"Jaken," Sesshoumaru began quietly, gazing up at the moon in the cold night.
"Yes, m'lord?" Jaken blinked and looked over.
"You remember her, don't you?" Sesshoumaru asked in a near-whisper.
"I do," Jaken nodded. "She...she was a nice girl. And she was a good wife and mother in her later years."
"She was, wasn't she?"
It had been a long time since he'd met that girl, that child who had managed to slowly change him, to soothe his spirit...
Almost a hundred years, in fact...
Sesshoumaru stared up at the sky longingly, searching the stars for some consolation, some kind of ease for the ache in his heart. Tomorrow would be the anniversary of her death. He knew where he was going...
Jaken sighed and glanced at the ground unhappily. Sesshoumaru was always like this at around this time of the year. He would grow quiet and thoughtful and sentimental, would almost always ask the same question...
"She asked me never to forget her. You remember that, Jaken?" Sesshoumaru idled, never taking his gaze from the heavens.
"Yes, I recall," Jaken agreed.
"I try not to forget her face, the way she looked when she was younger I mean..." Sesshoumaru huffed. "If I try sometimes, I can even remember her scent..."
"She lived a long and prosperous life, my Lord," Jaken said gently.
"I know, Jaken. I know."
"Her children and grandchildren loved to hear stories of you. They weren't surprised to see you those last few days."
"She was," Sesshoumaru murmured quietly.
"But she was happy to see you."
Sesshoumaru let out a puff of air and ruffled his bangs out of his eyes, looking down at the toes of his boots as he relived those few days in his mind.
She'd been very old, and seemed almost too fragile to touch. But she'd struggled to sit up and greet him happily when he came to see her. She had smiled and asked how he'd been doing, if everything had gone well over the years.
And he'd been able to smell the death on her old weak body even then, had known that she was close to dying and that not even his Tenseiga could save her this time.
But of course he didn't tell her that. He went over and knelt by her bedside and told her that everything was fine, and asked her if she'd been happy throughout her life. He asked her how her children were and how her grandchildren were and if she needed anything.
She laughed then, he remembered. She told him that her life would end soon, that she didn't want him to be sad because it was the way of humans to live and die so quickly. She told him that her life had been well. And that she hoped he would continue to succeed, that she needed no help in these last days or weeks of her life, whichever it was.
And he'd told her to quit being so silly, that he had plenty of time to spare.
He'd brewed tea for them and sat there with her, listened to her talk about everything that had happened, and especially about her children and grandchildren. He watched her eyes light up with the life that the rest of her body would never have again, those chocolate brown eyes that had somehow always been able to search his soul. He saw the happiness in her eyes when she spoke of good times. He etched that happy look and those joyful words of hers into his heart, even as he covered her with more blankets and helped her sit up so she could eat. He stayed by her side and watched as she slept through the night and said good morning when she woke up.
And he'd stayed there for three days.
And he'd held her hand at the end, held her hand when she said it was time for her to go. He begged her not to leave, had stayed there next to her on his knees and pleaded with her to stay-but it was futile. She'd reached over and wiped a few tears from his eyes, had told him not to cry so much. Had told him that she hated to see him crying, and she couldn't leave with his tears in her mind.
So he'd stopped crying for a few minutes, stopped crying long enough to let her go peacefully...
She'd said that she loved him. She'd called him Father, even Brother. She promised to watch him from the otherworld.
He told her he loved her too.
And then she left. He watched her leave, watched her smile and felt her clasp his hand weakly and then close her eyes...
And he cried again. He cried for days. He cried when they took her body and when they put up her gravestone and when they burned incense and offered rice cakes. He cried some more when he saw her children and grandchildren crying. He couldn't seem to stop the tears from leaving his eyes, even if he didn't make a sound most of the time.
And when he was done crying, when he finally dried up his tears, he gathered up a handful of her favorite flowers and left them at her grave, promised that he'd always leave her flowers, no matter if he were dying himself...It had been almost twenty-five years since her death...
"She was like my own child, Jaken," Sesshoumaru huffed softly.
"I know."
Sesshoumaru sighed heavily and closed his eyes for a minute, swallowed back a wave of tears and painful memory and gazed up at the sky again.
"Let's find those flowers. She always liked the pink lilies."
"Alright," Jaken nodded, hopping on Ah-Un as they took off...
And Sesshoumaru knew where to find the lilies, of course. He always knew. He picked two dozen of them, picked the most perfect lilies he could find. And by the time he was done, it was almost morning, and he walked slowly towards her grave, walked over there because it would be too quick to just run or fly there...
And by the time he got there, it was well into morning, and the sun shone brightly above the crest of the eastern hills.
Sesshoumaru paused for a moment to look around, to enjoy the weather and take a whiff of the pleasant air. He was grateful that it was a nice day today, that nature had decided to be agreeable.
He went on again for a few more steps, stopped at the base of the one particular cherry-tree and stared down at the small grave for what seemed like hours.
Finally, though, he knelt down and placed the flowers there carefully, said a quick prayer for her spirit, and lit a stick of perfumed incense.
"I'll always remember you, Rin. I promised I'd never forget. I promised..."
He stood up after a few more minutes, gazed out across the beautiful valley she'd chosen as her resting place, watched the breeze ripple along and pull a few stray cherry-blossoms from their leaves...
"I'll be here again, Rin," he whispered softly.
"Good luck in the afterlife, child," Jaken murmured sincerely, leaving his own flower and a pair of rice cakes at her grave.
And after a few more minutes, they left.
Sesshoumaru wiped a few tears from his eyes as they walked away...
"I still miss you..."