What makes history (Hijikata x OC)

Sakura

The suburito was killing my arms – that sword was damn heavy. Saitō had instructed that I practised with the traditional training weapon to build up strength in my arms. After the seppuku ceremony, he'd started training me, left-handed. Once he had realised I could hold my won with a sword, he'd stopped going too easy on me. Not that he would utter any compliment, but his increased speed told me he judged me strong enough to handle it.

His use of Gatotsu – a particular technique designed after one of Hijikata's inventions – threw me off guard so often that bruises bloomed upon my skin. Nothing new: I'd spend more time banged up than without any injury. Saitō was ruthless; it meant he didn't look down on my skill because I was a woman. Despite the obvious show of respect, I couldn't help but wince as my sore arms. Damn, that training sword was heavy as a saucepan. What was it even made off?

Still, little by little, my arms were getting used to the slashing motion. I was a pretty decent swordswoman by now, especially with my elvish blade. That magical bound always enhanced my speed, and reflexes. Sometimes, I swore that it led me in battle, not the other way around.

But my sword was still held in custody, and the bokken techniques were different. So, I was deconstructing everything I'd ever learnt to integrate kendo into my routines. Hopefully, in a few months from now, I would be able to combine all the techniques.

Forsaking my initial training with Aragorn and Legolas would be a mistake; I kept practising them on days Saitō had no time for me. It allowed me to keep the muscle memory alive. Like martial arts, I tried to mingle all teachings to create my own style. Some moves just didn't correspond to my build and height; they were discarded without mercy.

Naked feed upon the soft grass, I lowered the suburito. Panting, I closed my eyes and relished in the sunrays. Days were getting warmer, and I enjoyed the feel of the exposed earth under my skin. After watching those men mutilating themselves in the cold air, I would never see winter the same way.

"You're supposed to wear the geta outside," a familiar voice echoed in the secluded garden.

Okita Sōji. Infamous brat – when he wasn't cutting people's heads off – who never missed an occasion to tease. So I just smiled at him, nodding at Saitō who trailed behind as if he had not a care in the world. Those two were such a pair, the obnoxious one and his silent shadow. I'd seen this configuration before, and come to realise that brothers in arms could bond over differences so strongly that they turned it into a strength. Legolas and Gimli, for one. Galahad and Tristan... Okita and Saitō.

"Ah, Gaijin," he smirked, throwing an arm over my shoulders. I quelled the instinct to throw him off; my newfound respect for him didn't cover the touchy-feely part. "Can't tell north from south," he added. It was meant as an insult. Partially. An improvement from the usual sneer and contempt. So I just smiled sweetly.

"Can you?"

Okita laughed, freeing me from his grasp. Despite his nonchalant ways, he definitely possessed the grip of a fighter. Nothing quite felt like a warriors' touch; I now could detect one with a simple embrace. Saitō gave us a speculative look, as if he wondered if we were going to tear each other's limbs, or become best buddies for life. Then, he turned and marched way.

Okita suggested to follow with a gesture of his head, and we both silently trailed after the left-handed swordsman. Feet silent on the ground, we moved like a set of shadow hidden in plain sunlight. It was unsettling how Okita could sneak around; I felt like a set of wolves stalking a prey. But again, this is what they were; the wolves of Mibu. Protecting their own.

Even though the Shinsengumi had moved headquarters from Mibu a long time ago, the appellation still stuck. I found it strangely comforting; I'd always been at ease with tight packs of wolves. They protected their own, loyal to a fault. Followed their leader to death and ruin. I could relate to that. Once again, I was stricken by the similarities between them, the fellowship of the ring, and the Arthurian knights.

Eventually, we rounded a corner. The scene that greeted us caused me to freeze in awe. Saitō stood, his dark hair gently swept by the breeze, under a massive Sakura tree. Lost in a sea of dancing petals, he looked ... overworldly. A few feet behind the screen of blooms stood another figure, deep purple and dark engulfed by the beauty of this enchanting scene. Hijikata-san barely spared us a glance.

"Ah, you've never seen that, right, Gaijin?" Okita snorted.

"No," I whispered, mesmerised by the tiny petals that fell, painting the scene a pale pink. I took a few steps forward, falling under the gentle shower of tiny Sakura flakes, hand extended to allow some of them to brush my skin. I barely felt them, so light in the breeze. They danced like little fairies, as if they had a mind of their own. Weightless, free.

I felt a gaze resting upon me; I ignored it superbly, the scene was too theatrical, too enthralling to even care. Sakura was magical. I suddenly frowned, how long since my impromptu arrival? My theoretical birthday had probably come and gone.

"What month are we?", I asked Okita.

His eyes watched me, wide open, unguarded.

"February."

Well, that didn't make sense. I though the Sakura period was around march in Japan. Could it be that the calendar was different? But of course, the Chinese new year always happened at a different time, in France!

"Hum. You'll have to teach me the calendar, I guess."

Okita dismissed me without fioriture nor politeness, leaving me standing under the dancing petals.

"Go to Sanan-san."

Right.

Ten yards away from me, three grown warriors watched the petals dancing in the breeze, lost in the beauty of this flowery shower. All, except for one, who dark gaze rested upon me.

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