Accountable

An InuYasha fanfiction

By Amber C.S.

Disclaimer: I'm a total newbie to this fandom and this is my first contribution to it. I have seen all four movies. I am fairly well versed in the manga (am keeping up with the chapers in the 540's), and am in the process of finishing watching the entire anime.

My primary fascination is with Inuyasha's brother, Sesshomaru. Specifically, I am interested in how his character development is advanced by the orphaned human girl whose life he twice saved, Rin. Like most who prefer to take a nuanced and moderate stance, I see Sesshomaru as an anti-hero, not a villain. I see him as capable of affection of his own type, and of redemptive qualities, even if he may never be a protagonist figure. I think that Rin is the most successful means by which we are able to see the redemptive side of Sesshomaru. So I am writing a short, psychologically reflective piece from multiple 3rd-person viewpoints. This fanfiction will be many chapters long--how many I am not sure yet. I am sort of letting this flow organically.

Let me make this clear NOW: I respect every position regarding romantic pairings in a fandom. However, I feel strongly that it is UNETHICAL to support a romantic relationship between Sesshomaru, who is fully adult, and the eight-year-old child Rin. To me, the relationship that is developing between them is strictly that of a father and daughter. If you do not agree with me, you are welcome to stop reading right here, right now, and you have EVERY RIGHT to your opinion. However: I do not entertain flames or rude, unfounded remarks based on personal prejudice. Therefore do not waste your time or mine disagreeing with my views of these characters in an impolite fashion. YOU WILL BE REPORTED FOR ABUSIVE BEHAVIOR. Thank you for your mature cooperation.

Sesshomaru and his parents, Rin, Jaken, Inuyasha, and other characters of the anime and manga Inuyasha are © Ms. Rumiko Takahashi.

Enjoy.

Chapter 1: For Whom?

(After Bakusaiga)

His father had often asked him a single question.

"Sesshomaru, for whom or what are you accountable?"

He had never known how to respond. Even today, this late November afternoon, the grasses glazed with falling rain, he does not know how he might have responded.

He does not grasp the value or the purpose of such a question, closely linked to another that his father once asked: "Do you have someone to protect?" That latter question had also been something of a mandate, a gentle ultimatum: Protect someone, a reason for living sufficient unto itself—or I will not award you with the weapons that will enable you to conquer as ultimately as you wish.

Sesshomaru must have failed to meet that bargain, because his father had given him Tenseiga: the sword of healing. A sword useless to Sesshomaru. A sword incapable of slaying, conquering, and destroying as Sesshomaru saw necessary. Impotent in the foundation of a great western empire. A sword, however, that was bound to teach Sesshomaru how to acquire what he lacked.

"Lord Sesshomaru?"

Appropriate, then, that the tiny, dancing creature who had been his first experiment with Tenseiga tugs on his kimono sleeve while he ponders these heavy matters of accountability and protection and insufficiency.

"Lord Sesshomaru!"

Tug, tug.

"Milord?"

Yank.

"Milord!"

Her voice is like bamboo windchimes. Sweet, trilling. Like rain striking glass. Young—silver.

Sesshomaru shifts weight away from the human child's touch. The touch of Rin, his devoted young ward, and the only human being for whom he has ever cared. The movement is subtle but it teaches Rin without words that he does not appreciate the pestering. She stops immediately.

He loves her quiet intuition. She never gets in his way. She is his constant companion. Always when they travel, she prances in nimble little circles around him, while he elegantly strides, three tripping leaps for his every wide step—a great white stag and its fawn. Sesshomaru has never been capable of folly, of silliness or joy. He often feels that Rin provides these things for him, so that the sting of his half-colorless existence is dulled. She counters his catatonia. It is poetry.

"I am sorry to bother you, Lord Sesshomaru," the child mumbles. Her eyes are a crystalline brown, like maple sugar, like those root beer hard candies she once filched from the miko Kagome's backpack. She averts them now to the hem of his kimono. She fingers the red honeycomb design of that hem bashfully.

"You do not bother me, Rin," he informs her, his sonorous baritone carrying across the clearing of their camp like distant thunder. "What is it?"

"I am sad, milord. I saw an old woman and her grandchildren today." The child rests her head, with the scent of dandelions and wild strawberries, on his newly regrown left arm.

He can feel the tentative way her head reposes there, prepared to move should he be disgruntled by her affection. It is not the kind of tension that signifies she is insecure with him—rather, she is so determined to make him happy.

Her preoccupation with his satisfaction is almost too intense, and Sesshomaru is forever combating this tendency, reaffirming her agency and independence, telling her to "do as she pleases."

He has to say it to her at least once a day: "Do as you please, not as I please. That is what will most please me, Rin."

He does not realize that he has become the single-embodied stand-in for both her parents and her many brothers: her whole world, slain three years ago by bandits.

Right now, he rewards her by placing his strong chin on the crown of her head as mute reassurance. "Continue, small one."

Rin sighs, her warm mortal breath tickling the skin of Sesshomaru's bicep, and inspiring a strange and keening melancholy in the abyss where his emotions usually sleep. Softness and smallness unite with firmness and greatness as she continues her tale. Her words are still quiet but they gain boldness. "I asked the old woman how old she was. She was only sixty years old! Will I look like a prune in the sun when I am sixty, Lord Sesshomaru?"

The daiyoukai inhales sharply. He rises, and Rin topples off of his lap. For a moment tender instinct replaces his eternally cautious, calculated façade of ice, and he bends over her to right her footing. But he catches himself, like thorns snaring a soft silk robe, and withdraws.

Rin's impish round face carries all the confusion in the world. She has never experienced such aloofness from her guardian. "What did I..?"

"I do not wish to speak of this." Sesshomaru's mask is yet intact. His eyebrows are mildly knit, his eyes are hooded and coldly impassive, not a wrinkle mars his perfect alabaster skin. But his voice is tight, and his words are so rushed that they tangle as one. "Do not speak of your age. Do not speak of death. Not you. I will not discuss your death. I…I cannot. Not ever."

The child's face is devastated. Her round fingers clutch her cheeks, making delicate pink imprints. She trembles. "I have done something bad…"

Sesshomaru's fangs clench together with a vicious snap. He wants to contradict her. But something, perhaps the acidic, burning blow to his pride—admitting a weakness—erects a barrier between his will to comfort and his actions. He rivets her in place with a topaz glare, his internal conflict utterly camouflaged. In that split second, he hates that human child for making him care so very much, so very deeply, about someone besides himself.

Because now Sesshomaru has something to lose.

Someone to protect.

A reason to treasure Tenseiga—for bringing him her.

Rin hiccups back a sob. She stumbles to her feet, the knees of her kimono green with grass-stains, and flees. In her confusion and bewilderment, she forgets that Sesshomaru can find her wherever she goes.

Sesshomaru does not stop her. A growl creeps up his throat. He closes his eyes, into which a bloody red aura has seeped. Calm descends on him, and with that agonized clarity.

So much for the mantra "do as you wish, Rin."

For the first time in their acquaintance, Sesshomaru has issued a mandate like his father's.

Disgusting.

He has become Inu no Taisho. His mother had even said it, and she had said it in regard to Rin.

His errant, evasive, inconstant, capricious father, whom he loathes!

His fierce, undaunted, brilliant, proud, compassionate father….whom he admires most.

"For what or whom are you accountable, Sesshomaru?" The words in the youkai's memory are like the sound of icicles breaking and falling from great windy heights.

A frail and evanescent human spirit.

That is the person for whom he is accountable.

No different from his father. No different from his crass, weak half-brother.

And does he even care anymore?

No.

How disturbing.

How peculiarly satisfying.

"Lord Sesshomaru!" The unmistakable tones of the youkai's dithering, simpering servant, the toad demon Jaken, shriek through the misty air.

Sesshomaru bristles and gathers his patience about him like a swan gathers in its tailfeathers to traverse a lake. "What?" he snaps. The abruptness and coldness of his tone increases exponentially.

This is not lost on Jaken. The toad grovels expertly. "Milord, I saw the stupid worthless girl go. I will find her—do not waste your energy on such a menial task…"

Sesshomaru flares up like a white flame, rigid, claws extracted. "SHE IS NOT WORTHLESS." The words explode. Even he is taken aback by his own sudden fury.

Images of yellow blossoms, liquid drops of sun, meticulously plucked and gathered at his feet, of hair littered with leaves and brambles, of a smudged, smiling little face, one eye swollen shut, one tooth lost, of a tiny body that smells like milk and honey and soap nestled against his, overwhelm his thoughts, and Sesshomaru staggers in place.

Jaken similarly is too stunned to display a more prudent degree of fear. He gawks toothlessly at his master. "I…understand, milord…"

"No you do not. You do NOT."

"Very well, I do not…"

"She is mine to protect. You will not interfere."

"…yes, sire." The toad's eyes, yellow and unblinking, peer warily at Sesshomaru's retreating form.

The dog demon moves swiftly towards the child's form, curled up fetally in a tree hollow. He lifts her out and for the first time since he saved her life, he deliberately holds her against him in an embrace. He is surprised at how simple it is to do this, at how small she is and at how readily and warmly she clings back, her arms wrapped around his neck. He is awed at how swiftly her tears dry, how the gurgles become soft laughter into his Adam's Apple, and how that noise in her throat causes a lightness and a release inside him, and how it feels to him as great an accomplishment as slaying a previously invincible opponent in battle.

"I am sorry, Lord Sesshomaru."

"I won't forget."

There is a pause.

The child remembers a graveyard a year ago—a question she asked her master, when he saved her from a demon who ate children: "When I die, will you promise to never forget me?"

She nods. She understands.

"Don't cry, Lord Sesshomaru."

"I am not crying."

"But your eyes are so bright."

"It is not the same as tears, Rin. It is not the same as sorrow. It is something else."

"Oh." She understands again. Lord Sesshomaru never smiles. Not even when he feels great joy.

She smiles for him.

Mine.

My child.

Mine to protect and preserve as long as she wishes to trail me and shadow me.
My responsibility. My accountability. My Self-Sufficient Reason.

Father, are you happy? My soul now has a date of expiration, because it belongs to a human—a creature who will die—and does she even know it? Will she ever know the meaning of those yellow flowers she gathers? Will she ever know that I am nearly brought to my knees now, each time I pass a human grave in a too-still, too-peaceful bamboo grove?

Or perhaps when Rin ascends to heaven…

…she will take my soul with her….

….or if it doesn't go with her, it will rise, so that it is still close to hers…
…and I can walk with an elation hidden deep in my warrior's soul for my many centuries.

Because of her.