Hello readers!
I don't like to write stories with darker themes (which is pretty unbelievable as everything I've ever published is pretty dark, but trust ;DDDD ) but I fell in love with this concept. I haven't seen many sort of works with a medieval touch to it, at least in this fandom, and thought I'd give it a try myself. Now, I'm no expert on such a genre and obviously this is a work of fiction and will not be historically accurate, but I would like you bear that in mind as you read this prologue and if you decide to continue reading it- The themes in this may be crude, may be regressive and may be a tad on the conservative, traditional side at times, but this is A). a different world and B). a long time ago in the past.
I'm sure a lot of you are thinking that I don't really need to preface that, but I like to serve out my intentions on a silver platter, just to make sure we're all on the same page. If you don't like this, the prologue, then please do leave any criticisms before you decide to give up, I will not be the slightest bit offended :)
Also, please do consider character-development is to be implemented throughout, and so although some things might seem a bit all over the place in this now, I will be working on this to ensure something that I can proud of ;)
Not really going to write too much more other than a few details, but I am TheMajesticKaramel (you can call me Karamel or anything you want really, though ;D) and I like cats and hot chocolate and soft blankets, I'm a bit of a socialist and a strong believer of equality but I'm not going to say more on that as such tend to be controversial topics. I live in the UK and so some of you might find my spelling or phrasing a bit weird, and I honestly hate tea (sorry my not-so-fellow avid tea-drinkers). I typo a lot and can barely formulate a comprehensible sentence, but I hope you'll stay for the irregular updates and the extended period of writers' block ;)
Feel free to drop a PM if you want, I'd say I'm pretty damn friendly.
Title: Of Crimson Days
World: Medieval-inspired, Sasuke is basically a prince
Full Summary: She isn't of aristocratic blood. She's laboured and she's struggled, sometimes clothed in only a rag, but she is, at least, a survivor- A survivor of poverty, of loss, of this man-eat-man world. She may not sleep in silk tonight, but at least she'll open those wise eyes when morning comes. At least, when it all ends, she'll live to tell the tale of how she survived those Crimson Days.
Central Paring: SasuSaku
Side Pairings: tbd
Start Date: October 2017
Update Schedule: lol as if ;)))
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Death, prostitution, poverty, non-consensual sex (mentioned), sexual descriptions, sexual scenes, swearing, alcohol, graphic violence, neglect (although much of this isn't so heavily portrayed as you think) and tbat
"Once upon a time, in a kingdom far, far away, there lived a great king- He was kind and brave, stronger than any other man in the kingdom, and he protected his subjects with his own life. One day, the king met a woman and fell in love, entranced by her beauty, and, soon enough, a princess was born. The people of the kingdom rejoiced day and night for a whole seven days, for everyone had fallen in love with the princess and her gorgeous night-sky eyes, and the king had never been happier.
"But then, on the seventh night of the seventh day, something terrible happened- Whilst the king slept peacefully in his bed, his own wife had plotted against him and taken his life. On the eighth day, the kingdom had awoken to a castle without a king.
"Now, everybody knows that a kingdom cannot be a kingdom without a king, and so, on the eighth night, the queen announced her betrothal to a man with night-sky eyes. She feigned heartbreak and mourning, but the woman had only ever loved one man- The man with night-sky eyes.
"For the people were in chaos over their king's death, they accepted the new king and honoured his coronation, never quite piecing together that the princess' night-sky eyes certainly did not come from the late kin-"
"Hanako! That is not the story you should be reading to your sister!" A woman with dusty locks reprimanded, her villager dress hanging from her round body in a fashion that certainly did not flatter, "She is only little!"
"Oh please, I knew 'bout this stuff when I was 'bout six," The alleged Hanako had sniggered back, candlelight illuminating her lustrous tresses into an elegant rose gold- She had beauty that clearly came not from her mother, "Sakura can 'andle it,"
"Yeah!" The youngest girl in the dimly lit room cheered in her high, childlike voice, though oblivious to the reasoning behind her mother's skepticality, "I can handle it!"
Scoffing, the pair's mother folded a white tea-towel in pardon, not stubborn enough to continue her eldest's charade- For she'd never win, especially not against the brashness of Hanako Haruno. When it came to her littlest child and her heart, the parent couldn't even begin to compete with her twelve-year-old daughter; her children had a bond that filled her chest with a warmth that was envied by even the blazing heat of summer, inseparable and close-knitted beyond comprehension.
Only, it mattered not how fiery her body felt at the sight of her two daughters, or how vivid the smile she crafted was, for the alabaster storms of winter were merciless. They lived in a small, non-insulating cottage at the edge of a vast forest, isolated from foreign company, that had been built with timbers too thin for the climate of their land. It contained two rooms- which was luxurious for many, the family knew- although one could only hold a single bed, and the other, simply a slightly larger bed and an arrangement of stoves and half-broken pantries. At seven years of age, Sakura Haruno had only stepped out from its clasps once.
"How many times must I remind you, Hanako, to not speak so informally?" The girl's mother had hissed, shortly accompanied by an exasperated sigh, "You will never find a groom if you continue, darling,"
"Pa said I could say what I want, how I want," The sister shrugged, carelessly, "Oh yeah, when's he even comin' home? I miss him lots,"
The silence that followed meant nothing to Sakura, but it meant everything to her older sister; she only realised why when it was far too late, years later, though, when her sister was long gone, just as her father had been.
After a minute had passed, their mother, who was admittedly a very short and plump woman, had began to boil a pot of tea. It finished the remainder of their tea leaves, and they'd probably never come into possession of them ever again, but Mebuki Haruno had never been one to admit to their poverty. Hanako could see it in her eyes- She was ashamed, embarrassed that she'd married a farmer's son and not one of the lords.
Class meant nothing to the twelve-year-old, though- She did not care if she had to skip a few meals or own only a single dress and no shoes, she loved her father. She also loved their little cottage, despite the iciness she felt as dusk pulled the sky into its coarse embrace. Even with the words she'd been shamed with, she felt pride in being able to say that she was a Haruno and that she was her father's daughter.
"You should get t'a sleep, Sak," The golden-haired girl kissed a tiny temple, stroking locks that felt like silk in her palms, "Who knows how long you'll be able t'a sleep in that bed?"
She also loved her little sister, even more than she did her father. She loved the huge grin that the seven-year-old would show off without a care in the world, she loved the beautiful shades of coral her hair effortlessly flowed, she loved the brilliance of her emerald-jewel eyes; She loved her sister's giggle, and she loved her sister's sweet voice and gleaming personality, and she certainly loved her childlike naivety and uncompromised innocence. There was nothing she didn't love about her sister, actually.
"But I'm not tired, sis!" Sakura only whined in response, voice as loud and as full-of-energy as it consistently was.
"Shhhh," The delicacy she exuberated was one that she held for her sibling alone, "You shouldn't speak like that. You're a lady, ain't ya?"
"But you don-"
"But I'm not like you, Sak. You're gonn'a get out'ta here, marry a lord and birth an heir or somethin'. You're gonn'a be pretty enough, that's for sure- Not like Ma, not like me," Hanako offered a kind smile, distant yet melancholy in some manner that the little girl remained oblivious to, "Promise me ya will, Sak, yeah? That you'll get out'ta here?"
"But you're so pretty, sis," She insisted in response, stubborn in that Haruno way- Like their father.
In her shamrock gaze, the twelve-year-old was breath-taking; Her eyes were a deep blue, a shade that Sakura believed was unfair on a person. She wanted to steal their colour and learn how to paint the night sky with it, and, if she'd never witness the aggressive waves of a sea, she believed she wouldn't be saddened, for when her sister's eyes shut, it was as though a pair of curtains were being drawn over a magnificent castle-view of the ocean.
Her locks were spun on Rumpelstiltskin's spinning wheel, from the pages of the fairytales that she read to Sakura, golden and wavy in a way she already envied at her age, and the age of her older sister was only a number against the curve of her waist that was more prominent than their Ma's; she was tall too, slender yet somehow warm-blooded, with a heat that brings feeling back to her fingers during the colder seasons.
"Oh, Sakura," Hanako laughed warmly, her fingers brushing through the knotted strands of cherry-blossom pink, "I'm a bit o'va tomboy, which ain't ever good, so don't be like me, yeah? Get married, don't be held on love or anythin' like that. Look at Ma, she ain't happy and she married Pa- Love ain't timeless,"
Although she wasn't really comprehending a word her sister uttered, the innocent gleam in her forest eyes dulled just that little bit, "Like how the queen didn't love the king, in the story?"
"Exactly," The blonde chuckled, despite her bitterness, "Exactly, Sak,"
~ x Of Crimson Days x ~
A white-cloaked figure collides with a large man wearing facial hair down to his chest, to match the brown leather he has over a stained, white shirt. The butcher, from what onlookers can percept, immediately grunts in protest, his gruff voice bellowing out after the still-running figure. The boy, aged around seventeen, doesn't dare to look back, already tardy to what is probably the most important event of his life.
Unbeknownst to him, his shoulder brushes against a woman also aged seventeen, the pastel locks of her hair hidden beneath a black hood and her viridescent orbs turned down to the street cobble; She's unaffected by his clumsy swaying, bored waiting for her mother out in the annoyingly busy street. They've travelled three days to reach the Mangekyou Kingdom, and her bones are far beyond simply tired- She just wants to lay down on the polished street and be swallowed up by the ground, entering a blissfully eternal slumber.
Oh, she wishes.
The past two years have been long and taxing, mentally-exhausting as well as physically damaging, and easily the most life-changing portion of her life. Well, she supposes that probably isn't the case- She's been dressing as a man to work for a blacksmith in the nearest village, for her mother cannot work in her health condition and she has no other remaining relatives- There's also the fact that women have always been deemed incapable of everything in their little town. She doesn't speak frequently and avoids all attention, kept hidden behind a hood and some bandages she's been wrapping around her breasts, but the constant drain on her physique, as well as the mind-altering task of pretending to be another person, is definitely taking its toll.
To make it all worse, her mother's beyond the help of herbs and it's not as if they could dream of affording a doctor. In all honesty, Sakura Haruno is surprised they've even managed this journey, although, by the panting of her big-bosomed mother, she has doubts that they actually have.
A blond male is still running carelessly, though now a hundred metres ahead of the dulling rosette, the golden embroidery on his magnolia cloak shining against the sunlight of the summer sky, his hood now limp behind his ears. Messy and spiked hair rustles slightly against the blurring of his motions, cerulean eyes eager and determined against the watchful gazes of passerbys; the cloak is an obvious object of interest already, but his face is easily another.
He has his father's eyes and hair colour- that's noticeable at a vague inspection- but his jaw is also just as angular and sharp, his nose containing the same width and his forehead just as thin. His cheekbones, however, are softer, like his mother's, and the natural arch of his eyebrows certainly aren't Minato Namikaze's. The thinner shape of his hair comes from Kushina Uzumaki too, along with the fuller and longer length of his eyelashes, although the upturned shape of his eyes are definitely that of the older Namikaze. Of course, his eyes and hair are enough of a giveaway anyway, without further detail, for everyone knows what the Paladin Knight of the Mangekyou Kingdom looks like.
That famous grin, one that isn't as known as his 'old man's' however, gleams as he sees the typical brooding face of his best friend. Standing with his arms crossed, over the Bridge of Madara and up the Great Sharingan Stairs, Prince Sasuke lies against the majestic door to the Uchiha Palace, night-sky eyes narrowing at the sprinting form.
Tch, what a dobe, the Prince hisses to himself, knowing the situation all too well- Only, this time, he half-expected the blond to be a little more cautious.
"Who would have thought, Naruto Namikaze, late for his own Accolade?" The Uchiha sniggers as the said boy halts in front of him, "Tch, oh that would be right- everyone would have,"
"Teme, even rude to me today? I thought you would be at least a little nice on the day of my ceremony," Naruto pauses for a moment in mock-consideration, "But I suppose there is not a nice bone in your body,"
Sasuke Uchiha scoffs, the sharp perpendicular lines of his jaw empathising the narrow yet strong build of his nose, as well as the defined upturned outline of his deep set eyes and the powerful slanting of his arched eyebrows; pale skin darkens around the crease of his optic organ, no doubt due to his duties as a prince, and the shade of his hair is singular and absolute, defying light itself. His finery, a highly-embellished amethyst tunic and a pair of well-fitting obsidian trousers, hoisted up by a thick, black belt that holds his scabbard, glimmers beneath his white, furred cloak, against the architecture.
The castle itself is proud behind him, shades of light marble cascading down to the deep moat between the palace and the rest of the kingdom; it's always been the divider between those that matter here and those that scavenge, everyone on the other side considered worthless. Towers upon towers litter the grand building in the same ivory tone of the rest of it, the crest ingrained on flags at the highest points of each one, regal boysenberry curtains at the mostly-crimson glass of every window, each depicting the legends of the Uchiha.
Despite being somewhat of an idiot, the soon-to-be knight in front of him wears a scarlet and alabaster surcoat over his chainmail hauberk, his white cloak trimmed with gold lining and the typical coat of arms the Uchiha's possess sewn on over his heart. He looks like a knight, Sasuke thinks, the trace of a current squire diminishing at the gleam of his vanilla sheath.
"Not a nice bone in my body, hn? Yes, say that to the prince who ordered they postpone your accolade another hour, because you are that late, dobe," He retorts, uncrossing his arms and easing the tension in his biceps, "Mother was more than willing, however, considering you are the Paladin's son. It commences in twenty minutes,"
"Ah, well of course you would do that. You are my best friend, jerk," The giggle that follows is enough to melt the stern line Sasuke Uchiha attires, a scoff accompanying the slight smirk that suddenly dawns on his porcelain skin, "I am sorry for being late, by the way, I was at-"
"I know, idiot," The dark-haired royalty interjects, knowing how unwilling his closest friend is when it concerns his mother, "Tch, do not insult me- Of course I know. Come, there is cusine left over in the kitchen for you,"
The blond nods.
Naruto truly appreciates the black-eyed man's efforts in avoiding the subject of his mother's grave, and any onlooker would be able to tell that by the warm smile that completely overtakes his features, but he nevertheless, staying true to the dynamic of their relationship, doesn't voice it. Instead, he follows the prince through a series of corridors and stairways, idly discussing things that don't really matter.
Half way across the city, at a goldsmith's, a woman is in a heated exchange with a well-kept man behind a counter. Sakura Haruno stands behind her mother, almost embarrassed by the desperation of her parent.
"It is real gold, mister," Mebuki Haruno tells him, with urgency, "I promise you, I would never dishonour myself enough to lie,"
And she'd be right, because Sakura knows it is real- She stole it herself, from a rich nobleman who came into her blacksmith's to request a sword for his son, and although she is secretly ashamed of herself for doing it, she's far more concerned about paying for her mother's treatment. If they can't scrape together ten silver pieces, she'll truly be an orphan by the end of the year.
"Yes, well then how would you like to explain how a villager-maiden, such as yourself, is in possession of such an object?" The old man interrogates, his grey hair and shrunken brown eyes shifting in suspicion, "This crest here, this leaf shape, belongs to Lord Sarutobi of the Bakyugan Kingdom,"
Sure enough, on the inside of the golden pocket watch, is a leaf-shaped crest, and, no matter how many silver pieces they ever came to possess, they would never come to own something of a Lord's without theft. She's heard of maids and kitchen staff being gifted such things, but even a profession of that sort was far out of her reach. No matter how hard the rosette struggled to break free of her branding, she would always be a farmer's daughter.
"Forgive my intrusion, but it seems as if you are accusing my mother of thievery?" Sakura finally pipes up, adjusting the hood even further over her hair and taking a few steps forward to stand beside her parent, "When, in actuality, I discovered it in the midsts of a trip to our own village, on a pathway through the woods. It certainly is not stolen, but, if you wish to pass it up, then we shall find another goldsmith- This city does indeed have many of them, after all,"
One look at her, with her thick cloak and half-covered face, and one would certainly feel intimidated- That coupled with her patronising tone and the developed ability enabling her to lie without the fluttering of an eyelash, she's come to master a formidable technique when it concerns persuasion. In fact, if lying was a profession, she'd definitely be a noblewoman by now.
"Tch, you village-folk sure are growing foul," The elder man's gothic shirt shakes with his head, "Fine, I shall purchase it for twelve silver pieces,"
~ x Of Crimson Days x ~
Two years later and the little girl was eight-years-old, fatherless and someone confused with what her purpose was; she hadn't been out of the cottage in almost three years, which had been the only time she'd ever left it, and her mind was growing more and more numb with boredom each day. Her sister had stopped playing with her and instead worked in the village through the forest, all day and every day, alongside her mother on some occasions when the older woman's health was somewhat more stable.
On that particular day, she'd been particularly bored and both of her family members were absent- In fact, she was fairly certain that was why she was feeling so dull. Watching the trees sway through the tiny holes in the cottage wall, an idea blossomed in her head— If she went out, no one would see because no one was there.
And so, with a mischievous glint in her passionate eyes, she escaped from the confines of eroding stone and rotting coniferous; as her tiny feet fell upon the mud floor of the outside world, shackles snapped apart and the planet seemed to turn on another axis.
Wind, somewhat gentle for the bitter weather, caressed the young girl's locks with a kind of delicacy that caused shivers to resonate beneath her skin, the cool air on the back of her neck calming that adventurous mind. A sense of tranquillity far beyond the capacity of that small, withering farm possessed any wandering thoughts, firm and absolute. Saddened plantation, that clung onto their lives like a starved predator would to its prey, lay blackened against the occasional hue of chartreuse. Crops were buried in graves of dirt, and the little child swore she could feel their lifeline drain from the thin atmosphere.
Tuneful tweeting echoed more clearly outside than it did inside the cottage, Sakura concluded after a moment, the kind hum of songbirds whispering to the lonely steel sky. Harmonising with the soft melody was the swaying of the trees, their wilting leaves playing one last encore against the thick branches as they chorused their goodbyes to the summer season. It was getting cold- the eight-year-old felt that in the quaking of her bones.
For the next few hours- or maybe it was even longer?- Sakura Haruno played in the grass, carelessly dirtying the white fabric of her single dress, far too blissful to notice the looming shadows that cast themselves onto the ground.
The sun was setting.
Medallion yellow and sandstone orange danced against the navy curtain that had yet to fall, cusps beginning to brighten against its drifting background as the vibrancy of the sun paled gracefully. Temperatures, on her side of the world, shuddered against the newly-birthed moonlight, nightfall starting to beckon the nocturnal creatures into alertness.
By the time Sakura Haruno acknowledged her surroundings, it was far too late- She was lost.
The trees had begun to blur into the abyss of the sky, blanketed by the deep hues of black. She supposed they had almost a blue tint to them, especially as she'd been told multiple times that they indeed did, but, deep in the woods, she decided that a simple black would suffice- in fact, she was certain that she'd never seen a shade of charcoal quite so absolute, but she was also certain that she'd never been quite so far away from home to ever notice differently.
Her mother would have been mad, was the first jolt of fear to electrocute her, before even someone of her age began to comprehend the severity of the situation- She could have been possibly stuck out there forever, stranded and alone, left to fend for herself. At this, she formulated how she'd use the berries found in certain areas to eat, how she'd befriend the animals to protect her, how she'd settle down in a warm cave and sleep soundly in a bed of leaves. Sure enough, despite the fright that paralysed small hands to her side, she found herself at ease imagining such scenarios; had she not been terrified, scared of the constant shadow cast over her blinded eyes, she probably would've enjoyed herself.
But that thought was violently suffocated the minute she felt rough, calloused hands grip her shoulders, pulling her to the ground. Sakura had struggled, screaming and kicking with tears brimming at the corners of that forest tint, before she had felt herself fall limp into a slumber. The next time she awake, her mother had been holding her close, sobbing into the locks of her hair.
She hadn't seen her sister since that morning, and she later learned that she would never again- But she refrained from asking for details for a while, too scared for answers. She never did learn the full truth, although she wasn't entirely sure if even her mother knew it.
~ x Of Crimson Days x ~.
"A maiden such as yourself should not be so dishonest, Sakura," The forty-year-old villager scolds her daughter as soon as her feet fall onto the cobblestone of the city streets, the second they're completely out of the blacksmith's earshot, "It is appalling etiquette,"
The woman's criticisms are only met with deaf-ears and an exasperated sigh, however, "I think dying on one's sickbed because one was so honest, in the first place, is far more appaling, mother. Would you not agree? Where is the dignity in death?"
After her elder sister's passing, the fourteen-year-old, as she had been at the time, began to age years within the space of a few mere weeks; where she had once felt a vulnerable duty of fragility around her parent, as if her little feet were walking on eggshells, she now regarded her maternal figure with a somewhat heartless pity.
Not to mean that Sakura Haruno didn't love her mother- because she honestly did- she just found it hard to whole-heartedly empathise with her after all she had been put through. A mother who had resented everything her own family stood for, a sister who was taken by the great grim reaper before she had even caressed the brink of womanhood, a father who had disappeared one day and left three women isolated with no income; her family life clearly had never been perfect, but she had never understood the concept of friendship or romance once, either.
Her life had been tragedy after tragedy and, although it couldn't get much worse, the rosette doubted it would get much better.
"Do not raise your voice at me, young la-"
She was over-talked as they reached the narrowing of a street corner, "Here, here! Buy your tickets for the ceremony! One silver piece! Only one silver piece per person!"
As a simple ceremony was certainly phrasing it lightly, from what the Haruno damsels could deduce, as every street had been glorified with pearl flags and bronze pennons, each occupant undoubtedly suited in their finest dressing. In comparison to the single other occasion Sakura Haruno had ever walked the pathways of the Mangekyou Kingdom, people seemed to come alive today, their usual drained demeanours crumbling with a burst of spirit and festivities, songs sung out by numerous different folk whilst children giggled carelessly, and the old house-wives gossiped more amicably than their common condescending tone would regularly allow.
One particular girl, with long blonde hair and a petite frame, hop-scotched against the cracks of the stone flooring with such an unwavering stamina that the pink-haired teenager almost envied it, her young laugh bellowing out in a way that Sakura knew would one day grow bitter, blushing at the comments her brown-haired companion made.
The onlooker wondered if that was what she would've been like too, had she not been kept locked up in her little cottage, alone from all other children and boys and potential childhood sweethearts. She wondered if maybe she would've been flirted with and teased, or if she would've instead been ignored and bullied- She imagined her life with a different set of circumstances, a different set of people and a different set of choices.
But the girl could only imagine it as another, alternate world, separate from this one which she found so unbearably cruel, where maybe her parents were in love and her sister was alive.
"Do you wish to attend, Sakura? We have exactly two silver pieces to spare, after all," Trust her mother to trade financial stability for a momentary glimpse of leisure. She'd humour her, however, too worn out from years of battling against the woman's sudden whims.
In response, her salmon locks peaked out from her hood as she subtly nodded her head, her blushing hair immediately attracting a crowd of whispers.
Naruto Namikaze, clad in his knightly uniform, stands anxiously with a glass of liquor in the possession of sweaty palms, in one of palace rooms. His best friend, the kingdom's overshadowed prince, had coaxed him into easing his nerves with an alcoholic beverage the instant they'd made it into the fourth floor lounge; he knew exactly where they stashed that stuff, and frequently went against his family's wishes by submitting to its temptation.
Who would've ever guessed, the unwanted sibling, consoling his rejection with defiance and rebellion?
Naruto, of course, has always been the only one allowed to answer such a question.
"Today is the day, Teme, " The blond chuckles to dull down his unease, biting down to the bed of his nails as he places himself beside his best friend, "Today is actually the day, huh?"
"Tch, as you have been saying repeatedly the past quarter of an hour, today is the day. The most significant day of your life, forever, so stop being such a wuss and appreciate it, you moron,"
Sasuke lays limp on one half of the velvet sofas, feet resting up on the glass table, his scotch glass beside them on the table. Next to him, only inches away, his idiot of an associate sitting upright with his legs shaking furiously, tanned skin pale with sickness.
In his typical senseless rambling, he chokes out, "Well, I hope my wedding day will be more important, and meeting you is always going to hold a special place in my heart, and the day I got appointed as-"
"Shut up, dobe. I get the idea, you are a sentimental sap. Tch, lay off, I want to keep my lunch inside my stomach," The Uchiha grimaces, "And your wedding day? Hn, I suppose having a choice in the matter would make it somewhat momentous, although I would not know,"
At this, the cerulean-eyed male sniggers, sans hostility, and loudly retorts, "Oh please, enough of the 'I am a lonely, inhibited prince' act, how long have I known you? You could not care less about customs and regulations, you do as you please when you please, regardless of law and consequence,"
Sasuke nods with a smirk, typically, picking up his drink with his left ring finger and placing it to his lips without much thought. The boy to his right has a point, he's aware, which honestly in itself is surprisingly, but he's never once acknowledged or hesitated at the mercy of another's opinions.
Without much warning, dark eyes fixate on the colouring of his compatriot's cheeks, those black eyebrows suddenly narrowing in consideration at the sudden thoughts that compile themselves in his mind. In repercussion, the man leans forward, until his stern gaze is unconformably and penetratingly unavoidable, pausing for a single second before inhaling a calculated breath.
"Hn, Naruto, you are attentive to what knighthood forebodes, yes? As it would be such a shame if you were to, well, you should know," There's a beat, for his own personal enjoyment of being melodramatic, before he's moved back to his original position, legs crossing over one another, "Well, of course you are informed, otherwise you would not be wearing that hand in arms, but you are still an idiot, despite your rank,"
"Aw, Sasuke, are you worried about me?" The blond, unfaltered in the least, coos, tackling his partner in an unwelcomed bear-hug, "You shouldn't worry, ya kn- I mean, you should not worry, for I am to follow in my father's legacy,"
His correction is annoyingly over-pronunciated, to his royal counterpart anyway, but Sasuke knows better than to instruct him to drop his formalities, like when they were kids- Now, Naruto is to be a regal Knight of the Crimson Guard, highly respected and an honorable member of the palace, he is at least expected to speak with the correct tongue.
As if sensing the end of a conversation, the door is knocked softly three times before a servant calls out to the young prince. Never really bothering to show any form of politeness, unless absolutely compulsory, the boy grunts out a hiss and stands to his feet, beckoning Naruto to follow behind him.
At this, the blond's stomach lurches.
Not uncharacteristically, he dramatically falls to his knees and erupts into a fit of low groaning, suddenly feeling as if the food he'd eaten minutes earlier was the worst idea he's ever had. Sasuke only sighs, helping his friend up with an expression that clearly stated how frequently he's been in this position.
Well, his best friend certainly is an idiot, but even then, the Namikaze son can still feel the dread of such high expectations- He's never done too well with anxiety anyway, although this definitely takes an all time low.
~ x Of Crimson Days x ~
A young boy sat on the curb of one of the palace fountains, his regal clothes uncomfortably weighing down his body as he read the contents of a history book- His family history, in fact, but that still didn't make the words anymore interesting.
He'd been a stubborn child, always inducing inconvenience for his bloodline and most especially his own older brother, but he'd been kind and gentle, too, welcoming of anyone who truly needed a place to stay. In that bracket, vagabond and displaced, was son of the Paladin, Naruto Namikaze.
Admittedly, at first glance, the young male had been almost everything Sasuke disliked; he was unwaveringly vehement, loyal to an extent that was near plain, blind idiocy, buoyant and noisy as well as completely intoxicated on the highs of life. The blue-eyed boy wore his heart on his sleeve, laughed shamelessly aloud at everything he could, smiled despite the glares and sniggers he was continuously victimised to, and Sasuke hated that.
Sasuke had built a wall between the outside world and the emotions that swirled around his mind, following his expectations like a true prince should, and yet Naruto had the audacity to exhibit his every state and mood. It annoyed the Uchiha to no end- Where was the justice in such an inequality?
The blond could cry as he saw fit, and yet he could only gaze nonchalantly at the things that broke his heart; because he had been birthed to a different lineage, he was forced to shelter everything he wished he could express. It wasn't far!
He wanted to cry when he felt alone, too!
"Why are ya' always readin', princey? Seems borin', ya' know,"
And yet, suddenly, he wasn't alone. He didn't feel alone under that desperate gaze and, although he'd rather break every bone in his body before he admitted it, the attention made him happy.
The Uchiha regarded the youngster with a tactful eye, absorbing every minute detail of the short, rowdy seven-year-old with an insight far beyond his years. Deciding the child to just be another lonely, honorary patrician, the intensity of his gaze eased and his jaw softened.
"Tch, someone such as yourself would never be able to appreciate fine literature regardless, so why would I waste my breath explaining it to a common-bred?"
Naruto shrugged, with a sheepish grin, "Sorry, I don't get a word of what ya're tryna' say, but I do get that ya seem super bored. Why don't ya come and play with me, princey?"
Of course he couldn't comprehend intelligent tongue, Sasuke hissed, reminding himself that such a boy most likely hadn't bore an education like his- Assuming he had been educated at all, that was. Although, in all honesty, despite his fumbling and blatant lack of intellect, he presumably had, for his father was of acrostic blood and was also deemed the greatest knight the Mangekyou Kingdom had ever witnessed. Sasuke knew little about his mother.
"Hn, I do not think so, moron. Honestly, you are an eyesore,"
"I get that a lot, yeah," Naruto nodded, his vibrant smile dulling yet still remaining prominent, blue eyes hiding behind those crestfallen spikes of his, "But even company of an eyesore is bett'a than no company at all, no?"
Something had tugged at the dark-haired boy's heartstrings, and he hated himself for it. His family had taught him that kindness could only get one so far, until the inevitability of emotional weakness plucked your heart from your chest and threw out it for the family demons to ravish. Naruto Namikaze would one day be that very weakness, Sasuke had felt it in his bones, and yet he still couldn't bring himself to turn away from those cold, lonely eyes.
"Tch, how annoying," He retorted, but even the child standing before him could read it as acceptance.
And, just like that, with a flick of a wrist, a friendship was born.
~ x Of Crimson Days x ~
"Oh, how I wish I lived in such a castle!" Mebuki Haruno exclaims in wonder as her and her daughter find their place amongst the crowd, "I could marvel at its beauty all evening! What wonderful architecture, what gorgeous designs, what stunning-"
"Mother, please, you are embarrassing me," The rosette sighs, somewhat exhausted after having to push through such a rowdy cluster of people.
They're in one of the outside palace courts, surrounded by hundreds upon hundreds of people breathing down their necks, pressed against one another; despite the lack of space, however, the atmosphere sings joy and excitement, chatter and laughter filling every dull aching silence Sakura's ever been victim to. It almost brings a smile to her face.
Had her sister been standing by her side, she certainly would've grinned to the crinkles of her emerald pigmentation, laughed loudly and without hesitation, embraced her mother with unwavering adoration and rejoiced with the citizens of the Mangekyou Kingdom- But, the space beside her, despite the man near enough attached to her right arm and her mother on her left, as well the space inside her heart, remains vacant.
Even as she gazes upon the polished marble walls of the mighty Uchiha Palace, even as she listens to the song of the crowd, she feels as if she's floating in vacancy- In colourless, odourless, soundless vacancy.
Nothingness.
And even as the people erupt in joyous screams and bellow at the arrival of the royal family, that feeling remains.
"People of Mangekyou, travellers and citizens, please bid welcome to his majesty, King Fugaku II, and his mistress, Lady Mitoko," Like dogs, they obey, shouting incomprehensible phrases at the tops of their lungs, to a point Sakura is surprised they aren't dropping dead, "Merchants and buyers, ladies and gentlemen, please bid welcome to our next king, the heir to the throne, Prince Itachi,"
Amongst the crowd, hidden in plain sight, a Sasuke Uchiha rolls his eyes; Itachi would not had been addressed as such if he'd made his own appearance public, but his seemingly disinterested actions towards the accolade had deemed him unworthy of the throne- for, obviously, "a king must always address his public".
In actuality, the young prince just prefers the view from below, with the people, to the stands decorating the high tiers of the palace court. He'd never tell his father that, however, as even he isn't that brave.
Brushing aside his thoughts, the Uchiha tunes back in to the herald's announcements, "- now present the Knights of the Crimson Guard, led by Sir. Minato Namikaze, and the current squires, today wearing the highest honour-"
One thing Sasuke's never understood is just that- The desire to be a knight: a simple, sword-wielding body guard with a fancy honorific placed before his forename, forced to take late shifts and stare into the night sky without the slightest bit of excitement. It's a boring position, he thinks, but he supposes he'd be just as eager to be one had he not been born a prince. Nonetheless, he'll support his best friend no matter what he wants to be, even if that encompasses a petty criminal or a national terrorist. Frankly, he wouldn't mind ruining his brother's perfect little kingdom-to-be, anyway.
When Sasuke sees those familiar cerulean eyes, he can't bite back the pride he allows to well up in his chest, instantly shutting down his prior cynicism and letting the slight curl of his lips be displayed.
Well, it's not as if Naruto's ever going to know.
~ x Of Crimson Days x ~
Exactly three hours later, the castle is in chaos.
Or, at least, that's what Sakura can make out from the window of their inn; it stands adjacent to the magnificent piece of architecture, sticking out like a sore thumb yet still emitting its own style of appeal; it's warm and cosy, lit up by candlelight and decorated by cotton curtains, cotton bedsheets and cotton everthing-else.
She likes it, it being somewhat reminiscent of the simpler, kinder times of her years, although she honestly just wants to escape the energy-consuming perpetuation of the 'Big City Life' as soon as possible. The girl has always preferred the swaying of the trees to a prostrating assemblage, but she supposes she enjoys it in little doses— it's refreshing, and, if her mind were to think long and hard on it, also revitalizing to an extent.
Guards— and also those of knighthood, Sakura assumes— scamper along the perimeters of the palace in a frenzy of clumsy limbs, their swords clanking against armour in a metallic scream like a child being forced away from his mother: obnoxious, immature. The spectator sighs at the bombasticity of the royal staff, although she doubts any of these undexterous boys are very highly regarded anyway.
Without a warning, the door bursts open, immediately startling the body leaning against the frame of the ajar glass. Green eyes widen in convulsion, alert, but she's tempted to just brush the dramatics of her mother off.
"Very lady-like indeed," she mocks, gaze still fixated on the figures scurrying just mere metres away, quoting her mother and her impervious standards of formality.
"What?" The voice spits, only it's not as feminine or soft as Sakura expects it to be.
At this, she instantaneously throws her torso to face the door, shocked to find a person not her mother; instead, clad in the same armour she was observing only seconds ago, is a large, brutish man with untamed red hair and a full face of scruff. Her mother seems to only have a few years on him, Sakura concludes, by the lines plastered across the forehead of his rounded, chubby face, but those brown eyes droop into his pale, reddened skin with dissatisfaction, in a fashion more lackluster than her mother— In a fashion more lackluster than the few corpses she'd seen in her life, she'd even argue.
He observes her with an thick and intrigued eyebrow, though curiosity not quite piqued enough to rebirth essence into his beady eyes; he double-takes over those pink locks, and she understands why he would, but that doesn't halt Sakura's uncomfortable fidget in the slightest. She despises scrutiny, her days out in the world have told her, hating the way judgment passes through those merciless orbs of self-infatuation, hating the way stares linger too long, too hungrily in places she wished would conceal themselves further, hating her own body for shivering helplessly as if she were but a mere child, once again. Men have always been particularly cruel, in a way different to women— ravenous, almost... Although, in the more logical section of her mind, she vaguely debates that it might be an unfair resolve.
"I-" She begins, somewhat off-centred, "Forgive my slander, I did not consider that another person would enter here other than my companion,"
Companion, mother.
To her, both have the same meaning really, for she's only ever had her mother as a companion, but she's always been good at picking her words anyway. He won't think anything of it and it's most likely unnecessary, but the woman is aware of the connotations travelling with her mother could produce. Patronisation certainly is one in a long list of her distastes.
"Right, but your companion probably won't be comin' back 'ere anytime soon," He says it like the words don't beat the air out of her lungs, he says it like it's supposed to be a bypassing event out of hundreds to come— He says it like he's not insinuating the death of the one person she has left in the world.
Her veins feel cold buried in the warmth of her body. Her lungs constrict against the strength of her quaking chest. Her ears ring static in a violent blur. She wants to cry and yet, despite herself, forcing composure, she inhales a deep breath and smiles a smile so sweet that it could almost fool even the most sophisticated of nobleman.
"I do not understand what you wish to convey,"
The guard— or whatever he is, they're all the same to her— shoots her a skeptical look, one that almost allows his irises to incarnate themselves, and regards the petite figure with laze. He has other places to be, clearly, but he thinks she's pretty enough for him to waste a few more minutes in this tacky inn. If he's lucky, he'll even get something out of it, he snickers wickedly, allowing his gaze to intensify on the curve of her waist and up to the supple mounds of her breasts. He thinks it's a damn shame they're covered.
"Everyone in this area has been pretty much killed off," He offers, suddenly far more interested in the feminine body before him, "There's a mutiny goin' on, princess, what have you been gazin' at with those pretty lit'le eyes of yours? The castle's in shambles, and you can see that right outside, yeah?"
And yet, he's attempting to seduce her, Sakura tries to prioritise over the darker thoughts suddenly plaguing her mind. The lack of concern for the genocide that has allegedly taken place confuses her, and she momentarily allows herself to wonder whether he's accustomed to such an event, or if he's really just so inhumane; a more optimistic part of her thinks that it could just be a twisted joke, and that really, outside is just a normal street. Optimism has never been her forte, though, and she accepts that as she finds herself believing him.
Not bearing to be in the man's presence any longer, under those objectifying eyes, she makes a move to run passed him and down the stairs, surprised by his lack of reluctance. The peripherals of her own eyes vaguely detect the round body following her out when she sees it:
Streets littered with blood.
Bodies drowning in it; women crying as they hold their sons to their chests; men shouting with their parchment-thin bravado despite their trembling legs; guards of all sorts disregarding the corpses that lay at their feet with little to no empathy; citizens dead, cold on the cobblestone of the Mangekyou Kingdom.
Her mother.
She'd recognise that hair anywhere— She'd know those slight wisps and gentle waves in any land, in any time, having seen that darkened gold everyday since her birth. In the moments she had angered the woman, she'd seen those very tresses be flicked angrily from strong shoulders, and she'd seen them quiver as the woman had sobbed, had grieved. She'd seen those dusty locks be cut short, softened into feathery-light textures and straighter strands, and she'd seen them outgrow the plantation their farm once contained, seen them untamed and unbrushed. She'd felt them and mistook them for silk, she'd felt them and frowned at the state of hygiene her mother allowed herself to fall to, and she'd also hardly been able to recall a thing about those blonde filaments, at times.
But she'd never seen them stained with blood.
~ x Of Crimson Days x ~
Author's Note (kind of?):
Staring off with a bang- Or, well, a million character deaths, if you will.
It's on the morbid side, I know, but whilst this sort of overwhelms you with information, everything will be digested soon. There will be flashbacks throughout the entire story, more character views and all of that good stuff.
Please, leave me a review and tell me your thoughts, your theories, your criticism- And, if you really like, give it a follow ;)
Peace x