KILLING PERFECTION.

welcome  to  silverhairedinu  :          an  independent  adaption  of  sesshōmaru,  from  the  feudal  fairytale  series,  inuyasha.      originally  established  in  2012  and  revamped  in  2023.    rooted  in  the  manga,  with  both  show  and  personal  influences.    anti  -  yashahime  and  anti  -  sessrin.        canon  divergent,  and  low  activity.    written  by  vera.      minors  do  not  interact.   

affiliated with : @asteritm​ 

carrd wip.    writer is 32 years old, est.  full time adult.  activity may vary.

he had known @greenskirt​ to be a strange creature already;   a pesky slip of a woman that was infuriating at the best of times, and utterly confounding in others.   illogical and far too brazen for a human of this time  ---   and though she was, in a way, considered to be pack, with the melding of his forces into inuyasha’s  (  however temporary that may be  )  it did not stop the western lord from feeling his ire rise.   or even worse, confusion.

he does not say:  do you have someone ( or even more specifically a woman ) to love?  he does not specify any kind of romantic attachment at all.  just empathy and care for someone --  anyone.  which makes sense.  because when he’s saying it, he’s thinking of izayoi, yes;  but also their child.  and, whether he sess realizes it or not,  himself, too.

this is further proved by the fact when inuyasha is speaking of having people to protect, it doesn’t just mean kagome ( a potential love interest ).  it’s including everyone;  his friends, who he also considers to be his family.  ( found family!! ) and ofc when sess is originally asked he says he has no need of such.  that it is ridiculous.  but when thinking on it when battling so’unga, he of course he says he has no one to protect --  but it’s a lie.  he protects rin and jaken without hesitating.  and they are who crosses his mind in that moment.  his own found family, though i think at this point, isn’t ready to fully acknowledge that;  or maybe even understand it fully.  after all, yokai feel things differently.

which is yet ( another ) reason why i hate that sunrise did the thing that shall not be named --  because inuyasha and sesshomaru are protecting people they care about. which, yes, includes a romantic love ( on inuyasha’s side )  but doesn’t have to. though tbh you could even include kagura in that later on.  while sess couldn’t protect her from dying, despite trying to compel the tenseiga to saive her ( on his own free will; rather than being compelled by the sword!! ), he vowed to protect her from a meaningless death.  you can argue if it was or wasnt romantic, but canonically you cant deny if there ever was anyone he even had the slightest potential for romantic inclination toward or possibility for in canon, it was her. but whether it was romantic or not didn’t even matter, really, because he cared enough to be there when she died.  though he didn’t /have to/.  he cared enough to want to save her life, out of his volition.  he cared enough to think about her death afterward, angered on her behalf that her death was called in vain.  and of course, he was devastated when he couldnt revive rin again --  this time, again, by his own free will and desire --  and was immeasurably relieved when she was able to be brought back.  

        the  sun  did  its  job  for  the  day  and  had  begun  to  set.  reds,  oranges,  and  faint  yellows  coated  lush  greens  of  the  sengoku  jidai,  painting  the  forests  and  vegetation  with  its  light  once  more  before  giving  way  to  the  moon.  the  breeze  was  calm,  though  it  did  begin  to  bring  in  cooler  air  as  the  day  faded  out.  brown  loafers  steady  in  their  path,  hands  gripped  upon  her  half-empty  backpack,  the  future  miko  made  her  way  back  to  the  portal.  it  was  just  another  return  home:  one  for  replenishment  of  supplies,  and  of  overall  energy.  a  girl’s  gotta  take  a  break  from  time  to  time!  but  as  kagome  neared  the  well,  her  sixth  sense  picked  up  a  particular  energy.  a  remarkable  aura,  known  to  none  but  one  individual.  she  couldn’t  mistake  it.  giving  into  the  energy  she  felt  press  upon  her,  her  tracks  halted  to  a  stop.  she  turns.

        ❝  …sesshōmaru.  ❞    

    ╰    𝐩𝐥𝐨𝐭𝐭𝐞𝐝    𝐬𝐭𝐚𝐫𝐭𝐞𝐫    @silverhairedinu··· .

the scent of inuyasha’s pack on the wind draws his gaze.  he is not particularly close, but it becomes necessary now and again to have run purchase items from human villages and traders.  human food, additional clothes, or items for grooming. he is ill - equipped to provide her things himself, not knowing much ( if anything ) about what human children require.  but he has the means, at least;  sending the girl off with a bag of coins to get what is required.   and this village in particular has history, indeed.  midoriko’s ancestors resided there;  including the miko that pinned his hanyō half - brother to the tree of ages.  a place he visited, while inuyasha slept, if only to ensure no other had killed the fool before he.  

but in this moment, it is not the hanyō that draws his attention, nor the village itself.  it is the reiki of shikon miko that flares, unseen but not unnoticed;  raw, untapped power that has yet to reach it’s full potential.  he could not sense it on her, in their initial encounter;  sealed as it was, but now it is impossible to miss, much like the woman herself.  mortal in every way, he barely spared her a thought in his father’s tomb --  and now, he finds himself following the trace of reiki, of her scent, wandering away from the village with interest he cannot name.  the scenery blurs as he moves, weaving through tree and brush, until the forest breaks into a familiar clearing;  gaze on her the moment she speaks his name.   there is nothing here but the old well;  and yet, it certainly looks as though she is leaving.   to where?  and why does he care?

a scoff, short and near-silent ( certainly not to his ears ) escaped the targaryen then. the fragile minds of men…had she heard the words behind the words clearly, or had she, by habit, assumed the very worst of his intentions? “human i may be, and a young girl still though not quite as young as i once was—but only a fool would ever come to forget one such as yourself; grand as you are.” equal parts quip as it was an honest truth.

daenerys targaryen would never forget him.

though she certainly wished to.

now there a request which she had not heard before. that for privacy between them, so that they may speak…plainly? was that it? for the flicker of a second, pale brows set into a contemplative furrow. the past would remind her he had no qualms openly speaking his opinions of her, her rule, and her actions—or lack of—in equal measure, regardless of whatever another set of ears ( or multiple ) were within hearing distance. “your grace,” the voice of barristan selmy interrupted the momentary span of silence; returning her from the depths of her thoughts. the concern in his voice had not gone unheard, but dany simply shook her head, dismissive.

“’tis alright, ser. you may leave us, he will not harm me.” of that, dany was certain. the opportunity to had presented itself countless times before. were her life a thing of interest to him, he would have long taken it. “if you would be so kind, would you send for wine? i fear we may be here a while.” or perhaps not; this one was always quick to say what he felt was needed and then leaving. it was expected.

“certainly, your grace…i will stand beyond the door, if you’ve further need of me.” if you find yourself in danger, he meant to say. his men took their leave, as did her ko, in a shuffling of feet that echoed throughout the expanse of the war room before all fell to sudden silence. until the only ones to remain were dragon and demon, and the roaring sea beyond the gaping open of the hall. lowering herself upon an empty seat, she gestured him to do the same with a loose motion of the hand.

dany knew what was to come—the conversation to be had, if a conversation at all—would by no means be one between long lost companions sharing in the tales of lost time in absence. the courtesy which he had extended in his request was the start and end of his “kindness”. she met it with deliberate delicacy. softly spoken, riven and inwardly written in measures of infuriatingly intractable politeness.

“now, then—let us…speak.”

it is indeed pleasing, that despite his periodic absences, the edge of fear those feel around him have hardly waned.  for all except her,  of course.   he recalls that first meeting :  the way he felt her pompous for a woman so young, with dreams of grandeur and just stepping into her own.  clumsy in her few successes, but with the pride of a ruler at least twice her age.   lofty ambitions, demanding respect he felt had scarcely been earned.  then, he longed to see the she - dragon burn,  turn into ash;  or perhaps have her fire extinguished by the cold, turn to ice and crack beneath the pressure.  each time returned,  his own duty calling him home now and then, he was disappointed to find she had not died;  or, at the very least, dethroned.   for all the whispers of assassins and plots against her life, few had come close. 

despite what trust she placed in him, he could, of course.   snap her neck in a single breadth of movement;  burn her skin from bone with his poison; or impale her mortal flesh with his sword, his claws, his teeth.   and yet, he did not.  her rule mattered little to his own ways, after all;  this land was not his own, and no sovereign, be they mortal or otherwise, could ever seek to subjugate him.  the mild irritation of her person was not gone, but now  ---  he could no longer claim the woman hadn’t earned her titles, her loyalty, even if it was not him who gave it.  but much like she entrusted him not to maim her, he had trust in her character, the same he has seen grow over the years, if not all of her decisions.

 “    having wine, are we?   my,  how pleasantly you welcome me.   ”   teeth are bared in a brief, faint smile;  before his gaze turns toward the architecture, the tapestry.  the vigil of house targaryen born proudly, both in fabric, and in design of every pillar and wall;  evoking talon marks and rivulets of fire.  clawed fingertips reach out as he takes in the room, brushing over blood-red fabrics;  soft, and silken almost, in stark contrast to the dark of structure of the room.  surrounded by her ancestors, the silver queen fits in here more than she had in meereen, or the great grass sea.  there’s a wildness that remains, all the same;  no matter the silken nature of her hair, or the fine quality of her dresses.  the fire remains, beneath eyes amethyst, and the way she would all but snarl at him, even under the guise of propriety, tone betraying little.  

his ears never lie, after all.  

one of her attendants returned, a cup for each of them and decanter in hand;  the sweet smell of wine emanating from the glass.  it is tinged, only faintly, by the scent of certainty, though the woman’s hands to not waver --  not when handing each of them a chalice, and pouring until it is filled.  the decanter is left, then;  and when she bows out, he can practically hear the way her heartbeat desires to thud right out of her ribcage.  nervous, as she should be.  bringing the cup to his lips, he allows the scent to wash over his tenses,  inferring its taste before a drop ever hits his tongue.  it is sweet,  in a way;  but pleasant, for a human brew.

“    imagine my surprise when returning to meereen, only to find you were not there.   the wreckage of battle left behind, long with a great many other things.   ”     he did not miss the blown out wall beneath the temple,  for the strong scent of dragons beyond the breech;  chains pulled free and destroyed, left upon the floor as scrap metal. 

were they of another making, the manner in which he always managed to find his way back to her would have surely been worthy of song—if not a tale or two meant to entice young maidens with the promise of a love so true that neither time nor distance could ever truly hope to keep them apart. but this was not love, nor was the reality of their relationship ( if such a word were truly the most appropriate descriptor for it ) anything so fateful.

still, daenerys targaryen could not still the stretch of her lips, the curling of their corners, though ever faint.

to say the sight of him brought forth a sense of joy would have been a falsehood, but she could not pretend his coming—unceremonious as it often was—did amuse her some. the same could not be said of her men, for their hands had found their place upon the hilts of swords and arakhs alike. the last the targaryen girl had laid eyes upon him felt as though lifetimes ago, aye, yet even the countless moons that had passed since then had not worn away so at memory, that she could not remember exactly the sort of man, if she could ever dare to call him thus, @silverhairedinu was.

blood would spill if she were to allow it, but it would not be his own.

“they are but men,” daenerys hummed in her turn; pleasantly practiced. the lash of his words had not gone unfelt, but why allow him the knowledge or satisfaction of knowing this? it had been far too long…must they so quickly fall to old habits? “i fear you shall find most, if not all, incapable of detecting one which rides with the wind itself.”

a raise of the hand, silent order to stand down, and they did so with some reluctance.

“my…” friend? hah, surely not. a common title which the queen bestowed upon many liberally, but daenerys would not use it now—she would not lie before a man that had no interest in playing the game. “lord.” better, absent a sentiment which did not exist. “it has been some time since you last graced me with your presence. i feel truly fortunate, i feared you long dead.” there, the crackling electric of her tongue. “to what, pray tell, do i owe the honor?”  

brows faintly raise, in some mockery of pleasure perhaps; before falling back upon narrowed, golden irises.   amusement unfurls beneath the surface, though he does not let it be seen.  after all,  it would be unwise to give the woman reason to think he has fallen into madness --  not when his appetite for knowledge has only begun to be whet.  much has changed in this world, and the next, in his absence.  the tales he had heard have only grown in number, and in depth. it had been almost disappointing, when the daiyōkai came upon the city of meereen, to find it abandoned.  at least, by the one he sought.   the halls and grand rooms were familiar, bearing remnants of daenerys’ time there.   armor, weapons, and a map of essos with a number of pieces at play.  each,  he quickly realized, representing the great houses of this land. it was no great leap from there, with eyes sweeping over the dragon-carved piece placed upon the old targaryen stronghold.   a place he recalls, if only in whispers not meant for him to hear, she had longed to be in, just as her ancestors were.  

moons ago, her party was smaller.   still far greater than he had ever given her credit for, but a pale comparison to the vast number of people now at her disposal.  not only soldiers, though that certainly makes up the brunt of the numbers, as he saw;  but men and women meant to be wise.   to give council.     and yet on some of them,  there is a barest hint of uncertainty.    of fear.   a lesser nose would never be able to pick it apart beneath the surface of desperation and hope, particularly with how they corral at their queen’s side;  determination set upon weary faces.finally,  he assesses  the others he has scarcely given a thought: armed and unarmed alike.  analyzing, remembering.   

                  “    i’m flattered you have not  forgotten this one.  after all, the human mind can be such a fragile thing.     ”