NOT MINE! *huff*
None.
None.
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Kendo no Go
In the Language of Kendo:
A Fanfic in 100 Chapters


by Akai Kitsune

80: Prism

 

~*~

There were, Kenshin realized one day, after a long bout of deep thought which was not brooding, whatever Kaoru might say, three very different yet equally important roles in the process of the Revolution. He wasn't quite sure how this revelation came to him, and could only say that it was true, in his perfectly honest opinion.

It was very much like the work of fine craftsmen, working with wood, slowly creating a piece of art through a process of many steps and different laborers, each with a single duty to perform before his job is finished.

It began with the designer, the man - or collective of men - who sought a beautiful vision of what something should be, using his own knowledge and the resources available to plan the entire project from beginning to end. Each step was carefully modeled, cleverly drawn out, and such ideals were passed on to the men who carry out his plans. Katsura-san was such a man, Kenshin thought to himself, remembering his employer's calm, collected expression, his soothing yet thoroughly convincing voice, who could lead armies of men with a mere beckoning of hand. He possessed a dead man's vision of a greater Japan, and he fought and strove to ensure that it happened, though the hands of those who worked beneath him.

Those men were the plain carpenters, Kenshin then imagined, men such as himself who were used as tools to take the given designs and instructions and transform it into a reality. The rough work often required that the old pieces be torn apart, in order to bring up the new, stronger and more beautiful work. There were many carpenters, he recalled, and most of them were expendable, no matter how strong or important they seemed to be.

The third and final part of the triumvirate was, of course, the finisher, who refined the rough projects of the carpenters and formed the final ideals, presenting to the world the end design when it is brought to life. Those men were the survivors, old designers who were less known, yet recognized for their ability to carry on despite their losses, for the sake of all they had gained and won. Kenshin thought of Okubo, Yamagata, and those government officials who were uncorrupted by greed and conceit.

He thought, he did not brood, but for a long time his mind dwelled on these things, wondering if the process had, in the end, changed much of anything besides the names of the rulers of the country.

People did not change.

 

Once, in the market, Kaoru had shown him a puzzling Western invention - more art than any sort of consequential tool - something the shopkeeper called a prism. A glass object formed in the shape of a triangle, which could, when held in the proper light, could create a brilliant rainbow of coloured beams.

He still was uncertain of how it worked - something to do with sunlight, he was sure, but the vendor hadn't spoken the language well enough to explain properly - but the effect it had on his wife was no less strong, and he couldn't help but purchase the item for her. She smiled at him, delighted, yet not quite understanding the depth in which he held the strange invention.

On the way home, he considered how similar his previous thoughts of the revolution and the little prism were. Three sides, a triangle had, separate yet equal and eternally connected. The prism would not work without all the existing sides, and each side was useless without the contributions made from the others. It was odd, yet somehow fitting at the same time. The very speculation that such a simple thing could carry so much idealism made him smile.

 

He had forgotten, in his blissful new ponderings and theories of the past - ones he could think back upon without regret or misery - that the prism had a forth side, one which held the other three together. A base, in a sense, yet the final and ignored piece of that puzzling creation of man.

He had forgotten that there was a fourth role in the completion of the revolution, in the finalizing of the era in which all could live peacefully.

He thought of it late that night, lying on his back and staring at the shadowed ceiling, Kaoru dozing serenely beside him. The prism rested on the dresser across the room, and as his gaze drifted towards it, his eyes widened in realization.

In the work of exquisite craftsmanship, there was another duty to perform. There was the tinker, the tool smith, who followed after all the others to cleanse and mend the broken, discarded tools left behind, slowly piecing them together again with fine hands and a wise mind.

Kaoru was that sort of person, he then thought, brushing his fingers through her hair, allowing them to linger before he curled closer to her, his arms drawing around her waist. She had taken in a lost, homeless hitokiri, wandering aimlessly through the country he had helped form with his bloody sword, and transformed him into something new, something better. A tool for a much greater purpose: the purpose of creating a family.

'And you did a good job, koishii,' he thought with a musing smile, thinking of the toddler who slept peacefully in the next room, and of Yahiko, Sano, and Megumi, who were farther away but not far enough to forget. 'You held us close even as we tried to leave you, never giving up, never surrendering to what we thought we wanted.'

'A great craftsman, my Kaoru.'

~*~

Calger-san yet again appearing here... you really are amazing for inspiration, ^_^

The fanfic Prism brought to life this chapter (obviously) and I'd like to give my thanks and random blubbering bows to Calger-san who wrote that amazing fanfic (it's over! *sniffle*). Without it this chapter would probably be boring. Heh. Well, even if it is boring, it would be less inciteful. ^_~

The original title for this chapter was "Square". You can tell where the connection was made...
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