A/N: I own absolutely none of these characters, properties or anything because if I did I wouldn't be writing fanfiction :S
Skol, everyone! Trying my hand at a little Naruto. For anyone that's curious, this is going to be a story set in a semi low-fantasy Viking setting. Think maybe... "Witcher" series.
At times I'll go heavy into Norse mythos (guys have any questions about things I go into detail about, don't hesitate to ask). Reason is my aim is about staying accurate to Norse lore, while also adhering closely to Naruto. Might slip up here and there, but that's only because I never really read Naruto and was gunning for a challenge. So no flaming me for OOC-ness just yet, unless you're willing to challenge me to a holmgang. Because I will get learned up, I promise.
Now, for the sake of my story I did change a few things - I know, I suck. The Naruto timeline has been condensed a little, character ages have been changed appropriately, familial relations might be tweaked, but overall characters are the same. The canon Naruto story is a base by which my story will try to weave itself around. I won't give you anything the story won't allow - both in Naruto's and my own. I won't try to compromise one for the other...Yet, if there's an instance where I need to do something drastic, I will.
If you don't like it, you don't need to continue. Until then though, you're just going to have to trust me :)
But be forewarned, words are wind and fate is ever the consummate trickster.
She gripped his face tightly and held it with her deathly cold hands, paled from fear at the thought of never seeing him again. He looked so much like her, people said, with his raven dark hair, light skin and soft features unfortunately always pulled into a frown nowadays. If only he could give her one more smile like he used to when he was a little boy, but alas such was growing up. Still Mikoto choked on a sob, because to her he'd always be her little baby.
"Mother..." Sasuke brought up his hands to clench at hers, releasing them from her shivering grip. He didn't beg, didn't plead, he knew it was time.
"So brave," Mikoto mused as she saw that bit of his father shine through. She was proud. He grew up into a fine young man of fifteen summers "So handsome. What joy you would've brought to some girl, to me when you started your own family. Oh, Sasuske, don't go."
That was a forlorn thought. It hung as limp as the Uchiha banners soaked in the early morning fog. A heavy mist clung to the beaches of Orm this morning, recalled how it hid the long-necked dragon prows until they appeared like revenants drifting lazily out of the haze. Like the beginning to bad nightmare to Mikoto. She wrung her hands into her dress, twisting the fabric as Sasuke began walking away. She knew she had little say in this, and Sasuke little choice, but how she wanted to fight right now. To claw, and stab, and scream, and curse, whatever it would take to keep her family together.
But the Senju were waiting, and their patience ran only as far as their High King's sword.
Lo, there she saw him. Great chieftain says the wind; great king says the sky. Seated on a great horse and draped with a luxurious bearskin to keep the morning damp away. He cut a stark contrast against the soupy grey alighted by the rising sun. Tall he was, with a tanned, hard-looking face which glared out, waiting for a reason to draw the long blade at his side. He seemed the kind of man where if you were to stare daggers at him he'd take it as an instant challenge. He was a warrior. That much was certain.
Here was the leader of the Senju. The man who would unite all of Asaland together and tear her family apart at the same time. The man all were claiming to be the Fyrking - "Fire King" - burning the old world to ashes so the new can arise past its embers. Butsumu Senju was his name, highest of the Aesir...
...And how she hated him.
Sasuke moved away with one last sorrowful look. Her fingers clutched desperately for his grasp as he went over to the assorted gathering of Senju jarls. Some men she recognized, some she did not. She spied Akamichi, Nara, and Yamanaka; Aburame, Inuzuka, and Hyuuga; some were old, others were young, most were clad in grey chain but topped with different colors tunics, leathers and animal skins.
These men were at on time were just like her husband. Independent, strong, willful. Now no more. Now they were an assortment of trophies Butsumu paraded around, showcasing all of those who at one time stood against him but now bent the knee. They were a retinue of slaves, but slaves who were on the winning side. Now the price the Uchiha had to pay for their fealty and Butsumu's good will were her sons.
And as she stared at Sasuke walking away from her, she looked at the gathering of Senju and wondered what price they paid for servitude.
Fathers can grow jealous of sons, knowing one day they will seek to do better than him. But Fugaku never had that problem with Itachi, he had had nothing but love for his eldest. And hope. Hope that one day he would indeed do better than him. Because a father's worth is judged by the actions of his son, and so far Itachi has proved himself worthy to the clan. He had the stillness and composure of a jarl, the cultured mind of a skald, and most importantly heart of a good man. All his best was in Itachi, the silver lining framing the tapestry of Uchiha wyrd...But now that silver was being used as payment for the weregild, for his foolishness.
Itachi could readily see the guilt in his father's usually taciturn face.
"Look before you enter any hall," his father warned as he gripped the back of his neck in a desperate clutch. "See your enemies before they see you; your brother will no doubt be right behind."
Practical behavior advice for prisoners of war. Only a paper thin peace protected Itachi and Sasuke's skins now, and he knew he needed to look out for both of them now. No telling what awaited them underneath Butsumu's roof.
Itachi touched his father's shoulder and gave him a silent, dutiful nod. At one time those shoulders seemed so strong, so sure, able to carry the weight of the writhing sea atop them. Since he was a young lad he had always thought of his father being the strongest, the best, being constantly reminded of that fact as he was constantly bested in the training yard.
But it has been a long time since Itachi was a boy - twenty summers, in fact - and now he saw the slight lag in his father's figure, felt the shiver in his hand, saw the look of worry etched on his usually austere face. Then his father's lips quivered, perhaps on the cusp of uttering words Fugaku Uchiha seldom ever says. But he needn't say them. Itachi already knew.
"I'm proud of you, son." Fugaku said over the gulls called and the waves crashing against the rocks.
"Father -" Itachi was pulled into a tight hug as his father held him close. It struck him like a seax to the gut. He never hugged him, least of all in front of his karls and hirdmen present. Itachi looked past his father to see their faces and felt the defeat coming off of them like a rot. They looked a tragic bunch whose spirits broke as Fugaku, their Vanir-Jarl, first and foremost of the bloodline of Indra, the man who led a legacy harkening back to the time of heroes, allowed himself to be vulnerable in this one moment.
But they be damned. Itachi wasn't going to let this opportunity go.
He clasped his father tight and took in his scent of boiled leather mixed with mead and salty air for what might be the final time. He didn't like it, never did. It smelled sour and sharp. But it was a scent that reminded him of home by the sea, of a fresh pot of fish stu boiling over a hearth, his mother shooing away all the cats and his little brother pestering him about teaching him archery. Reminded him of nuncle Teyaki and aunty Uruchi's rice crackers; Shisui's poetry lessons high up above the cliffs overlooking Orm's beaches; Izumi and the look of her smile and the taste of her skin on that same beach.
So many memories he was leaving behind, but the man in him knew what needed to be done.
It was just difficult letting go when his father wouldn't.
"Whatever fate the gods have in store, I swear I will see you again." Fugaku said, muffled as it was pressed against Itachi's ear. His father relented his hold as Itachi's mother came into view. Her pale face was racked with fear. It tortured him to see her like this.
"Mother..." The words shrunk away when he realized there was little he could say. A mother's grief far exceeding anything his wit could ease now.
"Promise me," She suddenly said. "Promise me you'll protect him."
Itachi nodded solemnly understood the task.
"I will." He said.
A small ember of a smile poked through the ashes of her tired face. "I know you will.." She brought him close, whispered how much she loved him and cradled him in her arms for what seemed like an eternity. He towered over her slight, petite figure. He was certainly not her baby anymore - Sasuke was (though he always hated being reminded of that fact).
She grasped at him as he headed the call of Butsumu's stare boring holes into his back. The Senju king's patience was wearing thin, he could tell from the scowl on his face. Early mornings on Orm didn't sit well with many people, even a few Uchiha daren't come out this early. But Butsumu wanted payment and wanted it as fast as his will demanded it.
The weregild entailed blood for blood, two sons for two sons. A grim reminder that in war the living paid for those who died. Butsumu may have garnered an indomitable reputation, but his sons seemed to not carry the same luck as their father. One was his youngest - that didn't bother him much. The other his eldest - that rankled his feathers. Both died pitilessly in a pitiful conflict and now Butsumu was down to his middle-children: Hashirama and Tobirama. One born from his first wife, and the other being the eldest from his current queen. The fact he had sons to spare meant his ire was curbed a little. But not nearly enough.
"No," his mother quibbled as he walked away. Itachi had to stop himself from turning around. He kept his eyes ahead, focused, straight, without nary a crease appearing on his face.
This was the only way, he told himself. Be a jarl, protect the clan. That was his duty and right as heir to the Uchiha clan and Vanir bloodline. He then looked up to see the looming figure of Butsumu, his dark red banners unfurling behind to show the golden studded club of the Senju.
Sasuke was waiting for him to take the lead as always. His cloak and raven black hair danced in the wind. The oncoming surf was becoming more fretful as the morning dragged on and would make travel difficult for the mainlanders. No doubt they wished to be done here. So too did Itachi. A curt nod to his brother signaled it was time, he took his step in front of him and made sure Sasuke was close behind. Itachi didn't want Sasuke going further than needed in this pit of snakes, as every step was bound to incur a poisonous bite if he wasn't too careful.
This was the only way, he reassured himself as they drew closer to this living legend in front of them, his dagger like eyes probing their dark leather tunics and dark blue cloaks for any signs of weakness; Butsumu was not one to quickly drop his guard after years of Aesir-Vanir conflict drawing to a close. Be a good brother, protect him.
Itachi wasn't going to let anything happen to baby brother. Because the same Vanir blood that flowed through Indra's veins, their father's veins, his veins, also lay in him. Butsumu may glare all he likes, but his machinations won't touch Sasuke.
That much he swore for his mother's peace of mind and for his own.
He was dragged by a collar like a dog through the moors, the iron necklace cutting into his skin and making an audible *chink* after every pained step he took. Gods, were they painful. What seven days in the watering hole does to a man. Neck deep in warm water can turn muscles and bones to porridge while your mind is wasting away in your own piss and shit. By Hel, when they pulled him out he might've been half-mad. Truth was he still didn't know if any of this was real, but a part of some disgusting nightmare.
But the aches and pains and the cold running through his body told him otherwise, and it made him feel sicker than the dysentery he contracted.
Hakon the Dumb (that's the name he had given his jailer), a tall black-haired ox, who was only good for lifting things up and putting them down, tugged again hard at the chain with a *harumph*. He nearly fell into the dark mud, but his wobbly legs astoundingly were able to steady themselves. Very good. Would've been a shame to ruin these fancy new clothes.
Yes, they felt the need to doll him up for his date with the "High King" this morning. He didn't see the point. Butsumu was more like to spear him than admire the way he looked, so why waste this fine blue tunic and the tight seal-skin pants on a dead man. Made no sense. Might as well have shown up wearing nothing at all and it'd make no difference.
"You have every right to hate us," Shisui said back to him apologetically as they continued down the path.
If he had the strength to roll his eyes he would, but this is the first time he'd seen daylight in a week and his eyes were still adjusting. They walked down the path from one high, slippery green moor down to a more level plain. Thank God-Modr's cunt for that. Walking wasn't easy. His bones ached, his head spun, his stomach had turned to eating him from the inside out, and his fucking pants were too fucking tight. Now to top it all off, he had to endure the skald's stupid company all the way down to the beach.
He'd rather go back to the hole.
"This is wrong. I know this is, my friend. You've shown nothing but loyalty to us..." Shisui dared not look behind, suddenly feeling glad Hakon was here. The druagr chained behind him may have looked like nothing but a bag of bones, but there was enough hate to cause some damage if he were free. "But in these times," He reasoned fretfully, "loyalty is its own risk, I'm afraid."
He'd drink to that. Once he heard a story - Shisui might've been the one to sing it - about a man being chained to a rock as punishment. Every day a hungry eagle would come down from the mountains to gorge on the man's liver. The man being immortal, the liver grew back. Day after day, year after year, from now till the horns of Ragnarok sound, the eagle would always return and the man would always suffer. His crime? Loyalty to the wrong side.
Hakon tugged again at the leash, nearly causing him to choke. Mental note: when he was free, find Hakon, tie him to the biggest draft horse he could find and slap the beast's rump. See how much he enjoyed getting dragged.
"Times are changing, can you feel it?" Shisui asked as a strong gust of salty air smacked the both of them and caused his freshly cut hair into a tizzy. "Days of raiding sheep farms are over. Even the great pissing contest between the Vanir and Aesir is long becoming a figment of a bygone time in history." Soon the squishing of mud on their boots turned to the slight patter of sand as the moors opened up to a beach of white sand where a great gathering awaited. The gulls called in the air, the surf roared up and down the shore, and the gold and red and blue and white of Senju and Uchiha banners were seen in the foreground past the fog.
"Kings and kingdoms are becoming the marker of a new age," Shisui regaled. "And that means more than commanding a few longships and men desperate enough to oar them." It didn't take long for them to reach the crowd; Shisui was always quick on his feet and Hakon took long strides, making sure to tug along the draugr with each one.
"I knew it would end like this." Shisui said, but softly though. Lest anyone hear he was getting sentimental with the weregild. "So did you - even before the first ships left for the mainland..." The draugr saw the Uchiha watch him with disgust and disdain as he passed. Coward. Traitor. Dog. Monster. A few of the names they'd most assuredly given him. Even Fugaku and Mikoto gave him frigid looks, not trusting their sons in his presence any more they did in Butsumu's. "But we weren't meant to rule this land. Painfully obvious when no other clan rose up with us."
Shisui stopped and turned to face the draugr. His dark and regal Uchiha eyes, with the faint outline of the tail-devouring snake ringing his irises, denoting pure Vanir heritage, clashed against the half-colored ones of the mutt before him. They looked sad, sorry, regretful.
"There's no justice in this, I know." Shisui pulled out a key and undid the clasp holding the collar in place. It fell to the sand with a faint thud and Hakon the Dumb looked saddened he no longer had his plaything to drag about. "But this is the best I could do, my friend. I couldn't save the lives of your family, but at least I can save yours."
The draugr looked past Shisui's shoulder to see the royal company comprised of thegns, jarls and huskarls led by the great eagle himself - his two royal chicks right behind.
This wasn't an exchanging of weregilds, it was a show of force. It was the Senju pissing straight into the Uchiha's mouths without even calling it rain. Woe to the vanquished he supposed.
Suddenly Shisui gripped him with a stern look. How he wanted to throttle right there, but his hands were unfortunately still bound. "This is your second-chance," He said in his skald voice, as silky smooth as silver wire. "Find another life somewhere far from here-"
He didn't want a new life, he wanted his old one.
"You don't owe us a thing-"
They owed him everything.
"Not your thoughts, not your hatred, not your revenge. Nothing. We're cursed, my friend, and I release you from us."
The draugr responded with a glob of bloody mucous marring Shisui's fair face. A few cries of disgust went up and Hakon;s hand threateningly moved to the large seax he carried. Shisui waved him down.
Shisui didn't move to wipe his face, but continued on staring with that same insufferable look of pity he had when he first pulled him from that fetid hole. "In the end we fight believing in our own justice." In a flash Shisui moved behind him and pushed to get the draugr moving again.
Butsumu was waiting. Along with the two Uchiha princes standing at his side like two ravens perched on his shoulders. Itachi paid the draugr no mind, while Sasuke gave him a scornful, discriminatory look. Full of cold piss and vinegar, that little one.
Butsumu looked over at Shisui, then to Fugaku, then to the draugr. He snorted his approval and at his command two members from the Aesir party went to join the Uchiha. One had long black hair and eyes pale as milk. He wore an ornate silken robe which flowed in the wind, clasped with a black leather belt and a langseax hanging on his side. The draugr recognized Hiashi Hyuuga, head of the Hyuuga clan. The man who followed was Hiashi's polar opposite. A wild shock of shaggy brown hair, covered in stinking pelts, and he had two red fang tattoos running down his face. He looked as feral as the mountain dogs who still roamed the Wyrm's Eye Islands. Gakun Inuzuku. A fighter whose reputation was well-known and well feared. Behind him followed his large, black wolf-dog.
Much to his surprise Butsumu didn't spear him on sight. Though his life amounted to little, the traditional gesture of exchanging weregilds was now in effect. As he lived he was a symbol of the peace brokered here between Senju and Uchiha. Poor manners it would've been if Butsumu killed him on the beach - maybe he'd wait till they got to the longships waiting off-shore. Or perhaps make a move on the journey to the mainland (accidents on sea crossings happen all the time). Even better, maybe parade him around his hall for a bit, then strangle him as a sacrifice to All-Fodr.
They walked in silence back to the boats, when suddenly the greatest of the knarrs came swiftly ashore with its emblazoned red sail and golden hammer. It was a massive skeid made of dark oak, fitted with iron nails and bolts and could fit at least eighty men aboard its length. Butsumu went first of course, followed by the damned horse he thought so fitting to bring ashore (took at least fifteen minutes to coax the animal aboard the plank). Then went Hashirama and Tobirama, the Uchihas, the cadre of Senju retainers, and finally him.
He would've preferred a nice quiet spot at the stern, but unlike the Uchiha brothers he wasn't allowed free-rain of the ship. Butsumu ordered he be brought down into the hold and kept watch there. As the chainmailed huskarls - men who could give Hakon a run in both size and stupidity - took him below, he believed here was where he was going to die. Told you it was a waste of good clothes. But it wasn't. They simply tossed him into a corner heaped with sheep's wool and a few barrels of mead, and kept an eye over him. Bit anticlimactic if you were to ask him.
But that was how the Crone loved to weave fate.
Hmph, who the fuck knew what that old, rabbit-eared, pale-faced bitch foresaw in his wyrd. He didn't, nor cared. He learned not too long ago fate always was and forever will be inexorable. No matter your station, no matter your age, no matter who you are or were or was, no point in fighting it. Like the poor fool chained to a mountain top endlessly tormented by an eagle, he was to suffer for his nearsightedness day after day. But unlike that fucking asshole's liver, they would never be brought back. He would endure their absence forever. That was torture. Far worse than sitting in lukewarm water for a week or being bandied about like a peace of meat. Torture was remembering her smile, seeing his face, recalling all the pieces of a life ripped away.
There he was a husband once. There he was a father, a would-be farmer, a Great Thegn to the house of Indra...
Now he was nothing. Not even his old name sounded right to him anymore, because he was no longer that man. He changed. Now all that he simply was...Weregild.
All his life he had fought out of loyalty for the Uchiha, but loyalty was a cruel, double-sided cunt. On one hand, it was a good way to gain rings and arm-glory. On the other hand, loyalty meant servitude, silence, utter and unquestioning obedience; taught torture was honorable, pain and death a reward. And now here he is.
All his life he had fought out of loyalty for the Uchiha, because that's what he was taught made a good man. A good man is one who honors both clan and family for the sake of the greater good, that those who betray the bonds of kinship are trash - worse than trash. But if fighting for loyalty's sake meant clinging to the losing side, he'd rather fight for himself. If that somehow made him any less than a "good man", then so be it.
For he was weregild. "Blood money." "Man price." And he vowed they were all going to pay... Starting with Hakon the Dumb
The steady rocking of the boat and the cries of men told him they had left the shores of Orm. Wouldn't relatively be a long journey back to Asaland depending on the courseof the haven, but he was skeptical of mainlanders' expertise navigating the Wyrm's Neck water. Hmph, what irony that would be? Generations of Aesir and Vanir bloodshed finally ends, only for them to all drown. He wouldn't out it past the Crone, because who knew - fate was inexorable.
But very well, then. It would seem he would have to make do with what the All-Fodr granted him in these sheepskins and barrels of honeyed mead. He wondered if he could trouble one of his sentries for a horn.