CHAPTER THREE

Disclaimer: I do not own Rurouni Kenshin characters or plot.

The rains came, falling steadily through the afternoon and evening and through to the next morning. It seemed that the rain, so long delayed, was making up for lost time. The droplets fell especially hard the next morning, creating a pounding racket so loud at times that Seta couldn't overhear the conversations in the hall outside his chamber.

He always had a guard in the room with him. They came and went in shifts, but they ordered him to silence whenever he tried to strike up a conversation with them.

So he eavesdropped instead, straining his ears whenever servants walked through the corridor outside. That was how he learned, in between the noisier bursts of rain, that the bridge leading from the town to the daimyo's compound had been washed out. He learned also that Uriu's cremation had to be put off as well.

Everything was on hold because of the weather.

Seta sat and smiled.

The guards watched him.

The rain fell.

By mid-afternoon on this, the second full day of his capture, Seta's arms were beginning to ache unbearably. He went through his kata, his sword practice, in his head, tensing and releasing the muscles he would have used had he been free. Even that wasn't enough to ease the strain of being tied up for days on end.

Finally, it was Shimizu's turn to watch him.

The old samurai dismissed the last guard and sat across from Seta. In his hand he carried the Nagasone Kotetsu, Seta's sword. It was the one Kenshin Himura had shattered in their first battle. Shishio had repaired it and returned it to Seta. It was the one thing he took with him when he left his former master, for what is a swordsman without a sword?

Shimizu held it up with both hands so it lay in his palms horizontally in its sheath. "This is yours."

Seta nodded.

Shimizu's eyes dropped to the sheathed blade. "It is a fine sword." His eyes went back to Seta's face, challengingly. "It is a blade worthy of a samurai."

Seta laughed and grinned self-deprecatingly. "Oh no, you're making a mistake. I'm no samurai. The katana was a gift."

Shimazu pulled the sheath slowly from the blade, allowing all but the tip to show, its graceful deadly curve gleaming in the watery afternoon light. "This blade has been repaired. Why?"

Keeping his smile on his face, Seta replied. "Why, I broke it in a fight over a year ago."

"Your opponent?"

"He lived." Seta remembered his shock at seeing the result of Kenshin's strength on the cracked surface of his blade. He remembered something else and his grin widened. "But his own blade snapped in two."

"What happened then?"

There was more than casual interest in Shimizu's eyes. He was deadly serious. Seta noted it, but didn't let it bother him. "We stopped fighting." He shrugged. "We had to get our swords repaired."

"And after that?"

Ah, after that. After that Seta and Kenshin fought again, in Shishio's lair. Kenshin won, and Seta's world changed forever because of it. Everything he'd believed, everything Shishio taught him, had been called into question. He'd never met anyone like Kenshin before.

"We fought again. I lost, but he let me go." Over a year later, Seta still couldn't quite believe it. The wonder of it was still in his voice. He glanced at Shimizu to see if he heard it too, and found the old warrior staring at him searchingly.

"Turn around."

Seta blinked, but obeyed, hunkering around until his back faced Shimizu. There was a rasping sound as the old samurai pulled Seta's blade completely out of the sheath. Willing himself not to tense up, Seta remained absolutely still as he felt the kissaki, the sharpened tip of his Nagasone Kotetsu, slice through the ropes binding him.

The cords fell away.

There was a 'snick' sound as the Nagasone Kotetsu was re-sheathed.

Seta turned back around and sat, massaging his wrists. "Thank you Shimizu-san, but won't you get in trouble for freeing me?" he asked questioningly.

"I'm not freeing you." Shimizu retorted. "I'm untying you. You're still my prisoner." He watched without comment as Seta continued to rub at the sore spots on his wrists where the rope had cut into his skin.

"How old are you?" the old samurai burst out.

Pausing in his efforts to restore circulation to his fingers, Seta looked up. "I'm twenty, I think."

"Twenty?" barked Shimizu, incredulously. "You look like you're twelve."

Seta grinned. "I know. I get that a lot. I think it's because I'm small."

The older samurai snorted. "You're only twenty, you know how to use a sword worthy of a samurai, and someone thought you worthy enough to let you go instead of killing you." Shimizu recounted what he knew of Seta's history matter-of-factly. Then his eyes narrowed. "What do you know of honor?"

The question came from out of the blue, surprising him. Seta opened his eyes wide. Why was Shimizu asking that of him? A boy Shimizu believed to be a bandit, if not the bandit, who'd killed his daimyo's heir?

He thought for a while then answered. "I don't know much about honor. For a long time I believed that strength was more important than honor, or right or wrong."

"And now?" Shimizu once again had that intent, searching look in his eyes.

"I wasn't raised in a samurai family." Seta winced at the thought of his true family, his rice merchant father's legitimate wife and children, who'd used him as an unpaid servant, when they weren't busy beating him up or cursing at him, the unwanted bastard. "So I don't know about samurai honor, but I think honor is protecting the weak," he said carefully. "I think honor is doing what is right, not what is easy."

Shimizu stared at him for a while, and Seta met his gaze without flinching. He realized that his habitual smile had slipped from his face when he answered Shimizu's question, and for once he left it off.

The old warrior nodded thoughtfully, and flipped the sheathed katana so that it pointed up to the roof. Grasping the skah under the tsuba – the rectangular guard piece between the blade and the hilt – with his right hand, he formally extended the sword to Seta.

Not quite believing it, Seta reached out with his right and took hold of the skah protruding out from under Shimizu's hand, and felt the added weight as the older samurai released his grasp, leaving the sword in Seta's hand.

He hesitated a moment. Shimizu was displaying an awful lot of trust in him. The older samurai didn't have a clue how fast Seta, a master of the battoujutsu style, actually was, but even so, handing your enemy a sword as you sat right in front of him?

Seta held out his left hand and let the top end of the sheath fall into it, then reversed his right hand grip on the skah and used his left hand to maneuver the sheathed blade across his body so he could set it parallel to his leg on his right hand side, the sharp edge facing inward. It was the most respectful place to put a sword.

By tradition and logistics, a sword placed at a warrior's right hand side was hardest to draw. Since most swordsmen were right handed, it was more logical to place a sword on the left side of the body, to make it easier to grab the sheath with the left hand and reach across your body with your right hand to draw the blade out. Therefore, placing a sword at one's right side signified trust that the sword wouldn't have to be drawn. It signified trust in the other occupant of the room.

Once the sword was down, Seta placed his hands on the floor in front of his knees and bowed quickly. When he raised his upper torso from the bow, he saw Shimizu's gaze flick to the sword at Seta's right, and he thought for an instant that the old samurai's eyes flashed approval.

"I need your word of honor that you will not try to escape."

Seta nodded gravely.

Shimizu seemed content with that. He glanced around the room. "Do you want anything? Tea?"

"No, thank you Shimizu-san. I'm fine." Seta paused then continued. "There is one thing though."

Shimizu's grey eyebrows drew together. "What is it?"

"If it's alright with you, I was wondering if I could sit on the engawa and watch the rain?"

The space between Shimizu's eyebrows smoothed out and his face relaxed. "Of course."

Shimizu stood up and walked over to the shoji screen on the opposite side and pulled it open, revealing the floorboards of the engawa, the long porch that wrapped around most Japanese houses. Above and beyond that lay the back garden, perfectly framed by the shoji's open doorway.

It was a tiny paradise. Fragrant cedar trees grew in a clump to the left. A cherry tree, bereft of flowers this time of year, dominated the right side of the view. It grew in front of a mass of shrubs in varying shades of green. Beyond the cherry tree the rest of the garden stretched out, with the tip of a pond just visible beyond the cedars. At the very edge of the floorboards, a few late iris blossoms protruded up past the engawa's surface.

The rain had slowed to a light drizzle while Seta and Shimizu were talking, but the dark clouds massed above promised harder rain later. For now, Seta got up and joined Shimizu who'd already sat on the porch.

He gazed out at the garden and inhaled the good, clean smell of wet earth and damp foliage. Before he died, before Seta had killed him, Senkaku once said that he was grateful when Kenshin had shown him mercy, so that he could enjoy sitting in the sunshine once more.

Seta hadn't understood then. All he'd known was that Senkaku failed in his battle with Kenshin. Senkaku proved himself weak, and thus according to Shishio's logic, Senkaku deserved to die. So Seta killed him as he sat enjoying the sunshine in front of a stream.

That was the sort of person Seta was when he'd served his master, Shishio. But now, sitting on the porch and looking out at the garden, Seta at last understood what Senkaku meant. It was good to be alive. It was good to enjoy whatever moments you had left on the earth. Even if you didn't deserve happiness.

All at once the room, even the open porch, seemed too confining.

"Excuse me, Shimizu-san, but could I walk in the garden a little? I'd like to stretch my legs for a while."

Shimizu looked at him, then nodded curtly. "Don't leave the grounds."

Seta laughed. "I've given you my word, haven't I? I guess that means I'm stuck here!" he told the older samurai as he bowed and slipped off the porch.

For a while he contented himself with walking back and forth in front of the porch. The rain was more of a heavy mist now, and it pearled on his face, hair, and hands. When Shimizu showed no signs of objecting, Seta ambled down past the cedars to the edge of the pond.

Small lily pads were scattered along the surface, and every so often there was a flash of a scaled carp, cruising the water beneath them.

There was another flash as well, from over to the left.

Narrowing his eyes, Seta saw that it was the girl, Chizuru, in a white and pink kimono and red obi. She was strolling further down the edge of the pond, by a rounded ornamental bridge that led to an open pavilion, a teahouse, on an island in the middle of the water. She leaned down for a moment, and was lost behind some shrubs.

Folding his arms, Seta watched and waited, sheltered beneath a cedar that grew near the edge of the pond.

She rose up again and slipped something into the long sleeve of her kimono. Seta heard a 'clink'. Then she paced a bit and leaned over again. This time, due to a break in the shrubberies, Seta saw her pick up a large round pebble. This pebble ended up in her sleeve as well.

The girl moved further to the left, her eyes fixed on the ground. Curious as to why the granddaughter of a daimyo should be collecting rocks from the garden, Seta followed at a distance. She gathered a few more pebbles, distributing them evenly between the sleeves of her kimono, as she rounded the far edge of the pond.

Here a few boulders skirted the surface of the waters. There were no lily pads, signifying that the pond was deeper than at the shallow end where Seta had started to follow the girl.

She gathered her kimono skirts about her with one hand, and climbed onto a flat, grey boulder. Stepping to the edge, she slipped her feet out of her sandals and stared into the water lapping at the boulder's edge.

She seemed mesmerized by it, leaning over it further and still further until…

Realizing what she meant to do, Seta reacted, using shukuchi, a footwork technique that allowed a swordsman to put on incredible speed.

Just as the girl's body hit the midway point between balance and falling, he grabbed her about the waist and pulled her back down the boulder.

She fell against him and tilted her head back to stare at him. They were the same height, Seta noticed, or would be if she stood up, but for now she was slumped against him.

"Who are you?" she asked.

"Seta Soujiro."

He grinned down at her happily, and used his most cheerful and non-threatening voice. "And you really don't want to go for a swim today. It's too cold and rainy out. Besides, don't you think your family would miss you?"

Seta meant it facetiously, meant the words to mean that her grandfather must wonder where she was right now, but he could see in her eyes that she knew he'd guessed that she meant to drown herself. He sobered.

"Why?" he asked simply.

Leaning back against him, Seta could finally see beneath the girl's bangs. Her face was heart shaped, like Yumi's. Yumi was Shishio's concubine, and the only woman who'd ever shown Seta anything close to motherly affection. However, there the resemblance ended. While Yumi's nose had been thin and patrician, this girl's nose was smaller, cute rather than beautiful. Her hair was thicker and darker and her eyes too were darker than Yumi's, and were bright with fear and desperation.

"Grandfather thinks I've been ruined." she whispered.

"Thinks?" Seta focused on the telling phrase.

She nodded, seemingly mesmerized by him. "They were going to…" she couldn't bring herself to say the words, but she swallowed and continued as Seta felt a deep shudder rack her body. "but there was no time. They ripped my kimono when they grabbed me." She touched her shoulder and Seta remembered the way she'd kept her arms crossed over her chest in the audience chamber. She must have been holding the fabric closed.

"But we were on horseback. The leader held me. He kept…touching me, but he didn't want to stop the horses until he got to their hideout in the mountains, not even when one of the horses went lame. Then they ran right into a government patrol and…" she lifted her hand wordlessly and let it fall.

Seta could figure out the rest. He imagined the confusion of the attack. She'd probably seen men die for the first time, and then the disorientation of being rescued and hauled back to her grandfather. But there was one more thing he didn't understand.

"If that's the case, then why did you cry when your grandfather asked you about it?" He asked curiously.

Her eyes filled with tears. "I was embarrassed, and everybody was looking at me." Her voice held a sort of horror that Seta didn't really understand. Didn't women want to be looked at? Yumi seemed to enjoy being admired. However, Yumi hadn't been raised the granddaughter of a daimyo. Perhaps things were different in the upper classes.

He heard a muffled shout behind him and shifted to see Shimizu coming forward around the pond, his hand on his sword's skah.

"Oh dear, I think Shimizu-san may have the wrong idea," he told Chizuru ruefully.

Moving carefully, he gently moved his grip from her waist to her upper arms and set her on her feet in front of him then stepped away just as Shimizu came up.

The older samurai cast a sharp glance at them both, but remembered his manners and bowed low at the waist to Chizuru.

"Lady," he greeted her respectfully, yet with an obvious tone of reproach. "You shouldn't be out here with the prisoner."

The girl swallowed and clenched her fists. Seta noticed that she saw the suspicious way Shimizu was looking at him. He wondered what, if anything, she'd do about it.

"I nearly…fell. He caught me," she said softly, staring at the ground as her face turned pink with a blush. Shimizu saw it and stared at Seta, who put his hands up and shrugged as if to say he didn't know why she was blushing.

"He is one of the bandits, lady." Shimizu growled. "He may have been the one who killed your brother." Shimizu kept his gaze on Seta, challengingly.

Chizuru's head came up sharply. She gave Seta a stricken look, then backed away and ran towards the house. As she went, he heard, faintly, the pebbles she'd used to weight her kimono sleeves clinking together.

He opened his mouth to comment, then realized Shimizu was still glaring at him. Sighing, Seta walked around the old warrior and headed back to the house.

The rain began to thud down in hard droplets.

It was ironic, really. In the year or so of wandering around Seta had done nothing to save anyone. He'd worked odd jobs, but had always been paid for it in food if not in money. The very first time he'd managed to do something completely altruistic was on the eve of his own death.

The daimyo wanted revenge, and Seta was, in a way, responsible for the heir's death. He had to accept this punishment. He was, after all, guilty of murder many times over. He'd assassinated Okubo, and Senkaku. And then there was his family too. They'd planned to kill him, and he'd taken Shishio's gift, a wakizashi, and slaughtered them, even though he was just a child at the time.

It had been raining then as well.

Seta raised his face to the rain and wished that he could cry again as he had for the very last time when he killed his family, but the tears wouldn't come.

Shimizu had walked past him as he stood looking up at the sky, and was waiting on the engawa. He sighed and followed Shimizu back into the house.

Note to Reviewers:

Flamer – You go right ahead and call him 'Sou-chan' if it makes you happy! I love the diminutive suffix – 'chan'. It makes him sound even cuter than he already is. Sou-chan forever!

Skeshingumi – Thanks for the official age information on Seta! Er, how tall in feet and inches is 163 cm? I'm hopeless at metric. By the way, when are you going to write a story so I can review you back? I feel bad that you're doing all the work here of reviewing and I can't do anything to repay your kindness!

WolfDaughter – How did your final exams go? I'm glad chapter two provided a welcome break from them! You're really sweet to say that my stories are 'enthralling'. My last couple of stories were fluffy ones written just for fun.

Ayumu-in-blue – I gave you an idea for a one-shot? Cool! I hope this chapter is just as inspiring!

Applesoveroranges – You're welcome for the review – I liked reading it. Don't apologize! The only way to polish your writing skills is to just sit down and write, so keep it up!

Moeru himura – You're right about the daimyo joining the meiji administration. Most simply became the 'elected' governors of their provinces – it was how the meiji government placated them when they reorganized society. Historians like to point out that while outward appearances changed, the ruling elite class still managed to end up in power positions after the restoration of the emperor. Not all daimyo, however, got the good jobs. I decided to make Muneiwa one of the overlooked daimyo. He has no army, only a few samurai who remained loyal and stayed on as servants, and his hatred of change precluded him from taking on an active role in the Meiji government. Thanks for the vote of confidence about using Soujiro's surname!

Wyrd – I'm glad you're liking the story. Way to go with the riding! Do you ride Western or English style? I took English riding lessons about a gazillion years ago, but I don't think I could hop on a horse again without falling right off! As you can see from this chapter, Chizuro didn't actually get attacked 'that way' by the bandit, though he's definitely still going to have to face the music during his trial. I'm glad you like the name 'Beppo'. I have to admit, I stole it from a history book. Beppo was Saigo Takamori's second during his seppuku ritual, so he was the one who actually decapitated him – at least that's one version of how Saigo died when his revolt against the Meiji government failed!

Conspirator – Thanks for reading! It's always a pleasure to get a review from someone I respect so much! As for the story being long…er…(squirms embarrassedly)…it's going to be five chapters! Sorry that's all there is!

Babygirl – Oh man, I made you cry? Cheer up! I plan to use 'Soujiro' at least once at the end of the story, so I won't be calling him by his surname the whole time, I promise!

Another Baka – Me too, otherwise I wouldn't be writing a story about him.

Sailor-Earth13 – Thanks for the compliment. 'Conflicted' is definitely what I'm aiming for with Soujiro! I'm glad you noticed!

Loise – Thanks for the information on his age! I'm glad you're enjoying Soujiro's POV – it's been an interesting challenge to write his reactions and thought processes!

LadyRhiyana – Thanks for the compliments! In the anime, they made such a point about Soujiro not having any discernible emotions, that I've tried to make him emotionally detached in my story too. Even his emotional breakdown while fighting Kenshin wouldn't be enough to cause him to throw off years of hiding his feelings, and I think that the road back to normality would be a long and rocky one for him. My story is just a bump on that road.

Lolo popoki – Yep, Seta was definitely caught red handed last chapter, and in this one he gets caught with his hands full as well – only this time it's not a corpse! Poor Seta, he just can't seem to win.

Kasifya – Thanks for the hug and the kind words. I hope you like this chapter too!

Larie-chan – Disney stinted on the muses? That's really cheap of them! In the movie 'Xanadu' they only focused on ONE muse – and she was played by Olivia Newton John – the actress from 'Grease'. Poor muses, they don't seem to get the respect they deserve from Hollywood! Thanks again for the Soujiro age info. I got a lot of help from my reviewers on that one!

Sueb262 – Thanks for the horse correction! I can't believe I got the ends mixed up! I'll have to go back and try to fix that!

Kie-san – I think Soujiro should go through life with his katana in one hand and a bag of popcorn in the other! You're right, he does look on at life, like someone watching a movie. He watches and processes information, but he doesn't really participate emotionally, at least not yet. I want him to keep struggling with that, rather than have a total personality change after his enlightening fight with Kenshin. You're right about Kenshin as well, there are very few guys in real life who are as nice as him! And Sanosuke's got that 'brooding bad boy' look down pat! I have to say though, for me, Saitoh has got to be the ultimate in brooding anti-heroes. There's just something about those narrow eyes and those bangs…sigh.