Blood sprayed out in a glittering arc as Bakusaiga ripped free of the felled demon’s throat. A mangled, gurgling noise issued from the cleaved windpipe, armored claws rising in vain to seal it. Brilliant green and seething as the rancor in Sesshoumaru’s expression, the sword’s deadly poison corroded through youki and flesh alike, nullifying all defenses and ensuring his enemy’s swift and certain demise.

Kicking down his traitorous vassal at the sternum, the Lord of the Western Lands turned his cold, flinty gaze upon the wooded plains of the battlefield. Around him, the clangor of weapons, beasts, and voices had briefly stilled, as the decaying body behind him crumbled to ash in the breeze.

It was not long before the rest of the enemy forces laid down their arms. Clearly no love was lost between these warriors and their former liege.

As Sesshoumaru’s troops rounded them up, the demon lord looked restlessly north, toward the palace where Kagome lay sleeping still. There were no more reports from Inuyasha—not that there had been any change in her status to report on these past dragging weeks. Since the day Hikari had stopped sedating her, and after the calamitous fallout between Sango and the others which had ensued, Sesshoumaru had exchanged little more than a passing glare with his brooding younger brother.

It was much the same silent standoff Sesshoumaru had been subjected to by his mother, who apart from offering the most coolly formal words of support for him in public, had otherwise refused to associate with him since the mating. That Inukimi was deeply disappointed in his choices was understandable, but the weight of her rejection was yet another heavy burden for Sesshoumaru to bear.

As if wishing to make its own burdensome presence known, the Shikon no Tama rolled, leaden and grating, between his chest and armor as he sighed.

“Milord!” Jakken hailed him, the imp looking ever the fool as he rushed toward his master, huffing and clanking in a prodigious set of battle armor which would never see a scratch. “They have found his heir!”

Sesshoumaru descended the high hill. At the foot of it, one of his generals, a stout grizzled youkai named Honzu, urged forward a wiry, adamant-bound captive who was scarcely out of boyhood. More than likely the young demon had snuck his way into the melee, as Sesshoumaru himself had done, when he was of a similar age.

At the Western Lord’s raised brow, Honzu gruffly explained, “The elder brother was slain in combat, my lord, ahead of his traitor father. This whelp is the only son remaining to him.”

Sesshoumaru considered the youth before him. Heavily, the boy breathed, his face streaked with a muddy grime of soot, blood, and tears. Barely visible beneath it, the fine sable markings on his brow were contorted in an expression of unmistakable anguish, his emerald eyes fierce and wetly gleaming.

Though they had not been on the best of terms at the time, Sesshoumaru remembered how it felt, to lose a father. Reason and experience would have him kill this boy, lest he become an avenger. Yet Sesshoumaru wondered, as he was wondering more often than not these days, what the Inu no Taishou would have done in his stead.

“A father’s crimes should not pass to his son,” the Western Lord declared at last, leveling his gaze upon the young demon. “Swear your allegiance to me, and you may live to rule these Lands one day.”

Behind the youth, Honzu crossed his arms at his chest, his wise orange eyes glinting in approval. For a brief while, the adolescent continued to stare up at Sesshoumaru, the dark twist of his lips faintly trembling. With grief, Sesshoumaru had assumed, before his mouth wrenched open to spit upon the broken ground between them.

“Curse you, you wretched cur,” the young demon seethed, shaking with what could only be a deep and heartfelt rage. “I would rather die than bow to you and your human whore!”

Sesshoumaru’s expression chilled. “So be it.”

Though there was hardly the need for more than his own bare claws, the Western Lord unsheathed his sword nonetheless. He would give the boy this mercy at least, to be executed like a warlord instead of cut down like fodder.

When it was done, and the body dragged away, Sesshoumaru turned to address the gathered armies.

“Honzu,” he said, “step forward.”

Winged silver brows drawing together in confusion, the general complied. Sesshoumaru ventured forth to meet him.

“You have all seen today that treason does not go unpunished in the Western Lands,” the demon lord said, his voice and eyes rising toward the assembled warriors, friend and former foe alike, before settling upon his general. “Nor does fealty go unrewarded. Honzu, for centuries you have served loyally under my father’s rule and my own. I give these holdings to you, and name you lord.”

The fourth son of a minor noble, Honzu had never aspired to rule a fiefdom of his own—particularly not a territory as rich and expansive as this. This fact was apparent in the look of breathless shock which softened his battle-hardened features, before he recovered and fell into a deep bow, laying his curved scarlet war-axe at Sesshoumaru’s feet.

“You honor me, Sesshoumaru-sama,” the general said, his voice thick with emotion. Like Sesshoumaru’s father, Honzu had mated late in life, and his son—’little more than a fledgling’ as the general chuckled—would be well provided-for. “I pledge my house to yours, for all of time.”

The notion of houses raised a trace of frown to Sesshoumaru’s lips, yet he nodded graciously all the same. Behind the Western Lord, his impish retainer sobbed in an embarrassing excess of adoration, though it dryly reversed Sesshoumaru’s frown to know that at least another living soul seemed to love him. As the new lord rose, the captured army bowed to him in a spreading wave, while Sesshoumaru’s own warriors murmured excitedly amongst themselves. On the wings of yet another decisive victory, they gathered up the spoils allowed them and returned to the Western Palace.

Weary though he was, as always, Sesshoumaru flew ahead to the lone castle. Not wishing to cause a stir, he slipped through a tower window and made his way to Kagome’s room. Snoring at his erstwhile post, Ryouken cracked a groggy blue eye open briefly as Sesshoumaru approached the door. In this last dark hour before dawn, he could almost believe that she was simply at rest. Moonlight slanted over her from the unshuttered window, illuminating her fair features and silvering the blue-black gleam of her hair.

Sitting down beside her, Sesshoumaru skimmed his knuckles along the warm silky curve of her cheek. Faintly, her lashes twitched. It happened, at times, these little coincidences of motion. Sesshoumaru was not so deluded as to think that she was responding to his touch. She was merely dreaming. He knew this for a certainty, though he could not quite explain it, except for a subtle, slumbering sensation in his own mind.

The nature of the mating bond was mysterious to him. Even scholars debated on its power and effects, though in general it was agreed that the physical binding of the female was counterbalanced by the emotional binding of the male. Perhaps this accounted for his heightened sensitivity to Kagome, but with a miko for a mate, Sesshoumaru knew that even the scholars could only speculate at how such an unlikely bond would manifest.

As the light of the rising sun rose to replace the moon’s pale silver, he willed her to awaken, focusing his energy on that tenuous, invisible link between them. Vaguely, he felt foolish for even attempting it—even more so as he whispered to her that it was morning, that it was time for her to open her eyes, to leave her bed. How long he might have carried on in this way he could not guess; fortunately, the sound of voices in the antechamber wrested him from his pathetic efforts.

He stood as the inner screen slid open, and Kohaku entered, blinking in surprise. “Sesshoumaru-sama,” the young man said, bowing quickly. “I did not know you were within.”

“Kohaku,” the demon lord returned. “It has been some time.”

The boy nodded. “Ani-ue could not come today, so I’m escorting my sister instead.”

“A chivalrous gesture,” Sesshoumaru said.

Sheepishly, Kohaku smiled. As Sesshoumaru noticed the inch or so of height the boy had gained since their last meeting, it occurred to him that nearly a full turn of the seasons had now passed since the battle with Naraku.

Since he had last seen Rin.

As if reading the sentiment in his expression, Kohaku said, “Rin-chan asks of you often, my lord. I would be happy to take a word to her, if you wish.”

Consumed though he was with his guilt and his grief, with tending to the fragile health of Kagome and his kingdom, Sesshoumaru had still not forgotten his young human ward. In the rare, warm moments when the sunlight brushed his face like fingertips, when the scent of wildflowers carried to him on the breeze, he thought of her.

“Tell Rin I will see her soon,” Sesshoumaru replied to Kohaku, “as soon as I am able.”

Kohaku smiled again. “Certainly, Sesshoumaru-sama—she will be thrilled to hear it.”

Within the demon lord’s heavy chest, a scale seemed to shift and fall away.

---

Inuyasha © Rumiko Takahashi

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