The Three Faces Of Virtue: Rei by 3Jane Author's Note: In bushido, rei is the virtue of respect. The girl and the man would be surprised (except that they wouldn't) to know, of all the things that Jin does not like, his swords are very nearly at the top of the list. Very nearly, but not quite: he can scarcely remember a time without them, without the smooth curve of steel and silk at his side, without their presence at the head of his bed. And they are beautiful — made from iron, and fire, and prayer, by a lord among smiths, even before the Mujuu was born. He should love them, but he does not. He should, he knows; over half his life has been given to them, and there is nothing to him except for what they are. Jin, his shishou tells him in his grave voice, a warrior's sword is his soul, from the shogun to the ashigaru with dirt under his fingernails. And so he cares for his daisho dutifully: he never forgets to keep his swords clean, to keep them sharp, to keep them with him always, and the smell of clove oil never comes off his hands, no matter how often he washes them. He knows the man and the girl don't understand at night when he brings out the whetstone and paper, even if his swords have stayed sleeping all day; he knows too he doesn't want them to understand, because to understand is to know and to know is to see him for what he really is. (after it happened, he found blood whenever he washed) He tells them, of course; they deserve to know, more than he deserves. (after it happened, he found blood even after he washed) He wonders, as the white-hot line kindles in his side, if this will be enough to wash his sword clean at last; then there is a curve of sand along the water, and he is shattered into pieces — the girl's eyes swallow her face, as the dark slips over him. He wakes, not expecting to; he swims back up to the surface, where the other man is awake and the girl is standing in the door with the sun behind her. She watches them, strangely silent as they eat, and later she comes to him when the other man is asleep once more. I'm sorry, she tells him. Don't be, he says. Was it enough? Yes. Good. I have something for you. She fumbles nervously in a box, as he looks on: there is a heavy cloth in her hands, and he catches his breath as she pulls it away. I know it's not the same — Reverently, he takes it from her, knowing whose it had been. No, he tells her, and smiles. She looks at him, and his heart twists at how worn she looks. It's better, he says, and she smiles back. Maybe, he thinks as he feels the sword resting lightly in his hands, they have always understood. end
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