Naming
She smiled at him, studying him.
This was the third evening he had come to see her in her private chambers, several months since she started living in his house. She was his guest, a member of his household. Not a slave, not family.
For the first time, he found her alone, with a paintbrush and ink, paper spread out on the table. She was drawing odd characters on the page, in neat rows. He was surprised to learn that she was in fact, writing.
She was learning to speak his language, but it was slow going, even with a tutor like Megana. She didn't have the speed of language acquisition that her brother possessed. The boy had picked it up quickly, if inelegantly, and had been a font of information. Mystery still shrouded the young woman in many ways, though.
At first, he had been concerned that she was unteachable, but the tutor assured him that Kaoru was in fact, very bright and very well educated. She could read and write, had read major literary works of her people, and had some understanding of strategy, as well as being able to play two complicated table games he had never heard of, shogi and go. In fact, she had been taught as a son, not a daughter. She was not proficient in the domestic arts, but in swordsmanship. 'Sword princess' indeed!
The astonishing part was that the boy had not received similar instruction. While he could read and write in his own language, it was at a basic level. This report puzzled Centimus. Wouldn't a son be just as well educated if not better than a daughter? Even if he was younger, as Yahiko was? He pushed his remembered puzzlement aside to be here, with her.
She touched the floor next to her. As he was about to step into the room to take her invitation, he caught her glaring at his boots. Last time, she had politely asked him to remove them. She herself was always in socks. He chuckled sheepishly as he removed his boots before stepping in and glancing around the room. She had been invited to decorate however she saw fit and what she did amazed him. The floor was covered in rugs. She sat on a cushion, in the same folded up way as when he first met her. She had asked that a table be cut down to her seated height. Her bed, hidden by a screen, wasn't more than a made-up mattress on the floor. As he settled cross legged next to her, she pulled a fresh page towards her.
"What are you doing?" he asked, watching her dip her paintbrush into the ink bottle. How did you write with a paintbrush?
"I write. See?" She was so eloquent in her native tongue, words flowing like water in a brook, it saddened him that she should be rendered so inarticulate just because of geography. She began drawing complicated pictures. "My name, Kamiya Kaoru." The symbols were stacked neatly on top of each other, in two perfectly spaced columns.
"That must have been hard to learn to draw as a child." He quipped. "How do you write it in my language, with alphabet?" she tilted her head in thought, the tip of the brush handle settling in the indent below her lip. He enjoyed her mannerisms. After a moment of thought, she shrugged in a universal 'I don't know' gesture. It was hard to translate sounds into the alphabet of his language. She offered him the brush, but he turned it down. He did not try either. It was a little-known fact that while technically literate, Centimus Himuramus was not exactly a scribe. "We should ask your tutor tomorrow how to spell it." She nodded in agreement.
"Hai." He knew that one, it was 'yes'.
"What about my name?" he gestured towards the markings on her page. "How do you write my name?" She looked at him thoughtfully. She had taken to calling him 'Kentsin', the strange modification for her own mouth to get around the unfamiliar syllables.
"Many choices." She murmured. "Names, they have meaning. What is yours?"
"The meaning of my name?" she nodded. "It's just a name. No meaning." She shook her head.
"No. All names meaning. My name, Kaoru … the smell of flowers." Ah. Her eyes were lit with interest, communication. Conversation.
"Fragrance?" It fit. She certainly had filled his home with a sweet fragrance. That was when he realized that there was a grin plastered on his face. She blushed.
"So. Kentsin…" She studied him, from the top of his red hair that brushed his shoulders, down to his tunic and trousers, along his boots, and to the ever present sword that he had laid on the floor when he had come into the room.
"Ken…" she drew a symbol on her paper, but then seemed stumped. "Hmm."
He peered at the page over her hand. "Are you inventing my name in picture language?"
She laughed. "Kanji." She swept her hand to encompass all her writing.
"Kan-ji." He tried the new word on his tongue, trying to mimic her smooth voice. He got a smile for his effort. "You speak kan-ji?" Her face twitched in suppressed laughter for a second. At his inquisitiveness, she let a giggle out.
"Iie!" He was pretty sure that meant 'no'. When she regained composure, she continued. "I speak Nihongo*. Kanji like alphabet, see? But words." she pointed to each individual symbol. "All different kanji." He could admit to feeling a bit foolish. It was pretty presumptuous to assume that her language would be simpler than his own, that she was simple.
"How did you learn all these?" He surveyed her pages with interest. She did look a little smug.
"Much practice." Then she gave him another smile.
Her smiles transformed her face. "Many kanji to make your name sounds." She returned to their previous conversation. Her brow furrowed, trying to sort out her meaning in a new tongue. Then her face lit up. "Shin!" he was a little started by her exclamation, but directed his attention to the page as she drew another symbol. She proudly pointed to the two neatly stacked on top of each other. "Kenshin." He studied the symbols. They meant absolutely nothing to him. He tried out her pronunciation of his name.
"Ken…shin?" she nodded, smiling. "What does that mean?" a light pink dusted her cheeks. It was captivating.
"Sword…" she gestured to the weapon at his side. "…Heart." She laid a hand on his chest. It was his turn to blush. He wasn't quite sure what that meant, why she saw him that way, but her touch was warm.
"Sword…heart?" she nodded, eagerly and withdrew her hand.
"You, the heart of the sword."