Summer Snow
His father had taken one look at him, still covered in blood from the birth, and declared that he would be named Sesshoumaru. His mother did not ask for the reason, and instead nodded in agreement. The corpses lying on the floor around the large birthing bed bearing the marks of baby claws, teeth and poison were testament enough to his natural skill. Therefore, it only made sense that he would be given a name to strike fear in the hearts of his enemies-to-be.
A few years later, his mother passed away, stricken by a disease that no one could cure. His father gazed down at the body of his wife, pale but still beautiful in death, and a tear slid down his cheek. Sesshoumaru stared at his parents, one dead and one alive. He did not cry for the loss of his mother. His eyes remained cold as ice and hard as flint, as his father cupped the cheek of his mother in one clawed hand. From that day on, he lost his father's favor. The dog lord had called his son heartless, and told Sesshoumaru that the day he cried for someone would be the day he could return to the Western Palace and take his position as leader.
'The day you cry… will be the day that the snow falls in summer.'
It was impossible. Sesshoumaru could not, would not cry. Snow could not fall in summer. Snow would never fall in summer, and Sesshoumaru himself fancied that his father had laid down those terms to spite his son.
So he left the home castle, and wandered aimlessly, awaiting the day when he could retrieve his position as heir. The days turned into weeks, weeks into years, and years into decades, but nothing happened, and the time began to blur until Sesshoumaru honestly did not know what year it was, much less what day.
After uncounted decades of traveling, he chanced upon a fight between two groups of demons, the green-skinned side losing quickly. They were in the way. He walked right up to the two tussling leaders, and demanded for them to move aside. The bug-eyed one, being moderately intelligent, threw himself backwards and knelt. The other, relishing its victory to come, screeched a refusal. Before it could make a move towards him, his poison whip was out, and it lay in three broken pieces. Its underlings shrieked in fear and fled for their lives, and the short demons pressed their foreheads to the ground in reverence. Their leader tossed down his crown, and chased after him. That was how he had gotten himself a faithful servant, the toad demon Jaken, whose loyalty had never wavered.
The days passed like before, except this time his loneliness was occasionally relieved by the noisy retainer chasing along behind him. It was a fair trade – Jaken provided company and good service, and Sesshoumaru provided protection. He would take care of Jaken, but would not cry if he died. After all, one's servants belonged to oneself, and it was just the way he was. This was his nature, his very way of life.
He had tussled with his younger half-brother for the possession of the Tetsusaiga, the powerful fang sword left by his father. It angered him, that a hanyou he deemed unworthy should be the one to wield the powerful blade that he so desired. He ended up injured and weak from the loss of his left arm, and chanced upon the human girl he named Rin. She refused to speak, only grinning up at him, showing broken teeth when she mistook his curious queries as concern. She seemed so starved for affection, for protection, that he allowed her to follow when he left the area. He could not provide affection, but that was not his problem. For her, for him, protection was more than enough.
And then she had come into his life, like a fresh breath of wind.
She was not outstanding in terms of looks when compared to other demonesses he had known. She was pretty, but nothing unique. Her crimson eyes shone with insolence, mischief and discontent. Her face was etched with the guilt and pain of being one of Naraku's daughters. She had no heart, and he envied her that. His heart was his greatest burden.
Her name was Kagura.
He knew she would die, sooner or later. Naraku would not tolerate traitors, and his despised half-brother would not hesitate to raise a hand against her when they crossed paths again. He himself would not stop to think, would attack immediately. How could she stand against him?
She thought he would be her savior. She assumed that he was willing to play such a role, when the truth was that he was not. He didn't want to be a messiah. Being himself was hard enough. Living up to someone's expectations was not what he wanted to do with his life. She thought he could carry her throughout the troubles of her turbulent existence, when he couldn't. He knew he couldn't, and he told her as much, but she insisted on stubbornly believing that he would see her through. He couldn't. In the past, he might have been able to fight with one arm and support her with the other, but he couldn't now. If he tried, they would both die.
How inglorious.
He didn't like the idea of dying to protect someone, and needless to say, that in itself was an understatement.
'Sesshoumaru… do you have someone you want to protect?'
At the time, he had thought his father was insane. His father was weak, because he had allowed his emotions to take control of his decisions. It was pathetic, that a person he had admired all his life would so abruptly fall from his good graces. Now, he was not so sure. Had his father been right?
…had he really been wrong all his life?
That one thought scared him more than it should have.
He saw her die, he was standing right there watching her fall. He remembered the bright blood trickling from the edge of her painted crimson mouth, the scarlet looking garish against her rapidly-paling skin. She had always been fair, but at that time, she was almost white. The darkness of her hair contrasted sharply, matted with blood and unidentifiable substances.
He saw Naraku's tentacle thrust through her stomach, heard Inuyasha's miko girl scream at the sight of Kagura's intestines poking out of the fatal wound. He saw her burgundy eyes widen in shock and pain, heard her cry of agony. But the only thing he could focus on was the amount of blood spilling from the jagged tear in her abdomen. The metallic scent of blood filled his sharp nose, carrying hints of her impending death.
The blood beast raged to life within his mind, screaming and tearing at the barriers he grimly set up. His eyes vacillated between ruby and gold, his fangs lengthened and shortened continuously as he began to lose control. The last thing he remembered was searing pain as he completed the transformation and launched himself into the air, claws and sharp teeth extended, poison dripping from his gaping mouth.
When he regained his consciousness and forced his inner demon to retreat, howling, behind his shields, the battlefield was a mess. That was another of his famous understatements. Limbs were scattered everywhere, broken weapons, blood soaking into the soil. Sesshoumaru swallowed hard as he looked around, realizing what he had done.
The worst thing was that he had not only torn apart his enemies, but his allies. Everyone involved in the battle was dead, except for him… and for her.
He walked over to her, and realized that the heaving of her chest was slowing down.
"Sesshoumaru…" she sighed out, voice so soft that he had to strain to understand her tremulous words.
"What is it?" he asked, keeping his tone steady.
"Thank you… for avenging me, although I know that wasn't your goal," Kagura forced the words past her trembling lips, lungs fighting for oxygen desperately.
"…" As always, Sesshoumaru chose to say nothing, because there was nothing he could say.
"I'll miss you, bastard…" she wheezed, blood bubbling out of her mouth.
And then the last, so soft that he would have missed it if a twig had snapped nearby.
"I love you."
Her breathing stopped, and he was left gazing down at a corpse empty of life, empty of emotions, empty of everything. He remained there for awhile before leaving.
His eyes burned with liquid fire, but the tears couldn't flow. The floodgates refused to open, and he could not cry. He would not cry. He hadn't thought that he would actually miss her, miss her insolence and her fiery mischief.
His father was right after all.
He really couldn't cry.
'And the day you cry… will be the day the snow falls in summer.'
The problem was that there is no such thing as summer snow.