A/N: Tada! Here's chapter two! I'm not particularly satisfied with the chapter, but...eh. Had to get it out of me, I suppose. From here on is where the interesting stuff starts happening.

A big thank you to all my darling reviewers! I'm happy so many of you responded to my, ahem, little survey. I think I basically know what pairings I'm going to go with, but you'll just have to wait and see, ne? ::evil cackle:: But I can tell you that there will be shounen-ai, possibly yaoi, and maybe, just maybe, a sprinkling of some good old-fashioned boy/girl relationships.

But until then, I give you chapter two. Any suggestions, criticisms, or nitpicks would be greatly appreciated. Bon appetit!

Chapter TWO:

That is, he did before he heard Sakuno's terrified scream.

Ryoma winced and covered his ears as tightly as he could. Honestly, again? "Oy, old man. Stop harassing her, she's too young for you," he called darkly over his shoulder.

An uneasy murmur rose up from the people around him that made Ryoma pause- and his father didn't answer. A man in a large straw hat, walking just ahead of Ryoma, tugged his donkey to a stop to see what was the matter.

Ryoma closed his eyes and turned to go after his idiot father with an exasperated sigh. These days it seemed Nanjiro was always making some sort of scene. "What have you gone and done now, old man?" There had been that time last week with Farmer Itakagaki's wife...and once before that with the girl who had turned out to be a blind man's daughter- he'd come after them both with his cane.

Half dreading what he might find his father up to, Ryoma opened his eyes.

The stranger was clasping the reins of his horse with one expensively gloved hand, standing very near Sakuno with his other hand resting lightly on the bundle in her arms. His face, shadowed by a hood, was turned to present a smooth Grecian profile and the elegant line of his jaw. The pretty son of some nobleman, perhaps- yet despite his beauty and rich attire, Sakuno seemed to shrink away from him in fear. Ryoma looked at his finery and decided that it was stupid and impractical.

The nobleman returned Ryoma's studied gaze with amused eyes. "Like what you see, boy? I understand. You probably wish that you could dress as well as ore-sama." He flicked his wrist to flaunt the puff of lace there. "I shall suppose you meant him before when you referred to an 'old man.'"

Ryoma's eyes followed the direction of the hand to where his father lay sprawled on the ground, behind the man's horse. Nanjiro stirred slightly and groaned- no, thought Ryoma, he wasn't dead then. Only injured. Well, then, he'd have to wait.

Ryoma narrowed his eyes and returned his attention to the nobleman and Sakuno. All the blood had drained from the girl's face, and her pigtails were trembling, but her hold on the sword was tighter than ever.

The noble, looking down at her, smiled coldly and said, "I'll ask you again, girl. Let me to have a look at that sword you're holding."

Sakuno only hugged it closely to her chest. "I can't...I-I'm supposed to take care of it. For that man and..." She sent a frightened glance towards Ryoma. "And...his son."

"Then there's nothing wrong if I just look at it for awhile, is there?"

"Ah, but..."

"Why not let...oy! What do you think you're doing!"

Ryoma ignored the man as he walked past him wordlessly and took the sword. He ignored them both as they gaped at him like idiots and he ignored 'ore-sama' as the man began to seethe. Then, similarly, Ryoma tucked the bundle under his arm and turned to walk away-

-only to find the shining blade of a long-sword held threateningly against his throat.

Somewhere behind him, Sakuno screamed again, but Ryoma had trained with his father for years now. A sword to the neck was nothing. The old man had been a tyrant more than a teacher, but now, in the face of the enemy, Ryoma kept complete calm and forced himself to stay still.

Yet he couldn't help but smile, just slightly. Finally, a real fight.

"Don't make me harm you, boy. I recognized your father. He was a great swordsman- in his day," the nobleman whispered. He held the sword effortlessly level, never letting it dip or tremble from its place at Ryoma's throat.

He gave a low laugh, sharp and threatening as his blade. "But I am the swordsman of my day. Give me the sword. I just want to see it, boy. Refuse me and you'll be dead within seconds, I guarantee it."

Ryoma didn't give him the sword, and he didn't refuse. Instead, he did neither, and simply elbowed the man in the gut.

The nobleman gasped- the hand holding the blade swung out in a wide arc and, in an instant, Ryoma was out of reach. As the man struggled for breath, Ryoma undid the bindings of the bundle and drew out the sword out of its sheath.

It had once been a beautiful thing, while it was still whole. Windermere. The long-sword had been lighter than most he had handled in the past- however, the blade was now split in two, eight inches or so from the elaborate hilt. Ryoma let the top portion of the sword, still in its sheath and cloth bindings, drop to the ground. Gripping the hilt with two hands, he stood ready.

"So, brat," panted the noble. He was leaning slightly on his sword, still catching his breath, but recovering quickly. A smile tugged at the corner of his lips, but the rage in his eyes made his intentions unmistakable. "You believe yourself good enough to face me? How...charming." He straightened himself, dusted off his shoulders, and swept his hood back from his face dramatically.

Ryoma attacked without hesitation- a flash of surprise crossed the noble's face, briefly, before disappearing into his usual smug expression. Sakuno scampered, squeaking, to the side, as did most other passersby, as the man sidestepped Ryoma's lunge and struck out with his own sword.

He was fast. Ryoma admitted that much as he raised the broken sword to deflect a downward sweep aimed for his shoulder- fast, but not as fast as Nanjiro, though he supposed that was a given. Instinctively, Ryoma fell into the patterns and steps Nanjiro had taught him- the constant repetitions of thrusts, parries, feints and lunges he'd been drilled in over and over until his body remembered them easily.

If the noble was further surprised at Ryoma's skill, he gave no sign of it. As Ryoma aimed a thrust for what appeared to be a vulnerable spot at his lower chest, the man brought his hand down coolly and blocked it with ease.

Ryoma attempted another charge, this time lower. He wasn't entirely sure what he meant to do- kill the man? But the noble wasn't making any effort to attack- he absorbed Ryoma's blows and stood his ground, but made no advances of his own.

A thought struck Ryoma. "Eh?" he asked, smirking. "Are you testing me?"

The man scoffed and blocked another blow. "I have no interest in you, boy." He pushed away a low sweep and forced Ryoma back a few steps with his power. "I'm testing the sword. It does belong to the king."

Ryoma's eyes widened and he nearly forgot to bring up the sword to protect his face. It caused him to stagger under the weight of the attack. "Who says it does?" he replied, teeth clenched at the strain.

The nobleman eyed him coldly. "Your form is impeccable, but your footwork..." he trailed off, leaving no doubt as to what he thought of Ryoma's footwork.

The self-important sneer on the man's face annoyed Ryoma to no end. He'd have to get rid of it. With renewed zeal, he drove back the nobleman's sword and resumed his attack more fiercely, adding more force to his blows.

"My footwork," he growled, "is fine."

This only caused the man to chuckle and raise his own pace, keeping up with every attack.

"Stop, please!" cried a high, hysterical voice. So, the girl was still around. He'd thought she would have run away by now. Ryoma glanced at her for only a second, where she stood watching, teary-eyed, from a safe distance. If it hadn't been for her, none of them would've been in this mess in the first place. Ryoma didn't like the direction this day was headed in, not at all.

He shook his bangs out of his eyes and forced himself to focus.

But Ryoma was getting tired and the man was looking bored with his game. Soon, someone was bound to come try to break up the fight. Ryoma had no intention of being the one to forfeit.

The nobleman seemed to realize this, and sighed theatrically. He then executed a few well-chosen steps- Ryoma stumbled, caught off guard, and the nobleman took the opportunity to slice open his hand.

It was over.

Sakuno screamed as the broken sword fell, ringing, from his fingers. What a typical girl.

The nobleman ignored all this and gingerly lifted the sword from the stones in the same way most people would pick up a rotting carcass. He ran two fingers along the flat of the blade, examined the break, and tested the grip of the hilt, first with two hands, then one, before he was satisfied.

It was a two-minute process. The man moved quickly and efficiently- he had obviously worked with a sword for years, and knew what he had come looking for. Upon finishing his inspection, he deposited the broken sword on the ground once again before regarding Ryoma.

"You're not quite as lacking as I'd thought, boy. I suppose you'd like my name, now, so you can come after me and avenge yourself once you've improved."

Ryoma was silent on his knees before the man. He tried to move the fingers of his right hand, but the pain...he bit back a hiss at the feeling, and his fingers trembled strangely. He couldn't stop the trembling, and each time he tried to move his hand at all, it stretched the wound.

"Atobe Keigo, first son of the lord of Deer Peak."

Ryoma examined the gash, wiping some of the blood away from the edges with the tip of one finger. He wouldn't be able to do anything with his right hand for weeks. Then again- he thought about this for a moment- that wasn't such a bad thing. Less work.

"Remember that, boy, and be grateful. I was feeling charitable today. I could've taken off that hand of yours completely."

Ryoma glanced up at him and squarely met the man's gaze. He held it, unblinking, and truly hoped the damned man was squirming inside. "It wouldn't matter," he said evenly.

"Really," sneered the nobleman. He raised an eyebrow as he reached back and replaced his cowl with two hands, arranging it around his face. He was careful about it, taking his time to settle the folds perfectly- no doubt to match his eyes, Ryoma thought, disgusted- before he took up the reins of his horse and mounted in one smooth motion. "You must be quite the optimist." He smiled winningly, winked, and tapped a slender white finger against his temple. "Remember- Atobe Keigo. I look forward to seeing you, boy."

With that, he clicked his tongue, nudged his horse into a canter, and pushed his way through the bewildered witnesses gathered around the scene. Soon, he was out of sight.

Ryoma picked himself up slowly. When he finally stood, not quite as steady as he had been before, he held his injured hand cradled close to his chest as he retrieved the sword. In the process, a little blood got onto the hilt- with his good hand, Ryoma used the hem of his tunic to rub it away.

A few feet away, Sakuno knelt over his father. Those who had gathered around began to disperse without asking to assist- well, he hadn't expected them to. No one wanted to get involved with the affairs of nobles. They couldn't afford the risk.

Ryoma brushed dirt off the blade, straightened himself, and made a few passes at the empty air with the sword in his dominant hand.

Next time, he would use his left hand against Atobe Keigo. Underestimating the man a second time would help no one.

"Tell it again, Ryoma, please-"

"Right, Jun hasn't heard it yet!"

"I don't know, it sounds like a load of dung to me-"

"You don't believe anything, Kanbe-"

Idiots. Ryoma sighed, resigned to the racket of the other boys around him, as he tried to sweep with four sets of feet in his way. All he managed was to push the same pathetic patch of dirt around, again and again, getting ash on the toes of everyone's boots. It wasn't as if they noticed.

Ryoma was the newest apprentice out of the five taught by his father, but by far the least dense. Well, Yataro could be all right sometimes, but he was so timid that he hardly counted. It was hard to believe that Kanbe was his cousin. Kanbe had more backbone, and was something of realist, if a dim one- but he was always talking and liked to make Yataro take the blame for everything.

So Kanbe was also off the list.

Jun and Toki were best friends, best treated as pair, and just about equally naïve. Also, Ryoma noted, very gullible. Sarcasm was lost on those two.

"What d'you mean, 'in a land far, far away?' I thought you said you were just outside the city."

"You? Hold your ground against a noble? I don't believe you."

"You don't believe anything, Kanbe."

"I know, you already said that before! Dimwit."

"Hey, don't call Jun a dimwit! I wish for once you'd just be nice."

"Thanks, Toki. At least you stand up for me."

Ryoma tried to focus on sweeping. It required a great deal more concentration than handling a broom ought to have needed. Hmm. He wondered why.

Kanbe poked him with one chubby fist. "You just made up some excuse for why you're late again." He crossed his arms, looking smug, and leaned up against a stray anvil. "I've never even seen you use a sword." There it was- practically an insult. Everyone looked at Ryoma, waiting for a properly scathing response.

Ryoma said nothing. With great calm, he attempted a few times to sweep the ash around their feet, but then gave up on it. Kanbe and the others stared at him, but Kanbe was the only one frowning.

"Well? What did I tell you?" Kanbe finally spoke up, triumphant. "He's probably never used a sword in his life." In a daring move, he poked Ryoma in the chest. Ryoma ignored him, as he always did. If Kanbe wanted a fight, he'd have to go looking somewhere else.

"He has," said Toki suddenly. He turned from Kanbe to Ryoma. "I've seen you," he insisted. "Why won't you admit it?"

"Me too." The group turned to Yataro- even Ryoma looked up, astonished. Yataro, speaking up against his cousin?

Yataro, tending the coals of the an unused fire, looked around at them owlishly and blushed up to his ears. He avoided Ryoma's eyes as he spoke. "Well, I...I've seen you. A couple of times. Take one off the..." He pointed vaguely towards the rack of finished swords. "Take one and, well, play around with it."

Kanbe sniffed. "Just swinging it randomly, I bet."

Yataro looked up at him, alarmed. "No, no- doing drills and all." He smiled apologetically at Ryoma, a little embarrassed. Ryoma noticed that he had a smear of ash on his chin. "I liked to watch. I'm sorry, but you were so good-"

"What d'you know, Yataro, you never let Uncle teach you the sword. You stick with your pansy little crossbow."

"You're being mean again, there's nothing wrong with a crossbow, even if they are pansy. Sorry, Yataro."

"S'all right."

"Hey, all of you." Everyone jumped. A stern journeyman, older than the apprentices and thus believing himself worthy of giving them orders, waved his hammer threateningly in their direction. "Back to work before I have to get Nanjiro here."

"Bastard," muttered Kanbe under his breath. It was about the wittiest thing he could think of to say, no doubt. Nonetheless, they each went their separate ways (except for Toki and Jun, who went off together) and Ryoma could finally sweep in peace.

He cleared the floor around one of the two forges, the one not in use, before letting himself drift off a little. It was dark in the smithy, and always smoky near the back where they never bothered to clean the windows, but out the back door there was a little dock overlooking a narrow canal, where his father had a rowboat tied- and today was particularly warm for early spring.

On nice days, Ryoma would sneak out to the boat and nap there for the afternoon, or until someone caught him at it. The sun would work its way down between the buildings and warm the alley-canal, and no traffic passed there- sometimes he could hear noise from 10th canal, which it connected to, or from Smithy's Bridge- but mostly it was quiet, and the water calm.

Ryoma looked at his dirty broom bristles, sighed, and tightened his grip on the handle. Maybe he could take his lunch out there today.

He stretched, yawned and, completely out of nowhere, was jumped from behind and swiftly choked in the crook of someone's elbow. The yawn got lodged halfway up his throat and Ryoma gagged, scrabbling at the offending arm.

"Gah, I can't breathe, old man..."

Nanjiro affectionately mussed Ryoma's hair with his knuckles. "Of course you can't, you fool boy. Can't even fight off one measly swordsman, can you?"

"Gaaaahh," gasped Ryoma, and gurgled plaintively. Nanjiro consented to loosen his grip by a few degrees.

Paying no attention to the strangled noises coming from his son, Nanjiro continued, "Even let him get hold of the sword- the one sword!- that will make your poor old father's fortune." Nanjiro paused, his eyes gleaming as he envisioned it all. "I'll be able to stop slaving away in this dark old smithy...relax, maybe travel a bit..."

"You don't want to travel, you want to sleep and laze around the house," accused Ryoma, rubbing his throat. "And it's not like you stopped him either."

"That's different!" his father exclaimed indignantly, before shaking Ryoma a few times, as if to prove his point. "Came up and hit me, he did, no warning whatsoever, the bloody barbarian."

"Ow, stop it- yes, I know, you told me. You told everyone, at least twice."

"Tch." Nanjiro pushed Ryoma away- Ryoma took the opportunity to move out of choking-distance and recover- and raised a fist, his hand shaking with rage. "That scoundrel...what did you say his name was?"

Ryoma pushed the broom along the line of the wall to work out any dirt that might have gotten lodged there. Blank-faced, he carefully shrugged. "I dunno. He never told me."

"Hmph." Nanjiro crossed his arms and huffed. "When a man defeats you and cuts open your hand in the process, you don't just let him walk away, boy!" he rebuked. "You get his name, so you can hunt him down and kill him when you're strong enough!"

"So I've heard," Ryoma replied dully. He made a few half-hearted swipes at a corner that was being difficult. Suddenly, he remembered- "What happened to that girl?"

"Eh? Oh, you mean that gypsy girl?" Nanjiro chuckled, apparently rather pleased with himself. He abruptly brought his face very near Ryoma's and waggled his eyebrows. "She had a thing for you, boy. Inherited your father's charm, did you?"

Ryoma stared at him, unfazed. "Did you pay her?"

"Of course not. Nearly got us both killed, didn't she? I'll have that knot on my head for weeks." Pouting, Nanjiro rubbed at the lump a few times before jabbing an elbow in the direction of the wall behind a large tool rack. "You missed a spot there."

"Don't you have work to do yourself, old man?"

"Err...now that you mention it, that corner is perfectly fine. Good work, boy. Let's break for lunch."

Today, Ryoma decided, he would indulge himself for lunch. As he left the smithy, crossing the little path to the narrow lane beside 10th canal, he mapped out his route mentally while he walked.

First, a turn onto 13th canal, with a blacksmith's gate on the corner.

There was a wind on the water today, blowing around the forge smoke that always seemed to linger about the smithy district, but as Ryoma made his way down 13th canal, the air began to clear.

The junction with 14th canal marked the edges of the artisan's district- soon after crossing the bridge over the canal, window displays and flowered stoops began to appear alongside the open-front workshops with their inviting roadside wares, similar but entirely less practical than the shops that had come before them. This area was bustling with color and sound- anything to catch a customer's eye, with splays with tropical flora, extravagant figures blown from colored glass, fine instruments and foreign-made toys. Ryoma eyed a dancing cat puppet as a toymaker danced gaily it across his path, then continued on- the toymaker paid no heed to this, only moved on to the next person to pass his shop.

Next, left onto 16th canal. He crossed another bridge, this one carved over with pink granite angels. The merry music soon faded, as did the busy crowds, as he walked into the plaza before a great, towering cathedral. It was old, the most ancient in the city, and also the largest, if not the most elaborate- its shadow was enough to darken the entire area and cover the space between two canals. The church, its plaza, and a small graveyard stood atop the veritable island, surrounded by the water of four canals.

Ryoma never liked to linger here. The silence was unnerving compared to the merriness of the artisan district, and despite the beauty of the cathedral, there was something sobering about standing in its shadow. He rarely saw anyone sit on the benches in the plaza- mostly just a few hopeful pigeons.

Casting a glance at it as he hurried past, Ryoma left the cathedral behind as he crossed over a simple wood-planked bridge. Directly across from the bridge was his destination- a line of three row houses overlooking 18th canal.

Ryoma knocked at the door to the one at the far end, the place he called home during the week. It was his cousin's house, technically, but with work in the city, it was too much trouble to make the trek back to his father's home in the country everyday. And Nanako, a scholar in the making, was lonely in a house by herself with only Ryoma's cat to keep her company. So Nanjiro and his son got a place to sleep and home-cooked meals during the week, while Nanako had family in the house to keep her occupied with something other than her texts and rotting scrolls.

The sound of flurried steps on the stairs came clearly through the door. After a few moments, the door flew open and Nanako, breathless, appeared in the doorway- wielding a fish in one hand and a more than slightly frustrated expression.

Ryoma blinked twice in slow succession and walked past her. "I'm here for lunch." Following his usual routine, he then proceeded to remove his boots.

Behind him, Nanako huffed before marching up to him. She stood fuming, long hair mussed in her anger, as he slid first one foot out and then the other, before setting the pair neatly beside the door. She gave him A Glare as he left his shoes and headed directly for the kitchen to sniff out something for lunch.

But it was the moment that he reached for the cupboard door that she chose to strike. The moment Ryoma touched the familiar worn doorknob, he found the fish flailing hardly an inch from his face, smelling strongly...fishy.

"Karupin," said Nanako in a soft, furious voice, "Your cat."

"Yes."

"Got into my groceries the moment I brought them back from the market."

"Eh? Oh, the fish, I guess. Bread still all right?" Ryoma pushed the fish as far as he could from his face and opened the cupboard. He poked around a bit- the bread had been spared, a slab of yellow cheese, a bunch of withered carrots no one bothered to touch. Some more searching produced some smoked meat. Gathering the meat, bread, and cheese together, Ryoma drew his lunch cloth from its customary hook by the window and used it to wrap his meal together.

Lunch finally provided for, Ryoma turned to his cousin who, throughout his routine, had become increasingly angry- unusual for her. She had both hands planted firmly on her hips, even the one holding the fish. Was it that important of a fish, Ryoma wondered. It didn't smell like it.

"Does Karupin bother you that much?"

Nanako's expression softened at his words. She set the fish down on the table and heaved a sigh as she sat down with her head in her hands. "No, not really. He keeps me company while I read." She gave him a small smile. "And he's such a sweet little cat, most of the time. No, he's no trouble." With the tip of her finger, she gave the ruined fish a few wary pokes. "I suppose I might as well give this to him anyway. Sorry for being cross at you before."

Ryoma deftly knotted the cloth at the top. "Cross?"

"A little cross, I guess. It's been a strange morning. You and your father and that awful man out on the road." Her eyes flickered to Ryoma's hand; she was obviously itching to change the bandages for him. She hadn't approved that Nanjiro and his son had gone to work not even a day after both of them had been injured. "And a stranger asking for your father."

Ryoma's head snapped up, suddenly attentive. Nanako didn't seem to notice this. She had shifted her gaze to the window, and appeared distantly anxious.

"Who?"

Nanako shrugged. "A man, or possibly an older boy. He didn't tell me his name."

"What did he look like?" asked Ryoma sharply.

She gave him a puzzled look. "He was tall. A little shorter than your father, I think. But I couldn't see his face- the sun was shining through the doorway and he wore a hood," she replied, growing uneasy. "Why?"

Ryoma's gaze turned immediately to the window. The sun was higher now, casting immense shadows from the towers of the cathedral across the canal. But the plaza was empty. "Never mind," he said, dismissing the matter. Nanako, if unconvinced, said nothing. He picked his lunch off the table with two hands, said the obligatory goodbye, and left.

Heading back for the smithy, the cloaked stranger weighed heavily on Ryoma's mind. He didn't notice the bright temptations of the artisan's district on his return, nor did he pause for anyone. He remembered his cousin's description- a tall boy or man, cloaked, taciturn about his intentions. Looking for Nanjiro.

As Ryoma moved along the canal, an image of Atobe Keigo, first son of the lord of Deer Peak, began to form in his mind.

14th canal passed. The crowds thinned, and he could finally walk without the needless worry of jostling someone or stepping on their heels. Atobe Keigo. What more did could the man want- another look at the king's sword? It wasn't as if the king did much these days, or so his father complained. It was all the elder journeymen ever discussed, thinking it made them sound intellectual.

He might've been a war hero once, they said, but those days were long over. The king hasn't lifted a sword since his last one had broken, like a child that discarded his old toys.

But now Echizen Nanjiro, the most renowned swordsmith in the kingdom, had been commissioned to remake the sword, Windermere- not repair it, but forge it anew. When his father had accepted the project, Ryoma remembered that he hadn't dared to leave the sword in the smithy by night, but took it back and forth with him. It had been made clear that Windermere was worth more than his father's life.

Nanjiro hadn't let this affect him, but now...the consequences were becoming clearer now. Ryoma had believed he had seen the last of Atobe Keigo, back on the road to the city. He had no intention of 'hunting him down.'

But it now seemed that Atobe was becoming the hunter.

He was nearing the smithy. Ryoma looked down at the dark waters of the canal. A boatman, navigating a low flatboat, passed with his load of fresh-caught fish. Headed for the markets, no doubt. The fishy stench was overpowering.

Hurrying to cover his nose, Ryoma thought of his cousin's words- he could see the smithy, the plumes of smoke from the three chimneys-

He was tall.

He sighted the man and froze, blood turning to ice. A figure, there, by the path-

A little shorter than your father, I think.

Waiting, but why waiting? Ryoma's mind darted, he searched himself but found nothing he could use for defense-

But I couldn't see his face- the sun was shining through the doorway and he wore a hood.

Hood still up, just like before...the wound on Ryoma's hand itched, the scab forming beneath his bandage- his hand twitched and he wanted to scratch it, but there was no time-

No time at all.

He could only walk up to the hooded man. There was no choice. He was blocking the path to the smithy.

Ryoma approached, stiff-legged. The hair on the back of his neck bristled. Nearer and nearer he came, as if nothing was wrong.

When he was near enough, Ryoma looked at the shadows within the hood. He remembered what his father had taught him about customers, and did what was called for.

He bowed to the man.

He watched as the man slowly lifted his head. Within the hood, light played on the rim of a pair of spectacles.

"Echizen Ryoma," said the man, and nodded.