Title : For Love and Honor

Author : lynlyn

Yahoo ID and email : cloud121383

Warnings : Main pairing is Kuroro/Kurapika; I'll try to put in some minor Killua/Gon and Hisoka/Irumi for those pairings' fans – and if you don't like shonen-ai, you're still welcome to read, but homophobic sentiments will be ignored. But I'll be focusing more on the storyline, and the rating probably won't go any higher than implications. Also watch out for the war issues. I'll try not to go too much into details, but expect violence and nameless character deaths. This is extremely AU – I've completely departed from the canon, and am basically using the HxH characters in a whole new story. As such, I can't completely guarantee that everyone will stay in-character

Summary : Knowledge, understanding gained by actual experience; the state of being aware of something or of having information; the act of understanding, or clear perception of truth; something learned and kept in the mind.

Rating : PG-13 for adult themes, some swearing, and violence.

Disclaimer : I do not own Hunter X Hunter and The Last Samurai, their characters, or anything associated with both. I'm not writing this for profit; I'm only doing so for personal satisfaction, plus the fact that I want to try my hand at writing semi-professionally. Any resemblance of the characters or the story itself to actual people and situations is entirely unintentional and accidental. Characters you don't recognize, however, are my own creations, with names probably snitched from other books or anime. I won't make a fuss over the original minor characters, but I will be pissed if anyone uses any of the major ones without my permission.

A/N : Longest chapter I've ever written, and it's not even part of my main fic. Go figure. Additional disclaimers are due to Mistress 259 and Khursten, who came up with Sahide's name and the ribald Placement Exam name, respectively. Mistress 259 also beta-read this for me; there would be more errors if not for her awesome proofreading skills. And is there such a thing as an alpha-reader? Because I bugged Yukitsu for help on the draft several times, even before I'd finished writing the separate parts.

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FOR LOVE AND HONOR
Chapter 2 – For Knowledge

If you know the enemy and know yourself, you need not fear the result of a hundred battles. If you know yourself but not the enemy, for every victory gained you will suffer a defeat. If you know neither the enemy nor yourself, you will succumb in every battle.
– Sun Tzu, The Art of War

When commanders gather to talk about the outcome of a battle, their discussions will always spiral towards an accounting of their losses, no matter how hard they try to ignore said losses by referring to their discussions as "field reports". Men are stubborn that way, insisting on coating horror with the paintbrush of formality, and yet inevitably falling prey to the desire to compare losses against their gains. The number of dead soldiers and horses, the amount of ammunition spent, how much of their funds used up versus how many of the enemy killed, how many supply wagons captured, how much land recovered or seized. The ordinary infantry soldier usually isn't allowed into such meetings, one may assume, because of confidentiality issues, but sometimes it is because the ordinary commander doesn't believe his ordinary soldiers capable of understanding the numbers he has to deal with over the course of a war.

Numbers. Figures. Indeed, the ordinary citizen will find the reality cold and inhuman, that life and death must be reduced to numbers, but technically that is how wars are won and lost: through numbers and comparisons. My gun is bigger than your gun. My soldiers fight better than your soldiers. My army has more money than your army, and so on and so forth. That is the case for your run-of-the-mill war.

But there are exceptions – wildcards that could tip the scales in favor of the obvious underdog, like a general who happened to be a tactical genius, bizarre weather or irregular terrain that could be used to an army's advantage, exceptionally dedicated soldiers fighting for more than just their lives, mistakes committed by the opposing side, even plain luck or chance seized and acted upon.

What if a particular army held all of the above wildcards? Good commanders, advantageous terrain, skilled subordinates, a large, immobile enemy led by stupid, arrogant generals, and the luck of the gods themselves? How then would their battles progress, what would the outcome of their wars be like? What if the army's individual soldiers are so well-trained, that each is equivalent to at least ten grunts from the opposite side, that all of them are used to fighting, surviving, and winning, that casualty figures for their battles are almost nonexistent? What would they talk about in their reports?

Mostly about gains, perhaps. Status updates. The damage done not to them, but to the terrain. Strategies that might work more efficiently in future skirmishes. Noteworthy opponents, and prisoners captured – if there were any.

The uninformed wouldn't know or see the power that the rebels commanded if he happened to nip into the room that the Kuruta used for meetings. He'd see a motley assembly of people, individuals that seemed incapable of waging even the smallest siege. Two wizened old men, both no taller than children; a middle-aged man who looked more like a butler than a soldier; a silver-haired giant, the only person in the room who resembled a warrior; and finally two light-haired youths, the older genteel and mild-mannered, the younger looking more like a young woman than a young man.

And if the uninformed would care to guess, he'd assume that leadership lay with the menacing giant, or even with one of the old men. But if he were to listen, if he watched more closely, he'd notice that most of the questions would be directed at the youths – or more precisely, at the older blonde.

"Perhaps it would be prudent to employ a different tactic next time?" said one of the old men. "The first division used a flanking maneuver to hem us in. A full frontal assault's well and good for scaring army conscripts, but you know that the outcome would have been vastly different if it had been anyone other than you leading the charge."

These six people formed the heart of the rebellion, unofficially but unanimously regarded to be the leaders of the disparate group of defecting clans and organizations. The Kuruta name only referred to the first court clan to withdraw their support for the government, but since everything started when the prime minister and his advisers decided to attack the clan for no reason other than greed and jealousy, the Kuruta were at the thick of it, at the center of a vicious power struggle that had quickly escalated into a civil war when other political factions took to choosing sides.

In the end it hadn't been that difficult for the rebellion's leaders to agree that it was just easier to use the term "Kuruta" to encompass everyone who joined them, especially when the government didn't seem to want to acknowledge the existence of the other defecting clans. Perhaps it was because the minister and his advisers didn't want the masses to start thinking them weak or incapable of governing, if even well-established clans would choose to side with the Kuruta.

The Kuruta themselves didn't care either way. They had already decided to see the fight to the very end, even at the cost of the clan's continued survival.

"As you wish," the older blonde replied. "But you yourself agree that it wouldn't have made any difference. I have full confidence in everyone's abilities."

The young men were Kuruta, with their distinctive light hair and eyes. The elder was called Sahide, the younger blonde was his brother, named Kurapika. Their father used to be the clan head, but he and their mother had been killed just before the rebellion started, murdered by mercenaries hired by the government. Sahide had since succeeded the position their father had left behind – which, in this war, roughly translated to commander-in-chief, while Kurapika undertook the logistics of running the day-to-day operations of the rebel camp, leaving his brother free to concentrate on fighting.

"It will not hurt to be more careful. Luck like this will not last… something is bound to go wrong sooner or later," the middle-aged man said solicitously.

The second old man nodded at his colleague's advice. "And there's something strange with today's offensive. They withdrew much too soon. None of the second, third, or fourth divisions even engaged us. They sounded the retreat as soon as we broke through the frontline."

The two who had just spoken were representatives from the Hunter Association, a non-government organization whose members were best known for being historians and clerics, although they also delved in activities the greater public didn't care to know about, like the protection of arcane manuscripts and artifacts and the maintenance of public documents. The old man who had long white hair tied in a topknot and a luxuriant beard, was Netero, the director of the organization. The middle-aged man who looked and dressed like a butler was his aide, Satotsu. The two of them stood for the Hunter Association and other organized groups who had joined the rebellion – in other words, anyone not affiliated to any of the defecting court clans.

"Noticed that, didn't you?" grunted the man who had first spoken, in response to Netero's observation.

"Of course. They left behind most of the first division like a lizard shedding its own tail."

The last two men in the room were a father and son pair – two generations of patriarchs of the Zaoldyeck clan. The family was believed to have as much power as the Kuruta, but their influence lay more heavily in the military rather than in the government itself. Zeno, a stern old man with closely-cropped hair and a neatly-trimmed moustache, had spent several months as an instructor, while his son Silva – tall and well-built, with a long mane of silver hair and predatory yellow eyes – had been a high-ranking officer before the whole family decided to break away and join the rebellion. They now spoke for the interests of the Zaoldyecks and the rest of the defecting clans – excepting the Kuruta, of course.

"Speaking of the first division – its commanding officer –"

"Kuroro Lucifer. The prisoner."

"Ah." Satotsu looked around at both Zaoldyecks' impassive expressions. Zeno had lost a grandchild, and Silva will never see his second-born son again. It couldn't be easy for them, knowing that Miruki Zaoldyeck's attacker was being exempted from retaliation.

"I assume that he was the one behind the flanking maneuver? It was a much more complicated stratagem than I believe the regular commanders are capable of."

"Yes," Silva replied. "Our spies didn't hear of plans for such a maneuver. The decision must have been made on the field."

Zeno sighed. There had to be a reason why Sahide had interfered in the prisoner's execution, and he wanted to know what it was. "Brilliant strategist or not, I think I should warn you now; my daughter-in-law is being very vocal about the issue of the prisoner."

"Meaning that she's screaming for his blood – and very loudly, at that," Netero translated cheerfully, even as he gave a small, deferential bow to Zeno to indicate that he didn't mean any insult.

The older Zaoldyeck waved the apology aside – he happened to agree that his son's wife could be irritatingly loud at times. A tiny grin of amusement directed at the sharp-eyed old man gave words to an acknowledgement that would be inappropriate if voiced in a formal court setting.

"I can't hand him over to you, but I truly am sorry to hear about Miruki," Sahide finally murmured.

"Your apology wasn't asked for," Silva said succinctly.

The elder of the Kuruta brothers immediately schooled his face into an expression of puzzlement, but Zeno was quick to notice that it was a half-hearted attempt, at best. "That face will not fool anyone, Sahide. Really, how you were able to last as long as you did in the Imperial Courts is beyond me," he muttered

"You don't have to hide your dislike for the boy," Silva continued, his voice cutting through the tense air of the command room with brutal honesty. "My son disobeyed my orders and yours, and he acted in bad form. He got no less than what he deserved."

"You can't possibly mean that," Kurapika objected. "He's still your son. You have the right to demand compensation."

"Bad karma, that was all," Silva stated matter-of-factly, with perhaps just the tiniest bit of loss, if one knew how to look for it. "Father and I do not blame you, or the prisoner. Miruki attacked unarmed combatants, after the battle itself had been concluded. Kuroro Lucifer was just defending himself. I'll just have to find some way to make Kikyou accept that."

The last sentence was said slowly, with the air of a man entirely too used to dealing with a formidable wife, and who, despite his determination, wasn't looking forward to the task. There was an awkward moment of silence as the room's other occupants pondered on the wisdom of commenting on the marriage of a man who made a living out of killing people. Netero finally broke it with a discreet cough and a standard-issue question.

"How is he doing, by the way?"

Netero had directed the question at both Kuruta, and he had expected to be answered by the older brother, but it was the younger who replied. "He's been placed under Leorio's watch… he's stable for now. I've had to force ki into him to stop the drain, though."

"May I ask why –" Zeno started, but he was cut off by the sound of someone skidding and slipping on wooden floors that had been polished excessively. A disheveled and bespectacled young man barged into the room, blustering fit to wake the dead.

"Kurapika! Would it be okay for you to give another dose… Ah." The head medic of the Hunter Association flushed as he took in the bemused gazes being leveled at him. He immediately started to back out of the room. "Right. Meeting. Uhh, sorry for interrupting –"

"No, it's all right, Leorio," Sahide called out, stopping the healer just as he was stepping through the doorway. The blonde then turned to speak to his brother. "Go with him, Kurapika. We're about to wrap things up, anyway."

Kurapika gave his sibling a quizzical glance. Netero could see that the boy was curious. He wasn't surprised; there were still a number of things they needed to talk about before dispersing.

Well, they were brothers. Kurapika could just corner Sahide after dinner and demand answers to whatever question he may have.

"All right, then. Please excuse me." Kurapika bowed and left with the head medic.

"So…" Netero drawled as soon as he was sure that the younger Kuruta had walked out of earshot, "Care to tell us the reason you all but told your brother to leave before we could ask what you're planning to do with Kuroro Lucifer? He did say that the patient's stable. Leorio could have waited until this meeting's really over."

"I never could get anything past you," Sahide mumbled ruefully.

"Why?" Zeno asked, slightly alarmed by the hand-caught-in-the-cookie-jar feeling the Kuruta clan head was now broadcasting. "What does Kurapika have to do with any of this? And why did you put Lucifer under your household, specifically under Kurapika's care? We all know that the boy's capable enough, but wouldn't that take time away from his other duties?"

Sahide didn't answer at once. Zeno blinked in surprise. It was quite possibly the first time he had seen the normally confident young man hesitate. Kuruta were raised to be decisive; a bodyguard had to be able to move quickly and efficiently when responding to threats to the person he or she was supposed to protect. And being as young as they were, it was doubly important that the Kuruta siblings avoid showing any sign of weakness, especially in front of the people who followed them.

"What do you know of the prisoner – Kuroro Lucifer?" Sahide finally spoke, slowly and carefully.

The seemingly unrelated response – a question in answer to Zeno's own queries – threw the Zaoldyecks off-balance. Zeno looked at his son, who shrugged and looked at the Hunter representatives. Netero, upon seeing the attention being directed at him, just smiled innocently and looked up imploringly at his aide.

Satotsu gave a long-suffering sigh, straightened – he was already standing with his back ramrod-straight; how he was still able to give the impression of a soldier snapping to attention was a mystery none of the four other men cared to solve – and adopted the tone of a lecturer laying claim to his lectern.

"His parents died when he was very young. We don't know if he has any family left, but it would be safe to assume that he doesn't belong to any court clan. As you know, that would usually mean that he would have no chance of getting a good enough education to get into the government, but nevertheless, he took the placement exam two years ago."

Satotsu's audience tried not to fidget when he mentioned the government's examinations, held once every two years. Its purpose was to weed out the intelligent and hardworking from the hundreds of other applicants hoping to be accepted into the government. Aspiring officials had to pass a series of aptitude tests in order to earn the respect and the right to become paid public servants. It was relatively effective, and really was the only way for non-titled people to enter into the empire's service, but its full name – Public Examination for National Integrity and Service – sounded highly inappropriate when abbreviated.

For decency's sake, people just called it the Placement Examinations.

Netero's aide didn't seem to take notice of his allies' embarrassment. They had all been involved with the Imperial Courts in one way or another, and they still carried, in varying degrees, the stigma of being associated with a regime that dared to make use of such a vulgar name. But Satotsu was, if anything, a man with an excellent poker face, and he was not easily fazed by trifling matters such as indecent exam abbreviations. It was this solemnity that powered him through his narrative – references to disturbing exam names and all.

"His score was – and still is – the highest in the history of the exams."

"Why didn't we hear of this?" Zeno asked in surprise.

"Some examinees complained – in particular, a group of examinees being endorsed by the minister's senior advisers." Satotsu paused. Vulgar names he could take, but dishonesty was a matter his poker face just couldn't stand. He actually looked pained, as if he had just admitted to being the accomplice of a particularly hated swindler.

"You know how these things go. The advisers threatened to revoke the exam officials' licenses, but they could not tamper with the results, so they downplayed Lucifer's achievement. The officials were forced to give him a low position in a dead-end department. They also turned a blind eye on his case whenever there were advancement opportunities. He held his original position until about three months ago. He was demoted and then sent to the frontlines, when one of his rivals overheard him making a pro-Kuruta comment."

"Easiest way for a bureaucrat to get rid of an annoying rival," Silva murmured. "Get him sent to the frontlines of a war to die a gruesome and painful death."

"It's one of the things I wished the Empire would change," Netero declared. "It's an absolute waste of talent! I've seen his exam papers, and his answers to the governance questions were sheer genius…" The elderly historian trailed off in mid-rant. Then he blinked. And he gaped, with the slack-jawed demeanor of someone who had just been hit head-on by a startling realization.

Sahide smiled wryly – almost smugly. He hadn't had to explain anything – the director of the Hunter Association had figured everything out. "I don't want to get ahead of myself, but if we win… when we win, the current government will be overthrown. It is more than likely that the system will collapse unless we restructure it… Everything will need to be changed, improved. And one of the first things we need to do is to put capable people behind the positions of power."

His gaze turned apologetic, and incongruently calculating at the same time, as he swept it over the men who had vowed to stand with him and his clan, against the reigning power that currently held the land.

"I don't know about you gentlemen, but none of the Kuruta are interested in taking over the prime minister's seat."

"You're suggesting that Lucifer – and Kurapika –" Netero stopped and shook his head in disbelief. "I don't think your brother will take kindly to being manipulated."

Sahide just grinned charmingly. He seemed unmoved by the warning – and when Netero turned to Satotsu and the Zaoldyecks in an attempt to get them to help him make sense of the blonde's plans, he found them staring in incomprehension. It was then that he realized that his old age may be getting to him, if his mind could easily see the dots that formed the Kuruta clan leader's convoluted schemes, when his younger colleagues couldn't.

He also realized that, since Sahide was still grinning madly and seemed disinclined to say anything more, it now fell to him to explain to the other three men – to the best of his abilities – exactly why Sahide had ordered that Kuroro Lucifer be brought back alive, attended to by the best healer in the camp, and then placed under the care of the second-most important individual of a clan famed for protecting influential personalities…

"Well… consider the fact that Kurapika has long since completed his training – with remarkable results, I've heard. And he is of the right age to be choosing his ward…"

To their credit, the three men understood quickly – only five seconds of silence. And they took it quite well – no violent jumps, no loud reactions. One would have thought that they hadn't heard anything at all, if not for Silva dubiously mouthing, "You're not serious," and his father exclaiming, "My god, he is!" eight seconds after that.

---ooOOOoo---

If Sahide had hoped to stop his brother from wondering about the future purpose of their guest by getting Kurapika to leave before bringing up his suggestions, then he was in for a disappointment. They were siblings, after all – both cunning and intelligent, and whereas Sahide used his brilliant mind to come up with strategies to be used in the battlefield, Kurapika watched and observed, applying everything he learned into making the Kuruta ancestral lands into an impenetrable and undetectable haven for his clan and their allies.

Perhaps the only handicap Kurapika had was that he had never been involved in politics – he had never been to the capital, for that matter. He had been trained to fight by his parents, and tutored in the nuances of the Imperial Courts by his clan elders. Everything else, he learned from reading books and by pestering his older brother for stories about his experiences with the empire, or politely asking for information from the historians of the Hunter Association. Kurapika couldn't have known about the prisoner's high Placement Exam score, and he couldn't have come to the same conclusion Netero had.

But he was suspicious. No, suspicious wasn't exactly the right word… Wary. He was wary, and quite curious. He had participated in several battles ever since the war started, and not once had his brother taken a personal interest in any particular army grunt – not even one that Kurapika himself had been about to kill.

Leorio led the way to Kurapika's house. It was rightfully his brother's, but Sahide had managed to palm off managing the household to his younger brother, and whomever Kurapika could corral into helping him maintain it. Presently only two of the Kuruta blood lived in the spacious structure – Sahide and Kurapika, and three other people, who, for various reasons, needed (or wanted) to stay near the two youths. Now there was one more.

"– never seen an outsider with good control over his own ki before," Leorio was saying. "Well, not good as in your good – I mean, he was draining all over the place –" Kurapika wrenched his thoughts away from his brother's propensity for plotting and forced himself to listen to his friend.

"Has something happened?"

"No. Not exactly." They arrived at the fenced-in garden that fronted the brothers' house, and the pair of Kuruta guards stationed at the small gate waved them through. "I know I told you that he's stable, but your brother said that he wanted the guy fully recovered by the end of the month."

"Only the best treatment for the esteemed guest, is it?" Kurapika murmured.

"Seems that way."

Kurapika could feel Leorio giving him a sideways look. He decided to head the man off before the questions could come. "And before you ask, no, I don't know what my brother is planning." He had suspicions, but they were suspicions that had only very recently hatched, and he needed to nurse them a bit before they could be considered serious enough to share with other people. For now, everyone would just have to deal with his affable silences and his brother's sunny grins.

Leorio opened his mouth to say something, but he snapped it shut when he saw the pointed glare Kurapika was giving him. Instead, he held his hands up in a gesture of mock surrender, and hurried into the house. Kurapika rolled his eyes and followed in a more sedate pace.

The house was quiet – Gon and Killua were probably with their families. Lately the boys had taken to shadowing him like orphaned puppies, but Kurapika knew that the sights and sounds of battle would always drive the boys to seek the comfort of their own kin. Still, they would be back the next day, back to their normal inquisitive and rowdy selves – these few hours would be the only chance Leorio had of working on his patient uninterrupted.

Kuroro Lucifer was as Kurapika had left him three hours ago – pale and wrapped up in blankets, and completely dead to the world. Leorio had already dealt with the worst of his injuries – the broken collarbone, the bruised windpipe, and the badly-mangled right leg. Normally those injuries wouldn't have been fatal enough to kill – only cripple, maybe, but the man had exhausted himself beyond limit, beyond what his body could stand and heal at the same time.

Theoretically, a human body should be able to heal or recover from wounds or illnesses by itself, but only if the person is healthy and has enough energy to sustain both his normal bodily functions and the healing processes. Some people even went as far as to call it a person's life force – the energy all living beings had within themselves, that they use to move, eat, breathe, think… everything connected to living. Use that life force up all in one go, as Kuroro had nearly done, and you die. Get wounded and don't have enough life force for your body to use in healing you, as Kuroro had done, and you die.

That was where Kurapika came in. Three hours ago, while Leorio went about bandaging bleeding wounds, setting broken bones, lathering salves and doing his damnedest to save the shattered leg, Kurapika shared his life force. And quite a considerable amount it had been; he had given nearly half of the energy he had left over after the battle. It was the second infusion he'd done that day; earlier on the battlefield he had given Kuroro a smaller, hastier dose just so the man wouldn't succumb to sheer exhaustion.

"How much does he need?" Kurapika asked.

"Just enough to last him through tonight. And tomorrow morning," Leorio added as he carefully drew the covers back and turned his patient over on his stomach. "He's been soaking up all the ki you've given him; god knows why he hasn't exploded yet." Then the healer threw his arms out and cleared his throat oratorically. "Premium-grade Kuruta ki! One shot heals all wounds! Two shots for eternal youth! Three for the mother of all libidos!"

"Stop that!" Kurapika exclaimed in disgust. "You make it sound like one of Menchi's herbal teas!"

Leorio's teasing grin turned suggestive, and for a second Kurapika thought that he'd be asked about the source of his analogy, but the leer disappeared. "Seriously, though, why does it have to be you? You're not the only one who knows how to do this."

This time Kurapika hesitated before answering.

"I don't know," he muttered. He stepped over Kuroro's prone body and knelt, so that he was straddling the man's waist. Any wounds had been neatly stitched up hours ago by Leorio's steady hands, and now lay hidden under supportive bandages. "But if my brother thinks it's important that I be the one to give him these transfusions, then there must be a good reason."

"Wait! You do have enough ki for this, don't you? You don't have any other important tasks you need to do for the village?"

"All over and done with. Everyone accounted for, defenses double-checked, enemy supply wagons secured, watch roster –"

"All right, all right, I get it already. Damn workaholic."

Kurapika grinned faintly. Leorio was a workaholic too – at least, when it came to caring for the sick and the wounded. Here was a perfect opportunity to say "pot calling the kettle black", but Kurapika didn't want to waste time getting into a bickering match. He leaned over and placed his hands on Kuroro's back, both palms below each shoulder and parallel to the backbone.

It was essential that he align his hands' ki points with the ones on the recipient's back, else his ki would just dissipate uselessly into the air – or worse, enter the patient's body the wrong way, and cause all kinds of trouble within it. So far, Kuroro had accepted Kurapika's ki like dry earth soaking up life-giving rain. Their level of compatibility was remarkable, especially considering that the two didn't even know each other. This little observation was actually one of the arguments supporting Kurapika's suspicions, but, again, he wasn't quite ready to tell anyone just yet.

Kurapika felt for Kuroro's consciousness. His ki was – characteristic of invalids – very weak and feeble. It would be very easy to pull all of it right out of the man's body, and kill him.

Kurapika took a deep breath, looked for his center, grabbed hold of his own ki, and pushed.

---ooOOOoo---

Wood… and air. Both elements of life… Living wood, dead wood, preserved, and burning… fragrant scents of sweet pine wafting along the wind, bathing him with the unmistakable aroma of dried and cured fir burning merrily just beyond his periphery… And he smelled the bamboo as he heard their hollow stems being knocked about by an invisible breeze…

…

Green… alive… he could hear and smell green and earthy brown even before he opened his eyes. Scent and sound formed hazy pictures in his half-conscious mind, and he wondered if that was what the afterlife looked like – a hardwood floor, leaves and bushes and shrubs rustling in the backyard, and trees beyond that, bordering a sea of emerald-green grass, clearings for farms and gardens wrapped around a lovely winding path of moist dirt and stone…

He could hear… feel… sense people walking around, feet padding silently across the wooden floor… whispering, talking, hushed tones of respect and deference, curiosity, stubborn insistence, veiled hostility and disapproval… Did higher beings feel mortal emotions…?

…

There were birds in heaven. If he was in heaven. It certainly didn't feel like hell – he was burning, yes, thrashing in the throes of a raging fever, but everything around him was cool, comfortable, soothing and silent… silence broken by the whispers of angels, pierced by heron and woodpecker and owl… He heard crickets and croaking amphibians when the whispers went away, nighttime sounds in a place which he'd always envisioned to be filled with hymns and blinding white light…

…

Only the pain marred the peace of the place… exhaustion that sapped his strength, soreness and stiffness that made all of his nerves tingle, pinpricks along his chest, his torso, and his limbs, throbbing that rhythmically speared his throat, fire streaming along his right leg, a dull ache at the base of his skull, and waves that threatened to drown him, fighting him for ownership of his consciousness – a power he had felt before, of life and death that struggled against each other, and without aid he would surely have been engulfed in the empty wake of that last wave…

Hands helped him with the pain, batting the waves aside with a deceptive ease, helping him hold onto his life before it could completely drain away – warm fingers as soft as wingtips and palms rough with hard work and labor, alternately ghosting over his wounds and pressing vile herbal concoctions into them –

It wasn't only the presence of his discomfort that struck him as being odd, then, as everyone had been led to believe that bodies didn't carry on to the afterlife. He was dead certain that heaven only permitted the fragrant and the pleasant, and nothing that smelled, nothing that rankled like the liquids being routinely poured down his throat… they were bitter, and salty, and all manner of tastes in between, each foul whiff reminding him of the medicines he used to take in another lifetime, another life… a long time ago…

…

But the potions helped. He didn't die a second death, he didn't succumb to the poison; he wasn't borne away into the void by the empty waves. Each hour of rest, of peace, the caress of healing hands, murmured spells of comfort and encouragement brought him closer to light and awareness…

Kuroro started to open his eyes. He could keep them open for minutes at a time, mere minutes of confusion and blurred faces amid the brown of wooden panels and beams, before control of his consciousness would be wrestled from him by the drugs in his system and his own exhaustion… but not before he was able to see his caretakers, the owners of the hands and the muffled footsteps…

Eyes of the deep sky, framed by hair the color of a golden sun… the glint of spectacles on another, and a gruff voice that should have grated, but to his ears sounded surprisingly soothing… two smaller ones, curious violet and lively, warm brown, blending into soft silver, and black…

Children, in a place like this… They jostled against him once, in their eagerness, unknowingly jarring one of his injuries, and his pained gasp alerted the golden-haired one to his discomfort… a stern lecture followed, about running around a sick person, and something about a clothesline… and ears …? His identity tickled back to him slowly, like the grains of sand in an hourglass, and it didn't take him long to realize, in one of his lucid moments, that the children… were children, and the other beings about him weren't angels, and that he was alive…

No, not heavenly beings – although he had the uneasy feeling that he might have called the blonde an angel once or twice in his delirium – certainly no wings, and as his memories were restored to him, he gradually began to remember what had happened, and he started to think about who the people taking care of him could be. The light-haired teen could only be a Kuruta, and the one wearing the glasses had the look of a medic. The kids, though, couldn't have belonged in a rebel camp.

Children from any of the other defecting clans? They don't look like Kuruta…

Of course, now that he was clearheaded enough to think of the Kuruta, there was nothing to stop him from wondering why he wasn't dead yet. He remembered the battle, the retreat of the rest of the army, the fat Zaoldyeck, and losing consciousness amidst a crowd of Kuruta… The manservant named Gotong had been sure of Kuroro's fate, so if he hadn't been executed yet, he was most probably a prisoner.

"Houseguest, actually," the medic, who'd introduced himself as "Leorio-sama", answered when he tried to ask. "You don't see any bars or chains around, do you?" Leorio clarified at Kuroro's confused look.

"No, but…"

"I wouldn't worry too much about the Zaoldyeck butlers. Sahide-san pretty much warned everyone that you're off-limits. You're safe here."

Gratitude, for that reassurance, but Kuroro also felt irritated that he couldn't even hide what he was thinking from a total stranger. But then again, he had been ill… And he was still too weak to bother with putting on the emotional mask he adopted when dealing with aristocrats. How long had he been unconscious, anyway?

"Eight days," Leorio replied cheerfully, "Just a little over a week. It's a good thing that they brought you here. Anywhere else, and you'd probably be dead."

He wanted to ask why, but despite the other man's reassurances that he wasn't going to be thrown into a dungeon anytime soon, Kuroro knew that his presence among the defecting clans wouldn't be looked on favorably. Not everything he asked for would be given to him, not all of his questions would be answered. It would be best if he just waited for his captors to tell him what they wanted with him.

And as the doctor told him, he was lucky to be alive. He felt better now – in fact, better than he ever did, but the feeling of almost dying hung over him like a pall that he couldn't just shake off so easily.

The moment that Kuroro's status changed from bedridden to "well enough to get up" was unclear. Only a day after he first fully regained his consciousness he had already been lucid enough to talk and understand everything the talkative Leorio was willing to tell him, but his limbs refused to obey him whenever he tried to move. Leorio told him that he was still recuperating – that it was his body's way of telling him that it was recovering the ki he had lost from the massive drain he had forced on it.

… Whatever "ki" was. The healer didn't elaborate, but instead went off on a tangent, ending up prattling about the pretty nurse who lived three houses down the path.

And it wasn't as if he could actually tell when he was ready to get up – he couldn't just lie awake the entire time waiting to see if his body had recovered enough for him to move around. But it was on the morning of the third day that Leorio found him tottering about on his own strength. His bladder had a whole night to accumulate its waste fluids, and he had been too impatient to wait for someone to come along to help him to the toilet.

The healer actually screeched in horror when he saw Kuroro up and about. And Kuroro himself didn't understand at first – Leorio's strange reaction frightened and bewildered him – not until he had been forced to lie back down, Leorio all but wrenching his right hip off its socket in his haste to examine Kuroro's lower leg. That was when he remembered that he'd sustained an injury that should have made it impossible for him to walk.

But he hadn't felt even the slightest twinge, during his stroll to the loo and the few minutes he'd spent there while he relieved himself. His leg did feel stiffer than usual – almost like the times when he'd overworked the muscles on his limbs, and for the next few days they'd refuse to bend or stretch properly.

"The breaks are gone!" Leorio breathed in disbelief after he'd poked and prodded to his satisfaction. "There's still lot of bruising left, and some muscle fatigue along the original injury, but everything's working! Nerves, bones, arteries, tendons – even the skin's healed over!"

"That's… good, isn't it?" Kuroro ventured.

But Leorio, passing the threshold of amazed incredulity into the realms of blank denial, had ceased to see Kuroro as a talking patient and now pinned him with the unnerving stare pathological examiners reserved for autopsy subjects. "I'd expected some fast healing, but nothing like this! That injury should have taken at least two more weeks to close completely!"

"Err. What does that mean?"

"… premium-grade Kuruta ki," the healer muttered faintly. "Off-the-chart levels of compatibility…."

"I beg your pardon?"

"Err. I'm going out for a while," Leorio abruptly announced, and he made a vague gesturing motion as he pushed himself up. "You're welcome to walk around, I guess – but don't leave the house."

Kuroro felt that he had a right to ask what the man was talking about since it sounded like it concerned him, but the healer seemed genuinely dazed. "Sure," he said amiably.

"Gon and Killua will be along later on," Leorio added absentmindedly as he walked away. "I suppose you could try to get them to play with you..."

Kuroro hadn't met or seen anyone other than Leorio during these three days. But he thought back to when he had first started to open his eyes, those fevered periods of half-consciousness that had felt like surreal dreams, and remembered seeing four different people. The man with the gruff voice and the glasses was Leorio, he now knew. But the other three – the Kuruta and the two children – were nowhere to be seen.

Despite the open door, beckoning to him to go through it and explore the house, Kuroro stayed in his room for the rest of the morning. He stood up occasionally and attempted a few stretching exercises, and sat beside the room's single window and looked out into what he assumed was the backyard. Nobody looked in on him until the sun had reached the sky directly overhead.

Just as his stomach started to rumble, Kuroro heard the quiet pattering of a pair of feet in the hallway outside his room, and a thump as something was set down on the floor. A couple of seconds later a delicious scent wafted into the room, and the blond-haired Kuruta entered, holding a tray of covered platters and bowls.

"I've brought your lunch," his visitor said. "And a change of clothing, if you feel strong enough to take a bath later in the afternoon."

Kuroro's first thought upon seeing the second of his caretakers was that the boy was young – at least half a dozen years younger than he was. His second was more a sense of déjà vu than an actual thought; he was sure that this Kuruta was a male, but he was quite effeminate, with refined features and blond hair that swayed lightly with the smallest movement. Recognition of the clear blue eyes and the soft lilting voice – from blurry memories of when he'd been unconscious – vied for the position of thought number three.

Then he realized that the Kuruta was waiting for him to respond, and that he was staring rudely. He tried to cover up for it by thanking the boy, who nodded and then turned to set the tray down on the floor. A set of clothes – trousers, robes, and undergarments followed it.

"I made sure that everything's easy to digest. Leorio told me that you're well enough to eat normally, but just the same, you should take it slowly."

Kuroro had meant to wait until the blonde had left him, but the smells coming from the tray of food were too mouth-watering to be ignored by his stomach any longer. His lunch had been prepared and arranged artistically in delicate ceramic dishes, set on a tray that resembled a tiny table with foot-high legs. He didn't have to take the covers off to know that the food itself would be as exquisite as the utensils.

"This looks wonderful. Please, could you give my compliments to the chef?"

"It has been received. Thank you." Kuroro looked around, startled at the statement. The Kuruta was smiling wryly – it was a tiny twitch of the lips, actually, but Kuroro's thought processes still stumbled as he tried to think of something to say. At the same time he wasn't quite sure as to the source of his surprise. Perhaps it was because of the hospitality the Kuruta were showing him.

Leorio was right. They were treating him more like a guest than a prisoner of war.

The blonde correctly took his silence to mean that he had nothing more to say – for the moment, at least. He padded back to the doorway, completely unconcerned that it was wide open, that Kuroro could escape through it and out of the house, or take off through the window overlooking the backyard.

"I'll leave you to it, then. When you're done, leave the tray outside the door. I'll be along to pick it up. Please excuse me." The Kuruta gave a polite little bow, like the ones court retainers never seemed to tire of doing, and left.

Kuroro shook his head free of the muddle it had fallen into. Truth be told, escape hadn't been foremost in his thoughts ever since he had awakened. He had to be practical. If almost two weeks had passed since his ill-fated attempt at commanding a division, then it was likely that he'd been taken to the other side's home base – the famed ancestral lands of the Kuruta, a lush valley protected on all four sides by thickly-wooded mountains, and hidden to all but the Kuruta themselves and their allies. If the valley was as hard to find as the rumors said, then it would be impossible for Kuroro to escape from it.

And he couldn't have known it at the time, but seeds of doubt had already started to sprout in his mind – doubt in his superiors, doubt in his government, doubt in the side he was fighting for. That he wasn't feeling an inclination towards active defiance was just an unconscious desire to understand the events that had placed him in the hands of the Kuruta, and a growing yearning to wait and see what would happen to him next.

But right now, Kuroro wasn't in the mood for philosophical meandering. He was being summoned by the tray of food sitting on the little table in the middle of the room. Ceramic platters held steamed rice, grilled fish, various pickled vegetables and a light broth made from boiled chicken. Kuroro wasn't sure that he'd be able to finish the entire spread wielding only the thin pair of ivory chopsticks, but his appetite was better than he'd expected.

The blonde was a very good cook.

That got Kuroro wondering again. The boy had acted like a common housekeeper. And he looked too well-bred to be a combatant. But Kuroro also got the feeling that he was a person of importance; the grace and the confidence in the blonde's carriage were palpable.

Too many questions, but without the means to answer them. Or did he? Perhaps he only had to wait for them to come to him. As far as Kuroro knew, he was the only captive the Kuruta had taken. The commanders would probably see to him sooner or later.

But for the meantime, he didn't mind waiting. Not if all Kuruta cooked as well as the blonde did, a very private part of his mind whispered. And at least his accommodations were comfortable – lavish, even, compared with what he'd had to put up with in the three months since his demotion.

As he'd been asked, Kuroro left the now empty tray outside the door to his room. Then, he tucked the clean clothes under his arm and went to take a bath. He knew where the bathroom was from that morning's visit to the toilet, and it was yet another example that showed how gracious his captors were being, that he was allowed to use it unguarded. It wasn't just an ordinary bathroom; the bathing area was actually a small pool filled to the brim with warm water that bubbled up from a hidden crevice somewhere. The bath had a natural luxury to it, built right in the middle of a house that – in Kuroro's eyes, was rapidly shaping up to be a dwelling of considerable affluence.

But nevertheless, Kuroro didn't stay long in it – he wasn't sure how far Kuruta hospitality would extend for a person that technically counted as an enemy. He also went back to his room right after, and spent the rest of the afternoon wondering why he was being left alone. He didn't see the blond Kuruta again, or anyone else he didn't know – but on the way back he thought he saw two heads ducking around a corner, and he heard what could be a giggle and a muffled snort.

Leorio came back to check on him just before dinner. Kuroro waited for an explanation of his earlier outburst, but the man didn't say anything. He also wondered if the Kuruta would bring him food again, but the boy didn't show up, to his slight disappointment. Leorio had brought him all his meals thus far, except for that day's lunch, but by then Kuroro had noticed subtle nuances in the arrangement of the covered platters that came to him on the little tables, certain characteristics and flavors that told him that everything – from the first herb-sprinkled bowl of rice gruel to this latest set of dishes – had been prepared and cooked by the blonde whose name he still didn't know.

With all the questions bouncing around in his mind it was a wonder that Kuroro was able to sleep at all.

The next morning, Leorio threw him out of the house.

Or more precisely, the healer pushed him out of his room, down a short corridor, and out of the house's main entrance, saying that Sahide-sama wanted to see Kuroro in the temple, that the temple was in the east side of the village, that it was hard to miss because "it's this great big building with tiled roofs colored like Kurapika's eyes when he's having a really bad day," that Kuroro wouldn't get lost anyway since Gon and Killua had been sent to bring him there, and that if he saw "a bunch of crazy guys in all-black suits with faces that looked like they had something sour for breakfast," Kuroro would do well to run as fast as he could in the other direction, because "ore-sama" didn't go out of his way to treat him just so Kuroro could get his "ass drawn and quartered by Kikyou's nasty group of eunuchs."

Kuroro lost him somewhere around "great big building." He was too busy taking in the garden, the houses and buildings he could see over the fence, the fields and the mountains beyond that… and the two kids peering up at him from their positions on both sides of the entrance.

He looked at them thoughtfully for a few seconds each. The boy on the right gave him a big toothy grin upon seeing his scrutiny, while the one on the left tried to dissect him with an unnerving violet-eyed stare.

Seconds stretched into a minute, and Kuroro and the kids blinked and grinned and stared at each other. No one broke the silence, and since it didn't look like the children planned on saying anything in the near future, Kuroro decided to go on with Leorio's orders. He followed the gravel path out of the garden and past a simple bamboo gate guarded by two Kuruta sentries, who didn't seem the least bit concerned with his presence. They did eyeball him suspiciously from head to toe, but they didn't move from their positions.

Kuroro ignored them and looked around instead. He was suddenly aware of the fact that he was a stranger in a completely foreign land – and that he had no idea where the temple was. Leorio said to look for it in the east side of the village – and the sun was rising to his right. With no real way to know which route he was supposed to take, he chose the pathway that looked least likely to get him utterly lost: the widest one, and, surprisingly, paved evenly with large blocks of grey stone.

It was around eight or nine in the morning, Kuroro guessed from the sun's halfway journey to its zenith in the sky. The entire camp was up and about, people hurrying up and down the dirt paths and working in and around the various stone and hardwood structures, busy with the myriad tasks that kept a self-sufficient village alive and running. Everyone knew each other; they smiled and bowed and called to one another over fences, and they knew that he was someone who didn't quite belong. Kuroro saw mistrustful and appraising glances being thrown his way, but his apprehension gradually faded as the attacks he'd expected didn't come.

Perhaps it was because of the local clothing he'd been given to wear. He didn't stick out that much, really, barring the "Outsider!" aura that hovered around his person like an invisible bubble. And maybe Leorio wasn't just pulling his leg with his reassurances that Kuroro was under the Kuruta clan head's protection.

Or it could be because he was being followed by the two kids who had grinned and stared at him back at the house. Kuroro stopped and turned around to face them. The boys stopped, too… and the one on the right resumed his grinning. The boy on the left continued to stare at him.

Kuroro briefly wondered if he should ignore them, like he did with the sentries.

"Are you… guarding me?" he finally asked.

To his surprise, it was the boy on the left who answered. The child had strange white hair and solemn violet eyes. "Well, we're more like guides, I think. Like Leorio said."

"You're…"

"I'm Gon," the boy on the right chirped happily, "and this is Killua. We have to show you to the way to the temple today."

Kuroro didn't know that it was possible to show that much teeth, sincerely, for a sustained amount of time. Gon had unruly black hair and big brown eyes – the boy reminded him of the puppies he liked to bring home as a child – and the big smile that on other people's faces would seem disgustingly syrupy somehow looked right on him.

"I think Kurapika was supposed to bring you," Gon was saying, "but he's busy with something right now…"

"Kurapika?"

"He's the guy who kicked your ass back at the battlefield," Killua answered smirkingly.

"Right." Kuroro refrained from asking for clarifications. Something about that smirk made him uneasy. And now that he thought about it, he remembered seeing, through the smoke, two small figures following the red-eyed Kuruta. Gon and Killua couldn't be older than twelve or thirteen, but they had the right height to be the two in the black robes.

And he wasn't sure if he wanted to meet this Kurapika person, really, not after what had nearly happened to him the last time they had met. The hooded cloak and the mask had hidden everything except the unsettling red eyes, and a person with eyes as eerie as those he remembered seeing was bound to have strange features.

Kuroro frowned. Now that he thought about it, he couldn't be certain that what he had seen were red eyes. Red eyes were rare, virtually unheard of in the empire. Kuruta were supposed to have blue or green eyes, or the occasional gray. Perhaps the heat of the battle had skewed his perception of colors. And visibility hadn't been good at the battlefield; he remembered there being a lot of smoke and dust and thick trees all around him. It wouldn't be difficult to convince himself that a trick of the light may have made him think that a particularly frightening opponent had scary red eyes.

"Go on, then. You're supposed to meet Sahide-niisan at the temple, aren't you?" Killua prodded. The boy shrugged when Kuroro hesitated. "You're going the right way. It's that tall building over there."

Leorio was right that the temple was hard to miss. It was the tallest structure in the area, at four stories, but the evergreens that surrounded it still managed to conceal it. The whole village was built that way, now that Kuroro thought about it – houses blended in among the trees, and the stone and dirt paths wound around everything in natural bends and fluid corners.

"May I ask you something?" Kuroro said to his little guides, who were trotting along just a step behind him. The boys nodded curiously. "Are you Kuruta?"

Gon gave a bubbly little laugh. "No. We're from other clans."

The other boy was faster on the uptake. "Sahide-san said it was okay to call him older brother. And besides, it gets kind of weird after a while, all of us calling each other by titles and honorifics."

"Do we have titles, too, Killua?"

The white-haired child blinked at his smaller companion. "Of course we do. Didn't you know?"

"No. Do you know what they are?"

"Honestly, Gon, you're a clan heir. That means having extra duties, family values you're supposed to uphold, getting into the family business once you're of age –"

"But Aunt Mito never told me anything about titles."

Kuroro continued to walk, and the discussion behind him degenerated into a childish squabble, not really serious, and containing nothing of worth that he could glean, outside of the fact that Gon, and possibly Killua, were clan heirs, and that both children seemed close to the Kuruta clan head.

He thought about what he knew of his host... or hosts. He ended up drawing a blank – or more precisely, something vague and blurry that was swiftly being replaced with more recent battle-coated impressions. Kuroro could remember seeing Kuruta before the civil war started, indistinct and unobtrusive figures quietly guarding their chosen wards from dark corners and behind the sidelines. Off the top of his head, he could name several dignitaries who've had Kuruta bodyguards, but for the life of him he couldn't clearly remember what the Kuruta themselves were like. They really were good at fading into the background, jumping out with explosive power only when their wards were being threatened.

"Oi, we're here," Killua announced, cutting into Kuroro's thoughts and across his path as he sauntered on ahead, feet making hardly any noise on the flagstones that led to the red-tiled temple. It was a busy place, Kuroro noted, with lots of people going in and out of the various entrances and exits. It probably doubled as a command center for the rebellion.

Places of worship inspire a feeling of respect in most people, a profound sense of peace in others, no matter what the religion or belief. People just can't help but hush up in front of the silence and the reverence that permeate such places – even lively adolescents like Gon and Killua. They were very much subdued as they led him to a room in the lowest level, practically slinking, as if afraid that they'd be kicked out if they so much as brushed against the sacred walls.

The airy room was bare of furnishings, empty but for a wall scroll and a man kneeling on the floor before it. The boys said nothing, but by the finality of their movements Kuroro understood that he was supposed to approach the kneeling figure on his own. They left, and he walked forward slowly. When he was halfway across the room the man turned around and stood up.

The government had extensive information on almost all the important personalities involved in the rebellion. After all, the defecting clans had been part of the empire before the civil war. The Kuruta, for all the mystery surrounding their clan, weren't exempted from this scrutiny – at least, those who had had contact with the courts as bodyguards. The current clan head happened to be one of those whose faces all the army's officers were required to commit to memory, on the off chance that they'd be seen and tagged on the battlefield.

"I am Sahide, of the Kuruta clan. What is your name?"

So Kuroro already knew what Sahide looked like – young and personable, and completely different from what someone would expect of the leader of a band of rebels. He also knew that one of the reasons why the Kuruta hadn't succumbed to the sheer numbers of the army they were up against was because of their commanders' remarkable skills in strategizing… and Sahide was rumored to be quite ruthless when it came to manipulating situations to serve the Kuruta's needs.

"I have a feeling that you already know it," Kuroro replied, cautiously.

The blonde smiled at Kuroro's response. "Perhaps. However, this serves as our first meeting, and a formal introduction will make it easier for us to deal with each other in the future."

The future. Kuroro didn't know if Sahide had mentioned it on purpose, knowing that he'd catch it and feel some measure of reassurance, but it did mean that they were planning on keeping him alive for the meantime.

"It's Kuroro. Kuroro Lucifer."

"I'm pleased to meet you, and I'm glad to see that you're whole and well."

"Thank you."

"I saw your injuries. I was worried that Leorio wouldn't be able to save your leg, but it looks like he came through just as usual."

"He saved my life." The admission came easily, slipping through his lips before Kuroro could reflect on it. He was surprised at his own honesty.

"Yes. He and one other." The smile was back, easy-going and friendly. Kuroro felt bold enough to start asking his questions.

"What am I doing here?"

"I saw you on the battlefield. I saw how you fought off the Zaoldyeck retainers. I thought that it would be a waste if you died, and I had you brought here."

"A 'waste'?"

"Yes. In hindsight I realize that it was thoughtless of me to act without your permission, but I'm afraid you can't leave."

Kuroro stared in disbelief. It seemed that the Kuruta was apologizing for capturing and detaining him.

"Winter is coming," Sahide continued, "and the valley will be snowed-in. There are ways of getting out, but at this altitude, traveling during the winter months is extremely perilous. I'd rather not risk the lives of whomever I'd have to send to guide you, even your life, for that matter."

"So you're saying that you'll let me go come spring?"

"If that is what is best for everyone."

Kuroro tried to stop his eyes from narrowing. In this situation, what was best for everyone didn't necessarily mean what was best for him. Sahide was giving him answers he could easily hear coming from one of the minister's advisers – and the blonde's sharp eyes instantly caught his reaction.

"Please don't misunderstand. You are a guest of the Kuruta clan; I won't confine you to one room, and you will be free to roam around the village. However, there are certain factions within this encampment who think that you shouldn't be allowed to return to the capital."

"The Zaoldyecks," Kuroro muttered.

"Some of them," Sahide agreed. "You cannot fault a mother for loving her child, nor can you reason with retainers who have sworn their lives to the service of their masters. But I have managed to convince Zeno and Silva Zaoldyeck to trust my decision in matters pertaining to your presence. They will not harm you while you are under the protection of my house."

And that brought them to what Kuroro really wanted to know. What was the Kuruta clan head hoping to gain with his courteous smile, his reassuring words? He was unimportant and lowly-ranked, with not much information to divulge, nothing that the rebels wouldn't already have obtained by themselves, not with their influence and power. Was Sahide trying to entice him with kindness and hospitality, in a misguided effort to make him defect? But Kuroro was just an ordinary soldier who used to be an untitled official. He had good friends back in the army who'd willingly follow him to hell and back if he asked them to, and an above-average score in the last Placement Examinations, but that was it. He could fight well enough, and he could confidently claim to have more brains than Zenji and his group of commander cronies, but even dogs had more sense than those bastards.

All that scrolled through his mind in the space of a heartbeat, but Kuroro discarded each question even as he thought of them. Somehow he knew that Sahide wouldn't answer them if he asked right now. The man would probably just lie, or change the subject, or smile knowingly and mysteriously until the silence turned awkward and Kuroro forgot what his original questions had been. He'd just be wasting his breath. So he rooted around for the simplest, most direct way to communicate his urgent need to know.

Maybe he could shock the man into answering.

"What do you want from me?" he finally asked, with less feeling than he had intended.

He wasn't the least bit surprised when the blonde's lips quirked into an amused grin, the smile of a mentor whose student has just asked the correct question. Sahide then raised a hand and gestured, and for a moment Kuroro thought that the man was beckoning him to go nearer, but he heard a noise behind him, light footsteps, someone entering the room.

Even as his head was swiveling to look at the newcomer Kuroro was already thinking about the convenience of the timing, that someone would interrupt their meeting at its pivotal point –

"This is my younger brother, Kurapika. I believe you've already met."

And all thoughts of conspiracies and conniving clan heads fled as he looked down into the eyes of his Kuruta caretaker. It was inevitable that everything else would follow, as Kuroro realized exactly why Killua had smirked.

The person who had been cooking his meals – whose fair features had caught Kuroro's admiring eye – and the warrior who had "kicked his ass" were one and the same.

--- end of chapter two ---

notes:

I realized the other day that I could just… I don't know, change the character names, expound on the scenes, do more thorough character development, and I'd have a publishable book. I could probably make this stretch up to a hundred thousand words if I really tried…

The character Sahide, as anyone who has read WH may have noticed, is also Kurapika's older brother there. I don't think anyone would object if I reused his character here. Of course, since the circumstances are different their characterizations will have differences, too. And as always, this is an alternate universe fic – different history, different background, hence the differences in how the original Hunter X Hunter characters are acting towards each other.

For those of you wondering why I've decided to use ki instead of nen – I'm not going to give any of my characters hatsu abilities. Either side could easily demolish the other if even one of their soldiers possessed normal HxH-universe skills. The ki I'm using here would be just a step above real Chinese chi gong, meaning they'd be really fit, and have longer lives and enhanced physical and mental abilities. Expert practitioners, like Kurapika and some of the fighters belonging to the Kuruta side, know how to share their ki with those who need it.

I've tried to describe the Kuruta village (or what Kuroro has seen of it so far) as best as I could without dumping too much information all at once, but if anyone's having difficulty picturing it, I'm basing the general layout on the village of Konoha in Naruto – well, maybe less crowded, more dirt and greenery, and minus the electrical appliances and the giant stone faces. Katsumoto's village in The Last Samurai is much too rural for my purposes, but the architecture of my houses will resemble the original Last Samurai designs, more or less.

That's it for the clarifications. I have no idea if this will turn out to be as successful as WH, but I'm still going ahead with this. The scenario of Kurapika becoming Kuroro's bodyguard has too many yummy possibilities to just dismiss as a wayward plot bunny. Thank you to those who have read and reviewed! In the meantime, please wait for my next update – if everything goes well it'll be Wild Hearts chapter 15.

Last updated on October 17, 2005.

PS. I replied to the previous chapter's reviews in my Livejournal - go to my profile page for the link (homepage).