“Never forget what you are, for surely the world will not. Make it your strength. Then, it can never be your weakness.” – George R.R. Martin
It was a misty morning that first brought her to him.
He was treading the lands as he always did, moving as if a ghost through the forests that he had called home then. She approached him from the fog that wove between the trees, though he had caught her scent long before she appeared. Witless and lanced through with the sweat of determination, the distinct twinge of someone looking for something. It made his nose wrinkle in disdain.
When her verdant eyes settled on him, he had stopped while standing aloft the roots of a great tree. It provided the height from which he towered before her, not that he wasn’t already so tall. Yet, she had more height than he had expected for one so meager in figure. She’d dropped to her knees in deference to the Great Dog Prince, reducing herself from the gazelle-like stature she held.
“You are Lord Sesshoumaru, are you not?” she’d said simply, swallowing hard against her innate fear. Indeed, he conceded she was brave to approach him; he was sure her instincts were screaming out against her choice.
He didn’t answer her right away, golden eyes slanted downwards to appraise her through the morning mist, and darkness of the forest. She didn’t move, didn’t dare to raise her face to him again after she had taken her vulnerable position.
“What do you want with me?” he said curtly.
“Please, o Lord of the Western Lands. I’ve sought you to train me,” she proclaimed, finally lifting her head to beseech him properly. He could now clearly see the green markings that stood shockingly vibrant against her tan skin. He’d already known what she was when her scent met him, but the gentle, light freckles that sprinkled their way over her shoulders and face identified her as a deer youkai. Strange that one should be this far in the mountains, he mused idly.
“What for and why should I?”
She swallowed again.
“My family has been slain by humans, my lord. Not one is left of them but me, and I wish to be powerful, like you,” she stopped to let herself grimace as if struck by the memory. “Please, I do not wish to die. I am tired of being weak.”
A low huff.
“That is none of my concern.”
With that he’d sprung off the roots of the tree, sailing over her folded figure to land behind her. His landing barely shifted the moss beneath his feet. She’d frozen, as her kind were wont to do, and now did not turn to face him again. He’d started walking away, determined to move on in his patrol, when a vine caught his foot. That vine had not been there before, he’d thought, as he sliced it away without preamble. More of them started to manifest from the same spot to cling like the worried hands of children to his boot as if their kin had not just been cut down in its prime but seconds ago.
He growled his disapproval as he turned to glower at the culprit, knowing well who was daring to show such disregard for their own life. The deer appeared more spirited now as her youki thrummed from her hands that were planted firmly to the ground in front of her, pulsing towards him. Defiance colored her expression.
“I apologize, my lord,” she said as her energy waned off into the passive force it had been previously. “Please forgive my insolence, but I wish nothing more than to become strong! I know I have not fangs or claws – but there must be some way,” she grew quieter as she spoke, voice breaking as a shudder ran through her. Yes, it was as he’d thought earlier. Her instincts were wisely rebelling against her very unwise decisions. He continued to glare out of the side of his eyes at her. To his surprise, she spoke again as he assessed his next move.
“Are you not the protector of these lands? My lord, will you truly allow these humans to get away with the slaughter of other demons when our numbers dwindle so?”
It was then that whatever small, fragile pity he had for her had worn out. He stalked forward to grab her by the collar of her furisode, anger flashing in his amber gaze. Hauling her up to face him, he dug his claws in the silk fabric of her clothing. Poison mingled at his claw tips, singeing the delicate material where it touched. The hind flinched away from his eyes, but not his grip.
“Your clear lack of self-preservation proves that you serve no use to me,” he rumbled low in his throat before letting her go harshly. She caught herself, refusing to stumble before him it seemed. “The plight of lesser demons does not concern me. Do not question my honor as such.”
He turned on his heels away from her. He had grown tired of this meeting and its sole occupant. With long strides, he began back into the forest, hoping to leave the deer behind this time.
As he walked along, he scowled to himself. He turned over her words a few times in his mind, marveling on it like a small pebble. Her comment had rankled him. He was indeed the guardian of the Western Lands as his father had been before him, however, the times had changed. Humans encroached, and more and more their distaste of demons grew palpable. Their gunpowder burned his nose, their settlements stole his territory, their noisiness irritated his hearing. He had resigned himself to the fact that the burden of his duties that his father had passed to him had transformed itself into another beast that dug its claws deeper and deeper into his back as the decades passed.
He did not need reminding by a lowly doe of that which he was well aware.
He continued deeper into the trees, but he was aware he was being followed. Low anger simmered beneath the surface of his stoic appearance. The hind was light on her feet, well adapted to masking her youki, and was keeping downwind of him and his nose, but she could not escape his notice. At this point, he was determined to ignore her. She would falter eventually. All those that were not him always did with time.
However, he, for one of the rare few times in his life, had been mistaken.
The hind tracked him for days beyond their meeting. Days turned into weeks, then into months. She was intelligent enough to keep a fair amount of distance between them, but she dogged him as he patrolled what remained of his lands. She settled when he took up a temporary den, watched from on high when he hunted with hard, glassy eyes. He, in turn, was stubborn enough to pay her no heed. If she put this much effort into training instead of following him, she might have what she wished for, he mentally grumbled. The nights he could sense her slumbering aura in the surrounding wood, he contemplated slitting her throat in her sleep.
A dusty corner of the dog’s mind offered him a blithe metaphor of the hunter becoming the hunted, that their roles were reversed in this game. It was not true, of course, and he could have, at any point, stopped her foolish mission. Yet, he allowed it.
After all, it was not his time, nor his endurance being wasted.
When it had been fourteen turns of the moon’s cycle, he finally halted in the middle of his patrol. It was a quiet summer night, only cricket song broke the tense silence that it held. A breeze worried the long pampas grass in the field he’d chosen to at last confront his uninvited follower. Sesshoumaru drew in a soft breath of her scent, holding it before letting it go silently. He could hear the doe coming up behind him. She took no measures to conceal her presence this time. Even she seemed to understand that he was at the end of his very long patience with her.
“Doe,” he said without turning to face her. The wind carried the bass of his voice along with it, causing her to stop but a scant few meters away from where he stood. “What do you call yourself?”
“Tsubaki. I am Tsubaki.” He could not see her, but he was certain the weariness was beginning to make itself noticeable. Her voice was hoarse with disuse but stronger than he thought it would be. The steady wind ruffled the fur that clung to his shoulder. A lengthy pause proceeded his next thoughts.
“Tsubaki, you have told me you possess neither fangs or claws,” he addressed her. He caught the shift of her furisode against itself as she adjusted her stance.
“Yet, do you not possess hooves, nor antlers?”
“I do, my lord.” Her breathing grew errant. She was anticipating a fight, or perhaps something more.
“If you truly grieve enough for what you have lost that you desire power, I suggest you sharpen them instead.”
The night grew still around them, silence resuming its oppressive pall that was broken only by soft chirps of the insects hidden amongst the grass. At the edge of his hearing, the doe’s pounding heart settled like the previous breeze had died away. He allowed his eyes to close for a brief moment.
“Continue to give chase, and I shall kill you,” he turned his head to pin her with amber hues. Green stared back at them, and the Moonlit Prince noted that a different gleam took the place of the one he had seen when they’d first encountered each other; this one he could not place. His gaze returned forward.
Always in the early autumn, when the leaves were beginning to turn crisp and change coats into bright yellow, deep red, vibrant orange, the colors of the wildflowers she had brought him in her youth and beyond. It was then that he took those three days. Jaken and Tsubaki knew the routine by now after many faithful centuries. They would attend to his matters in his absence, he had informed them when the Modern Era began to require more of him. He trusted them to be competent enough to do that much, at least.
Thus, when the fall wind blustered against the thick ruff of fur on his shoulder, he began his solitary pilgrimage.
Her grave was a day’s travel there, and a day’s travel back. The middle day was spent by her side; placing small flowers that had been pinched between deadly claws, recounting little stories of how his year had passed. It was rare there was anything of note, yet, through rain, through snow, through lonesome chill or oppressive heat, he would tell her.
This year brought with it unexpected tales to deliver to her, and for once, the Moonlit Lord felt the creep of anticipation for the journey slither beneath his steely skin. It was not much, he reasoned, but she appreciated the smallest of things.
In truth, he knew the act was foolish. His breath was wasted upon stone, flowers, and grave soil, and the bones and wooden coffins of those buried far beneath it. Still, he spoke them, perhaps spoke more in that single day than he would speak for the rest of the year between. Every year, for centuries since her passing, he retained this solemn vigil of his ward’s final resting place. Of that small grave, worn by time until her name could scarcely be seen against the dark stone.
While Jaken knew well the destination of this yearly constitutional, Tsubaki did not. But the doe, Sesshoumaru was aware, was not as naive as she played at. The scent of freshly cut flowers and old, turned dirt accompanied her lord when he returned. It left her with a decent guess of where his three-day travels led him.
The sorrow of centuries weighed upon him, though he knew it was far past the period in which he should have moved on from the loss. He cared not for the judgment of others regarding his private grief, he always did what he pleased. And it pleased the mourning beast within him to carry out this duty; to quell its weeping heart for another year yet.
This was his ritual, and even in death,
she would be his until the day he drew his last breath.
A wounded deer leaps the highest. – Emily Dickinson.
It was a century later before she came to him again through the winter winds.
Remarkably he, Sesshoumaru, had not sensed her approach this time. His only hint was a gentle thrum of her youki beneath that of the forest, and it was one that made him wary. He had perched himself on a low branch among one of the larger trees, surveying the wood around him with intense curiosity at the subtle shifting in power. Because the trees had been stripped of their leaves, it allowed him a clear view of the environs. Golden eyes narrowed as his senses allowed him to pinpoint what he was seeking, finally settling upon a figure against the snow.
She stood in the snow below him, aware that she was in plain sight. In the century that had separated their last meeting, he noticed she had filled out. Still statuesque, but now he could tell there was tightly-corded muscle beneath her deceiving figure. A chill breeze cut through her modest kimono; it seemed that her elaborate dress of before was gone, with practicality taking its place.
Yes, the Lord remembered the doe that had begged of him for power.
He also remembered the last words spoken between them.
“Continue to give chase, and I shall kill you.”
Let it be said that Sesshoumaru never went back on that which he promised.
He flexed his claws at his side before pushing himself off from the branch. His flight brought him arching downward toward the doe with a hand outstretched, though much to his surprise, there appeared to be no fear in her gaze. He swerved to the side, landing in the frigid, powdery snow to her right just as a cocoon of tree bark surged upward to surround her body. He brushed away the ensuing snow shower with a wave of his hand. Clever, he thought, and bothersome. Had he not felt the upswell of her youki, he would have been impaled by the hard spires of bark.
Through a purposeful crack in her armor, he could see the flash of green that indicated her eyes on him. Her barrier was a nuisance, but not one so difficult that it would not yield to his toxins.
With poison sizzling at his claw-tips, he regarded her, as she did him.
“Greetings again, Lord Sesshoumaru,” she offered him, with a bow of her head. Her eyes never left his.
“Have you forgotten our last encounter, doe?” he asked with a menacing crack of his fingers.
“Never.” He could hear the somber smile in the hind’s voice. How curious. “Have you?”
He paused, unsure of what she meant. He gritted his teeth together. He was the one that had brought it up, hadn’t he? Had he not attempted to fulfill his threat from their previous meeting? The hind read into his lack of response, speaking up once again.
“I have used my grief to sharpen my hooves and my antlers. Now, I humbly ask to be your vassal, Lord of the Western Lands.” As she spoke, her barrier crumbled away until only she was left. She bowed low, with hands resting upon her thighs. They did not clench in fear, and her voice did not sway with terror, indeed she was steady. Her eyes did not close, he could see their jade hues watching him through the curtain of her ravenesque bangs.
She was unafraid, but she knew better than to disrespect him.
Sesshoumaru allowed his hand to rest at his side once more. The doe posed no threat.
“No. I am in no need of a vassal,” he told her simply. “Be grateful that you still breathe.”
“I have not chased you down, Lord Sesshoumaru. It is fate that our paths meet this day, that much I promise,” she answered calmly. A blank expression was his reply to her. It was not worth his time to argue the idea this was merely an accidental encounter. With a tightening of his jaw, he turned and began to walk in the direction he had previously intended. The poison dripping along his nails slowed to nothing. She had consumed enough of his time a century ago, she would not do it again.
He had been fool enough to think she would not follow.
“You need not take me with you, I will only serve when called upon,” she said as she strode after him, trying to keep up with his long steps. Like him, she walked as if unaware of the snow and roots beneath their feet. To be expected of one who called the forest home.
“It is unnecessary. What use have I for a vassal?” he countered.
Truly, this was the most he had spoken in the span of several decades.
“The world changes. Before my very eyes, the humans have spanned closer and closer to these mountains.”
“As I am aware. What has that to do with me?”
“You cannot hide forever.”
He halted to level a thunderous glare at the doe from over his unfurred shoulder. Her tranquil expression rankled him that much more, but only his eyes gave away his agitation. The doe did not brace herself against the ire in his gaze. Brave, or reckless? He could not decide at that moment. He turned back around and kept walking. He kept his pace steady. She did also, much to his disdain.
They continued on for hours in silence. Sesshoumaru spent those hours wondering if he should deign her with a reply or leave her behind in the frost.
“I do not intend to hide,” he finally relented to the stillness of the snow and ice around them. He stopped, turning to meet the doe’s eyes. He searched her with his gaze, and she returned his lofty stare with a peace she had not known in their last encounter. Her aura remained gentle. Her youki was not but a distant hum against the dormant trees and barren ground. It, like the land, slumbered away the winter cold.
And she, like the land, was patient.
Time stretched between them as the hind considered his answer, and he considered her. Overhanging clouds had drowned out the pale winter sun, leaving only the falling snow in its wake. True, he did not need a vassal. Jaken and Ah-Un were nuisance enough for him to handle without an obnoxiously persistent and possibly foolhardy doe on his hands. Still.
“Tsubaki, that is what you are called, is it not?”
“Yes, Lord. After the blossom.” She lowered her eyes. Small flakes settled on her long lashes.
“You have survived a century with no herd to protect you.”
She nodded. He loathed to admit it, even to himself, but for one of her kind that was an impressive feat.
“It has not been easy,” she murmured. He blinked at her admission. “I expect no pity, but thank you for acknowledging the fact I have gotten this far.” She lifted her eyes again with a soft upward quirk of her lips. He glanced away, scowling.
“I do not need a vassal,” he repeated against his better judgment, “- but should you wish to follow me, I will allow it.”
After that, he began to walk on. He did not wait to see if she had followed, but he felt her aura steadily trailing him. It remained that way until he returned to where he had made his den for the time being. Jaken’s complaints of another foolish girl that followed him were ignored. And, the more he thought, the more Sesshoumaru began to pin down the look the doe held in her eyes the day of their last meeting.
She no longer feared death. She no longer feared him. It was the very same look she gave him during their earlier conversation. He could not decide if it was mere stupidity, or something more.
Tsubaki, the flower that bears no scent when it blooms. Tsubaki, the doe that leaves no footprints when she treads.
Someday, he mused, he would find a use for her yet.
Flag of "San Escobar", a non-existent country, a blunder of the Polish Minister of Foreign Affairs.
from /r/vexillology
Top comment: R5: On 10 January 2017, Waszczykowski, the Polish Minister of Foreign Affairs, told reporters that, in a bid for a non-permanent seat for Poland on the UN Security Council, he had meetings with officials from various countries, including some Caribbean nations, with some of them "perhaps for the first time in the history of our diplomacy. For example with countries such as San Escobar or Belize".
