AN: Sorry for the wait! I have a lot of WIPs going at once

Enjoy!

-Val

000

The spy had been tracking the princess for approximately a month, at the behest of her father. Her intentions were difficult to ascertain, though she seemed to have no ulterior motive. There was no lover in the picture, male or female, and therefore no pregnancy. The coins she had gotten from selling her belongings often found themselves in temple donation boxes.

She had run into a soldier on the road around a week after escaping the royal family's campsite. He was of the old Uchiha clan.

The princess had quickly asserted that she was from one of the disbanded houses, avoiding a name, when questioned. Exiled as punishment, looking for work as a cook or cleaner. The Uchiha had been suspicious at first, reasonably so, though easily won over. There was no latent attraction that he had been able to detect, on either end. The Uchiha had even gone out of his way to avoid touching her. How odd. The princess was quite lovely, even in peasant clothes.

The village the Uchiha lived in was middling-to-large, next to a river embedded in a gully. His home looked like it wanted to fall off the edge of the rock. There was a nearby grotto, which received no visitors, save for the spy himself as of late. The area was green enough, he supposed.

He watched the pink-haired woman enter and leave several times, carrying small bags and jars. A healer. There was a blond man who entered the house, too. He and the Uchiha left a few minutes later, though the spy tried to ignore the pang of guilt at Sasuke's pale face and glassy eyes.

After he hopped down the hillside, a crow flew to him and perched itself on his shoulder. He paid it no mind. It had been his sole companion for the past fifteen years.

He entered the grotto-cave and hunkered down on the worn bamboo mat-beds he had spread on the floor. He was disinterested in sleeping among the muck and on rocks. The crow fluffed itself up, then opened its beak.

"What's the plan, Itachi?" It croaked something like a laugh. "Swoop in and take her?"

"Don't call me that," he murmured. "I don't think it would be wise to kidnap her."

Clack. Clack. "Your little brother won't like seeing you."

"He won't see me."

The spy pulled a scroll from his array of bags, along with a set of brushes and a jar of ink. He wrote his report: the princess's location, his suggestion for how to proceed with her retrieval, and a few landmark details. He neglected to mention that she was staying with his brother's household or her job as, essentially, a servant. Both of these facts would be blamed on himself.

He rolled the scroll up, sealed it with wax, and handed it off to the crow.

"Make yourself useful," he said.

"Of course...Itachi." And it was gone.

Without the crow-really, a spirit calling itself 'Yatagarasu'-anchoring his abilities, he would shift into a crow himself by sundown. It seemed like it had always been like this.

His parents had made a pact with Yatagarasu, he the bargaining chip. He was the perfect little agent. But the emperor's own agents discovered him, and they turned him against his own family, already the remnants of an earlier purge. Those left alive were carted to the prison and eventually separated in exile.

Disbanded by blood indeed.

When the sky bled pink, just before sunset, he disrobed to prepare for the transformation. It was painful and messy. It would not do to be forced to wash his clothes in a place he could be discovered. He laid on the bare earth and mud, his back flush with it.

He once watched himself change as a reflection on a silver vase. The first thing would be his nails, his hands and feet. His limbs would recede and warp, his face would jut and then the last thing before he blacked out was his spine snapping into a bizarre curvature. His eyes had become a bright, unnatural red, and stayed that way ever since the first transformation.

He awoke as the stars glittered to life in a pool of clear slime. It was time to find out what he could about the specifics of the situation. Preferably, he would have her return home by her own choice, without cornering her in the town square or frightening her. Of course, it could never be so simple.

He spotted Sasuke and the blond man from before out among the fields as he flew over to the village. He was too far away to see what they were doing. Whatever it was, it was irrelevant to his assignment.

He returned to the house by the river, where the princess was. He perched on a nearby tree and observed her putting out lights one by one in brief glimpses through the windows. She cracked the door open, and then disappeared into the dark momentarily. He flew to the sill of the only window still bathed in gold light.

He was unsure what he could gain from this. He shuffled along the length of the sill a few times. She pulled off her outer jacket and draped it over her arm before folding it and placing it in a box. He turned away until the light dimmed. It was her, in a shift dress, with a single lit candle in hand.

He pecked at the window.

That was the real annoyance with the spell he was attempting to weave: it required eye contact. It would not harm her at all, and it was the gentlest of the three he could use to get the relevant information. It felt like he was going to be sucked through the glass himself when she did look, finally. Ignore anything irrelevant, he told himself.

There it was: a memory of the royal litter-the princess being carried through the streets by twelve men-decorated with lush pillows and translucent white drapery shielding her from the public eye. It was part of a grand celebratory procession through the imperial city. There was cheering, thrown flowers, and thrown rice.

He remembered that day; he had been walking on the streets parallel to the procession's route. He was disguised as an ordinary merchant, parasol in hand. His various scrying abilities were put to use in searching for potential threats to the imperial family.

He wondered what it was she saw that made such an impression. He needed to delve deeper, feel and see what she felt and saw. So he projected further.

The elaborate kimono was stiff and uncomfortable, the makeup feeling greasy on such a hot day. A gold fan in the right hand served dual purpose-to stave off the summer, and to shield view of the princess from the public.

A breezy day made for breezy curtains, so the fan was held in front of her face. She took sidelong glances through the openings such wind made. She was...sad, looking at the crowd. A lily made it into the compartment. She picked it up like it was the finest porcelain.

When she looked out again, it was because the procession stopped. An elderly nobleman's voice droned on in a speech.

In the space between two buildings there were some peasant children sitting on the ground. They were barefoot. Her father's speech ended. The litter jerked back to life. She held her gaze on them for as long as she could. This time, she paid close attention to the people on the street instead of averting her gaze.

Frayed sleeves, sharp cheekbones, deep tans and cloth-wrapped feet caught her attention for the first time. And it was unending. She could see the cracks in the celebration. It was like trying to get a clear reflection in curved glass. A slant, and it was a warped parody. She threw the flower to the floor.

He wrenched himself out of the memory. That was...enough. She would come to with no memory of what happened, he hoped. He returned to his camp.