Chapter Text
I worshipped dead men for their strength, forgetting I was strong.
- Vita Sackville-West
-l-
It was his own foolishness that had led him to this. Sesshoumaru knew this. He had been arrogant, blind, so sure of his own cunning that he had allowed himself to be tricked like a pup still wet behind the ears.
It made his predicament all the more galling.
He'd made a deal with a sorceress. She assured him that she could craft a spell that would make him able to wield the Tetsusaiga. All she needed was a strand of Inuyasha's hair and something stained with his blood, and both those things had been simple enough for Sesshoumaru to acquire. He should have asked more questions. Should have considered exactly how her spell would work around the binding Sesshoumaru's father had placed on Tetsusaiga's hilt.
But he had not believed the sorceress powerful enough to be a threat. She was a tool, there to serve his whims, nothing more.
He would gut her and leave her corpse for the carrion crows, to pay for the insult he had been dealt.
-l-
On the morning following the casting of the witch's spell, Sesshoumaru woke feeling weak. His extrasensory perception barely extended beyond the trees surrounding him and his youki had dwindled to nearly nothing. His hearing was muffled and his sense of smell dulled, as if he had his head beneath water. His eyesight was less sharp, though the colors were more vibrant than he was used to.
He was not in the tree where he had chosen to rest the night before. And there were humans – familiar humans – sleeping on the ground below him. For a moment Sesshoumaru thought his weakness only a side effect of the magic, and assumed the spell must have transported him within reach of his goal. But when he attempted to locate Inuyasha, he realized that he was surrounded in the hanyou's scent. It permeated everything around him, so much so that Sesshoumaru had been filtering it out subconsciously, as he did with his own scent.
His own scent which was decidedly lacking.
Slowly, Sesshoumaru looked down.
He was wearing a red haori, undoubtedly made of fire rat. His hair hung silver and coarse around his shoulders. He had both arms and his hands were the wrong size, and missing the stripes that belonged on his wrists. He had no shoes to speak of. Taking deep, meditative breaths, Sesshoumaru raised his left hand and smoothed it over the top of his head.
His questing fingers found two triangular and extremely sensitive ears.
He was a hanyou.
The only consolation was the fact that the Tetsusaiga was strapped to his side, and, as promised, he now had the ability to wield it.