Smile
When he thinks back to that day, over the many centuries that span the rest of his life – and he thinks of it so much, too much, it is a scene branded to his memory – it is not the scent of blood he remembers, or that of the freshly fallen snow, or the stench of the men, the humans, that killed her.
He does not immediately recall hearing Sesshomaru's anguished cry, rushing to their side. He does not immediately think of So'unga slipping from his grasp, or the sight of his son, clutching his mother's lifeless hand in his own, his face pressed to her bloody hair. The first thing he remembers is not whispering his son's name – Sesshomaru, oh gods, my son – or of clutching the shaking, dry-eyed boy to him.
What he remembers is leaving them, wrapping his arms around his wife and holding her for a moment – not long enough, why couldn't I have held her longer, why didn't I stay, my men could have done the patrol without me – breathing in the scent of her long white hair and her soft skin. He remembers ruffling Sesshomaru's hair, the slight grimace the only sign the boy gave of his distaste for the gesture.
He remembers looking back at them, watching her laugh and smooth Sesshomaru's hair – there was no grimace for her, no look of distaste, gods, how that boy loved her – and seeing Sesshomaru smile, truly smile, at his mother.
It will occur to him, so many times over the centuries – that was the last time he saw his son smile.
End
A/N – A thought I had. A rather depressing one, actually. Focuses on Inutaisho and Sesshomaru simply because…they intrigue me, and Sesshomaru is my favorite character. Why? 'Cause he's cool, in more ways than one.