AN: This chapter has not been beta-read, so be prepared for grammar issues and typos.
Chapter 39 – The Request
"What did happen, what did they want with you, what did they ask of you… what was that all about? Tell! Pretty you got to tell us everything!" Makoto demanded and grabbed him by the shoulders the moment he stepped back into the inn.
Kenshin was already off balance by the situation, but the worried look in Makoto's honey brown eyes and Hideyoshi's anxious hovering, their reactions stunned him. Oh. They really care? But… but what could he tell them?
"Oro, that is… They wanted to question this one of the last night's events. Saigo-san had Tanaka-san with him, to testify that this one had been seen escorting Sakamoto-san alone and then Saigo-san demanded to know what had happened. He was angry, more so than usual. This time, there were threats spoken. He and the Satsuma leadership suggested that it might be possible that this one had murdered Sakamoto-san. This unworthy one denied it, of course, and told the truth as it happened. Kido-san trusted this unworthy one's word, that he did." Kenshin explained slowly, keeping slight pauses to gather his thoughts. He was trying to make it sound like it was not a big deal, that there was no cause to worry.
It seemed to work, to a point. The Chirpy let go of the painful hold of his shoulders and exhaled pointedly, all but shaking. Hideyoshi simply nodded, but his eyes held suspicion still.
It was not perfect, but it was as good as an explanation Kenshin could give, under the circumstances. Katsura-san had covered for him, sacrificed much face among his peers and difficult allies by asserting that Kenshin's word could be trusted.
But the fact was: heads would roll for this.
An assassination of such an important figure as Sakamoto-san was a serious setback to rebellion and it would create instability in their hesitant alliance with Tosa. That was bad enough, but if even a hint of a rumor got out that Choshuu's legendary Hitokiri Battousai was responsible? It would spread like a wildfire and sow anger and distrust between Satsuma and Choshuu.
Sakamoto had been respected and favored middleman by Satsuma leadership. He had brought the most unlikely provinces to the same negotiation table and the resulting Satcho alliance was lauded as his greatest achievement. A rumor, especially this rumor – no matter how many people would deny it – it would risk everything they had been working for and it could damage or break the Satcho alliance.
Without Satsuma's support, the revolution could still fail.
Katsura-san knew it. Kenshin knew it. And yet, his leader had asserted that his word was trustworthy, that this dangerous rumor could be still killed and buried at its root.
At the meeting, Nakamura and quite a few of the Choshuu leadership had been stoic, their ki presences swarming like flies inside their flesh shells, but as they took a break for discussion, the whispers had begun. Kenshin had been worried, because of the situation and of the earlier rumors claiming his insanity and he had enhanced his hearing, listening in to their agitated private conversations.
Among the Choshuu leadership, far too many had been questioning his credibility, his usefulness and Katsura-san's assertion about his trustworthiness.
Saigo-san's rage had them worried to the point that not one, or two, but nearly all of them were ready to give Hitokiri Battousai to Satsuma as a method for saving face, to prove that Choshuu had not sanctioned Sakamoto-san's assassination. So that if he was found responsible, there would be no question that he had been working alone.
At the end of the recess, when Kenshin and his leader had been just about to step back to the meeting room, one of Katsura-san's peers, a high ranking man from the province had stopped them and voiced his concern: "Kido-san, this revolution is worth more than one man's life. If Saigo-san won't be satisfied by your word, give your hitokiri to him."
Katsura-san had paused, and then replied: "I'll take your advice under consideration."
The meeting had continued for hours but at the end, they had reached a compromise no one had been happy about. Kenshin would return to his unit like nothing had happened. The rumors would be squashed. And Satsuma, well – Saigo-san and the rest of the Satsuma-leadership present had demanded proof and something tangible to show Choshuu's good faith, which led to all sorts of material and immaterial concessions.
Choshuu had lost much, too much for this.
And still, if Saigo-san hadn't been calmed down by Katsura-san's cold logic that such assassination benefited Bakufu more and framing Hitokiri Battousai for the murder was the best tactic they could ever dream of; and if Katsura-san had not been willing to give so much for reparations, to save face and to try to prove his trustworthiness…
It was perfectly possible that Kenshin would be a head shorter right about now.
Or a deserter.
Kenshin didn't know, he truly didn't know, if he could have accepted a death sentence for a deed he didn't do for the sake of politics. He wasn't samurai, no matter what papers and rumors claimed. He didn't believe in samurai's ancient honor code and creed, and it wasn't like they could force him to commit a seppuku like so many of the Ishin Shishi had done when it had been required of them in the early days of the revolution.
But then again, if it would have been the only way to save the Satcho alliance, if Katsura-san had asked it of him… which was more important, his life or the revolution?
What did he have left to live for but his desperate hope that the revolution would lead to a new era of peace and happiness for the common people? He was guilty of causing so much pain and misery. He had destroyed so many lives, dreams of future, families… he was a murderer, pure and simple. Would he abandon the only thing he had left and turn deserter just to save his own life?
"How could they even suspect you? You wouldn't hurt a fly! Well, not if it wasn't ordered by that Kido fellow and besides, it isn't like you are crazy, at least not any crazier than I am," Makoto muttered, his tone uncommonly somber. "You have been fighting for so long, always done what they ask of you. I can't name a single man who is more committed to this revolution than you are. And yet… yet, it makes no sense! Why would you even want to fight for them, if they repay you with so little trust?"
Kenshin sighed and buried his face into the crook of his arm. He didn't bother to reply to Makoto. The fact was: it was haunting him, the blatant backstabbing, power plays and rumor mongering among the Ishin Shishi leadership. It was obvious that to them he was not a person, but a resource, a tool to be used and discarded when it best suited them.
Especially Nakamura's grudge against him was worrying. It kept growing, taking a darker, more serious turn after each incident, each opportunity that was presented. The weasel had been so angry when he had left the meeting; his ki had pulsed with murky hatred, like a swamp crud threatening to swallow smaller presences around him.
When would Nakamura's influence grow to the point that Katsura-san's word wouldn't be enough to cover for him?
He couldn't forget Katsura-san's clenched fists and ice cool stare towards the rest of the Choshuu leadership. It had been a clear sign to Kenshin: watch out and be on your guard. His leader could only protect him to a point.
"An assassination like this… It can't go unanswered. Someone will have to die for it." Hideyoshi remarked thoughtfully. "Was that the reason why Nakamura was so pleased this morning? Was he hoping he would finally get you?"
Kenshin gripped his kimono sleeve in his fist. Damn it all. He had been hoping to avoid this conversation. He truly did not want to discuss this, not now, not ever… but Steady and Chirpy, they had been sticking up for him since they were assigned here, so maybe it would be better to let them know what risk they were taking just by staying close to him.
He took a deep breath and admitted, "Yes."
"So, let me get this straight. The higher-ups are gunning for you, left and right, and yet you still fight. That's crazy. I would bail out right away." Makoto said, his gaze clearly puzzled. "It isn't like this revolution is riding on your shoulders."
"This unworthy one fights for the new era where all can live in peace," Kenshin whispered. "It doesn't matter what a few men in the leadership think. This one has sworn to follow Kido-san and see this war to the end, that he has." Even though Kenshin tried to keep his voice assertive, decisive, at least to make it sound he believed in his own rhetoric, those words sounded hollow.
"Nakamura won't stop for this," Hideyoshi remarked, thoughtful.
Kenshin shook his head, staring at the floorboards while picking on the loose threads of his sleeves. It was the truth. He was worried. He had been quietly worrying for so long, listening to the talk of hitokiri, mad dogs, and Nakamura's claims about his insanity, but now even he had to admit that the tide was starting to turn against him.
"Well, Nakamura is just a region commander, isn't he? He can't have that much power. I mean, you are the Hitokiri Battousai, the Choshuu's living legend. Surely that is far more valuable to the cause than one measly weasel of a man who thinks he is a big deal? Besides, if Nakamura becomes a threat, never fear — I'll protect you Pretty! And so will Hideyoshi! To get you, they will come for all the three of us!" Makoto declared.
Kenshin glanced up, eyes widening… Makoto was grinning, proud of his absurd words. Even Hideyoshi was nodding along, smiling determinately.
"I agree," Hideyoshi stated. "After all, we are the Steady, Chirpy and the Odd, aren't we?"
"We are what?" Makoto parroted.
And Kenshin couldn't help but smile at the pair, shaking his head in disbelief. He didn't understand how, but those guys always managed to make him feel better.
Kyoto buzzed with rumors about Sakamoto-san's assassination.
What seemed to be universally known was that on fifteenth of the tenth month, a great revolutionary Sakamoto Ryoma had been murdered and his companion and bodyguard, Nakaoka-san had been mortally wounded. The other Samurai had lingered at the death's door for two days after the assassination, but even the best medical care hadn't been able to save him or bring him conscious so that he could confirm or deny any suspicions about the perpetrator.
So now, one knew who was to blame for the grisly deed.
It was a genuine mystery and what was worse, it had been an opportune act a great many could have benefited from which spurred the speculation even more.
…and no matter how it had been tried to keep quiet, one of the more popular theories was that Sakamoto-san's death was a Choshuu power grab in the alliance, pure and simple and who else could have done it, but the Choshuu's legendary Hitokiri Battousai? Every time Kenshin overheard that rumor, he paled white as a sheet.
In hindsight, the Ishin Shishi leadership's decision to try to kill the rumor at its root had been a futile endeavor.
People loved a good mystery and everyone seemed to have their own favorite conspiracy theory about Sakamoto-san's death. Moreover, there had been too many Satsuma men who had seen Kenshin leave with Sakamoto-san on that fateful night.
To divert the rumor and keep it from gaining legitimacy, Choshuu purposefully used their agents and informants to create a counter theory: one claiming that Bakufu had most to gain from the assassination. The policing force, Shinsengumi were chosen as scapegoats. Albeit they had the right to detain rebels or even slay them on suspicion of rebellious activity, an assassination couldn't be justified as a method for keeping the peace, especially a flat-out premeditated murder of an individual like Sakamoto-san, who had been too high up the ladder, too respected by everyone. Because of this, the Shinsengumi's leader, Kondo Isami was accused of being the person responsible for the assassination. Even if he hadn't personally done, it was claimed to have been his responsibility. The man hadn't yet been convicted by it, but the accusation was quickly spreading and causing chaos among the Bakufu.
The counter-rumors were working to a point, but they didn't help Kenshin much. The whispers claiming his involvement for the assassination were still in everyone's minds and Choshuu didn't want to take any chances with antagonizing Satsuma and Tosa by accident. Because of this, Kenshin didn't get any jobs that required any collaboration, which of course, meant that suddenly he had much more free time than he was used to having.
It made him feel useless.
Worse, it made him think, truly think. What use was he to the revolution truly? What was he doing that was so important, so unique that no one else could do it? He was a skirmisher, like all the other men in his unit. He did bodyguarding jobs, but so did many others. He had been an hitokiri, but even Choshuu had other hitokiri now. He was a swordsman, a good swordsman but… how important could one sword be in the revolution that concerned the whole country in one way or another?
And funnily, it was Makoto's words that kept coming back to him: "It isn't like the whole revolution rests on your shoulders."
It would be stupid to claim otherwise. Kenshin knew that, and yet – hadn't he been thinking like that for time and time again? Giving his all, taking chances no one else did, because if he didn't succeed, the revolution would fail?
But would it really?
Or was it a young man's brand of arrogance to think so, as Ito-san had said to him once upon a time?
And the truth was… he was tired. Of war, killing, the nightmares of the people he had killed that kept haunting him night after night, of rumors, backstabbing, and politics, of everything. The only things keeping him with the rebels were his oath to Katsura-san and his promise to her that he would see this war to end.
But when would it end?
He didn't know, but these thoughts were running on his mind and eating up his crumbling resolve a day after day. To make it worse, it felt that people on the streets, in the inn, at the meetings, everywhere he went, kept staring at him and doing their best to avoid him like they could somehow sense how stained he was. Or maybe he was just paranoid and jumping at shadows. He didn't know. He just didn't know anything anymore.
It wasn't like his paranoia counted for much, except to make him stop and stare back at the people who kept looking at him, wondering just how long it would take for them to turn against him, betray him to the Bakufu's forces or join up with Nakamura's growing posse in believing that he was insane and needed to be put down like a mad dog, just like they had hunted down Udo Jineh, just like people were muttering of Shishio…
It wasn't that he truly believed that his own would turn against him.
Rationally, he knew that Nakamura was a small fish in a big pond and it didn't matter if he could convince a few middle-ranking politicians to his side.
Battousai's skills were valued. Katsura-san trusted him. Kenshin knew those two things with dead certainty.
But on the other hand, the seed of a nagging doubt had been planted a long time ago. And in the end, his leader was just one man. Hitokiri Battousai was feared and hated, promoted to a horror story of epic proportions for the cause.
Maybe these thoughts were coming to him because he was restless. He didn't have enough things to do but to wander around and kill time.
The revolution should be over soon, shouldn't it?
There was just some political fighting, or maybe one last show of force left. If something didn't go terribly wrong again. What Kenshin knew of the political situation, it seemed that after Shogun Yoshinobu had resigned, his influence had been waning. Soon the emperor would be confirmed to be in power and then, then it would be over. Ishin Shishi and the Satcho alliance were so close, so close to making that happen.
So truly, it didn't matter what people thought of him.
When Katsura-san would tell him it was over, then Kenshin would gladly give up his sword and walk away.
The restless days melded together into endless autumn of tense waiting, nagging doubts, and general feelings of growing anxiety as the weeks flew and nothing changed. But then, it was like the little red string that had been holding it all together broke and all hell broke loose: the rebels got an order to attack the Imperial palace again.
On the third day of the first month, the combined forces of Satsuma and Choshuu took over the Imperial Palace, a great attack that Kenshin was forbidden from taking part in, to avoid creating disturbance among the allied troops.
The very next day, Emperor Meiji declared restoration of his imperial rule to full power.
Wasn't the revolution over now?
It had to be, right? The Emperor had decreed that he was the ultimate power in the country; the Ishin Shishi had control of the government… Kyoto was theirs.
Surely this was it?
Finally?
Kenshin didn't know what to feel, but the other men in their unit were united in their joy over their great victory. Everyone in their unit but Kenshin had been fighting to overtake the imperial palace yesterday. Even Makoto and Hideyoshi were celebrating the victory with unabashed enthusiasm. But Kenshin, he just didn't know what to feel. Fighting for the revolution was the only thing he had. It was what had kept him going after her death, it was his reason for living… he had hated it, but he had kept fighting for his beliefs, for his abstract hope for the better world, peace and happiness of the common people, for the better future.
But now, when it was time to finally let go… what did he have? What could he do? What did this all mean, really?
That evening, when most men had gone to sleep, Kenshin went through all the personal possessions he had accumulated of the years that he had been part of the revolution. It was something tangible he could do to better understand the realities among all these unknowns he was facing.
He had two haori overcoats of good quality. The other was very expensive, a fine silk blend and the other one was more practical cotton, still fine but not quite as formal.
He had four kimono. Actually, now that he looked at them, most of his clothes were dark colors, dark blues, grays, and greens. Well, except the silly purple kimono with flower patterns that Lady Ikumatsu had gifted him with.
He had two hakama, both in utilitarian grays.
So many clothes, and all of them in such a fine quality. Someone could have thought him a rich man, having so many. Kenshin sighed softly. It had been necessary for him to have good attire when he was at Katsura-san's side and most of the time, it had been nice to wear such finery. But back when he had been younger, he had only the clothes he wore. He hadn't needed more. After all, all clothing was expensive.
He had used all those fine clothes while killing.
Every single one of them could have… no, most likely they still had bloodstains.
The very thought turned his stomach.
Well, every garment, but that silly purple kimono. with those bright flowery patterns. That one he hadn't ever used while working and even in that Satsuma party that had descended into a fist fight, there hadn't been blood spilled. No, out of all his clothing, that was the only garment that wasn't tainted by his sins.
Kenshin bit inside his cheek in thought, but then shook his head determinately and returned to his task.
Beside his clothing, there was his sword cleaning kit. He had used it to keep his swords in good shape, and out of all his possessions, it was the one that didn't have bad memories attached to it. It was a utilitarian toolset. But if he were to give up his sword now that the revolution was over, what need would he have for such tools?
He still had her shawl. Bloodstained and threadbare as it was, that one thing he wouldn't leave, no matter what.
What else did he have?
He patted down his sleeve pockets, frowning. Oh, her comb. Lacquered in dark shades and painted with plum blossoms, it was a beautiful thing. He had used it to take care of his hair, to keep up the one duty she had so liked.
His money pouch was quite heavy. He had exchanged smaller coins for more valuable gold ryos every now and then, but never had he really counted his savings. He emptied his coins to the floor and stared at the pile in surprise. He actually had a respectable amount of money. With this much… it was about the sum he could have lived for three, maybe four winters with Master?
He had always been careful with his money, he knew that. It was only natural after growing up so poor. For years, he'd had a steady income and he hadn't spent his money on frivolities or expensive vices like drinking or whoring, not like the other men. His only vice had been gambling, but he had never lost more than he had been able to swindle back. And it wasn't like it could be counted as a proper vice, not really – he had never been hooked on the game, he had only participated because Makoto and Hideyoshi had wanted him to do something else than brood in silence.
Kenshin paused, staring at all the little things in front of him. These were all his personal belongings: clothing, tools, couple mementos from her, and money. That was it. That was everything he owned.
He really didn't have much, did he?
Somehow this survey made it painfully clear how sad his life was.
Kenshin swallowed slowly, feeling hollow inside. If the revolution was over, his skills weren't needed anymore. Out of all these items, the only thing he wanted to take with him was her shawl and comb. The rest… he would be glad to be rid of. Those things would only remind him of all the blood he had spilled. By gods, his hands were stained in blood. His entire being was swamped with blood and sin.
If it wasn't over…
But was there left to fight after this victory? The Emperor was in power, the Shogun had stepped down, the capital was theirs…
Kenshin gripped his blade, drew the steel from the sheath just enough to see his pale reflection from it. His unnaturally pale eyes were framed by his red hair. His lips were drawn tight, they seemed almost bloodless. His face was gaunt: cheekbones, chin, nose… all his features were pale, nothing but sharp angles.
He almost couldn't recognize himself.
He wasn't one to look in mirrors, to glance at reflections, but somehow, judging by those admiring looks he had gotten once upon a time and how Makoto kept flirting with him still, he would have expected to look slightly more pleasing to the eye.
He looked sick and tired.
It was fitting.
On eighteenth of the first month, he finally met with Katsura-san again. His leader had been incredibly busy with the politics and this matter… this was private. Kenshin hadn't wanted to make an official request, especially as those had to go through Nakamura, so he had waited for two weeks to get this opportunity.
He was escorting Katsura-san to a meeting. For a moment, they were alone, just the two of them, walking in the narrow side streets of the residential district near the palace.
Kenshin cleared his throat softly, and then said: "This unworthy one would like to have a private word, so he would."
Katsura-san paused, then looked at him for a long moment. The faint emotions flickering in those calculating eyes he had long since learned to read didn't surprise him: sadness, guilt, anger, disappointment, and exhaustion.
The man Kenshin had been faithfully following for nearly five years nodded slowly, his ki growing softer for a moment before returning to its normal cool shades again. "Tonight, at Gion."
That evening Kenshin groomed himself from head to toe, dressed in his best clothing and cleaned his both blades so that their steel shone. It seemed right. To do less, on this day, it would be disrespectful.
This was something he would do his head held high, knowing exactly where he stood.
This was his decision.
He had entered the revolution and the war that followed as a hopelessly naïve and stupid child. But even then, he had done that decision out of his own volition, after a careful consideration, because he had thought it was the right thing to do. He had been absolutely sure that joining the Ishin Shishi was the best way to use Hiten Mitsurugi's legendary strength.
After five years of bloodshed, countless deaths – it truly bothered him that he couldn't say how many he had killed during all these years – after all those sacrifices for the new era, he would be finally leaving it all behind. Now he was tired and hesitant, all that surety he had once had as a child had abandoned him and the only thing he knew… was that it was time to go.
Hideyoshi had been following his actions curiously from the sidelines, thoughtfully silent.
Makoto on the other hand, he had been nagging at him, hopelessly curious.
Kenshin didn't talk or try to explain his action to them. There was no need to.
At Gion, Katsura-san and Lady Ikumatsu were waiting for him with somber looks on their faces. His leader's gaze stopped, noting his groomed looks before he welcomed him in with a single nod. At his signal, Lady Ikumatsu turned and led them both upstairs to their usual meeting room.
The floor was covered in simple but elegant tatami matting, beautifully painted shoji screens and rice paper walls. The pillows they sat on were covered in good fabrics and delicate embroideries. The single table and the tools necessary for the tea ceremony were also simplified fineries. Everything in this room screamed of wealth.
Kenshin had been in this room for countless times, for evenings of relaxation, for evenings of grave discussions and emotional upheavals.
Now, it was just a room.
They exchanged words of greetings and customary pleasantries before Katsura-san gave Lady Ikumatsu a subtle hand signal and she rose gracefully, leaving them alone.
In silence, Katsura-san started the traditional routine of a tea ceremony.
Kenshin was set slightly off-balance by this. He hadn't been an active participant in tea ceremonies before, even if he theoretically knew all the steps and had seen them in motion many times. As Katsura-san's bodyguard, he had seen his leader use the ceremony as a method to gauge his enemies, to negotiate with difficult opponents and play political games with influential men, but right now, his leader seemed unusually serene cleaning the tea making utensils, making the fire and setting the ceramics in their place.
Kenshin didn't know why, but he rather thought Katsura-san had decided to do this ceremony because he had noticed how Kenshin's had come to prefer the polite routines the samurai routinely engaged in. So that instead of one last power play, this was just a respectful gesture.
The thought brought him comfort, enough that he allowed himself to relax and for the first time, go through the motions of the ceremony, asking the right questions and tasting the tea that was prepared for him.
This formal affair didn't allow for conversation, not really and it suited Kenshin just fine. It allowed him time to gather his thoughts and resolve, consider the words that he would need tonight.
Then the traditional ceremony was over.
They had been here for over an hour, and they hadn't exchanged a single word that carried intent… but now, it was time. They were alone, both kneeling in formal seiza, the second cup of tea before them. Katsura-san was assessing him with a shrewd look in his eye, his manner outwardly calm. His ki was moving, not anxiously or in anger, but rather, in silent thoughtfulness. His leader wasn't going to say anything, give him a convenient prompt or otherwise to break the silence to make this easier.
No, this time… the words were for Kenshin to speak.
He swallowed and hid his eyes behind his long bangs, gripping the cloth of his hakama. He breathed in deeply, tried to find the right words to start with. What should he say? His leader knew him well enough to know what this was about. Should he explain? State out loud his worries, deeply etched guilt, his private hesitations, considerations, and fears? Or simply talk about his tiredness and exhaustion?
These past months he had been thinking constantly, trying to justify this very decision. But now that it was time to speak, it seemed impossible to find the right words.
It was only expected, he had been always bad with words.
So in the end, he simply took his wakizashi from his belt and set it on the floor between them with both hands. He bowed low, held the pose for a moment, then straightened his back and waited.
The wakizashi was a fine blade with an overly decorated handguard that years ago in Hagi had been ridiculously expensive. It was the very same one that Katsura-san had paid for him as a gift because he had needed to find a second blade he could use to pass as samurai when he first arrived in Kyoto.
Katsura-san waited for a moment. Then, he leaned forward and picked up the wakizashi, drew it slightly to admire the steel and remarked calmly. "It's a beautiful blade."
Seeing his sword in another man's hands, it felt odd.
Kenshin nodded slowly. Yes, once upon a time, it had been a beautiful blade. Now though, he couldn't help but note out loud, "It's been used badly. It's stained with blood, so it is."
"True," Katsura-san admitted. "I'll carry it for you from now on."
Kenshin stared at his leader in astonishment, strange warmth spreading in his chest – a flicker of hope that was blooming into surety.
Katsura-san set the wakizashi to his side. He frowned, and took something from his kimono folds, something thin and long and set it to lie between them.
Kenshin's eyes widened in shock, his heart starting to race…
"How about a trade?" Katsura-san said lightly. "I have held this for you for three years, but now… yes, I feel that now is the right moment to give it to you. A reminder of a promise."
It was a tanto – a woman's knife. A simple, worn blade that looked older than it was, showing that it hadn't ever been of the finest quality. It had no decoration. It was just a weapon and a tool. Kenshin hadn't seen it but a few times and even then, he had only seen it at a glance, but he could still recognize that blade anywhere.
"Three years ago you swore that you would never again take a life after the revolution ended. I was hesitant then, but now… I have no doubt that you will keep that promise." Katsura-san said calmly. "This knife, I received it sometime after we arrived back to Kyoto. At the time, you were grieving and I felt that I should carry this burden for you."
A burden? Yes, it was a burden, but also a reminder, a promise – it was all that and more, for it was one of the few things that had been hers. It was the same blade that she had used to carve the crossing scar to his cheek with her dying breath.
Kenshin touched the knife hesitantly, his fingers trailing the lacquered surface of the sheath. He gripped it tightly, feeling a terrible weight settle on his heart and something rose to clog his throat. It was hard to breathe. He wanted to be angry. He wanted to cry, to shout and rage. It wasn't right that this had been kept from him. He had so little left of hers… why had Katsura-san kept this as a secret from him?
Why hadn't he given this to him earlier?
Kenshin wanted to hate Katsura-san for doing this to him. He truly did. But as he fought to keep breathing, as the worst waves of shock had run through him, he could see why – even if he didn't like it, he could understand the reasoning behind that decision, if only a little.
If it was this hard to see her tanto now, could he have managed it three years ago? Or would he have been tempted to end it all when the despair had felt too much? Kenshin didn't have an answer to those questions. He couldn't say how far in his despair he could have sunk if he had been carrying this burned back then.
"…T-this… this… I…"
"It's alright, Kenshin," Katsura-san said. He slipped his hands to his kimono's folds on his chest again and pulled out a few letters and a small paper bag, setting them to the tatami floor between them.
Kenshin gripped her tanto, squeezed it tightly and slipped it to his belt. The tanto was only a bit shorter than his wakizashi had been and didn't feel as odd as it should have. It reminded him of how a lifetime ago in Hagi, he had refused even to consider wearing women's tanto on his belt, no matter how much easier it would have been to find one. How people change.
Katsura-san nodded at him, and then motioned to the paper bag. "This is a gift from lady Ikumatsu. I don't know of the contents, but I assume it has some significance to you." Then he motioned to the letters. "The first one holds a formal dismissal from my services with both my personal and official stamp. If you will face any questions or accusations, you can use this letter to prove that you haven't deserted from Choshuu samurai. The second letter is a travel permit. It should ease your journeys across the domain borders. It has stamps for all the domains I could influence to gain a free travel permission. The rest, those are simple letters. If there is anything else…"
Kenshin shook his head decisively. He wasn't one for material goods or large favors. Katsura-san knew and respected it.
So he just took the letters and Lady Ikumatsu's last gift and slipped them all to his sleeve pocket. He took hold of the katana resting by his side and rose to stand, sliding it to his belt right beside the tanto.
As he was leaving, Katsura-san spoke, his voice carrying an oddly reserved tone. "One last thing. I won't require it, or even ask your help with it, but there is something you should know. Yoshinobu declared yesterday that he won't respect any of our earlier agreements. Worse, we have reports of his supporters' movements to gather troops near Osaka castle. It seems that Yoshinobu will try to take back the capital with all men can convince to stand for the Shogun… they outnumber us three to one."
Those words stirred a dread inside him. So, it wasn't over. Kenshin closed his eyes and exhaled. "You would let this unworthy one go, to leave the rebellion… even when you knew that?"
"Yes," Katsura-san said.
It was a powerful thing to hear. Just one word, but it meant so much. Without looking back, Kenshin whispered, "one last battle."
"This unworthy one attracted quite a bit attention coming back without his wakizashi yesterday, that he did." Kenshin murmured out loud. "Makoto was terribly curious, he behaved like a complete pest. And today, this one heard the men gossiping how someone had seen Katsura-san carrying this unworthy one's wakizashi on his belt. People kept wondering what it meant, that they did. But how could this unworthy one explain it to them? One would have needed to start from the beginning, and that would be far too personal a tale to tell, so it would."
Kenshin paused, thinking about it. Yes, it was a private tale that held far too many private meanings for any outsider to grasp, but also, he wasn't too sure why Katsura-san had publicly decided to carry the blade.
Truly, it would have been better if his wakizashi hadn't been so easy to recognize, but the fancy gold decorations on its handle just begged for attention. It brought honor to the maker's skill, but in this case, they roused uncomfortable questions. Far too many eyes had seen Hitokiri Battousai carrying that distinctive wakizashi over the years and it wasn't like Katsura-san's close ties with him were a secret among the revolutionaries.
On the other hand, the men in his unit had not missed that he was carrying a women's tanto on his belt like there was nothing unusual about it. Well, it wasn't like Kenshin could easily carry it in his pocket and he wouldn't leave her dagger anywhere. It was his duty to carry it now.
"This one spent all these years thinking that your tanto was lost, that he did. This one hadn't paid attention where it had gone after that day in the forest of barriers, but now that it was given to him…" Kenshin swallowed and took the blade in his hands. He slid it out of its sheath slowly and trailed his fingers on the naked steel. It was blunted by disuse. Most likely no one had sharpened it after it was first bought.
"You cut this unworthy one's cheek a reminder so that this one could never forget his shame. Yet, you forgave this one for the murders he committed for the sake of the new world. Now, it's been three years since then and the new word is coming. Just one more battle and if we win, then it's over."
Kenshin struggled to maintain his composure, his hope and exhaustion warring inside him. He didn't want to fight. He had given up on fighting once already. He thought it had been over, but now...
Ah! He blinked in surprise, staring at a drop of blood that was pooling at the side of his finger. Had he nicked himself on accident? With this blunt blade? How on earth had he managed that?
The blood kept seeping out of the small cut, a droplet after another falling on the cold and bereft dirt on her grave. His tainted blood was falling on her grave, for the first time.
Kenshin stared, haunted by the sight.
She had hated killing.
For his dream, for his belief that he could help to create a better world, she had forgiven him for killing. But now that it was going to be over…
If felt like there was a heavy weight on his chest, it was getting hard to breathe. His ki was flowing around him in fast currents, stirring up dust and dirt around him as his emotions stormed inside him. Kenshin closed his eyes and took a proper hold of the tanto with his right hand, and cut a deep slash across his left palm without a flinch.
He pressed his bleeding hand to her gravestone and spoke with absolute certainty, "I promised you that I wouldn't kill after the new era would dawn. Now, after this last battle, the moment it's won, I will hold on to that oath. Never again. Never. Not to save this unworthy life, not to save another's, not to save the country… not for any purpose, not ever again. There will be nothing in this world that will cause this one to kill and abandon this promise to you."
It was right.
He had killed so many, broken his heart with the path he had chosen, robbed so many people of their happiness, caused so much suffering with his actions…. after this one last battle, he wouldn't kill ever again. He had stepped on her wishes and tarnished her beliefs for so long, so now that it would be over, it was time for him to look for another path, one that she had given him a glimpse in Otsu.
Kenshin knelt at her grave for quite a while, letting his palm bleed until it stifled to a mere trickle. With his healthy hand, he spread the bloodied dirt evenly on her grave. This matter, it was between them. He tore a scrap of cotton from his kimono sleeve, tied his wound with the ease of practice and rose to stand.
He trailed his wounded hand on her gravestone, stroking it gently. "This unworthy one doesn't know when he will be able to visit you again, that he doesn't. But know this: this unworthy one loves you with all his heart, now and forever."
