Storybook
"This is a story that puppeteers tell.
Many ages ago, before the forming of the Five Great Nations, before the world was tame and all the fantastic beings of myth and legend still walked the earth, there were two brothers.
They were orphaned, these two, in the many wars that happened then; left alone to fend for themselves, they grew into great and powerful fighters. The younger brother was masterful in his technique, and under his guiding hands the harsh desert sands of their home became glass, beautiful and deadly. The older brother was mysterious and playful, and behind his painted face lay a cunning mind; at his invisible strings many suffered death.
They walked always side by side, these brothers, and in each decision they were unified. As time wore on, and the brothers grew, the younger wearied of wandering.
"I want a place to come home to," he said, "a place to protect, to call my own, a place that no one else wants." for well he remembered their childhood, and the rejection it entailed.
"If this is what you want, brother," the elder said, "then we shall make it for you."
And so they walked a little further, and fought a little more, and soon enough there were many who shared in the younger brother's dream. They were the first Ninja of the Sand, and build Sunakagure No Sato- Village Hidden in the Sand- from the rocks and the wind of the land no one wanted. They created a home.
The people of the Village of Sand declared the younger brother their leader, for he was the carrier of their dream. Behind him, the Elder faded, taking to walking just a step or so back, lurking in his brother's shadow. This did not slip past his brother.
"You seem sad," said younger to older, "and I do not know how to make it better." For all their lives, they had protected one another, and that he could not help his brother hurt his heart.
And his brother smiled at him and said, "then let me go. You wish to protect a home that is yours, and that is what we have built together; but my feet are made for wandering and my soul is restless within these walls. I will always return to you, for I always have, and this is my home, too; but the cage is tight and my wings are cramped. I will come back when they are tired from flying."
It was with no little sorrow that the Younger bid his brother go, and saw him off that very night. The younger brother remained leader of his village, and was well loved; the older brother traveled the world, and had many adventures, which are other stories. And as time passed and the Village hidden in the Sand grew stronger, the elder brother returned, year after year for ten years until finally he stepped within the gate and said, "I am here to stay."
It was then that the elder began his Troupe, for he was an actor, then, a playwright and a warrior; and some who knew him from his wander years came to live within Sunakagure's walls , and they built a Playhouse together. The elder brother grew as beloved in his own right as his younger sibling, and together they maintained their hidden realm with power and respect for the Desert's awesome might.
But this was not always to be.
In the shadows of the village, while the sand howled against the walls, a monk- a man of Gods- slowly went insane, gaining power from sins not fit for recording. As his power grew so did his influence, until his claws sank deep into the village. The monk began to speak often with the Village Leader, who had heeded his advice in the past while his brother was away. The words he dripped were poison more potent than any plant or insect could produce.
"Why should your brother have so much power?" the Monk asked of the Leader. "You are the one who raised this village up from nothing more than dust, and yet he sits like a king in that playhouse of his, making decisions not his to make. Is this fair, my Lord?" and the Leader had to concede that it wasn't. Many days passed and many more words. "Is it fair, My Lord, that a mere actor- skilled though he might be- could hold a position such as yours? He has the pomp and the circumstance but not the abilities, Lord, not the judgement. Should he have your seat, Lord, make declarations without your consult?"
The monk spoke lies and thievery, and drove a wedge between the brothers, Village Leader and Puppeteer; until in a frantic and violent fight the Leader threatened his brother's life. And the elder, having neither ambition nor greed, promised that no man, no matter his skill, were allowed to become the leader of their home if he wore bunraku paint; and this is what we call Chikamatsu's Law.
But the Monk's taste for chaos grew, and he was less careful to cover his tracks. A heartless place like this desert of ours feeds on such darkness. And one night he was man no more, but monster- a tanuki of such size that he blocked the light of the full moon from falling on the village. All humanity fled from him, all thoughts of God or hearth or home. He was a bloodthirsty beast full of nothing more than rage and hatred.
How he fought the village then! His roars decimated buildings, blew weapons to dust; many men bravely fought against him and many of them died, their names carved on our walls so that we will remember, even when all those outside forget.
And the elder brother stood.
He knew, you see, of the Monk's poison; learned of it almost too late. And he took his companions whom he called children and stood against the demon the holy man had become. From his hands flew ten different forms- the first Ten, one for each of his wander years, carved and built on the birthday of his brother.
The Ten Puppets of Chikamatsu Monzeimon.
Monzeimon and his Ten fought long and valiantly, but the demon was strong, far stronger than anything he had ever faced; and with what he had left he called to his brother, locked away in a tall tower, muttering madness.
The Leader heard the Puppeteer then, although no one is sure quite how; and realizing his foolishness he rushed to the aid of his village and his brother. They fought side by side, arm in arm; the ten puppets and the brothers, but one's eyes cannot be everywhere at once, and the demon wanted nothing more than to spill the Leader's blood upon the sand.
But his strike did not fall.
Chikamatsu took the blow, shielding his sibling from death; and with the strings of his creation and his blood he called the demon forth and locked the creature inside a teapot, left whole within the ruins of their battlefield. With a screech of fury the beast was trapped forever, and the elder brother fell.
The Leader held his brother close and begged him not to go, but in those days, medical ninja were few and far between; and as he lay dying Monzeimon said, "I will go now, and wander; but I'll be back for you. I always am."
His funeral was as grand as anything that the desert had seen; and though the promise he had extracted from his sibling could not be reneged on, the Leader kept the playhouse and her puppeteers, his brother's children dressed in black. To them he gave the duty of the recording, of keeping clear the stories of the Desert when they were thought forgotten. The teapot he placed under lock and key and seal, never to be spoken of again.
He went on and lived, and was great; and when he died, an old man who had seen much blood and many journeys, they sent him on his way with a smile on his face, and called him the First Kazekage."
oOo
"Crow-sama?"
"Yes?"
"Why couldn't they change the Law?"
They are a young group; the newest genin, still itching at the paint drying on their faces, unused to wearing it every day. They are eager to go home and play with their cedar practice puppets.
"Because a promise is a promise, Bear-chan. And that Law remains, until this very day, jaa. You can look it up, if you like."
"What about the teapot?"
"Oh, it's still around somewhere, jaa."
"But the demon- is the demon still in it?"
"..no, Mantis-kun. No, it isn't."
"But if the demon's not in the teapot, then what happened to it?!"
"It's gone, Bear-chan. It's gone, for good."
He is an older man now; lines of gray have started to appear in his hair. He sends the children away with a wave and a smile, and they leave for their training, or their homes, or the stage. He walks down the street with a ninja's prowl and those who see him step away in respect, eyes down turned; he quirks his painted face in a half-sneer.
"What were you doing?" his brother asks.
"Just telling stories, Gaara."
"No doubt garnishing them with as much ridiculous nonsense as you could."
He doesn't look much older sitting behind that desk but the rings around his eyes have begun to fade, and his hair is slowly bleaching from the desert sun.
"Nothing that would detract from the story, jaa."
"And what would detract from a story, Oh-Troupe-Master-of-Suna?"
"The truth."
"I thought so."
He understands stories better than he understands people. He watches his brother- his Kazekage- and can hear the banners of the Playhouse flapping in the wind. He will tell a different story to his sister's second son, when they go to see her and her husband for the next festival. He has been working on it for a while. He even has the perfect beginning.
"Once upon a time, before you were born, there were two brothers..."
oOo
A/N: ...okay to be honest I have NO IDEA where this came from. I just knew that I wanted to do a story involving Chikamatsu Monzeimon and the first Kazekage. That they are brothers isn't canon information- that's all me. Because I am a nerd. Ah, well. You know the drill. Read and Review.