InuYasha Fan Fiction ❯ Noble Burdens ❯ Kaede's Dream ( Chapter 1 )

Disclaimer: Not mine, although could have been fun, but since my mythological knowledge has a decidedly Western bent there really could have been no way I could have created them. So, props to Rumiku Takahashi, Shonen, and Viz Media.

 

A/N: Good lord but these two, as much as I adore them, gave me problems. This is the 4th incarnation of their story because no matter how many times I tried to beat them into submission they came back to bite me in the arse. I won't bore you with the details but I will say I am pleased with the way they turned out. Miroku is still lecherous and Sango is still annoying recalcitrant but somehow, someway they met in the middle. Now I need a drink, maybe a little diet coke with my Captain, and as always, enjoy.

 

A/N Cont: This story is a “what if” story that takes place after the anime. I have never read the manga so all plot points and character interpretation are solely from the anime so this story will diverge from the manga at that point.

 

A/N Redux: Also do I really need to explain the rating? There will be sexual situations and violence but I'm going to attempt to keep it tasteful…I did say attempt so bear with me. If I have to call a lemon a lemon, so be it, consider yourself warned and don't whine.

 

Noble Burdens

 

By

 

Rogue Amazon Boo

 

 

"There are more things in heaven and earth, Horatio, than are dreamt of in your philosophy."

 

Hamlet - William Shakespeare

 

 

The days had grown shorter and the nights colder as late fall descended on Lady Kaede's village, bringing the deeper hints of a cold winter. The wise miko shifted in her sleep, feeling the chill in old joints and old bones. Her sleep had been restless of late and the priestess had felt a whisper of impending doom drifting lazily on the biting wind.

 

She wasn't surprised when he visited her in her dreams.

 

Kaede scowled and twisted in her sleep and slowly the walls around her faded and the deep howling wind grew louder as she descended.

 

The old miko blinked her one good eye opened and found herself at the highest point of a vast mountainous region. She noticed that although the wind whipped her traditional robes around her weary body the bone deep cold did not penetrate.

 

She frowned and followed the dying rays of light to behold a castle of unsurpassed beauty and splendor nestled on the horizon. Suddenly, the miko clutched her stomach as a foul aura wafted from the deceptively beautiful edifice and she fought not to vomit.

 

“This be an evil place,” she whispered.

 

“You were always astute, Lady Kaede. Even as a child.” The miko turned at the sound of the masculine voice addressing her and gave the newcomer one of her very rare smiles.

 

“Lord Komoku, what brings ye to me this night?”

 

The man; or more correctly, spirit behind her shot her a fierce grin, revealing strong white teeth. He was large, a warrior fully outfitted in armor that had been antiquated for many, many years. In his right hand he held a beautiful carved lance, the head of which was razor sharp and gleamed brightly in the setting sun.

 

He was one of the Shi Tenno, the guardians of the four cardinal directions, and a very old friend of the priestess.

 

“The same thing that always brings me to you, miko. I come with a warning.”

 

Suddenly the world shifted and Kaede found herself standing next to Komoku in a richly appointed room.

 

A young man, or at least what appeared to be a young man, was standing before her looking into a scrying basin. He was naked and had his heavy erection in his hands, stroking languidly.

 

Lady Kaede had been around much too long to let something as simple as a male masturbating embarrass her. She was much more interested in what the man was looking at while he pleasured himself.

 

Eyes narrowed, she shuffled forward to look into the jade basin and what she saw increased the feeling of dread that had been hovering in the air.

 

The image of a beautiful young woman rippled across the liquid surface. She was bathing in a hot spring, with her arms wrapped tightly around her knees, gazing into the sky with such sad, sad eyes. The wind caressed her and she shivered while it whipped her long dark hair briefly to the side. The scar it reveled on her back was jagged and ugly, the way only wounds that had never healed properly appeared.

 

“Why be this man watching Sango?”

 

Komoku looked at the man with a slight expression of distaste.

 

“He parades as the fourth Lord Toyotomi, Hisao, but that is not his true name, for he is much older then he appears.”

 

She narrowed her eyes, “Be he mortal?”

 

“Yes…and no.”

 

She frowned at the deity; she hated when they spoke in riddles. Kaede's eyes shifted back to the basin and she continued to regard the being before her.

 

“What be he then?” Komoku shook his head.

 

“I am not permitted to answer that. I can tell you only this. A great evil has been slowly gaining power in this mountain. It has stretched and corrupted many generations. The taijiya is in great danger, as is the young houshi that even now journeys closer. They will face a great test together and they will need each other, for neither is strong enough to defeat this evil alone. You must tell the monk this.”

 

“Ye can tell me nothing else?”

 

The guardian of the south smiled.

 

“The coins have summoned them. The Hunter's Moon will guide them. Their hearts will bind them. Love…never forgets.”

 

Lady Kaede awoke with a start and slowly her breathing leveled returned to normal as her familiar hut came into focus. The fire had long died, leaving only the chilly night air. A whispered caress brushed her wrinkled cheek and was gone.

 

“I will be thy messenger, my Lord,” she whispered into the night.

 

The night air swirled but did not whisper back.

 

 

HHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHH

 

 

The night sky always seemed much more infinite from the bow of a ship. Miroku sighed and placed his un-cursed hand under his head while he reclined on the hard wood of his current home and contemplated the cosmos.

 

The ocean breeze ruffled his dark hair and the stars above twinkled brightly, like billions of scattered diamonds littering an inky black canvas.

 

He lay beneath the sky and unbidden he let his normally assiduous mind wander. He shouldn't have been surprised when it chose to betray his careful control and wander to her.

 

“Sango” he whispered. The deck of the great ship was empty tonight except for the one hand that was on watch in the crow's nest, but that man had long since drifted to sleep.

 

Miroku closed his eyes and immediately the woman he had tried to push from his ever tormented mind danced behind his eyelids. He pictured her as he always did; proud and beautiful, dressed in her traditional taijiya garb, strong astride Kirara, the nekomata that was her constant companion, with Hiraikotsu slung over one shoulder.

 

His Sango…bold, independent, and so achingly fierce and beautiful that he was sure that his heart would weep. He could see her long, dark hair, bound, and blowing in a long silk ponytail behind her. Her deep brown eyes, focused in battle.

 

These Portuguese sailors told tales of many cultures he would never had experienced had fate not driven him to leave the country of his birth. One was that of the Amazons, fierce warriors of old, and although the fierce warrior was only one aspect of the complex woman he had left behind it was the one he associated most with her. What made her truly irresistible, however, was the fact that her warrior heart was tempered by her infinity capacity for compassion, and love.

 

He sighed and opened his eyes to the stars once more.

 

Now that the floodgates of his mind had opened he couldn't help but remember that day, the last day he knew he would ever gaze on her.

 

They, his friends and his beloved, had been celebrating, of sorts. Naraku was dead and her brother, Kohaku had returned. It was a bittersweet reunion, one that promised a long, uncertain future, but for the time being they would cling to whatever happiness there was to be had.

 

They had sat in a circle around a small fire near Goshinboku, eating ramen and laughing in a way that would sustain him till the next life. He had stood slightly away, far less serene than he appeared, flexing the fingers of his cursed hand and making a decision.

 

He had known then that he would have to leave. For whatever cruel twist of fate that bore him into this world had left him with a reminder that evil like Naraku's lingered long after it was banished.

 

His wind tunnel had not closed.

 

He still did not know why.

 

Miroku refused to allow the curses bubbling in his throat to fall from his lips. He let his mind drift to the moment, that one life altering event that crushed any and all dreams he had of a future.

 

It was frozen in time, Tetsusaiga slashing, Naraku screaming, blood and miasma flowing into the night, and the empty shell that had once been Naraku falling forward. The body had mummified before their very eyes and the reason became abundantly clear when Kagura stepped out of the forest, holding a bloody knife and the limp form of Akago.

 

In the aftermath of the half demon's death chaos had ensued and the monk had allowed himself to disappear into the whirlwind while keeping the horrifying knowledge of his still cursed hand to himself.

 

Miroku had managed to use his spiritual powers to hide the fact from those closest to him and had used all the skills of subterfuge he possessed to maintain a jovial mask in the face of his crushing disappointment.

 

He had hid his malady until that day…the day he knew would be the last he spent among his friends, but mostly the day he knew that he would leave…her.

 

He had watched her discreetly, kneeling near her brother and Kagome, smiling with a great deal less of the sadness that had always haunted her eyes. She had been beautiful, and cautiously hopeful.

 

It was a memory he craved because he knew that it would have to sustain him in whatever time he had left.

 

He knew that his friends, his family, would have followed. They would have followed him to the very gates of hell had they known what he was going to do, but he refused to put them in any more danger.

 

Naraku was dead and now they had the chance to be free, to be happy. Miroku would not have taken that from them for the world.

 

This was no longer their burden, or their fight. It was his to carry, his to endure, his alone.

 

He had left them that very night, sleeping underneath a blanket of stars similar to the ones he was now gazing at, and he had never looked back.

 

The few times that he allowed his mind to drift to her, allowed himself the bittersweet pain he found himself wondering. Was she happy? Had done as she had always hoped and rebuilt her village? Did she and her brother live there? Had she married? Did she have children?

 

Part of him hoped that she had done any and all those things, but the selfish part of him hoped that she…

 

He sighed in disgust. He had no right to hope for such a thing.

 

Realistically he knew though, two years was a long time. Heart heavy he sighed and let his thoughts shift to less tortuous subjects.

 

He frowned deeply and dug into his robes to pull out the peculiar coin that had managed to find him at the last port. Hachi, probably with Mushin's help had sent it on a merchant vessel headed toward the region he was last heard to be traveling through.

 

The coin was a summons, a summons that he could not ignore, and it greatly complicated things.

 

Many years before his grandfather, the monk Miyatsu, made a mistake and accidentally pulled a young human boy into his wind tunnel while vanquishing a demon. The Shougante he had preformed the service for was lead by a powerful Shogun by the name of Toyotomi and the boy was his nephew.

 

Instead of taking his grandfather's life the Shogun commanded that Miyatsu, from that day forth owned him a life debt. Three times he would call on Miyatsu's line and three times they would come when summoned to perform whatever service that was demanded of them.

 

His grandfather accepted, but came to regret his decision. Miyatsu was summoned by the Shogun but he never told a soul what had been demanded of him. Miroku's own father also went when Miroku was still a young boy.

 

The day his father returned he locked himself in the shrine and wept for three days. Mushin told him later that his father never spoke of what occurred; only that he hoped his shame would be forgiven.

 

The chill that had been creeping into his soul made him shiver.

 

Perhaps, thinking of Sango would be less painful, and surely sweeter.

 

He sighed. He was returning to Japan, the place where he had left so much unresolved to go on a journey that had proved fruitless. It was getting harder and harder with each passing day to hold on to hope.

 

“Why Miroku, you seem unusually contemplative tonight, my dear boy.”

 

Miroku lifted his head just enough to see who was addressing him. His deep amethyst gaze landed on his friend Father Manuel. The old priest was fat, usually drunk, and reminded him of Mushin in many ways, tonight though his eyes were clear and his nose less bulbous than usual. A delicate beaded rosary was wrapped around his right hand and Miroku knew that his friend had just finished his prayers.

 

“It is too late, or too early depending on your perspective to save my heathen soul Manuel,” Miroku said in perfect Portuguese.

 

The Priest chuckled low in his throat and lowered himself down painfully to sit next to his friend.

 

“For once I think God agrees with you, monk,” Manuel replied in perfect Japanese.

 

Miroku smirked and turned his gaze to the sky once more. When he had first come aboard the Pardal Do Vôo six months ago he had not understood a word these white men uttered, but Father Manuel had spoken limited Chinese, a language that Miroku had also picked up early in his travels and together they had taught each other the languages of their birth.

 

“You have also managed in an extraordinarily devious manner to avoid my question. So tell me, what is going through that perplexing head of yours.”

 

Miroku's smirk grew wider.

 

“Wouldn't you like to know, priest.”

 

Father Manuel said nothing and slid down further to rest his aching back against the hard wood of the ships bow.

 

“I don't have to know because the Lord in his divine wisdom has given me, a humble priest, powers of discernment and what I discern is that only a woman can put such a look on a man's face.”

 

Miroku's smirk faltered and but he held his jovial mask in place and laughed.

 

“And what would you know of women? Eh my friend? I thought that your God and your Church have forced you to remain celibate.” The monk shuddered slightly at the very thought.

 

Manuel looked slightly affronted. “I admit that my chosen path in life does demand that I resist the temptation of the fairer sex but that does not mean, my boy, that I am ignorant of the affairs of the heart.”

 

“Priest, you have known me long enough to know that I am seldom interested in affairs of the heart and much more attuned to, as you would put it, the sins of the flesh.”

 

A calculating look flashed through Father Manuel's dark brown eyes and the fat priest briefly toyed with the beads of his rosary.

 

“Your expression was not that of one contemplating the most alluring of the seven deadliest of sins, although I am sure that for a woman to have stolen your heart, she has probably starred in some of your more…lecherous fantasies.”

 

Miroku laughed. “My more lecherous fantasies would have you praying for my soul on an hourly basis my friend. You are, however; wrong to assume that what I feel for any woman goes beyond mere lust.”

 

The priest shook his head and looked upon Miroku with eyes that saw far too much. The monk's mask slipped once again and it was harder the second time to force it in place.

 

“I already pray for your soul on an hourly basis. Come, my friend, enough of this nonsense. We have been through far too much these past few months for you to start lying to me now. Tell me her name.”

 

Miroku could see no way out of this verbal sparring that was such a mark of their friendship and simply sighed in defeat. His face lost all trace of the forced joviality it had previously contained and this time the smile that touch his lips was real and laced with weary pain.

 

“Since it seems you will pester me until I tell you I guess you leave me little choice.” He paused and met Manuel's gaze directly. “Her name is…Sango”

 

Even the priest could not miss the weight of importance those two syllables held for the young monk. He grew serious as he regarded his friend carefully.

 

“A beautiful name.”

 

Miroku made no reply for a moment. He was once again looking at the stars.

 

“Yes, it is a beautiful name for an incredibly beautiful woman.” One that I would give up again if it meant keeping her safe, he thought to himself.

 

The priest nodded sagely. “You have known incredibly beautiful women before, my friend. What I find curious is why it is this one who has taken your heart.”

 

Miroku smirked and his eyes lit with an inner glow. How could he answer such a question? Sango, his beautiful, vulnerable, deadly, passionate Sango. She was such a contradiction, timid and bold, shy yet ardent, innocent and wise, intensely private but so very, very alive. How he had loved to make her angry and drive the soul crushing loneliness out of her cinnamon orbs at every opportunity.

 

Well, that was only partially the reason, his mind whispered.

 

A man would have to be either a eunuch or dead not to appreciate the very luscious curve of her leather clad bottom. How he truly loved her taijiya armor. Miroku's lustful thoughts must have been radiating from his face because Father Manuel was delicately clearing his throat and looking anywhere but at the young monk.

 

“Sango is…more than just a beautiful woman, and although it is her beauty that first drew my attention it was her strength that held me. She is everything I never wanted in a woman, strong, battle worn, infinitely honorable, hardly any trace of femininity left in her at all, but when we met she had the loneliest eyes I had ever seen. How can a man defend himself against a woman filled with so many contradictions? She was…is, utterly fascinating to me and I…well I will probably never see her again so this conversation is pointless.”

 

He was half tempted to describe the pure vivaciousness of her when engaged in battle but he had come to realize that these Christians preferred their demons in a more existential form. His friend would not be able to comprehend the bitter reality.

 

The priest frowned.

 

“Is not the next port, some three days hence, the land of your birth? Why do you not find this woman and tell her how you truly feel”

 

Miroku's gaze slide away from his friend's and he unconsciously flexed the fingers of his right hand. His kazaana twitched in response.

 

“Sometimes, my friend, fate is not kind to those who are in its path. Perhaps…in the next life…”

 

Father Manuel heard the deep note of sadness and regret and placed a fatherly hand on his young friend's shoulder. He said nothing more and Miroku was grateful.

 

His last thoughts seemed to echo across the night sky.

 

Be happy, my beautiful Sango, be happy…for me.