Summary: Crying is evidence of weakness; bleeding is the badge of their courage. But there are times when even demon lords can become vulnerable. SK. One-shot.
Affectation 春记
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By Incarnadine.Rose
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Disclaimer: All characters of Inuyasha belong to Rumiko Takahashi. However, this piece of fiction is mine. Lyrics which inspired this fiction came from the meaningful song, The Sands of Time by Genevieve Charest.
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Every spring he headed back.
It had always been a ritual, an endless cycle that seemed to have remained permanent in his heart, willing himself to return to that place. He never knew how, or, why, but he always found the urge to do so, to find himself once more in that field of pretty forget-me-nots, to immerse himself in the embrace of the blooming sakuras.
Touches of ivory and pallid rose dappled the sturdy wooden trunks. An earthy scent perforated his sensitive nose. Spring was in the air.
Every spring, he found her waiting, as usual, kneeling in the comfort of the lilac forget-me-nots, anticipating his return.
Her creamy visage may remain indifferent to his presence, but he knew, from the way those vermillion oculi sparkled in euphoria and the slight upward tug of her lips, that she was definitely aware.
He smiled, his robes whispering to the call of the wind.
"You always fail to deceive me. It is futile, even foolish, to attempt." His eyes laid on her as her back gently shook with laughter.
Her neck turned gracefully to face his, a grin still in place.
"It is indeed. You are after all as omniscient as ever, Sesshoumaru?"
It was these times when he felt uninhibited to display his true feelings, not bounded by his status, or under the criticizing eye of his half-brother, or the world. Her presence had left an indelible mark on him, a somewhat comforting sooth to his heart. There was no need, there was nothing, to mask.
Her ebony strands lingered at her forehead, swaying with the slight breeze, while her eyelashes fluttered gently. He enjoyed gazing at her porcelain features, so seemingly doll-like, yet in those claret orbs, you could always distinguish her character: bold, passionate, daring, even somewhat obnoxious.
"I have to admit so."
"You jest," she continued, gingerly touching the leaves of the forget-me-not with a long elegant forefinger and watching amusedly as it snapped its leaves back, coldly, swiftly, instantaneously.
The defensive mechanism of the forget-me-not is most peculiar, he thought, but in essence contrasts with that of hers. When in face of adversaries, the fragile plant quickly shuts itself from the world, forming a little fortress from its opponents. She, on the contrary, would never live with herself, cowering from enemies.
She would not be afraid to fight.
He frowned a little.
"Such a peculiar spot for one of your dwellings?"
As another gust of wind blew, she shook her head slightly, and her fringe parted and straightened.
She lifted her slender wrists, encompassing the area she could reach, her sleeves of her ruby-streaked kimono splayed against the onset of the wind. "Aren't they ravishing?" She smiled, inhaling the musky scents of spring. "I'm feeling a little paradoxical today…"
The Kagura he knew never went for the half glass full of water; much less admire the beauty of nature.
"And what occasion could it be to demand that queer attitude from you?" He was inquisitive.
She shook her head gently; the long tendrils of her hair broke free from its usual tightly-knotted bun, framing her heart-shaped features. "You couldn't have forgotten, Sesshoumaru…Anyone, but you?"
The contemplative look graced his face for a while but did not the harvest the usual knowing smirk.
"It's my death anniversary…" She simpered, goose bumps rising on his sensitive skin.
He startled.
Death…?
She was there in front of his eyes, real and true and breathing. He could not possibly see how she was not lying. Yet when his eyes penetrated hers to inspect for any grains of falsity and untruth, he found them empty and lifeless, devoid of the sparkle once inherent in them.
And then it all suddenly came back to him. The whirl of memories rushed back, as though a mental dam had been blocking them all along. The memories of pain, hurt, blame, he remembered them all. The anger, the shame displayed openly on his face.
"Denial gets you nowhere; surely you understand that, Sesshoumaru?" Sesshoumaru took a step back.
"Why are you hurting?"
He found himself absolutely speechless and incapable of refuting an intelligent reply.
"Why, is there this heart of ice?"
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"Your otou-san is taking another wife," his mother had calmly said, but one could feel the anger and shame rolling off her tongue.
"A human one!" She spat.
And his mother, no matter how strong and courageous on the outside, had broken down into tears.
For a woman whose heart can no longer hold her husband's attention is as good as dead.
Sesshoumaru watched on, his eyes gleaming red.
It had began with the human princess his father married, the disgust and hatred of infidelity had never allowed him to forgive his father, not even till his father's death.
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"You have a brother, I hear," Ryuukotsusei taunted, "A hanyou…"
"This Sesshoumaru have no relations to a dirty breed, such a mention is an insult to myself."
Ryuukotsusei smirked.
"It's a pity that it is a fact. Maybe he might even surpass his brother in the future!"
Sesshoumaru clenched his fist.
Over the next few years, his mother had left, his father had died, and he had, without blinking an eye, mercilessly thrown his half-brother out of the castle.
The loneliness that had built up through the years…it made him desensitized to emotions. What good use were emotions when it could kill someone mentally and made one weak?
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"Inu no Taishou had wanted the Tenseiga to be given to Sesshoumaru-sama, and the Tetsusaiga to Inuyasha, Sesshoumaru-sama," Myouga had said.
This had meant only one thing to Sesshoumaru: His father had distrusted his abilities.
A son whose abilities were of doubt was a useless heir, and even more so a useless man.
Everyone thought so, behind his back, and he knew.
He knew. He hated it.
His dignity was stripped to the barest and his confidence in himself was no more. His soul, embittered and torn by hatred and insecurity was only held together by one pathetic mask. Affectation.
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Sesshoumaru had only looked at the bunch of idle villagers smoking and gambling before he had enough.
The wind rustled, and the next moment, six villagers massacred, their blood staining the earth and their innards spilt out.
They were not worthy of living.
Their lives were all so wasted, they were so, unnecessary.
Humans were unnecessary, and, a hassle, to kill.
The smell of blood heightened his senses, and that night, he ravaged an entire village.
He could not stop; the lingering coppery scent of blood tugged at his demonic side.
Sesshoumaru was tempted, and he allowed himself to be tempted.
Their faces of horror, shock, anger added to the thrill.
The raw blood exposed stirred up his senses and the fleeting look of fear and despair before one meets his end satisfied his carnal desires. All he knew was that he hated humans and demons to their inferior core.
They were weak. He was strong.
In this dog-eat-dog world, weaklings were not tolerated.
But then, Sesshoumaru met her.
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Her obsidian hair danced wildly as she landed.
"The killing machine Sesshoumaru-sama, may I have the honour of partaking your life?"
He smirked, another useless demon about to join the fiery depths of hell.
But this one, has spunk, unlike those other weak demons and humans who simply begged for their lives and surrendered without a good and proper fight.
She fanned herself, "the weather is so unaccommodating nowadays, guess I simply have to quicken the job then…"
The sun was beating mercilessly downwards on them, and trickles of sweat were rolling down her rouged porcelain cheeks.
She gently murmurs, "Fujin no mai…"
Sesshoumaru had not expected her to be very strong but the surge of crescent-shaped wind blades puttering out swiftly with a flick of her intricate China fan, made him think twice.
He dodged away gracefully, easily, and watched those blades slice through everything in their path, exploding at their destination.
The leaves caught fire, and a brilliant red and orange surrounded them.
"Excellent dodging, Sesshoumaru; a baby can do better though…" She trilled.
And then they began fighting.
She began shooting wind blades that looked more like sickle-knives at him, while dancing away from his sword attacks.
He had on the other hand, been lifting himself into the air, and dodging her fast and furious attacks, while slashing his sword at her.
Once or twice, their flesh would coincide, just for a split second, as they moved around quickly, and those moments, Sesshoumaru felt an unknown spark in his heart.
Her arm, was surprisingly smooth and soft.
"Baby Sesshoumaru-sama is so dazzled by my beauty, he actually halts!"
He looked up, seeing her smirk, and immediately chased after her, sending poison mists trailing after her.
"Game over, wind sorceress…"
Kagura stilled in her steps.
A sharp metal instilled pressure at the crook of her neck.
"How do you wish to die, intruder?"
"I should ask Sesshoumaru-sama the same question," She whispered, as she turned around slowly.
Sesshoumaru, to his surprise, found her fan pointing at his chest.
"Alas, I'll simply have to call upon you another day, the Saimyosho are an annoying bunch, and their master, rather a nefarious authoritarian actually. Fare thee well, Sesshoumaru, I'm sure you'll remember me…"
And she left, after taking a snow-white feather which promptly magnified to become her transportation, leaving behind only her slight sakura scent, and an imprint on Sesshoumaru's heart.
She had given him some form of hope for himself, that maybe, maybe, they could one day leave together, and forget about everything.
But,
But she had to die.
She had to be killed by Naraku.
The only one whom he felt inclined to trust, for they hungered over similar items and shared the same ideologies, left his side, dying under the hands of a hanyou.
He blamed himself; he was not tolerant of failure. Yet he had failed to protect the woman he loved, from one he deemed inferior. It was evidence that he was weak and ultimately, a failure in all aspects.
He was useless.
He had lost his power to feel, lost his dignity, lost his beloved, lost his capability to forgive, and lost his power to fight back.
That was when even the human Rin could never warm his heart again.
Sesshoumaru was dead inside, and nothing could awaken his emotions or conscience.
And when a soul is dead, one can only attempt to cling onto the remnants of the perfect past, and wish nothing could have happened in the first place.
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He pretended everything was fine.
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He lived a lie.
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He lived in another entity.
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He was no longer Sesshoumaru, great Western Lord, and taiyoukai.
At that moment, he bent his head down, staring at the forget-me-nots, his silvery fringe blocking his eyes.
Kagura moved towards him in a graceful glide, and spread her fingers gently across his face, trying, with her best effort, to comfort him, to warm him, to encourage him, to let him know that he was not alone.
They were wet, her fingers stained with glossy marks of tears, gleaming in the sunshine.
"Forget." That was all she murmured, her delicate hands dabbed his tears with her sleeves.
Forget every single thing that hurt your heart and soul. Restart another life…
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He was alone, in the wilderness, the breeze no longer present.
He had never felt so fragile, yet her lingering hold on him had returned his courage to him. All around him, the scenery had changed. There were only patches of green. The forget-me-nots had wilted, they were liberated from their fortresses. Instead, what he saw were new seedlings sprouting, a beginning of a new cycle.
"Sayonara, Kagura." He gazed at the somewhat empty scenery.
He never returned again.
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There are times when one wished to reverse times, when one questioned "if only"s and "what if"s. But what had passed could not be undone, because the sands of time had already fallen into place, and there was no returning them back into their original positions.
Finally, he had sought out contentment in his heart.
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The sands of time are fallen around the place where we lay,
Beneath the shroud, the sound of silence calls out in vain,
Of what has passed, I hear the last,
But all that remains, will disappear into the air,
And leave not a trace.
Author's Note: I wrote this quite a long time ago, but never posted it. It's one of my favourite one-shots. Thanks for reading this piece. The title in Chinese, 春记, is less symbolic, but means Reminiscence of Spring, or similar. However, it does suit the story, as spring is the beginning, and this is somewhat, a new beginning for Sesshoumaru. I would really appreciate comments and constructive criticism. Did I portray Sesshoumaru true to his character?
Er, I'm also sorry if you read this because you thought it was a SesshoumaruKagome fic, but unfortunately, I still think Kagura is a much better match for Mr. Cold-and-Unfeeling-Aristocrat, because both of them are equally arrogant and equally stubborn. Perfect match, no? But that doesn't mean I frown upon SessKagome fics, I quite enjoy some in fact.
PS. Holidays are good days, I love them! ((: