crimson_war_demon | And Cast the Shadow of a Snakepit on the Wall

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And Cast the Shadow of a Snakepit on the Wall

Kirigakure Saizo's master wishes to believe the best of everyone. It's a commendable trait, to be sure, if not one that Saizo himself shares. If he has misgivings about this war, he has chosen not to share them; if he has misgivings about those who he has been called to serve, even less so. And though Saizo expects no less, Saizo cannot accept this war or its circumstances with the same ease. Besides, there is a pall over this house, a current of power seething under the surface that makes Saizo's skin crawl. Sasuke, too, has felt it. Even his master must have. And if his master will shut his eyes so stubbornly, it's Saizo's duty to tell him what he does not, or will not, see -- for the sake of them all.

The house is quiet, cast in gloom and shadow, and it is no trouble at all for Saizo to melt into those shadows and make his way to the place that even dust seems to shy from. The door to the basement is not locked. There's no need for it to be; the chill emanating from it, the soft scratching -- or is it chittering? -- from behind, is more effective than any lock. Slowly, Saizo turns the doorknob. To reduce the sound it makes, he tells himself, but that doesn't entirely explain the tension in his fingers, the heaviness in his bones.

The stairs behind the door are silhouetted in a faint green light. Saizo descends.

Saizo is no stranger to creatures that thrive in the darkness and feast on fear. He could be called one himself.

But the things that writhe before him, carpet the floor in a hissing mass -- what can he possibly call them? His breath stalls in his throat, blocks the words from coming out even if he could find them.

He must not let these creatures transfix him. He must leave, and report to his master at once. This must not be hidden.

***

"Master," Saizo says, kneeling before him, and Lancer can't miss how his hands tremble on his knees. To see such a thing in Saizo -- a knot forms in the pit of his stomach.

"What is your report?" he asks, because he must.

Saizo opens his mouth as though to answer, then closes it, shakes his head. "Come with me," he says. "Please."

The way he says that last word disquiets Lancer most of all.

Silently, Saizo leads him down the hall, stops in front of the door to the basement. "Look," he says, "and forgive me for what I have shown you."

"I do not think I am meant to enter -- "

"Master, I fear more for what will happen if you do not."

As Lancer nudges the door open, stories he heard as a boy spring to mind: of women wed to wealthy and mysterious daimyo, and given free reign of their husband's castles save for one room, which must never be entered. Of course, none of them could resist such temptation. And what they found --

-- oh.

If Saizo is still present behind him, Lancer does not notice. If anyone else is present behind him, Lancer does not notice. Lancer wishes, desperately, that he could see nothing at all.

Your Ladyship rises in his throat, and dies just as rapidly. Even his pulse is faint, his blood sluggish. Someone -- Saizo -- is tugging on his arm, pulling him out, closing the door. That matters little; the sight is engraved on Lancer's eyes, as sure as the ruins of Sekigahara and the mud of Tennou-ji. But even those were products of human grievances, human wars. This...

Lancer sinks against the door, stares at his hands, and does his best not to shake.

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Grandfather. The man who dared do this to her -- something sharp and hot flares at the back of his mind, and the rush of heat that follows is nothing like what he feels during battle. There is honor in battle; there is none in that man.

But her Ladyship -- Kaede -- has more need of him here now, and he'll not leave her at a time like this, neither in body nor in thought. "My oath will not change," he tells her, "no matter how long you must think on your wish."

...perhaps, too, he is starting to discover one of his own.

She is beginning to calm, now; she is beginning to believe that he won't leave her the moment she lets go. She lets herself breathe for a moment, lets herself loosen her grip on him enough that she can settle herself more comfortably against him -- it takes her only a moment to recognise that they are breathing together, or very nearly. "I'm -- I'm glad we summoned you," she admits, voice soft and shy.

"As am I," he says; though he still holds her close, his grip eases when hers does. "Whatever else this war may bring -- I am glad it has brought me to you."

She hides the tiniest of smiles against his chest; she still feels hollowed-out, fragile, but she can draw at least a little strength from being this near to him. "I'm sorry I cried on you."

"Ah -- no, there is no need for such an apology!" Upon noting her smile, he offers one of his own, and hopes she will see it. "I do not mind."

She ought to let him go. She's stopped crying; she has no excuse to keep hugging him now. "Thank you," she says, and hesitantly -- because she can't in good conscience not ask -- she adds, "Is this... do you want me to let go?"

He has been impertinent enough with her today; he should not continue to be so, and yet -- "No, your Ladyship -- Kaede. I -- am content like this, if you are as well."

"I'm--" She decides a second too late that there is no point at all in trying to say too much. "Yes," she says instead, and resettles her head against his chest.

They are still breathing together, he notices. Her pulse seems to be less frantic now, her heart fluttering less rapidly against his chest. He seems to be calming similarly, and his sense of time drifts away, as though it has no bearing on the present moment at all.

"I could never hate you," he murmurs to her again. "Never."

She lifts her head just enough that she can look him in the eye -- her face is tear-streaked and flushed, her expression uncertain. "I -- I don't know what I would have done if you had. I don't think I could bear it."

His throat catches, and it is just as well, for there are no words for what he sees when he looks at her. "Nor could I," he says; his voice shows the faintest sign of trembling. "I could not bear to leave you so."

She shouldn't do it. She's almost certainly misjudging him -- it will be a terrible idea, and he will be kind enough in telling her no that she will never be able to look at him again -- but she can hear the faintest tremor in his voice, and with the way he's looking at her, she could almost believe...

She leans up, and presses a quick, light kiss to the corner of his mouth.

The first thought he can manage is oh.

The second is that her lips are soft against his, and warm, and that same warmth is seeping into him, spreading into his chest. He returns the kiss, threads his fingers in her hair and cradles the back of her head. If this is not his place, if this is a privilege beyond what he is entitled to, he ignores it; he will savor this, and treasure it, for as long as she wishes it to last.

And the word he could not conjure moments before comes to him now: beautiful.

She scarcely knows what she's doing, now that she's begun it -- kisses were always something from stories, until now, never something she has learned or been taught -- but perhaps it's enough to let him hold her, comb his fingers through her hair and keep her close. Perhaps it's enough to part her lips, just a little, and reach up to touch her hand to his cheek. She can't quite believe that he hasn't pulled away yet, that she's been allowed to come this far.

When she withdraws, heart racing once again, she stares up at him with an apology on the tip of her tongue, waiting for whatever his response might be.

He is smiling, once he has enough presence of mind to do so, once the sensation of the kiss has faded. "Kaede," he says. "Forgive me for not noticing this, as well. To overlook something like this within myself, or to hide it even from my own view -- I have been inattentive."

She can only keep staring, for a moment, hardly daring to believe what she hears -- but after a moment, she lets herself smile, too. "You don't have to apologise," she offers. "I wasn't... I don't think I was very attentive, either."

"Then we shall both strive to be more so," he says, and gives the back of her neck the smallest of caresses. "Shall we not?"

That caress makes her shiver, ever so faintly; she's almost completely unaccustomed to being touched with any kindness at all, and certainly to anything like this. "Are you sure?" she asks. "You aren't -- you really mean it?"

"I would not deceive you, and certainly not over a matter such as this." A faint heat creeps into his cheeks. "I -- admit that I have always felt that feelings of this sort were best kept, ah, to myself, for fear of offending..." The heat intensifies, but he goes on. "But it seems a greater disservice to maintain such silence now..."

She flushes to match him as his skin turns warm under her hand; it takes every scrap of willpower she has to keep from stroking his cheek. "If -- if you're really certain," she says, "then... thank you. I didn't think -- I hadn't imagined you could..."

"I served you first out of duty, I must admit: out of my honor as a samurai, and with the loyalty I have always striven for with all my being..." He pauses. "And perhaps -- when we first spoke, and I thanked you for the chance to walk again on this earth, I thought more of my own past as I did so. My own regrets."

He will not close his eyes. "Perhaps I will always regret that day, I do not know. But what I feel for you, and the battle I wage for you, are not ghosts of that day which I carry forward into these times. I -- I believe in you, and I wish for your happiness, and when I think on these things it feels almost selfish. But that also might well be how I know these feelings are my own."

"And if -- if we can't set your regrets right, then maybe we can find something else to be proud of -- something that makes it better." She really is blushing, now. "I don't know. I -- want to be a good Master for you, and I want to be your friend, and I want..." She struggles, for a moment, to articulate herself; in the end, she manages, "I want this."

"As do I," he says, and there needn't be any hesitation in it.

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And Cast the Shadow of a Snakepit on the Wall

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