Kabaneri of the Iron Fortress: Faith

[jordannamorgan]

Title: Faith
Author: jordannamorgan
Archive Rights: Please request the author’s consent.
Rating/Warnings: G.
Characters: Ayame and Kurusu.
Setting: The end of episode four.
Summary: After the battle in the mountains, Ayame speaks with Kurusu.
Disclaimer: They belong to Kabaneri Committee and other relevant parties. I’m just playing with them.
Notes: Submitted for the prompt of “Trust” at smallfandomflsh.



Despite the brave front Ayame put up, it took all the nerve she had left to face down the surviving Chiefs and reassert her authority.

Afterward she retreated to the outer deck of the Kotetsujo, to let the sun’s warmth soothe her lingering tension as she collected her thoughts in private. There was still much to be done: repairs to be overseen, grieving and traumatized passengers to comfort… and when they found a safe location, another prayer fire to be lit for those the Kabane had killed. Ayame shivered at the very thought, as her nagging doubts murmured a new litany of what-ifs and should-haves.

She’d been reckless more than once since the fall of Aragane, forced to make decisions she had always thought her father would be there to handle; yet somehow, her instincts were proven right each time. She didn’t pride herself that this was due to any sort of wisdom on her part. It was only because the people she had put her faith in were good and true. The Kabaneri, the steamsmiths… Kurusu. In their different ways, all of them had fought for the Kotetsujo’s survival, their strengths and skills more capable than anything she could offer. All she could do was trust them to save the train, even when others did not.

Yet many lives were needlessly lost because she had wavered just once in her conviction.

Gripping the rail, she squeezed her eyes shut against the sting of tears. For a moment she allowed herself to wish selfishly that her father—Kensho, the strong and resolute lord of Aragane Station—could have been there to bear this burden of leadership instead.

Behind her the hatch creaked. She hastily dashed her tears away with a fist, turning with an awkward smile that may have fooled anyone… except the man who stepped out.

Kurusu’s eyes widened as he read her face. Despite his bandaged torso and sling-supported arm, he moved to her side with the swiftness of a springing lion.

“Miss Ayame! Are you alright?”

“Yes, of course!” After a last halfhearted attempt to bolster the smile, Ayame gave up and let it slip away. “I was just… thinking of my father.”

It was a half-truth, leaving out her pathetic feelings of uselessness; the last thing she wanted was to put her own insecurities on Kurusu’s shoulders now. Regardless, he appeared to accept her claim. After a brief consideration, he slouched against the rail beside her—and peculiar it was to see the normally stiff, erect bushi slouch, even though it was obviously due to the need to take weight off his wounds. He did not turn his head, but she could feel his eyes upon her, studying her intently.

“Lord Kensho would have been proud of you today,” he said at last, his voice deep and quiet.

The surge of heat across Ayame’s cheeks was secondary to its renewed assault behind her eyes. She looked away quickly, folding her hands over the rail as she stared unseeingly at the passing blur of green.

“Would he? In a way… it was my fault we were attacked. If I hadn’t hurt Ikoma and caused him to lose himself for a moment, the Chiefs may not have become frightened enough to rebel… and I only made things worse by giving in to them. Father would never have done that. I… I should have been strong enough that they wouldn’t have challenged me, either.”

A slow, breathy sigh eased out of Kurusu. It betrayed only the slightest hitch of pain, but Ayame could tell. Although she did not look at him, she still felt the sharpness of his eyes.

“Yours is simply a different strength than his, Miss Ayame—and you have nothing to blame yourself for.”

A sort of warmth that felt vaguely inappropriate to the moment squirmed around in Ayame’s heart. She quickly covered it, bracing hands on hips as she turned to look at him sternly.

“…Anyway, never mind me. You really shouldn’t be out here. In your condition, all you should be doing is resting.”

“I’m alright.” That assertion was predictable—and so was the way his gaze flickered to her left forearm, likewise wrapped underneath concealing silk. “I’m still much more concerned about your wound.”

She resisted the urge to blow out an exasperated breath. Already she had assured him three times that she was fine. “It really doesn’t even hurt now.”

“You shouldn’t have cut so deep… or let that Kabaneri drink so directly.”

“It wasn’t as if there was any other choice at the time. Besides, there’s nothing to worry about. Ikoma’s mouth never came anywhere near the wound itself.”

Ayame’s right hand wandered to the bandage under her sleeve, rubbing it lightly. Every sensation of that moment remained vivid. The throbbing pain of the cut in her arm, the warmth of blood dripping down her wrist. The startlingly delicate grip of Ikoma’s fingers, rough-edged though they were with calluses from his years of handling tools. The hesitant touch of his trembling lips, accepting the nourishment she offered… but never the slightest graze of his teeth against her skin. Even in the imminent danger they had faced, he was so very careful.

Having to confront the reality of his change like that… Forced to drink human blood to preserve his strength and sanity…

Ikoma must have been far more afraid of himself than she could ever have been of him.

The Kabaneri had clearly demonstrated what they could do to protect the Kotetsujo—but they needed care of their own in turn. There was a startling fragility underneath all their strength, and at least a part of it was all too human. In that moment when she fed him, Ayame felt that Ikoma’s spirit was nourished by her trust and compassion, just as much as his body had been by her blood.

How new to him was the sating of that hunger? Even when he was human, on the morning before last that now felt like a century ago, she had overheard the derisive way some of the other steamsmiths spoke to him. Her own father had coldly dismissed Ikoma’s care for his fellow man. Faced with so much doubt of his idealistic dreams, it was incredible that he had chased them so far on the strength of his will alone… but that couldn’t possibly be enough now. Not with the new doubt he bore within himself. He couldn’t be strong for everyone else if his soul was worn down by fears of becoming a monster.

…That wasn’t going to happen, Ayame reminded herself firmly. With sufficient blood and kindness to keep their bodies and spirits healthy, she was certain the Kabaneri could thrive—for their own sake, and for the sake of everyone else on the Kotetsujo, who might yet need some extraordinary protection on the perilous journey ahead. They could make this hard-won coexistence work, and perhaps even become something beautiful.

Especially now that she wasn’t alone in trying.

Ayame looked up at Kurusu once more—only to find that his gaze had lingered during her brief silence. His eyes darted away as if he had been caught doing something forbidden, his cheeks flaming with a blush that threatened to rob his wounds of much-needed blood.

Every now and then, that man was so odd.

Shrugging off his uncharacteristically flighty behavior, she spoke in a tone that was quiet but warm. “In any case, I want to thank you—for trusting Ikoma.”

Kurusu shifted. The corners of his mouth tensed as if contemplating a frown, but the expression did not quite materialize.

“It wasn’t Ikoma that I trusted. …It was you.”

Butterfly wings of surprise flitted through Ayame’s heart. She blinked at Kurusu in puzzlement.

“I couldn’t protect you from the Wazatori and Ikoma,” he elaborated, his expression dark with discomfort and awkward grudging. His left hand pressed to his side as if to wordlessly add At least in my current condition, and he drew a deep breath before he continued. “I could only trust your judgment that Ikoma wouldn’t hurt you. …I’m only glad he proved worthy of your faith in him.”

“If we’re going to survive out here beyond the safety of station walls, we need the Kabaneri. I truly believe that.” A rueful smile tugged at Ayame’s lips. “And after volunteering to be a blood donor for them yourself… you can’t tell me you don’t believe it too.”

Another blush. Kurusu’s jaw tightened, his eyes wandering again.

“I’m convinced of their intentions,” he muttered. As if unconsciously, his hand moved back to his side; not to his wound this time, but to the place at his hip where the sheath of his katana would rest. “They fought for the lives of the same people who had rejected them as monsters. I can’t deny that they’ve shown us who they still are inside those heart cages… but it will take more time before I’m certain there’s no danger in what they are. Until then, I’ll continue to keep my eye on them.”

“I’d expect no less from you.” Ayame drew a heavy breath to keep her voice steady. “And if they ever did lose who they are… I think they would be grateful to you for watching over them, and doing what you need to do.”

Those words earned a visible flinch from Kurusu. The reaction surprised Ayame—but she welcomed it in her heart, because it was a confirmation that he didn’t want to hurt the Kabaneri anymore. He wanted to believe in them as she did, even if he was still resistant to admitting it.

That was compassion: the very thing Ayame was sure the Kabaneri needed even more than blood. Without realizing it, perhaps even Kurusu already understood what would keep their new guardians well.

Yes… this could all work out.

“But they’re going to be alright now, Kurusu.” Smiling, Ayame laid her hand gently on the sling that supported his arm. “And so will all of us. …Now please go and rest, won’t you?”

His twitch this time was something different. Incapable of bowing in his present state, he simply ducked his head and shuffled back a step, with an awkwardness that was unlike the normally graceful samurai. It made Ayame want to giggle, but she restrained herself, aware that even the most innocent laugh would only fluster him even more.

“Thank you, Miss Ayame,” he murmured, and turned to retreat quickly into the locomotive.

Ayame was left by herself once more; but now, her heart was lighter than it had been. She leaned on the forward railing and raised her head, to feel the warm sun on her face.

I will protect them all, Father, she promised silently. Even the ones you never would have believed in. Even the Kabaneri.

Maybe it’s true that I couldn’t do it alone… but I’m not alone.

And I never was, after all.

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© 2020 Jordanna Morgan