[Week 97] Overlook
Well! I'm not sure if I'm still within the deadline, since I'm in a different time zone and Sesshoumaru seemed quite unwilling to let me write about his flaws. This is supposedly part of a bigger project on Sesshoumaru's psychological issues that I'll most likely never finish. Okbai.
Title: Western Skies
Author: Harlow R.
Genre: General/Angst
Word count: 873
Rating: G
Warnings: None
AU/Canon: Canon
It was the warm eyes of Inuyasha's wife that greeted him that day, and his discreet surprise was the excuse for the way he watched them out of the corner of his eyes. Rin's mildly injured wrist was the excuse for staying longer than usual.
She called him “brother”.
His disgust was mirrored by Inuyasha as both rejected any notion of family that dared attempt to place them in the same semantic universe, under the shelter of the same genealogy, before the eyes of the same father--
…any attempt to naturally compare them as if they belonged metaphorically back to back in the subconscious minds of those who knew them. Yes, they would say, the sons of the Inu no Taishou.
If the identity of one such as he could not be lost, it could certainly be dissipated, diluted in the reality of his half-brother’s birth. Much like the arrow that once bound Inuyasha to a tree, the boy’s human half wrapped like chains around Sesshoumaru’s youkai essence, pairing him forever with one who was not of his world, not of his life.
He had never wanted to be anyone’s brother.
Since his father’s death, he would appear to Sesshoumaru in sporadic, frustrating dreams in which the old man’s face was always impassive, and his own claws and teeth were as blunt and ineffective as that of his brother during his mysterious human night. The Inu no Taishou, long dead and gone, would become the face of the gods of judgement, and occasionally he would smile knowingly at the results of the psychological journey he planned for his eldest son, the little pawn.
Yes, the one he specifically chose to produce with Sesshoumaru’s Lady Mother, the most powerful female youkai of their species - they had both planned his glorious existence, cunningly, carefully, almost lovingly.
Almost. And it was not until the birth of his feeble half-brother that it bothered him how close he never was to being loved or cherished by the father he had come to worship - and such a notion - embarrassing, unmentionably weak and pathetic - was buried so deeply within the pride of his own heritage that not even in his elemental form could he claw it out.
No, instead it would flow out of its own accord, seemingly randomly. Such as when the cheerful priestess looked directly into his eyes without fear or any particular amount of deference.
Inuyasha’s priestess.
Her garments were different, traditional priestess robes this time, but she somehow seemed even more distant from her dead predecessor in his eyes. He had never thought them particularly similar: her scent and aura were so specific that he had been mildly surprised at the absurdity of comparing them, even back then. Indeed, she wore the religious robes, but they did not wear her; her identity was not tied to priestesshood like his was to his armour and swords.
He noticed the way Inuyasha sat close to her, the ever-present scowl and narrowed eyes still in place while his posture, heart rate, scent belied the satisfaction and relief he clearly felt at her presence at last.
They both seemed oblivious to the looks sent their way by the others - their old travelling companions, the old woman, even the kit, even Rin. He is so happy now, he would overhear them saying, he deserves to be happy; she brings so much joy to his heart, she touched his life in such a way; he was always so sad and alone before.
His brother, the favoured son, epic sword with the ratty handle at his hip, Naraku’s destruction beneath his claws, was sad and alone.
Sesshoumaru had always been alone. Even Rin’s company was a brilliant and brief speck of nothing; now she would go back to her kind and the sense of responsibility instilled in him since birth would never allow him to keep her without giving her a choice. And even so - even so, her life was so ridiculously short that it would almost not be worth doing so, anyway.
He always knew he was going to be alone - that it had to be so. And the idea was so natural to him that Inuyasha's yearning for company from humans like a domesticated puppy added another layer of gooey disgust for the taint in his brother’s blood.
But it was no longer the case - Inuyasha had a wife now, and friends, and soon would have children whose blood would be even more diluted, like a drop of plum wine in a jar of water. And he was happy.
When he had gone from wanting what Inuyasha had to wanting who Inuyasha had, Sesshoumaru did not know.
Much like the sword, he knew - the object that so effectively symbolised the uneven distribution of his father’s preference - his want of her came from a sense of entitlement he did not quite comprehend or look too deeply into; from a mad ambition to gather things in his arms - bitterness coiled in his chest - and never let his brother touch or even look at them.
But his brother touched and looked at her. And she returned the touch of his grubby hands with warmth, acceptance and love.
And Sesshoumaru waited.
Title: Western Skies
Author: Harlow R.
Genre: General/Angst
Word count: 873
Rating: G
Warnings: None
AU/Canon: Canon
It was the warm eyes of Inuyasha's wife that greeted him that day, and his discreet surprise was the excuse for the way he watched them out of the corner of his eyes. Rin's mildly injured wrist was the excuse for staying longer than usual.
She called him “brother”.
His disgust was mirrored by Inuyasha as both rejected any notion of family that dared attempt to place them in the same semantic universe, under the shelter of the same genealogy, before the eyes of the same father--
…any attempt to naturally compare them as if they belonged metaphorically back to back in the subconscious minds of those who knew them. Yes, they would say, the sons of the Inu no Taishou.
If the identity of one such as he could not be lost, it could certainly be dissipated, diluted in the reality of his half-brother’s birth. Much like the arrow that once bound Inuyasha to a tree, the boy’s human half wrapped like chains around Sesshoumaru’s youkai essence, pairing him forever with one who was not of his world, not of his life.
He had never wanted to be anyone’s brother.
Since his father’s death, he would appear to Sesshoumaru in sporadic, frustrating dreams in which the old man’s face was always impassive, and his own claws and teeth were as blunt and ineffective as that of his brother during his mysterious human night. The Inu no Taishou, long dead and gone, would become the face of the gods of judgement, and occasionally he would smile knowingly at the results of the psychological journey he planned for his eldest son, the little pawn.
Yes, the one he specifically chose to produce with Sesshoumaru’s Lady Mother, the most powerful female youkai of their species - they had both planned his glorious existence, cunningly, carefully, almost lovingly.
Almost. And it was not until the birth of his feeble half-brother that it bothered him how close he never was to being loved or cherished by the father he had come to worship - and such a notion - embarrassing, unmentionably weak and pathetic - was buried so deeply within the pride of his own heritage that not even in his elemental form could he claw it out.
No, instead it would flow out of its own accord, seemingly randomly. Such as when the cheerful priestess looked directly into his eyes without fear or any particular amount of deference.
Inuyasha’s priestess.
Her garments were different, traditional priestess robes this time, but she somehow seemed even more distant from her dead predecessor in his eyes. He had never thought them particularly similar: her scent and aura were so specific that he had been mildly surprised at the absurdity of comparing them, even back then. Indeed, she wore the religious robes, but they did not wear her; her identity was not tied to priestesshood like his was to his armour and swords.
He noticed the way Inuyasha sat close to her, the ever-present scowl and narrowed eyes still in place while his posture, heart rate, scent belied the satisfaction and relief he clearly felt at her presence at last.
They both seemed oblivious to the looks sent their way by the others - their old travelling companions, the old woman, even the kit, even Rin. He is so happy now, he would overhear them saying, he deserves to be happy; she brings so much joy to his heart, she touched his life in such a way; he was always so sad and alone before.
His brother, the favoured son, epic sword with the ratty handle at his hip, Naraku’s destruction beneath his claws, was sad and alone.
Sesshoumaru had always been alone. Even Rin’s company was a brilliant and brief speck of nothing; now she would go back to her kind and the sense of responsibility instilled in him since birth would never allow him to keep her without giving her a choice. And even so - even so, her life was so ridiculously short that it would almost not be worth doing so, anyway.
He always knew he was going to be alone - that it had to be so. And the idea was so natural to him that Inuyasha's yearning for company from humans like a domesticated puppy added another layer of gooey disgust for the taint in his brother’s blood.
But it was no longer the case - Inuyasha had a wife now, and friends, and soon would have children whose blood would be even more diluted, like a drop of plum wine in a jar of water. And he was happy.
When he had gone from wanting what Inuyasha had to wanting who Inuyasha had, Sesshoumaru did not know.
Much like the sword, he knew - the object that so effectively symbolised the uneven distribution of his father’s preference - his want of her came from a sense of entitlement he did not quite comprehend or look too deeply into; from a mad ambition to gather things in his arms - bitterness coiled in his chest - and never let his brother touch or even look at them.
But his brother touched and looked at her. And she returned the touch of his grubby hands with warmth, acceptance and love.
And Sesshoumaru waited.