A/N: This was written for Forthrightly's LJ "Feudal Fable" contest. The fable I paralleled was "The Rose and the Amaranth" who's moral was "greatness carries its own penalties."

What I Thought I Wanted

Sesshomaru stood at the edge of a cliff on a day that was as dark as night. He wouldn't have known the difference in the time if it wasn't for the bustle of activity in the manor at his back; the home of his father, which he'd inherited upon his death. He'd built onto it years ago, making it one of Japan's most prominent strongholds. But the construction had little to do with protection, and everything to do with a challenge. He dared anyone to try to rise against him, and struck them down as soon as they did. No one could equal him in battle but he couldn't help trying, almost obsessively, to find a worthy opponent somewhere.

It was exhausting, having so much power. He could do whatever he wanted, but he didn't feel like doing anything. He could kill anyone who annoyed him, and not bat an eyelash; it took no effort at all. How boring. At least when he'd still been striving for this power he'd been doing something meaningful. And it hadn't mattered that Jaken or his half-breed brother had to die in the process. It didn't matter that even Rin had grown scared of him and been killed because he'd let her run away, cursed her for it, and forgotten her. Who were any of them that he should remember them? They were the dirt under his feet, the blood on his blade, the milestones on the journey that had brought him here.

He jumped down from the cliff and strode purposely to the beach, the last place he'd seen his father, and fixed his eyes on the dark water. He'd figured out years ago what his father meant when he asked 'do you have someone to protect?' He thought it would make him stronger. But it only slowed him down. Jaken, Rin, the dragon...even the manor, were distractions and nothing more. He'd achieved everything he'd ever wanted once they were gone, which only proved how useless they were while they were alive. The Tetsusaiga was now his. He'd dominated it with sheer power and then he'd spilled his brother's blood with it. That was all he needed to be strong, not his old man's idealism. But even that victory was hollow. The thrill hadn't even lasted a week before it turned bitter in his mouth.

He stared at the sword, the one his traitorous mind still considered his brother's, and then flung it into the sea without a second thought.

It took him a few more hours, but eventually he followed it, closing his eyes as the water swept him up and letting the weight of his armor and pelt drag him down. Is this what you meant, Father, when you told me "greatness has its own penalties?"