Resurrection of a Monk Chapter 1, an inuyasha fanfic

Author's Note: I promised Sesshomaru (in "Deus ex Sesshomaru no Machina") that I'd toss an uke Miroku to him for a Seme treat. I fulfill my promise in this story…sorta. I'm opting for a serious/romance tone, as I think a little angst will be good for growth for both. Lemon coming in chapter 4.

Resurrection of a Monk

How fragile humans are, thought Sesshomaru, looking down from the cliff's edge at the monk's prostrate form. The inuyokai had watched without intervening as the human attempted to fend off Naraku's horde of lesser demons. In the battle, the monk—whose name he knew to be Miroku—received multiple wounds even before the swarm of saimyosho was upon him. Weak and bloodied, he had thrown spell scrolls, swung his staff, and finally, in desperation, released the wind tunnel in his palm, absorbing dozens of Naraku's insects before sealing his hand as he fell to earth in a heap. Without his companions to fight beside and deflect some of the attacks, the monk was doomed.

Sesshomaru suspected that Miroku had been heading to the same shrine as he, albeit for different reasons. The Uesugi shrine was said to have been visited by his father, the Great Dog Demon. It was a place he had come to focus and restore his powers after battles. Sesshomaru had even heard it had regenerative powers. Inuyasha had taken his arm in battle, and he had afterwards used the jewel shard-enhanced replacement Naraku had given him, to ill effect. Since this time, Sesshomaru had become determined to renew himself properly and permanently. He would have his revenge on both worthless hanyo opponents, especially Naraku.

He could guess that the monk's motives were quite different. From afar, he had noted Miroku's penchant for lechery. Jaken had reported that the shrine was protected by twin human priestesses that no doubt would be considered beautiful by men such as this feeble monk. To Sesshomaru, they were merely obstacles to his regeneration.

The inuyokai leapt neatly down to stand beside the fallen human. His tawny eyes evaluated emotionlessly. He was not moving. Not breathing. Sesshomaru contemplated the scene before him: a small dead mortal body in the midst of upturned soil, the ashen remains of lower demons, fallen saimyosho that had not been absorbed into the wind tunnel. This Miroku was a fool who gave his short, meaningless existence away too easily. Nonetheless, Sesshomaru found he could not relish his death. He was not an enemy, just a fool. And it was not his responsibility to save him from his rash self-sacrifice. He turned away.

After a few steps, he found himself in thought: he and the monk, two solitary figures, both victimized by Naraku, both entangled in the life of Inuyasha. But the similarities stopped there. He looked over his shoulder at the crumpled corpse. No, Miroku meant nothing to him. He returned to the body. Unsheathing Tenseiga, he watched as the demons of death appeared. He raised his sword and slashed through them.

Resurrection held no fascination for Sesshomaru. Tenseiga was not the legacy he sought from his father. The monk shuddered, breathed. His eyes opened softly to behold his savior. His lips parted but he did not speak. Sesshomaru sheathed Tenseiga and walked away.

"Wait," came Miroku's hoarse voice.

Sesshomaru stopped.

"Please…what happened to me?" he said, rising to a seated position.

Sesshomaru turned and met the monk's frightened gaze.

"I remember…fighting demons. There were too many…and saimyosho…I could not…I was wounded…poisoned…I collapsed…."

Sesshomaru blinked his cold, impassive eyes.

Miroku's pulse raced. He held up his hand. His palm was covered and sheathed safely in his prayer beads. "How was I healed?"

There was no answer. Sesshomaru pivoted on a delicate heel and walked away.

Miroku dropped his head into his hands. He felt weary but unwounded, free of poison. What had happened here? He knew with certainty that he had been fighting Naraku's demons. He knew his quest: to defeat Naraku, the one who had cursed his grandfather and his father and him in turn. He knew he had come upon the demons on his solitary journey…somewhere. Was there more? He brought to mind the tanuki Hachi, his sometime companion, but Hachi had not been with him this day. It felt as if there were others he should know and remember. But no. He was a solitary traveler, had long been so.

He definitely did not know the tall, slender demon that had just stood before him, sword unsheathed, as he lay wounded. Yet was he friend or foe? Would he have killed him if he had not awakened? No, that made no sense. He was easy prey, even if somehow the poison had not harmed him, even if the wounds had somehow vanished. What seemed more likely was that the yokai stranger had healed him, yet this did not seem logical. Why would he save a stranger, and a mortal stranger at that? Perhaps he, too, was an enemy of Naraku? That must be it.

Miroku rose, grabbed his staff, and scrambled after the retreating white-maned figure. If he had, indeed, saved his life, he owed him thanks. And, if he was after Naraku, despite being himself a demon, he might even offer allegiance.

Reaching his side, Miroku kept pace and took in the silent majesty of his apparent rescuer. This was no ordinary demon. With his every step, he exuded power and composure. He inspired deference in the young monk. "My Lord," Miroku began, bowing his head and hoping the yokai would again stop for him. When he did not, Miroku rushed ahead and dropped to his knees before him. "Please, Demon Lord, tell me: did you save my life just now?"

Sesshomaru halted before the monk. He paused, considering the best path of response. Strictly speaking, he provided resurrection not rescue, but no matter. Looking out at the clouds that dotted the sunny sky to gauge whether he would reach the shrine before sunset, he offered a single syllable of affirmation.

At the terse reply, Miroku realized he had better respond quickly and persuasively if he did not wish to be left behind. He could not tell why, but he suddenly felt as if he were missing answers to more than how he had just been healed. He must not let himself be abandoned here. He bowed low, touching his forehead to the earth. "Please allow me to offer my humble services in repayment of your generosity, Demon Lord. You will find me both honorable and dutiful. My life is yours to command."

Even as the words poured forth from him and he awaited its impact, Miroku knew he might be making a dreadful mistake. Who knew what this being's motive was for saving him. He might be Naraku's enemy, but he also might be a demon of equal malevolence with his own agenda. And there seemed little chance he would suddenly decide to explain himself. For long moments, Miroku remained in his submissive posture.

Sesshomaru eyed the monk with suspicion. Was it possible the pathetic creature truly did not know him? His instincts told him the situation was as it seemed. He was afraid and panicked. All right, Miroku had forgotten who Sesshomaru was somehow, through the injuries he had sustained or Tenseiga's effects. Either was unfortunate, but, regardless, he was not the inuyokai's responsibility. "I need no one to serve me, monk," he proclaimed. "Return to your companions."

Miroku felt his heart clench. This must not happen. "Demon Lord, I have no companions. Please let me follow you."

Sesshomaru's expression did not change, but he felt a pang within him that he detested and recognized: responsibility. Just as he had suffered after he had revived the wolf-mauled Rin, he experienced now a visceral reaction when he thought about abandoning the monk. One was a child who had lived through more misery than most adult humans, the other an adult human whose mind had returned to a childlike dependency. He cursed himself for whatever inexplicable sentiment had led him to return this creature to life—and into his care. But what was done was done; Sesshomaru was not one to dwell on regret. And in this case, he knew he would have to endure the human's presence for long. He would bring Miroku to Inuyasha and let him deal with the aftermath. "Come, monk," Sesshomaru intoned, walking around him.

"Thank you, Demon Lord, thank you," Miroku gushed.

"My name, monk, is Sesshomaru."

"Yes, Sesshomaru-sama," Miroku pronounced, reverently and without a hint of recognition, and followed.

Author's Note: I hope I can be forgiven for the overused amnesia element here. I'm trying to make it as plausible as possible, and I promise to use it to its fullest angsty (and most credibly lemony) potential.