Inuyasha To Reach For The Sun

**Disclaimer:** No matter how long I've been scheming and plotting, Inuyasha et. al. still aren't mine. -sigh-

**Author's Note:** Hello people! I've been through a string of fairytale-inspired Inuyasha fics lately and thought I'd come up with my own—taking a _lot_ of liberty with the plot, though the basics are intact. This one's based on Cinderella, because it's probably the only fairytale I'm less likely to botch...though that remains to be seen, haha. (x.x) Haha. Anyway, let me know if I've done right so far, please. This chapter isn't edited—my beta still hasn't sent it back—and I'm still somewhat insecure about it because I rushed to finish.

Whatever you may think, please let me know. :D Your reviews could very well alter the next chapter (I'm still debating which way to go...-sigh-).

**Chapter 1**

**Coaches and Chimney Sweeps**

Cursing fluently under her breath in the sweet Castilian Spanish she had learned when she and her father had lived in Madrid, Kagome Higurashi gingerly worked to coax out the splinter that had imbedded itself in the skin of her palm. Around her the capital city was awakening just as the fog was lifting from the cold cobbled streets and the velvety darkness of the sky was lightening into a silvery web of gray. She bit her abused lower lip, which was already chapping from the cold, blinking furiously as she pressed the injured skin—already swelling from the wood's intrusion—and managed to push enough of it out for her nails to pinch. She let out a deep breath as she pulled it out, her lips tightening as blood rushed out, pooling into a tiny pinprick on her already callused palm.

"Perfect way to start a day," she muttered, smiling despite herself. It was something that her long-time friend and fellow servant, Sango, recited like some sort of mantra whenever the day looked particularly long and difficult.

It sounded better with Sango's voice and strength backing it, however, and Kagome sighed wearily as she wondered how long it would be before she heard that again. Her friend was accompanying the younger of Kagome's two stepsisters on a trip to Italy—for lace, apparently—and had been gone a full two months now. It had been difficult before, but with Sango gone the household duties had doubled to a backbreaking extent.

Not to mention that with her younger sister Ayame gone, the elder of Kagome's stepsisters—Kikyo—was now finding more entertaining ways to fill up her spare time. Since Kagome was apparently unfit for practicing music, preening and pampering, shopping that did not involve carrying bags, and salacious gossip, Kikyo took it upon herself to interact with Kagome twice as often in the manner she had adapted since Kagome's father had passed away.

That involved lounging about in the sun room eating the rare tropical fruits that she knew Kagome had adored while Kagome tidied up, doing her best to cover the rumbling of her stomach as she rearranged the furniture to Kikyo's liking. It also involved throwing out barely used gowns for "charity" as she gave Kagome's scuffed, patched, and torn clothing disparaging glances. It involved long hours of brushing and styling Kikyo's flowing black hair until it slid like silk through her rough hands while she complained about the state of Kagome's cooking and the way she was letting the once stately house fall into disrepair.

"It's not like you know how to do anything else," Kikyo had snipped on more than one occasion when something was not to her liking. "You might as well be good at what you know or you'll never be of much use."

Kikyo, of course, was drawing on the conclusion that since Kagome had never attended any proper young lady's school, had not flipped through books like _Peerage_, and could not play any musical instrument to save her life, she was the perfect antithesis of what Kikyo was—cultured and civilized. Kikyo did not know that in the years she had spent traveling with her father—once one of the country's finest and wealthiest merchants—she had an excellent grasp of languages, a good hand for money and a sharp eye for business, as well as a shrewd demeanor—three things that had helped her keep the household afloat despite her stepfamily's determination to squander everything they had on what Kagome believed to be the most ridiculous notion on earth.

_Marriage._

She sneered, now thoroughly immersed in black thoughts as she contemplated her life and the people who made it incredibly difficult for reasons she could not fully grasp. Grasping the flaking handle of the oddly shaped broom meant for such a task and hefting the bucket handle over one arm so that it hung on her elbow, she made her way to the end of the alley and grasped the rusty old pipe that served as her ladder. Cleaning out the chimneys was one of her least favorite tasks, but it was the first on her list because most of the ashes came from the fires lit at night and in the early morning the rooms with the hearths were unoccupied—meaning no shrieking Kikyo to tell her off for letting the ash and soot get all over the place. If she finished early, she'd be able to clean up any of the said offenders before her stepfamily got into those particular rooms.

"Like getting a ring on your finger would solve anything," she heaved bitterly as her aching arms screamed in protest—stiff from the cold and the laundry she had been forced to do last night in order to rush the gowns Kikyo was suddenly set upon wearing _today_. "Look what it got _us_ into."

She didn't want to blame her troubles on her father's decision to remarry, but the hardship she had been undertaking for almost a full decade demanded she blame _something_. It hadn't been a marriage of necessity—when he had done it, her father _and_ his businesses had been at the prime. He had simply done it because he had realized on Kagome's eighth birthday that while other girls were playing house and cooing over dolls, she was analyzing ledgers and making it her business to know what life was like at ports, markets, shipping offices, and all other places where the grit and money pooled. She needed a mother—some feminine influence in a life that was so masculine—and in a breath she had found herself staring across the table at Kaguya and her two daughters, Kikyo and Ayame, who had been all too happy to sign up for the job.

In the end, she had nobody to blame. Even she'd been taken in by Kaguya's glamour, Kikyo's pristine elegance, and Ayame's glowing exuberance. The three of them had seemed such spectacular additions to the family when she'd first met them that she'd been actually eager to rub shoulders with them more often. That was when she'd felt the prickles and pins past the brilliance of their smiles, but by then there'd been an equally brilliant diamond ring flashing on Kaguya's slender left ring finger.

She took a moment to gain her balance and pick her poison. There were two chimneys that piped merrily out of the house, both half-ruined and both several meters from where she had pulled herself up. This usually wasn't a problem, but with the weather still chilly from winter and absolutely no snow to cushion any possible falls, the task of cleaning the chimneys became considerably more daunting with slightly frosted, slippery roof tiles—which was why Sango usually took care of it when she was around. Left with the unchangeable facts that Sango was still abroad and the weather was not going to warm up any quicker for her, Kagome had only two options.

The first was to take off her cracked boots and expose her practically bare (as her stockings offered but the faintest promise of protection) feet to the freezing, cracked roof tiles and the inevitable splinters and whatnots lurking in the ridgepole. On the other hand, it was also an option to keep her boots on and risk slipping on said roof tiles and ridgepole and falling with a sickening crunch into the dark alley, to be half-consumed by dogs and insects until Kikyo screeched about the strange smell and Kagome's body was found.

As she considered the likeliness of falling to her death on the street side of the house—and Kaguya possibly refusing to have her properly buried because of the _public_ mess—she sighed resignedly and reached down to pull off her boots.

---

_I'm home._

It was sinking in, _finally._

With his cravat loosened, his blood red jacket thrown carelessly over his shoulders, long, booted legs stretched across the span of the carriage, and his silvery hair fallen from his neat ponytail, the young man with eyes of gilt did justice to the twelve-hour travel he'd endured from the last inn—as well as the two bottles of Madeira that he had consumed in that period of time. If the alcohol hadn't affected his state of consciousness the way it had his best friend, who was sprawled across the seat across him, it had certainly delivered a blow to the stability of his mood, which had gone from hysterical to jubilant to simply brooding.

_What am I doing here?_ Prince Inuyasha wondered not for the first time as the horses clopped over the winding city streets of the Capital, drawing the sleek, elegant carriage at an agonizing laggard's pace. Normally he hated it when the driver dozed, but given the way he had pushed to make it to the Capital before dawn, it was understandable.

Besides, if he was honest with himself, it was becoming increasingly clear that he _wasn't_ as prepared for his homecoming as he'd originally hoped. Even when it was his only viable option, he'd held back for weeks, making stupid excuses about enjoying the countryside and privacy that Miroku bought as much as Inuyasha bought his best friend's vow of chastity.

After he had successfully browbeaten Inuyasha into traversing the final fifteen leagues from the nearest settlement to the Capital, where was the venerable and dependable monk when he needed him?

_Snoring after just two bloody bottles_, Inuyasha sneered inwardly. _So much for moral support, you letch._

If it had been possible, he'd have popped his head out the window and screeched at the driver to turn around. Unfortunately (or fortunately, considering his pride and heretofore lack of cowardice?) for him, the letter he'd received two weeks ago as he'd stopped by the third outmost settlement had nixed all plans of retreat.

The fact that he had come home was unbelievable enough. The circumstances of his return were even more ludicrous. But absolutely _nothing_ could top the fact that he was staying despite the warning he'd received regarding the monarchy's plan for him now that he was in family territory for the first time in six years.

He should've expected it from Sesshoumaru. While it was certainly true that there was no love lost between the siblings from the beginning, his brother _had_ minded Inuyasha's unprecedented enrollment in a private military academy in the Eastern Kingdom right after their father's death. The fact that he'd made his enrollment known only when he was safely ensconced in the confines of Ryuukotsusei's lands didn't exactly make things any more acceptable for his brother, who had had his own plans for Inuyasha at the time.

Of course, Sesshoumaru had covered it up smoothly by saying that _he_ had put Inuyasha in the care of their country's greatest rival in a diplomatic effort that constituted the confidence the Western Kingdom had in itself and the respect it held for its peers. The people had bought it, Ryuukotsusei had bought it, but despite the harmlessness of his brother's public response to his announcement, it was the lack of private response that had chilled him. It had been an intended insult, after all, to go without the blessings of the king to be sheltered by the man that the former king had spent half his life at odds with. It was inconceivable to believe time had dulled Sesshoumaru's anger—pardon wasn't something Sesshoumaru's heart could foster.

Nor did Inuyasha expect to be spared for all the good he had done in the six years he'd been away. After Sesshoumaru had touted his running away from home as "diplomacy", trade had flourished between the two kingdoms, and Ryuukotsusei's once ruthless policy towards the West had softened considerably as Inuyasha had climbed to favor under his military's tutelage. He had excelled in all military disciplines, and with the help of a certain runaway monk, he'd managed to gain social skills that went with his magnetism but didn't compromise the part of him that wanted to remain true to himself.

Ryuukotsusei in particular had seen something in him that Inuyasha's own family and people had missed. It was understandable for him to be overshadowed—as people often made it a point to tell him, with someone like Sesshoumaru around, who _didn't_ take a backseat? But with Inuyasha in direct proximity and Sesshoumaru miles away, Ryuukotsusei had somehow managed to be impressed enough with him to do the unthinkable.

He'd offered Inuyasha one of his own daughters.

Yura.

Apart from the fact that the woman was almost Sesshoumaru's age, she was also mean-spirited, spoiled, and promiscuous—though clever enough to hide such qualities from her father, who favored her so much that he'd beheaded Yura's younger sister for speaking against her when they were but children. Yura had kept her sister's skull as a token to that triumph, and with such power in her petty, cruel hands, she'd managed to install herself as the most important person in the country second to the king, usurping the powers granted by birth to the king's older children, Naraku and Kagura.

If Inuyasha had been anything like Naraku, perhaps he'd have accepted the king's offer and married the wench, if only to gain a solid foothold in the Eastern Kingdom. With so much backing from the king, he'd probably have been crowned in Naraku's stead and he'd have perfectly solidified East and West, giving credence to Sesshoumaru's fabrication of diplomacy.

But unlike Naraku, who was cunning and wise enough to live under Yura's yoke while Ryuukotsusei was king, Inuyasha wasn't interested in forwarding self-interests that didn't lie in politics in the first place. Also unlike Naraku, he was unwilling to stomach what he found instinctively repulsive, and on that list was marrying a sadistic bitch in order to become king of a country that he really didn't want to rule anyway.

So he'd declined on the grounds of being unprepared for marriage as well as it being inappropriate for the prince to take a wife when the king still had not. It had been a ditch attempt after he'd briefly considered angling for Kagura--a thought that he'd quashed upon realizing that while it would mollify Ryuukotsusei, it would enrage Yura, and he was willing to bet his title that she would do everything in her power to add another sisterly skull to her grim display.

In the end he'd been left with no real choice but to spurn the king and leave. The only good thing about it was that he'd already graduated, and the only thing he'd left to lose was the lofty position that he'd been offered shortly after. Had he stayed after Ryuukotsusei's civil reception of his refusal, he was certain he'd have been pressured into marrying Yura anyway. After all, how long could he hold onto his excuses? Sesshoumaru was the antithesis to romance and affection, but he knew his duties as king and would have probably taken a wife sooner or later.

Inuyasha wanted to be miles away from Ryuukotsusei and his kin when that happened.

Though the letter in his hand didn't exactly make him want to be near Sesshoumaru either. After all, Sesshoumaru had learned long ago that there were worse ways to punish a person than simple, brutal death.

A chill wind swept into the carriage as he pushed aside the velvet drapes and moved the sliding glass to let air in. The broken seal flipped, revealing the single sentence contained in the entire sheet of parchment, it's sharp, precise strokes becoming more and more visible in the steadily increasing light.

_Welcome home, little brother._

A mere moment later the wind dragged other smudges of black over the pristine writing material, shaking the prince from his thoughts as ash swirled up his nose.

---

Kagome grit her teeth as she shook the stubborn brush more forcefully, beating it against the sloping roof to rid it of the cloying bits of ash and debris. The stupid thing seemed to have a degree of saturation when it came to dirt—once it reached a certain capacity of soot, ash, and coal, it refused to heave up more. If she forced it to, she knew she'd only have more dirt to clean up and much more left along the chimney line, as each time she dipped the broom in she dislodged hundreds of dirt particles.

"Is _everything_ going to go wrong today?" she demanded, past the point of caring whether her ministrations would clean the broom or break it. "How—" _Thwack._ "—can—" _Thwack. _"—this—" _Thwack_. "—_possibly—_" _Thwack!_ "—get—" _Thwack!_ "_—WORSE!—_" _Thwack! Thwack! Thwack!_

_Snap!_

A cloud of soot exploded before her and she tumbled backwards, landing painfully on her bottom. It didn't help that despite the painful way the broken tiles stuck into her rump she slid a good number of inches lower, leaving her feet to dangle precariously over the roof's jagged edge. On reflex, her hands clamped down on the tiles at her sides. She managed to stop her dangerous slide—and cut herself quite deeply. She'd barely pried her hands off the protruding clay chips before she felt something blunt but equally painful hit one of her already painful feet.

_"Oy!"_

The sharp voice came from below, and she leaned forward to glare angrily down at the unsympathetic bastard who'd had the nerve to strike her.

Hands on his hips and his legs planted firmly apart, the only thing that distinguished the young man from a fairytale wraith were the solid-looking (not to mention expensive-looking) clothes he wore. Even though the light was stronger now than before his silvery hair and shockingly fair complexion seemed to blend into each other as the tendrils of mist still lifting off the ground caressed him, making his features waver before her bleary eyes.

A closer look provided her with proof that he was real enough—from beneath strong black brows fierce golden eyes derided her as one hand lifted from his hip to toss a fair-sized rock threateningly before catching it again. She heard a soft whinny and dragged her gaze from his to take in the four-horse carriage that was behind him, the door of which was open.

Realizing that her assailant was not some malevolent dawn spirit and more likely some rich passing bastard who decided to pick on the poor folk, the temper that had been leveled by astonishment rose up dangerously once more.

_"What!"_ she snapped angrily as she felt the pain from her numerous injuries afresh.

_"What the hell do you think you're doing up there!"_ the young man shouted back, and if she weren't equally incensed she would have reared back from the threat in the depths of his molten eyes. _"Do you know how much dirt you're scattering over the place!"_

_"Well!"_ Kagome huffed indignantly, shocked more than anything that _that_ would be his reason for being angry with her. _"Excuse **me**,_ but isn't it elementary that when you clean house the dirt goes _outside?"_

"Yeah, but it isn't everyday that your goddamn dirt tries to choke innocent passers-by! And it's not like anyone's going to be inspecting your roof, wench!"

"For your information, _sir_, I was cleaning our chimneys! And at this hour where it's barely light, the only passers-by are servants and people who are hardly innocent!"

_"Are you calling me a thief, wench?"_ he snarled at her, and she was suddenly grateful for the elevation she had from him. Though the rock in his hand had great potential to breach it, it was far less ominous than being on equal footing with its wielder.

"Hardly!" she answered a bit shakily, considering the risk of scrabbling back until she was out of sight. "If you were, you wouldn't be wasting time haranguing someone who's minding her own business and doing her job!"

The young man snorted, his voice dripping with derision as he folded his arms and regarded her disdainfully.

"You're unwashed and covered in dirt and your clothes can hardly be called 'clothes.' You're disrespectful and irresponsible, and you do a terrible job to boot. If you were _my_ servant, you'd no longer have your job!"

It was so hypocritical and uncalled for that she stared at him for a full second, rage welling in her chest. Forgetting the pain that was shooting into her from her scrapes and the small punctures, she managed to gain her balance. Had she been coherent, she would have seen the apprehension that filled her provoker's face as the possibility of her jumping (for whatever misguided reasons known only to peasants) occurred to him.

_Please don't tell me servants have gotten suicidal to criticism while I was away_, Inuyasha begged silently, knowing he'd probably catch the girl if she was stupid enough to hurtle herself off the roof. It wasn't very high, but he'd seen shorter distances break necks, and the girl—for all her spunk and apparent sturdiness as a servant, was extremely fragile in his eyes.

When a decidedly pointed stake hit the ground between his legs all thoughts of rescue left his mind.

_"What the—"_

She was _attacking_ him.

After almost choking him to death with her careless discarding of chimney dirt, the insolent servant was actually attacking him.

On his homecoming, no less.

_"You—egotistical—bastard!"_

With each word something crashed into the street several inches from where he stood, refusing to budge in the face of a stupid servant's rage. Another pointed piece of wood sailed past him, then something that he assumed was clay of some sort smashed against the carriage behind him, causing the horses to stir, whinnying restlessly.

"You stupid girl, what the hell do you think you're doing!" he roared at her as the carriage swung dangerously to the side as the horses pranced. His incensed words only served to gain him further assault as she bent down to pick up another roof tile and throw it at him with startling accuracy. He stepped back so that it didn't hit him, but it crashed against the door of the carriage with enough force to send small shards flying towards him.

Inuyasha saw the prone form on the seat jerk, and a dark head rose from where it was pillowed in a violet jacket. Deep blue eyes latched onto him, incisively alert as Miroku's lean body straightened from its careless sleeping position.

"Don't tell me Ryuukotsusei's attacking us?" he asked mildly, his voice still scratchy from sleep.

"No, just a fucking harpy," Inuyasha snapped, dodging another tile that came dangerously close. He turned back to the crazy girl, sparks shooting from his eyes. _"I'm **warning** you, wench!"_

**_"Oh yeah!"_**

Inuyasha's mind registered that she was holding something metal above her head, and reflexively he pulled his arm back, the stone he'd been meaning to put down minutes before deftly leaving his fingers as he struck out.

Kagome gasped as the heavy bucket was knocked from her grasp and she felt herself sway as ash poured onto her head. Her eyes burned as she fought to keep them open despite the hundreds of particles, the wind screaming in her ears as her arms wheeled for balance.

Or was that her voice she heard?

She must have been on the edge or very near it, she realized, as the tiles gave way beneath her and she scrabbled wildly against the air to grasp something in her semi-blind state.

Inuyasha stepped forward to catch her only to jump back as the bucket (_Only a goddamn **bucket!**)_ she'd been holding rolled over the roof to dump ash all over him. It hit the ground several feet away—though the sound of a body didn't follow. Murderous eyes swept up to where the girl was dangling precariously from the wrought iron trellis of a stained glass bay window, her stocking-ed feet (_She must be as thick-skinned as she is thick-headed not to be wearing shoes in this weather...)_ a good twenty feet from the street.

"You little bitch," he demanded furiously, knowing that trying to dust the ash off would only mean smearing it further. "What are you trying to prove?"

Despite the low tone of his statement, Kagome caught his words. Had she been back up on the roof and safely anchored by her derriere, she would have answered him.

As it was, her right hand was burning against the rusted iron of the trellis, and she could only look at him through squinted eyes that she could not afford to rub at this point.

"Is she all right?" a concerned male voice drifted up to her, and she saw a pale face pop out of the carriage a second later.

"For now," Inuyasha ground out, wondering if it would be worth it to torment the girl until she actually let go. As though reading his thoughts, Miroku's eyes darkened with disapproval, and Inuyasha grit his teeth and shoved him back inside.

"Oy!" Miroku cried out in surprise as his unsteady legs gave way easily.

"Shut up, monk!" his best friend barked before turning back to the girl, a new form of revenge forming in his mind as the girl struggled to get a better grip, succeeding in grabbing hold of another part of the trellis. "You should be grateful I'm not in the mood to use _you_ for target practice, wench."

With that he turned away, one of his legs already in as he prepared to climb back into the carriage. Panic hit Kagome at that moment and before her pride could choke her, she cried out.

"Wait!"

He paused, though only his head turned halfway to regard her.

"What?" he asked blandly, sounding supremely bored.

"Aren't you going to help me?" she asked, her knuckles whitening as she strained to keep her hold, blushing to the roots of her hair as she remembered that she was in a skirt. And from his view...up to where exactly did he see? It was adding insult to an extremely ego-injuring situation, and if she could she would've buried her face in her arm and willed herself to disappear.

His eyes shot to the bucket that had narrowly missed his head but minutes before, as well as the other things she had attacked him with, then lifted to regard her smugly.

_Not so tough now, eh?_

"How exactly am I supposed to do that?"

_"How the hell am I supposed to know!"_ Kagome burst out in frustration as the fire in her palms intensified and the burn crept steadily towards her shoulders. _"Climb up and help me, damn it! I'm about to fall!"_

He wrinkled his fine nose at her. "And get _more_ dirt on myself? I don't think so, chimney sweep. Drop down, if you must."

She glared down at him. "Will you even _try_ to catch me if I fall?"

He smirked, the ore in his eyes hardening.

"No."

And in a breath he was back in the carriage, slamming the door closed with a resounding snap that sent the then still horses back into motion.

**Further Author's Notes:** Mweh, isn't Inu-chan mean?

Thank you so much for reading! ;P


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