Samurai Seven, "The Wolf," Kanbei/Shichiroji, PG
A gift for my dear friend Zel. I hope the sun comes out from behind the clouds soon, dear, and that the wolf disappears completely.
The Wolf
by mistr3ss Quickly
As a boy-a child, really-training a lifetime ago, Kanbei was warned that doubt, like a wolf, would lurk in the shadows behind him always, waiting in the darker parts of his heart, of his mind, ready to attack, to tear him apart. To strip him of his composure, his dignity. His calm. His strength. Kanbei was warned that he would fall victim to doubt if ever he failed to maintain vigilance against it. If ever he faltered in his knowledge of self. Of his abilities. His limitations.
Kanbei the pupil listened, wide-eyed and frightened.
Kanbei the warrior heeded, strong and steady.
Kanbei the hero believed, worn and weary.
But Kanbei the man, meditating in the cold wash of moonlight filtering through the rice-paper screen, doubts. Doubts the validity of his teacher's wisdom. Doubts the truth he's obeyed, over the long years passed.
Doubt is not the feared wolf, lurking in the shadows.
What lurks for Kanbei is far worse.
It's heavy and dark and wet and cold, like the fabric of his cloak when he goes out in the winter sleet to double-check the storm-shutters, to greet guests late-arriving to the Firefly. It's thick and stifling, like the smoke in the city. Bitter and rank, like the murk in the fields.
It's weakness he cannot train into strength. A burden he cannot stalwartly bear.
It weighs on his muscles, slows his movement as he stretches and shifts, practicing not with a blade but with the memory of one. Lines his face, emphasizing the light long gone out from his eyes, the silver starting to show in his hair, his beard. Distracts his mind, draws his thoughts away from the still nothingness he seeks as he meditates, back to the worries he cannot-will not-put into words.
He keeps it hidden. Covers it with self-assurance he no longer feels. Brushes it away with a stern glare, whenever it rises too close to the surface of his thoughts.
His lover notices, of course. Kanbei is far too old and far too experienced to expect that the man wouldn't notice. He shows his concern in the furrowing of his brows, the touch of his hand against Kanbei's elbow when they pass one another in the corridor during the day. Shows it in his chatter over their evening meal, his respectful quiet after their bath, while Kanbei sits and meditates. He's lying in bed when Kanbei rises and joins him, his hair loose and eyes bright in the darkness of the room. He's warm, wrapping his arms around Kanbei's body. Comforting.
"Long day, hmm?" his lover says, curling close, his body and the heavy blanket warding off the bitter chill of the room.
"Mmm," Kanbei answers.
His meditation was a waste of time, his mind just as cluttered as he lies beside his lover as it was when he settled by the paper screen. Cluttered with fragments of thought, worries of time and life and love and happiness and worst of all death, always death. Memories and nightmares, blurring together always after long hours spent in solitude, working in silence.
Shichiroji kisses him on the cheek, drawing him finally from his thoughts. Kisses him on the lips when Kanbei turns to look at the other man, to see the familiar just as lined as his own, eyes bright and lips curved in a comforting smile.
"It's good, you know," he says. "To have a long day like this, a bit of chill after the sun goes down. Preparation for a night of being warm in bed together." He winks once, smiles broadly enough to show a hint of teeth. "The older I grow, the more I believe that all pains in life are like that, just a promise of something better."
Kanbei hums quietly. Slips his arm from the warmth of the blankets, just long enough to reach up, to cup his lover's cheek, to thread his fingers through the soft blonde hair tumbling down in the dark.
"Yes," he says, pulling until his lover's relaxed enough to be kissed, to lie down beside him. "I believe that, too."
The Wolf
by mistr3ss Quickly
As a boy-a child, really-training a lifetime ago, Kanbei was warned that doubt, like a wolf, would lurk in the shadows behind him always, waiting in the darker parts of his heart, of his mind, ready to attack, to tear him apart. To strip him of his composure, his dignity. His calm. His strength. Kanbei was warned that he would fall victim to doubt if ever he failed to maintain vigilance against it. If ever he faltered in his knowledge of self. Of his abilities. His limitations.
Kanbei the pupil listened, wide-eyed and frightened.
Kanbei the warrior heeded, strong and steady.
Kanbei the hero believed, worn and weary.
But Kanbei the man, meditating in the cold wash of moonlight filtering through the rice-paper screen, doubts. Doubts the validity of his teacher's wisdom. Doubts the truth he's obeyed, over the long years passed.
Doubt is not the feared wolf, lurking in the shadows.
What lurks for Kanbei is far worse.
It's heavy and dark and wet and cold, like the fabric of his cloak when he goes out in the winter sleet to double-check the storm-shutters, to greet guests late-arriving to the Firefly. It's thick and stifling, like the smoke in the city. Bitter and rank, like the murk in the fields.
It's weakness he cannot train into strength. A burden he cannot stalwartly bear.
It weighs on his muscles, slows his movement as he stretches and shifts, practicing not with a blade but with the memory of one. Lines his face, emphasizing the light long gone out from his eyes, the silver starting to show in his hair, his beard. Distracts his mind, draws his thoughts away from the still nothingness he seeks as he meditates, back to the worries he cannot-will not-put into words.
He keeps it hidden. Covers it with self-assurance he no longer feels. Brushes it away with a stern glare, whenever it rises too close to the surface of his thoughts.
His lover notices, of course. Kanbei is far too old and far too experienced to expect that the man wouldn't notice. He shows his concern in the furrowing of his brows, the touch of his hand against Kanbei's elbow when they pass one another in the corridor during the day. Shows it in his chatter over their evening meal, his respectful quiet after their bath, while Kanbei sits and meditates. He's lying in bed when Kanbei rises and joins him, his hair loose and eyes bright in the darkness of the room. He's warm, wrapping his arms around Kanbei's body. Comforting.
"Long day, hmm?" his lover says, curling close, his body and the heavy blanket warding off the bitter chill of the room.
"Mmm," Kanbei answers.
His meditation was a waste of time, his mind just as cluttered as he lies beside his lover as it was when he settled by the paper screen. Cluttered with fragments of thought, worries of time and life and love and happiness and worst of all death, always death. Memories and nightmares, blurring together always after long hours spent in solitude, working in silence.
Shichiroji kisses him on the cheek, drawing him finally from his thoughts. Kisses him on the lips when Kanbei turns to look at the other man, to see the familiar just as lined as his own, eyes bright and lips curved in a comforting smile.
"It's good, you know," he says. "To have a long day like this, a bit of chill after the sun goes down. Preparation for a night of being warm in bed together." He winks once, smiles broadly enough to show a hint of teeth. "The older I grow, the more I believe that all pains in life are like that, just a promise of something better."
Kanbei hums quietly. Slips his arm from the warmth of the blankets, just long enough to reach up, to cup his lover's cheek, to thread his fingers through the soft blonde hair tumbling down in the dark.
"Yes," he says, pulling until his lover's relaxed enough to be kissed, to lie down beside him. "I believe that, too."