Blackthorne’s relationship to death, and to self, has evolved as well over the course of his arc. When he comes to Toranaga to beg him to stop killing villagers in his efforts to find the arsonists who set fire to the Erasmus (he knew damn well who they were-this was all a manipulation), he attempts a brand new strategy: to threaten to stab himself in his own belly. Clearly drawing inspiration from his love Mariko, he declares that he will die in protest of Toranaga’s actions in the village. He admits here that he has been the enemy among them all along (using the Japanese word for it-a callback to the first two installments of the series), pursuing his own selfish aims and intending to exploit them. Now, he wants to use his death to protest further harm to the good people of the village. He has seen that death can be meaningful, and he embraces that his life is no more important than those of his fellow community members. (Toranaga stops him; this was all just a test of Blackthorne’s commitment anyway.) And by the end of this episode, Blackthorne and Fuji-sama seem to emerge aligned in their view of death as well, at least as it relates to grief and loss. They have a moving conversation in which she seems entirely at peace, having found new purpose as a nun. “Fuji-sama best nun,” Blackthorne says to her in his broken Japanese. His last act of kindness towards her, before she goes, is to take her out for a little boat ride so that they can release the remains of their loved ones to the ocean together. She pours her family’s ashes into the water; he relinquishes Mariko’s rosary to it. There’s a beautiful callback to the moment before her son died as well. Fuji comforts her friend as he hesitates to drop the symbol of his love into the sea saying, “let your hands be the last to hold her,” echoing Mariko’s words to her in her life’s worst moment. Mariko’s words, in the end, echo for everyone in some way. They are all that remains of her. Ochiba and her son finish her “leafless branch” poem; Toranaga receives the very last poem she wrote and recites her words aloud, and the things she said to Blackthorne haunt his dreams. Yabushige hopes his will resonate, too, as he leaves a poem and shares his sincere feelings with Omi before he departs. This says something of legacy, something Shōgun recognizes well. And with its words, conveyed by its incredible cast and all involved in its production, the show sets its own legacy, too.