A Trick of Fate by PristineUngift

Legacy

What made near immortality difficult, Kagome realized, wasn’t living through the passage of time. It was that others she cared for didn’t.

Miroku was dead, despite all of Kagome’s magic. She’d known of course, that it couldn’t last forever. Only a white fox with nine tails could give the gift of life, and Inari said those were so rare that some thought they’d never existed at all.

Kagome looked to Sesshoumaru, at the sword he carried on his hip.

But her alpha shook his head, and she knew he was right. It was Miroku’s time, and to call him back would only be a torture for him and his family as they had to watch him die all over again.

They went to the funeral, their whole pack, even Yukiko, and stood openly, undisguised. Kagome wanted everyone to see how special Miroku was, to have so many friends across species.

“Now you see,” Yukiko whispered, so low the humans couldn’t hear. “You shouldn’t love sea foam. It asks only for pain.”

Kagome looked at the inu through the tears in her eyes, to see that Yukiko was as haunted by her past as she had been the day Kagome first met her.

“Even sea foam is beautiful before the next wave hits,” Kagome whispered back. “And the more precious for its brevity.”

“Perhaps,” Yukiko grudgingly allowed.

-l-

There was a feast in Edo that night, a bittersweet celebration of Miroku’s life and a final farewell for his spirit. Tables were pulled from every hut and set up in the village square. Sango, bundled tightly against the cold, face pinched with sorrow, sat in between Higurashi and her third daughter, Mayumi, who had inherited Miroku’s spiritual powers and now served as the village miko. Kagome herself had given Mayumi her first bow, one taken from Sesshoumaru’s armory of youkai weapons.

Kagome and the other youkai were spread throughout the crowd, easily mingling with the humans. The villagers of Edo were well used to Kagome and Inuyasha and the kits, and even Sesshoumaru; so much so that they didn’t react to the additions of Yukiko, Inari, and Shiori. There were some speculative whispers about how Sesshoumaru and Yukiko were related, looking as alike as they did, but those quieted down after Sesshoumaru pointedly addressed her as ‘Mother.’

Soon people began to approach Sango’s table, telling stories of Miroku’s life. The crowd went quiet, the better to hear tales of the man who had been one of their elders, and helped to found the school that made them prosperous.

“He was a dreadful flirt, was Miroku,” a washerwoman belted out. “But he never meant nothin’ by it. He’d come to bring me the washin’ for his young ones, pretty as you please, and be smilin’ and wagging those brows o’ his at me, and then his wife would walk by and he’d plum forget where he was or what he was doin’. Always said he was married to the prettiest one in the village, an’ that’s the truth.”

“He was kind. And funny. He made me laugh when no one else could,” Jun declared. She was dressed in her foxfur kimono, as always, her silvered hair pulled back in a tight bun. Though she’d gone on to become the Head Tajiya of the village when Sango got too old, she never wore armor. Her foxfur kimono was better than any armor that could be made for her.

The youkai went last.

“I never met this human. But I wish I could have.”

“I first saw Miroku when he and his friends came to break a barrier I had cast. He was a strong warrior. I remember sensing his spiritual power, and being afraid. But he never hurt me. A lot of humans have hurt me, but he never did.”

“The monk,” Inuyasha choked. He cleared his throat and started again, tilting his head forward to hide his eyes behind the fringe of his bangs. “The monk was alright, for a human. One strong bastard.”

“He always let Rin put flowers in his hair. And he had a very kind smile.”

“He was pack,” Shippou declared, the dark look on his face daring anyone to contradict him.

No one did.

Yukiko said nothing of Miroku, but lowered her fan and openly studied Sango’s face. “There is much that is different about us, humans and youkai. And yet, this Yukiko is also a wife who lost her husband.” She bowed her head. “I grieve with you, Sango of Edo.”

The first tear Kagome had seen Sango shed creased her weathered cheek.

“Miroku was,” Sesshoumaru said slowly, “a human of honor and uncommon wisdom. This one would... call him friend.”

Kagome let out a frantic gasp, taking in a large gulp of air and tensing her jaw to fight back tears. Her throat was constricted, a horrible pressure in her sinuses. Sesshoumaru’s words… But she wouldn’t cry any more today. Not when there was so much about Miroku’s life to celebrate.

“I have seen the future,” she spoke clearly, looking out at the gathered crowd of humans, hanyou, and youkai, “and I can say that it is better because of Miroku and the life he led.” She met Sango’s eyes. Her mouth was dry. “Miroku was the Monk Who Carried Wind in His Hand. He was the Monk of the Shikon Quest. And he was a Friend of the West. But by far the greatest achievement of Miroku’s life was you. Each and every one of you.”

And with that, she turned her face away, her lips trembling. She blinked rapidly to clear her vision, a lump in her throat threatening to strangle her. She couldn't breathe.

And then a large hand caressed the nape of her neck and Sesshoumaru’s aura was at her back, steadying her. She swallowed, facing the crowd again, and smiled a tremulous smile.

Inuyasha had moved to take Higurashi’s seat next to Sango, and sat holding her hand. Yukiko stood with Jun, her fan a brightly colored butterfly of silk and steel. Rin was in the blacksmith’s lap, no doubt trying to sweet talk her way into being taught to forge a sword. Shippou was perched on Mayumi’s shoulder, the miko engaged in speaking with Inari and Shiori.

And Sesshoumaru and Kagome, the Lord and Lady of the West, were surrounded by young tajiya, all spoiling for stories of Sesshoumaru’s conquests and Kagome’s travels.

They were Miroku’s legacy.