That's when I first saw him. Practically delirious with cold and hunger, I met the man who called himself Junichi of no particular clan. He took me in, out of pity I suppose, and he cared for me. I had caught a fever in my wanderings, and that night I raved as my body burned. He sat beside me, every so often replacing a cool cloth on my forehead and he listened to me ramble about everything and nothing. At one point I distinctly remember telling him that he was an evil oni with two horns and purple skin, and that he was sent to punish me for my sins, but that I was a kung fu master and would not submit.

During the night, my body finally burned itself out, but I was weak as a lamb for the following days, and completely dependent on Junichi. He walked me through my convalescence without complaining, and we developed a strange sense of friendship.

As I was confined to the makeshift bed in the corner of the cave he inhabited, he would often sit by the fire and sing. He had a surprisingly fine voice for such an obviously militant man. He sang songs of war and of love, but most of his songs were sad and full of longing.

One of my favorites was a song I recognized from the days I had spent reading the classic anthology of one thousand leaves. Shall I repeat it here?

It went like this:

If just for a moment, my love,

I could have viewed together with oy

the blossoms of the wild cherries

on the foothill-trailing mountain,

would I be caught yearning like this?

After he finished, he would gaze off to the east without speaking, for several minutes. He was not with me in those moments. He was far off in some distant place with whoever he was thinking of.

I discovered his true name purely by chance. He had given me an old yukata of his to wear as I slept, and it was only once I was lucid enough to notice my surroundings that I examined it.

It was made of quality cloth, not silk, but still much finer than I would have thought a ronin, for that was what I assumed he was, could afford. It was while I was admiring the weave and colorful print, that I happened to notice the seal on the back. Perhaps he had forgotten that it contained such markings, or perhaps he wanted me to no. At that point I had told him my troubles and my loyalty to Noriyori.

Whatever his reasons, he at least seemed to trust me enough not to immediately seek my death.

"So. Now you know" he said blankly.

I gaped at him in astonishment. This man was a legend. Everyone was talking about Yoshitsune's exploits and his sacrifice to his brother's wish of ultimate power.

"Cease this foolishness" he ordered. "I am nothing more than the man you see before you now."

"But how" I stammered out. All had believed him dead, at least that was the official statement, at the very least he had disappeared.

"Simple" he answered cooly,, "I ran away." He thought for a few minutes, "I could not have gone to my old shelter with the monks, that would have been too obvious and put them in a dangerous position. No, I could not have done that. So instead I came here. A place few people have any need or desire to go to." He smirked at me, "except you of course."

"Minamoto-san -" I started, but he interrupted me.

"Do not call me by that name. I am merely Junichi." he growled at me in sudden fury.

I stopped for a moment, in order to gather my words.

"How did this happen?" I asked after a while.

"That is a very good question. And I am not sure of the exact answer." He did not say more until he had shed the armor he practiced in daily, and had donned a blue kimono with the image of a lone crane on its back.

"So then." he murmured to himself. "Shall I tell the story?"

I looked up at his words. I had not expected him to speak again this evening, after being so verbose earlier.

"My brother and I" he murmured to himself, "were once like two wolves sharing a hunt. But he forgot the need for kin, and came to see me as a rival for the same prey."

"Hnn, wolf lose head ne?" I asked sarcastically.

"Most likely" he smiled.

I waited a few minutes more for him to continue, but in the end my impatience got to me.

"And...?" I asked leadingly.

His mouth quirked in a kind of half smile. "You want to hear my tale then? Are not you a little bit too old for bedtime stories?" Before I could answer, he put his hands up in surrender. "All right then, I suppose I should start from the beginning."

Yes the beginning Kage, Not my beginning but his. His would start much further back than his birth or his brother's birth. The story of Yoshitsune is really the story of the Minamoto clan itself, and for such a lenthly history one must understand the political situation of Japan during the time the Minamoto rose to prominence.

It starts at the end of the Fujiwara power. They had spent their entire political career using their women to gain positions and titles. A Fujiwara woman would marry the reigning emperor and, once a son was born to them, the emperor would be pressured to resign and a regent, generally the maternal grandfather would be named, and the cycle would begin anew. With Fujiwara regents controlling the government, they not only numerically dominated administration posts and lucrative provincial positions, but they also forced the emperors to become virtual puppets.

A major problem with this system was that the imperial family grew too large, and sections were always being siphoned off to be sent to the provinces and renamed. These pseudo exiles turned their attention to military power, which eventually caused the formation of clans of warriors led by local elites. Two of the more powerful clans, or families, were the Taira and the Minamoto, or as popular legend calls them, the Heike and the Genji. These clans, while technically considered to be outside of the imperial recognition, were often used to supress rebellions, even those led by scions of the other clan. However this fine balance of power was potentially very dangerous. Although they negated each other when it came to political power, what would happen if one gained precedence over the other?

This threat was not taken seriously by the court. They were too focused on the folds of each others fans and their clothing to care about such country bumpkins whose only use was to stop the rebels from staining their pristine lives. Such a change was soon to come, and the courtiers could not hide behind their screens and delude themselves that all was well.

It was the second incursion that the retired emperor Go-Shikawa had to face. This was due to a factions resent of the privileges granted to his close attendants and men who enjoyed his favor. This kind of factional dispute was relatively normal, what made this one exceptional was the division of clans. The Taira, led by Kiyomari, had sided with the retired emperor, and Yoshitomo no Minamoto supported the opposition. Time has decided that this would be called the Heiji Disturbance. In the end, the Taira emerged victorious. Thus the Minamoto leadership was executed and its heirs were soon to follow. It was only due to a Lady Ike, a compassionate and influential Taira woman, that the fourteen year old son of Yoshitomo was not killed. This is where Yoshitsune's story begins. Or rather, this was when his brother, Yoritomo, escaped death at fourteen and was instead exiled to Iza.

"The beginning, I suppose, rests with my brother. When I was much younger I used to follow him everywhere like a small puppy, constantly tripping over my robes and looking up to him adoringly. When he went to train, I followed behind and imitated his swordmanship with a stick that had been carved into the shape of a sword by a compassionate blacksmith who was willing to humor the small lordling that I was. When he ate, I ate with him, when he slept I slept too. He was my world then. I was a child that had no father; he became the father figure that I desired. At night sometimes I begged for stories.

He was more compassionate then, or perhaps he enjoyed the feeling of having a constant follower who was in awe of everything he did. But he was also very proud, so, sometimes he would ingnore me completely, sometimes he shook me off, and very rarely he would sit with me and spin tales. It was only as I grew to the age of around seven or eight and could understand, that he began to tell me of our families history. So I shall start with his words."

He stared into the fire for a long time after those words. As if he was memorizing the dance of flames and the hints of blue at the base. Sparks drifted outwards, but he made no movement. It almost seemed as if the fire had transported him to a different hearth. After a while he began to speak, but his voice was deeper and had a strangely lyrical cadence to it, as if someone else was speaking through him.

"I was born in the year of 1147. I was a spring baby and the household was full of joy at the arrival of another son, or so my mother told me. I was the son of Yoshitomo no Minamoto and Saneori no Fujiwara, each scions of powerful families and it seemed as if I held a future full of promise. But this was not to be.

My father was a large man, with strong arms and a smiling face. Sometimes, when I was very young and he was feeling playful he would pick me up and carry me on his shoulders. I adored him. He was the strongest person I had ever met, not that this meant much in my six years of life, but he appeared so much more powerful than others. At my first presentation, when I met the emperor, just before he was about to retire, I was surprised at the difference. The man sitting on the throne appeared to be drowning in his ceremonial robes. He was so small and his limbs were weak and thin. He had a receding chin and protrubing eyes. This was the most powerful man in the kingdom? I asked myself. He gave me a present of a small wooden sword, similar to the one at your hip, except heavily decorated."

At these words from the mouth of his brother but through his lips, Yoshitsune's hands moved unconsciously to grasp the hilt of the sword at his hips. I waited anxiously to see if he would draw it, but he merely dropped his hands and continued speaking.

"I was happy enough to receive such gifts, and proudly showed the sword off to my cousins. Much jealousy ensued.

After that meeting, I asked mother about the weakness I had seen in the emperor, and what it meant. She smiled that secret smile women get when they have gotten away with one of their schemes and told me that I would understand when I was older. I hated that answer, was I not the son of a great lord? Should I not already inately understand such matters?

I went out to the gardens to play kickball with my numerous cousins, content in the knowledge that at least my father was the strongest in the world. One of my cousins decided to challenge this fact with the declaration that his father was the strongest. He was the scion from a different offshoot of the family who was visiting for a time. Doubtless he was ignorant of the ways of the world. Nothing a good pounding would not cure, of course. What joy to be the top of a dog pile of boys, a dog pile of which said blasphemer was at the bottom. He left soon after.

My mother was not happy about this turn of events. Especially since such shenanigans called for a new set of robes, but my father laughed and tussled my hair, congradulating me on my victory. This is the way with our family. The strongest triumph and the weaker ones slink off to the sidelines.