WINTER -the bare woods are still
The world was… empty.
we're going to fight stand up we'll find him and fight he won't get away with it will he come on stand up listen please i won't be back
… If only he had been stronger and reacted faster (thoughts of Tomoe and Kaoru crossed his mind and suddenly one had the other's face and eyes - lifeless, lifeless eyes) then maybe history would not have had to repeat itself; maybe no heart would have been virtually ripped apart or actually run through with a sword.
His master had been right. Heck, Saito had been right. After years of wandering, he had gone soft.
He had been done with this. And tired, so much more than he had thought.
It was not only the fact that he loved her; it was the failure. The repeated failure.
That he had helped countless others over the years did not matter; neither did the fact that he had prevented a war by defeating Shishio. These lives he had supposedly saved… they were an abstract concept to him, data, a reality he could not grasp because he did not know these people. But Kaoru… Kaoru was, had been, tangible. Real. Alive and warm and smiling at his side and he had failed her, just like he had failed Tomoe.
She had asked an unknown assassin-turned-restless-wanderer to stay with her. She had offered him a home.
And he had imagined it; he had envisioned snippets of what life could have been with her. Home.
He had wasted so much time pined to the wall by Kujiranami's iron grip, giving free way to Enishi. He had known, then, what could, what would happen, he had felt fear coil in his gut and turn to rage. He had to protect her, them, he had to…
i will protect
But he had not, and now… She was dead. He forced himself to think the words (she was dead-dead-dead), to picture her in his mind, torn and bloody and forever hopeless, now.
He had been far too late.
There had been so much blood, red, red blood on white snow, white walls…
Warm blood, and he was so cold. Clouded vision, the scent of white plum blossoms, and the cold. He had been there before.
There had been tears too, at first, but he had stopped those long ago. He had cried after Tomoe's death, but tears had never brought anyone back to life, had not made him a better person.
once a murderer…
He would not allow himself to cry over Kaoru's grave (she was dead-dead-dead).
But what now? Another ten years of wandering? Twenty? History kept repeating itself, it would not do (and he was so tired). Maybe he should just… let go, lie cold and thought-free in the ground (just like they were) and finally be done with it.
The world was empty.
admit that it was all an irreparable mistake
Defeated. Exhausted, broken, and barely functioning.
Funny how words echoed one another, how thoughts emerged and prompted others and how he was a mere spectator.
He could barely remember how he had chained his sword and dragged himself to Rakuninmura. That seemed to require so much energy. He did not even have the strength to blink.
He had told Yahiko that those who fight for others were not allowed to lose and give up, that they could only train and keep getting better. Was he that much of a hypocrite?
What had he been running after all these years? Motives, he needed to identify his motives, they were crucial, had always been. He had killed for a reason, a cause, something bigger than him that he had embraced fully and held close to his heart - he was a samurai, in the literal sense of the word if not by birth. But then, then. These past ten years. Had it all been for… his own private, selfish redemption? Had he done it for himself, led by his own footsteps to the next village or city, whishing for - the thought horrified him - the next opportunity to reduce his burden and save his… soul? His peace of mind? If the answer was yes, then he would gladly let Shishio's ghost take him away, blow him away.
admit that it was all an irreparable mistake
Motives, it all came down to that. He needed the truth. His truth.
But he was. So. Tired.
His thoughts wandered - bitter irony, yes, but he would not even try to control them at this point. He was not in the right state of mind for this, much too used to guilt trips and taking the blame on himself. He needed perspective. To take a step back, watch from an outsider's point of view.
He could only hope that slowly, painfully, the words would acquire some logic. They surfaced, whirled and connected; sentences formed, sometimes even made sense.
please don't cry
This was easy. He had no right to cry.
it will be all right
No. No. He had believed in those words for over ten years and now… Truth, he needed truth.
follow the fragrance and you'll find the answer that you've been seeking
It still smelled like white plum blossoms…
White plum blossoms…. Cold. Swords. Blood. Death.
Death, at the beginning and at the end. How fitting. He had been running in circles.
The world was empty.
Enough.
Enough. He had failed, that was the answer and he - tired, too tired - longed for dark, cold sleep. But as heavy and weary as his body had grown, part of his mind seemed to be in uproar and more words kept registering, uninvited, more voices…
kenshin-san please listen please stand up once again please please save yahiko-kun stand up save please please please save please
There it was again. More people about to die and he… wasn't going to help them?
A flicker. A ripple. An indefinable something within him (that felt so far away that it could just as well have been at his side and have nothing to do with him because he was supposed to be nothing more than a spectator here) trembled. Stirred.
But why, what, what was the answer?
there is one thing that i can do and that is only to protect the happiness of the people that i see one by one
Oh, but he had said these words several times over the years. And every time, he had meant them.
Another ripple. Gaining strength. The tide coming in.
Suddenly the smell of white plum blossoms no longer clogged his mind. Suddenly he felt his hand firmly clenching the sword that would not kill.
i will protect those before my eyes
The answer… Now he remembered.
He had known all along.