Sword-Dancers

Author: Carcinya (Isolde on Author E-mail:
Category: Action/Adventure - Romance
Keywords: Rin Sesshoumaru Inuyasha sword-dance curse
Rating: PG-13
Spoilers: Up to episode 123 (Anime)
Summary: Ten years after Naraku's defeat, Sesshoumaru and Rin wander the land, accompanied by the ever-present Jaken. As the Lord and the orphan, now sword-mates, struggle to decipher their feelings, a new threat, however, looms over the Sengoku Era - which of course Inu Yasha and his friends feel compelled to track and fight. All this doesn't really concern much the duo, until a fateful battle... Caught in the cross fire, Sesshoumaru receives accidentally the curse intended for his brother - and is changed in human.

Disclaimer: This story is based on characters and situations created and owned by Rumiko Takahashi, various publishers including but not limited to Anime-Kraze, Sunrise and Shonen Sunday. No money is being made and no copyright or trademark infringement is intended. The whole sword-dancers concept is Jennifer Roberson's (May her quill never cease writing. Amen), though I modified it to suit my tastes - and the story's. The plot and everything you don't recognize are mine.

Author's notes: I decided that in twelve years Sesshoumaru would likely find a way to have his left arm back. So sue me. ;o)

The chapters are short. That's the way I write.

Sorry for the delay! Am working on my competitive examination (which will take place in May, but then maybe I'm work obsessed.)!

I apologize in advance for any spelling, syntax or grammar errors you might find in this story. I'm just a French girl trying to write in English. Bwah.

Good reading anyway, and please review!

Silver locked against steel, blades clashing against each other in an untiring contest of strenght and will. My bare feet moved carefully on the grass, redistributing my weight so as not to get out of balance too easily. Sesshoumaru-sama was nearly unbeatable - which had the knack of getting on my nerves - and I wasn't about to give him another advantage.

Purposely, I weakened my guard, accentuating the tremors of my arms. I really was wearing down, and I knew I wouldn't last much longer. But if I could lead my opponent into assuming I was more tired than I felt, I could drive him to use risked steps he would not have attempted otherwise.

I played a dangerous game. If I miscalculated my moves, I would be out of the circle in less time than it takes to say "Jaken".

Not for the first time, I wished I could dry my dampened forehead, and push away the straggling wisps of black hair obscuring my vision. Like Sesshoumaru-sama, I only wore the ritual dress of the sword-dance - a plain, sleeveless suede tunic, cut at mid-tights, loose on the chest, tightened at the waist by a leather lace - and yet I was dripping wet, beads of sweat rolling down my body. The day was hot and heavy and sticky. Glancing at the sky, I glimpsed darks clouds gathering eastwards- which meant we could hope for some calm, fresh shade after the practice.

When I say "we", I mean me, of course. And Jaken. For, not matter how cruel the sun, not matter how excruciatingly long the practice, Sesshoumaru-sama never broke a sweat. Ever.

Bloody unfair, if you ask me. Not only is he gorgeous most of the time, but I have yet to see him looking less than handsome. Or at the very least adorable. I admit it, the latter is an extremely rare occurrence. But still.

Changing stance once again, I faked exhaustion and dropped on my right knee, breaking the contact between our swords. I crouched, simulating lightheadedness. I smirked. He wouldn't know what would hit him.

I pounced on him brusquely, very much intending to knock him off his feet, for a change.

Sweet, sweet revenge, at least you're coming to me!

Sesshoumaru-sama sidestepped neatly.

Or not.

Carried along by my own momentum, I couldn't stop in time, and - of course - landed rather inelegantly on the ground. Out of the circle.

The fight was finished, Sesshoumaru-sama had won and I had made a complete fool of myself. Again.

I sighed, hiding my face in the grass. And here I was thinking I could deceive him. He had probably seen right through my act from the start... How very humiliating.

Now, don't get me wrong. I am not bad. Well, not that bad, anyway.

Ninth-level is a more than honorable rank for a sword-dancer - at least for an human one. There are fifteenth levels in total: each marks a limit in the skill of the dancer, taking into consideration techniques as much as power. From the first level to the sixth, you are an apprentice; at seventh-level, you earn the title of sword-dancer; at tenth-level, you can become a kaidin, an human teacher; and at fifteenth, the highest level, you are shodo, a sword-master. No need to say that only tai-youkais ever become shodos, for obvious physical reasons: they possess strenght, speed and willpower unmatched by any man - or woman. Humans rarely even reach tenth-level.

Sesshoumaru-sama was a sword-master. My shodo. He was the one who crafted my katana, Kentsuki.

For the magic of the sword-dance resides as much in the art of the dancer as in his blade.

Jivatma.

If a kaidin or a shodo decides to take an apprentice, he won't search one. The student will come to him, one way or another, sooner of later.
The teacher, provided he accepts him, will then craft him - or her, though that's not a frequent occurrence - a sword, in which he will have put a part of himself - a strand of hair, a tooth, a claw...

And the sword then comes alive.

Sword of the Soul. Sentient weapon. Blooding-blade.

There are many words to describe what cannot be explained.

But only one echoes in the heart of every sword-dancer.

Jivatma.

The link between the dancer and the blade runs deep and strong, going well beyond the comprehension of profanes. Which is why the students are given their sword so soon in their apprenticeship, the younger the better: a bond of this kind, so intimate and powerful, would be in most case thoroughly rejected by an adult mind.

Trust Sesshoumaru-sama to be the exception.

When the Lord of the Western Lands decided to take his eldest son as an apprentice, he refused him the sword he rightfully deserved. And so Sesshoumaru-sama was already a sword-master when he finally received his true jivatma, Tenseiga - which is a wonder in itself, since it can only heal and never hurt - from his father's hands.

But the damage was already done, both in his mind and his heart.

I don't think anyone could understand what a genuine sword-dancer, born and living to the sword, would be without his jivatma.

A naked blade with nothing to stabilize its course.

The fear, the anger, the hate.

The emptiness.

I did not experience it directly - and gods forbid I ever do. I merely saw an echo of it in Sesshoumaru-sama's eyes as he watched the broken Tenseiga on the ground, that fateful day of December when we eventually defeated Naraku. Sesshoumaru had shielded his younger brother with it as the monstrous youkai landed his final, most terrible blow.

The blade shattered. Inuyasha survived.

After the battle, a severely wounded Sesshoumaru-sama went to retrieve Tenseiga. He said nothing, just picked up the sword with wordless reverence, his face very pale under the blood. But what I will never forget were his eyes, his beautiful golden eyes lacking their usual spark.

Empty.

Inuyasha and the others watched mutely, not quite understanding, but rather dismayed nonetheless. Jaken was crying silently, just as I was, for we appreciated the full-extent of our master's action.

Killing him would have been less cruel a fate than breaking his jivatma. By saving his brother's life, he had thrown his away.

At ten, with Kentsuki in hand, I was invincible. I could not - would not - let my shodo whither away and die. He had saved me; I would save him.

How deliciously naive children can be.

And so I set off discreetly during the night, two sayascrossed on my backHow I did succeed to find Toutousai-sensei without being eaten by stray youkais is still beyond me. The fact remains that I convinced him to repair Tenseiga - a long, strenuous process which lasted over a month. It took me a further week after that to go back and it was well after sunset when I finally reached the gates of Kaede's village. A tall, imposing figure stood alone in the moonlight, blocking the way.

Sesshoumaru-sama.

A brief wave of childish fear at the idea of his wrath washed over me, and I stopped dead in my tracks. Tenseiga pulsed in my hand, like a reassuring caress and suddenly my worries disappeared. I knelt before my master in silent reverence. What would become of me was absolutely insignificant compared to the treasure I held against me.

He didn't so much as spare a glance at Tenseiga. He fell to his knees alongside me on the murky path.

And slapped me. Hard. It was the first time he had ever struck me.

I looked up in shock, only to be find myself crushed against his chest in a tight embrace.

I had expected anger, I had expected fury, I had expected anything ... Anything but that.

He was trembling.

"Foolish girl," he muttered against my messy, dirty hair. "Foolish girl..."

That day, I understood that my powerful, arrogant shodo wasn't the almighty god I had believed him to be.

And, strange as it may seem, loved him even more for that.

"Do you plan on turning into a mole, Rin?" asked said youkai ironically. I snapped back to the present, noticing in horrified embarrassment that I was still sprawled ungracefully on the ground. My whole body hurt from my particularly undignified fall. I groaned.

"That wouldn't need much effort," squeaked Jaken, looking pointedly at me, yet not offering me any help.

Talk about adding insult to injury.

I scowled, and was about to snap back sharply when the storm choose this precise moment to blow over. In a matter of seconds I was drenched to the bones.

I got up wearily - by myself, thankyouverymuch - and faced my tormentors. Sesshoumaru-sama was leaning - in his usual, charmingly arrogant way - against a large, ancient oak. By his side sat Jaken, polishing the Staff of Head with a smug grin. Both were conveniently sheltered from the rain.

Suddenly I didn't feel like fighting anymore - both literally and figuratively. The somewhat unsettling memories - yet another painful reminder of my ambiguous relationship with my shodo - had considerably sobered my mood. I was tired, so tired of this pretense.

I held Sesshoumaru-sama's cold gaze pensively. My strong, aloof youkai, who would rather die than admit that he needed me, a weak human, as much as I needed him. Over the years, I had come to accept it, more out of habit than anything else. And so I managed to grin and bear it most of the time. But there were also times like this, when I just wanted to walk away and leave him with his damned pride. Today was no exception.

I picked up Kentsuki and turned away.

Wishing the rain could remove the doubts just like it washed away my bitter tears.

Knowing it couldn't.

Anyway, please review! (I'm such a feedback whore.)

:o)