Title: The Heir & the Heirloom

Author: LuxKen27

Universe: Canon (Pre-manga)

Genre: Family, Drama

Rating: T

Warning(s): Depictions of childbirth, breastfeeding; innuendo

Word Count: 3,760

Summary: The Lord of the Western Lands bestows Tenseiga upon his newborn heir, and gives his lady wife a special gift as well.

DISCLAIMER: The Inuyasha concept, storyline, and characters are © 1996-2008 Rumiko Takahashi/Shogakukan/Viz Media. No money is being made from the creation of this material. No copyright infringement is intended.

.xxxxx.

The room was silent, dark, and cold.

She opened her eyes, staring up into the heavily brocaded canopy that shrouded her bed in inky blackness. For a moment, she could only lay there, flat on her back, her head slightly elevated on stacks of soft pillows, her arms at her sides over the coverings. She listened to the wind howling outside, just beyond the drafty stone walls of this room.

Her room.

Her prison – for the last moon cycle, at least.

Construction had only just completed on this earth-bound castle of wood and stone and steel when they'd arrived. He'd built it for her, named it in honor of her, and granted her the coziest quarters in the closest proximity to the warmth of the great hall. Perhaps he'd pitied her, in her woefully pregnant state, her thin frame heavy and full with their child. Though she was careful to conceal any signs of her struggle and fatigue, she could not hide her pain from him – not completely. Their marital bond of youki was still maturing, but he had already become quite sensitive to the changes in her condition.

She supposed that she should've felt grateful for his care and concern, but she resented him instead. He'd brought her here, away from her family and friends and home, and had left her, on her own, to fend for herself among the barbarians he called servants. He'd wanted to live in the earthly realm because these were his lands, and it quickly became obvious to her that his wealth was more important to him than she was. He knew she disapproved of his abrupt departure, but he left anyway, off to fight in the first of what would be many battles.

It was a minor miracle that he'd returned at all, in her estimation, much less in time for the birth of his heir.

Bringing their son into this world had been an awful, painful, prolonged affair – for three days she pushed and struggled and swore, snapping at the midwife's handmaidens, sobbing as exhaustion overwhelmed her, screaming in agony and fear of her body rending in two as she delivered. If only she'd been allowed to return to her mother's home…she would've been able to transform into her true form, to call on the strength of her royal demonic blood to carry her through the birthing ritual.

But no – she was mired here, on earth, with mere common youkai, who wouldn't have been able to assist her if she was in her true form. For them, she suffered the indignity of a provincial birth; for this, she loathed her erstwhile mate.

Finally, on that third snowy, wintry evening, her son had arrived, a tiny bundle of alabaster skin and downy white fur, crying just as hard as she was, albeit for different reasons. She'd collapsed on the cold stone floor, feeling faint and nauseated but strangely light, tears streaming down her cheeks as she listened to her baby's helpless whimpering – but she would not let them spirit him away. She'd demanded to hold him (against the midwife's better judgment) and would not yield in her stubbornness.

That was where he'd found them, her mate, when he'd finally returned home. She was still on the floor, curled up in the far corner of this room, out of the way as the servants cleaned. She was holding their newborn son in her arms, stroking his baby-soft skin as he slept, swaddled in clean linens against her bare chest. The Great Lord of the Western Lands fell to his knees at her side, pressing excited kisses to her brow and the baby's, pride and warmth radiating from his features. She was too exhausted to resist when he pulled her into his arms, swathing them in the luxurious fur of his mokomoko, resting his head on her shoulder as he gazed delightedly down at his son.

That was the last memory she had, until now.

Slowly, carefully, she pressed herself up against the pillows, wincing at the pain that lanced through her lower body. She had no idea how long she'd been lying there – hours? Days? She had no idea if it was light or night beyond the confines of her room. She didn't know where her mate was, or where their son might be.

She only knew that she was alone – which was unacceptable. As mistress of this household, she had the right to know what was going on in her absence. She had the right to know what was happening to her child.

She had the right to have him, period, because she was his mother.

She lowered her gaze, first to her right and then to her left, spying a tiny silver bell on a table beside the bed. She picked it up and let it ring only once, cupping the flared end in her hand as she waited and listened.

Almost immediately, there was a slight rustling just beyond the curtains of the canopy. "My lady?" inquired a soft feminine voice.

She swallowed hard. "Bring me my son," she ordered in a cool, even tone.

The servant hesitated before responding. "My lady, I – "

"Bring me my son," she reiterated, in no mood to hear reasons to the contrary. Her arms twitched at her sides, burning with the distinct maternal desire to hold her baby.

There was another pause. "With all due respect, my lady," the servant tried, "you must continue to rest from your ordeal. Be assured, he is well taken care of in the nursery, and wants for nothing in your stead."

Except his mother, she thought darkly, curling her hands into fists, paying no heed to the sharp edge of the bell cutting into her left palm. "Comply with my request, or remove yourself from my presence," she commanded crisply, not bothering to shield the venom in her voice. "I have no other use for you."

There was no reply, only the soft shuffle of retreating footsteps.

Dammit, she swore silently, heaving the bell she still held across the bed. They do not listen to me. They do not respect me. The servants were only loyal to her mate, who had selected them himself from the youkai population surrounding their coastal home. They had never warmed to her; indeed, they dared presume they knew what was best for her – especially those ladies chosen to serve her. They thought her weak and simpering, unable to care even for herself. Just because she had been born into royalty, they thought she had no mind – or will – of her own.

More than once, in her bitterest moments, she'd wondered just how many of them he'd slept with in order to win their favor.

Tears of frustration prickled behind her eyes. She had done everything asked of her in her young life: she'd married this male; she'd borne his heir; she'd come with him to this godforsaken earth-bound castle, leaving everything she'd ever known in the process. She knew better than to expect loyalty or passion in return, but was it too much to want respect? Admiration? Consideration?

No, she told herself as she sank back into the fluffy pillows. I am their better, and I deserve to be treated as such. She comforted herself with thoughts of dismissing them all once she had recovered and her mate had inevitably left in pursuit of battle once more.

Only when the curtains at her side rustled again did she realize she was no longer alone in the room. "My lady," stated a low, resonant voice, once she recognized as the midwife's, "I have brought your child."

She sat up once more, parting the canopy and holding out her arms. She was surprised when soft sunlight accompanied her sleeping son into the confines of the bed, throwing his features in high relief as she cradled him close.

She looked up sharply when the curtains began to close. "No, don't," she cried. "Leave them open, so that I might see him."

The servants exchanged a long look before acquiescing to her request. "As you wish, my lady," the midwife murmured, falling into a short, brusque curtsy before hustling her handmaiden out of the room.

She watched them leave, her eyes not falling away until the shoji screen was closed once more, leaving her alone with her son. Only then did she relax into the pillows, dropping her gaze to the newborn in her arms, feasting her eyes upon him for the first time in daylight, eager to take it all in.

He was absolutely beautiful, with perfect porcelain skin and wisps of silvery hair. Thin twin streaks of magenta curled over his pudgy round cheeks and wrists, and a tiny crescent moon marked the middle of his forehead. She marveled at his little button nose and the cupid's bow of his lips, the five perfectly-formed fingers on each of his little hands. She trailed a claw gently along his brow, reveling in the downy white fur that protected his soft skin. Love and pride and a fierce maternal instinct overwhelmed her as she traced each perfect feature, feeding the swift bond that her youki had already formed with his.

In that moment, she knew that she could hold him like this for the rest of her life, simply gazing at him, and never, ever grow tired of the sight.

"My darling," she cooed softly, picking up his tiny hand and bringing it to her lips. "My little boy." I will always love you, she thought, feeling her heart swell with adoration and joy. Whatever might be missing from her union with her mate, she had nothing but unconditional love for her son.

He stirred in her arms, shifting his little body against hers, turning to face her, his tiny, blunted fingertips rooting at her chest. Her heart skipped a beat as his fists tangled in her yukata, opening and closing around silk instead of skin, pushing and pulling the material in a futile attempt to find her breast. She swallowed hard as she contemplated his actions. It was not her responsibility to nurse him; in fact, she had been actively discouraged from it. No doubt he had already fed from a wetnurse in the nursery, and it would probably be best to fetch her, if only to keep his nourishment consistent.

Still…it wasn't as if she couldn't feed him; her breasts were heavy and sore and sensitive precisely because she had carried him to term. She had only a dim notion of what would happen to her milk if he couldn't take it, and it seemed like such an odd waste….

He whimpered, his peaceful, sleepy expression crumpling in hunger and frustration, and he opened his eyes, turning a pleading golden gaze up at her – one that she found she couldn't resist. Damn them all, she thought as she fumbled with her yukata, freeing her left breast so that he might latch on. I am his mother, and I will nurse him if I so desire.

She cradled him protectively in her arms as he fed, a triumphant sense of satisfaction rising within her as she kept a watchful eye over him. There had been little to prepare her for motherhood, and she had been ambivalent about the idea before she'd conceived, but now, in this moment, she had no doubt. She felt at peace. She felt useful.

She felt loved.

"Well."

She looked up sharply, instinctively closing her arms around her nursing son, her bliss shattered by the single spoken word. She was surprised to find that it was her mate who had uttered it, standing just inside the still-open shoji screen, a pleased expression lighting his features as he gazed at them from across the room.

She narrowed her eyes. "Leave me be," she said sharply, twisting away from his far-too-interested gaze.

He chuckled, stepping into the room and shifting the screen closed behind him. "Do not be insulted, my lady," he chided her teasingly as he approached. "I find your domesticity absolutely endearing…" His words trailed off as he lowered himself to sit on the bed beside her, his pleasant smile turning wicked as he leaned into her. "…and alluring," he added, trailing a playful finger along the length of her exposed sternum. "Might I hope to be the next visitor to your bed?"

She stifled a giggle when their baby pushed his father's hand out of the way, pressing himself flush against his mother's chest even as he continued to nurse. Her mate tried to look shocked and hurt by his son's actions, but utterly failed, smiling instead and running his hand affectionately over the boy's head.

"I see he has already inherited my good taste," he mused, trailing his fingers lightly over her arms before finding and cupping her other breast through her yukata. "Your breasts are one of your finest features."

She directed a pointed glare at him. "Why are you here?" she asked, her tone flat and cold.

His hand fell away from her, and he had the good grace to appear contrite. "I come bearing gifts, my lady," he replied.

She studied him as he reached beyond the canopy curtains. He was dressed in layers of royal silk robes, the outermost one of which was dotted with his family's crest. A yellow-and-purple obi crisscrossed his waist, half-hidden by his mokomoko, which he had taken to wearing as a cape, of late. His lustrous silver hair fell like a curtain around him, setting off his amber eyes and the indigo markings of his heritage. It was only when he retrieved a sheathed sword that she realized he was free of his armor and weaponry, making her wonder just what exactly he'd been up to since his return home.

"For my son," he intoned, indicating the sword as he laid it beside her on the vast expanse of the bed. "Tenseiga."

As if on cue, their son pushed away from her, drowsy but sated as he lay back in her arms. She pulled her yukata closed and hoisted him up against her shoulder, eyeing the ornately decorated scabbard all the while. It looked very familiar, and it took her a moment to place it. If he hadn't told her otherwise, she could've sworn it was his Tessaiga.

"I see you recognize it," her mate murmured. "Yes, Tenseiga was forged from Tessaiga – a companion sword, if you will."

She shrugged, rubbing the baby's back in a smooth, circular motion. "How is old Totosai?" she mused, drawing to her mind's eye a picture of the quirky swordsmith, so loyal to her mate's house that he was even invited to their wedding ceremony.

"Whiny, as usual," he laughed. "I'm content to let him complain, however, given his exquisite craftsmanship." He picked up the sword, reverently releasing it from its sheath, his eyes glittering with admiration as the long, thin, curved blade was revealed, inch by inch.

She frowned a little, tightening her protective embrace around her son. "I see now why you wished to name him Sesshou-maru," she muttered under her breath. Of course he'd want to raise a 'killing perfection,' she amended to herself.

Her mate caught her disapproving stare. "Ah, but you misunderstand me, my lady," he said, turning the blade over in his hand so that it shone in the sunlight. "This is a special sword, unlike any other – it cannot cut beings of this world."

She eyed him suspiciously. "You would give your heir a blunt object, with no way to defend himself?"

He slowly shook his head. "No. Tenseiga can be wielded as a weapon," he replied, "but only when accompanied by a compassionate heart." He tucked the sword back into its ornate scabbard. "I would have my son understand the weight of life, and what it truly means to dispatch an enemy."

His eyes met hers. "It is a lesson I wish for him to learn earlier in life than I did," he continued softly, "for you see, my lady…it is because of him that I now know the value of life. I am no longer fighting for myself, or my father – but for you, and for him. I have much more to lose now, and I've realized…so does my enemy."

She cast a skeptical glance at him. "You will make him soft," she countered.

Sesshoumaru slumped against her shoulder, one tiny arm stretched across her chest, his hand catching in the folds of her yukata. She pressed a kiss to his temple as she closed her arms around him, reveling in the sensation of his breath against her skin.

"No, my lady, you will make him soft," her mate observed with a smirk, resting his hand on his son's back. "I would not leave him completely defenseless. Tenseiga possesses a technique – offensive and deadly – that he will one day master. I know, because I will teach him to wield this sword myself."

She quirked a brow at this startling pronouncement. Just as she had been discouraged from nursing their son, he, too, would be expected to heed an appropriate distance. She found herself feeling rather pleased and impressed that he shared her rebellious nature in this. "I suppose we have that much in common," she murmured, her eyes drifting down to her sleeping son.

Once again, her mate leaned forward, closing the distance between them. "We are more alike than you think, my lady," he returned, a dangerous gleam sparkling in his eyes as he gazed at her.

Her heart picked up speed as she glanced at him from beneath her lashes, before letting her gaze drop to his mouth. He was smiling suggestively at her, his lips slightly parted, revealing the tips of his pearly white fangs. She flushed under the intensity of his study, hating herself all the while. He'd always had this air about him, flirtatious and charming and sinfully sensual…and she suddenly realized that, even though she held their newborn sleeping son in her arms, even though she was still weak and sore and healing from childbirth – all he'd have to do was touch her –

– kiss her –

– caress her –

– and she would be powerless to resist.

"I have something for you, my lady," he said softly, breaking the heady tension that brewed between them.

She swallowed hard, inadvertently clutching her son close when she realized that her mate was parting his robes. Surely he wouldn't – ?! she thought wildly, half-stunned by his audacity and yet, some small part of her delighting in the idea that he still found her desirable, even now, in such a state.

He chuckled when he felt the bolt of panic that shot through her youki, releasing a measure of his own to reassure her of his intentions. At the same time, he withdrew his hand from the innermost fold of his royal silken suikan, revealing a sizeable piece of jewelry.

"For you, my lady," he continued, turning it over so that she might examine it. It was a large, rounded black moonstone inset in a circlet of gold. It looked heavy for its size, for he held it out to her with both hands.

"What is it?" she inquired, feeling a certain unease when she gazed into the center stone's luminous depths.

"It is a meidou seki," he replied, straightening the strands of pearls that surrounded it as he offered it to her. "It is spiritually connected to Tenseiga."

She narrowed her eyes, regarding it skeptically. "Oh?"

He nodded. "The day may come when our son asks for your help in studying his sword," he told her. "Only then will you understand the full extent of this spiritual connection.

"But my lady, I must warn you," he continued cryptically, "if you use the meidou seki, Sesshoumaru will be faced with great danger."

Her eyes flashed with anger as she snapped her gaze up to meet his. "How could you give me such a thing?" she hissed, tightening the brace of her arms around her baby. "I will not accept anything that would threaten our son's life."

"Not even if it offered an unassailable link between you in the meanwhile?" he countered. He gave her a pointed look. "You will not be able to hold him close forever, my lady."

"He is my son," she reminded him coldly. "Our bond is unbreakable."

"But one day he will leave you," he shot back, "and sooner than that, he will be beyond your reach." He closed his hands around the black moonstone. "As long as you have this meidou seki – as long as he keeps Tenseiga at his side – you will always be able to see him, and to watch over him."

She averted her eyes. She knew that he spoke the truth – her son would be taken away from her far too soon, to complete his education and training. Her influence would slowly but surely fade as the inevitable physical distance grew between them. But would accepting this stone to insure their mother-child bond worth its potential threat to his life? Already she knew that she'd move heaven and hell to keep him from harm, and he was but a few days old.

"Take it, my lady," her mate urged, "and probe its secrets. Learn how to harness its spiritual energy. If that day comes that you must use it in the course of Sesshoumaru's study, you cannot not feel fear or sadness when you wield it."

Sesshoumaru shifted against her then, pulling at her yukata as he sighed in his sleep. She closed her arms around him, squeezing her eyes shut as her heart wrenched in her chest. His was a warm and welcome weight, so peaceful and trusting as he curled into her embrace, as if he already implicitly knew of her love and devotion to him. If there was any way that she could ever help him…

"Fine," she acquiesced with a sigh, calming herself enough to lift her head and meet her mate's gaze.

His smile was triumphant as he leaned forward, clasping the beaded chain around her neck. "I knew that you would make the right decision, my lady," he said, lifting his hand to caress her cheek. "You are nothing if not wise."

Or perhaps I am a fool, she thought as the cool weight of the meidou seki settled on her chest. She accepted the grateful kiss her mate pressed to her lips, but held fast to their baby all the while. For you, my darling Sesshoumaru, I would do anything.