Rising Tides

Summary: Kiki is the only woman to serve as a Sword. OneShot- Kiki, and her story. At the top, it is lonely. One Shot in three parts.

Warning: Trying a new perspective. Second-person, Kiki narrates.

Set: Story-unrelated, contains spoilers for ch 42 that won't be visible without having read the chapter, everything else is AU.

Disclaimer: Standards apply. Citing e.e. cummings in one place, and using him as belated-sorta-inspiration-aka-justification for the general theme.

A/N: For a guest. You left me reviews on all my Shirayukihime stories – Thank you very much! This is for you.

Kyo. (river)

"When you give yourself to someone, you can't just take your own decisions into regard."

"You think so?"

It is unsettling; the way Obi still seems very distant although you have known him for such a long time. And still, the change is visible when you look at him from the corner of your eyes: he is less tense and less distant than he felt to you in the beginning. He's more real and you know who changed him. They changed you, too.

"I remember I used to think that what I did had no impact on other people, and the other way round. Decisions, actions – as long as nobody needed to know where I went and what I did, why should I tell them? It wasn't like they cared."

"But they do."

"Yes."

"And yet, decisions shouldn't be taken away from the one who has to make them."

It is his time to frown. "You think so? Have you, in the last years, made a decision that only and foremost concerned yourself?"

"…"

And it feels like you have lost to him, however small the victory and the defeat. The wind picks up.

"I thought so. Since you love Mitsuhide, I wouldn't have expected it differently."

"What did you say?"

"Nothing." He slips from his seat in the tree and lands on the ground next to you, coming out of his crouch graceful like a cat. "Perhaps the difference is in the way one feels."

"What do you mean?"

"You say everyone should make his own decisions, but at the same time you don't heed your own advice. You decide on the basis of other peoples' needs, wishes and orders on a daily basis. But those are people you care for. If it was just someone, you'd just do what you thought was best. Then, again, if you love someone you'll always think of him first, but if you don't care for him you protect yourself by not taking him into account."

"That's amazingly deep, coming from you."

"Well. Observing Master has taught me some things." The shinobi shrugs. "People are like that."

"Like how?"

"Always thinking of others."

"People are greedy. And selfish."

"In the worst possible way."

"Aren't you contradicting yourself right now?"

"Am I?" He turns around and blinks at you lazily. "Kiki, is that your real name?"

Evidence, alibi and proof. You should feel annoyed, but you know him. This is a game you have been playing for quite some time already.

"Maybe."

Obi grins. You are similar, you and he, after all. Obi leaves, and work beckons, and you only remember this conversation later. When the wind lashes heavy rain against the glass of your window and drowns out every other sound you lay there, your eyes open, and stare into the dark. The sheets are cold when you stretch out your hand.

In the beginning, you weren't Kiki. But one person called out to you and the call became a name, more people followed and it became who you are. All of this, you guess, started a long, long time ago. A time so far past it feels like it has been lost: still, the memories are crystal-clear. And precious, because they hold a precious person. Not every childhood is beautiful. But something began long, long ago, it lead to what has happened since then and to what you are. Something began – something that is still moving, shifting, taking shape today, something that has expanded to let others enter and has tightened carefully to keep you from falling apart. Something has made you who you are. This is the deepest secret nobody knows. This is the place where you have come home to, somehow, inexplicably, this is the place where you found yourself. It isn't the place you came from but journeys are unpredictable like that. This is the place you want to stay in until you are sent away, and longer, even if it is a selfish wish. This is not the end of your story. But it is not the beginning, either.

This is where it starts:

When you are four he grabs you around your waist and whirls you around in a breath-taking spin that somehow always ends with you sitting on his shoulder. From up there the world is so much bigger, so much wider and so much more colorful because you can feel his strong hands on your side and see the silvery-blonde hair of his, and when he laughs your entire watching post rocks forward and backward. You hold on to his hair and his head and laugh and laugh and laugh.

When you are five he takes you out to the river and shows you the animals, early in the morning. It is difficult, being so quiet, at first, and then it becomes entirely normal. There are birds and does and squirrels, and he points out every being silently and carefully. Lying beside him in the high grass you can feel the warmth radiating off him and scoot closer because the morning air is cool and he wraps an arm around you and whispers the little silvery bird no bigger than your fist is a Queen Veery, named because they made the queen smile when everyone thought she would never be able to do so again. The water of the river runs steadily, cool to your touch. You can taste the sweet buns you had for breakfast, you can smell the sweet grass and the clear water and feel Kyo right next to you.

When you are six he takes you to the castle for two days and you see the gleaming swords, the knights-in-training, the high walls and the red sand stone of the towers. There is so much to see you have no idea what to look at first, there are so many things you want to ask that you ask nothing because you wouldn't know where to start. He explains everything you see, introduces you to the knights who greet you by your name like you're one of them, and does not forget to point out that girls can become knights, as well. He laughs when you declare you want to become just like him and for a second his eyes seem sad, but you didn't notice then and only remember many, many years later.

If there is a stereotype on how elder brothers have to behave you are not familiar with it but you love your brother more than anything. Kyo is twelve years older than you, with the same white-silvery hair your late mother had and clear, blue eyes. He is tall and lean, a sword at his side for as long as you can remember: a knight from head to toe. Every summer and winter he returns home for his holidays, spends one and a half precious weeks with you, and those days are what keep you sane, are what you draw your strength from the rest of the year. Kyo is the only one in your family who actually cares about you, who spends time with you and laughs and does not look at you with cold eyes and a hard face. Kyo protects you when your stepmother directs hateful words towards you, when father turns his back on you as if he cannot stand the sight of your face. So, for some years, you learn how to be strong by yourself. Your brother called you a warrior, once. He said it smiling but there was a light in his eyes that showed you he meant it, he believed it. He taught you to defend yourself against bullying village kids. He gave you the strength to go on by yourself, first ignored and hated, then fussed over and ordered around. At some point your stepmother has decided you are old enough to be taught how to be a proper lady, there are dresses and stitching and endless lessons on etiquette. Since it provides a change you go along with it, as long as it is some teacher or another you don't mind. And you learn fast, anyway. During the short, blissful times when Kyo comes home he teaches you sword-fight, at first with wooden props, then later with his old practice weapons: this is your secret, yours and his. And while he is there – while his voice leads you through the training exercises and his smile guides you along – you can forget that you have to be strong and that you are all by yourself out there as soon as he is gone again.

You are nine. He died like a royal knight, they tell you, but it does not matter. Since he was the family's heir he is buried with all the proper honors. Nobody cares for the plain sword he preferred to the ornamented, jeweled one your father gave him, so you take it and wonder why you cannot cry over it. They could have as well killed you with it, you think, and probably they did because the place in your chest where he taught you the heart is is empty and hollow and cold.

When you are a few days shy of twelve you run away from the place that never was your home to begin with. You take Kyo's sword and a change of clothes and the fact that you actually make it serves as proof how much the people actually care. And then suddenly they care a lot: because Kyo is dead the noble house needs a heir, and it is supposed to be you. You laugh your father's messenger in the face, and, when he sends soldiers to retrieve you, threaten to kill yourself with your brother's sword if they even touch you. The next messenger your father sends (he never even considers going himself to see you, you think, and wonder at the bitterness that still rises) carries a question: where will you go without his backup, his financial help, what are your plans? How can you even dare to have a plan, reverberates from in between the lines, the disdain behind it clearly showing how much influence your stepmother has, the arrogance speaking of the fact that he never bothered to get to know you enough to be able to anticipate your next moves. You send him back with your answer and think perhaps it would be amusing to watch your father's face when he hears your reply, but anxiousness is creeping into your black humor and you desperately wish Kyo was still there to smile and give you strength. You want to become a knight, you tell him. The next messenger, again, has a proposal: If you actually make it, you will be allowed to remain away from the house you hate so much, as long as you agree to attend certain ceremonies, and you will return as soon as you turn twenty-two in order to succeed the family's heritage. Of course, you being a woman, he does not expect you to even be considered as suitable material for knight training. It is a test of your resolve, ability and strength, one that he has already determined you to lose. You're being given leeway to try and fail – and you will be expected to return home soon, the prodigal daughter, and remain there for the rest of your life. A puppet to your mother's cruelty and your father's disregard and political ambition. But since your father never agrees on something as long as his securities aren't one hundred percent water-proof, there is a second trap set carefully and coolly. You're almost ready to agree to the conditions when you follow your instincts and inquire as to what end the last condition, namely the age, might serve. The answer is as cold as you would have expected it to be. With twenty-two you'll be too old to find a good match, so your father has already sealed a compact with another noble and rich family who has selected this certain age for the time of the wedding. It is almost laughable so you do laugh and remark that if you're lucky, you'll die at the same age as your brother did – one year before the due date your father set.

And suddenly you are free.

One last time, you go down to the river in the early morning, nothing but a small bag and Kyo's sword with you. The summer sun has long lost its strength; mist is beginning to creep over the fields, but the water runs and runs. You stand at its side for a long, long time – and then you turn around and leave, and you never look back.