He didn't want to be the one the dono's unhappiness was blamed on. Or the breaking of his meditation. The funny man wrestled with his thoughts. His parents encouraged him often, but his sense of self was cemented. I am, after all, he thought, a kohai. He could not hope to hold a candle to the dono. His unease had been sensed. The music stopped abruptly. The kohai braced himself. A shout was never heard in this house, but their eyes could bore right through your soul...

'Yes,' the dono said in the most unused of voices. It was a battle worn voice, perhaps a little weary, but calm. The kohai thought of how to begin. He couldn't sense any emotion to at least hint at the direction he should take. Perhaps it was his quivering hands distracting him.

'Hmm, yes, hmm, sir…' He couldn't bring himself to look at those dark eyes, but he could feel them. His muttering was neither silenced nor mocked. At last he found the words.

'I've come to collect your ketana.' The silence hung in the air like thick, acrid smoke. Perhaps I should elaborate, thought the kohai. Maybe he thinks I'm challenging him.

'Yukiko-sensei has asked me to fetch them. To be sharpened, Kyuzo-dono.'

With his last words he realized he was still bowing. Shouldn't I get up? Will I appear disrespectful if I do? His thoughts reeled. He raised his head. A part of him was a bit surprised to see the man still sitting there. But the greater part urged him to put his head down before those eyes, those eyes like deep, dark wells, rent his soul from his body. But he was drawn to them. They called out to his very being. He couldn't stop them boring through him. He clenched his fists and pinched his eyes shut, and swiftly brought his head down again. A smile flitted over Kyuzo's face, barely discernible from a slight twitch. He sat there, arms at his sides, silently watching this funny man. He had absolutely no intent on harming him but the man was very nearly feverish.

'You say Yukiko-sensei sent you.' His voice was calm. It always was.

'Yes, yes he has.' The messenger thought he looked hilarious, bent over with sweat dripping from his forehead. But he had been sent. He had been asked specifically. 'I was told to come with great haste,' he added, his voice pitching precariously. The funny kohai tensed his body, readying himself for the inevitable dismissal. His mouth was forming the words to his sensei: 'He has refused. He asks that someone more worthy be sent and no more be sent that quiver at the very talk of weaponry. He asks, too, that I…'

'What is your name?' The kohai's mind was cartwheeling, making him feel lightheaded.

'Suichiro, sir.' He still stood there, bowing; the silence pressing him down so hard he thought he would collapse.

'Can you be trusted, Suichiro-san?' Suichiro gulped. Everybody trusted him. He was the resident secret-keeper, practically. He thought it made him seem trivial, sometimes.

'If one is honourable one can trust me, sir.' Kyuzo raised an eyebrow.

'Do you think I am honourable, Suichiro-san?' he asked, his voice menacingly level, though that was not his intention. Suichiro dug his fingernails into his palms.

'I believe you are honourable with every fraction of my being, Kyuzo-dono.' He told the truth that he could never deny. Even if he wanted to lie, he hated to think of what the mind behind those eyes would command its body to do.

The sun made the back of his neck tingle. He did not realize that Kyuzo had risen from the seat at the piano, or that he had disappeared from the garden. He had gone round to the part of the garden populated by rich, green shrubbery; high, perfectly trimmed. He slid back the shoji more silent than he was, and walked into his own private rooms. Nothing was extravagant: an ordinary bed, and ordinary walls. Each item had its place, and none knew them better than he did. He reached out and pulled two identical ketana from their sheath. The light shimmered on the blades, forming a slight haze around them. He felt their weight in his hands and remembered the first time his palms had clasped their hilts. 'These are yours,' he had been told. 'When you use these, they will become an extension of yourself. Moving as you move, feeling your will and committing themselves to it to beyond their ability. Take great care of them, and they will do the same for you.' He shut his eyes and let the pride he felt course through him. Not a narcissistic pride, but the kind that is earned and cherished, that is unconditional and cannot be erased. A single blossom floated into the room and reminded him of where he was. He could still see the funny kohai's form through the branches of the cherry tree, still bowing, so still he could be mistaken for a statue. Kyuzo walked back and stood soundlessly in front of the man. 'There you go,' he said quietly. They didn't make a sound in their sheath. Suichiro hesitated only slightly at the thought of handling such formidable weapons. He stood up straight and held out his hands. He had to doubly reassure himself that he was holding them. They were incredibly light. 'I trust you.' Suichiro mustered a grave expression on his face and tried to exude trustworthiness in a curt nod. He bowed and walked quickly out of the garden.