For those unaware, "patrimony" is an inheritance from a father or other ancestor.
Disclaimer: I do not own Rurouni Kenshin or any related characters, concepts or ideas.
Storm
Restless winds shifted branches and roof tiles, rice paper doors and wooden walls, dreams and nightmares and whispers of memories. Restless child tossed and turned and twisted and tumbled on a too-lumpy, too-cold, too-tall, too-empty futon. Restless parent strained ears for sounds of discontent muffled by shrieking gusts and crashing thunder.
And little feet padded frantically through the dojo halls.
"Okaa-san!"
Little hands gripped at a rice paper door.
"Okaaaaa-san!"
Little eyes, wide with fright, searched for someone to make the restless winds and restless night and too-empty futon disappear into warmth and safety.
But she wasn't there.
"Okaaaaa-saaaan!" Kenji wailed, fists clutching the edge of the shoji in white-knuckled grips as tears beaded at the corners of his round eyes.
Arms enfolded the waif, but they were the wrong arms- too strong, too hard, too tentative, too different, too un-okaa-san-like.
"Shh, don't cry. Otou-san's here to keep you safe."
Kenji rebelled against his father's hold, kicking and squirming vehemently, unwilling to be placated by any but his mother.
"Otoooou-san! Le' Kenji go!" he demanded, protesting with his whole being.
The arms tightened a little, red hair dripping over the tiny shoulder as Kenji was brought back against the wrong chest by the wrong arms to the wrong person.
"Shh," whispered the wrong voice, "Okaa-san's not here, but Otou-san is."
"Kenji don' wan' Otou-san! Kenji wan' Okaaaa-san!" he stressed, the struggles slackening a little as he unconsciously resigned himself to his fate.
"I know, Kenji. Otou-san wants Okaa-san, too," the wrong voice admitted softly, soothingly.
"Otou-san, too?" Kenji asked with wonder in his voice, as though amazed that even Otou-san could be scared by a storm.
"Mhmm. Otou-san misses Okaa-san very much. But Okaa-san left to visit Misao-nee and Aoshi-nii on the new train this evening, and won't be back for a few days."
Kenji sniffled, slightly miffed that his mother had skipped out on him in favor of Misao-nee. But then again, Misao-nee was pretty. And nice. And she did sneak him the odd piece of western candy whenever she visited.
Maybe it was okay that Okaa-san was visiting Misao-nee and Aoshi-nii.
But he'd never forgive her for leaving him home alone with Otou-san.
Otou-san shifted slightly on his heels, bringing Kenji with him, closer to the ground and closer to the comfort of the still warm, though empty, futon.
"Otou-san don' like storms, too?"
A puff of air against his neck as Otou-san paused to think of an answer.
"No, Otou-san doesn't like storms. When Otou-san was very small, a little older than Kenji is, Otou-san was very scared of storms."
Small hands pushed against the wrong chest that wasn't looking so wrong anymore, round eyes wide as he strained to look at the face of the man who was never scared of anything except for Okaa-san.
"Really?"
A faint smile on the right face.
"Really. Would Kenji like to hear about it?"
Kenji made a noise of affirmation and snuggled back against the right chest to listen and to be comforted.
And outside, restless winds howled forlornly in harmony with the booming thunder.
There are mountains, and there is a house.
There is a master, and there is a pupil.
And there is a storm.
The pupil, the child, no older than nine, lies on his futon and shivers in fear.
The master, the man, older than he looks and younger than he feels, sits on a cushion and sips sake. His eyes are narrowed in displeasure as he feels the waves of anxiety and apprehension from his pupil.
Thunder booms in the distance, and the anxiety spikes into mind-numbing terror, and the pupil throws open the shoji door and hurls himself into his master's arms, clutching at anything alive in desperation.
"Otou-san, Otou-san, Otou-san," the pupil whispers in a mantra, voice panicked and wheezing.
More thunder rumbles angrily, and the pupil squirms closer to the solid living rock.
"Otou-san!" he shrieks, sobbing in terror. The master glares at the wide fearful eyes, brimming with tears, that stare into his soul.
"I am not your Otou-san," he coldly informs the pupil, the boy, the child. The child clings to his gi resolutely.
"I know. I know I know I know. Otou-san is dead," he whispers vehemently, fat tears dripping down his face to fall onto clenched fists full of fabric.
The master seems confused.
"Then why do you call for your Otou-san?" he questions harshly, more harshly than intended. The pupil flinches and pauses before he answers.
"Otou-san died when there was thunder. But not even thunder was louder than his cries of pain," he whispers, confiding even deeper secrets hidden between the lines of a deep secret.
The master is silent for a moment.
"You hear him when there is thunder."
"Yes."
Silence, filled with understanding and intangible comfort.
And then there are strong arms around a weak body.
"Don't."
The pupil is stunned, limp in the embrace of his master, until he remembers who he is and what has been commanded of him. His wide, fearful eyes, full of remembered pain, soften slightly in the face of comfort.
"Hai."
And the thunder stops.
Kenji subconsciously curled against the right chest, whuffling softly in his sleep, having dropped off halfway through the narrative.
Kenshin smiled softly, sadly, as he thanked the kami that he is here to comfort his son and that his son is not him.
And restless winds beat against the house while the rain pitter-pattered and the thunder growled in the distance.
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Glossary:
Okaa-san - Mother
Otou-san - Father
Shoji - Rice paper door
Hai - Affirmation
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AN: Happy birthday Mi-chan! May you receive many gifts and lovely things and eat lots of cake. Fwah.