Summary: When two warring kingdoms clash, it is up to the heirs, Kenshin and Kaoru to bring peace to a devastated land, but can they set aside their own differences or will the desire to defeat each other spur the war on. KK, AM, SM.
Disclaimer: Rurouni Kenshin does not belong to me in any shape, size, or form. Waaaaaaa…. Pass the Kleenex box.
Rating: T for violence, swords, knives, and adult situations in later chapters.
A HUGE round of applause for my lovable reviewers. I am really sorry I haven't had time to answer everyone's questions. Yeah yeah, I know. Shame on me. Please overlook it this time. I will answer all your questions soon. Very soon. Heh.
Hope you like this chapter!!
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Love, Lies and Empire
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Chapter 8: To Live For
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"Anything worth living for," said Nately, "is worth dying for." "And anything worth dying for," answered the old man, "is certainly worth living for."
(Joseph Heller, Catch 22)
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Soujirou ground his teeth in annoyance. His ever-present smile faltered, and the corners of his mouth drooped as he stared straight ahead. He stood stiffly at a watch post on the battlement. He'd sent the sentry off duty stating that he wanted to be alone and that he wasn't to be disturbed by anyone or anything. The fact that he wasn't paying attention to the watch and not registering anything that fell in the line of his vision added to his growing list of grouses. His mind was wandering and there was little he could do about it. They weren't listening to him. They didn't grasp the seriousness of the situation. Instead, to add insult to injury they insisted that he'd been working much too hard and perhaps should rest and allow his 'tired mind' to relax.
He wasn't being delusional. In fact, he had never been delusional in his life. He knew danger when he felt it. He knew what he had seen, and he understood what he had felt when he talked to those men. They weren't ordinary farmers or traders. They were hiding something. The auras surrounding them were enmeshed with blood. They carried the scent of the battlefield with them; it was what had alerted him to their presence in the first place. Their very bearing set them apart from the rest of the people gathered at the teashop. It was a rare instance when his senses had joined in screaming danger but strangely his mind hadn't made a move to pursue the matter at that moment. He let them out of his sight for only a minute and when he returned, they had left. It had been too late. They were lost in the crowds that thronged the markets and streets. Where was he supposed to find them now?
He'd even told that idiot Katsu to keep an eye on them, but that fool lost track of them in less time than it would take for him to draw his sword. Trust that moron to do nothing right. It was like what they said. If you want a job done properly, do it yourself. But his seeming inability to find even a trace of that strange pair of men was becoming inconvenient. He had no leads apart than their appearance, and appearance counted for nothing. If they really were from the enemy camp like he suspected, they would be prepared to change appearances as many times as was needed for their purposes.
General Kamatari had been sympathetic and heard him out in all sincerity. He had allowed to him to take a team of trusted men and scout out the intruders but nothing had turned up. Two days and two nights of restless searching had yielded no results. He had painstakingly sieved through every street, every nook and cranny of the city but he couldn't find them again. Eventually, he was forced to disband the search parties. Understanding as he was, General Kamatari had told him categorically that he couldn't afford to let some of his finest men wander around the city on a wild goose chase while the enemy was sitting at their doorstep. If those men had been spies, they must have left the city by now to join their own armies.
"General! I am telling you those men might still be here. We have to keep searching."
Kamatari drew a long breath before speaking. "Look Soujirou. It's been two days. You've searched everywhere, I know you have. You've gone just about insane in these past two days. Now I understand how you're feeling but let's face the facts here, shall we? Those men have probably gone by now. There's no further use in trying to find them in the city. It'll just be a waste of time and that's the one thing we're falling short of right now."
"But General! This is serious! We are so close to finding them. It won't take more than a day."
"Soujirou, I can't give you a day. Look at your men, they're exhausted. You need to rest them before we go into battle."
"But they're here! I can feel it!"
"That's quite enough Soujirou! I can understand what you must be feeling and how frustrating it all must seem at this moment but getting worked up like this isn't going to help anyone. I won't stop you from looking for them. But I cannot allow you to drag your men along. If you'd take my advice, you'd take some rest too. You're over-exerting yourself. It's not healthy."
Soujirou frowned. General Kamatari was absolutely right and there were few things he could say to counter him. He hated feeling helpless and confused. Uncertainty concerning anything suffocated him. Breath from his lungs and reason from his mind was stolen away when he felt confused. He was left as fragile and weak as a piece of rice paper that could be crumpled and thrown away when its usefulness was over. Confusion, uncertainty, indecision were all weak and debilitating emotions. Soujirou had no use for them. His strength was his consistent and unchanging control.
Control. His absolute control over himself was reflected in the deadly play of his sword, and his smile. His smile deflected his every emotion. Pain and injury, loneliness and confusion, anxiety and even fear, everything was wiped away. His smile was a smile that knew no meaning and held no implication. His subordinates often joked amongst themselves, if Soujirou doesn't smile; you're done for, if he smiles, you're good and buried.
He would not waver and get flustered over this. Soujirou closed his eyes for a second. When he opened them again, he cast his eyes across the palace walls, as far as he could see. Nothing but farms and fields for miles around. At the edge of the horizon, facing north he could see the pale outline of the Blue Mountains, beyond which lay the vast empire of Kutoe. Konan had long since relinquished any claim it had made on the mountains. Kutoe was welcome to claim those harsh mountains as its territory.
Now that he thought about it, it had started with the mountains, then the bridge crossing the river, then the trade routes leading out towards north and west. Gradually, the border conflicts had gotten edgier and attempts to intervene diplomatically shot down by emissaries of the larger kingdom. Konan had held its peace for a very long time before plunging its future into uncertainty by casting off the façade of compliance. The necessity of appeasing the dragon of the north has disappeared instantaneously. The immediate effect had been one of exuberance. Those who had been present in the Throne Room to witness His Majesty dismiss the Kutoe emissary's proposition flat out remembered the electricity that seemed to glance off the walls and shoot out towards the king and the enemy envoy, engulfing them as they glared at each other.
The moment was diffused just as swiftly when the envoy bent his head, accepting His Majesty's answer. Soujirou remembered gripping the hilt of his sword till his knuckles turned white with strain, even as the smile remained plastered on his face. Beside him, General Kamatari dug his nails into the palm of his hand, drawing blood as the silence dragged on. The cold ice of Shinomori's eyes held the promise of certain destruction, of death and of ruin for Konan. Of all the men present in the hall at that time, only King Shishio seemed unaffected by the furious ki that was emanating from Shinomori Aoshi. The rest of them had instantly stepped into defensive stances for no reason. After all, it wasn't as if he would have attempted to even draw his sword. Doing so would be a grave insult to Konan but more so to his own emperor.
The position of an emissary is not a simple one. He is guarded by the might of his emperor yet he is still powerless. The nature of the emissary often makes or breaks agreements between kings. If an emissary is too haughty, he may provoke the ruler enough to cause a permanent rift, but if his tongue and manner is smooth, it is enough to prevent bloodshed and war in even the most drastic circumstance. Hated as they were, emissaries were nonetheless given great respect; however this respect varied from kingdom to kingdom. It was not unheard of to hear of emissaries being slaughtered in the courts of hostile kings. But those that would harm an emissary had no honour. They didn't deserve to be called kings that would allow an emissary to be harmed in their realm.
The honour and pride of a king is upheld in the honour of his warriors. If a king's men do not conduct themselves with the honour that is due to their station, they jeopardize not just their stature but also that of their king.
Soujirou smiled. On good days, when he was popular with the fickle gossips of court, he was referred to as King Shishio's exemplary warrior, on the days where they felt less than civil towards him; he was dismissed as the King's shadow and a perennial sycophant. They didn't realize the dishonour they did their King by even suggesting such a thing. King Shishio was too sharp to allow any sycophant to curry favour with him. If the king trusted him, it was because he had forged ties of trust with his actions; he had fought tooth and nail for that trust, he had bled for it.
Soujirou bent his head and looked at his hands. The fingers were long and tapered. The skin was taut, firm and without a blemish, like the hands of a lady. He turned them over to look at his palms. The hard calluses betrayed evidence of years of stern training with the katana. The callused skin was beautiful to him. It was the measure of the man that he was. His entire world was his skill and his sword. What he could do for King Shishio by virtue of his sword was the only thing that concerned him. His strength was his loyalty. The strength only he and no one else could bring to King Shishio. There was perhaps nothing he wouldn't do for him. He had King Shishio to thank for even being alive. He would gladly have succumbed to death if the king hadn't stepped in and plucked him out of the hellhole that had once been his home.
He remembered as if it were yesterday.
He was not the happy child of a legal union. His father's family took him in only under the duress of his will. According to the document, he was supposed to be raised as a son of the house, but in reality he was little more than a slave. He wouldn't call it living. His soul, his heart was caged in misery and despair. The law of the land stated that he be treated as a member of the family but the laws of the house dictated that his life be held hostage to the hatred they bore his father for siring him. His only answer to the humiliation and shame thrust upon him was to smile. He smiled when they beat him, when they called him names, when they refused him even a morsel of food. He smiled. He had accepted it as his lot in life. It was his fate to be miserable and one day his soul would escape the cage that tied it to this world. He would be free of misery in death.
So he began to seek death, like a ship lost at sea searches for the stars that will guide the way to shores of land. Death was going to be his release but, his plans were ruined by his own smile.
It had been a day like any other. He was hauling sacks of rice on his back from one warehouse to another, when he was called by one of the masters of the house, one of his father's legitimate sons. He was to accompany him into the market. In other words, he was the human pack horse. He smiled and followed his brother out of the house. As they walked through the bazaar, the tantalizing aroma of food wafted in and out of his nose, distracting him, alluring him to turn and stare and imagine those tasty morsels of food in his hands, and oh heaven be kind, in his mouth. He stared and dreamed and unknowingly walked straight into his brother. The tea hissed as it fell down his brother's robes, but nothing jarred his senses like the screams of pain that came out of his brother's mouth.
Soujirou waited. The rage that was evident in his brother's face would soon devour him. Death had come; it had arrived in the form of a cup of hot tea. He smiled and closed his eyes. The first hit came slower than expected. His eyes followed the path of the blade as it swung to cut him. His shoulder gushed with blood and his lungs rasped in protest. He opened his eyes and watched the man towering over him and not knowing what else to do, he smiled. The slap against his cheek lowered his gaze.
"You worthless son of a whore! You bastard! Look what you did! I am going to kill you, you hear me I'll kill you!" His brother's screaming rang out in the clear sunshine. Surprisingly, nothing else could be heard. The usual noise and bustle of the bazaar had died out. Were they so eager to see him die? Rough hands grabbed him by the throat and thrust him up towards the sky. A fist rolled back and was about to strike his cheek when a clear, majestic voice cut through the cacophony of curses let loose by his brother and reached his ears.
"Put that child down."
Nobody moved. He moved his head slightly to see who had spoken. His eyes swam in his head before they landed on the tall figure of a man dressed like a warrior. The man slid off his mount with a grace that impressed him. He tethered the stallion to a tree and calmly walked towards him. His brother narrowed his eyes and turned threateningly towards the stranger but he did not loosen his hold on the child. The man watched silently for a few minutes.
"I asked you to put the child down. Did you not hear me?"
"Who the hell are you?"
A second man accompanying the stranger burst forth onto the scene. He looked as though he might choke when he heard this. Red in the face, almost bursting with indignation, he blurted out, "You impudent imbecile! Are you telling me you do not know who this is?"
The awe-filled look he gave the stranger had sobered his brother somewhat but not enough to make him realize his folly. The stranger merely smiled and held his hand up majestically. The elegance of the gesture alone should have alerted him, but he was blind to the subtle symbols that the stranger was showing of his identity.
Once again ignoring the stranger and his companion, his brother dropped him to the ground and began pounding him mercilessly. The light of the sun dimmed with every blow he felt on his body. The blows stopped suddenly. He was still alive though. He slowly picked himself up from the ground, and gazed up at the sky. He wiped the blood from his eye, and looked up to find the stranger watching him thoughtfully. He smiled because ….. that's what he did; he smiled. Something shifted in the stranger's eyes. He held a hand out to his companion who wordlessly placed a square of cloth in his hand. The stranger knelt and held it out to him.
As he stretched his hand forward to take it, a kick from behind threw him off-balance. He fell forward. His cheek hit the road. He could see the boots of the stranger in front of his eyes. As he lay there, in the dust and the blood that was seeping from his shoulder, he heard his voice again.
"If you do not get up now, you will probably die. This man will keep hitting you and you will keep bleeding till you no longer have the strength to move. What do you suppose will happen then?"
He moved his head to look at him. His face held no pity, no sympathy but it held something he had never seen in anyone's eyes before. Expectation. He was expecting something out of him, and for some strange reason, he didn't want to let him down.
"I will be left here to die…."
"That's right. I've had it with you. We've endured the shame of having to raise you for all this time but we will bear it no longer. With your death, I shall clear the name of the family, and restore its honour."
He felt the sting of water in his eyes. He sat up slowly and smiled.
The stranger asked, "Why are you smiling?"
"I don't know what else to do."
The stranger stood up and walked back to his stallion. Stroking the mane of the beautiful horse he spoke, "you are bound to this man by blood." The statement was a question.
He waited. The stranger's eyes pierced through his soul, taking in the misery and desire for death that he carried around like a familiar blanket.
"He is my brother."
"I see. And ties of family must be honoured above and beyond the responsibility you have to yourself to live. Isn't that right?"
"I …. I don't know Lord…"
"If there's a question you have been thinking about, now is the time to ask it."
"A question, Lord?"
"What do you intend to do with yourself and with your existence? You have strength, but you must find it on your own. I cannot do that for you."
"I don't understand Lord…."
"If you have the strength, then leave this man and come with me."
His brother realized what was happening at that very moment. The hatred and scorn he'd carried in his breast for the bastard surfaced once more and he burned at the thought of the boy escaping the misery of his life. He had no right to be happy, he was a bastard. He would live and die in shame and humiliation.
"What! Hey you! You can't take him anywhere. This boy belongs to my family."
"To your family? I have seen slaves treated better."
"What business is that of yours? He's my father's bastard. We should have left him to die or killed him ourselves a long time ago but we didn't. We decided to take pity on him and keep him. We've even jeopardized the family honour by taking him in. He couldn't repay our kindness even if he worked like a slave for a hundred years."
The stranger looked at him once more. "Do you hear that boy? You have the choice of serving your family like a slave till the day you die, or you can become a man and walk away from them, and see where your strength will take you."
His eyes widened. It was only one tiny step. One step that would take him away from the despair that had been his identity, his persona for as long as he had lived. Now he had a chance to break away and make his own road. Strength. The stranger had seen strength in him. But where? How could he see strength in him? Him who had never protested against the inhuman way his family treated him, who had never dared to step one toe out of line, who silently did what he was told without complaint. All he had was his smile. In his smile, he forgot everything.
Strength. Strength to walk away. Strength to live. Did he have that strength?
After what seemed like a decade, he placed a foot forward, towards the stranger.
"Soujirou! Don't you dare take one step forward! I forbid it!"
Gasping at his own courage, he took another step. The stranger raised his chin and waited. His brother rushed forward to stop him. He raised his hand and brought it crashing down. The force of the strike pushed him to his feet. He shuddered, but stood up again. He took another step forward. This time he didn't falter. He didn't hesitate when he saw the blow coming but effectively stopped his brother's hand with his forearm.
"No brother. I won't tolerate being beaten by you again. I am stronger than that. Thank you for taking care of me for so long. But it's time I struck out on my own. Please don't try to stop me. I've made up my mind. Goodbye." He stepped past him and walked towards the stranger. The stranger hoisted him up on the horse in front of him even as his companion stared with eyes as wide as saucers.
Of course it was only later that he learned the identity of his benefactor. He remembered his jaw dropping like a stone when the horse galloped inside the palace. The gates shut behind him and on his old life. That day, King Shishio won a vassal for life, and Soujirou Seta found a meaning to live for.
Strength.
Kenshin kept his eyes on the guards. There were two more on each battlement than yesterday. They hadn't broken the watch cycles even once. He narrowed his eyes. Shishio was apparently taking no chances. He smirked. This looked promising. At least someone had noticed that all was not well within the city. If that search was anything to go by, whoever it was had been shaken by their presence. Kenshin thought back to the day they had arrived in the city, to the day he and Hannya had separated. He bent his head. It was the same day that he had fooled one of Shishio's men in that teashop, pretending to be a farmer. He drew a swift breath and stared at the battlement again. It was also the day he'd seen her. The search had started the next day. He hadn't had a moment of peace since. They had been moving constantly to avoid the searching parties. They couldn't afford to be found just yet. He'd caught no sleep in these last two days. Although, he was certain that his lack of sleep had little or nothing to do with the men searching for them.
It wouldn't be long now. He had only to wait till night fell. Tonight the dam would break on Kansan and thousands of Kutoe soldiers would storm the city. Before they knew what was happening, he would unleash a wave of destruction within the southern quarter and move swiftly through the city. That was the plan. He sighed. Taking recent developments into account, the plan left a glaring gap where he was concerned. Initially Aoshi and he were supposed to storm the palace with the Oniwabanshu while Takasugi commanded the army outside the gates. Sanosuke would clear a way for the main army to enter the city and Enishi would assume responsibility for the campaign in the northern region of the city.
The plan was sound and flawless.
Or rather it had been sound and flawless. Until now. Not much had changed since he had left Kutoe but it was obvious to him that he couldn't see her being killed now. Being killed? He couldn't even bear to think of her getting injured as a result of their attack. And he couldn't change the plan or Shishou would slaughter him and leave his bones out for the dogs. What a mess! And if it weren't enough, Aoshi had been clucking around him like a mother hen for days, voicing disapproval whenever he got half the chance.
He closed his eyes and her face swam into view. He frowned but didn't open his eyes. The dream was too beautiful to shatter by letting the light of day into his eyes. It was better to sit still and simply soak in the light of her eyes. Eyes that sparkled, that invited him to gaze at them, eyes that laughed at him, told him he was being silly, eyes that held the promise of fervour, of passion, of joy. What could I not do for those eyes? The smile disappeared form his face. What wouldn't I give to have you?
Her face crumpled away as his eyes fluttered open against his will. Aoshi had returned. It was time to go.
Kenshin swore under his breath.
What the hell am I going to do?
Misao backed away slowly. She dropped the stone in her hand. It clattered on the pavement. Bits and pieces broke away from it and it rolled into a crevice on the ground. She placed a hand on her chest in an attempt to steady her breathing. Her heart was beating wildly. She could feel the swooping movement of the blood in her veins as it raced in an unsteady rhythm. Her back hit the wall, and she slid down till she was sitting on the ground.
There was no doubt left. The man was dead. Perhaps she hadn't timed the stroke right, perhaps she hadn't hit at the proper angle or perhaps she hadn't counted upon the drug being ineffective on this man. When he had begun to tear at her clothes, when he slapped her, she knew she had only one chance at escaping his clutches. So she swung with everything she had….and killed him.
A man was dead, and she had killed him.
She hugged her knees to her chest. It was cold. She had never felt so cold. Her arms were stiff and her hands felt numb. She sat silently, completely still. She watched in quiet horror as blood slowly formed a pool under the man's head and began to seep into the grass on the ground. Misao retched and flung herself to the side. The bile rising in her throat was soon out on the street.
Shaking slightly, she rose to her feet. She wiped her mouth on her sleeve and began to move away from the man's body. She snuck out of the alley unseen, and briskly began to walk towards Thieves Quarter. Her knees knocked against each other as she tried to walk faster than she could run. Turning a corner, she finally lost her nerve and began to race down the street in a bid to get to Thieves Quarter before the guards found her. Murder was a first degree crime and the murder of an aristocrat was worthy of nothing less than a death sentence. The imperial guards would happily sentence her to death for it and probably be showered with praises over her corpse.
Misao ran wildly, stumbling on stones and gravel. As soon as she reached the unseen gates to Thieves Quarter, she heaved a cry of relief. She leaned against a wall and tied to catch her breath.
She saw the arrow just a second before it hit her arm with a dull thud. Her eyes widened and she screamed with pain. Her knees hit the ground and she buckled over, clutching her arm tightly. She breathed in short bursts. She clamped her teeth together to stop the screams from escaping her mouth. Her fingers gripped the shaft of the arrow and pulled it out. Dropping it on the ground, she clamped her fingers around the punctured hole wedged in her arm by the arrow. Raising her eyes, she saw two men poised on the wall in front of her. One of the men was kneeling on the wall, the other stood beside him, holding a crossbow. They both had streaks of blue painted on their right cheekbone, signifying their status as warders of Thieves Quarter.
The warders are the thieves who guard Thieves Quarter from the imperial guards and other civilians who might unintentionally stray into Thieves Quarter. They make the unwritten laws of the labyrinth where criminals and the destitute make their home and guard it against the control of the outside world. One of those rules includes not harbouring murderers.
If they were blocking her path inside, she was in greater trouble than she had thought. She sucked the roof of her mouth, trying to get some moisture onto her tongue so that she could speak.
But before she could say a word, they broke the silence.
"You cannot enter Makimachi."
"But why?" She croaked.
"You killed an aristocrat. The imperial guards will demand entry if we give you shelter. We cannot sacrifice our peace for one thief."
"But, he tried to ….he was going to rape me. I didn't mean to kill him. I was trying to defend myself!"
The men exchanged a brief glance before turning back to look at her. Misao waited. The eyes that stared back at her were empty.
"We bear you no ill will. But we cannot shield you against the imperial guards. We can only ask that you leave."
"But where will I go? This is my home."
"It is your home no longer. You must leave. The guards are on their way. Someone saw you leave that alley with blood on your hands. There is no safe place for you in this city now."
"Where can I go then…" She was not allowed to finish her sentence. Even as she spoke, an arrow flew out of the crossbow to land at her feet. She scrambled to her feet. A second arrow whizzed past her cheek. Misao turned and ran. She ran blindly, not looking where she was going, only aware of the fact that she had to leave the city, and leave the only place that she had known as home.
Two pairs of eyes watched as she ran further and further away from the city that had once given her life, and was now prepared to give her death.
Shishio tipped his sword down and gently swept his fingers along the edge of the blade. He held the sword up to inspect his handiwork for a few seconds. Not satisfied with what he saw, he dipped his fingers into a small cup at his side and repeated the process. His fingers moved more slowly this time. By the time he finished coating both sides of the blade, the sword was coated with more than just oil. The blade was painfully sharp and not above shedding the blood of its own master. But he seemed not to bother. He cleaned his hands. Gripping the blade between his forefinger and thumb, he placed it on his knees and deftly screwed it back to the hilt of the sword.
An attendant quietly removed the cup from his side. A second attendant whispered something softly in his ears. He turned to face the boy standing at the entrance of the room.
"Soujirou. I heard you were out hunting."
Soujirou knelt on the floor in front of his liege lord. He rested his elbow on one knew and bent his head.
"I was, Lord."
"Did you catch what you sought?"
"No Lord. I am afraid I failed. I have failed you."
Shishio glanced at his protégé and shook his head slightly. Sheathing his sword, he placed it beside him, and then turned to look at the boy once more.
"There is a time to blame yourself for failing at a task Soujirou. And there is a time for beating yourself up over it but, fortunately for you, that time is not today. On your feet. I will forgive you for letting an enemy loose in my city but what I will not forgive is that morose look on your face on the eve of battle. I expect greatness from you Soujirou. And I will not be disappointed."
Soujirou let loose the breath he had been holding since he last spoke. He raised his head and looked directly at Shishio. The expression in his eyes was the same as always. The same abstract emotion was floating in his eyes.
Expectation.
He nodded and stood up. Shishio could not help feeling a burst of pride whenever he looked at Soujirou. Soujirou was the living example of his belief in the strength of one's soul and will. As young as he was, he possessed the wisdom and the skill of swordsmen many years his senior. Even Saitou had been impressed by Soujirou's prowess with the sword. He could hardly wait for the battle to begin now. He couldn't wait to see the baffled looks on the faces of the Kutoe warriors when they would be faced with Soujirou. Soujirou was a law unto himself.
Soujirou smiled. "You needn't worry on that account Lord. I will not disappoint you." Shishio nodded in response. He had a map of Kansan stretched out in front of him. He beckoned Soujirou to come closer. Soujirou seated himself beside him and listened attentively.
"Taking into account your information about intruders in the city I expect we may be attacked any minute now. We have done all that we can to ensure the safety of our people inside the walls of the city. The walls cannot be broken. However, if we have the enemy inside our walls, we will have to rethink our plan."
Soujirou nodded in quiet assent. Shishio frowned. He pursed his lips and stared at the map for many moments in silent contemplation. Soujirou waited patiently. Finally, Shishio looked up.
"I have decided. Soujirou, will you recognize those men again if you see them?"
"Yes I believe I will," Soujirou replied after a while.
"I think they may still be inside the city. They will aim to penetrate the palace but we must not allow them to do that. We will draw them out here," he pointed at a spot on the map, "you and Okita will ambush them and prevent them from gaining any ground beyond this line."
They were ready.
Okita stared at the ceiling. He lay on the floor of his room, his head resting on his hands. He struck the wooden floor repeatedly with his foot. His restlessness was wearing him out. The confrontation with Kamatari yesterday had soured his mood. He had been distracted all day, alternating between anger, indignation and utter disbelief at Kamatari's cavalier attitude regarding Kaoru. He was acting as though war and battle was like a walk in the garden. The man was a crazed individual. He had actually had the gall to ask him what was wrong with Kaoru joining the battle.
He rolled over and sat up. Men fought for what was precious and sacred to them. They didn't let their treasures out in the open to be preyed upon by the enemy. Only a man with no honour and no self-respect to speak of would allow his betrothed to be left vulnerable to such danger. He couldn't even begin to comprehend what Kamatari was thinking of talking like that.
He sighed.
There was a knock on the door. He looked up in surprise. It was past the time when most of the residents of the palace had retired. He was expecting no guests. He called out an invitation to enter almost reluctantly. It had been a long day. He had spent almost all of it sparring with his sensei, and his muscles were a bit sore. He had a niggling feeling that it was Kamatari. He hoped he was wrong. He was in no frame of mind to humour his amour's insane uncle at the moment.
The door slid aside to reveal the smiling face of Soujirou. Okita unwittingly raised his eyebrows. Soujirou was Shishio's protégé. He was the only person who was allowed to address him as merely 'Lord'. Okita had been around enough nobles to know that Soujirou's close proximity to the king was widely resented. Personally, he found the man quite amiable and a lot more complicated than he was given credit for. He would make a good friend and a deadly enemy. Okita was glad that Soujirou seemed to like him and had extended a firm hand of friendship towards him, an overture that had deepened since his engagement to Kaoru. Whether or not he truly was a friend or was merely adding Okita to a list of people important to him, by virtue of his relationship with Kaoru, was something he hadn't yet figured out.
Soujirou blinked and looked at Okita quizzically. "Have I come at an inconvenient time? Were you expecting someone else? " he asked, looking out into the hallway carefully.
Okita shook his head. "No. Nothing of that sort. I was just surprised to see you here."
"I was feeling a bit edgy. I came looking for a fight. Would you be so kind as to oblige me?"
Okita rolled his eyes. "The last time I obliged you, I nearly lost my head. I intend to stay in one piece before the fighting starts. You're going to have to knock someone else's door." Okita smirked. "Kamatari's maybe."
Soujirou opened his eyes wide. "Oh dear. What has he said to you now?"
Okita shook his head. "The man has lost his mind. He's made a bow and arrow for Kaoru with which to fight in the war. I just don't understand him. On one hand he'll be going ballistic about how much he loves her and then he goes and pulls something like this!"
Soujirou smiled. He leaned against the door. "He knows what he's doing Okita."
"The hell he does. Are you alright with this?" He asked Soujirou incredulously. Soujirou shrugged.
"Kaoru's a lot stronger than you realise. She regularly beat me black and blue when we were children."
"This is different Soujirou."
Soujirou bit back his response. He didn't want to intrude in what was a personal matter between Okita and Kaoru. This was something they would have to sort out themselves. He couldn't interfere. That would be incredibly uncouth and presumptuous of him. So he held his peace.
A light prattle at the window caught his attention. Okita walked over to the window. A small pebble lay just beyond the windowsill. He stared at it quizzically. A second pebble sailed through the window. Okita held a hand out and deftly caught it. He looked out. His face lit up with a dazzling smile as he saw the person standing under his window, looking up at him.
"Kaoru!" He exclaimed. He leaned out the window. "What are you doing down there?"
A naughty smile spread over her features. She grinned. "Admiring the view."
It was only then that Okita realized that he was not wearing his gi. It had been hot, so he'd taken it off. He smiled and fought back a blush. He bit his lip slightly.
"Why are you out so late?" He looked up and down the garden path where she was standing, clearly waiting for him. Soujirou discreetly excused himself and slid the door shut. He hummed softly to himself as he walked away from the lovers.
Kaoru smiled. "Have you ever seen Kansan at night? It's magical."
"I thought nobody left the palace at night."
"What! Oh my innocent darling," She placed her hand on her heart and pouted. "They have tricked you. Kansan is at its most beautiful at night." She spread her arms wide open.
Okita laughed. "I see," he ducked out of sight and returned, wearing a gi. "Should I come by the hallway like a civilised human being or should I just jump down the window?"
"We are creatures of the night my love, mischievous and unpredictable." She winked at him.
Okita grinned as he put one foot on the window sill, ready to catapult himself out of the room. "The window it is then."
He landed nimbly beside her. She smiled and linked her fingers with his. She leaned over and lightly pressed her lips to his. Before he could capture her mouth with his lips, she pulled away. Laughing, she pulled him by the arm and led him out into the city. There would never be another time to show him just what Kansan was. Kaoru wanted him to fall in love with the city as madly as he had fallen for her.
She took him through the meandering streets of the night bazaar, taking in all the sights and sounds of all Konan as it was represented by the traders and farmers that had come to the capital for the festival. Okita was enthralled by the madness, the rampant colour and the vigour of the city.
Perhaps they were too engrossed in the sights or each other's company, that they didn't even notice the vigilant eyes that watched them from the moment they had emerged from the palace. The eyes blazed with anger and jealousy as they watched Okita beside her, holding her, grasping her fingers, sometimes dropping a light kiss on her fingers as they wandered.
Kenshin burned with a passion he had never known before. The only thing he could think of was to kill the man beside her, rip him apart with his bare hands, burn his body and stamp out his existence. He wanted to pull her away from him, to drown her with kisses, to erase all signs of him from her body, her mind, her soul. He hissed. She was his. Nobody, nobody had a right to be with her, to drink in her smiles, to touch her, to be held in her eyes like that. Nobody but him. He felt his blood rush and his veins heat up as his eyes slowly turned indigo flecked with gold. He was burning for blood. His blood.
He suddenly broke out of his thoughts when he heard her laughter. It was like the tinkle of silver bells on a breezy day. She was holding a cup of sake and talking ecstatically to the shopkeeper, while the man leaned toward her listening carefully. Kenshin leaned against the wall, content to simply watch her. For now. Suddenly she stood up and dragged the man beside her out of the shop, as if she had just remembered something. The shopkeeper called out after them and waved.
Kenshin stepped forward hesitantly. He came and stood at the table she had been sitting at just a minute ago. He gently picked up her sake cup and held it up to his eyes. His eyes widened. He could make out the imprint from her lips on the cup. He lowered it. Gazing thoughtfully at the cup, he envisioned her lips once more. Soft, pink, parted in thirst, softly sipping the wine from the delicate porcelain. One beautiful creation for one another. He gripped the cup tightly and slowly brought it to his lips. The porcelain felt cool against his heated lips. The sake spread against the roof of his mouth. He tasted a whiff of something else as well, something that hadn't been in the sake when it was poured out of the bottle.
Lowering the cup from his lips, he shuddered slightly. He gripped the cup once more but this time, in rage. He flung the cup across the room. It shattered against the wall into a hundred pieces. Kenshin touched his lips gingerly with his fingers. He needed to find that taste again. Clenching his hands into fists, he left the shop and stalked of in search of Aoshi.
There was no more time to be lost. They were going to start this tonight.
Author's Notes
This took me a long time to write. I know that and I'm sorry but certain circumstances got in the way. Circumstances like:
Deciding whether or not to write about Tomoe in this chapter. I decided ultimately, and consequently she's not here.
Same problem with Enishi and a new character, but I solved that by figuring too much is going on anyway, we can hold Enishi, Tomoe and the new person for next time.
Real life.
Writing Soujirou, which can be a pain in the derriere. Honestly.
Please review!
Passes around a plate of double chocolate cookies.
