Tears
Setsuna wasn't sure of what to do.
Rare was it that she found herself at an impasse with a decision, but where her family was concerned, there was no room for error. She searched her memory for the moment when her mother's voice had gone silent and her movements, while graceful, lost their cheery cadence. The dull throbbing ache in her forearm from where her sister's sword connected several times served as a deterrent to thought.
Setsuna hadn't noticed the onlookers in the beginning. Taken with observing her sister's movements and ensuring she wouldn't come too close to where her naginata would be ineffective. Blocking and evading, sharp quick thrusts at Towa's middle sent her twin on the retreat with a whooping laugh. Her sister was always the happiest when it was the two of them, but the quick upward glance hardened something in her eyes.
Their dance turned them in circles, and Setsuna glanced up to find three daiyōkai observing. Two whispered to each other while sneaking glances. The third, who often smelled of sake and camellia oil, peered down his nose with a severe scowl twisting his lips. Golden eyes, frigid and lidded, reminded Setsuna of the aged cheese she and Towa would volley upon Jaken's head when the imp oversaw them as small children. Yet, where the memory was sweet and nostalgic, the daiyokai's gaze was curdling and bitter. Without a word, he turned his head away sharply. A quick snap of movement on his heel caused the other two to follow, heads swiveling back to gawk at them before promptly changing their minds as they hurried after the other.
Towa told her to pay them little mind. Their opinion meant nothing, she reminded, and the two of them could spar for fun when they desired. But something settled oddly in Setsuna's stomach. So much so that it distracted her from the pain in her arm when it was struck by the flat of her sister's blade.
The pain remained long after their sparring ended, and her sister left her side after attempting to assure for the umpteenth time that she was well. Wandering to the gardens, Setsuna hardly meant to stumble upon her mother dancing amidst the blooms. Numbness spread through her chest. Her naginata dissipated into threads of light, retreating into her palm as she watched. The gardens were bathed in hues of orange-red and gold, illuminating her mother's petite form. Terraced lands burst with myriads of vibrant colors. Some were arranged into walls much taller than she, but her presence outweighed them all.
Her mother twisted in an arc, her skirts encircling her as they rose, revealing the mala wound around her ankle. Tchk-tchk-tchk filled the air as the beads clacked, shifting noisily on the threaded cord. Setsuna folded her arms loosely, knuckles curled in the crook of her elbow.
Why did I come here?
Her mother was often distracted during her dances. Her eyes closed, lost to the world. Just as anyone would be if they'd seen her move. She was beauty incarnate. Free, untethered and unbothered. It was no wonder her grandmother called her 'little bird'.
It's peaceful here.
"Setsuna?"
She jerked back to focus at the sound of her name, straightening her back when deep, brown eyes met her own.
When had her mother gotten so close?
Concerned and widened, her mother's gaze flicked over her and without warning, her blissful calm dissipated. Setsuna barely had time to voice a refusal before she was being guided by a dainty hand tucked into the crook of her elbow, her mother's slender fingers keeping hold with a delicate firmness. Attendants parted at her approach, soft whispers lingering at Setsuna's back as they passed. Mentions of the general's names made her glance over her shoulder, but the speakers were out of sight before long.
Now, seated before her mother as she applied a cooling gel to her wound, Setsuna was brought back to reality with a hiss of pain.
How long had I been wandering about? Did news spread so quickly?
Her mother's voice delved into her thoughts as she said, "Give it a moment to settle". Her gentle honeyed tone tentatively soothed Setsuna's nerves as the gel's burning began to cool. Conflict leadened Setsuna's chest until drawing breath became a conscious effort. Her mother, seemingly untouched by the concerns debated in Setsuna's mind, moved about her workroom without pause.
Her mother's workroom was a large, cluttered chamber, yet it'd been her's and Towa's refuge since they were small children. Sunlight streamed from the bell-shaped windows set into thick wooden walls that opened wide enough to light the entire room. The eastern wall had fallen into disarray after her grandfather's acquisition of the castle from its previous human lord, and a tree had grown to fill in where the wood had decayed. Setsuna heard from her father that her mother was charmed by the sight and insisted that the tree remain as it was.
To her surprise, the wood seemed to age with grace, and when the rainy season came, the room never flooded. Her mother whispered to her that it was because of the spirits within the tree. The tree was their mother, and for her to allow it to stay untouched, they were quite grateful. Initially , Setsuna was reluctant to believe such a tale. Yet now as she looked up at the tree's bountiful leaves, the faint shapes of kodama peered down at her. Their heads wound to one side with an eerie krr-krr-krr ,then rattled back into place noisily.
One seemed to mimic how Setsuna sat, back straight and shoulders raised while another ran down the tree's bark to linger by her side. Towa took their mother's approach and entertained the spirits with conversation and games; while Setsuna took their father's, acknowledging them with a curt nod and little else. Her mother must have been in deep thought not to notice the diminutive spirits set atop the swinging lanterns hooked onto the tree branches.
They watched her with hollow eyes and rustling leaves as she rummaged about the four shelves circling the room.
The first shelf was set beneath the window's leftmost curve. It sagged beneath sprawling plants overflowing from their chipped clay pots, herbs wrapped in bundles of straw, glass bottles and ampoules with glowing liquids, containers filled with creatures carefully fed and doted upon, and crystals scintillating when struck by the sunrays.
The second and third were squashed together in the middle — the wall that'd separated them removed years ago — a mishap from Setsuna's shared youth with Towa, which embarrassed her to this day when her mother told the story. It was also one of her favorites. Scrolls, stacked upon one another, were squashed between rows of books of various sizes, some of which were made with bark-bound spines, and others of which were aged, only preserved by cords wrapped around their sides to prevent the pages from spilling out. It sagged beneath the sheer number of inkstones, brushes, paints, hanging scrolls safely stored to be exchanged during the passing seasons, and the hand scrolls her mother collected over the years.
The fourth rested at the window's rightmost curve, and its contents eluded Setsuna's knowledge. Whereas the other shelves were open to viewers, the fourth had a sliding door set before it. She'd never dared to open it as a child, and not even Towa, who'd been bold since birth, tried to glean its secrets. There were rumors that her mother stored a gateway to the underworld behind it, or that something sinister was being hidden away. Very few were allowed in the room, and none were able to enter without her mother present.
Uncertainty pricked at the back of Setsuna's neck, but she was careful not to reveal it . For her to enter her mother's sanctum, there must have been words she wanted to say that were meant for Setsuna's ears alone. The thought of her mother's reprimands twisted her stomach into knots and bid her heartbeat to slow. Quick glimpses of her mother's face as she twisted one way then the other, dancing between the shelves and their contents — opening and closing without end, did little to stave off the fear of the inevitable.
With her features schooled, Setsuna drew in a breath. "Hahaue." Her mother's knuckles bumped against the glass containing a white grey-speckled newt, shoulders tensing slightly. "… General Harikawa told you what he witnessed."
Her mother's hand drifted to swing by her side and the beads laced into a long plait tucked behind her ear, rattled as she glanced over her shoulder. "He did," she said. "Your father and I."
Setsuna almost winced, but she caught herself, focusing her gaze on the kodama inspecting the half-eaten bowl of chilled heron soup and cold tea sat beside a mortar filled with an herbal substance. Her insides felt as if it were being tossed around by a pestle then ground into a fine powder. Setsuna knew her mother was lenient to them, and so was their father, those who'd served their family since her grandfather's reign spoke of it. How wild they were allowed to be and how little of decorum their mother applied.
True, she was graceful but she was untethered. Rules meant for women were steadfastly ignored. She quarreled with their father, spoke out during meetings, crossed blades with soldiers, and left to where she pleased on her own. However, even she had rules that were meant to be followed.
Her continued silence grated at Setsuna's nerves and she hastened her mind to build an appropriate response. Not wanting to glean her mother's discontent, she kept her gaze trained on the mottled light drifting from the window.
"I'm aware the training hall is meant to be used for sparring, not… play." The words were bitter in her mouth and she quietly beckoned Towa to forgive her. "It won't happen again."
Tension thickened the air and stole with it, the levity in which Setsuna was able to draw breath. Nevertheless, she waited. Her mother was torturously silent, and Setsuna was tempted to glance aside to see if she were even still there. The kodama abandoned their search of her mother's food to pull out one of the cushions tucked beneath the low table. They worked together in two teams of three on opposite sides, one standing in the middle seeming to cheer them on with a dance.
It was a ridiculous display, undercutting the visceral seriousness of the moment, but Setsuna was hard-pressed not to smile. Once the pillow was in place, the kodama abandoned it. The dancing one turned around and its translucent form, outlined by the sunlight, became fainter as the light dimmed. Her heart skipped a beat as she heard her mother's swishing skirts and glimpsed the mala around her ankle as she fell in a graceful kneel atop the cushion.
Unable to look elsewhere, Setsuna raised her eyes. There wasn't a touch of anger to be found on her mother's face.
"I'm not upset with you," her mother said.
Setsuna kept herself from gaping at her mother's words, but she couldn't help the confusion. "You aren't…?"
Her mother shook her head. "All that you've done is play with your sister," she explained. "It's what you've done since you both were infants."
The air was thick in the echo of her words. Setsuna willed herself to meet her mother's eyes and what little reservation held her was thrust aside immediately. With the light illuminating her from behind and the tree boughs overhead, shade outlined her mother's features —
almost hiding the silver droplets of tears wetting her eyelashes.
Her distress must have shown in some way because her mother wiped at the tears with the tip of her thumb.
"It's only natural for a mother to feel sorrow when her child is mistreated," her mother said. "Setsuna…"
Setsuna grimaced, and hesitated. She knew that her mother would try to comfort her or bring about some word of wisdom but it wasn't she who needed comforting.
Her mother smiled: faint, weary and saddened. It was a smile Setsuna couldn't help but feel didn't deserve to exist let alone burden her mother's face. Setsuna's hands curled into tight fists and pressed to her lap as her mother spoke.
"You are your father's daughter, but you are not your father. There is no shame in being as you are. If you remember nothing else, please remember that."
Setsuna nodded firmly then shuffled off her cushion. The kodama scurried away as the space between her and her mother steadily closed.
"Hahaue…" Setsuna mumbled into her mother's hair, pulling her into a tight embrace.
Her mother's fingers curled into the back of her fur and Setsuna could feel the slight tremble of her shoulders. Not even to her father would her mother cry aloud. Numerous times, she seemed to refuse to cry at all. For her to be this way, something inside of her must not have been able to withstand.
How dare he…
"I will remember." Setsuna accepted the squeeze as her mother held her tightly as if she would slip from her grasp like a kite caught in a tempest. "You have my word."
Harikawa would pay for this. Every tear her mother shed, Setsuna would make him weep a thousand more.
Author's Note
This was beta-read by ladiekoro on Twitter. As always, my friend, thank you so much for helping me as you have.
And so the granddaughter echoes her grandmother's words. In some ways, there's a hell of a lot of callbacks to things that have already been written that I don't normally catch. This is one of my first attempts at writing Setsuna's character in a way that I envision her in ATAT's universe. Her stoic demeanor, confidence, and quiet ways of conveying emotion are all evident of her father. On the inside though, I feel as though she cares a lot. And it's usually a battle within her because she has to balance caring so much and not allowing that to overtake her. Which may be why she adopted some of Sesshomaru's characteristics, or it may be emulation, but that's a topic for another day.
This is General Harikawa's third appearance, starting to become a regular, aren't we? And as we can tell, he's not especially liked but he has a lot of old-fashioned ideals that may rear their head at other points in the story. Truly a product of his time, that one.
Oh! But my favorite part was Rin's workroom. It's probably one of the few scenery pieces I've written that I'm like: "I wish I could visit this place?" It's really her with a mix of greenery and messiness, and i love it.
Anyway, that's enough of me talking your ear off! You can check me out on Tumblr, Instagram, Twitter, and Pillowfort at unlockthelore. On Tapas, you can find my original fiction, where I'm writing Oathbound!
Thank you so much for reading!