My first RK fanfic. Please be patient, updates will be short but often. Enjoy :)

Chapter One: The long and winding road

The breeze turned at the last second. Though he couldn't feel it or hear it, new scents barraged his smell.

Hakubaikou…

Kenshin moved away from it. He was going too fast, and he wouldn't be able to stop in time. He couldn't see!

He felt his blade sink in and tear through sinew and flesh and bone. Kenshin tumbled to the ground and his sword fell from his hand, as though he was bitten. He turned his exhausted body up crawled, like the lowly peasant he wanted to be, over to his beloved. He knew she was dead-knew this couldn't have gone right, and his eyes hurt and Kenshin knew that he was crying.

Touch was beginning to return to him and he felt over the bodies lying on the snow covered forest floor. Rough fabric greeted his fingertips, the coarsest of make, and he knew that it couldn't be her.

Hesitantly, he reached on until he found the smoothness of silk and the softest of embroidery. He trailed his fingers up the fabric until his hands touched the warmth of her skin. She was still. He gently cupped her face and dragged himself closer, desperate for her.

"I'm sorry," though he couldn't hear himself say it, he felt it leave his tongue. "It wasn't supposed to be like this."

Kenshin brushed his fingers through Tomoe's supple hair. He traced the outline of her lips with a finger. Kenshin dragged his hand down to her creamy white throat-he knew this because he had touched and looked upon it clearly before, and was startled when he felt the muscles clench and gasp. Tomoe was breathing.

Kenshin opened his eyes again and he could vaguely see the outline of her shape. Her obi was torn and he could see small trail of red leaking onto the snow. He pulled off his haori and folded it under her head and slowly leaned her down on it. Kenshin reached down to her waist and inspected the bloody wound. It wasn't deep, but the blood flow was fast. He felt a hand trying to seek out his own.

He clenched her hand tightly for a moment and then let it go. Kenshin untied Tomoe's obi and folded it in half twice and then retied it tightly around her. He felt her hand spasm against his thigh.

Drawing on the deep inner strength he never knew he had, he lifted her up out of the snow, leaving his katana glinting evilly in the evening light. Forever it would sit there, rusting into the next ages.

For days on end Tomoe's conscious faded and returned. She was hot-burning up, and then she was cold, crying out weakly in discomfort. Every time she would feel those gentle hands and that soft voice telling her everything would be all right, that she was safe.

But she knew everything was not all right. Tomoe had betrayed her own husband even when the anger at him had dissipated. She had been compelled by some fool's errand to keep her end of the bargain and send Kenshin to his death to fulfill the wish she had created herself of her dead fiancé.

Then burning hotness would trickle down her throat, and she obligingly swallowed, even though she wished to die.

To be continued…