As promised, this is the sequel of Silk and Machinations. If you haven't read it first, I strongly suggest that you do before reading this to have a broader understanding of the plot. However, reading this piece without reading Silk is also possible (hard but not impossible).

I'm sorry for the wait: I had forgotten how first chapters require more editing than any other chapter.

This being said, enjoy! :)

Pairings: NejiTen, ShikaIno, NaruSakuSasu, IbikiOC, GaaHina. Others may show up along the way.

Disclaimer: I do not own Naruto.

A small glossary: Kami= God. Tenno= heavenly sovereign, it refers to the emperor.

-X-

As a child, Haku played in the blood of his first victim, undisturbed by the stench or stains that clung to his knees.

This was how Zabuza Momochi found it; his feminine childishness cast in blood.

He remembered the bitter coldness unfolding in his stomach, his facial features hardening under his mask and the scent of blood, heavy on his hands. Metallic and sour. However, he mainly remembered Zabuza's smirk, red lips stretched devouring the life oozing out of the gapping wounds.

Then, he chose needles so he wouldn't waste what drew out Zabuza's smirks and interest. Since he gave his soul up to his master, he felt, smelled and experienced nothing. His needles did the work; sewing cadavers that threatened his master or got into the way of protecting him. He didn't mind the ghosts, the flesh he ripped the seam from. Mere pawns, mere decadent humans he didn't understand.

He was an the apprentice of a beast but that night, he was a shadow.

Invisible, he let his members take form between the drawn chrysanthemums on the thin silk screens. The wind howled against them, fragile and brisk, masking his footsteps that slid across the hall of the imperial palace of Japan. He was just one more shadows walking the halls of servitude and power. Haku thought solely of his master, the way, courtesans did the emperor. Zabuza made his footsteps soundless, his needles, lighter. He didn't expect the faint cry of his memory; Tenno, it chanted loudly. The heavenly sovereign.

His skin prickled, the voice incessant in his ear; he should bow not kill. No, he resisted. He bowed only to Zabuza. He killed only for him.

As guards passed by, Haku erased his shadow, plastering himself on the walls. He espoused their edges, crossing the inner courtyard that separated the quarters of high-ranked aristocrats and the ones of the imperial family. The crest of heavenly power laid flat against the red tiles and a shiver ran down his spine. Even Kami was meant to fall, casting petals of chrysanthemum in early summer. Yes, he smirked. No one had ever resisted his needles.

His laboured breathing thickly rolled out of his blank mask. This was how demons and beast grew; in the absence of fear of the divine. This was how they carried on; they thought of the fall of white chrysanthemums instead of the fall of Kami.

Zabuza wouldn't hesitate. Zabuza would slaughter with a soundless instinct that didn't bow to the laws of humans. His mask gleamed. The shadows quivered, he quivered. They stilled, he stilled. Gulping the moist air behind his mask, he watched soldiers sitting across the emperor's quarters, lulled to sleep under the ghostly moonlight.

Haku stepped between them, letting his needles quietly dive into their flesh. His body relaxed, feeling, fearing nothing. Drops of blood stained the blooming chrysanthemums while the two cadavers slouched on the floor, like ragged dolls. Humans were so pitiful when dying, Zabuza often said, blood dripping down his chin.

His fingers numbed on the screen, his heart thumping against his rib cage, a deafening excitement and curiosity. Could heaven bleed? Would the moonlight turn red and oozed onto days chasing the sun? How did Kami fall and demons rise?

He slid the door open like an emperor.

The palace didn't stir, imprisoned in the darkest hour when he approached the sleeping form of the emperor. Beard and hair glistened in the heavy hot air. So human, so mundane. His quarters smelled of lotus and rich silk, suddenly metallic and sour.

The palace didn't stir, silk and chrysanthemums stained by death.

-X-

The Fall of Chrysanthemums

by Clementive

-X-

Tenten could count the days she left Konoha with the leagues Katsuo forced onto them. Days, sunrises and green scenery lingered in her tiredness, blunted by their run.

She believed Gai when he told her it would be a journey. In fact, it consisted sleepless nights, uncomfortable blankets that smelled of equine sweat and avoiding villages. Katsuo of the House of Dragons didn't trust his surrounding, his pearl eyes always reaching farther than Gai or her could. More importantly, he didn't trust her.

She shivered, her cloak heavy with the humidity of dawn. It hung in droplets of pearls on her body and the horse beneath her neighed softly, drawing thin clouds out of his nostrils. Without even seeing it yet, she could smell the sea; salty, yet terrible. Soon, the waves would mutter through her, crash onto her last memories of China. Home. Death.

She shivered again, sharply pulling the bridle.

"We are not stopping, Tenten-chan," Katsuo said icily, appearing next to her, suspicion meddling with his usual cold mask.

She shook her head, looking over his shoulder that the mist cascading the mountains. She only remembered the flat lands around the village of her father and the crop of rice. The mountains before have become her home since she left China. She didn't remember how it happen, how the two countries swapped place in her mind and heart. 'Neji...' She bit her below lip, glancing over at her sensei. Drowsily, Maito Gai looked over his shoulder meeting briefly her eyes, his own bridles escaping his hands. Harshly, their journey caught on to her, her body crying for rest and a bath.

"I apologize, Katsuo-san, I thought one sleeps during the night. Clearly, I am mistaken, this is already dawn," Tenten said dryly, pulling on the bridles to turn away from him.

Before she could turn away he gripped her hands. Her breath quivered at the back of her throat halting as the veins surrounded his pearl eyes. She almost counted the pulsating veins, compared them with Neji's. They were concentrated around his eyes in thinner but more prominent lines that reached his neck. Unlike Neji. Her heart clutched in her chest and she glanced away, afraid he would see his name on her face. Bitterly, Tenten thought she trusted him as little as he trusted her. Instead, her eyes fell on the tattoo of the dragon curling on the pale skin of his arm.

Abruptly, he released her, his sleeve sliding back on the mark of the House of Dragons while he turned towards Gai waddling off his saddle.

"There is a valley a league away. We will stop there and wait for instructions."

"Is anyone following us in spite of our youth?" Gai mumbled, his dark eyes unfocused.

"Who are we waiting for? Didn't we get instructions yesterday and the day before that?"

"No," Katsuo narrowed his eyes at her answering Gai's question while ignoring her puffing reddened cheeks. "And we don't want this to change."

Their horses trotted in front of hers and she pinched her lips glaring at the back of their heads. She had grown up in the House, handled weapons for as long as she remembered. She remembered their weight just as much as people greeting her, acknowledging her. The heavy scent of metal clung to their breath the way they clung to hers. However, if Gai had been helping before Katsuo arrived in Konoha, every sympathy he showed her was gone.

"Tenten-chan," the elder threatened in a low voice without turning his head towards her.

Clenching her jaw, she pushed her mount forward, the bitterness resting on her tongue ignored. They passed crops, avoided awakening farmers. Through foliage, Tenten could see them tirelessly working on their lands afraid of the impact of blood on their soil. When they walked around a small fishing village, she wanted to get lost in the crowd, to move along side with it as it discussed the war between the Hyuuga and the Uchiha clans. She grew up surrounded by war, dawns and evenings when the scent of metal was the strongest and the most sickening.

They were all survivors of the games of the warlords. Did peasants know as much? Did they play their own games?

"Hurry."

Katsuo was never far behind, his pearl eyes following her movements as if she were their prisoner. The question burnt her tongue: was she? Was she the first war prisoner? Even her sensei's eyes avoided her or remained on her for too long. He didn't offer a sparring match or to stretch his legs with her.

The hooves of the horse sank in the a reddish mud. She smelled their sweat under the rising sun and burnt flesh. The wind sang in the bony hollow structures of the farmhouses. Their half-burnt thatched roof laid in piles of ashes at their base.

"So, it has already begun," the monk frowned. "How far is the battlefield, brother?"

Paling, Tenten looked at Katsuo waiting for his answer. Her gloved hands almost pulled her mount towards the inner lands. Maybe her place was on the battlefield. It seemed the call of weapons always brought her back there with an armour and a sword.

"They are farther south. I don't think they will come back here."

She reached over her saddle-bag where her twin katanas were. She almost defeated Neji with the Twin Rising Dragon.

"Who is losing?"

"There is no such thing as a winner or a loser on a battlefield, Tenten-chan," Katsuo scowled, his features quivering, bubbling under his cold anger. "There are cadavers, ghosts and survivors. Nothing more, nothing less."

Moments later, they reached the valley, the trunks of the trees were still grey. Without a word, she dismounted while the two men talked to one another in low voices. Tenten pinched her lips, letting her mare feed from the scarce herbs. She picked a small trail of silver hanging.

She pretended to brush her horse's brownish coat, her heart pounding and her hand supple around the pommel of her kunai. Swiftly, she spun tossing the weapon but Maito Gai's iron grip closed around her wrist. Crying out in panic, her mare kicked the sand and sprung forward.

The cloaked shape stepped between the ashen trees.

Silver quivered as she breathed heavily narrowing her eyes in response to the monk's unflinching dark ones. She almost forgot, they could smell weapons as well as she could. She forgot Gai had been one of them all along; probably one of Ibiki's pawn. She wondered what that made of her.

"Release me, sensei," she hissed, watching him blink slowly as if he were waking from a dream.

"Don't let your youth blind you, Tenten-chan," he tried to smile but it fell flat and uneven on his lips. "You could have killed an innocent woman."

Her head snapped in the direction of the uneasy stance of the woman. The hood hung low on her face but black locks escaped it. Her breath caught in her throat and Gai slowly released her wrist. Katsuo joined the woman, his glower never leaving her as he leaned in. As always, his emotions weighed down the coldness spread on his features. He couldn't fight them rising inside him the way Hyuuga usually did.

"Okaa-sama," he muttered but she heard him loud and clear while the woman pushed back her hood.

"Asuka-sama," she cried out in surprise taking a step back.

Familiar faces couldn't lie this long, she thought to herself petrified. Yet, she had lied and hidden her whole life.

Watching her with indifference, Asuka Hyuuga handed a scroll to her son. The gesture left a dull aching in her knotted stomach. They were cold but tender, caring. For a brief moment, she had thought it had been her mother. Sharply, she spun on her heels, Neji's warnings louder than ever.

"Don't go too far, we'll reach the shore today. China has granted you passage," the wind carried his tensed voice, until falling back into soother tones directed towards his mother.

Tenten breathed in sharply, choking back her tears. Everyone that surrounded her tied her back to the House of Dragons while banishing her from it. In front of the mountains, she had grown to love and called home, she didn't know where she stood.

Her arm shook as she hugged herself. She couldn't be anyone's war prisoner, not with Neji on the battlefield. That meant she would need to break free soon before the cage severed her wings, nailing down onto the ground.

"Tenten-chan, we need to go."

She blinked the tears away, walking back towards them. With ease, she fell back on the mold of her mask. This early in the game, patience and deception were keys.

-X-

Bloody stains followed them, hollow and ghostly followers perched on their shoulder. They followed soldiers to their bed. In the darkness, they would then gasp, waking up sweaty and their fingers itching to let go of their swords. Already. War stretched their legs, until they tired and ceasing the run, the fight, was no longer an option.

Neji closed his eyes, leaning back against one of his tent's pillar. He breathed in, chasing the scent of sweat, dust and gore that hung to his clothes. The sun set, the last intake of brimstone. In the shadow of his tent, he watched his men peeling layers of armour off their chest while other struggle to slid them on their skin.

He hissed as the servant attempted to bind his arm. She didn't have Tenten's soft worn hands that handling weapons carved in them. Vaguely, he searched her face for his wife's familiar features and he almost dismissed the young servant when he didn't.

It had been a week since they last saw one another. A week since his army and the Uchiha's first clashed on the battlefield. They spun their weapons over their heads, war cries echoing in their chest, as they cut down one another. This was home. This was war. They had been hungry for blood, but they were already drained by the sun, the wind, the unstable ground beneath their feet. Blood coagulated too fast, cadavers burnt too slow.

Any stable middle ground vanished, welcoming the past memories of the battle they tried to forget.

A shadow leaned over the Hyuuga lord and he wished he didn't need to hear the number every night. He could see it on the battle; men rarely died in silence. He could smell it in the evenings; men rotted before they were burnt.

Grunting, Neji pushed the servant's hands away from his bandaged arm, dismissing her in a tired gesture. The girl blushed, bow and turned towards the exit. Neji's pearl eyes focused on her neck; Tenten's was darker but slenderer. He grunted again turning his attention back towards his the strategist.

"How many today?"

"The emperor is dead," Shikamaru Nara said instead, his knuckles whitening around the scroll in his hand.

Neji blinked rapidly, focusing his attention of the mouth forming the words over and over in a whisper. The emperor gave him a larger fief after his first war campaign against the shogunate of the Wind. He set the head of the Southern shogun at his feet alongside his uncle, Hiashi.

"What?"

"A needle in the heart," he added, his voice raspy on his thickening voice. "Civil war broke between the most powerful aristocrats. They are accusing one another, but no one is stepping forward to claim the kill."

"No one would dare," the warlord raised to his feet, gesturing sharply for his servant to close the tent's entrance. "Can we trust this information?"

"Two of Ino's sources confirmed this. Two days ago. There is also no sign of the imperial heir. A chrysanthemum was found in his bed."

Neji paled, running a tired hand in his dark locks. He heard it before Shikamaru said it. He looked down and they paused afraid of saying it, afraid of hearing it. This is the end, they thought at once avoiding each other's glance.

"Uchiha," he licked his lip. "He has a claim to the throne by his mother's ancestry."

Nodding slowly, Shikamaru set the scroll on the shoguns temporary desk. Bitterly, he noticed for the immaculate rich paper that only awaited his signature and seal. After all, white was the colour of heaven and armistice.

"If I keep fighting him, I'll look like a rebel," he choked on a mouthful of curses, pacing. "And a rebel is a traitor! No wonder why we still haven't cross blades on the battlefields! He's probably laughing at me, at us, since the very beginning."

His anger fuelled the jerks of his hands when he threw the scroll across the tent, or when he kicked his armour he removed earlier. His chest heaved and he turned his glare towards Shikamaru's set jaw. He still couldn't face him; he never calculated the move across his shogi board. He should have pierced the shadow and let the pieces reveal the real game.

"I will lose my lands!" He shouted, trembling, his mind leaning back towards Tenten and what they could build together. "What will I tell my men? '300 of you died for nothing! This is the kind of shogun, I am'," he shook his head, thoughts violently spinning in his head. "Now, the ones that are still standing will have to take their life."

"Uchiha cannot claim the throne unless the troublesome heir is dead, Hyuuga. Calm down, this isn't over yet." His voice hardened.

"The heir is three years old, Nara" Neji said icily, unrolling the scroll on his desk with a violent jerk of the hand. "Do you seriously think any warlord cares whether he is dead or not? They would rather fight than have a creature that aristocrats will shape to suit their wills."

His eyes quickly ran over the names of the imperial family searching for a familiar name. A new pawn for the game of silk and machinations.

"Then, we have to find someone who will take the throne as troublesome as it is."

Ultimately, thrones were made of silk; lords sat and died in silence onto them. It was the path to them that was paved with howls and yells of pain.

"Get the other warlords in here," the shogun's finger had stopped on one name, tapping it softly. "We will need to change the banners."

Uzumaki Naruto.

-X-

I'm excited to be back with these characters. :) Again, I would like to thank everyone who has reviewed, added to their favourite list or alert list Silk and Machinations.

I would like to continue this but as it is the case for all my stories, this is a pilot. Your reactions to this first chapter will determine whether I keep writing the sequel or not.