knittingknots (knittingknots) wrote,
knittingknots
knittingknots

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Oneshot: Change Unchanged

Gah!  Sesshoumaru steps up to my head and demands, not asks, for a oneshot.  I told him, but I was going to write something different.  He looked at me with eyes that grew uncomfortable to meet, and said, "Silly Ningen, you know who I am.  This is what you will do."  So, I did.

Sessh/Rin, of course.  Takes place in my timeline somewhere probably about August, 1561, not quite four and a half years after Kagome's return




Change Unchanged


How fleeting, human time,  he thought.

He watched her dance in the sunshine to a song of her own making, remembering how she looked at the beginning, a bright light in spite of everything that had happened to her.  She would dance then, too, even as Jaken would sigh and complain, singing small little songs about the world around her, Jaken, the flowers, and even occasionally, when she thought he was out of earshot, songs about him.

“Will he remember,
will he stop sometime and think
of me when he sees
the lilies in the field bloom
or the blossoms in the tree?”

Her voice was sweeter now, not the clear piping child’s voice when she first began talking.  He had a flash of memory, of her as the cast off orphan child, speechless and in rags.  And now, she danced in the sun in this meadow, no longer a small child, but a girl upon the edge of true womanhood.  Her hair had grown long, trailing down her back in a low pony tail, midnight dark, touched with highlights from the sun.

She was dressed today in a kosode of pale blue, worked in a bold design of pink and darker blue flowers, a gift he had left with her not long before.  It was tied with a scarlet obi, the long tails also marked in blue flowers.  The soft silk hid as much as it revealed, but it gave her an elegance beyond that one would expect of a girl being raised as a ward of the village miko and under the watchful eye of his brother and sister-in-law.  Still, it was there, in every step she took.  Bending over, she plucked a flower, a small lily, and stuck it in her hair, then continued her dance.

“Will he remember
the small lily he cared for
when she was a bud,
when she gave only a hint
of the flower she would be?”

She swayed, lifted one hand gracefully into the air.  Still petite and delicate, her hand, yet he remembered it when it was small and sometimes grubby, marked by plucking flowers, and playing with rocks, and occasionally stealing melons from the gardens of the villages they passed near.  Since those days he had seen that hand sew delicate garments, soothe crying children, plant rice and gather herbs, heal the ill and fight off ill wishers.  It was deceptive in its grace and delicacy, a hand that had grown in competence and ability, and still looked like one his clawed hand could swallow whole.

She dropped her arm and swirled, looking vaguely in the direction where he stood out of her sight.

“Will he remember
how she danced for only him,
swaying in the sun,
watching while she danced alone
when he thought she did not know.”

She turned slowly, then gracefully dropped to the ground, bowing low, letting her forehead touch the green grass.  Seven, almost eight years had passed since the day he first saw her.  She had no fear that day, coming upon him wounded and hurt and angry.  When the wolves chased her, she had not run to the village, but to him.  He in turn became entrapped in her sunny smile, her admiration, her love of pretty things and even her little songs.  Seven years, just a blink of an eye to a daiyoukai such as himself, but so quickly had she changed. He found himself still entrapped by all those things that made him walk into hell to save her . . . yet somehow now, everything was different.

He silently left his hiding place and walked over to where she was kneeling, and stood before her, saying nothing.  She looked up at him, mildly surprised, but pleased, pleased as she was by any attention he gave her.
 
“Yes, Rin, this Sesshoumaru will remember,” he said, softly.

Her face lit up with a brilliant smile, even as a blush colored her cheeks.  “My lord?” she said.

A soft breeze blew around him, stirring his silver hair.  His golden eyes held hers for a moment, then he  held out his hand. 

She looked at it hesitantly for a moment, then placed her small hand in his, then allowed him to lift her up to her feet.

“This Sesshoumaru remembers everything about Rin,” he said.

Saying no more for the moment, the two walked out of the meadow and into the forest, both for the moment content.


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