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Here's a glossary for the Japanese words used in this chapter:

"Chokuto": Japanese straight sword.

"Ryokan": traditional Japanese inn

"Daimyo": regional lord

"Izakaya": a traditional Japanese drinking establishments that also serves food

"Sakazuki": small cup for sake

"Washi": an opaque, fibrous paper used in shouji door screens

"Dogeza": bowing deeply while kneeling on the ground. Used to show extreme humility

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Hearsay and Verification

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All was still; not even Sasuke's breath moved the air.

He yanked the chokuto free from Orochimaru's chest, the blade coated with hot blood. Looking at the prone figure at his feet, he swayed as exhaustion swept over him and collapsed to his knees, laughing, crying, he wasn't sure which. He peered through his coal-black bangs at the Sannin's mask of an expression: the half-shut eyelids and the horrible tongue spilling from the mouth onto the floor. He then turned his attention to Yakushi Kabuto on the opposite side of the bedchamber, whose bespectacled eyes widened with fearful bewilderment. Sasuke's lips stretched into a vapid grin, and he pointed the sword at the medical ninja. "Know this: I have slain the great Orochimaru. I want you to tell everyone about my deed."

Kabuto remained rooted, his raspy breathing fogging his glasses.

"Go!" Sasuke screamed.

He scrambled back and bolted away, his tray of medicines crashing to the ground. When the footfalls' echoes were swallowed by the oppressive silence, Sasuke closed his eyes and breathed heavily. He'd killed Orochimaru… killed the man who had bestowed upon him inconceivable power. The serpentine-like Sannin had infected Sasuke with an enzyme three years prior that infused him with the Ten no Juin Cursed Seal of Heaven, and shortly thereafter Sasuke resided with him for training purposes. But when Orochimaru demanded Sasuke's body as a new container for his soul - his tangible reason for marking him initially – the presumed vessel's tolerance was no more. The Sannin excelled in combat, but with unwisely priming the boy in master-level fighting and jutsu skills over the years, Sasuke easily turned the tables and destroyed him.

Lifting himself on trembling legs, he turned to leave. But to where? He hadn't a place he could call a true home since he was seven because his brother had slaughtered their entire village at the time. He had been allowed to remain in his family's house instead of getting sent to foster care, and finally got suitable shelter at the Ninja Academy dormitories when he became a genin. After that, his abode had been Orochimaru's living quarters during his two and a half years receiving tutelage under the legendary shinobi.

He wiped the splattered blood off his face. He couldn't just wander – he needed somewhere from which to reconnoiter and plan his next move. His instinctive choice was to stay in Orochimaru's hideout, but now that Kabuto had escaped, the news of his victory would spread, and possibly attract vengeful minions of the Sannin. He then considered his village of birth, Konohagakure. He had rescinded from it years before, and he knew he was now labeled a missing nin. Perhaps he could reason for leniency, claim Orochimaru had placed him under a genjutsu that forced him to turn his back on the village. If that failed, he wouldn't hold back exterminating all who stood in his way. What was a village's police force compared to that of Orochimaru's tutoring? If all went smoothly, he could breeze in and out of the village without notice. His stopover would be fleeting; just long enough until he could begin his true task:

To avenge his clan by killing his brother.

Sheathing the sword he had dubbed Kusanagi, he walked to the chamber exit, abandoning the corpse of his instructor of two and a half years.

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Deidara sipped the chilled saké, enjoying the glow that bloomed over his face and body. He had consummated his task of assassinating Nami no Kuni's daimyo that afternoon, and now he enjoyed his well-deserved respite. He wondered if he should treat himself to a night at a ryokan and simply tell the Akatsuki leader, Uchiha Madara, that he had tracked down the man at the inn and rented a room for one night to effectuate the murder at close proximity. He smiled at the idea – he might as well take advantage of Akatsuki's funds while part of the organization, even if it did encompass telling little white lies every now and then.

He unsnapped the top button of his robe. "Damn, it's hot in here," he griped under his breath, glancing about the dimly lit izakaya. The Akatsuki members rarely showed their faces in public, but sweltering discomfort was too high a price to pay for anonymity; summer had just entered the rainy season, and the unforgiving humidity saturated the June air like a steaming towel. He removed his conical straw hat and fanned himself with it, relishing the coolness of the evaporating sweat on his forehead. He ordered another saké and finished it quickly, hardly taking note of the silver-haired man who'd just entered the room and joined another at a table.

"Are you okay, Kabuto?" asked the sitting man. He slid a drink Kabuto's way.

"Not exactly. It's been terrible." He took a long swig of the alcohol.

"What happened?"

Deidara admired the artistry of the sakazuki cup. Maybe he would order an enormous platter of sukiyaki at the inn. It'd be a bit harder to justify such an expensive dish to Madara, but he'd cross that bridge when he came to it. He could practically taste the butter-seared beef.

"I told you: Uchiha Sasuke killed Orochimaru-sama."

Deidara almost dropped the cup. "What the…" he breathed, piqued by the tête-à-tête. His eyes darted over his shoulder to spy the stranger. The one named Kabuto… yes, Deidara recognized him as Orochimaru's accomplice. Didn't Sasori-danna once say he had employed Kabuto to spy on the Sannin following his withdrawal from Akatsuki? Such a small world. Deidara wasn't familiar with the other man whose hair hung in his shadowy face. Both men donned forehead protectors of Otogakure.

"And it happened two days ago?"

Kabuto downed his drink and nodded.

The other chuckled uneasily. "Good thing I wasn't there that day, huh?"

He tightened his jaw. "I didn't think Sasuke would spare me, what with the bad blood between us." He removed his glasses and wiped the lenses on his shirt. "I never dreamt I'd be indebted to that brat."

Deidara strained his ears over the din of the room. Was this drunkard serious? He propped his hat upon his head and did his best to blend in with the background of people as he continued eavesdropping, suddenly forgetting about the prospective sukiyaki and ryokan.

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Daylight broke over the summer landscape like paint splashed on a canvas. The bloody glow of sunrise made the land appear ablaze; the hanging mist was the smoke, and birdsong filled the air in lieu of crackling embers.

The vermillion brilliance shone into Uchiha Itachi's room, bathing his face in illumination. He squeezed his still-closed eyes, cursing the sun for disrupting the sleep he had acquired no more than an hour earlier. He turned over in his futon, hoping he'd be lulled back to slumber.

But sleep never came. He rolled to his back and sighed heavily. He'd been an insomniac for most of his life, imparting him with ever-present rings under his eyes. Over the years he found that hot tea alleviated his restlessness, and more than anything now he wanted to sleep. He threw back the cover and stood, retying his sleeping yukata after he had done so. Walking barefoot across the tatami floors, he slid open the door and ventured towards the hallway beyond.

All was quiet in the dim corridors of the Akatsuki hideout, yet the early hour was only partially the explanation for the solitude. Itachi's room was far removed from the other sleeping quarters, not because he shared the same blood with the leader and was privileged with his own private wing, but because he suffered recurring night terrors. The purpose of his isolation was not so much to ensure him peaceful rest, but to spare the other members his harrowing shrieks during the night.

He entered the kitchen and glowered when he saw the sun's obnoxious rays penetrating the room. He grabbed a cup and boiled some water, but was interrupted when Deidara entered.

"Oh, Itachi! There you are!" he exclaimed.

"I'm just taking some tea back to my room," he volunteered to let Deidara know he wasn't in the mood for talking.

Deidara frowned solicitously. "Couldn't sleep again?"

"No." Everyone in the organization was aware of his chronic insomnia.

"That's tough. I slept all night and I'm still tired. Could be a bit of a hangover, though." He leaned against a shelf and lowered his voice conspiratorially. "So… have you heard?"

Itachi removed the boiling water from the stove and filled the cup. "What?"

"Yesterday, after I did in Lord Moya I went to an izakaya and heard something quite interesting –"

"I'm not in the mood to hear about your drinking escapades," he cut across. Snatching his cup, he grumbled, "I'm going."

"Your brother killed Orochimaru."

He peered at the other, his eyes huge. "What?" Drowsiness no longer clouded his mind.

He laughed and pushed his blonde hair from his eyes. "That was my reaction!" He filled a glass with water and drank. "That guy Kabuto was talking to some Otonin last night about it."

His head spun in glazed delirium. Had Orochimaru really been murdered? And by Sasuke, no less? "That's… impossible. Orochimaru is one of the Sannin, and Sasuke's under his influence."

Deidara lowered the glass from his lips. "'Under his influence'?"

"Nevermind," he muttered, seeing it best not to enlighten Deidara about how his brother had been persuaded by Orochimaru's words years back.

"Doesn't sound like nothing to me," he frowned. He put down the glass. "Oh, Madara wants to see you. You weren't in your room, so I figured you were here."

"Wait, when did he say this?"

"About ten minutes ago. He found me in the hall and told me to fetch you. I guess he didn't want to walk all the way to your room." He shrugged. "You know how he likes starting early on his ikebana."

Itachi sensed a foreboding. Why would the Akatsuki leader want to talk with him so early in the morning? He glanced down at his unkempt yukata. "I'll get dressed."

"Better not - he says it's urgent."

He furrowed his brow with worry and tried to evoke memory of any possible infraction he'd committed to spur his nonagenarian relative to demand his presence. Madara never requested a private audience with anyone unless it was crucial; the only other time he'd spoken to Itachi alone was after the younger had driven Orochimaru to leave the organization, and the subsequent outcome had been painful. He left his cup and they set off through the twisting corridors. The scent of fresh flower arrangements lining the hall couldn't mask the foreshadowing of potentially what was to come. He's going to assign a new mission. Yet, as he hypothesized the idea, he saw the implausibility. No, both he and his partner Hoshigaki Kisame would receive the specifications of the task.

His mind drifted to another possible answer. The leader wanting to talk to him, requesting a private audience…. His breathing sharpened and he tried emptying his mind of that possibility he'd been trying to forget for years.

Deidara glanced over his shoulder and started when he discovered Itachi ghostly white. "Hey, what's wrong?"

Itachi clenched his stomach, trying to ward off the flashes of memories leaking into his conscious. "Nothing. I'm fine."

Deidara wasn't convinced. Although he had only heard about it from whispers spoken around the compound, he knew Itachi still carried around residual fear from that incident involving the Sannin from roughly three years back. Deidara opened his mouth, hoping the words that flowed through would console. "He's dead now. You should be happy."

He nodded feebly, yet couldn't find any real worth in the observation. He tried forcing away the raw memory of three years prior, as well as the darkest ones from eight years before. "He would always talk about things rotting and disappearing to make room for newer ones. I wish human memories worked like that."

They wandered amid an uncomfortable silence in the mahogany wood hall before finding themselves in front of an intricate shouji; the translucent washi paper permitted them view of movement on the other side. "Well, I wish you luck," and Deidara prudently slid open the entrance. "Excuse me, Madara-sama? Itachi's here."

Madara glanced over his shoulder. "Ah, wonderful! You may enter."

Itachi stepped into a spacious room bright with the sunrise and perfumed with the aroma of peonies. In the middle, near a sweeping ikebana display, was his great-grandfather Madara, lovingly pruning individual flowers and adding them to the arrangement. He smiled at Itachi, his 95 year-old face not showing a day over 25. "Sit down," he offered, motioning to a low wooden table beset with a teacup and teapot. Next to the dishes was a plate of mitarashi dango.

Deidara bowed and exited, quietly sliding the door shut behind him; Itachi knew better than to assume Deidara wouldn't eavesdrop.

Itachi knelt on a floor cushion at the table. He waited as Madara unhurriedly placed the flowers; his eyes suddenly spied the cup of tea.

"That tea's for you," Madara said. "It's a special blend for insomnia I had imported from the Huangshan tea region in the west. My apologies for bringing you in here so early, but this meeting pertains to you, and is quite urgent. You can rest afterwards."

Itachi's eyes dropped to the cup. Something in his silky tone unsettled him.

The leader frowned reproachfully when he didn't accept the drink. "It's not poisoned," he said, his voice suddenly austere.

Itachi fumbled to retrieve it; he feared the man before him, whose feral-keened elegance had once made him the unprecedented leader of the Uchiha clan over 70 years prior. His sharp eyes, his mane of wild black locks, the wiry features… he was the embodiment of frightful power from a bygone shinobi era that had long had its untamed edge dulled by civility. The last thing Itachi wanted to do was insult or provoke him. He placed the cup to his lips and sipped the contents. It was a pungent, florally concoction.

The older Uchiha watched as he did this, and his eyes then roved over his appearance. "You certainly are a fright this morning. You could've at least brushed your hair before seeing me."

His shoulders narrowed with embarrassment. He glimpsed his own rumpled kimono that was glaring in comparison to the leader's unwrinkled, smoky-grey one. He modestly smoothed down his hair. "My apologies, Madara-sama – I didn't have time to make myself presentable," and he bowed low in dogeza.

"Make certain you look better next time," he smiled falsely, his onyx hair framing his thin face. "Slovenliness and disrespect are bedmates."

"I understand," he answered, his nose still at the floor.

The leader fiddled with his current arrangement of pale purple chrysanthemums. "Knowing Deidara's penchant for gossiping I assume he told you the news?" He cast his eyes slyly upon the shouji.

"Yes, I've heard."

He set his scissors down on the arrangement table and sat opposite Itachi. "And what am I referencing?"

"Orochimaru's death."

"Orochimaru-sama," he corrected, pointing his finger reprovingly. "Remember, he was a venerated Sannin, not a spoiled brat who came from our privileged family, like you."

Itachi held his tongue.

"Notwithstanding, through reliable sources I have confirmed that Orochimaru is indeed deceased. Murdered, in fact," he explained as he poured himself a cup of steaming tea from a separate pot. "And rumor has it Sasuke is the culprit."

Itachi said nothing.

Madara took a drink and succinctly placed down the cup. "We're family. We don't need formalities here so I'll make this concise." He folded his arms and leaned forward grimly. "Did you instruct Sasuke to kill him?"

"No," he replied, slightly taken aback. "I haven't spoken to him in years."

"Did you, with or without using a genjutsu, have somebody tell him to do it?"

He felt his blood pressure surge, and acridly answered, "No."

"No need to get so defensive. I just want to rule out your involvement. We Uchiha are notorious for holding grudges, and I know you were scorned after yours and Orochimaru's tryst -"

"We were not lovers, Madara! As far as I'm concerned this is long-overdue comeuppance for him!"

Madara flew up and backhanded Itachi across the face. "How dare you talk back to me, you impudent child! His mastery of jutsu was invaluable to this organization! This is a crippling loss for us!"

He wiped his bloody mouth, undeterred. "He abandoned Akatsuki years ago. Why are you so loyal to him?"

He quivered and struck him again, knocking him over to the floor. "If it hadn't been for you he'd still be in the group. I wanted him to come back, but that little horror you call a brother spoiled it!"

"He wouldn't have returned even if you begged, Madara, and you know it."

He grabbed Itachi's yukata front and jerked him to his face, his smoldering eyes blazing. "You are not in the position or rank to question me, boy! And you are never to refer me to in such a familiar form – always address me as Madara-sama!"

Itachi glared at him, contesting him.

The leader reciprocated the glower, waiting for the other to do something reckless. When nothing came to pass, he released his grip and returned to his floral arrangement. "It's that Uchiha insolence that makes me suspect you had something to do with his murder, Itachi. I'm not simply distrusting you without due cause." He commenced with snipping off a chrysanthemum stem's leaves. "If you felt resentment towards him, I'd understand. I was the same when that bastard Hashirama deceived me. But if you acted upon those feelings, that's where I draw the line."

Itachi watched the leaves flutter to the tatami floor. "And as I said, I had nothing to do with it… Madara-sama." He dipped his head melodramatically.

He perceived the sarcasm clear as day. "Don't push your luck," he said coolly. "I battled Hashirama one-on-one – I can wipe you out in the blink of an eye."

And you lost that battle – that's why the Uchiha became the scourge of Konoha, Itachi mused privately. He bowed once again. "I understand. Please accept my apologies for my impertinence."

A smile tugged at his lips and he grabbed a peony. "Your flattery is second to none, Itachi. However," he pointed the scissors at him for emphasis, "if I ever learn that you're lying to me concerning Orochimaru, the punishment will be dire," and he fiercely cut off the flower's head.

"I understand."

He chewed his cheek, unconvinced with his newfound graciousness. "Oh, I haven't asked lately: how are your eyes?"

"About the same, maybe a bit worse."

"Keep eating the dango. It helped me for a while." He added the stem as filler to the display before again making eye contact with Itachi, his scarlet Mangekyou intent. "Remember, if worse comes to worse, you can always do what I did."

He lowered his gaze. "I won't resort to that."

"Ah, but that's the fee for being born into our accursed bloodline, Itachi. The faster you accept it, the easier your life will be." He placed the completed ikebana display on the low table. "I too tried convincing myself there were alternatives, but in the end there was just one solution. Sasuke must accept his lot in life as a younger Uchiha."

"I disagree."

"Of course. Because you know so much better than I." He waved his hand dismissively. "You may leave."

He bowed in acknowledgment and turned to exit.

"Itachi!" Madara called out.

"Yes?" he asked, the caution in his tone hardly concealed.

He pointed at the table. "Take your dango and tea."

"Right." He scooped up the cup and sticks and left the room.

As he'd suspected, Deidara had opted to hang around in the hallway; his cheeks were flushed. "Can you believe the nerve he has?! Who does that pompous ass think he is anyway? I don't gossip!" he hissed.

"It's wise to refrain from insulting the leader in earshot," he warned as they travelled from Madara's room.

He scowled and looked back over his shoulder at the washi paper door. "I don't care if you guys are related. You've got the patience of a saint to put up with him." He shook his head in disgust. "'A tryst'… if it'd happened to him he wouldn't be mocking it. Hey, what's wrong with your eyes?"

Yet Itachi paid him no heed. One thought pressed on his mind: Sasuke had killed Orochimaru. He couldn't help but feel a rush of relief hearing the rumor confirmed by Madara. Itachi hadn't been entirely truthful when he claimed he had nothing to do with the Sannin's death: Sasuke had trained with and killed him to increase his own strength… to finally murder Itachi in retaliation for wiping out the majority of the Uchiha clan. "So… he's finally ready to confront me."

Deidara blinked. "Huh?"

Itachi thrust the cup and dango into the other's hands. Sleep was the last thing on his mind. A thrill charged through his body like voltage with the fresh prospect. He jogged down the hall back to his room, leaving Deidara in the corridor.

"Wait a second – what's going on?" the blonde called out, nonplussed.

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Yes, I know Orochimaru was a large, white serpent when Sasuke killed him; I just wanted him to be in human form here.

As mentioned at the beginning notes, I wrote this saying that Madara was the Akatsuki leader. Since Madara was all about the Uchiha clan rising against Konoha, and then Uchiha Fugaku did the same thing and tried pushing Itachi to follow in his footsteps, I entertained the idea that that specific group of Uchiha family members were directly related (Madara was the great-grandfather, insert unknown Uchiha next for grandfather, Fugaku is father, and Itachi and Sasuke are the sons). And as I had mentioned in the notes at the beginning, I started writing this way back when many fans didn't know the true identity of the Akatsuki leader, and they were saying it was either Minato or Obito; people started talking about Madara running it, but Tobi didn't look like Madara, so I somehow thought Madara had somehow taken over Obito's body. I now know about Obito simply giving himself Madara's identity; still, the idea of Madara being the true leader is sexy.

Huangshan is an area in China renowned for growing tea. Naruto takes place in the "Ninja World", but it's safe to assume that it's supposed to be Japan.

June in Japan is horrible weather-wise. Not only is summer searing with unbearable humidity, but it's also the rainy season. I used to love rain before I went to Japan – I now hate it because I experienced the rainy season. Imagine a storm everyday, and your clothes never dry (they don't use dryers in Japan, so you have to let them air-dry – but how can clothes air-dry when the humidity is 95%?). And mold grows EVERYWHERE!