Mercy for you, Regret for me by Hairann
Mercy for you, Regret for me
Title: Mercy for you, Regret for me
Author: Hairann
Theme: Second Annual Fanfiction Tournament
Round One: Tender Loving Care
Paired with: Luna
Genre: Angst, Poetry
AU/CU: CU
Rating: M for violence
Warnings: Character death, violence.
Word Count: 1515 for poem alone. 2299 for the story alone.
Summary: Sesshoumaru shows the fallen the only tender loving care he knows how. By remembering them.
Note: As an added bonus, I have added the story form of the poem below it. I would recommend reading both. And I'm not 100% happy with the way they turned out, but I think the main problem was that I should have wrote the story first, I think it would have flowed better that way rather than writing it from the poem.
Challenge Link: http://www.dokuga.com/forum/29-challenges/64798-second-annual-fanfiction-tournament?limit=25
IMPORTANT!: Don't forget to read both one-shots and send your vote for favorite to TangerineDream. You can find links for the others who are participating as well on the link above.
...
He stood silently upon the hill, glancing below,
finding them all already lost.
He was too late this day to change what had come to pass,
and it was their lives it had cost.
Never before that moment had he thought they would lose,
victorious they should have been.
It would seem he had been incorrect in this thinking,
his pride; his own personal sin.
As the sky opened and began to rain relentless,
he mourned the passing of his kin.
...
His eyes glanced over the land below, seeking their forms,
finding his brother's quite quickly.
Their father's fang that both once coveted thrown aside,
his pale, unblemished skin sickly.
Rain already beginning to wash away the blood,
from the fatal wound to his chest.
He should have been there to protect him from such a fate,
as was their father's last request.
But he had abandoned his responsibility,
dooming him to eternal rest.
...
His destiny should have never been one such as this,
as a member of the white dog.
He deserved more than to end up slaughtered on a field,
his life disappearing like fog.
But as a warrior, to die in battle was kind,
most do not earn that charity.
Though it maybe painful such a death they would choose, as
such honor is a rarity.
A warrior was remembered by the battles fought
his merit shown with clarity.
...
Laying beside his brother's battered form was the girl,
for the first time, her voice silent.
Blood matted her hair to her face, clothes soaked through from rain
her death clearly was violent.
Abandoned beside her was her bow, fragments shattered
into millions of wood slivers.
Her strange clothes tattered beyond repair, showing still more,
skin no longer wracked with shivers.
Her face pale, expression etched in pain. No emotion,
no sympathy she delivers.
...
While she was alive, she had lived with such raw passion,
now even her eyes were hollow.
No more would her voice rise to cry out his brother's name,
after him she could not follow.
Never again would she stand before him with bow raised,
or dare to defy his demand.
Or risk life and limb for someone she barely knew,
voicing to him her own command.
A strange woman she had been, one he would oddly miss,
though their meeting had not been planned.
...
Not far from her the slayer lay. Weapon abandoned
within a pool of her own blood.
Drenched was her ebony hair, plastered against her face
her battle armor stained with mud.
Never again would she take on her defensive stance
boomerang ready to attack.
A slayer's life was doomed from the start, so she learned
death could never be put off track.
It would come for her, today had simply been the day
that her ancestors called her back.
...
He wondered, had she lived her life for all it was worth,
this girl whose name he did not know.
Did she leave this life with regrets she could not erase
or was satisfied long ago.
Had she managed to leave her mark upon someone's heart,
before her time on earth was done.
Was there someone that would still miss her, would mourn her death
or was she too survived by none.
Had she died as detached as he too had always been,
or was she somebody's loved one.
...
The monk had died with his hand reaching for the slayer,
as though his last thought was of her.
It was then that he noticed, she too was turned toward him,
as if to say that she concur.
No where to be seen was the staff he carried with him,
perhaps he had lost it somewhere.
Nearby them his sandal lay, forgotten in the mud,
sole cracked from years of wear and tear.
He noticed then that the string had broke, voiding its use,
but the monk remained unaware.
...
The cloth upon his hand still covered his family's curse,
shielding any who came too near.
Though it was not what had finally taken his life,
his death was still just as severe.
No longer would he ward off evils he came upon,
nor pray to the Kami for aid.
Never again would he be a man of the cloth, nor
the lecherous one he portrayed.
Much too young his death had been caused by the vile half-breed
bringing an end to his charade.
...
Turning his eyes away, he glanced toward a small bundle,
red hair screaming its owner's name.
Such a tiny one, barely beginning to live yet,
his death was truly such a shame.
He had done nothing to deserve a fate such as this,
but innocence is moot in war.
An infant still, unaware of the wonders in life,
yet has already seen such gore.
The sword at his side was completely useless, he was
far too gone for him to restore.
...
He would never grow, learn what it meant to be a man
or sire a son of his own.
So many things he would never learn, there was not time
for his death he could not postpone.
What it was like to hold a sword in his hand and swing
or to take someone else's life.
Would never know the joys of meeting his future mate,
becoming a man and his wife.
Or know what it was like to die in bed, old and tired,
instead his life ended in strife.
...
Across the battlefield, fur matted with blood, she lay
no more a powerful feline.
Far from the others she had fallen, tossed aside to
just barely shy of the treeline.
Her fire extinguished the exact moment she died,
her life snuffed out like a candle.
A true warrior she had been, but this last battle
it was more than she could handle.
Nearly the last of her kind, she should be protected
her death just might cause a scandal.
...
There were those among the demons that sought to preserve
the lives of those that were now rare.
Even he understood the treasure of her true worth,
but from this fate he could not spare.
The destiny of one such as her had been taken
out of his hands without warning.
With her death this life was less bright. Was grim for this world
no longer was she adorning.
He had failed her like he had the others and now much
like theirs, her death he was mourning.
...
The vile abomination would soon pay for his crimes,
Sesshoumaru would see to that.
He would hunt him down, face off against the half-breed and
he would win the mortal combat.
There would be nothing left of him when he had finished
and soon he would have his revenge.
Pay him back a hundred fold for what he had done, for
the deaths he swore to avenge.
He refused to rest until it had come to an end,
'til then, on battle he would binge.
...
There was but one thing to do before he left that place,
and that was to bury the dead.
A feat easily accomplished by him even as
the rain fell down from overhead.
One by one he would bury them all, pay his respects
as their souls began to depart.
He vowed to never forget their sacrifices; that
he would carry them in his heart.
But he had wasted enough time there already and
now it was time for him to start.
...
One by one they were put to rest, given their own grave
until only the girl remained.
Hole ready to go, Sesshoumaru reached for her and
he could hear her heartbeat, though strained.
Drawn by the sound, he turned and found her eyes opening
and quickly filling with surprise.
But just as quick she remembered what had happened there
and cried, “Tell me it was all lies.
But if they are truly gone, I beg you send me too
for it should have been me that dies.”
...
Confused, he could only stare at the girl in his arms
as she begged him to take her life.
“It is a lot to ask, but I pray you be tender
or simply leave me with a knife.
Those I love are gone and there is nothing left for me,
no reason to remain behind.”
Refusing, he shook his head, “That I can not do, I
care too much to be so unkind.
Your death would not bring them back or undo what is done,
but you need not be so resigned.
...
“There is still much you can do, including killing him,
which I will soon be on my way.
If not by your hand, then by mine. If you wish to watch
all you would need to do is stay.
But I can no longer let you die, for already
I have none left but you to lose.
And though you may see your death as a mercy, for me
it is a regret I refuse.
Come with me now and help avenge those we both lost here,
this is the only choice to choose.”
...
Sesshoumaru stood silently upon the hill, glancing down at the destruction below. The moment he had heard word of the half-breed being in the area, he had rushed after him only to find himself well over a day late. Naraku was already gone and the bodies of those that fought the abomination littered the field beneath him. This was not the way things were supposed to have ended, the victory should have been theirs, but Sesshoumaru found he had been wrong.
His pride refused to believe a member of his own family could lose against such an opponent, but his eyes quickly proved his pride to be incorrect. As though to mock him, the sky above ignored his agony and opened up as it began to rain relentlessly. Turning his head toward the unfeeling sky, Sesshoumaru howled a heartbreaking cry as he mourned the passing of his only kin.
Turning his attention back to the massacre below, it was not hard for him to find his brother's body. Their father's fang, that he had once coveted more than anything, was thrown off to the side as though completely useless. Though as Sesshoumaru thought about it, it was now. The only one who could use it was dead and now the sword was no more than a hunk of metal and leather.
Pushing thoughts of the sword out of his mind, Sesshoumaru glanced over his brother's form, finding his skin looked pale and sickly. Though the rain tried to wash away the evidence, he could still see the blood that stained his shirt drawing his attention to the fatal wound to his chest. Sesshoumaru turned his eyes away from the sight as he growled deeply, both at the scene below and at himself. He should have been there to prevent such a fate from coming to pass as his sire had requested of him. But he had failed and now his only brother was dead.
This was not how a member of the white dog clan should have ended up, slaughtered on a field in the middle of no where. He deserved more than that simply for sharing his blood, but as a warrior, Sesshoumaru also knew there was little more that he could ask for. Dying in battle, losing your life while fighting for what you believe in was an honor. One most warriors did not experience. Most fought for causes not their own, dying in vain by some tyrant's request.
Those that manage to survive the war were expected to return to their lives from before, now knowing the taste of taking another's life. If they do not get stabbed in the back by another warrior they had fought against, they go insane trying to live a normal life once more. A warrior is forever remembered for the battles he fought, his only worth in his ability to live to fight the next one.
Laying just beside his brother's battered form, he found the strange girl that had followed him around since the day they had crossed paths once more. For the first time since he had known her, she was silent. Signs of her violent death-the blood that mattered her hair to her face even through the downpour of rain that threatened to wash it away, her cloths tattered beyond repair- were impossible to miss as his golden eyes trailed over her broken form. Discarded beside her was the bow he never saw her without; splintered into millions of slivers of wood. Her face was frozen in an expression of pain, the last emotion she would ever show to him.
In the short time he had known her, he had seen her live with such fiery passion; seeping into everything she did. But no longer could he see the determination in her eyes. Now only emptiness remained. Never again would he hear her voice cry out his brother's name in her time of need nor watch as she followed along behind him after the battle was won.
Dare to defy and raise her bow against him; aiming her arrow at his chest as though she did not fear him. She would never risk her life again for a stranger she passed on her travels that needed aid. Never again would she command him to leave his brother be and live to do it all over again. She had been such a strange woman, one he still did not understand, but Sesshoumaru found that he would oddly miss her.
Turning his eyes from her, Sesshoumaru found the slayer laying near by; her weapon abandoned and covered in what seemed to be her own blood. Her ebony hair as drenched from the falling rain, plastering it against her face; battle armor stained from the mud caused by both the battle and the weather. Never again would she prepare herself for battle; take her stance with her boomerang raised. As a slayer, her early death was foretold as one who is always seeking battles would soon find one they could not win. It had simply been the day her ancestors called her home.
As he stared down at her long cold form, he wondered silently if she had lived her life for all it was worth. The girl-who's name he had never learned-did she die clinging to regrets from her life or was she satisfied with the life she led? In her short time on this world, was she able to touch another so deeply that she would be remembered long after she was gone? Were there those still left alive that would mourn her death or like him, did none she knew out live her? Though he was not sure why it mattered, Sesshoumaru wondered if she was alone as he had always been or if someone still around actually loved her.
Beside her the monk had fallen, his hand still reaching out toward the long dead girl; as though to say his last thought was of her. Curious to confirm, Sesshoumaru glanced back toward her to find she too was turned his way, as if to say her's was of him. What he did not see, was the staff the monk had always carried with him, but as it was now useless to him, he knew it did not matter even if he had some how lost it. No doubt having fallen off when he died, one of his sandals lay a few feet away from him; its sole cracked and broken from years of use. One of the strings had broke making the shoe completely useless, but he knew the monk would not care even if he knew.
Unlike his left hand reaching out, his right was clenched tightly against his chest; cloth still covering it and keeping any who may have come near safe from his family's curse. Though it had not been what had finally taken his life, Sesshoumaru was sure even if it had been, his death could not have been more brutal. Either death prevented him from continuing to do his job as a monk. No longer could he ward homes against evil spirits or receive aid through prayer. Though he had been far more lecherous than a man of the cloth should have been, he did not deserve to die in such a way; be robbed of life by that vile monster.
Taking his eyes off the monk finally, Sesshoumaru turned his attention to a small bundle of clothing and fur off to the side of the others. His fiery red hair an easy indicator that it was the small fox demon that followed the strange girl around as though she was his mother. His life had only just begun and already it was brought to an end. He had done nothing in life deserving of this, but his innocence meant nothing to the monster who had done this. He cared not the horrors he showed to a child; about how he would be effected by them if he had lived. As Sesshoumaru turned his eyes away to glance down at the sword sheathed at his side, it did not pulse. They had been dead for far too long for him to revive them.
Turning back to the young demon, Sesshoumaru couldn't help but think about all the things he would never experience. He would never know what it meant to be a man or to know the pride he felt when he sired a son of his own. So many things he would never learn because his death came too soon. Never would he learn what is was to defend himself with a sword or take another's life while defending his own. Or know the joy of finding and taking a mate; being the man she needed him to be. And he would never know what it was like to die peacefully in his own bed a wizened old man; content with the life he had led. Instead he had died a painful, bloody death.
Far across the battlefield, Sesshoumaru found the last member of their group; the once powerful feline now laying motionless with her fur matted with blood. No doubt she had been thrown across the clearing during the battle, landing just a few feet short of the edge of the forest. The fire that once burned along her body, had been extinguished the moment of her death; as it was for all others of her kind. She was a warrior, strong and brave, but this was one battle she could not win. As one of the last of her kind, she should have been protected from a fate such as this, and Sesshoumaru knew there were those that would erupt at the knowledge of her death.
Though most demons could not care less about each other, there were those in power that sought to preserve the older, dying clans. Who believed that a demon as rare as she was worth keeping alive and he himself understood the true worth of a living two-tailed cat demon, but he could not change what had already come to pass. He did not control what happened, the events that led to this day were out of his hands. With her death the world dimmed, now less beautiful than it had been. He had failed her, failed them and now he was left behind to mourn them.
Staring down at the scene of destruction below him, Sesshoumaru vowed silently to make Naraku pay for his crimes against them. The moment he left the clearing, he would hunt him down like the animal he was and defeat him in combat. When he was finished, there would not even be enough left to bury, not that anyone would care enough to. He would have his revenge, avenge the deaths of the fallen and make him suffer a hundred times what he put them through. Sesshoumaru would not rest until he had defeated him; would live on the desire to see him dead alone.
Now all that remained for him there was to bury those who had passed as he could not leave them as they were. And though the rain continued to pour down around him, he knew the job would not be very difficult for him. One by one he would bury each of them and pay his respects as the souls began to move on. Silently he swore to them to never forget the sacrifices they made, that he would carry their memories in his heart. But Sesshoumaru had to put that from his mind for the moment, there was plenty for him to do and it was about time he got started.
One by one, Sesshoumaru dug their graves and buried their bodies within; whispering the only prayer he knew. Now only the strange girl remained, but as he went to reach for her, he found himself hearing the soft, but unmistakable sound of her heartbeat. Confused, he glanced down to the girl in his arms and found her eyes opening; soon staring at him with the same confusion he felt. But it did not last long before she began to remember what had come to pass and softly cried out, “Tell me my memories are all lies. But if you can not and they are truly gone, send me with them. Take my life as it already should have been the one that was lost. It was my fault.”
Confused, Sesshoumaru could only stare down at her in silence for a long moment. Receiving no response, she soon continued, “I know it is a lot to ask of you, but I pray you be kind to me just this once. Or if you can not, simply give me the means to do so myself. Everyone I love is gone and there is nothing left for me here; no reason to stay.”
Shaking his head, Sesshoumaru refused her request, “That is something I can not do, for even I am not that unkind. Your death would not bring them back or undo what has already happened, but all is not lost yet.
“Naraku has yet to pay for what he has done and if for nothing else, you can live for that. I will be hunting him down soon and he will die. By your hand or by mine, it does not matter. But you should want to live long enough to see it done. I can no longer allow you to die as you are all I have left. You may believe your death would be a mercy for you, but for me it would be a regret I can not suffer. Come with me and avenge those we've lost. It is the only choice worth choosing.”