Thanks to Misao CG, Vesta, the great, and Blooded-Blade for reviewing! Here's hoping I continue to please. (And continue to work. *fingers crossed*) Just as a personal rant: why is it that people think it is a decent fanfic to take characters from one series and plop them into the plot of another series? It nearly always follows the plot slavishly, with only a few of the characters' little idiosyncrasies to show that these are, in fact, different characters. Just watch the originals! They're better written anyway! By people who actually do think for themselves! Funny that... Anyway, that's my OT rant for the day. Most of you probably skipped it, so it doesn't matter much in any case. Have fun, minna!

Ladymage Samiko ^_~

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Of Moonlight and Honor

Part Ten

"Now again!" Sesshoumaru barked. "Ich' ni san, ich' ni san!" Yumemi followed his count as she moved through the basic cuts used in swordplay. She was quick to learn and took instruction well, never complaining when the long hours led to sore muscles, or when her father's impatience led to sharp words. She simply grit her teeth and worked harder. Sesshoumaru had to admit that even had Yumemi been a full youkai, she could not have done any better.

Tsukiyo watched from the sidelines, smiling. She could see Sesshoumaru's pride in his daughter and his absorption in her training. Though he continued to treat Tsukiyo with a cool reserve, she felt proud that she could have given him such a daughter and educated her well enough to meet his standards. For she could feel his approval and basked in it like a sun-starved flower. And it made her happy.

She looked up as Sessoumaru-sama shouted, "Enough!" and rose to offer both of them drying cloths. Sesshoumaru threw off his sweat-soaked kosode and tossed it in the empty basket by the wall, then accepted the cloth with a grunt of thanks. Yumemi accepted hers with a polite "thank you," having been berated by her father the one time she tried to imitate his behavior. She was expected to show proper modesty and respect for her parent. Tsukiyo smiled at her little girl. Yumemi grinned back, knowing that she and her mother would be right back here again this afternoon. And Otou-sama would know nothing about it. Tsukiyo was unsure whether or not Sesshoumaru would approve and Yume-chan looked forward to surprising him one day with her skill.

Sesshoumaru finished drying off, throwing the cloth into the basket as well. With a pat on the head for Yumemi and a polite nod to Tsukiyo, he stalked out of the dojo, intent on his own affairs as Taiyoukai. He left the remainder of the girl's education to Tsukiyo, as she had not proved incapable, though tutors would be found who were masters of their subjects as Yumemi grew older. For instance, while obviously skilled at playing the koto, Tsukiyo did not excel, and so was not to be entrusted with teaching the girl the finer points of the art. And though she knew a smattering of kanji (how, he could not imagine), she knew far from enough to ensure the girl's ability. And as his heir apparent, it was imperative that Yumemi know as much as she could learn. For the youkai world was not all about fighting on the battlefield. Many skirmishes also took place within the castles, in the audience chamber. Still, for a girl her age, she was no ignorant chit.

And so Yumemi spent the noon meal and her afternoons with her mother, learning writing, singing, chado, playing the koto, and a little arithmetic. In the late afternoon, she and her mother returned secretly to the dojo, so she could learn the weapon her mother and many other women specialized in: the naginata. A tall staff ending in a katana-like blade, the naginata was considered an excellent weapon for a woman, as it gave them a longer reach than a sword and kept what were often taller, stronger opponents at bay. Yumemi had perfected the basic movements; her mother was now drilling her in the more advanced kata. Still, Yumemi felt frustrated at her progress, since she had seen her mother practice with her own full-sized weapon. Okaa-chan was as beautiful and lethal as a hawk with her naginata in her hands. As beautiful as Otou-sama was. Next to them, she felt gawky, awkward, like she would never be able to be as good as they were. However, as her mother always told her, she was Sesshoumaru-sama's daughter; his strength was in her blood. She was capable of anything. So she clenched her jaw and focused.

Evenings, before she was sent to bed, were her favorite time of day. Before Otou-sama came home from the war, her mother would play and sing, or recite stories of her clan. Now that he was here, he joined them after the evening meal. (She didn't know that Rin-oba-chan had practically ordered him to.) If her mother played, then she would climb into his lap to listen. He had seemed a little stiff at first, but after a few weeks, he relaxed and even put a tentative arm around her. But she could tell he enjoyed the music. Okaa-chan didn't seem to want to tell stories with Otou-sama around, but Otou-sama could tell really good stories himself. Sometimes he would tell her about all the amazing things her grandfather had done. It seemed like he had been a really strong youkai. Other times, he would read to them from scrolls that he brought from his library. Those could be neat, too, because a lot of times they were youkai histories, all about fighting evil youkai and humans and other magical creatures. Still other times, Otou-sama and Okaa-chan would have poetry competitions*, firing off lines for the other to complete. Otou-sama would get very annoyed, though, when Okaa-chan was able to stump him.

And on a very few nights, they would go outside. Oftentimes, Otou-sama would show her how to move stealthily in the darkness, how to be aware of everything, since, as he told her, enemies often attacked at night, when they thought you weren't looking. In spring, there were cherry blossoms to see. Okaa-chan danced among them one night, when the moon was full and there were so many they blanketed the ground. She was so pretty with her white, pink, and red kimonos, the strands of her long, black hair framing her face, the petals falling around her and flying up where she danced. Yumemi had looked up at her father and seen the oddest look on his face. When she was older, she would look back and describe it as 'wistful.'

There was one time, though, when Otou-sama would disappear. When the half-moon appeared in the sky and was shrinking, she changed. Her ears moved down and her eyes turned black. Her claws shrank into tiny nubs. It had been like this ever since she could remember. It was the one time when she looked more like Okaa-chan. She had explained it to Yumemi a long time ago, so it wasn't a problem, it was just something that happened. Still, it hurt once she realized that Otou-sama left every time it happened. Her mother didn't say so, but since Otou-sama avoided her during the half-moon times, did that mean it was something to be ashamed of?

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Life became settled and (relatively) calm once more for Sesshoumaru. However, he could not say--as he had once before--that he was in any way bored. Training Yumemi in the art of the sword was time-consuming and brought with it its own set of challenges. She was a very good student, certainly, but he often had to figure out for himself exactly how much he could push her. He still wasn't quite sure what to do with her otherwise. It seemed, though, that it pleased her just to sit on his lap, her head tucked against his shoulder. In those evenings he spent with her and her mother, she could spend hours there, just sitting quietly, her hands clutching his kosode gently. He could almost think her asleep, but would catch her eyes staring up at him. Wide. Adoring. Trusting. Innocent. And it would catch him--quite suddenly--the knowledge that she was his. That his blood ran through her veins and would bind them together more strongly than any other earthly tie. And that she knew this and knew, somehow, that he would always be there to protect her. Not because he was Sesshoumaru-sama, Taiyoukai of the Western Lands, but because he was Otou-sama. For Yumemi, there was no doubt. And though he wondered at the feeling, he, too, knew somehow that he could never betray her faith in him.

And every so often, he wondered if his father had ever felt this way about him. If this was what his father had felt for Inu Yasha.

Still, there were other things to be done. He trained Yumemi in the things she needed to know about the land and youkai, about how to fight and track. He left other subjects to her mother, adding tutors and retainers to Yumemi's staff as Tsukiyo's knowledge failed her. Sesshoumaru kept a close eye on them, however, for he could not ignore the disgruntled reaction of his people upon her investiture as his heir.

The one night he took for himself was when the waning half-moon rose in the night sky. He would roam his lands or practice for hours in the underground cave. If he had wanted to delude himself, he could have explained it away as necessary practice, necessary defense. But he was brutally honest with himself. He was still disgusted by the fact that he had coupled with a human and though Yumemi was an excellent child in her way, to see her change into a human shamed him. And he did not want to know how he would react to that shame.

And he continued to ask himself why it mattered in the first place.

--tsuzuku. . .

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Cultural Notes (skip 'em if you like)

ich' ni san -- properly: ichi ni san. trans.: one two three. You hear this alot in kendo. Trust me.

dojo -- training area for martial arts

*poetry competitions -- many of you are undoubtedly going to look at this bit and say, "What the ---- was she thinking?!" However, being skilled in poetry was an important asset to the nobility beginning with the Heian period in Japan. (Often viewed as their Golden Age, more or less.) As the warrior classes came to power, they wished to pride themselves on being as cultured and civilized as the nobility. And so they continued the tradition. The ability to craft (good) poems was a sign of intelligence and sensitivity (which was, interestingly enough, a manly trait). In a competition, one person would begin a poem and the other would have to finish it. (They were short, haiku-type poems.) And while Sesshoumaru may not be Mr. Sensitivity, I doubt he'd want it to be thought he was lacking in wit. So, though apparently not as good as Tsukiyo, he can compose poetry.

Class is over for today. You are all excused. ^_~