Arrangement
Chapter One: The Broken Promise
He opened the door to the house that had been built for his brother, the house that should never have been his.
It still felt wrong to take such comfort in it, but he was weary from his travels and toils, and the smell of the burning embers from the dying fire and the warmth they emitted enraptured him, pulling him into their snares as he crossed the threshold, leaving the outside world behind.
The Uchiha heir paused, the sound of trickling water in the next room alerting him that she was still awake. Her chakra signature hummed serenely, the feel of it like warm silk against the cold air that lingered in his bones.
His wife.
He exhaled slowly, taking his time as he unfastened his cloak and untied his sandals. He was in no hurry to face her after that brief audience with his father. His throat was dry as he tried to swallow, their exchange of words still echoing painfully in his ears.
"So, you've returned."
Sasuke straightened in surprise. It was odd to have his father greet him at the gate, he hadn't done that since he was a boy.
"Is something wrong?" he found himself asking.
"We need to talk," Fugaku told him with that quiet, stern tone Sasuke was all too familiar with. The one he was never to challenge.
His father then turned, walking ahead somewhere the young shinobi assumed was more private. He felt his shoulders fall in exhaustion, he had traveled all night without rest and wasn't sure if he had the energy for this, yet still, with a heavy sigh, he followed.
If Sasuke was anything, he was a dutiful son.
"What is it?" he asked as they reached the bridge at the far end of the village, trying to keep his agitation at bay.
Fugaku inhaled deeply as if summoning strength from some otherworldly source to continue, making Sasuke all the more concerned.
"...It is about your wife," he told him.
He perked at that.
Sakura.
"Is she alright?" Sasuke felt his pulse quicken, worry gripping tightly at his chest.
"Yes," Fugaku replied evenly. "She is as healthy, strong and lovely as the day she first stepped into our home."
Sasuke's brows drew together at the fleeting memory.
The day everything changed forever.
"Then I don't understand…"
"She is so well, in fact, that it is a great wonder to me and the other clansmen that she is still without child."
Sasuke stopped breathing as all the warmth drained from his body, leaving him cold and unmoving. If his father at that moment had decided to unsheathe the family katana from his belt and run it threw his stomach instead, he would not have been any more stunned.
"I…" he found he could not think, let alone speak.
"You are aware of the importance of this, or have you somehow forgotten?"
"I…"
"Everything... everything rests on her producing an heir for this family." Fugaku reminded him, his tone growing harsher with every reprimand. "It has been nearly six months of marriage."
"And four months I've been sent away." Sasuke countered, the spark in him rekindling quickly.
"It does not take a constant presence to father a child, Sasuke."
The younger Uchiha's jaw locked tightly, lost somewhere between his disbelief, mortification, and resentment. Turning from his father before he said or did something rash, he placed his hands heavily on the railings of the bridge, looking out into the torrid waters of the river beneath them, considering throwing himself in to be washed away... to be anywhere than where he was standing now.
He could hear his father's unsaid words in his long, drawn-out sigh.
Itachi would not have failed me.
"Has something happened?" Fugaku asked. "Some spat of some kind?"
"No." he muttered lowly, the heat returning, hotter than before, traveling up his back, pulsing through his ears.
"Is she undesirable to you?"
"Must we discuss this now?" he snapped, barely able to keep his anger at bay.
"There are already rumors floating around, we cannot see a full year of marriage without the promise of a son or the other clans will close in. The title and wealth must be procured." his father went on. "So, I ask again, is she undesirable to you?"
"...No." he answered quietly.
"...Is it she, then, that is hesitant?" Fugaku asked finally.
Sasuke kept his gaze firmly on the moving water, what was left in him slowly draining out. "I don't know," he replied honestly.
Fugaku said nothing more, having the decency to feel some sympathy for his second-born at that. It was only a year prior when Sasuke was free to do as he wished, to go where he wanted. Now he carried the future of his clan upon his shoulders.
Something he had never been raised or fashioned to do.
"...We're still strangers in many ways, Father," he confessed quietly.
"I would not speak of this… I would not press this if it was not necessary," he told him, placing a hand on his shoulder, giving it a squeeze. "There must be an heir."
He watched her as she worked in the candlelight. Her long hair hung loosely, tied with a thin red ribbon halfway down, swaying gently as she moved, washing each dish peacefully, lost in a world of her own.
She had been offered numerous servants by both her mother and his family to aid her in maintaining the household, but she had only taken on those necessary. She mostly saw to the house herself. From what his brother had told him, she requested that the house be kept smaller and manageable during the renovation.
She had made it her own in his absence, herbs hanging from the mantles, their strange, earthy smells wafting pleasantly, books and scrolls filling every shelf and nook.
"You're back." she murmured, keeping her attention on her task.
Apprehension paralyzed him briefly, just a day ago he had looked forward to this moment, to see her again after so many cold nights alone.
Steeling himself, he crossed the distance between them with silent steps, coming to stand just behind her. "I wish I had known." she went on. "I would have prepared something… perhaps I could…"
She paused as his hands rose to carefully caress her covered elbows, making her still in her labors.
Warmth radiated from her, the faint smell of rose water lingering in her soft tresses intoxicating him as he gently brushed them aside, exposing the curve of her neck to him.
Slowly, with care, he ducked his head, lips meeting her pale delicate skin, feeling her breathing hitch slightly in surprise.
A warranted reaction.
He had not touched her like this since their wedding night.
Scattered memories flashed through his mind, their shared quiet hesitance, the nervous energy, the slow waves of pleasure washing over him before the guilt closed in, smothering him, making it hard to breathe.
He paused, his lips just below the shell of her ear when she turned slowly to face him, breaking the contact. Her green eyes glowed in the candlelight, searching his tired, longing gaze.
For a moment, nothing was said. In the next, he took her face into his hands and pressed his mouth to hers softly, gently, asking.
He felt her wet hands hook in the crook of his arms, dampening the fabric there, to steady herself as she tentatively came to oblige him. She opened her mouth shyly, like a flower at first light, to his touch, and he thought for a moment that perhaps she could be his after all.
But, it was only a moment before she pulled away again, her large eyes boring into him, clear of any daze that his hands or lips could cast over her.
"...What's brought this about?" she asked him, her voice nothing but a faint, shaky whisper.
He faltered.
He didn't know how to make her understand.
To remind her of their duty.
"...Is it so out of the question?" he asked.
Perhaps he had been pushed this night, but he hadn't planned on spending the rest of his days deprived of her touch. He hoped someday they would not always be strangers, that his brother's ghost would not always linger so closely.
Did she not want something more from this?
You're not what she wants. Something cruel whispered in his ear. Whoever wanted second best?
"It shouldn't be." her head tilted slightly as she watched him, a nervous little habit of hers he had noticed long before their vows. "...did your father speak with you?"
He straightened at that, his hands falling from her, landing limply back to his sides as he felt everything in him burn with shame and found himself wishing for the second time that day to simply evaporate into thin air.
"How did you know that…?"
"...Your mother came to see me today as well," she told him, color rushing to her face as she broke their gaze, her eyes finding refuge somewhere between the cracks of the floor.
And, here he thought he could never be more mortified.
"I'm... sorry." he breathed out, his eyes closing with a slow shake of his head, praying his mother had not been as blunt and insensitive as his father had been.
"Don't be… She was kind and meant well," she assured him as if reading his thoughts.
"It's still not right." he dismissed, angry with both his parents now.
This girl was far from home, married to a stranger, and yet they thought it wise to corner her, to pressure her.
"It is what is expected of me." she shrugged her shoulders, before meekly meeting his gaze once more. "Of us." He was surprised by the sadness and pain that met him."You'll have to forgive me though, I'm tired, and duty won't be enough to spur me tonight."
She made to leave him and he almost let her, but he reached out and caught her arm, much to her surprise as well as his own.
She turned back to face him.
"I…" he swallowed thickly. "I want more than just a child."
He watched as she faltered, tears pooling at the rims of her eyes.
"I want this," he told her. "I want you."
"...Then why?" she asked him faintly, making his heart stir all the more. "Why haven't you…" she swallowed a small sob, a single tear escaping, falling delicately from her thick, pale lash.
"Because Itachi's dead, and I'm alive," he confessed sullenly, releasing her arm, before gently brushing away the stray tear, letting his fingers linger there briefly before falling away. "Because I was afraid… I still am… that I'm not what you wanted." Her eyes widened as he leaned in once more, hovering close, but not touching her.
"...You were never meant to be mine." he reminded her.
Her eyes trembled as she stared up at him in silent bafflement and wonder. Seeming to find whatever it was she was looking for, she met him partway when he leaned in forward, pressing her lips delicately against his as he slowly drew his arms around her, pulling her closer still. She was so warm, so soft, molding perfectly against him, leaving him just as astounded as the first time he had ever held her.
Desperate with longing, he didn't waste time, guiding her the short distance to their shared room. His hands fell to her waist, reaching and tugging at her obi. His fingers moved steadier than the first time, perhaps, but they were just as hasty, as he made to untie it, pushing the linen layers of her simple day kimono from her shoulders. His mouth fell to her neck, her collarbone, before returning to her mouth, never breaking contact as he tore off his loose travel shirt, letting it fall carelessly to the floor.
The feel of her warm skin against his made him near senseless as her hands traveled the rigid terrain of his chest, wrapping around his broad shoulders, holding him close to her. His hands slid up the smooth planes of her back, laying her down against the bed, pulling away only to exchange broken bated breaths.
Their eyes met, hearts pressed together, beating wildly against their chests.
He couldn't bear it.
He couldn't bear the sight of her so beautiful, so vulnerable beneath him. He kissed her again, and again, feverish untamed touches, down her mouth, to her chin, her neck.
"I am though." she murmured.
"Hn?" he hummed against the hollow of her chest, lost in the softness of her skin.
Her hands slipped down to cradle his face, beckoning him gently to look at her. He complied in concern, raising his head dazedly.
"I am…" she told him, breathless beneath his weight. "I am yours."
For a moment, he forgot how to breathe, the gravity of her words crashing over him like waves against the shoreline.
Mine.
Mesmerized, he touched her face, his thumb running along her cheekbone, brushing over her full lips. His hands were far too rough for such delicate skin, but she paid that no heed, closing her eyes as she relished his touch.
As the violet skies darkened, he honored her quiet vow, making her his own.
And for a moment, looming shadows of the past were forgotten.
…
"Are you alright?" he asked hours later, his brows furrowing as he turned on his side to better see her in the faint candlelight. She had not moved for almost an hour, laying flatly on her back, eyes focused on the ceiling above.
"Yes," she answered him, her tone amiable, but guarded.
He frowned in confusion, eyes traveling over her form. "...What are you doing?"
"...It's something your mother said would help," she told him.
"Help what?"
"Apparently, laying still for a while...after..." she paused, fiddling with the quilt her mother had sent her to remind her of home. "...it helps the… chances of a child." her face burned as she chose each word carefully, unable to look him in the eye.
His brows furrowed.
"I think it's foolish," she confessed, her fingers still moving without purpose. "But then she managed two heirs, who am I to argue?"
A small, rare smile graced his dark features as he leaned over her, stretching an arm over her head, his hand hovering just above her hairline."Can I still touch you?"
"I suppose," she replied, returning his smile as his fingers played with her tousled tresses. "Just don't move me about."
He hummed an understanding, kissing her slowly, sweetly, before resettling beside her, resting his head against her soft, warm chest. He sighed gently as she brushed her fingers through his hair, holding him there.
The sound of her heartbeat was strong and lulling, her life force radiating brightly in the night.
Though even enveloped in her glowing warmth, the darkness still managed to creep its way back from the corners of his mind at the memory of Itachi's body being carried into the village, cold to his touch, vacant of life and far beyond saving.
There are never two heirs.
There can only be one.
"...Did you love my brother?" he asked for reasons he did not know, feeling her fingers still.
Silence stretched for a long while before she finally answered him.
"...I barely knew him." her voice was faint once more, weak.
It pained him to hear that, yet somehow gave him a terrible sense of relief.
"He cared for you," he told her, his voice growing thick.
She might not have loved him, but maybe she could have in time. Perhaps that's why she never spoke of him.
"Do I have any right to grieve for him?" she asked.
Sasuke felt the faint tremble in her voice as she spoke. Half a year ago he might have thought she didn't, but not now.
"You were going to marry him." he murmured. "You left everything behind to."
He felt her fingers begin to move against his skelp again and after some time he let his eyes slowly drift shut, wondering if he would ever be free of this pain... if he'd ever stop regretting that he was alive while his brother was dead.
"I'm sorry he's gone," she whispered as she succumbed to the night. "I know he meant everything to you."
Sasuke drew closer to her still. "It shouldn't be so surprising… He always left me behind."
Thanks for reading! If anyone remembers, I'm replacing the story Promise of the Peace with this darker and (I feel) more interesting Arranged Marriage AU as I was very malcontented with the last one. They both have similar foundations, but this is set in a feudal-like era where an arranged marriage concept is more fitting.