Cycles
Spring was the first season.
And with the spring came the boy.
The first boy.
But before the spring, there had been the winter, and the summer.
And before the boy, before the fall, there had been his mother.
Danzo had met her in the summer of his seventeenth year. It had been a hot summer, and a busy one, and a hurried one.
A summer of war.
Likewise, their love had been hot, busy, and hurried.
And war was her business.
She was a Sand ninja, and.
No, not unusual, not.
Strange, or.
She was exceptional.
Danzo had a difficult time coming up with words to describe her.
What was the word for when two things could contradict each other and yet remain entirely accurate?
A paradox.
Yes.
That was what she was.
The girl with the soft face and the sharp words, the girl with the delicate hands that could move the very mountains with just a twitch of her fingers.
Mountains and limbs.
And hearts.
What made his heart pound about her left him unable to think clearly for what seemed like.
Forever.
What made his head reel about her made his heart.
Stop.
It had been exceedingly difficult catching her alone.
She did not have any sort of woman's role.
Unpredictable.
Not a consort of the Kazekage, no.
A companion.
No.
An apprentice.
Not that, but.
A protégé.
Yes.
He had met her on a diplomatic mission to Sand. Her strange, knowing smile had drawn him in, and the added mystery of why such a high-ranking official, why a Kage would have a woman, much less one so young, at his side.
Her weapons were Monzaemon Chikamatsu's Ten Masterpieces.
Puppets.
Astonishing enough, in his eyes, on its own.
But what was even more impressive was the fact that she was not even a descendant of Chikamatsu, which had been his initial hypothesis for her having such valuable weapons on her person. They were not a woman's weapons.
But.
The puppets had been given to her because of her raw talent alone.
Extraordinary.
She was, he later learned, a skilled medic. A healer and, apparently, a renowned maker of poisons. And their antidotes.
Paradoxes.
She held life in one hand and death in the other. She wielded weapons and medicines with equal skill.
Nothing she did seemed to conform to Danzo's preconceptions, his paradigm, whatever the proper term was.
He had a hard time coming up with words to describe her.
She spoke almost like a man, even when being polite. She was well-educated, and articulate. She could make a crude joke and yet manage to twist in some sort of philosophy or history in the process.
Her eyes were beautiful and dark, concealing many things.
But the one thing they made plain was her ambition.
They were a man's eyes. A conquerer's eyes.
She was exceptional.
Therefore, Danzo was almost not surprised when she was the one to proposition him first, with a soft, outstretched hand and a smile that said a million things and yet nothing at all.
Almost.
The two of them would talk for hours at a time, when it allowed, usually late at night, when the day's negotiations had wound to a close and the desert cold had settled over Sunagakure.
He could look.
Had looked.
Into those ambitious eyes for hours.
They shared their dreams, their aspirations.
And, eventually, their feelings.
And it made Danzo happy. Knowing he had a woman by his side that felt the same way he did about the way the world should be run.
That had that same vision he did.
When there were no more words to give to each other, they shared each other's' bodies.
Beneath those dark robes she was as soft as her hands.
She was the first to say "I love you," the words that the man always said first. Danzo found himself not minding this terribly.
They were parted early, Danzo called back to his country, she back to her missions. But their correspondence continued, letters once a week, crossing the deserts and into the forest and there and back again.
He fantasized, sometimes, of when he would one day be Hokage.
Yes.
She would be Kazekage.
Of course.
They would be responsible for the most powerful union between countries in history, this he knew for a fact. Leaf and Sand would be allied against the stormy north, against the rumblings of the Stone and the Cloud nin who seemed never to be satisfied with anything.
And then, there was the letter.
It was short, for a message from her.
You're going to be a father. The baby is due in six months. Don't worry about me.
- Chiyo.
Naturally, he began to worry almost immediately.
Drafting up a letter to her, demanding to know everything.
How long had she known, how was she going to raise it, was she going to move to Leaf so he could help?
He wanted to ask her a million things but found the ink and paper far too limiting.
She lovingly chided him in her reply, saying.
Again.
That he didn't need to worry about her.
And she answered his questions and told him how much she missed him.
The paper smelled like her perfume.
It took a while for it all to really sink in.
The scent of the paper had long since faded by the time the panic ended.
And the bliss began.
Danzo took to his new situation very.
Well.
He was going to be a father. The very thought caused him to smile uncontrollably.
Him! Having a child with the smartest, the most beautiful, the most capable woman in the entire world. Never mind the fact that she was from Sand, that was not even an issue.
He began making plans, immediately.
Resolving to be a good figure for the child. Boy or girl, he didn't care.
If a boy, he would be a strong ninja, undeniably, just like Danzo.
And a girl?
Oh.
If she did not take after her mother then he would be very disappointed indeed.
But.
There was no doubt in his mind that any daughter of his would resemble Chiyo greatly.
Yes.
Oh, how he sighed when he imagined this child. Six months seemed like forever to wait, but he would wait.
And he would be an amazing father.
Of course.
People who knew him wondered mightily at what was making him so cheerful.
She had asked for him not to visit during this time and he had respectfully honored her wishes, instead visiting her with his thoughts. Grinning, humming to himself, the happiest man alive.
In private, at least.
On his missions, Danzo was the model ninja. Stoic, focused on the task at hand, and separate from his emotions.
A family would change nothing.
Privately, he was already beginning to wish for a daughter when his and Hiruzen's teams were shipped out to Cloud with their Hokage, Tobirama, to deal with the insurgency there.
And it was there that he was offered a choice.
And it was there that he realized how much of a fool he really was.
Because when his Hokage told him that they needed a diversion, and that said diversion was almost certainly suicide.
He could not say a thing.
Because he thought of them.
He thought of Chiyo, he thought of his unborn daughter or son.
And he thought of his father, who had died when Danzo was too young to clearly remember him. A man who had sacrificed himself for the good of the village, in the chaotic times of the Founding.
He had died doing the right thing. Doing what any good ninja would do.
Danzo was a good ninja. He was one of the best. And to sacrifice himself for the sake of the mission was the good and right thing to do.
But why was he second guessing?
Because if he were to die, who would be there for Chiyo? For the world they were going to create together?
For his child?
And that was when Hiruzen spoke. And he comforted Danzo, giving himself up freely and without any worries.
With a smile.
Danzo might as well have died right then and there.
He lost everything.
His silence burned in his stomach as his team returned to Konoha with the new Hokage.
Hiruzen. His Hokage.
No, not his Hokage.
The Hokage.
The words still did not fit together, not the way that they did with Hashirama or Tobirama, the noble Senju brothers.
Not that he wasn't.
Deserving.
The Hokage.
A letter from Chiyo sat on his kitchen table, and he left it unread for a long while.
It was his punishment.
Yes.
It had to be his punishment.
Of course.
This was what he got for letting his emotions get in the way of the mission.
This was what he got for fantasizing about being a father who was "there for" his family.
What a fine fiction that was.
It was incompatible with the ninja way. A family was not even on the same level of importance as a mission, as the village.
What was one child to a thousand individuals?
He still loved Chiyo, that was undeniable. The two of them were going to change the world someday.
Yes.
That was the way things were going to be and there was no changing his mind on that.
Of course.
He did not plan on dying any time soon. But if he had to, it was not going to be for the sake of a family, no, it was going to be for his village. For the village's future.
His village's future.
When the child was born, less than five months later, it only strengthened his resolve.
Chiyo had been concealing the pregnancy in a display of what was something like loyalty or resolve toward her country, unwilling to halt her mission work for the sake of something as fragile, as sentimental as a single baby.
Danzo's heart swelled with pride when he heard the story, well after the fact.
This was why he loved her, because she was as dedicated as he was.
More dedicated.
Yes.
Chiyo.
Putting the mission before her family in the most extreme way.
And it ruined her.
She went into labor prematurely during a skirmish and her brother had to rescue her when it became apparent that she was bleeding, but not because of any wound, despite her vehement denial. The baby came shortly afterward, scrawny and covered in blood, but otherwise healthy.
It was a boy.
The Kazekage was not pleased by this in the least.
Her loyalty had been misinterpreted as treachery, and she was grilled mercilessly on what else she had concealed from her country, her most beloved Sand. Though she had nothing else to hide, they still forced her into temporary retirement, under the guise of "maternity leave."
She would never be Kazekage.
Even in their failures, they were alike.
Danzo learned quickly to stifle silly, poetic thoughts like that.
It was painful when the letters from her arrived about all this news. Embroidered into her words was a poisonous resentment that always came out of her when she was displeased. He wanted nothing more than to go to her, to be with her and comfort her, to assure her that everything would work out as planned.
That they still had a future together.
Yes.
But harder still was the absolute inability for him to repress the sick, hot love in his stomach that he felt with the letter that came with a photo and a name.
She had named her son Fuurin.
It was written with the kanji for "wind bell," but, Chiyo wrote beneath, she had his father in mind when she named him as well.
One could also read Fuurin's name with the kanji for "maple grove."
Within kanji for "maple" was the kanji for "wind," Chiyo explained in her letter. It represented her, the wind within those trees.
Why in the world did she have to be so clever?
He began to hate that he loved her so much.
And he hated the child even more.
Fuurin was not his son.
He was Chiyo's.
Danzo distracted himself with other projects.
He went on more missions to try and forget them.
Fuurin had beautiful red hair, no wonder she had named him so, maples were the same color in the autumn. That was the only time she had visited Konoha, was in the autumn. And the memory had stayed with her so.
He lived by the knife and focused only on the task at hand.
He was already saying things like "Mama" and "Hello" at the age of nine months, he was so smart already, he was going to be such a wonderful ninja.
Only when he was on a mission was he truly himself. He was a ninja, that was who he really was.
Yes.
One year old and Fuurin was already getting into everything, he was such a menace around the house, but he was so cute, Chiyo just couldn't stay mad at him for long. Just meant he had initiative, yes?
He was not a father on the battlefield.
Of course.
The cutest little boy, oh, Fuurin was just going to break hearts one day.
Relationships with Sand were souring.
Danzo's letters had grown increasingly scarce. Chiyo's hadn't.
He began burning them as they arrived, after reading them.
Soon he did not even bother to read them any more.
When Sand was declared an enemy, Danzo was overjoyed, almost relieved that he wouldn't have to read.
To burn.
Those letters.
Not any more.
It would be easier, now. So much easier.
Yes.
He focused his energies on new projects.
To end this war would require a new breed of soldier, a new breed of ninja. The same disciplines, the same battle strategies would not work like they used to.
Hiruzen was the one who had come to him about it, of all things. His smile was genuine, almost warm, during the conversation. Apologizing for any bruised feelings, asking if he was okay—though Danzo's bruises had long since healed.
Or faded.
He marveled at Hiruzen's ability so smile so very easily.
Not with everything, all his responsibilities.
He couldn't do everything on his own, he said. Konoha needed greater protection, stronger soldiers—the ANBU program that their second Hokage had implemented needed reform. Other countries were creating their own, similar systems, as well. The competition was stiff. And Hiruzen knew that Danzo was just the right man for the job, and he asked to see if there was anything he could do.
Danzo had more than a few ideas.
If he could not yet be Hokage, he could at least.
Govern a smaller body.
The cream of the crop were his to cull and mold as he saw fit. Like all ANBU, they lacked faces, identities, everything hidden behind a mask. They were the purest shinobi while on their missions, existing only for their country.
Even that was too much.
Once Danzo was finished with them, there would be nothing left but masks.
His success was far too great.
Because they noticed.
He had named the subsidiary Root.
After all, the roots of the tree were the support, digging deep so that the leaves could grow and flourish. But unlike the trunk, which could be cut and damaged and ripped to shreds, the roots always remained underground, untouched.
This was the emphasis.
Roots were never to be seen. If visible, the tree would likely die.
That was his first mistake.
He did not make it again.
Publically, he had the group disbanded, to appease Hiruzen, the rest of the council, who worried and tittered about "ethics" and "morality."
Those things did not exist on the battlefield, no more than "love" or "family."
Root was the closest thing to a family that Danzo would allow himself. His faceless, nameless, emotionless children.
He said none of this aloud.
He no longer thought much of Chiyo, both in quality and quantity.
But he still heard things.
Slipping into his life like so many little grains of sand, getting into everything, and irritating, agitating, refusing to leave.
If he wished for a wind within his trees, it would be to have that sand removed.
Time passed.
Roots spread.
The war ended, without much fanfare.
Promises were made for there never to be another.
But Danzo knew better.
Yes.
Of course.
Given nothing else to do, he added and added to his little family. He twisted and manipulated and changed and burned away.
And he prepared.
So ended the spring.