* Tokio and Hajime are products of history and Himura Kenshin is the product of
Nobuhiro Watsuki -- though I am choosing to use Watsuki-san's Saitou Hajime/Fujita
Gorou cause... have you SEEN the real dude *shudders*. I'm just adding my own twisted
mind into the messed up mix. Hmm, I think this is the perfect time for an "Oro?"
Ohohohohohohoho! ^_^v Well, enjoy!

* "I am the steel beneath the bloom," turning to him arrogantly, I faced him without
hesitation or fear. "Did you forget that...?"
Saitou Tokio was born into a world of prestige. Daughter of a wealthy daimyo,
and the descendant of an honorable family. In a time of shifting allegiances and
oncoming civil war, Tokio, living on the out-skirts of Kyoto will be embroiled in a
family conflict that will reflect the unrest of her beloved country. And with it, a
remarkable journey of a woman fighting to redeem justice and loyalty, even if it means
to discover a truth that might destroy everything that she had ever known and loved,
will begin. With it she will face the very test that will forge her into the woman
that will one day tame the Mibu no Ookami.


* Sensei - teacher(s)
* Haha - One's own mother
* Chichiue - One's own father (formal/polite way of Chichi)
* Ojiisama - Grandfather (extremely formal)
* Ookami - Wolf
* -nii - Older brother (informal/nickname)
* Kami - god(s)
* Samurai - elite class of warriors
* Daimyo - equivalent to lords, they own land and are served by loyal samurai. They
are also responsible for the peasants in the region/area that they "rule" over for the
shogun
* Katana - a great sword (same as a daito), mounted edge up
* Chibi - little
* Onna - woman
* Tanto - knife-sized, short sword (This same weapon is the one that Tomoe carries with
her in the OVA)
* Kunai - Small knife like projectiles that are thrown at targets. (This is Misao's
weapon of choice in both the manga and the anime)
* Geta - Sandals that were worn by women
* Shoji - A sliding door, composed of rice paper and set in a wooden frame.



A Daimyo's Daughter

In the wake of falling leaves,
Autumn brings the haunting song
Of change and death.

-- Takagi Tokio
( Her Personal Journals )

Early in the morning before dawn had yet arrived, I woke to the sound of steel
against wood. It is not a sound I am unaccustomed too being that Hajime had a horrible
habit of getting up before everyone else and practicing out in the wide yard in the
darkness just before dawn. Fate also was cruel enough to make me a light sleeper and
so I found myself peeking out of the slit I created as I sat down near my door,
breathing as softly as I could. Some may say that sometimes I treaded around Hajime as
if he was a bird more than a wolf, and the servants would laugh and gossip about it.
True, I always did feel that if I ever approached him without silent precaution he
would fly away in fear and leap out of my grasps to where I could not follow. The only
trouble was that I had yet to catch him much less keep him in my small, trembling
hands.

"Spying on me again," his soft voice mixed with arrogant certainty cut through me
like the katana that he held in his hand had gone through the thick bark of our ancient
trees.

I opened my door fully, shivering at the chill of morning air that had yet to
been warmed by sunlight, and looked at him defiantly. "I would do no such thing," I
told him with as much dignity as I could summon, lifting my eyes to meet his without
hesitation. "You're the one who woke me from my quiet slumber with your brutish grunts
and clumsy movements."

He raised a brow at this, shifting the shadows on his face as the firelight, from
the paper lanterns, danced upon his features. "If I were so noisy, I would have the
whole household breathing down my neck, chibi. And it is your loud breathing that has
disturbed even this brute from his concentrations."

I frowned at him as fiercely as I could muster at having been caught in such an
undignified act. And then a thought struck me in my need for vengeance. It took just
a moment for me to decide that we were quite alone before I rose to my feet and walked
over to him unafraid. "You are having trouble with this swordplay?" I asked when I
was standing right in front of him. The spark of annoyance flickered in his eyes at my
words and told me I had been correct in my assumptions. Anyone else might have missed
it, for Hajime held his face in perfect indifference with a will that could move
mountains, but he happened to be my favorite subject and I knew him better than I let
on.

"What would you know, chibi?" He asked and I had a feeling he was taunting me so
that I would leave him alone.

Not going to work, I thought with delightful mischief and set to prove myself to
him. "For one thing, Chichiue never holds his katana like that when he executes the move
you were practicing." I answered and he looked at me startled. Here stood a man, five
years my senior, listening to a little girl lecturing him on the ways to hold a katana
when this little girl had held nothing more than a light-weighted tanto, at most, a few
kunais. The very idea of him indulging me enough to listen to what I had to say was
absurd! But he silently waited for me to explain, and the rapture of such attention
made me slightly dizzy.

Scolding myself silently, I realized that I must have gained my Father's
arrogance and pride along with his philosophical insights. Deciding to humble him and
myself in the process -- since I have just admitted that I had indeed been spying on
him earlier -- I stretched out my hand and boldly touched the hand that held his
katana. I was careful not to touch the worn hilt for I had long ago learned that such
an act was almost like a violation to any samurai. His sword was a part of him, to
touch it without his permission was rude and a dangerous act that even I dared not do.

He studied me in silence as I looked up to him with the same daunting spirit and
stubborn will that my mother displayed to my father from the very first day they met,
having hoped to scare him off so both of them need not marry the other. The
combination of his warm skin under mine, and my own ludicrously brazen acts were heady
as sake to my mind. But I focused at the task at hand as I continued to look
fearlessly into his eyes. "Your grip is too strong," I told him and my voice sounded
strange in my ears as he studied me. "Chichiue always said that the katana is a part
of the man and the man is a part of the katana." I glanced at my hand softly touching
his, "Flow like the water and move like the wind," I smiled at those words that I had
read but a week ago, describing the steps of a dancer and not the strokes of a sharp
edged blade. But the description fit and I glanced to him again with that same smile
on my lips and at the realization of what this could mean when the look in his eyes
changed and the amber hue captivated me in one breath taking moment.

I pulled away my hand and suddenly all my training as a daughter of a daimyo came
to me like a laden stream, bursting into a river after heavy rainfall. "Thank you," he
told me and I merely nodded, forever training my eyes to the ground with all the
meekness that my sensei had instilled within me.

I don't know how long we stood there, but the sound of sword on wood, rhythmic
and flowing, filled my ears for a few moments longer before I glanced up from the
ground to the sky. There I saw the dark-blue pulling back like uncertain waves as the
edge of the heavens turned purple. Gold lined the black silhouettes of the western
trees, just visible over the tips of the wall that enclosed the estate. My breath
escaped from between my lips as I stood there enchanted by the view, reliving the
memory of that touch in my mind. I heard only him and the katana he held in his hands,
bright steel flashing in my mind's eye as it sliced through dark wood and bark. Inside
I was laughing and crying all at once and my whole being felt light, bursting with a
joy unspeakable. For a moment, just a moment, I had held a bird in my hand and I had
tasted freedom on the tips of his wings, a freedom I had never dreamed of possessing
but had always desired.

I closed my eyes and let the sound of his katana swings fill my head and my
memories, till I was brimming like a bubbling brook. Slowly I opened them again and
turned back to my room, knowing in the deepest part of my heart that it was not a
dream. But I did not look back for fear that he would vanish like fog before my eyes
just to spite my foolish fantasies.

I left him to the cool, morning air just as dawn broke over the unseen horizon.


* * * * *


When I was six, my father started my training in the arts of war fitting for the
daughter of a daimyo, and at the age of ten Haha insisted I start my dancing lessons
to conceal the knowledge I had gained. She said that dancing would help me gain the
grace in body to conceal my grace in fighting. These little lessons of combat were
taught so that I would be able to aid Haha in protecting the estate if ever we were
attacked while the men were gone. I had complied of course, not only because it was my
duty as a daughter to do as her father bids, but also because it was the closest I
would ever get, beyond my books, to the art of the sword. The exercise had kept my
skinny girl form from growing outrageously fat or even chubby, as many women of my day
and age were known to become. Still, Haha would lightly tease me now and again about
how I would end up being somewhat of a pole from all the exertions I was put through,
but Chichiue would always calmly counter it by saying that I will instead grow to
become a willow.

Of course, I was not to inherit the skills of my father, but Haha made sure to
send for some of the best teachers from far and wide to come and teach me the stealth
required of a woman who may be weaker in body, but not so in mind. I learned many
things during this period of time in my life, perhaps preparing for that wayward
adventure in the future that I had always imagined being a part of my life. Mornings
were spent in our own doujou, which was built on our estate. I learned many things,
perhaps, even more than what my teachers were willing to teach me. Stealth was my gift
and I caught on quickly that it was not always how hard you hit, but where as well.
And with it, I learned all the places to keep objects that were meant to cut, things
that were meant to kill, hidden, as well. I would watch and listen, remembering the
places that were more vulnerable than others, places men would leave unprotected when
they think it would not matter that others would try to strike them there. I had learn
to watch more and more, studying all those that I know throughout the day, searching
for openings that in dire situations I would need to know and look out for. Men, no
matter how humble, were usually arrogant in their skills as samurai and the likes, so
who was I to let miss the use of such arrogance if the situation calls for it?

I held my first weapon, a tanto, at the age of ten. By that time I had already
been taught the basics of my body. I had learned how to use it so that I could defend
myself and how to maximize the strength I do have to defeat those who may be far larger
and far stronger than I. But such things were not the goal of my training, for in
fighting closely with a man -- even if he were my size -- would be foolish, for he
could easily overwhelm me if I wasn't careful. I was taught more extensively instead
on matters like how to fall, how to best avoid or lessen the impact of a blow, how to
block and how to use the greater strength of a man to my advantages. I was taught the
art of knife throwing, and though Chichiue find that slightly to the access, Haha
insisted. All of these things I absorbed with rapt fascination, and though I may never
beat any great swordsman through skill and strength, I may beat quite a few through
surprise and cunning.

The descendents of the Saitou clan were known to be perfectionists and Chichiue
was no exception. I got the best training that was possible and I was expected to
excel. Hours were spent, repeating a single move over and over again, dancing either
to the silent tune of death and pain, or drifting to the music of a samisen. Both were
used to teach me to be strong and both were drilled into me, step-by-step, and ache-by-
ache. My mind was not to doodle either, and so hours more were spent, reading,
writing, digging, weeding, and all the things I did before my physical trainings began.
It made me more appreciative of those hours in bed, but I had never missed a morning
watching Hajime practice, even at the cost of blurry-eyed days only half awake, which
would get me into quite a few scolding for my clumsiness. But from Hajime I had learn
much more in the ways of fighting than what was expected of me.

Just watching him gracefully decapitate the wooden poles in the yard gave me the
strength to try harder, to fight better, and dance that dance of freedom as the air
hummed around me with each swift stroke of the small blade in my hand, or anticipating
the fluttering, fragility of the wood and paper fan in my hand. And sometimes I would
laugh at the thought of how Hajime would take to practicing his swordplays in a kimono
that gave little freedom in movement, but was required of me for this would be what I
might be forced to fight in. And it were those times that I wondered why the kami had
chosen to born me to be a girl, trapped so thoroughly in such a body and in such
confining wears as the ones I was so unwillingly an occupant of. But the trainings
continued and I had learned to appreciate the subtle, glide in my movements that had
taken many ripped kimonos to perfect, as well as the blatant deception that I would not
be able to move as freely in my clothing. Haha lessened that burden by making the
seamstress change the cut of many of my kimonos, and for that, I was grateful.

The days flew by quickly. Those straining hours dwindled to a close as more
hours were spent to keep my skills at a well-honed edge than the time needed to learn
something new. In the afternoon, I would sit, hands dipped in warm waters as to sooth
the sores I have received from my practices, so that I would not have my hands be
roughened by hours of training. Salves were applied to clean those open wounds,
bandaged palms and fingers wrapped before I was allowed to hold a weapon to practice or
fight. After all, appearances are the greatest deceivers of all, and my greatest
advantage to gaining surprise. All the while, I grew, watching ever constantly over
Hajime like a fascinated moth that would dance incessantly around a flame. Sometimes,
I would wonder closer than usual before leaping back again to what I had considered a
safe distance, and the dance would continue thusly, in a seemingly never ending cycle
that was repeated day by day.

And always the question was fraught between us: Who would burn whom?


* * * * *


The meeting before dawn with Hajime when I had turned but twelve had been the
real turning point in my life. Early in the morning, I would no longer "spy" on him.
I had learned, a little over a year before, that he was no more than an adopted son of
my father's but that never really changed anything between us, not noticeably anyway.
For still I would openly sit, wrapped in my thicker kimonos, and watch him by the light
of my candle.

A few lanterns danced in the morning breeze along the walkway, throwing shadows
all around, and with rapt attention I would memorize his moves as he practiced a single
stroke with his glittering, fire-bright blade, over and over again. Chichiue had long
taught Hajime the succession technique, and many days I would miss seeing him on the
estate since he had began to visit many other doujou near ours to gain even more
knowledge of his swordplays. Much to my eldest brother's chagrin -- who had yet to gain
enough strength to even inherit the succession technique -- Hajime had long surpassed
him when it came to the matters of the katana.

What Ryou lacked in the sword, he made up by reading and cunning. Hajime did not
have a liking for books, he read whatever Chichiue instructed was necessity and did no
more. The only thing he ever repeatedly look over were works on weaponry and war, as
well as memorizing the Bushido -- which consisted of lessons concerning the conducts
becoming of a samurai following the path created by his katana. Either way, to the
great dislike of Ryou, Chichiue has come to spend more time with Hajime and the two
become more like father and son than Ryou could ever hope to be. Jealousy made the
tension of the house grow with each uncertain day, festering like a beast as it lie in
wait for some disaster. Such thoughts disturbed me this morning like it had never done
before in the past, especially not during my favorite time of day. Watching Hajime
flow with the sword is something that usually takes the entire span of my attention,
though strangely not today.

"Chibi-onna," he called to me that late September morning, almost two years after
the first time he acknowledged my ever-watchful presence. He was using that nickname
to spite me, I was sure. Almost a year ago I had coldly told him that I was no longer
a little girl and he should address me as that of a woman. So instead of just calling
me "chibi", as he was known to do, he playfully added "onna" onto it and to my total
humiliation, used it constantly. "Are you really interested in all this swordplay?"

For a long time I was too stunned to answer. What kind of a question was that?
Why else would I watch him if it were not for the katana he wielded? That, and the
fact that I knew he would not betray my presence to my father. "Chibi-onna, are you
going to answer the question or keep daydreaming?" He asked again, sounding as calm as
ever to my great annoyance.

"Ookami-nii," I fought every instinct not to hiss out his name as I glared
daggers at his side profile. I hardly ever call him Ookami-nii anymore, except when I
become especially aggravated by his irritating comments as I was at the moment. "Why
else would I give you the time of day?" Hajime paused and I was startled to see him go
so suddenly still with his face averted from my view that I too paused to rethink over
my words, puzzled at what had caused this affect. "Hajime-san?" I carefully reverted
back to what I had come to call him since I had turned thirteen, trying not to let any
of the worry seep into my voice as I shifted nervously from where I sat.

His shoulders began to shake and suddenly I knew why he had been keeping so
still. He was trying not to show how much he was laughing at me! Enraged, I stood and
hastily put on my geta before stomping across the yard to him. "What is so funny?" I
growled at him, all my years of training to becoming a polite, young lady flew out of
the window as my temper took over. Apparently, it is a trait passed to me by my
samurai Ojiisama, who was infamous for his temper. It was especially unfortunate that
Ojiisama had passed this unfitting passion onto his granddaughter instead of his
grandson. Ryou was spoiled and cruel but he did not have the terribly short temper
that I possessed -- a temper no amount of training seemed to be able to surpass, well,
at least not around Hajime, anyway.

He looked at me with a brow lifted in amusement and all of my anger melted at the
laughter in his amber eyes. So rarely does such happiness appear that I can hardly
remember the last time I had seen him so carefree. "Chibi-onna, you amuse me." He
told me with a slight quirk of his lips.

My glare hardened at his words before I turned my head away with as much
snobbishness as I could muster, "Well, you disgust me." I told him as I swirled away
in a flurry of cotton and silk, marching back to the entrance of my room.

"Oh?" I heard him say softly and could almost imagine the smug smile on his
lips. "Then you would have no desire to watch me practice from now on."

I growled, torn between my desires to see the fall of the blade that flowed in
graceful arcs, and the need to defend my pride, hence never setting eyes on him again.
For now the latter was winning. With stubborn determination, I snorted as unladylike
as I could and tossed him a, "Fine!" over my shoulder.

As if I would ever want to be associated with that fool again! How dare he ask
me such an impertinent question?

And as I closed the door to my room with a harsh click of authority, I had a
feeling that this was the beginning of a very horrible week. Little did I know how
true such premonition would come to be as I slid opened my shoji again, hours later.


* * * * *


It has never been harder to be the daimyo's daughter than when the daimyo passes
away. It was hard to stand strong before the grieving people when inside yourself you
are grieving too. I was not particularly close to my Chichiue, but I had great
adoration and awe for him in my childhood and as I grew older, I had come to greatly
respect him as well. In a way, Chichiue was a solitary rock in my world between
childhood and womanhood. He had allowed me to flourish and grow beyond what many
people might have deemed proper, never once questioning Haha's methods and sometimes
giving his own suggestions and encouragements. After all, I was set on not
disappointing him and he in turn was set on not disappointing his family name.

The Saitou clan was not always daimyo. My samurai Ojiisama was a shogunate
elite, along with his son -- Chichiue -- but retired at the age of forty-eight after an
injury that had left him crippled in his sword-arm. The Shogun, wanting to reward his
loyal follower, requested that Saitou be sent to watch over the countryside of Kyoto
and live in peace till the end of his days as daimyo. The Shogun always did like the
foul-tempered but brilliant young man that was Ojiisama, then head of the Saitou clan.
Both Ojiisama and Chichiue had brought many victories to the Shogun's armies and very
few defeats whenever they did lead, and to that the Shogun was generous in his offerings.
Relieved and honored, Ojiisama complied with the Shogun's wishes and took with him his
young wife and household to the countryside of Kyoto. There, the Shogun had been in
need of a steady head and loyal eyes to watch the ever active city that bordered on
rebellion while the Emperor rested there, hidden from the common eye. And there, Saitou
Hajime -- Ojiisama to whom my Ookami-nii was named after -- settled for the rest of his
days on the flourishing estate.

It was sunny the day we found father dead in his study. After a hearty breakfast
that morning when he had been his usual, quiet self at the table. I had been the
obedient daughter and had poured him his tea and such before morning studies called me
away, noting how Haha stayed behind with her laughter and chatter not meant for me to
overhear. Ryou had gone into Kyoto to visit a friend of the family, while I had made
it my business to ignore Hajime whenever he and I were unfortunate enough to be in the
same room together.

Chichiue did not come to lunch, which was unusual but not totally out of
practice, and so the servants left a tray outside the door of his study, which went
untouched. Haha had gone banging into that room when she walked by it earlier in the
afternoon, demanding to know why Chichiue was not taking care of his health by fasting
and avoiding his family. The words though, plain died on her lips when she found my
father slumped over the table, his calligraphy brush resting on the floor and ink
scattered in fat drops of black over the surface of wood and tatami mats.

And it was then I heard the screams of a servant that brought me to the same,
horrible scene that seemed to have frozen mother stiff a few steps into the room. In a
few moments I felt Hajime's presence beside me as I bowed my head, and the house soon
buzzed at the great tragedy of such a sudden departure. "Are you alright, Haha?"
Hajime moved from my side to my mother's still, stiff form.

I raised my eyes then to follow his back and saw the shudder that went through my
mother's body before she collapsed completely. If Hajime hadn't caught her, she
certainly would have woken up to a nasty bump on the side of her head since I was in no
condition to catch her myself. Grief seemed to have weighed my whole body down like
lead as I looked from Hajime to my mother in his arms, trying not to notice how my
father was but dead only a few feet away.

"Don't faint on me too, Tokio," he ordered me with none of the teasing nicknames
of before since he had never called me by my given name. In fact, for a long time, I
had thought he did not know it or perhaps he had forgotten what it was since it had
never had the pleasure of frequenting his lips, if at all. It was that same name that
woke me from my slumbering tears that would not reveal itself into my eyes and onto my
face. Instead, my vision remained painfully clear as I stood in silence, watching him
watching me.

"I won't," I assured him as I came from my trance and then glided up next to him.
Softly, I set my hand onto his shoulder, though I was still comparably shorter to his
lean form. "I'll carry her on the other side," I told him and he looked at me with
startled surprise as if he needed to assure himself that my calm answers did not belie
hidden hysteria. Wedging myself beneath my mother's dead weight we passed by the
servants as I carried her with Hajime to her room. "Take care of Chichiue's body," I
told Reika as I passed her by in the halls of the house. She nodded with tearful
solemnness and hurried on her way just as we had arrived into Mother's room.

"You can go cry in your room, if you want." Hajime's gruff voice broke the
uncomfortable silence as he stood behind me. I should have been angry, insulted, or
both had I not suddenly felt myself become so very tired.

"No," I said without turning to face him. Instead I lay a gentle hand onto
Haha's cheek, "I need to be strong for her."

I never knew the expression in Hajime's eyes that day as I sat beside my mother's
unconscious form, and for once I was not so curious or so consumed by simply being near
him. It was years later that he would tell me how that day was the turning point for
him in seeing the woman I was becoming, as it had been two years before for me, when I
had advised him on how to better grip the katana and dance the dance of change with
steel and strength.

The words of Chichiue still echoed in my mind, keeping me as still as snow
falling onto barren grounds and as strong as the iron of a true, warrior's blade. "A
samurai's sword gives life and takes life to the wielder and his enemies. The sword of
Life chooses differently, for Fate is the hand that guides it, and Death but waits on
the other side of that same, finely honed, katana. But instead of either giving or
taking life, this same blade brings change instead of certainty."

Today I saw true those words when the blade that held both Life and Death cut
into my Father's flesh, and brought unimaginable change into my once, seemingly
constant world. I was silent in my vigil over Haha, not knowing if Hajime stayed or
left, nor whether the servants came or went. Instead, I waited in that constant
silence, trying desperately to find some footing in a sea of numbing pain that left me
senseless. Inside, I was consumed with disbelief while a greater sorrow flowed beneath
that mask of untouchability, rushing through me like black waters gushing with vigorous
soundlessness beneath the ice of winter.

"You can go cry in your room, if you want." Hajime's words echoed through me
every now and then as it tried to crack through that thick barrier that was wrapped
thickly around my heart. But it was useless, for those words felt like the tapping
legs of an ant against the bark of an ancient tree. And while I sat, I hesitantly
tried to make sense what it was that he had meant but the feeling that such
understanding would flood my senses and consume my sanity, stopped my prodding. After
all, I could not for the life of me recall how to cry or even the meaning of tears, and
was it really so bad to not be so weak?

I stared, dry eyed with a back taunt and straight beside my mother's bed while my
face was held in the perfect warrior's mask. It was a mask that I had been trying to
perfect from the first day of my training eight years ago, and to no avail, I was never
able to hide any of my wayward emotions... until today. Inside, I laughed bitterly at
the price it had cost me to complete the last step in my training as the proud daughter
of a daimyo.


to be continued...


* The name Ookami no Kiba means Fang of the Wolf or Wolf's Fang
* This is my first Rurouni Kenshin Fanfic. Thank you for reading ^-^v
* Women (or should I say mothers) ran the lives of the young in those days,
while men fought and dallied in politics and the likes. So think of it
this way, all the best warriors must have had amazing mothers. *GRIN*
* Okay, to clear up maybe mild confusion about daito. Daito is a long
sword, a part of a set of two swords -- the daito and the shoto -- known
as the daisho. You may know shoto as what many authors call the "wazikashi"
and you may know daito as what many authors opt to call the "katana". Now,
when you put these swords together, they make a set, called the daisho.
Only those who were samurai could legally wear daisho in public during the
Tokugawa period. It became a symbol of class and prestige.
* -_-;; I lied, I did do some research and put it into the fic ^_^;;
* Yes, I am twisting historical truths for the purposes of my own
entertainment. OHohohohohohohoho!
* Fighting in a kimono is TOTALLY MADE UP! Please, I can practically hear the
protests about how impossible that task is, and how all kimonos are alike,
etc., etc. Just pretend for this baka author, ne? *puppy-dog eyes* PLEASE!