Last updated: 3/29/14

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Broken Palace
By: Angela Jewell
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Disclaimer: Didn't own them then, don't own them now . . . pity.

As always, special thanks go out to my wonderful reviewers! Flameraven1, pahlee, pursemonger, rage98, ToraHimeSama, Armichi, Guest, meow, Minako-chan4, linkgold64, AkaneKagome, Jachien, Teddy's Circus, ilkane, KaChan84, kAwAii-OnLiNe, Last Knight Errant, and BobV.

I can't begin to tell you how much you all inspire me! ^_^

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Chapter 14
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Tatewaki Kuno, beloved ruler of the great empire of Yokohama, stood at the bow of his ship, looking majestic and valiant and every bit his kingly self. Few, however, could truly fathom the anguish secretly rending his soul asunder, for beneath that cool and calm façade lay only emptiness; a pale shadow of what was once glorious perfection.

Even to smile now pained him.

The loss of his beloved had grayed his countenance and stolen away his mirth, leaving him bleak and inconsolable, with everything around him serving only to compound his misery rather than abate it. By nature, Kuno considered himself a happy, jolly king; full of patience and wisdom. But now his mind and heart were filled with one thought and one thought only—the impending rescue of his shanghaied fiancée.

Who knew what crass depravity the terrible beast had devised for his beloved Akane; what terror and helplessness she must be suffering at the lout's foul hands. Only knowledge of his love's playful aloofness and strong sense of maidenly virtue helped to ease his troubled mind, leaving righteous fury for her captor smoldering in its place.

The boor would pay dearly for this affront! Of this, Kuno vowed.

But until the time came when he could properly mete out justice, the Mighty Blue Thunder of Yokohama could do naught but stand firm and wait, his poor heart heavy with the weight of his worry. Only the mystical sea, and it alone, seemed privy to his pain and capable of affording him comfort. Though once wild and unruly—a fearsome beast which nearly destroyed his first ship, significantly delaying their second departure—it bowed before him now like a loving plebian paying him homage; calm and docile as it carried him towards Sapporo and onwards towards his love.

Though Kuno knew little of what awaited him on the accursed island beyond, still, he felt no fear. After all, the very gods themselves had seen fit to reward his heroics—and with lady luck by his side who could hope to defeat him? At the thought, a roguish smile graced his handsome face, and he touched his hallowed sword in an unconscious gesture, taking comfort in the small act.

Discovering the location of his stolen love may have cost him his second wish, but one wish still remained, and in the battle to come, Kuno was certain he'd have no cause to use it. Not when some brutish love-sick fool, bewitched by his beloved's beauty and strength of spirit, could hardly be considered a worthy foe. His very prowess alone should be enough to manage the likes of such a loathsome cad!

Why, Kuno could picture his daring rescue now. . .

Akane, his goddess, trembling on the bed, scantily-clad as her captor loomed over her, dark eyes brimming with ill-intent. But before the uncouth beast could lay a hand upon her ivory skin, Kuno would appear, sword in hand, looking heartrendingly dashing. With his vastly superior sword skill he'd smite his opponent, bringing the loathsome cur to his knees in one fell swoop—leaving naught but a curse upon those most foul of lips. With the villain soundly beaten and victory assured, sweet Akane would run into Kuno's arms, tears shimmering, ruby lips trembling . . . and as he bent down to claim his prize at last, she'd say those three glorious words. . .

"Your tea, Sire. . ."

Kuno froze, lips still pursed. Slowly, he opened one eye to see his manservant standing before him, tea held out by hands that were visibly shaking. The young king tried to pretend he hadn't noticed the embarrassed way in which the tall, sallow-faced man seemed to be avoiding his gaze, and clearing his throat, attempted to reclaim his dignity once more.

"Yes, well, very good," he said as he took the proffered cup with a haughty air. To prove how unaffected he was, he took a slow, languid sip; determined to show he was in no hurry to release his retainer. Once confident his point had been made, he placed the cup back on its serving dish, and waved a careless hand in dismissal. "You may go now, Gosunkugi."

As expected, his servant gave a hasty bow, and then scurried away like the peon he was. Kuno watched him go, then cast a furtive glance around the deck, careful to make sure no other servants were lingering about—waiting to prove him a fool. As far as he could tell, they too were in fear of his wrath, and were wisely choosing to stay out of sight or far below deck.

Feeling secure over their collective meekness, Kuno turned back towards the sea, allowing himself to get lost in its majesty once more. This time however, peace refused to find him. As always his thoughts soon returned to his beautiful but headstrong fiancée—his musings, for once, free of their usual fancy.

Though he was loath to admit it, for a while now, he'd been growing weary. Her continued rebuffs of his advances were not only tiresome, but disconcerting as well. After all, he was a rich, brilliant, handsome, powerful king! There was nothing about him NOT to adore!

And so, though it puzzled him, like a true chevalier he had been patient and blithe with her; hoping that with time, he could eventually win her favor and prove his worth. Now, however, his fortitude was waning. Five years had passed, and his beloved's heart remained as inflexible as ever; nothing he tried had been able to sway her to his side, despite every concerted effort on his part.

Finally he found himself at his wits end. Agreeable or no, he saw no other option before him: Once they returned to Yokohama, Kuno was determined to have her as his proper wife and lover, as was his right.

The thought, though difficult, did indeed bring a smile to his face—the anticipation and longing making the blood within him boil, warming him to his very core.

For truly, had he not waited long enough?

Of course, he was no heathen . . . if possible, Kuno would've preferred to court her properly; with all the patience and prestige of his pedigree. But in the end his beloved's resistance had left him no viable alternative—only a fool would continue down a path that leads to ruin, and Kuno did not fancy himself a fool.

And so, though it pained him greatly . . . months ago, he'd been forced to use his first wish.

Nothing so crass as coercing her affections—he was no common beast, after all, and why waste such a precious commodity, when her love would be given freely with time? No, his wish was meant to simply give her a push in the right direction, to assure his victory in their silly little marriage-joust; an agreement he had long since come to detest. Not because he couldn't defeat her without its help . . . but because his strong sense of moral fiber had made him incapable of hitting a woman, even one as strong and as passionate as his sweet Akane. And though his wish had solved one problem, it had also compounded another.

Following her defeat, his beloved had wept; each heartrending sob filled with utter anguish.

Once again, Kuno had been forced to confront the truth . . . that after all these years, after dedicating himself completely to their happy future—Akane's heart still yearned for Ranma Saotome, her erstwhile fiancé.

He had read it himself in her letter so many years ago, delivered by his new retainer, Gosunkugi. With sweet abandon and woe, the princess had poured her heart and soul into every stoke of ink—and like a flame, reignited by a spark—Kuno had felt his broken and battered heart begin to beat soundly once more.

Though his love for Ranko had ended in tragedy . . . he had made a solemn vow that horrid, dismal night not to lose this love as well.

With the Saotomes banished, and Nerima vulnerable, he thought it would be easy . . . yet somehow the coward had bewitched her heart and soul, and nothing—not time, devotion, or love—seemed capable of relinquishing it from his dastardly grip.

Very soon though, once they were properly wed and the extent of his love proven, Kuno was certain she'd forget her ex-fiancé at long last and come to him freely and gladly. Until that time, however, he could do naught but bravely persevere, trusting in fate to deliver her into his loving embrace once more.

And if her heart remained immoveable . . . well then, he knew of another way.

Running a hand over the hilt of his sword, Kuno allowed a look of determination to cross his noble brow.

Wishes, after all, always came in threes.

Ranma watched Akane out of the corner of his eye.

So far, the walk back to his room had been filled with silence; a silence so thick, it was almost palpable. Yet every time he opened his mouth to apologize, the words stuck in his throat, refusing to come. As a man, and as the transgressor, he knew it was his responsibility to make the first move—to apologize for his actions, and get everything out in the open once and for all. But as always, he was afraid of putting his foot in his mouth—of screwing things up even further, or worse, unintentionally endangering Akane more than she already was.

Part of the problem, he realized, was that Akane was headstrong and stubborn. If he told her everything he knew, she'd want to butt in and help take down Happosai right along with him . . . something Ranma had no intention of letting happen. This was his problem to solve, not hers—no way was he gonna let her be put in even more danger, not when it was his fault she was even here in the first place.

Which was why the decision to play dumb and keep his mouth shut came easily—the kidnapping, his refusal to believe her, his crew's betrayal—all of that he could make up for later . . . once Happosai was safely six feet under.

But one thing couldn't wait.

What Happosai had done to Ranko—to his sister—he had nearly done to Akane. The thought made him feel sick, and he had no idea how to atone for it. If she hadn't froze up like she did. . . if he hadn't stopped. . .

Ranma took a ragged breath, unable to finish that last thought. In just five years he'd become a monster. Far as he could tell, he was no better than Happosai . . . and that was one burden Ranma refused to carry another minute.

This, if nothing else, he had to fix.

With his mind made up, Ranma stopped and grabbed Akane's arm, bringing them both to a sudden halt. Akane, a few steps ahead of him now, turned back to look at him in surprise. "What's wrong?" she asked, sounding genuinely confused. Not that he blamed her. They were in the middle of the hallway, no doors or rooms in sight.

Releasing her arm, Ranma looked down at the floor, and took several deep breaths as he tried to steady his nerves. Finally, he looked up at her, and in a voice filled with conviction, ordered: "Hit me." To prove he was serious, he quickly squeezed his eyes shut and waited.

Akane, still no less confused, stared at him quietly but made no effort to move. Before long, the repentant martyr, growing impatient, opened one eye to see what the holdup was all about. To his irritation, Akane was just standing there, doing nothing. "Well, what are you waiting for?" he complained, frustrated that his sacrifice wasn't being taken seriously enough. "I promise not to fight back, so hurry up and hit me already!"

Narrowing her eyes, Akane crossed her arms defiantly. "And why should I?" She asked him, her voice wry. "I'm not about to hit you just because you order me to, dummy."

Ranma had to forcefully tamp down his anger and frustration. Here she was, with a million good reasons to beat him to a bloody pulp, and she was choosing NOW, of all times, to be dense and self-righteous about it?! How uncute could she be?

Though Ranma had planned to grovel after the beating, now he found his pride intervening on his behalf. "You should be grateful, you know," he said at last, crossing his arms against his chest so he was mirroring her stance perfectly. "I mean, come on, Akane. . . normally you wouldn't be able to touch me with a ten-foot pole, but here I am, giving you a free shot, no strings attached. If you had any brains at all, you'd take advantage of the offer while you still can. It's not like I don't deserve it."

"Whether you deserve it or not isn't the point," she protested. "Normal people don't beg to be hit for no reason, Ranma. Something's obviously bothering you and I want to know what it is." As if to confirm her suspicions, Ranma looked away guiltily, saying nothing, and Akane frowned, annoyed by the force of his resistance . . . until another thought occurred to her, one that made his silence seem a lot more reasonable. She stared at him, unsure whether she should feel hopeful or terrified at what she was about to ask. . .

"Ranma. . . you didn't . . . you didn't hear something back there? Did you. . .?"

Panicking, Ranma waved his hands in the air frantically, his face pale. "N-no, of course not, Akane! Not by any stretch of the imagination!" At his manic response, Akane didn't look convinced, but then Ranma added quickly, desperately, "Why? I mean, is there something back there I should have heard?"

Now it was Akane's turn to pale as she forced a laugh. "Nope. Nothing," she said, lying through her teeth. Ranma smirked, somehow feeling better now that shewas the one in the hot seat. But then, guiltily, he remembered why they were having this conversation in the first place.

Damn, he was an ass. The last thing he wanted was to start lying to her again. Wouldn't it defeat the whole purpose of apologizing?

Actively avoiding her gaze now, Ranma came to a decision. Telling her the truth—well, okay, a fraction of the truth—wouldn't kill him.

"Alright, look. Back on the ship . . . what I did, what I almost did, there's no excuse, Akane. I know you slapped me, and I apologized and all, but it doesn't feel like enough, you know? I mean, I—I've been thinking a lot, and if . . . if Ranko, if sheknew what I. . ." Guilt-ridden and disgusted, Ranma paused, finding it difficult to go on, and when he finally continued, it was in a less than steady voice. "Any punishment you want to give me, I'll take, Akane. I owe you that much—at least that much."

"Ranma. . ." Akane whispered.

"So . . . you can hit me now," he told her, his voice raw. "As many times as you want, till you're satisfied or whatever. Just . . . forgive me . . . okay?" Without waiting for a reply, he closed his eyes tightly once more and stood there, awaiting his deserved pummeling.

Akane watched him, so many thoughts running through her head as he continued to stand there expectantly, and something in her gut twisted painfully. For a moment, it was like she was looking at Ranko again—the gesture so familiar, so unexpected. After one of their many fights, guilt-ridden, how many times had Ranko demanded the same thing?

Now it really hit her . . . how alike the two of them really were.

Her friend may be dead, but Ranma was still here, and she'd do anything—anything—to protect him.

Thinking that, her eyes began to burn, the pressure behind them building. Blinking furiously, Akane silently commanded herself not to cry—yet, the harder she tried to hold them back, the sharper the sting. Stupid Ranma—she'd been trying to avoid this—but now she couldn't help but think of Happosai, about Ranko, about the task ahead; the burden so heavy, it threatened to pull her under.

And Ranma stood there oblivious, wondering what the hell was taking so long.

Didn't she know how hard it was for him to admit all that? Uncute didn't even begin to describe her! When Akane still showed no signs of cooperating, he opened his eyes angrily, at his wits end. "Dammit, tomboy, hurry up—" And suddenly found himself pushed up against the wall, though not exactly for the reason he'd been expecting.

Akane was in his arms, hugging him very, very tightly.

That in itself wasn't so bad . . . until he realized that her shoulders were shaking, and she was sobbing quietly against the front of his shirt.

For a moment, Ranma panicked—what the hell had he done wrong this time? She was SUPPOSED to be hitting him and releasing her anger, not crying and making him feel worse! "H-hey, you okay?" he asked, as he began to pat her awkwardly on the back, desperate to do something comforting, no matter how idiotic it made him look. And he was pretty sure he looked extra idiotic now.

But even so, Akane nodded against him, though she still didn't move a muscle. Ranma, convinced he must be doing something right then, felt himself growing braver. More self-assured this time, he placed his arms around her too, hugging her back—though still careful not to hold her too tightly. It seemed to help, and he could tell she was winding down; after a while, her tears lessened, until finally they stopped altogether.

Ranma gazed down at her, a soft look entering his eyes. "Geez, wouldn't hitting me have been easier," he teased, though still in no great hurry to let her go.

Akane shook her head this time, and when she finally lifted her head to look at him, it was to reward him with a shy smile. "Thanks, Ranma," she whispered. "I think I really needed that."

Briefly, he allowed a small, hopeful smile to cross his face. "Feeling better then?"

She nodded, and wiped the remaining tears away with a steady hand. "Yup, much."

"Heh. Liar," he said softly, as he brushed away a strand of hair that had stuck itself to her tear-stained face. "The tomboy I know wouldn't turn down a chance to kick the snot out of someone just because she needed a good cry. If you decide you need a punching bag after all, my offer still stands you know."

Akane laughed. Oddly enough, his offer did make her feel better. Still, there was only one person she intended to use as a punching bag, and it wasn't Ranma. "Thanks, but I'm okay," she told him, and at his skeptical look, she added with mock-annoyance, "Really, I am. So stop acting all nice, Ranma. It's weird."

Ranma never got a chance to reply. Before he could even open his mouth, a loud, harsh voice suddenly exploded from behind them.

"Excuse me! Am I interruptingsomethinghere?"

At the familiar sound of Ukyo's voice, Ranma barely budged, but the girl in his arms wasn't so indifferent. Sensing the glare-of-death aimed directly at her back, she quickly stepped away from him, blushing like mad as she realized the intimate scene they must have presented. Dropping his arms, Ranma frowned in annoyance –suddenly feeling the loss of something he wanted very, very badly to feel again.

Ukyo, across the room, didn't seem to care. It had taken her very little time to process the situation and deem an emergency intervention was in order. Stalking up to Ranma, she grabbed his arm possessively—ignoring the annoyed, angry glare he threw her way—and turned to Akane with an extra wide smile. "Mind if I steal him away for a bit, sugar?"

Without waiting for a reply, she threw an insincere "thanks" over her shoulder, and started dragging a protesting Ranma down the hallway behind her, anxious to put some distance between him and the scheming hussy.

Ranma, annoyed at being led around like a damn dog, pulled his arm out of Ukyo's grasp. "Jeez, what's this all about Ucchan? I'm in a hurry here."

Thinking of the cozy little scene she'd just witnessed, Ukyo's jaw tightened. It was VERY clear now why he was in such a hurry—even standing before her like he was, close enough to touch, he couldn't seem to stop staring at the princess; his once harsh gaze, now almost gentle as he watched her. The sight made her feel sick and panicked all at once—like a vise was slowly gripping and squeezing her heart.

A few minor transgressions Ukyo could learn to live with—after all, a man as virile as Ranma was expected to stray every now and then. But—but, if he actually loved her. . .

A sudden irrational fear took hold, and Ukyo grabbed hold, no longer caring why she had tracked him down in the first place. "Well. . . looks like the two of you managed to patch things up rather quickly," she observed snidely, before adding with a heavy dose of petulance, "Getting a head-start on the wedding already, are we?"

"So that's what you dragged me over here for?" Ranma demanded, eyes wide in disbelief. "To give me some damn lecture on my love life? Dammit, Ukyo—I didn't say I was busy for the hell of it, you know. Bitch about this later. I gotta go."

As he turned to leave, Ukyo's hand shot out and she grabbed his wrist, bringing him to a sudden stop. "That's not why I came," she told him quickly. "I was just talking with your mother, Ranma. That's why I'm here. Ever since she heard about Happosai's plan and your marriage, she's been going ballistic. As soon as she learned you were back, she demanded to speak to you, and I promised to take you to her."

Ranma cursed under his breath, knowing full well that "no" was not a valid option when dealing with his mother. Still, an unexpected detour was the last thing he needed. He had enough crap to take care of already, and talking to his mother about Akane and his marriage—if there was even going to be a marriage after what he'd found out—hadn't come close to cracking that list. Not to mention, it would be too dangerous to bring Akane anywhere near her.

Besides, he really needed to talk to his old man. Hoping he could kill two birds with one stone, he turned back to Ukyo. "I don't suppose Pops is there by any chance?" he asked, though he knew better than to hope.

As expected, Ukyo shook her head. "Sorry, hon. Haven't seen him since we got back, though he's probably in the fields training. If you're in a hurry to talk to 'em though, I'd be happy to take the princess off your hands—it's not like you can take her with you." If his mother saw her, there would definitely be trouble. Then, realizing what that meant, Ukyo added a bit excitedly, "Of course, you're more than welcome to try!"

Ranma sighed, knowing that wasn't an option. But if he didn't go see his mother soon, she'd turn the entire castle upside down searching for him . . . and until he talked to his father, flying under the radar was kinda the only part of his plan. He knew he had to face her now rather than risk potential disaster later on.

Which just left Akane.

Could he really trust her with Ukyo? At the moment, he didn't trust anyone, least of all some jealous girl who had more reason than anyone to see the princess dead. But dammit—he didn't trust Akane on her own either. Who knew what dumb and dangerous things she'd do if left to her own devices—what if he came back later, only to find she'd gone after Happosai? If Konatsu were here to watch her, or Akari and Katsunishiki, it'd be perfect. At least none of them had stupid crushes on him, and could actually be trusted.

The real question then, was whether or not Ukyo was better than no one. If given the opportunity, would she do something stupid like Shampoo and Kodachi?

He liked to think Ukyo was more sane and trustworthy. She had saved his life after all, and had earned his loyalty and trust, just as he had earned hers. If nothing else, normally, she was smart enough not to intentionally piss him off. But he also knew, that lately, her obsession with him was bordering on the extreme—and Ranma, more than anyone, knew the crazy kinda things love made people do. Was he really willing to risk it?

Did he really have a choice?

As he stood here like an idiot, debating with himself, time was wasting away . . . and so was the element of surprise. The quicker he got this over with, the better.

In reality, the decision had been made the moment Ukyo had offered to step in; Ranma just hadn't realized it yet. Turning to his colleague, he tried to look as firm and as intimidating as possible—a feat that was almost too easy, considering all the practice he'd recently had. "Fine, I'll leave her with you, Ukyo—but on one condition. Soon as I'm gone, she's YOUR responsibility, got it? If anything—and I mean anything happens to her while I'm away, it'll be yourhead I go after. Understand?"

Ukyo, feeling the weight of his warning, slowly nodded her head. "Sure, Ran-chan. She'll be safe with me. I promise."

"Good, 'cause I'm not joking. If she's hurt, Ukyo, you're dead—life-debt or no."

The words were razor-sharp and stung, but she nodded her head, and swore again, this time with more gravity.

Ranma, feeling a little better now, released a heavy sigh; happy to tick off the very first item on his suddenly large to-do list. Once he crossed off "Kill Happosai" he'd be golden. "I'll be back as soon as I can, so for now, just take her back to my room and wait."

"Your room?" Ukyo asked, suddenly distraught. "Happosai has a room all ready for her. Shouldn't I be taking her there?"

"No," Ranma replied, and added dangerously, "and I don't want him to know where she is, got it? If he comes snooping around, lie. Don't let him anywhere near her." He didn't need to add "or else"; Ukyo read it loud and clear.

Without another word, he headed back towards Akane, followed closely by a quietly stewing Ukyo. As they approached, he noticed the tomboy watching them closely, obviously curious over what they'd been talking about. When they reached her, Ranma decided it was only fair not to leave her in suspense. "I gotta run and take care of some stuff, Akane, so Ukyo's gonna take you to my place and watch you for a bit."

Akane frowned and glanced nervously at Ukyo, who looked no less hostile than before. "Are you sure I can't come with you instead?" she asked.

This time, when Ranma shook his head, it was with honest regret. "I'm going to see my parents, Akane. You understand, right?"

Akane visibly deflated at that bit of news, but nodded her head anyway. They still thought she killed their daughter—it wasn't hard to figure out why they might not want to see her.

"Look, I'll be back as soon as I can, but until then, just stay by Ukyo, and try not to get into trouble, okay? Better yet, sleep. I'm sure you could use it." She acknowledged that with a weary smile, and Ranma thought maybe his luck was finally changing—maybe she was human and needed a day to rest after all. Next, he turned to Ukyo, a touch of warning in his voice. "Remember what we talked about. Don't let me down."

"Yeah, yeah," she muttered irritably, tired of being talked to like she was an incompetent three-year-old. "I'll protect your dear fiancée with my life. It'll be great."

Ranma let her sarcasm slide; he figured she was probably entitled to it. "Alright then, I'm off." Glancing once more at Akane, he hesitated only a moment, and tried to sound reassuring. "I'll be right back, 'Kane. I promise."

She gave him a brave nod and a supportive smile, and Ranma finally felt like he was doing the right thing. Feeling better, he took off for his parents room at a run . . . and with every step he took, his feet and heart both felt lighter.

And why wouldn't they? Once he found his father, they could start planning Happosai's demise . . . and that would make anyone feel like they were walking on air.

Akane knew the walk to Ranma's room was going to be an uncomfortable one, but that didn't stop her from trying to lighten the mood anyway.

"So . . . this place seems nice and cozy. Have you lived here long?"

Ukyo answered with a glare and kept right on walking.

Akane, not having expected a response to begin with, shrugged it off and followed quietly behind; silently cursing her misfortune. Had she been stuck here with anyone else she was certain she could've gleaned something useful—about Sapporo, the castle, or even Happosai himself. But getting anything useful out of this one was like trying to draw gold instead of water from a well.

Sighing softly, she went back to studying the familiar stone walls they continued to pass. Wasting time was no longer a luxury she could afford, so rather than brood, she tried to familiarize herself with the castle, knowing it would prove essential in planning her revenge against Happosai.

The halls themselves were all fundamentally the same—dark and gloomy, with few lanterns to light the way, and no decorations to speak of. Her earlier impression of a dungeon was proving more and more accurate the further they walked. And yet, every now and then she'd spot a stain on the floor, or a blight on the wall that could later serve as a marker.

Later she'd try to get Ranma to show her around. Maybe then he could give her some tips to make navigating the halls easier . . . unless he planned to keep her disoriented and confused like this forever. In that case, she'd have to get creative.

Turning another corner, she committed the direction to memory—and almost ran straight into Ukyo who had sucked in a deep breath and stopped abruptly. Akane peered over her shoulder, curious to see what had managed to startle the big bad guard. And sucked in a deep breath herself.

Before her, pacing in front of two large double oak doors . . . was Ranma's mother.

For a moment, Akane couldn't draw breath. Even more than the shock of seeing her so suddenly, was the fact that she looked so different, so much so, that she almost didn't recognize her. Not only was she painfully skinny and very pale, but her once beautiful auburn hair was shorn and streaked with shades of gray. And her bright blue eyes, so much like Ranma's own, were now sunken and lifeless, with barely a spark remaining of the kind, gentle woman who had smiled so often for her when she was a child.

But perhaps the biggest change of all was the large sword that was now strapped around her waist, nestled comfortably against her hip. Akane had to pause for a second and actually look twice. Auntie Nodoka had always abhorred swords—she claimed they were unladylike and improper, and had even forbidden Ranko from ever touching one.

But here she was, looking more like a battle-hardened warrior, than a lady of the court. Ukyo, beside her, recovered quickly and greeted her with a polite bow. "L—lady Nodoka! Ranma just went to your quarters to look for you."

Nodoka managed a small nod, but made no effort to move. The moment she'd spotted Akane, her eyes had widened, and her jaw had clenched—and suddenly, the air around them seemed much colder than normal. But just as suddenly she seemed to catch herself, and she began to smile—a slow, disturbing smile, that almost reached her eyes. Moving carefully, she took a small step towards them—gaze fixed firmly on Akane.

"Well, now, dear . . . how nice to see you again. It's been—what? Five years?"

Akane didn't know quite how to respond to that. The question seemed innocent enough . . . if not for the wild, manic look in her eyes when she'd asked it. At that moment, she couldn't help but wish Ranma were here instead of Ukyo: If anyone could handle his mother, HE could. But then she reprimanded herself, ashamed for even thinking it. She wasn't some damsel in distress, in need of some boy to rescue her at the first sign of trouble. She could handle Aunt Nodoka on her own just fine. After all, at one point, they had practically been family.

"H—hi, Auntie. You look well."

"So do you dear," she replied, almost cheerfully. "Let's remedy that problem, shall we?" Even before the words had left her mouth, she was reaching for her sword, that same unnerving smile in place as she drew it from its scabbard.

Akane froze as the sword came into view—not out of fear, at first, but something else. She stared, disbelieving, at the place on the hilt where the miniature insignia baring the Tendo family crest was carved, the like of which she hadn't seen in over five years. Last time, she'd taken it off the wall from behind its coat of arms, and brandished it against an opponent she had no chance of beating.

It was the same sword Happosai used to kill Ranko all those years ago—somehow, now, inexplicably held in Nodoka's strong, sturdy hands. Seeing Akane's hesitation and fear, she smiled even wider.

And spotting an opening, she struck.

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THE END
Chapter 14
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A/N: Sorry about posting this a day late! In case you didn't read on my profile page, I had issues with my flash-drive which delayed this chapter. On the plus side, this is the longest one yet, so hopefully that makes up for it. Also, my revamped website is in semi-working order now, but I still have a lot to fix/update.

Also, thanks, Compucles, for pointing out Nodoka's hair color. I've heard it described as brown and auburn (on the Ranma wiki page, they actually have it listed as brown); but I like the sound of auburn more, so I changed it, lol.