Fifteen
- Samurai Warriors, Mitsuhide Akechi, Ranmaru Mori, Nobunaga Oda
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The wind picked up and plucked a skirl of leaves from the tree above them, and then Mitsuhide gave him the signal, inclining his head, his long hair spilling forward over his shoulder.

Ranmaru caught his breath and stepped forward, his sandal crushing the leaves that littered the ground as he drew and struck with his nodachi once, twice, three times in the same flowing movement. Half a moment in which the very air seemed to hold its breath in anticipation, and then all the leaves that separated them shivered in two, fifteen of them turning into thirty, as Ranmaru's nodachi cleared the air between himself and the man he respected more than... almost any other.

The wind died down. The leaves, split and not, finished their fluttering downward spiral as Ranmaru let out the breath he had been holding. He found himself breathing heavily, astonished and proud of his achievement even as he lifted his eyes to Mitsuhide, leaning casually against the tree.

"It was well done," Mitsuhide said, and he smiled slightly and straightened. "There is no doubt of your skill."

"Thank you, Lord Mitsuhide!" Ranmaru clutched the grip of his nodachi to his chest and bowed over it. The short hair that framed his face hid the joy on his face.

"If I may--" Mitsuhide added, making a lazy gesture in the direction of Ranmaru's sword.

"Of course! Please, it would be an honor--" Ranmaru started to turn his blade, to offer Mitsuhide the weapon, but Mitsuhide stopped him with a swiftly upraised hand.

"Hold it out in front of you, the edge upwards, if you would."

"Ah! Yes." Ranmaru did as he was told, so intent upon steadying the huge and heavy blade in this unaccustomed position that when Mitsuhide stepped in close behind him, his arms encircling Ranmaru, it came entirely as a shock, and Ranmaru gasped in a breath before he was able to control his emotions in a way befitting a samurai. "My lord--" And then he fell silent, aware of only the pressure of Mitsuhide's hands over his, steadying the blade.

"Shh. There is something that I would like you to consider, Ranmaru. Will you listen?" Mitsuhide spoke into Ranmaru's ear from an inch away, his breath warm on Ranmaru's ear.

"Yes, my lord!" Ranmaru's fingers trembled under Mitsuhide's, unworthy on the grip of his nodachi.

"There is no doubt of your skill with the blade. You deal death like a song, and you strike with precision and strength. But we are now in the court of Oda, and there will come times when you will require the former much more than the latter."

Whispered in his ear like a conspiracy, it seemed a step away from disloyalty, and Ranmaru stiffened. But before he could protest, Mitsuhide went on, smoothly overriding him. "You must learn not only when to strike, but how hard..."

He fell silent. For the space of two heartbeats they neither moved nor spoke, the taller wrapped around the smaller, Ranmaru's nodachi held out before them in four steadying hands. Then the wind picked up and plucked another armful of leaves from the tree in front of them, and Mitsuhide breathed, "Relax and let me move you."

Ranmaru made himself relax inside the circle of Mitsuhide's arms. A single leaf fluttered down in front of them, and swift as a dream Mitsuhide guided the tip of the nodachi to it, flicking up underneath and stopping with such precision that the leaf balanced, trembling yet uncut, on the tip of Ranmaru's blade. Tiny flickers of Mitsuhide's hands kept it balanced, prevented it from falling from the blade's edge. Ranmaru caught his breath. It was a stunning display of control.

"There are times when your enemies must not merely be slain, but guided, by the tip of your blade instead of the edge," Mitsuhide whispered into Ranmaru's ear, and his hands moved once more, in tiny, controlled circles that made the blade shiver. The leaf trembled and leapt down along the edge of Ranmaru's blade like a dancer might, twirling down the edge towards where the two men waited, one wide-eyed and breathless, the other calm and controlled.

With a smooth dip of Mitsuhide's hands and its own last leap the leaf danced from the blade to the guard, balancing on its stem, trembling a finger's-width from Ranmaru's hands.  "Subtlety, Ranmaru. It would behoove you to master it." Mitsuhide flicked his fingers against the underside of the nodachi's grip, and the leaf seemed to take a bow before falling away. Mitsuhide let go of Ranmaru's hands and caught the leaf.

"M-my lord." Ranmaru nearly sagged, only his control keeping him upright. "I will think on your words."

"Do that," Mitsuhide said, circling to face him, holding the leaf gently in his fingers and smiling that benevolent smile. "Keep this that you may be reminded--" and he reached out, tucking the yellow leaf gently into the inner folds of Ranmaru's haori, so that the crisp edges of the leaf brushed against his chest, over his heart.

Against his will, Ranmaru shivered, his eyes drifting half-closed.

The autumn wind picked up, skirling the leaves in a rattling hiss across the tiny courtyard, and so neither man heard as the paper partition slid closed, hiding the avid eyes of Oda Nobunaga before either of them could notice.