Turandot, a naruto fanfic

Sometimes
It's not so much about
What we want
As what is needed of us

Turandot

"Hinata-sama, are you sure about this?"

She had never worn red before. Her sister, her head wrapped in the bright white bandages--a sight that still stung Hinata's insides--, pulled the sleeves of the third layer of the wedding kimono over her shoulders, young hands calloused by the harsh life a ninja smoothing silk over silk. In the mirror, the only other person in the room was Neji-niisan, who watched his mistress with hooded eyes, moved forward and handed Hanabi the next layer, the snowy fourth layer.

"...Yes." Hinata still spoke in a small voice, but there was finality there. "He is who I have choosen. I will not... back out even if I wanted to."

It had been hard, she reflected as she watched the snow-coloured fabric cover the lesser whites of her underlayers. The paint that lined her light eyes gave her a grave sort of beauty, and Hinata almost moved to touch that face, the pale, smooth skin and serious eyes in the mirror. She was still getting used to this face, the face she would have to wear for the rest of her life.

She closed her eyes and thought of her father's funeral. He had been the only one to show up besides the obligated members of the community and the family themselves. He'd come with the Sixth Hokage and Neji, his reactions proper and appropriate even though he had barely known Hiashi. In the weeks that had followed, he'd been there, a hand to help Neji home after a particularly bad ANBU mission, a shoulder for her to cry on when she became so overwhelmed by all the new responsibilities.

"Hinata-sama?" Hanabi and Neji were both holding the elaborate red uchikake so that it would not touch the ground, her sister smiling and Neji's face blank without it's usual harshness. "Are you ready?"

She nodded and did not blush when the heavy, red, crane and flower-decorated wedding kimono was pulled over her shoulders, the padded silk warm and no more comforting than its implication. She knew that he would wear green instead of the traditional black, and he would say his vows to her loudly, passionately, but, most of all, happily.

They weren't so different, really. Rock Lee, the dunce, the failure; Hyuuga Hinata, the weakling, the failure. They both loved someone that they could never have: Sakura, her soul given to a dead boy who had turned traitor, and Naruto, his soul dedicated to the village that had scorned him so in his youth. In this world, they both held positions once thought impossible of them and they could not afford any of their old weaknesses and insecurities showing through. Rock Lee was about to become an ANBU captain, had surpassed his mentor and idol, had to become his own person to fit the new circumstances of his life. Hinata was now the head of her entire clan and could not longer fool around with silly crushes and dreams nor wear her emotions on her sleeve.

Abruptly Neji stepped in front of her view, his eyes studying her. She didn't pretend with Neji-niisan because Neji saw everything, knew everything, just with a single, piercing glance. A thin smile, a knowing one, stretched his lips.

"You still love Naruto more."

Hinata swallowed and nodded as she felt Hanabi beginning to wrap her obi. "I'll always love Naruto more, Neji-niisan," she responded, giving him a sad smile. "But Rock is the one who is better for the family."

Naruto... If she were to marry him, she would be tying him down, would always feel guilty about him having responsibility that he didn't want. And she would always be in his shadow even within her own family because, she had to face it, he was just better than her. More charismatic, more lovable, more commanding. She would always be blushing and apologizing, weakening not only her image but her clan's as well. Generations of traditions would be shattered under him and the Hyuuga clan would fall apart into fractions, into civil war.

She would not let her family, the people she cared about and had responsibility to take care of, to be hurt by her own selfishness. Marrying Rock Lee would be only one small step towards becoming her own person, to moving away from being the Hyuuga failure who flounced about in dreams of maybe and what-could-be.

"Well," Neji said, giving her a serious look, "I never did approve of the of Naruto's diet of ramen and Sakura's tendency to immitate the Fifth's cleavage of late. Why, if those two were to mate, I doubt even the coarser pink hairs would stand up to the Kyuubi vessel's own engorged organ."

Hanabi yanked the obi much tighter than necessary and Hinata let out a strangled squeak. Between slightly harsher tucks and tugs, Hinata manage to sputter:

"Neji-niisan! That's... that's... so crass."

"At least you know the mechanisms of the bridal duties," Neji said, shrugging before stepping towards the door. "Now, if you'll excuse me, I have to go... enlighten our groom a bit before the Hokage gets around to it. It is my Hyuuga duty and my duty as best man to do so."

Behind her, Hanabi was snickering, adjusting the last of the obi and the red fabric of the uchikake. Hinata looked into the mirror again and saw she had not blushed. And soon the only virgin thing about her would be this red kimono, lying forgotten on the floor. She would have no more reason to blush after tonight.

And Hinata was glad.

Written on challenge from a friend on LiveJournal.

As a side note, the title Turandot takes its name from a story in One Thousand and One Arabian Nights, although I first learned of through a Puccini opera. Traditionally a story of the discovering of the power of love, I decided to call this story Turandot for Hinata's realization that love sometimes must take a different form to be true.