Genre

Rating

Spoiler Level

The Courtship of Lady Tokio

by Misaki Toyodome

Chapter 13 - The Night Before The Day After or Kinmon no Hen

18th July 1864 –

Tokio was frowning at the report in her hand. O-Kiku sighed.

"Ojou-sama, it is unladylike to glower..."

Tokio's scowl deepened.

"O-Kiku, please, considering the circumstances, I think I have the right to make a face."

"Well, I can understand that you are upset that your wedding has been postponed due to these circumstances, I suppose."

Tokio arched an eyebrow – O-Kiku met her gaze but her expression did not change one bit. As far as O-Kiku was concerned, marrying into the Saigou family was the best thing for Tokio.

"My lady," she had said, "you are now fulfilling all the obligations and duties that are due to your family." O-Kiku had fretted over Tokio for so long: she had had many eligible suitors, but did not seem inclined to accept any one of them. She used the fact that she had so many suitors to put off making a decision.

"Surely," she had argued, "I should marry the best among them, but with new proposals nearly every month, how am I to be sure that a better one will not make his case next week?"

But now, at last, Tokio had consented. (Not that Tokio had very much choice in the matter.) And then this – this Choushuu invasion had not only delayed the arrival of her father from Edo to attend the wedding, but also the fact that both Aizu and Satsuma were being called to arms meant that all the festivities were postponed too.

'Such a shame,' thought O-Kiku. She had been so looking forward to attiring Tokio in her shiro-mukue.

Tokio, heedless of her maid's criticism, was still knitting her brow. War: a battle would be waged in Kyoto tomorrow, and for the first time in three hundred years, Japan would be thrown into the chaos of civil war. Men would die, and most would die not really knowing why they had to. She thought back to her encounter with the Hitokiri Battousai.

'So young, and yet so much blood on his hands...'

Did he really understand the magnitude of his actions? He seemed the idealistic sort; no doubt he believed it when he said that what he was doing was for the future glory of Japan, for peace, for the people. Had he not known, as it had seemed, that the Ishinshishi had plotted to destroy the city? He would probably be on the battlefield tomorrow, along with other young men. Fighting against other young men, like Okita Souji, or Saitou Hajime... Of course she was frowning.

'O-Kiku no ahou,' she thought, and then felt chagrined immediately. Such unladylike language. Where had she picked up such habits?

Late in the afternoon, a letter arrived for Saitou Hajime. The Mibu Headquarters were relatively calm – the troops had already made their preparations and confirmed their positions for the oncoming storm. They would be stationed at the Hamaguri-mon, one of the key tactical areas for the defence of the Imperial Palace. Now, a state of nervous tension held everything in equilibrium. This would be the day of the Shinsengumi. This would be the day that they had worked towards, fought for, the day that they celebrated. And a letter arrived – written in Tokio's uniquely elegant hand.

17th July 1864 -

Dear Saitou-sama,

Please forgive this sudden letter but the circumstances under which we met the last time did not allow me to express myself properly. As it was, it was utterly unpredicted that I would be running across your path that night. Also, there was the fact, as you pointed out, that I nearly died on a blade meant for someone else.

Again, I ended up causing you far too much trouble, and for that, I sincerely apologise. Still, I felt that I could have explained myself better, could have justified it clearer, if I had been allowed to spend just a little more time with you. All I wanted was a little more time with you.

Women – this world was not meant for creating strong women. Woman must be beautiful – but we must not take pleasure in our beauty, but only fear that we shall lose it. For this reason, it is vulgar to desire to live to an old age. Woman must marry – for this is the sole reason for our existence, to worship our husbands with obedience, submission and docility, and to bear their progeny. Woman must work – but she will never be elevated beyond her given station for the simple fact that she is woman. Woman's work must be a sacrifice of all the things she is and can do for the benefit of others. And woman must be irreproachable – this is the least of things, it is neither a virtue or to be lauded, for the simple fact is that being irreproachable means merely to be irreproachable.

I am far from irreproachable. You know this better than anyone else. It appears that I think it alright to flaunt convention if people do not know about it, but do not have the courage to openly take my stand. Still, I never resented being born a woman. Until I realised fully what it was to be not merely woman, but human. Not man, not woman, just somebody who wants something more than words can say. Then, the unfairness that I could not be any more than just a woman in the eyes of most people dawned upon me. I do not have the right to desire more than what is designated as my appointed lot by others, by the sheer fact that I was born a woman. Still, I desire. I wish for more than simply what others have decided is enough for me. Perhaps it is greedy of me to wish more. Then again, as I wrote above, I am far from irreproachable.

Saitou-sama, I do not wish to marry, I told you, a man whom I do not love. This is not a female affliction, but a human one, but because I am what I am, I cannot do anything about the reality of my situation. Still, I would not give in so easily. And it is true that in some ways for me, death would seem more acceptable and honourable than to be bound to a man that I cannot and will not love. How could I love this man, when my affections lie elsewhere?

If only I could lose this feeling of sensing something that must hide away from you and me. The heart is a gift, and you have no right to refuse. Please. It is mine and solely mine and mine to give to whom I will, the only thing that is mine to give freely and completely, without obligations or shame. Please, you have no right to refuse. It is a gift. If it is a burden to you, I apologise once again, but it is only full of the best of wishes for you. In a few days, you will go to war, and it should not be too heavy to take with you. It will live and die with you. I will be praying that it will live a long and fulfilled life at your side. I am jealous of it because I cannot.

After all that I have put you to, troubled you no end, after all the inconvenience, and the dangers you had to save me from... I owe you my life. If there is ever anything that is in my power to do for you, please, do not hesitate to let me know. No matter how far away, how long away, please, let me know.

Yours, as ever and always,

Takagi Tokio.

The silhouette jumped silently and nimbly over the courtyard walls of Koumyouji and into the main compound. All was still except for the rustling of the wind in the trees weaving the moonlight between the leaves. But the building was far from asleep. Over in the far wing, the higher retainers and their followers were gathered in the light of many lamps and finalizing battle formations and tactics. Matsudaira was meditating in the main temple hall, seeking for a glimpse of the outcome and what the future held for him and his people. The silhouette steered clear of this wing, and casually strolled to a different part of the building as though it had every right to be there this late at night.

It made its way inside unseen, and silently started to stalk through the corridors. Now and again, it would slide open doors a fraction of an inch, peer quickly inside as though to make sure that what it was looking for was not there, and swiftly moved on. It headed to the private quarters, and reached a corridor leading to a small inner garden. With soft but sure footfalls, it walked towards it with confidence. It was sure that it would find what it was looking for here.

Tokio pricked her ears and turned towards the door facing out onto the garden. She tensed as she saw a shadow cast onto the paper by the faint lights from the stone lantern outside. The shoji slid open, and she widened her eyes in surprise. She did not cry out in fright or shock, but quickly sat up and kneeled, adjusted her yukata, and bowed.

"Saitou-sama..." Her voice was soft and mellow but as usual, very clear – not a hint of the surprise she felt at seeing him there tonight. Saitou Hajime stood in the doorway. Now that he was here, he frowned, slightly unsure as to how to proceed.

"Please, come in." She did not need to say, lest someone see you there. Saitou nodded, stepped inside and crossed his legs at the foot of her futon. She could make out his sharp, angular features very well in the dim light. They sat in silence for a while, each searching for the words to begin. They sat in silence for a while until Saitou started to speak.

"I got your letter." Such a matter of fact voice, belying the irrational impulse that had led him here. She gave a small nod.

"... I did not expect to be seeing you again..." She murmured, not looking at his eyes but concentrating on where his neck met the collarbone. "You are prepared for tomorrow?" Her voice now could not hide completely the sense of quiet panic and dismay underneath that smooth surface.

"As ready as anyone can be for such things, I would say." His tone would have been the same if someone had asked him whether he was ready for a trip to Osaka.

"... I did not expect to be seeing you again..." She repeated almost like a sigh.

"I know." Her letter had been her last and fleeting bid for freedom.

She looked up at him this time, and smiled.

'How can eyes that are so deep and so dark shine so brightly...' The thought rose in his mind, and he remembered all those other times she had looked at him so wistfully and smiled so tenderly. A secret smile, a smile reserved only for him, one that gave everything she had inside away and had used to pave her way to him.

She lowered her gaze again and spoke softly.

"If you are here to refuse, please, it is a gift. Perhaps an unwelcome gift, and in that case do with it what you will, but please do not return it." The spaces between their words were filled with lost hopes and wayward dreams and things-that-are-not-matter but without which matter would have no meaning. He watched her, her lowered gaze casting her eyelashes on her high cheekbones. He studied the way her slim neck met the line of an exquisite jawline and how her shoulders drew the most wonderfully delicate curves. The little divot above her upper lip and a dimple saved her beauty from predictability. He had never seen her with her hair down before, and it flashed as palely as he imagined black pearls would. And even as he sat there, looking at her with no words to say, a thin trickle ran swiftly down the side of a tiny, fragile nose and disappeared under the fall of her chin. She really had nothing to hide from him, not even her tears.

"... You say I have no right to refuse... And I don't..." His voice was steady even as he had to consciously stop himself from wiping her cheek. Another tear escaped, trying though she was to lock it behind the windows to her soul.

"You will go to war tomorrow." Her voice was steady but her lips quivered slightly. The weight of unsaid words imbued the silence, that he might die, that they might never meet again, that she wished that things could be different, that he wouldn't have it any other way. After all, if things had not happened the way they happened, he would not be here now.

"It's not so serious, not as yet. It's more to do with political posturing than actual fighting. I doubt that the action will last longer than a few days." This was his way of trying to reassure her. "The streets of Kyoto are not any more dangerous, and I have survived thus far." He gave an arrogant grin. Her lips moved slightly as she tried to smile.

"I have every faith in you. But please, take care..."

"... And after this trouble is over, you will be married-"

"I do not wish to talk about that." She cut him off, uncharacteristically sharp. She made no effort to hide her displeasure concerning the topic.

"Tokio-san," he chided, "surely if you make such a face, your future husband will know that you do not willingly accept your marriage?"

With that, Tokio's face became as impassive as stone.

"Saitou-sama," she replied archly, "you should not question my abilities to play the part."

It was a strange situation. Here he was, in a lady's private quarters at Aizu headquarters. If anyone else were to come along at that moment, they would have shouted and raised an alarm. If he was caught, it would have dire consequences for them both. In the faint light of the moonlight and lantern, her slender frame looked more fragile than ever (or was it that she was only dressed in her night clothes and not the layers of a monk's garb?).

'Kaguya-hime...' He shook the thought out of his head as soon as it surfaced – he was not a sentimental man, and she of course was not the moon princess.

"Dear Tokio," he sighed in mock exasperation, "who thinks it's alright to flaunt convention so long as nobody knows... So long as nobody knows?"

"Sometimes our secrets are all we've got, that with our lives we must defend." She would not accede to his implied suggestion that all she had to do to break her engagement was to be caught there with him. Nor would he have suggested it if he thought for a single moment that she would have agreed.

"And sometimes it's wise to lay down our arms and just give in." He still teased her though. There was no need to tell her that talk of her impending marriage was churning his insides, no need to add to her list of griefs at what she called her appointed lot. There was no need to tell her that he had considered applying his sword for his own personal vendetta against her future husband.

'Not man, not woman, but just somebody who wants something more than words can say.' He recalled. A human affliction.

"Please, Saitou-sama..." Her voice wavered. He relented. Outside, they could hear some movement as more weapons and armour was being stocked.

"Saitou-sama, I will hear of it if anything should happen to you." She did not need to add, 'so please do not let me hear that anything has happened to you'. The midnight gong sounded. He had been there for over an hour. She looked stricken by the passage of time, and unexpectedly, reached out for him. She caught his hand, and whispered, "Please be safe." Time was trickling through their fingers and the moment that he would have to leave drew nearer.

"Tokio-san, I get what everybody else gets. I get a lifetime," he drawled, pretending indifference to her concerns. A futile act, since the truth that he was there, with her, gave him away. The fingers that clasped his were cool, and trembled slightly. He remembered another time that he had seen them like that, remembered how oddly graceful they had looked, and how he had wanted to still them. It was strange how he could remember all the little things about his time with her with no effort at all.

Should he have been looking for some kind of end, for some kind of closure? Surely that was why she had written her letter to him, to have her final say. Instead they had touched for the first time and with that the universe had expanded and left an empty space to be filled with words that had yet to be said and smiles that had not yet brightened and memories that were not even thought of yet. But they...they could only leave it as an empty space.

The most innocent caress but a forbidden one nonetheless.

The noises outside were growing louder and nearer. As time approached the witching hour, the building seemed to come alive with the demons of men who were readying for war. He should leave soon. They heard footsteps pass along a nearby corridor and tensed.

"Tokio-san, I'll take my leave." He rose to his feet, but she did not let go of his hand. He covered her slim fingers with his other hand, and bent down to look her straight in the eye. "...Things happen as they should, Tokio-san. And you will not hear bad news." Still she would not let go, her eyes filling silently with her unsaid wishes in the form of tears. If in that moment, she spoke that which was cast in her eyes, if she had just asked him not to go, his resolve would have shattered, and he would have stayed. He would have stayed, her hand in his, until the sun rose and the cries of battle woke the city. But she did not say a word, because she too was strong of will, and she understood too well the bounds of duty and the binding honour that held men like him and women like her to their word.

If someone had walked into the room then, and seen them, it would have made an odd sight. Saitou, looking as stern as ever, with the same uncompromising light in his eyes, gently wiping away a tear that fell in spite of itself from Tokio's dark eyes. Tokio, usually so cool, calm, and collected, trying desperately to stop herself from begging. Begging him not to go, not to let her go, not to go to war, not to die, not to kill her heart along with himself, not to leave her, never to leave her, not to allow her to belong to anyone else. She tried, and she succeeded. After what seemed like an age, she found the courage to find different words to say.

"Saitou Hajime, remember me. Remember that I was always true. Remember that I always tried. Remember I choose only you. Remember me and smile." She gently let go of his hand, the shared warmth of their touch disappearing in the cool night air. Saitou stood up.

"Tokio-san, remember that I do not refuse, that I don't refuse anything that is yours or is you." He had accepted, and did not need to tell her what he gave her in return.

'All I wanted was a little more time with you...' Her words reflected his thoughts exactly.

She smiled a little delightedly but mostly sorrowfully, and nodded, and bowed her head. She did not raise her head again until she heard the shoji slide open and shut. She caught the momentary shadow of his silhouette against the other side of the screen. And then he was gone. No wracking sobs shook her body but the tears flowed as quietly and as deeply as the words she had carved out of herself and onto paper, into her letter and sent to him.

Kinmon no Hen – 19th July 1864 –

Choushuu clashed with Aizu and Satsuma, the battle bearing down in the heart of the city. As the fighting approached the Imperial palace, fires started to burn all around in the chaos and confusion. In the first day alone, more than four hundred Choushuu warriors died. Although rumours ran amok that the Hitokiri Battousai was fighting openly for the first time too, it seemed that one man alone was not enough to turn the tide of battle. It had been a battle in which Choushuu were doomed from the very outset: a meager three thousand men as opposed to the twenty thousand soldiers of the Bakufu army. The rebel army was absolutely decimated, as were the nearly thirty thousand houses and buildings that were lost to the flames.

This battle became known as Kinmon no Hen. Aizu and Satsuma emerged glorious and victorious, more powerful than ever, even as the Choushuu forces were demolished. The Shinsengumi fought valiantly and people wondered at such men. Were these really sons of peasants and merchants and lowly samurai? These men who earned the reputation of wolves? The Tokugawa Shogunate seemed secure for another generation at least. Little did anyone think at the time that it was only the beginning of the end... And all because of the minor incident of the Ikedaya affair...