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In Translation	By : anyasy Category: +S to Z > Sword of the Stranger Views: 2023 -:- Recommendations : 0 -:- Currently Reading : 0
Disclaimer: I do not own Sword of the Stranger, nor any of the characters from it. I do not make any money from the writing of this story.

Chapter List
- 1-In Translation
- 1
[A/N:
I absolutely adored the anime. Here�s an AU where Nanashi does not kill
Rarou. : ) Note: Sometimes the "Ming" people use Japanese in the
anime, but since they always use broken Japanese - or Mandarin - in front of
any character who can understand Japanese, I think in actuality they can only
speak Mandarin/broken Japanese, and the bits where they speak Japanese are for
narrative convenience.]

In
Translation

I

Nanashi
listened idly to Kotarou�s determined haggling and leant back against the wall
of the rented room, settling his katana more comfortably against his
shoulders. The frayed, discolored piece of cloth that once bound its hilt
lay tattered against his haori, a rebuke to broken vows, but of late, he had
been having fewer nightmares. Kotarou had talked about getting him a new
blade, or having it fixed, but they hadn�t the money and besides, Nanashi
understood better than most what a blade in any conditions in his hands could
do. Better he left it broken, but he wasn�t sure what to do about the
binding.

The
customer finally paid up, grudgingly counting out coins � it had been a small
job, patrolling a warehouse for a couple of days: not that he himself had pride
enough to think it beneath him, but he had been surprised that Rarou had
helped, all without complaint. The golden-haired assassin sat
opposite him, his sheathed blade on the tatami, beside his hip, his arms
folded, dressed inconspicuously now in drab grays. He looked up,
apparently feeling Nanashi�s gaze, and smirked faintly, his entire manner that
of a large, coiled cat, his killer�s eyes narrowed and amused, and Nanashi took
the excuse of the customer�s exit to look away.

When
the footsteps down the corridor receded, Kotarou sighed. �Maa. He
only barely gave us what he promised.�

�Good
work on the bargain, boss,� Nanashi drawled, petting Tobimaru as the dog
trotted up to him and licked his hand. �What next?�

�Well.
After rent and necessities we still have a little left. We could go buy
something nice to cook for dinner.� Kotarou was growing up too quickly and all
out of circumstance. Sometimes Nanashi felt it a pity. �Ne,
Nanashi?�

�Hai.�
It had been a month, and Kotarou still avoided talking to Rarou as much as
possible. Nanashi couldn�t blame him: even without their traumatic recent
history he would have placed Rarou as a difficult man to talk to.

He
still did not truly understand why Rarou insisted on following them. The
golden haired assassin had had an impressive argument in Mandarin with Kotarou
on the night of their escape, in an abandoned hut a mile away from the burning
remains of the fortress, and in the end, Kotarou had only muttered something
irritable about how they hadn�t the strength to drive him off anyway.

Nanashi
had had Kotarou explain to Rarou, in the fortress, that he had spared the
assassin�s life because Rarou had spared his, earlier, by interfering with the
strange weapon that the old Chinese man had pointed at him, turning his blade
at the last moment to scour a shallow slice across his belly to his flank
instead of driving it through his stomach. He remembered Rarou staring at
him, bemused, then laughing, sharp, harsh barks that almost sounded like
mockery, then the assassin had left, returning with horses and bandages to bind
their wounds. They hadn�t been able to shake him since.

�Nanashi.�

�Hai,
hai.� Nanashi snapped out of his reverie. �Whatever you want, boss.�

�Che.�
Kotarou pouted. �Fine. Let�s go eat some oden instead then, right
now. I heard there�s a great stall near the river.�

�Would
that be fine with you?� Nanashi found himself speaking before he could help it,
glancing at Rarou, who raised an eyebrow, then looked to Kotarou for a
translation.

Kotarou
frowned. �What does it matter how he feels? He�s an assassin from
Ming! I don�t even know why he�s following us around-�

�He
did help with the last job,� Nanashi said gently, with a wry smile. �Like
it or not, he�s a business partner. Ne?�

Kotarou
made a face. �I wouldn�t have called it helping.� Nanashi almost expected
an outburst of some sort, but the boy sighed, instead, in a loud, exasperated
exhalation of breath. �Maa! Fine. Just so you know, I bet you wouldn�t
even have been scratched if you were both fighting on an even footing!�

That
made Nanashi stifle a chuckle, as Kotarou turned determinedly back to Rarou,
his shoulders comically squared, as though having to tend to unpleasant
business, and spoke in a line of rapid-fire Mandarin. Rarou blinked,
glanced between the boy and the samurai, and shrugged.

�Well,
there you go. He doesn�t care,� Kotarou said mulishly. �Are you
happy now?�

�It
was courtesy.�

�Hah.
I�ll be willing to bet that he�s only waiting for you to get better so he can
fight you again. Mad dogs only think of biting, you know.�

Nanashi
shook his head, but Kotarou had already stalked out of the room, with Tobimaru
hesitating briefly in the doorway, glancing back at them, before padding after
its master. Nanashi got a little painfully to his feet, stifling his
flinch of pain, and met Rarou�s ice-blue eyes.

�Not
so long ago I, too, was a �mad dog�.�

0.1

Rarou
wasn�t sure why he was still following the strange samurai and the boy, but he
knew that there was nothing left for him in the Old Kingdom. He had
failed rather spectacularly at his mission, and he now had a choice between
persecution for the color of his hair and his eyes in Nippon and persecution
for his failure in the Old Kingdom. Given that choice he would normally
have sought the latter, but the samurai intrigued him where Nippon itself had
failed to do so for a year, and he told himself that this curiosity was
battlelust and nothing else.

Nanashi
� that was what the child had said the samurai�s name was � had a skill that
Rarou had to admit, if grudgingly, was at the very least equal to his, and that
alone was worth staying in this colorless country with its inelegant
bastardized tongue.

II

There
was a crowd gathering around a sign being erected at the main street of the
town, and Kotarou insisted on pushing closer despite Nanashi�s
misgivings. They were conspicuous now, with the addition of Rarou to
their party, as despite the fact that the gaijin was wearing a
wide-brimmed hat his features still stood out starkly to anyone who got
close. He was tall, almost a giant by the standards of Nippon, and even
if dye could hide his golden hair nothing could change those piercing blue
eyes.

Indeed,
they got more than their share of whispers and glances, even though Rarou
declined to follow them, waiting behind on the street as Nanashi pushed as
politely as he could through the circle of people, with Kotarou balanced
precariously on his shoulders and Tobimaru keeping close to his knees.

�Wanted:
Kotensu and his bandits, the �Chain Gang�, in the Tsukechi-kyo valley, reward,
one thousand ryō! Head of Kotensu to be delivered to the magistrate of
Tsukechi-cho.�

Nanashi
could sense Kotarou�s excitement, but a price that hefty promised bloodshed,
and his hand tightened on the sheath of his katana.

�Wanted
for the sack and pillage of towns in the Gifu prefecture, it is believed that
the �Chain Gang� have settled in Tsukechi-kyo for the purpose of raiding
travelers to Mount Ontake� ne, Nanashi?�

�It�ll
be dangerous.� Nanashi didn�t add that he didn�t want to have to draw his
katana again, felt more keenly the need to repair the binding, uncomfortable
and skittish at the very thought of how easily the blade at his hip could be
bared. His promise to himself, he had broken, and even if his dreams
seemed to be settling his chest ached whenever he saw the frayed threads.

�Ah.�
Kotarou�s sober tone told Nanashi that the child had, indeed, already grown up
too fast: he had understood. �Hah! Well, we�re not bounty hunters.
Let�s go buy something to cook for dinner!�

�I
thought we were having oden.�

�I�ve
changed my mind.� They pushed out of the crowd, and Nanashi set Kotarou down as
Rarou approached them from where he had been leaning against the wall of a
closed store, watching them.

The
gaijin didn�t like crowds, and hadn�t seemed curious, but Nanashi
grinned, addressing him. �It�s a wanted poster for bandits.�

Rarou
frowned. Up until today, they had spoken to him only where necessary:
Nanashi�s wound and his exhaustion had caused him to take briefly with fever,
which had caused the necessity of a rented room in Tsukechi-cho for Kotarou to
nurse him back to health, and as such, he had not been good company.

Kotarou
stared at Nanashi. �You�re confusing him, you know.� Still, the boy
turned to translate, occasionally gesturing to the signboard. Rarou
listened silently, then asked a question. Kotarou shook his head and
spoke another string of Mandarin, then Rarou glanced at him searchingly, then
at the hilt of his broken blade, and shrugged.

Kotarou
spun on his heel with all the stiff dignity of an offended cat. �See? No
use at all!� He stilled, as Rarou said something he couldn�t catch for a moment
before turning to amble down towards the market.

�What
did he say?�

�
�A swordsman�s blade blunts itself on the hides of vermin�. Che.� Kotarou
glared, as Rarou paused to see if they were following. �Who cares about
what you think, anyway?�

Rarou
smirked, eyeing Nanashi � Kotarou�s tone likely conveying his meaning where his
words did not. Daring Nanashi to disagree. Unconsciously, he crept
his thumb up to finger the frayed edges of the binding, and he smiled,
wryly. He didn�t quite agree with Rarou�s sentiment, but he could
understand its underlying meaning. When used too willfully, a swordsman�s
blade would lessen him, perhaps not as a swordsman, but as a human.
He tried to find the words to explain this to Kotarou, but the boy was already
marching quickly down the street, leaving him to Rarou�s inflexible killer�s
stare.

�I
understand,� Nanashi said, and smiled in what he hoped was a friendly,
conciliatory manner.

Rarou
seemed to consider this, then he shrugged again and spoke gruffly in his
heavily accented, broken nihongo. �Good.�

0.2

Rarou
watched the samurai cook, hampered occasionally by excited exclamations from
the boy, some sort of stew in the crock that smelled good enough to make him
hungry. He didn�t offer to help, sitting silently in the corner of their
rented room and polishing his blade. He had kept a spare in the store in
the fortress � several spares � and had in fact offered Nanashi one in
replacement for his broken blade, but the swordsman had declined.

He
didn�t quite know what to make of Nanashi�s odd overtures of conciliation or
friendship. Few Orientals actively tried to befriend him, put off by his
appearance, though he did know that Nanashi was, at the very least, a
mixed blood: seeing his russet red hair for the first time when they rinsed the
dirt of travel from the fortress to dress their wounds had been a
surprise. Perhaps it was simply the shared fact of their foreign blood,
but he doubted that was the case. Curious.

Later
Nanashi handed him a hot bowl of stew accompanied with a polite string of
nihongo, and for the first time since he had entered Nippon, Rarou wished he
understood.

III

The
nightmare had starkly real, enough that he felt the track of drying tears down
his cheeks, his clothes too hot over his shoulders, the sweat cold and
uncomfortable down his back. Nanashi pulled on his haori and hakama and
crept out of the rented room as silently as he could, feeling stifled, though the
faint clink of his blade as he stopped to slide open the door made Rarou stir
from his corner, blue eyes blinking up at him. Nanashi shook his head,
unsure of how to convey that he was only going out for some air without waking
Kotarou, and closed the door, padding down the rickety stairs to the bench
outside.

It
was a tea house more than an inn, where the owner allowed them to stay in the
spare room cheaply after Nanashi had routed some customers that had become too
rowdy with the person of the owner�s daughter. That had been their first
�job�, Kotarou had crowed, and a clear sign of good karma.

Karma.
Nanashi sat down on the bench, watching the darkened, deserted street, and had
to grin. Once, he had been a General.

A
heavy tread behind him and the whisper of cloth made him turn, and he frowned
as Rarou sat down on the bench beside him, his expression questioning.

�Maa�
go back to sleep.� When Rarou didn�t move, Nanashi added, �I had a bad dream.�

Rarou
repeated �Dream� thoughtfully, then, more slowly, �meng?�

�I�m
sorry. I can�t speak Mandarin.� Nanashi looked away from the gaijin�s
stare, then flinched, as Rarou reached across his lap to finger the frayed
binding, for a moment.

�Zhe
ge� Why?�

�I
killed a mother and her child.� Nanashi said, the enormity of his sin too much
for simple words. Even voicing it made bile and the memory of the horror
of that moment rise within him, the memory of how his blade had jerked in his
hand as it met resistance, the scream of the child, and the hot spray of blood
across his armor that had damned him.

�Killed�
child. Sha� hai�er? Wei shenme� why?� There was no
condemnation in Rarou�s tone, only curiosity. Nanashi wondered why this
surprised him. Did the gaijin think he was that much of a killer?
He looked up, sharply, then realized he was wrong � the very fact that Rarou
was asking why, the tone of the gaijin�s voice, told Nanashi that
Rarou believed that he had a good reason. Oddly enough.

�War.�

�War�
zhanzheng.� Still no judgment. It seemed Rarou had accepted the
explanation, and this sparked irritation in Nanashi where the gaijin�s
manner and previous treatment of Kotarou had not.

He
wanted to say it was wrong, but could not find the words that wouldn�t
make it sound trite.

Rarou
regarded him, dispassionate, and then he smirked, and looked up at the
cloudless sky. �Zhen shi de.�

0.3

They
encountered the bandits anyway, as Kotarou agreed to guard a group of monks on
the way to Mount Ontake, in an ambush past the waterfall, and Rarou was glad to
give himself to the bloodlust, scaling the cliff to feed his sword.
Startled and panicked, the bandits took their attention off the monks to attack
him, and Rarou gave a little more of his control, weaving between arcs of
silver to take advantage of slower, poorer opponents. Little
challenge. Nearly bored, Rarou cut down a couple more bandits and
considered allowing the rats to flee.

Then
Nanashi was there, using the sheath of his blade to disarm and incapacitate
instead of kill, and Rarou found he disliked the samurai�s participation �
Nanashi was distracting, too easy to watch, his grace and speed and skill
breathtaking, that made some unnamed greed fan to embers in his gut, his bloodlust
growing in sync, as Nanashi accelerated, feinting, parrying, then bringing down
the sheath sharply on a bandit�s neck. Beauty in motion.

It
was the sheer fact that he was watching that saved Nanashi�s life, the
crescent blade affixed to a chain arcing out of the dark copse of the trees
towards the samurai�s back. Rarou moved before he even thought,
his throwing knife deflecting the trajectory, the scissor sound of meeting
steel enough warning for Nanashi to dodge. Rarou didn�t look back,
speeding into the trees, following the chain, his instant surge of irritation
irrational and rising. Someone had almost killed the only interesting
person he had met in Nippon.

Later
he wrapped the grisly trophy of the bandit leader�s head in the robe the man
had been wearing, careful not to get unnecessary blood on his hakama, and took
the burden back to the clearing. Rarou wasn�t surprised to find Nanashi
waiting � the samurai�s eyes flicked down to the bloody bundle, then back up to
his face, then widened as Rarou stalked closer, up through his personal space,
and took that slender chin in his fingers.

He
knew enough of nihongo to growl, �Mine� and watched Nanashi blink, then
gasp, as Rarou leant down to take his mouth, the bloodlust simmering in his
veins and the anger yet to calm, scenting copper on Nanashi�s lips and tasting
iron on his tongue. It was only fitting.

IV

The
thousand ryō award had been partially spent on clothes, horses and better
rooms in Nagoya, and Kotarou�s mood had been so good that he hadn�t even
snapped when Rarou had smirked cynically at the boy�s �wish� to travel overseas
to a place where the color of Nanashi�s hair would not be held against
him. Nanashi could not find it in himself to correct Kotarou�s childish
optimism, however, even had he not already been distracted by what Rarou had
done in the forest, and even more disconcerted by the strange stir of answering
interest within him that had rooted him to the spot.

His
sanity had to be slipping.

Later
in the room they shared he allowed Rarou to savage his mouth with little
protest, wondering how to explain the bitten lip to Kotarou tomorrow as the gaijin
bucked hard between his legs, the samurai�s yukata already disheveled and his
hands fisted over Rarou�s broad shoulders as he arched. Yet Rarou made no
move to take matters further, one large hand braced on Nanashi�s futon and the
other over his spine, supporting his back, utterly silent save for his heavy
breathing. There was little grace in the gaijin�s caress and
nothing at all of tenderness, and Nanashi found himself pulling Rarou closer,
baring his neck to his teeth and wrapping his thighs over narrow hips, the
friction between them maddeningly insufficient.

Kotarou
was in the next room.

A
child was in the next room and Nanashi was tugging impatiently at
the binding to Rarou�s yukata and baring his teeth at the first sound the gaijin
had made since invading his futon � a soft growl of amused lust � reaching past
to run his hands greedily over hard, gloriously unmarred flesh to the faint
ridge that was all that remained of the only mark Rarou seemed to wear on his
body, one that Nanashi had given him. As Nanashi ran his thumb
over the scar tissue, Rarou sucked in a breath and sank his teeth into his
shoulder, causing the samurai to flinch, then twist up eagerly into the
sting. Gods.

When
a warm hand slipped roughly past his fundoshi to grasp him, Nanashi had to bite
his wrist to stifle his cry. Too long. He had been a drifter
for too long, that even a man�s touch could� then Rarou was licking at his ear,
his smirk sharp and edged against the bone of his cheek as he began to stroke,
and Nanashi was writhing, his breath stuttered in shallow gasps, and he knew
that that wasn�t it at all. It was Rarou. His hands
twisted in golden hair, hard enough for Rarou to worry the lobe of his ear with
teeth in warning, and slipped down instead, shakily, seeking at the very least
to give the gaijin as much as he got.

Rarou
was large, even for Nanashi�s long fingers, and the gaijin smirked at
his fleeting surprise (smug bastard) before burying his face in Nanashi�s neck
as the samurai palmed leaking fluids from the fleshy tip over his hand to slick
the way, moving his jerks with Rarou�s rhythm, their breaths mingling, heavy
and urgent. Nanashi was the first, as Rarou closed his teeth over a pulse
point at his neck, convulsing, gritting his teeth, shuddering as he soiled
himself and the gaijin�s hand, then he gasped, as Rarou roughly rolled
him over and dragged off their clothes save for his fundoshi in impatient,
jerky motions, pressing him into the futon as he bit him again, over the nape
of his neck, his engorged, slick flesh resting in Nanashi�s cleft, over the
thin fabric of his undergarment, the gaijin�s hands heavy over the
samurai�s shoulders as the he began to thrust, rubbing against him, once,
twice, and Nanashi was arching into the teeth at his neck as he felt fluid
spurt against his back.

He
didn�t have to look back to know Rarou was smirking, didn�t need to ask to know
it was a promise, as Rarou drew back, dipped a thumb into the spill
against his skin, and stroked it under the soiled fundoshi, against the pucker
of muscle in his cleft.

His
sanity had to be slipping, because the first real sound he made into the night
was an answering moan.

0.4

Nanashi
was a beautiful man, even under the scars, every movement like that of his
swordsmanship, economical, with a natural grace that was easy enough on the
eyes, but this wasn�t that had driven Rarou to bed him. Beauty did not
attract him: he�d seen his share of beautiful men and women in the courts of
the Old Kingdom; it was spirit, a kindred connection, which did.
One had to look far past the wolf in Rarou to the swordsman�s old soul beneath,
but not far at all, in Nanashi. An old soul, that called to his.

Perhaps
Rarou was indeed guilty of being a warrior through and through, for he accepted
the existence of this irrationality without question.

He
didn�t expect the same from Nanashi and was a little surprised when the
swordsman seemed to accept matters with the same blas� attitude as he.
After all, Rarou was �gaijin�, and had not so long ago been an enemy
that had nearly killed him. Perhaps irrationality was contagious, but he
was glad for it: Nanashi�s lips were sweet under his teeth, his body tight and
sleek under his hands, and in bed he fought still, a pleasant struggle that of
late oft had Rarou losing.

V

Nanashi
didn�t know what the magic number of ryō in Kotarou�s head was before the
boy decided that they were ready to travel, and didn�t much care. The
jobs (and some were strange indeed) were a pleasant enough way to kill time,
with the breaks in between spent either dueling Rarou or teaching the gaijin
to speak nihongo. The foreigner�s throat didn�t seem suited for Oriental
tongues: Kotarou had noted that even Rarou�s pronunciation of Mandarin was
badly accented � but Rarou seemed patient enough, and the lessons gave Nanashi
something to do other than think about what the hell they were both doing.

It
would have been romantically fitting to say that he no longer dreamed, but the
nightmares still came, thrice a week at the least, and Nanashi would wake to
unreadable blue eyes and arms that would pull him firmly back abed; he�d lie
awake to the dawn listening to Rarou�s breathing even over his shoulder.

�I
asked Kotarou about what you said in the fortress,� Nanashi said, as they took
a break from the study of honorifics to have tea under the sakura.
Kotarou had joined a group of children he had befriended and left for a hanami
of their own, leaving the two of them to their own devices. The inn
had a sakura tree, small and modest compared to the spreading ones in the
popular park, and they were alone beneath it, seated cross-legged on the grass.

Rarou
cocked his head at him, as he laboriously retranslated the words in his mind,
then he nodded. �Said� wo shuo shenme?�

It
said enough of the connection between them that inflexion was enough for
Nanashi to grasp Rarou�s meaning. � �Wo yue lai yue xi huan ni�.�
The gaijin smirked, but whether it was at Nanashi�s undoubtedly terrible
pronunciation from memory or from the words themselves, he couldn�t
discern. �Is that not something you say to women?�

�Women.
Shi a, yin gai dui n� ren jiang de.� The smirk widened. �So? Ni
yao wo shuo �ai�, shi ma?�

Nanashi
arched an eyebrow, and found that his cheeks were beginning to prickle with
heat. He hadn�t grasped what Rarou had said, but the word �ai�
stood out in the jumble of Mandarin, the tone and the meaning the same as his
native tongue, and he memorized the intonation of the phrase to ask Kotarou
about it later, however strangely the boy might look at him.

Kotarou,
later, did indeed stare, when Nanashi caught him alone after dinner, Rarou
having retired to use the washing facilities. � �Ni yao wo shuo �ai�,
shi ma�� Would you rather I said �love�?� Wait, where did you� what were
you talking about to Rarou� eeh? Nanashi? Where are you going?�

0.5

He�d
meant to tease the samurai with his words, and had indeed succeeded, with
Nanashi uncharacteristically flustered and snarling somewhat incoherently at
him in nihongo after he had received a translation, but even after the
amusement had died the words lingered in his mind.

It
wasn�t ai � that much Rarou could agree with Nanashi, even if he was far
more comfortable with the use of the word, even as a taunt. But now, with
Nanashi bowed beneath him, his long fingers curled tight in the futon, his skin
coppery under repeated bites, his long, silky woman�s hair loose and decadent
over his shoulders, stifling his gasps of ecstasy against his arm as Rarou moved�

Rarou
had enough of the focus of a warrior�s soul to pity anyone who could only be
content with more.

VI

Kotarou
changed from incredulous to teasing overnight, and Nanashi wasn�t sure what he
preferred. �Hoh, and the two of you had your own hanami��

�I
was teaching him nihongo,� Nanashi said patiently, as Tobimaru barked, though
whether in assent with him or with its master was unclear. They were
riding out of town, drifting again. The freedom of a wanderer�s life
suited him far more than a general�s.

�And
with a gaijin, tch.� Kotarou had progressed enough to being able to
manage a horse on his own, though he still needed help mounting.

�I�m
also a gaijin, Kotarou,� Nanashi pointed out dryly. Beside him,
Rarou was ignoring the both of them as he rode, his hat pulled firmly over his
eyes. The gaijin didn�t care much for early mornings.

�So,
what brought up that line, eh, Nanashi?�

Nanashi
wanted to explain, but then he glanced at Rarou, and smirked back at the
child. �Maybe when you grow older, I�ll tell you.�

Kotarou�s
screech of �HAI!?� startled the birds from the trees and caused Rarou to
tilt up the brim of his hat for a moment. �Nanashi��

�Adults
only,� Nanashi drawled, leaning over to press a peck on Rarou�s cheek,
chuckling as Kotarou pulled a face of disgust at them both and spurred his
horse down the path, Tobimaru following with a bark.

Rarou�s
somewhat irritable mutter of �gan shenme a� only made him chuckle, as he
pressed his heels to the flanks of his steed, one heartbeat away from
flying.

-fin-

[Final
note: Rarou tells Nanashi �Wo yue lai yue xi huan ni� as they circle in
the snow, which was translated accurately as �I like you more and more�, but
indeed the phrasing is something you generally hear in romance soaps. XD]
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