Holy crap, I totally forgot that I was posting this as chapters and not just one big thing. I'm very sorry to those who have been waiting! I'll make sure I get the rest up in a timely manner.

... On another note, I won the contest. Much glee.

The last hushed sounds of feet on the wooden floor had finally silenced when Atsuhiko looked at him. "She is a sweet girl. I have no objections to your strange habit of allowing her to follow you."

Sesshoumaru paused while rolling up the scroll in his hands. "Your approval was of great importance in regards to my decisions on the matter."

While he had anticipated the laughter that followed this statement, Sesshoumaru could not quite decide on his feelings to this reaction. Regardless of his tone, the words had been more sardonic than he generally would have expressed; there were so few with whom he was comfortable displaying such mannerisms that it inevitably felt strange when he did.

Atsuhiko brushed his scrolls to a corner of the table, still smiling. "I thought so; your concern was pitifully apparent." He gestured to the servants waiting outside the room, who cleared the table and replaced the area covered by scrolls with a sake set. "Now that we have finished with those dull matters, shall we reminisce on the past or attempt to act as though we never left it?"

Sesshoumaru considered him silently until Atsuhiko sighed. "You've become so dull in the last few centuries."

"Entertaining you is not my concern."

"Obviously." Atsuhiko filled the two choko, drinking his own as he offered the other to Sesshoumaru.

It was a moment more before Sesshoumaru slowly took the sake. He watched Atsuhiko pour his own refill, and for the briefest moment his thoughts touched far into his past, to a similar scene ages ago.

But it was brief. A useless reminder of a time far removed from the issues of the present, it would do nothing to aid him now; no memory would. It was necessary to acknowledge the events of the past, but it was pointless to dwell on them. He drank the sake and closed his mind to all recollections.

Atsuhiko bright eyes were considering him carefully when he finished. "I believe we have known each other long enough that I may be forgiven for speaking candidly."

"Presumptuous." It was as close to permission to continue as he would give.

Atsuhiko knew this. "It has been at least twenty years since I last saw you, which is understandable considering how much I have heard that you've done in this time. Yet hearing such things through secondary sources is not necessarily to be trusted. I would much rather learn the true stories."

It seemed like a straightforward request, but Sesshoumaru was aware of what Atsuhiko really wanted to learn. It was what countless other allies had inquired about before. "You mean that you wish to hear the truth about Rin." It was not a question; he knew he was correct.

"I suppose I shouldn't be surprised that you realized that," Atsuhiko said, smiling slightly. "Yes, she is my greatest interest, but I spoke truly about my desires – I wish to know the truth from the rumors."

"It is no concern of yours."

"No, it is not," Atsuhiko conceded. "Yet, all the same, I should still like to know. It was not until you arrived this morning and announced that she would be here within the day that I was even convinced of her existence. Now I am curious about what else is true."

"Unless you have heard conflicting reports, I should assume that most things are true."

Atsuhiko looked amused by the prospects of this, but did not say anything. Eventually his smile disappeared, leaving only the faint traces of curiosity behind. "But I would like to know what she is to you."

This instantly earned a cool glare, the implications of which were simultaneously understood. Sighing, Atsuhiko held up a hand. "Fair enough. I will not question you about her."

Sesshoumaru did not even consider responding, too irritated with the question to think of something to say. It actually wasn't the fact that Atsuhiko had been bold enough to voice such a question that irritated Sesshoumaru; it was the fact that he had considered the question himself.

What was she to him? That had always lingered in the back of his mind, nagging him with varying intensity. It had been simpler when he had first resurrected her; at least then he had been able to attempt to excuse such a strange action on a desire to test Tensaiga. Such pretense had quickly become impossible to maintain, so that he had been forced to admit that she was precious to him for reasons entirely outside of his understanding. While that had been severely frowned upon – even by him – most were able to overlook it because she had been so young.

Now, however, he had found himself unable to escape the rumors even though he tried desperately to do so. It had always been easy to be unbothered by the whispers he did not hear; once he knew, however, the story changed entirely.

For the past few years, and with greater frequency, he had found himself being identified with his father. As far as prestige was concerned, Sesshoumaru could find no objections – while he possessed great power, he was aware that he was still far from having the influence his father had wielded. But while many did speak of his power, that was merely a portion of the equation, a supporting piece of the rumors. Where the rumors truly lay was in the belief that he had inherited his father's taste for human women.

And what was worse than the fact that such rumors existed was that he could understand why they did. Somehow in the midst of all the chaos and violence that had shadowed her youth, Rin had managed to maintain much of the demeanor of her childhood. She had proven herself to be quite intelligent during her disrupted education, and there had grown to be a gentle attractiveness to the simplicity of her human features. Although on occasion she could be moved to fiercely powerful emotions, for the majority of the time she exuded a tempered joy. It could have been a point of secret pride that she had grown into such a woman, if it had not caused such scandal.

It was with a touch of indignation that Sesshoumaru considered the fact that, really, there was no winning in this. Either she became a well-mannered lady as she had and caused gossip that she was his mistress, or she could have been unruly and proven everybody's predictions correct. In either case, he would receive additional scorn and derision. While this would not usually have bothered him, it was always those things that had to do with Rin that managed to evoke a response within him.

He finished the remainder of his sake, restraining the sigh pressing against the back of his throat. For the thousandth time, he wondered what he was doing with that girl. It was time for him to stop acting like he could hold onto her youth indefinitely, dragging her all across Japan for absolutely no purpose. She was a distraction, an impediment, and a liability.

He was being illogical in keeping her with him now, both for her sake as well as his. Perhaps she thought of those things the girls her age at the palace always spoke of, of husbands and children and households to oversee. Maybe she wished for them for herself, but never said as much. And as long as he kept her, she never would say anything about these desires. She would be silent and follow him forever if he let her, allowing any dreams she held for herself to pass beyond recall, withered flowers never permitted to bloom.

But even as Sesshoumaru thought these things, he felt the faint tightness in his chest that he always did when he tried to think of what it would be like without Rin. He had risked his life more than once for her sake, and it seemed that on each occasion she had somehow slipped further into his being, into his heart. It was ridiculous that such a guileless girl had unwittingly managed to break through every barrier he had placed around himself, and had done so in barely ten years.

Perhaps he had become more like his father than he would care to admit.

It was a consideration that had become difficult to dismiss. Try as he might, he could not completely deny the rumors to himself when he did not fully understand his feelings in regards to Rin. She was precious to him beyond all other things, but did that mean he loved her? And even if he did – already he had admitted, years ago, that he must in some capacity – what did that mean?

Such things had been clear in the past. While it had taken the most painful struggle to understand, he had learned what he had felt for her when she was a child. Yet then, something seemed to have changed. He had always accepted that sometime she would mature from the girl she was when she had stumbled across him. When it had become necessary to buy her new kimonos as she grew, it had been anticipated. When she made the transition from a child to a woman, he had already prepared himself. If he had not been able control her changes, then at least he had been able to maintain control over his reactions to them.

But for all his planning, it seemed that he had made some grievous oversight along the way. When Rin's growth had finally stopped, leaving her as the cheerful young woman she now was, it had been as though he was finally allowed to release his breath. Change was instable, and he had not been able to anticipate the person she would be when all was finished. He had not considered what he would do if she became someone he could no longer feel concern for, and when she had proven to be little different than she before, it had almost been a relief.

In fact, with her age, her companionship had become even more pleasant. While he was still as rarely inclined to reply as before, there was something pleasant about the sound of her voice when she spoke to him, or on those occasions when she jokingly sang the songs from her childhood. When he did speak with her, he found her words were oddly refreshing; while she had grown to have all the sophistication of the nobles he often dealt with, she was always honest, no schemes or prerogatives hidden within her words.

So for a while he had felt comfortable as everything once again settled into a new rhythm. Perhaps it was because of this, the complacency of consistency, that he had not realized that there were ways in which he had changed as well.

All his concern for how Rin would change had made his appreciation for how she had not greater than it might have been. It could have been this appreciation that had caused him to take more time to consider her than he once had – there were times when he would find himself watching her for no reason he could comprehend. He had not remembered her smiles being so enjoyable to receive, or her unabashed happiness so welcome.

His reactions had been odd but not unsettling until he had realized what they could possibly mean. He had concerned himself with what would happen if he did not care for her as much as he had before, but it seemed that the greater danger lay in what would happen if he grew to care for her even more.

Just as he was about to rise to retire to his rooms, preferring to consider this particularly irritating train of thought in privacy, the demoness who had been directed to care for Rin entered the room. Even before he saw her demeanor, Sesshoumaru caught her scent, a mix of anxiety and some other nauseating smell that he recognized but could not identify.

Atsuhiko's brow had furrowed when she entered. "What is it?"

She bowed quickly, proceeding to speak with her head lowered. "My lords, it is Rin…" Her hands, already knotted together, tightened until they began to turn white. "I am afraid she has taken ill."

- - - -

She was burning.

Rin closed her eyes and pressed her forehead against the tatami, seeking the coolness of the floor beyond her futon. Only minutes ago, when Aoi had found her, she had felt like ice had been trying to flow through her veins.

It had seemed to crash into her body all at once, the ache and the cold that ran through her in waves. She had simply curled into a ball at the edge of the table until Aoi returned. Then there had been a flutter of activity too quick for her to follow, at the end of which she had found herself on her futon being covered by additional blankets that had appeared from nowhere. At the time she could have wept for the warmth they offered, little though it seemed; now she wished that she could find the strength to push them from her sweat-soaked body.

But she could not move. Even turning onto her stomach had made her lose her breath; she felt like she could sleep for a hundred years.

So, this was what it had been slowly spreading through her since that morning. All the little signs now made sense: her weariness regardless of her rest, the deep chill that had been so slow to relent, the fog in her mind. This was some sickness, an invisible malady to which so many humans seemed predisposed to succumb. In memories that flickered through her mind, tattered by time and battered by the delusions that were slowly crowding her consciousness, she remembered having been ill on several occasions. But never like this.

The heat was spreading, growing more intense until it consumed everything, a fire burning the edges of her awareness to ash. Even as her thoughts were being slowly pulled away, she felt a deep pang of embarrassment and regret; on the one occasion Lord Sesshoumaru honored her by allowing her to come with him on this journey, she had become ill.

But even these thoughts too slipped away until there was nothing left but feelings: the smooth ridges of the tatami beneath her forehead, the press of the blankets against the damp silk of her nagajuban, the burning of her blood.

It was at that moment that she felt what must have been the most divine thing she had ever encountered – something cool brushed against her cheek. It was hardly enough to drive away the heat before it lifted, only to return a moment later.

This time, however, it ran across the back of her neck, pushing her thick hair aside before resting at her shoulder. It was when there was another touch at her hip that she realized she was being turned onto her back, and she made an effort to open her eyes.

Yet even as she managed to hold them open for a moment before finally slipping into unconsciousness, her vision was full of white.

White and cold, some hazy part of her mind murmured. It must be winter.

- - - -

Finally, Rin was asleep.

Sesshoumaru sat next to her, observing the way her face finally relaxed, the furrowing of her brow slowly smoothing as her breathing deepened. The tension in her muscles was gradually relenting, allowing her exhausted body the first peace it had known in days.

The healer sitting on the opposite side now rose, moving silently through the room to speak to Aoi, who had constantly been present to provide any service she could render. For the most part she had been running errands -- getting new linens or heating more water, actions that hovered on the edge of notice. Distantly, Sesshoumaru felt a hint of gratefulness for her presence; she had saved him from sacrificing his dignity on a number of occasions over the past few days.

It wasn't until now, however, that he realized this. He would have done anything in his power to help Rin and would have accepted any effects this had on his reputation. He had never been able to keep from doing otherwise when it regarded her.

Watching the steady rise and fall of her chest now, it was hard to consider how ill she had truly been. There had been a few occasions when she had become sick before, but the only effects had been that she grew a little quieter, slept a little longer. She had always been able to continue with them, and had never made any complaint. Sesshoumaru had not been around humans enough to know that there was anything worse than what she had gone through in the past, and he figured that those cases that resulted in death must have been because of previous weakness or age.

Perhaps that was the reason he had felt a flare of panic when he had finally recognized the scent that lingered on Aoi. It had suddenly become identifiable, although it was easy to explain why he had not been able to place it instantly; the intensity had been far greater any other occasion in which he had been exposed to it.

When he had finally reached her, his worries had instantly crystallized. Her scent, the rhythm of her heartbeat and her breathing, all those markers of her existence, had become so familiar to him that the dramatic change to them was obvious and jarring. In the time he had known her, her scent had twice been blotted out by the smell of death; now again, he had been able to catch the faint touch of it on the air.

A healer had arrived soon after him, and Sesshoumaru had been quietly excused from the room. In most situations, this dismissal would have made him irate, but he had been torn between his desire to stay and the impulse to leave. Even though it had been Rin, or perhaps because, watching her fight when he could do nothing to help had been maddening. While it was preposterous to consider learning the art of healing, the uselessness of all his skills and strength at that moment had been painfully clear.

It had been some hours later that Aoi cautiously approached his rooms, telling him that the healer had done all she could at present. When he had returned to Rin, he had felt the cautious hopes he had allowed himself to entertain dissipate. He had expected too much. While it seemed that perhaps the worst had passed, she had still been lost in the depths of the fever.

So regardless of the things that might be said, he had stayed by her side. The bitter fear of losing her had not yet drained from his veins, and he could not bring himself to appease his pride when her stability was still so fragile. When she finally awoke he would be able to see to those things his visit had originally concerned. But until then, he found it impossible to leave.

Sesshoumaru's attention moved to Rin as she sighed and turned onto her side, facing him. She was too pale, and he did not like the shadows that had formed under her eyes. It was so strange that just a few days could damage her to such an extent, but he supposed that he should not be surprised. Humans were such delicate creatures, formed of flesh that could be bruised and ruined as easily as petals. Even if they did manage to remain unharmed, their lives were still so short, hardly even a season in his eyes.

Watching the firelight paint false warmth into Rin's cheeks, he tried not to think of how she would be exactly the same.