Healing was a fickle, cruel thing—the only thing worse, was grief.
Kagome grieved in the only way she knew how, in silence and in tears, alone in the roots of Bokusenou.
Sometimes he graced her with his presence, but often he left her to her sorrow. It was not his place to soothe her, and despite—or perhaps because of—his many centuries, he knew there were no words he could offer that would provide comfort to her young heart.
In place of words he knew would do nothing, Bokusenou offered her peace where others could not. As he had for her mother, he tangled his roots and branches so tightly together that none could enter, and her cries did not escape. He gave her room and solitude when her guards gave her none, and warm silence when the world felt too cold to her.
In the months following the attack, she came to him every day. Where he thought her grief was merely for the hare healer, he learned otherwise on the days her scent was tinged with fear and remembered the whispers of the garden spirits. On those days, he released the spores of his blooms and eased her into sleep with the sweet scent.
There was something wretched in the scent of her fear, so much that even his old roots shriveled.
She came at all times of the day—when the sky was still dark in the dawn light, when the sun turned the afternoons gold and violet, when the moon filled the sky and stars danced into that black canopy—and she was always accompanied by at least two bodyguards.
But sometimes there was a third.
The young prince never announced his presence and, after the first night, never interfered with Bokusenou's protections. He'd tried, of course-whether to offer comfort to Kagome or to keep her within the limit of his senses, Bokusenou was unsure—but the stalwart rebuff of his attempts by his own ancient yōki was enough to reassure the prince that all attempts were futile.
So he waited, much to Bokusenou's amusement—sometimes sulking, other times preoccupied, but he always waited until she left to take leave himself.
When the night came that Sesshoumaru approached well before Kagome arrived, Bokusenou deigned to show himself. The prince stared at him, waiting.
"You could teach your father a thing or two about patience."
Sesshoumaru only stared at him. Waiting.
Bokusenou sighed. "You know she comes, and why. Yet you do not offer her comfort."
Sesshoumaru finally looked away, his expression as impervious as ever—an unwitting reflection of his mother. "I have no comfort to offer, nothing of worth to provide."
"The alpha must always give of himself to protect the pack."
"I am not the alpha." A sneer, and he met the tree's eyes again.
"You will be."
No more was said as Kagome stepped into Bokusenou's clearing, the moon the only light to guide her steps as her guards stopped several feet away. Sesshoumaru was gone when she looked up, none-the-wiser to his presence.
She sank down at the base of his trunk and pulled her knees to her chest.
"I'm tired of crying, Bokusenou-sama," she said after some time, her voice barely louder than the song of crickets and cicadas or the whisper of a breeze he let in to keep her cool in the early summer heat. "It's almost the first anniversary of Atsuki's death and I still cry every time I think of him."
Bokusenou shifted in his roots, his ancient mind wandering as he mused over her words. She was not the first to bare her grief to a tree and she would not be the last, but as always he was unsure of what wisdom he could offer. Sometimes, he thought maybe silence and someone to listen would do for her what his words could not.
"Izayoi doesn't cry anymore, even when she's tripped or hurt herself. Or if she does, she doesn't let me—or anyone—see it." She dropped her chin to her knees and closed her eyes at first. "I was so angry when I first noticed because I thought maybe she didn't feel the hurt anymore. Now I know she's keeping it inside. I think she's scared to show it."
This information did not surprise him. He'd known many beings, mortal and immortal alike, and a great number of them were too ashamed, or feared too much, to share their emotions as willingly as the child in his roots did. Then again, she was the first of her kind, so free and open in her heart, that he had met.
She sighed. "The court thinks I'm weak for being so bothered by Atsuki's death, even after all this time has passed. And I know Fuiasu-sama is right, that to present a strong front we have to keep our emotions hidden from the court." Opening her eyes, she plucked up a clover next to her bare foot and rolled it between her fingers. "But I can't be like them. Even Sho'mru….even Sesshoumaru is different. He doesn't smile anymore, or even get angry. He's just…empty. I can't stand it."
Fury rose up inside of her, a wave of rage and confusion and uncertainty. She burst to her feet and paced in his small clearing, careful not to crush any of the blooms between his roots. "Why does being emotionless make you stronger?" she demanded. Leaning down, she dropped her clover in favor of a rock—the rough edges suited the coarse line of her temper as she turned it between her fingers again and again. "Why does keeping everything inside make you a better leader? Why does showing grief and pain and love and joy make you less than?"
Screaming, she reared back and threw the rock as hard as she could and was grateful when Bokusenou opened his branches enough to let it pass. Panting, she picked up another one and lobbed that one as well.
And then because she could, because the fury moved her to, she leaned forward and screamed for all she was worth. It was cry of rage and helpless frustration, of uncertainty and confusion—of desperation. Kagome screamed and screamed and screamed. She screamed until her throat was raw, until her lungs were heaving with the effort to squeeze out air, until her knees gave out and she sank down into Bokusenou's roots, her fingers digging into the grass and dirt.
"I feel everything!" she gasped, tears springing forth to burn tracks down her cheeks and drip onto the backs of her hands. "I feel every ounce of sorrow and joy and rage and desperation and love and I'm tired of feeling ashamed of it, of hiding it—of pretending to be unaffected by the death of a friend and mentor. I'm tired of crying in your roots so no one will hear me, Bokusenou-sama!"
Rarely had Bokusenou been so moved by the anguish of another creature. He had not expected the screams, or the onslaught of emotion and speech that followed. He had forgotten that humans, and at the very base of her soul he knew she was just that, felt everything so very deeply, so very immediately. And so he deigned, finally, to speak.
"Do not hide, then. Bare your soul for all to see—and teach those around you the strength that comes in feeling, even when it hurts. Youkai are so long lived, I think we forget sometimes what it means to feel something so intense it cannot be smothered. Teach the youkai that surround you the meaning of an open heart and loving soul."
She looked at him, at the lined, rough face etched into his trunk. "Fuiasu-sama will be furious."
Bokusenou laughed and laughed. "Will that stop you?" he asked as he released his branches and roots to free her.
Kagome pushed herself up and brushed off her hands and knees and wiped the tears off her face and smiled. It wasn't a large smile, or even one filled with humor and joy, but there was a spark in her eyes that had not been there in a very long time, a warmth in her face that he had not seen since before the healer died. "No, it won't."
o.O.o
Word Count - 1380