a/n: The cover photo was done by yukidomari and is actually what inspired me to try pseudo-historical piece. I say pseudo because this is a fictional universe and only contains the aesthetics (and not historically accurate facts) of this time period. Slavery in Japan was probably not at all how I'm about to portray it.
Chapter 1
The inner gardens were his mother's. It was the only area forbidden to Itachi within the main house and that fact only made it more beautiful and desirable to him. He was forever longing to enter through the red gates of wood, cedar that creaked in the slightest breeze. In sunshine the wooden gates released a spicy aroma, so warm and intoxicating that Itachi would press his face to the planks and inhale deeply. He began to associate that warm, comforting scent to the woman behind the wall. That scent and his mind turned the woman into something quite different than the cold distant mother he knew.
He saw her occasionally: at the feast of the New Year and weddings. She was beautiful. Her feet were small, like the rest of her petite body, and only the barest hint of white sock poked out from the hem of her kimono. Her black hair was perfectly straight and framed her moon-white face in long strands. Her most remarkable feature however was her eyes.
Itachi and his father's grey eyes, pierced with silver lines, were extraordinary themselves and stood apart from the usual dark brown of their countrymen. But Mikoto had the eyes of a goddess, the pure and endless black of the night sky. It was whispered that her father had been a dragon. That Fugaku had found her in the mountains, bathing naked beneath a waterfall and claimed her as his wife. No one whispered these things to Itachi of course. But he often heard the slaves in the kitchen talking as he crawled beneath the porch, searching for salamanders. Everyone agreed that Mikoto possessed an unearthly beauty. Yet none could agree on the circumstance of her birth. It was once proposed that she was not of noble blood at all- that she was from a poor family or even a slave herself until Fugaku had bought her. But the slave who had spoken this idea was shushed at once, a fortunate thing as Itachi was becoming uncharacteristically angry at the insult to his family.
All this gossip made Itachi intent on asking her himself. If he was honest with himself it wasn't only curiosity that drove him across the wall that day. It seemed wrong to him that he had never shared a conversation with the woman who'd birthed him and he didn't care if she wasn't entirely human. Even the stray, mangy bitches that howled outside the Uchiha compound cared for their pups until grown. Whatever Mikoto was, Itachi was also (at least by half) and he began to climb the stone wall that encircled the inner gardens with every intention of verbalizing his logic to her.
The rock was easily scaled. He'd already peeked into the gardens from atop many times. Sakura trees brushed over the ledge atop the wall, gnarled branches heavy with blossoms. Outside the pink blossoms had already fallen to be replaced by new green growth. Somehow, though, time seemed captured in the inner gardens. The clouds of blushing petals lingered on, tops shifting as wind blew overhead.
The red cedar gate creaked as Itachi swung his bare legs over the top of the wall. Despite a harsh adherence to discipline, his father was surprisingly progressive, perhaps because he was a businessman. He therefore allowed Western practices within his home and even wore the starched white shirts and trousers to work. Itachi despised the ties that choked his neck but enjoyed the freedom trousers gave him while running about. Still, for this visit Itachi had decided to don traditional garb. His long hair swung down his back as he hiked the kimono higher up his thighs before making the leap down into his mother's garden.
His young heart pounded as he stood there on forbidden grounds. The sense of doing something terribly wrong struck him. He hoped fervently that Father did not discover his transgression. At the same time however everything seemed like a perfectly normal afternoon. The gardens were quiet. A pavilion stood over a deep pond, the waters calm beneath a few faint ripples. A cloud drifted overhead and cast a spot of blue-grey shadow into the turquoise water.
Itachi walked cautiously down a wooden walkway. The planks lifted his feet over small streams and islands of grass that looked deceitfully sturdy. Sakura trees rose from the miniature islands and a few lone blossoms floated atop the clear water, swirling down the swift threads and disappearing under Itachi's feet. He reached the pond where the pavilion stood and still his mother was not in sight. But then he heard it. At first he thought it was his imagination, a phantom of the wind that his mind had conjured up; for how could a sound so delightful, so well matched to a garden of sunshine be true? But it came again, a peal of child's laughter across the glassy pond.
It crossed his mind to wonder why a child would be here in his mother's domain where not even Itachi was allowed. The thought passed quickly. The sound was coming from a cluster of trees and bamboo that separated Mikoto's house from the pond. It was a false forest, built in deliberate ringed terraces. Itachi rushed up the winding steps and through a path lined with green stalks, eagerly chasing the child's laughs. He stopped abruptly when he laid eyes on the child and his breath caught in his chest. He immediately slunk back into the leaves so he could watch without detection.
The child was pushing a toy sailboat against the current of a small stream. Clear water gushed over the ship's helm and splashed over the boy's thin arms, causing his light-hearted giggles. He looked small, at least a few years younger than Itachi's own ten years of age. Mikoto was there also, lounging on a bench. A book was in her lap but it was clear to Itachi that she had not been reading it for some time. She was too busy watching the boy playing and every so often he would glance over his shoulder to her and receive a bright smile. For a moment Itachi felt anger. Why should this tiny creature be allotted his mother's affections when he was not? But then the little thing jumped into the stream, stomping at the yielding water and Itachi couldn't help but smile.
He studied the boy closer, wondering who he was. He had never seen him in the main house. Was he always hidden here with Mikoto? The only clue Itachi had was his hair. The child was still young enough that his hair was short. But even if the child was younger than he looked, surely it shouldn't be that short, sheared close to his head. Only slaves wore their hair cut short.
Given the possibility Itachi wiggled closer through bamboo stalks and began to train his gaze on the boy's neck. The plants knocked together and the leaves rustled. The boy turned in Itachi's direction and Itachi was afraid he'd been caught. A moment later the boy turned away. The pause in his energetic movements had given Itachi what he sought. He'd glimpsed a black mark at the base of the boy's neck. A slave tattoo.
It answered the question of who the boy was but not why he was here with Mikoto, and certainly not why he was playing so freely and happily. He only knew that he did not act like a slave and Mikoto did not treat him as one. In fact the boy was allowed to touch the noble lady, an offense that warranted death.
The boy abandoned the sailboat and ran to cling to Mikoto's arm. He jumped up and down on the balls of his feet. A whine slipped into his high voice but he grinned up at Mikoto as he complained of his hunger. Mikoto rose from the bench. Her hair tumbled over her shoulder as her kimono settled down at her ankles. She promised to bring back lunch if the child promised to stay put. He agreed solemnly.
As soon as Mikoto was out of sight the boy turned towards Itachi.
"Who are you?" he asked petulantly.
Itachi emerged from the bamboo and tried to hide a smile at the boy's stance. Spread feet, fisted hands, and – suddenly the desire to smile vanished for Itachi had seen the boy's eyes. They were black as the night sky.
"No, who are you?" Itachi asked.
The boy did not answer. Itachi put his thumb against the boy's neck, against the skin inked black. "Who are you?" he demanded.
The boy slapped his hand away. "Don't touch me!" he cried.
Itachi opened his mouth to yell at the ignorant child, to tell him that he was Uchiha Itachi and heir of this house and that a slave didn't deserve eyes more beautiful than even Mikoto's. But he said nothing. Instead he stepped around the angry boy, into the cool stream. He bent over and his hair slipped down to brush the water's surface. He nudged a smooth rock with his bare foot and when a shadow darted out he swooped down and grabbed it. When he straightened the boy was at his side staring at his hand, intently curious. Itachi smiled at his open-eyed stare and opened his hand to reveal a squirming salamander.
The slave boy reached out and stroked its wet skin tentatively. He giggled when it wiggled in Itachi's hand. "What is it?" he asked.
"It's called a salamander. It's said they are descended from the sea dragons."
"Really?" the boy asked excitedly as he stroked the salamander.
Itachi nodded. "Mm-hm. Have you ever seen a dragon?"
The boy giggled and shook his head. "No."
"Truly?"
The boy looked up at him with those big, dark eyes. "No one's ever seen a dragon," he said solemnly.
"That may be true," Itachi agreed but he still thought the boy could not be entirely human. "Hold out your hands."
The boy obeyed and Itachi dumped the salamander into his cupped palms. The boy yelped and dropped it immediately. It splashed back into the water and disappeared downstream. Itachi climbed from the stream and went to sit on the bench to dry his feet in the sun. The slave boy followed and sat down beside him. His feet didn't touch the ground.
"Do you live in the house outside?" the boy asked.
"Yes. My name is Itachi."
"Oh," the slave boy said grinning happily. "I've always wanted to meet someone from outside. I've only ever talked to Oba-san. The servants won't talk to me."
"Won't they?" Itachi asked.
"Mm-m." The boy shook his head. "They don't like me."
"I can't imagine why," Itachi said. "You're very beautiful."
"I am?" the boy asked.
"Yes," Itachi answered.
The boy smiled and it took Itachi's breath away. "I think you're beautiful," the boy said. "I wish I had pretty hair like yours." He touched it lightly with his small fingers. "But Oba-san says I am not allowed to."
"I'm sure she has her reasons," Itachi murmured, distracted by the proximity of the boy's mouth. His lips were pouty even when he spoke and looked soft. Itachi knew what love-making was even if he did not understand the desire behind it. He knew what kissing was even though he had never thought it looked like very fun at all. But for the first time he wanted to touch someone's mouth with his own. The thought of the boy's lips on his own grew and grew in his mind until Itachi couldn't stand it a second longer.
He ran his fingers through the slave boy's short hair and muttered something about liking the feel of it. He drew the boy's mouth to his own and heard him gasp. He paused. The slave boy was looking into his eyes curiously. His black eyes were calm as Itachi moved his lips in further. The boy's lashes fluttered. His lips drew in a breath of air and then-
"She's coming back."
Itachi jerked away from the slave at the warning. "Mikoto?"
The boy nodded.
"Sasuke!" Mikoto called from far away.
"Don't tell her I was here," Itachi whispered urgently.
"Sasuke? Lunch is ready." Mikoto's calls drew closer.
"Will you come back?" the boy asked.
Itachi smiled. Yes, he would definitely be back. He had many questions to ask the child but more than that he wanted to spend time with him. He wanted to know him. Already it was certain that Itachi would not be able to stay away from him. "Tomorrow," the Uchiha heir promised before slipping away into the forest.
