Such a fool is not fit to rule
He told himself to have patience. He told himself to wait for Gintoki to move, as he had been instructed. He spoke to himself in the emptiness of that large, echoing room with only cold steel to accompany him. He said to trust the Silver Archer, as had been his final words. Somehow, their conversation from the night before wouldn't stop throbbing in his ears. He could hear the pounding of danger. He knew, above all else, that he could not stand still. Gintoki seemed to be telling him not to stray from the plan, not to recklessly dive in. His story had warned of what could happen if he did. The choice between the life of his master, and the legacy.
Gintoki had chosen the legacy. Hijikata wasn't sure he would follow the same path if it meant losing Kondo.
He ran his hands along the plethora of weaponry available to him. He would need to minimise his presence, so carrying his usual sword would not do; it was far too conspicuous. In his belt, he carried the small knife that Gintoki had given him. The weapon was unusual to him, the handle felt too light and flimsy. It didn't feel like enough. He wasn't well practiced with something this small. He'd prefer to snatch one of the axes from the wall mount, or experiment with the weight of a spear. A long bow caught his attention. Smoothing the wood with his fingers, he followed the curve of the bow, taking a moment to separate himself from his negative thoughts. Something like this would easily slip under his cloak.
It was a shame he had rarely used one.
He would have to make do with the dagger. There were no such thing as inconspicuous medieval weapons. Returning the window, he noticed the crowds had fallen silent. The execution parade had begun.
Hijikata swallowed and braced himself against the stone wall. A shadow of black departed from the opened trapdoor to the cellar below the castle. It was a figure from which not a flash of human flesh could be distinguished: black hood, black face covering, black clothing from head to foot. In his hand he carried a heavy sword – the sword that would cut the rope to the trap door in one smooth movement, the blade fresh from the pumice. Behind it came the first of many guards, armour clanking with each step. They were in full ceremonial garb, silver glinting in the light of day to blind the audience; profoundly captivating but not at all practical to fight in close combat. That would be of advantage to their side. The men would be difficult to kill, but they'd be slow. It would work in their favour. After all, as Gintoki had said, they were not murderers.
No one had to die today.
Hijikata felt scornful of the ceremonial attire; this was nothing to commemorate. He suddenly felt sickened, even despite the fact that he had witnessed perhaps hundreds of executions in the past. Most of which he had turned a blind eye to. It didn't matter if they were innocent. It didn't matter if it was a young boy who had stolen to keep himself alive. None of that mattered. Humans could never care about something that did not affect them. The species had been like that since the first tick of time and Hijikata had never taken a second to question it until now. But, as soon as he saw the figure of his commander step proudly up the stone steps into the light, he was nauseous. And angry. The hundreds of people gathered here … Not a single one appeared to think this was wrong. There were women and children in the audience, gathering to watch the show as a form of entertainment. They wouldn't raise a hand to stop this. Kondo had been protecting their livelihoods for years, serving selflessly. And now he needed something back from them … they wouldn't even blink when his body turned cold.
Hijikata had to turn away for a second to gather himself. If he allowed himself to get too agitated, he'd sprint right into the middle of that madness and stop it with his own hands. Probably getting cut down in the interim. He hadn't yet seen one of his men.
Perhaps there was something he could do after all.
Somewhat reluctantly, he left the window and removed his hood. He needed his ears sharp and aware, not dulled by the muffled echoes of his footsteps. The room was long and square with nowhere for his enemies to hide, so he sprinted quickly across the stone, trying his best to quell the sound. When he reached the door, he placed his ear against the wood and listened. He became sensitive to each vibration. Next, he got down to the floor until his cheek pressed against the cold stone, squinting through the gap under the doorway. He couldn't see any shadows moving, and the light was entirely natural, no torches lit. There were two ways to go about this: one, walk with confidence and hope that no one stopped you; two, creep and try to avoid being seen. With how he had so easily slipped into the crowds, Gintoki appeared to be an advocate for the former. If you try to cover for something, it only draws the eye. However, Hijikata was completely unable to blend in with people. If someone asked him a question, he'd be found out immediately.
He used his whole hand to smother the latch, carefully shifting his fingers so that the metal separated. He then let the door swing gently open, standing behind the opposite wall. Inside the room, not a sound slipped through the open doorway. Feeling it safe to move, he quickly glanced inside, scanning left to right, checking each corner of the room … Safe. He was into the next room. This one was a kitchen storeroom, very tastefully situated above the stables so that the stench from outside made the air heavy with musk. Either side was stacked high with hessian sacks, full to bursting with various grains and products. Hijikata spared a thought for the amount of food that was always wasted within these walls. Himself and his men were always well-fed, and semi-regularly the Sheriff would stage large banquets to which he sometimes invited his Knights. On nights like those, more than half of the food would either be left untouched or vomited by a drunk guest into one of the corridors. Whilst they were gorging on food for pleasure, Gintoki and his comrades were starving themselves to feed their so-called prisoner. The 'prisoner' they were now helping.
They had shown him more hope and humanity in the short time he had spent with them than Hijikata had experienced in his entire life. Even when he was at his happiest with his older brother, Tamegoro, he was surrounded by bitter, twisted humans like his mother. She had beaten him more than once, eyes constantly filled with spite. Their extended family was just as hostile. And then, of course, there were the bandits that had come to rob their home and ended up maiming his older brother's eyes.
Hijikata had only ever put faith in two men, his brother and Kondo. No one else was allowed to break through his barriers.
Except one silver-haired goon that was supposed to be his damn enemy.
He had certainly changed.
From the storeroom to the kitchens, the balconies above the Great Hall and the Chapel, Hijikata searched the rooms. In the pit of his stomach, dread began to fester as he knew it was wholly unusual that he had not yet seen one other person inside the walls. Where were the workers? Where were his men? Sure, some of the guards and stable boys were outside in the crowds: the Sheriff believed anyone that worked in the castle should be exposed to what happened to traitors, so they were often expected to be present for court-rulings and executions as a show of support for their Lord. However, there was absolutely no-one around. The castle echoed his own breath back into his ears. He glanced out of the nearest window. All the men to be executed had been lined up now. Kondo appeared to be the last one to go. He was now blindfolded.
Hijikata pressed on, continuing the search. Something wasn't right.
He reached the room where his men slept and found it padlocked; it had never been locked. The mumble of conversation vibrated through the door. It felt familiar. His men must be inside. They had been sealed in here by the Sheriff, no doubt, as even he should be aware that these ruffians were loyal to one man only.
What if they were being guarded?
He hesitated. If he opened this door now, what would happen? He felt like he was betraying Gintoki, going against the plan. On the other hand, he could be helping. His men were clearly trapped behind this door to stop them from rebelling. They wouldn't take much persuading to join in the assault.
A thud sounded from the courtyard, the unmistakeable thunk of the trap door dropping open. Hijikata's knees buckled, but he regained his composure, sprinting over to the nearest gap in the stone walls to peer out. There was an echoing gasp of dismay around the castle grounds as the audience took a collective breath. It took a few seconds for Hijikata's eyes to register what he was seeing. The trap door was open. The executioner standing upright after his swing. The man who was meant to be swinging had instead shot straight through the hatch, the rope severed. Had someone cut the rope?
His sharp eyes very quickly caught onto the truth as he spotted the arrow embedded in the wooden post. Someone had shot through the rope, severing it in two so that the prisoner had kept on falling. Who knew whether he had broken any bones from the fall but he would survive. After all, he knew who had fired that arrow. There was only one man that could make such a shot.
The onlookers were silent, the executioner looking up in puzzlement at the severed rope, seeking answers. It didn't take long for him to catch on, whether or not he had seen the arrow, as he began looking around. He tightened his grip on his sword. A new voice filled the air, soaring from above the crowds.
"Good morning, Nottingham," it sang, frustratingly cheerful. Taunting. "Sorry but today's show has been cancelled." The whole crowd began to search the air frantically but Hijikata didn't have time for this. He made his decision, darting back to the locked door and giving it a few sharp kicks with his boot. The wood was too thick, it barely splintered. The padlock itself was solid mental and the loop about as wide as his thumb. He should not have expected it to be that easy. If it were, his men would have long since escaped. He stood for a second, trying to ignore the sounds of fighting that had begun outside. He distinctly recognised the piercing whistle of arrows slicing through the air and finding their marks. On the other side of the door, the talking had stopped. They were listening now.
Hijikata darted back where he had come from, no longer worrying about being seen. He'd cut anyone down if they tried to stop him. His footsteps rattled loud across the stones but there was no one around to hear them. Once in the armoury, he grasped the largest axe he could find, relishing in the sensation of it heavy in his palm. It was nice to have a proper weapon in his possession again. One look at the blade and he could tell it had been recently sharpened. The edge glimmered teasingly. In less than a minute, he was back at the large wooden door – this time, he was prepared.
"Stand back from the door!" He yelled, subtly praying that the chaos outside was enough of a distraction. The last thing he needed was to be discovered now. A muffled shout echoed back at him and he recognised the voice. Yamazaki was repeating his command.
It took four wide swoops of the axe to break through the lock. The first one missed, the second one found the mark but left barely a dent. The third and fourth, Hijikata poured all his weight into the axe and struck the lock. It gave way. Once he kicked the door open, he was welcomed by the smiles of his men.
"Vice-commander!" They breathed in unison.
"No time to lose!" Hijikata interrupted. "Break out into the courtyard. Squad one, evacuate the civilians. Squad two, support the rebels in causing a scene. Squad three, rescue Kondo. Sougo, I'm leaving you in charge." He met the boy's eyes – the glow of his eyes burned red in a rage Hijikata had not seen for some time. The anger was, for once, not directed at him. Hijikata would put money on the Sheriff losing more than his prisoners tonight.
But he didn't have time to be thinking this.
His feet barely scraped the floor as he ran as fast as his legs could carry him, the axe still firmly in his grip. He briefly regretted not taking a glance through the window before he left; he could have used the situational awareness. Never mind. He was close to the ground floor now. As he rounded the stairs, he finally came into contact with a pair of guards. They were standing by the door to the castle courtyard. They had been listening impatiently as events unfolded on the other side but were clearly loath to disobey their orders, even in the unfolding emergency. Hijikata slowed his pace and took a second to breathe deeply. The men turned around, jolting. Behind him, Hijikata felt the rage of his comrades burn the atmosphere. He folded his fingers tightly around the hilt of his weapon, letting go of his breath one smooth whistle of air.
"Put down your weapons or die here." Hijikata announced. "I don't have time to negotiate anything else."
They clearly hesitated. Two against twelve? They didn't have a chance. And even if it had been better numbers, Hijikata represented ten men alone. They hadn't been living under the castle drawbridge their entire lives; they knew perfectly well what he was capable of. The deliberation played across their faces and they exchanged a look. Hijikata was right; if they fought here, they died.
And to die for the Sheriff of Nottingham was not to die a death of glory and valour.
One of them threw down his sword, raised his palms and stepped back. "Go ahead, the Sheriff's Dogs." The other followed suit, chewing his lip in humiliation.
"We're not the Sheriff's dogs." Hijikata announced, heading straight for the door and feeling the force of rage bubbling behind him, ready to pop. "The Sheriff is no more."
They burst into the courtyard and were immediately swallowed by chaos. It was hard to distinguish friend from foe, civilian from sympathiser. There were clearly mercenaries in the crowd who had been forewarned by the Sheriff that if they managed to disrupt any rebellion, they'd receive a hefty payoff. Sougo broke off to his left, way ahead of his men. He didn't pause for them to catch up. He didn't have time. Kondo was being escorted back towards the prison cells and already mercenaries were stalking towards him, knowing the biggest lump of gold would be exchanged for his head. The Sheriff was no longer in his usual place on the balcony overlooking the courtyard. He had probably left at the first shot of an arrow and was no doubt heading down to the courtyard to join the fray - he was a warrior himself and relished the opportunity to show off his might. The Silver Archer had never scared him.
Idiots don't feel fear or pain, Hijikata thought, even when they certainly should.
Hijikata couldn't help but grin as he imagined Gintoki finding the Sheriff alone. Gintoki was a man of just retribution. Hijikata hadn't expected him to be that way and it was a pleasant shock when he found out. One that triggered a shiver down his spine in barely subdued delight. He couldn't wait to savour the sight of Gintoki towering over the fallen Sheriff, with no chance of reprieve from the pain Gintoki would inflict on him. He'd done too much to too many people for too long. Gintoki would have that expression again, the look that should be captured in art for millennia to come, his eyes glowing like hot knives and silver hair shining ethereal as the centre piece of a frame that would fill a room from floor to ceiling. He should be entombed in the thick brush strokes of an oil painting for eternity.
The things Gintoki would do to him.
Hijikata tried to quell the excited rush he felt in his stomach. He'd seen it once before, and the memory was scratched into his retinas. On a visit to a village on the outskirts of the forest, a couple of local thugs had entrapped Shinpachi. Gintoki, unbeknownst elsewhere, was busy surrounded by his many admirers who loved to spend time around him. He chatted freely to the village elders, making crude jokes and earning the rebuke of their wooden staffs. As usual, his face was lax, and he had a smirk in his expression that never seemed to fade. People flocked to him. Soon, he was completely swamped. It was Hijikata, who had been watching quietly in incredulity, that noted the absence of Shinpachi. He departed the perplexing scene and eventually came across the sounds of a scuffle from one of the huts. Without making notice of his arrival, he beat open the door to find Shinpachi clutching his stomach in the dirt with five or so bulky men glowered down at him. He had a trail of blood running from his bruised nose and a swollen patch under his eye that shone bright blue. Hijikata reached for his knife, eyes darkening, but before he could move, a chill ran down his backbone. Instead of facing the thugs, he jolted away from the entrance and turned his back on them to face the darkness amassing behind him. He felt suddenly like a cornered rabbit under the watch of a predatory hawk, circling.
"The Silver Archer!" One of the thugs spat. Hijikata couldn't believe their gall, but his brother had frequently told him that idiots did not feel pain or fear. They were oblivious to their weakness, like a small dog picking a fight with a horse without the ability to comprehend its ineptitude – its ribs could be cracked with one swift kick. Meanwhile, Hijikata felt the swell of panic freezing his limbs. His eyes finally met with the enemy behind him.
And he found it not to be an enemy at all.
Gintoki's presence filled the doorway. His eyes glowed in the shadows. His presence was ghostly and silent. He still wore a smirk, this time befitting of the overwhelming atmosphere of killer intent threatening to suffocate them all.
It was the first time he had seen Gintoki switch like that, and the first time he had witness Gintoki deliberately inflicting pain on others without a hint of remorse shadowing his temple. The thought of seeing him like that again powered his limbs as he sprinted through the open doorway at the other side of the courtyard, orientating the familiar layout of the Great Hall. He was stopped by the sight of the Sheriff sitting contentedly at the head of the long dining table. The Sheriff looked up happily, leaning back in his seat and folding one leg over the other.
"I knew you'd come," the Sheriff said, lightly. "Traitor."
And Hijikata's fury was quelled swiftly by the pierce of an arrow through his shoulder.