InuYasha Fan Fiction ❯ Brothers-in-Arms ❯ Defining Moments ( Chapter 2 )

 

Disclaimer: The only claim I have on these characters was made in the Live Journal community 30Shards, whose story prompts serve as a basis for this tale. In point of fact, the inu-brothers belong to Rumiko Takahashi.

 

Dedication: With gratitude to Racing Stripes, who knows how to break up the monotony.

 

Date: 05.20.07

 

Brothers-in-Arms by Ginger Bits

 

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Chapter 2: Defining Moments

 

With a groan that climbed in pitch to a shriek, tortured timber gave way, limbs crashing to the ground with a rattle and clatter of leaves. Sesshomaru cracked his knuckles and leveled scarlet eyes on his next victim. Crouching, he narrowed his gaze, plotting the gnarled oak's imminent evisceration. A growl rumbled through his chest and snarled past his lips with a snap of fangs. As the stripes adorning his cheekbones widened further and frayed at their edges, the inuyoukai launched himself. Silk streamed, hair swung, and the air crackled with vengeful intensity.

 

Sesshomaru didn't have anything against these unfortunate trees, as it happened. He did, however, have a particular tree in mind as denuded branches bent, then buckled beneath his onslaught. Ribbons of bark were torn away as he flayed their rough skin, exposing pale wood to the moonlight. Fibers separated, shredded with every gouging twist of the taiyoukai's hand. A cord of light was flung about the torn and battered trunk, then pulled through, the sap vaporizing with the heat of its passage. Gloating in a fleeting moment of triumph at the tumultuous collapse, the inuyoukai scanned the forest, his thirst for mayhem unquenched.

 

Sesshomaru was a taiyoukai, born to be great. Few could stand before him simply because of who and what he was. The product of his pedigree, the fulfillment of a calculated union, the continuation of a proud lineage—a strong heir. Thanks to his father, he was fierce and powerful and lightning fast. Thanks to his mother, he was lithe and elegant and deadly poison. These traits were his birthright.

 

From the moment he'd been conceived, his parents had expected nothing less than perfection from him. His very naming bore witness to the fact. After all, how could any pup born of such self-assured beings fail to be anything but exceptional? As Sesshomaru grew, they looked on with proprietary pride. “He bears the mark of my family on his brow.” “Silver and gold—anyone will be able to tell he is my son.” As each trait was manifested, they pointed and preened. “Did you see? He inherited my clan's dokkaso. Do you think he will gain the whip as well?” “He summoned a cloud of youki today. You realize that means he will be able to fly like me.”

 

In this way, while the youth was praised for the marks of his heritage, his father and mother retained their claims on them, so Sesshomaru could not own them. The legacy was theirs, not his. He was not so foolish as to reject the advantages granted him; Sesshomaru did not scorn what he could use. When it came to his innate youkai abilities, no one could disparage his self-possession. He excelled, seamlessly integrating his parents' bequests until he lived up to his name and then some.

 

A smile twisted across the taiyoukai's aristocratic features at these memories as he curled his hand to call forth his dokkaso. The heavily-scented green mist boiled up from his palm, acrid condensation dripping and hissing upon the ground at his feet. Vegetation sizzled and wept, melting away at his very touch.

 

Sesshomaru did not like to rely upon these inborn abilities in battle. The victories he attained throughout his years of training felt hollow. They brought glory to his parents and he craved a triumph that could be counted his alone. The seeds of ambition were sown as the desire to distinguish himself took root and flourished. He would not live in the shadow of his father nor rely upon the reputation of his mother. He would find his own way and surpass them both.

 

A foretaste of renown came with his introduction to the sword, which quickly became his weapon of choice. Fighting with swords leveled the playing field. When you faced an opponent blade-to-blade, the battle shifted from a comparison of natural skills to a test of mastered ones. Sesshomaru knew his first defeats at the point of his sensei's sword, but he also experienced the sweet satisfaction of hard-won victory with a blade in his hand. The young lord had found a way to prove himself to himself, and spent hours in the practice halls honing his technique. His father had laughed and called him an over-achiever. His mother had looked askance and called him contrary. Sesshomaru ignored them both and did as he pleased.

 

Yes, Sesshomaru preferred a sword—the embodiment of precise, refined, deadly intentions. It suited both his needs and his nature. However, there were times when handling a sword paled in comparison to the visceral pleasure of tearing into something with bare hands. His youkai reveled in these rare moments of private ire when Sesshomaru gave vent to his baser instincts… such as the deforestation he was currently indulging in.

 

After so many hours of continuous exertion, his muscles were beginning to quiver in protest. The heel of a boot planted itself against the vertical surface of an ancient cypress, allowing Sesshomaru to twist his body and change his trajectory. With acrobatic daring, he combined tumbling and slashing, ricocheting through the widening clearing in a cathartic frenzy. Relentlessly, he pushed himself, testing his limits as he achieved dizzying speeds. His blood sang in his ears as he leapt and lashed out indiscriminately, managing, even in the throes of his fury, to craft destruction into a dance.

 

The taiyoukai panted lightly as he surveyed the aftermath of his towering rage in the pale light of the dawn. The bitter sweetness of his dokkaso hung in the air, mingled with the sharp, almost metallic tang left behind by his energy whip. Red fire drained slowly from his eyes as he turned his back on the scene of destruction, face devoid of expression.

 

Bokuseno would have called his display a pup's tantrum, and he might have been correct. Sesshomaru was avoiding the decision that lay before him. He forced himself to go over the ancient magnolia's advice once again. The old youkai was right—not about everything, but enough. There was only one way left to him, and the feeling of being backed into a corner stirred the Western Lord's anger afresh.

 

The very idea of approaching Inuyasha for help made his gut roil in protest. Sesshomaru honestly didn't know which would be worse—outright rejection would rob him of his position, but acceptance would put him in an unwanted position. Should Inuyasha agree to help him secure their father's legacy, he would be indebted to the very brother he'd always spurned. The notion did not just cut; it twisted.

 

Sesshomaru prided himself on needing no one. He had single-mindedly pursued his quest for power, and the path had been largely unobstructed until recent years. The courts of the Western Lands had become rife with gossip and speculation. Squabbling courtiers regularly undercut Sesshomaru's authority and spread doubt as to their lord's ability to lead the clans into the next century. A formal challenge seemed imminent.

 

This was a battle, but one suited to strategists and politicians rather than warriors. Sesshomaru was enough of a tactician to recognize the state of affairs. He needed to reestablish his dominance, assert his right to rule, and prove himself in the eyes of his subjects—all without resorting to wholesale slaughter. Leadership required a delicate balance of consideration towards one's supporters and ruthlessness towards one's detractors. A show of strength was preferred to a show of force.

 

Inuyasha was his best choice for an alliance, though he'd hoped his father's old advisor might have suggested some other, overlooked option. Sesshomaru was no fool—a part of him had known from the beginning what Bokuseno would say. At least now I can place the blame for this visit on the tree youkai. The taiyoukai gave a soft, self-deprecating laugh, chilling for its lack of humor. Acknowledging the truth was not the same as accepting it or acting on it. He had shown the courage to find his own path and prove himself a worthy heir to the West. Did he have the courage to secure his birthright, even if it meant letting go of his pride?

 

For the good of the family, for the good of the West, for the good of the future, I will do what I must. This is the right thing to do, but I hate it with every fiber of my being. Sesshomaru's fate awaited the decision of a hanyou he'd hoped never to see again. With a growl, the Western Lord leapt into the sky, transforming into an orb of silvered light and streaking across the sky on a path that lead inexorably towards his hated half-brother's village.

 

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The watcher on duty sprawled lazily in the crook of a tree. It was a good vantage point, overlooking most of Edo. He could see everything from the village center all the way down to the rice paddies along the riverbank. It had been a quiet day so far, and one leg swung carelessly in the breeze as he whittled idly at a stick. When the first vibrations of power buffeted his keen senses, he stilled, everything going on high alert. A youkai of immense power was nearing the village, making no effort to hide its approach. What's more, the youki was one the watcher remembered all too well and his eyes widened in both astonishment and dread. “Oh, shit,” he muttered, as he dropped out of the tree and lit out across the fields, hoping to intercept the oncoming threat.

 

Sesshomaru drew up short outside his brother's village. Though he'd lost much of his pent up animosity en route, he did not have the patience to deal with this new obstacle. A gangly kitsune that was barely out of adolescence determinedly barred his path. “What do you want, Sesshomaru?” demanded the fox youkai bluntly.

 

Who is this impertinent kit with the audacity to address me in such a tone? Sesshomaru looked him over. Long red hair had been gathered into a topknot, and bright green eyes glared fiercely. His carried a wazikashi at one hip, and a small dagger protruded from the waistband of his blue hakama, but this boy was no threat to the taiyoukai and they both knew it. Twin tails switched nervously against trembling knees as Sesshomaru stalked forward with predatory grace.

 

To his surprise, the kitsune stood his ground. “What business do you have here?” the little upstart persisted, his eyebrows lowering in an oddly familiar scowl. Now where have I seen that look before? Sesshomaru actually paused to consider the young youkai more closely. It was vexing, that momentary flash of recognition. Something about the boy's brash attitude called to Sesshomaru, and the temptation to teach the little pest a lesson was too great to ignore.

 

Before the kitsune could react, Sesshomaru moved. Claw tips threatened to pierce his vulnerable throat as the inuyoukai lifted the adolescent off his feet, letting him dangle helplessly from his grasp. “Your insolence has a familiar ring to it, kit,” he murmured with deceptive placidity. The fox youkai merely gasped for air, then showed the good sense to go limp. “Hnn,” Sesshomaru hummed his approval of the boy's submission and relaxed his grip slightly. No one takes that tone with me, not for many a decade. Not since…

 

“Oi, asshole!” shouted a gruff voice. “Turn the runt loose!”

 

Sesshomaru allowed his eyes to slide from the face of the fox youkai to the figure standing on the rise to his left. The distinctive silver hair of his clan lifted slightly in the summer breeze, and the brilliant red of his half-brother's fire-rat was the same as he remembered. Tessaiga pulsed with the frisson of its transformation as it was leveled in his direction. Golden eyes bore down on him with the very glower the kit had emulated. Ah, of course. Arching a brow challengingly, Sesshomaru dropped the kitsune and turned to face the hanyou.

 

Inuyasha spared Shippo a glance to make sure the kit was all right, then narrowed his eyes at the taiyoukai. “Why are you here, Sesshomaru?”

 

Gathering his courage and clinging to whatever vestiges of pride might remain to him, the taiyoukai made the choice that would likely redefine his future. “Inuyasha,” he drawled by way of greeting. “We need to talk.”

 

 

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Shard 20, Courage

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