Disclaimer: I don't own Rurouni Kenshin. Really, the rights to it belong to Nobuhiro Watsuki, Shueisha, Sony and others I don't remember right now.

A/N: Reviews are most definitely welcome. Craved, even. Especially since this is my first Kenshin story -- I need feedback, I really do.

~ Waiting For Hiko ~

- Prologue -

The sun rose over the mountain, as it so often did, without incident. It was a summer sun, full of vibrant light and heat, and it sent powerful rays towards the lush greenery below, seeking to penetrate the dense cover of leaves.

But the forest remained gloomy as always, allowing only the barest curtain of translucent, greenish light to filter through so it could feed the ferns and moss that covered the soft ground.

More sunlight slanted through, seeking entrance, spilling over treetops and rare patches of grass, until it finally met with the wooden walls of a rickety hut. It stood at the center of a remote glade in all its lopsided glory, and an unkind observer would have noted that it fit right in with the gnarled, ancient trees and abundant vegetation, seeing as it was itself about two steps away from being a lump of metamorphic rock. But no observers seemed to be around, unkind or otherwise, and were also unlikely to appear seeing as the whole glade stood at the end of a path that was so overgown as to be nearly invisible.

A few cautious rays skittered along the twisted wooden beams that made up the walls, the slanting, patched roof, and even over what looked like a discarded sake jug near the base of the door. Slowly, more light crawled over the run-down structure in dappled waves, inching ever closer towards the one window courtesy of a steadily ascending sun. . . and suddenly the first beam had entered the dark hole, probably expecting to play over wooden walls and dust bunnies and more discarded jugs. Instead it encountered, dark and scented . . .

The gloom of the forest.

Ivy crawled lazily over cave-like walls that were both too high and seemed to go on forever, and above all had a consistency that was curiously rock-like. It was a strange thing to find on the inside of any hut, but especially one that on the outside appeared even smaller than its actual dimensions because of the way it had sunk in on itself.

But even stranger were the inhabitants as they flitted from one end of the huge space to the other, sparks trailing comet-like in their wake. And the scent was strange as well, forest-heavy and fresh, with undertones of pine and wild blooms, and something darker still, hard to discern and even harder to name. . .

Fairy dust sparkled in the half-darkness, but the place was too full of bustling activity to seem enchanted, even though few of the hard-working sprites had shapes that could be described as fully human. Many of them were animal spirits, mostly foxes with one or more tails and seductive human faces. All of them were tricksters.

None of them dared to stray too far from the line, too aware of the king's hooded gaze following their every movement. He was there also, lounging nonchalantly on the wooden shadow throne, cradled among the branches of magical wood that knew everything the forest knew, and whispered to him.

All in all, he had taught them well. Only few words were needed to make his wishes known, but when that honeyed, faintly menacing voice was heard, all others fell silent.

He motioned towards one of the foxes. "Azami," he said. All in all he did not seem to be a deity of many words, which would have surprised some who knew him, or thought they did.

"Yeah, Azami. Tell us who's trying to take over the forest today. Sheesh, this is so boring," muttered a young cub, earning himself a hit over the head from one of his elders.

The kitsune's far-seeing eyes narrowed in concentration. "A strong tanuki is headed this way, and some fool spirit has hogged the well down at the road bend."

"Not for long," the king stated calmly. " Kamichi?"

A small horned shape that had been content to lie in a corner suddenly stirred, hauling itself reluctantly unto what looked suspiciously like a goat's hind legs. "On my way," he muttered with little enthusiasm and in the tones of a half-deceased chain smoker. He took the time to scratch his round, hairy belly though, and also to slap Azami's backside on his way out.

She hissed and snapped at him with fangs that were sharp and shiny, but her teeth met only thin air as the shapeshifter's firefly form skillfully evaded her and flew out into the forest. Then she pondered what it would have meant to have any -- very probably hairy -- part of Kamichi's anatomy in her mouth, and gave a little shrug. "Just as well I didn't get him," she muttered. "Disgusting little lecher."

"You've got that right," muttered a chubby-faced cherub from his perch on a large stone. He was blond and rosy-cheeked, and diminutive enough to be confused with a newborn if not for the rough sailor's voice and the obscenely large cigar sticking out of the corner of his mouth.

Azami made a noncommittal noise. She might have hated Kamichi with his hairy belly and his lecherousness, but she wouldn't be caught dead agreeing with this one. Not when she had tried to get rid of him so many times, only to be thwarted at every turn by his devious little mind. She positively loathed his foreign ways, his blond hair and his unpronounceable name, but none of the above half as much as his stupid sense of humour, his stinking cigars, and his -- she shuddered -- singing.

If only the master weren't so fond of him . . .

The elf smirked as he noted how one innocent remark had caused waves of almost palpable hostility to wash his way. He was sure he could nurture it a little more.

"Master, shall I sing?" he asked in his best whiny voice. "Methinks the mood needs a little lightening up."

"Please don't," came the dry answer from the shadows. "My ears are still trying to recover from the last time." Mustardseed pouted, although it had been delivered in a pleasant enough tone.

Ah well, there was surely enough mischief to get into, and even more reasons to do so. For one, he could tease the halfling his master had last taken in. Yumi was clumsy, frail, and had less magic than the weakest kitsune. In other words, she was prey.

"Oi, stupid," he started, relishing the fearful glance Yumi threw in his direction, only to be interrupted by an unexpected burst of ki in the vicinity. Human ki, and he was not the only one who had noticed. He shut his mouth as the king rose, silencing the whole room with one shuttered glance.

"Leave," he said quietly.

A few curious glances were exchanged and then a swarm of fireflies rushed out of the window in a glittering shower, leaving the room empty. Well, almost.

There was a quiet shuffle. Slow enough to make plain his displeasure at the interruption, the king looked up and into a pair of innocent moss-green eyes.

"But why, master? We were making good progress, and . . ." she stopped as she raised her own gaze enough to get a good look at his eyes.

The king sighed. "Because my baka deshi is climbing the path right now, Yumi, and I am not going to greet him clothed in nothing more than leaves in my hair and a trail of ivy over my privates."

He smiled over her blush, which betrayed her heritage even more effectively than her clumsiness. It was such a . . . human thing to do.

"Now be a good girl and go so I can clean this up. You can return by nightfall if I manage enough grouchiness to scare Kenshin away."

She nodded earnestly. "Yes, master." He noted the reluctance with which her body shrank into a golden pinpoint of light, watched it sway a little drunkenly out of the ivy shrouded window. Hopeless, really. But endearing, in her own clueless way.

Sighing again he waved his hand once and turned, surveying his surroundings. The inside of the hut once again matched the outside, with wooden, unpainted walls and furniture that was so sparse it was almost non-existent. At least there were several examples of truly magnificent pottery on the table, and several jugs of precious sake.

He allowed himself a swig before enveloping himself in his signature white cape and walking out into the afternoon sun.

The smile that greeted him was dazzling, both because of its warmth and the deep joy it expressed. "Shishou!"

The man who was now again Hiko Seijuro allowed his eyes to soften a little. "Who did you expect?" he said gruffly. "It's not as if this were exactly a crowded neighbourhood."

Kenshin just smiled. "Be that as it may, it's good to see you again, that it is. Truly, shishou."

"That good, eh? I suppose you managed to bring a present this time, or is your illustrious presence all I get?" It was always a pleasure to see his baka deshi squirm, and this time was no exception.

"No present, shishou," sighed the redhead. "Just an invitation -- one we all hope you'll accept."

Hiko grinned. "We'll see about that." He threw a heavy wooden pail at his apprentice, who caught it with his characteristic dexterity. "You can go fetch water for now."

"Shishou!" moaned Kenshin.

"An apprentice should always make himself useful," Hiko announced in his most preachily annoying tones. "It's the least you can do for the decades of training I've--" he paused to smirk over the murderous look in Kenshin's violet eyes. "Well, I'll be inside. It would bore me out of my wits to wait on the porch until you've managed to drag your sorry ass back up here."

Sighing, Kenshin started on his way. Muttering. "Yes, shishou. Whatever you say, shishou, de gozaru yo!"

Hiko's gaze glittered green as it followed him down the path.

To be continued . . .