A/N: Here's chapter 6! I hope you guys like it, it's a happier chapter than most, and next one will be a bit heavier on the angst.

As always, reviews are appreciated. Thank you to everyone who reviewed the last chapter!

Sacred

(6)

Sakura watches as Tsunade mixes herbs and oils into a simple concoction, adds the final product to a small vial, and covers it with a cloth over the top.

She sits on the floor in front of her mentor, a curious glint to her iridescent eyes.

"-and with a string tied around it, we're finished," she explains, a small smile gracing the usually hard lines of her stern lips.

Sakura nods, "this will gift the lady Uchiha with a new child, then?"

Tsunade sighs and pockets the potion.

"Hopefully, and with patience. It will help, but she has not been feeling like herself for months, and the state of your heart is most important."

Sakura nods once more, learning more and more that nothing is certain with these potions, but knowing that she has to at least do her best to pretend that they are down to the marrow in her bones—outside these doors, that is, to whomever has requested them, despite what she may know of their effectiveness.

Tsunade then stands and announces she will be taking the vial to the Queen herself in hopes the nation will have another heir soon enough. That will surely bring hopes up for their Kingdom; so far, this year has been a somber one for everyone.

An heir means hope, stability, and strength. Especially with so many impending threats in the world around them.

Sakura watches her leave from the front steps of the temple, a sigh escaping her lips at the freedom someone such as a High Priestess could attain. To roam so mindlessly around gardens she has never seen, to visit the servants in their quarters, to walk down to the village as seen fit.

One day, she reassures herself. One day she will hold the position.

For now, she watches her mentor walk away, and enters the temple once again to tend to her smaller, but not less important, duties.

She had heard it from Naruto first: their teacher, a man named Hatake Kakashi, and General of a large part of the royal army, has decided they are ready for their first official mission outside of the village, at the Northern border of Fire.

Sakura had gasped at first, not really knowing what to say.

"And how do you feel about it?"

Naruto had scratched at the back of his head; his hair now longer than ever, the unruly curls of hair sticking to his forehead from the heat of what remains of September.

"I'm actually a bit nervous. But so excited! The bastard will be so far behind me, he won't be able to catch up ever again. Believe it!" He had exclaimed, getting up from the bench they had been occupying, hand in a fist, looking the most determined she had ever seen him.

A laugh had escaped her then, and she had simply laughed it off as one of his childish antics.

Now, as she rests on her bed, she finds no comfort in the idea of sleep.

There have been many recent rebellions in the Northern area of the Land of Fire, each escalating to more violence, tearing apart small village after small village. Opposers to the Uchiha rule no doubt, and dangerous ones at that.

And though Kakashi will send a decently-sized group of soldiers to try to contain the situation, it doesn't dispel the worry she feels in her very being at the thought of Naruto or Sasuke being in the midst of a battlefield. So recently trained, and with no real combat experience, she doesn't think her worries are lacking in reason.

However, she notices the differences between the two boys she holds dear to her heart. The fear she feels for Naruto is more of brotherly worry, a kind of familial preoccupation that stems from her soul toward his own wellbeing, of never wanting his smile to snuff out any time soon. But the fear she feels for Sasuke threatens to pry open her skull at times, a deep ache in her heart at the thought of any harm coming to him. It tears her apart in different ways—just as bad, yet somehow worse.

It certainly doesn't help that they will be gone at dawn's time, and won't be back until the winter frost has ebbed away. That's months without seeing or knowing of their fate.

Sakura holds a tight fist against her chest as she looks up at the ceiling of her room, a moon crystal in her grasp. She prays silently, her hand slowly falling to her side by the time she finally closes her eyes and tries to succumb to the sleep she has forgone all this time.

Her dreams are empty for a few hours, and she's restless in her sleep. The faint sound of bare feet lifts the edges of her consciousness not long after, the familiar sound waking her up instantly.

She knows those steps like she knows the ancient, holy recitals for Isis—of which are performed to perfection every single morning.

Carefully, she sits up on her bed, leaving the crystal on her bedside table without so much as making a sound—she had been holding the stone in her sleep like a believer does a sacred talisman.

Sakura stands and tiptoes toward the open doorframe of her room, peering her head to the left; to the image of Sasuke, as expected, in the room of Isis.

This angle does not give her much insight or vision on his actions, but she's already disrupting his privacy as is. She partly watches as he stands in front of the statue, then slowly kneels at her feet, head bowed in deep thought. He wears navy, long pants, as loose and thin as his short-sleeved, navy shirt—a rare colour, but signature to the Uchiha. Silk in nature, too, she knows. Blinking a few times to clear her vision in the darkness, she notices a backpack of some sorts strapped to his back, crossing over his front.

The sight of him alone makes her heart flutter, his mere existence bringing a small smile to her face. How one can make her feel as complete as this from such a distance and without a word escapes her every reasoning.

But then, as he slowly stands no more than two minutes later, she thinks this might be the last time she sees him in months—and hopefully not the last in general. The mere thought threatens to overtake her.

Sakura doesn't know what compels her to move forward exactly, but one moment she's in the safety of her room, and in the next she is traversing the hallway that connects both rooms with muted steps.

She finds some comfort in knowing that Tsunade's room is in the opposite direction, and prays that she won't hear her and awaken to find her breaking the rules; just walking barefoot on holy ground, where only the Uchiha can, would be enough to ban her from the royal temples.

She enters the room of Isis and stops walking, watching as Sasuke gives her his back and is now standing in front of the statue in silent contemplation.

In the five seconds she takes to walk three more steps toward him and open her mouth to speak, she finally makes out the backpack he has strapped to his back. Closer examination tells her that it's not a backpack at all, but a sword sheathed to his back securely. And before she can touch the sleeve of his arm, the sword is gone.

She audibly gasps when a hand grabs her shoulder and pins her to the wall, her face centimetres away from the Goddess, the statue trembling slightly from the strength of the shove. Hard, cold stone presses against her back uncomfortably, and the colder iron of a sword presses against her neck, the delicate skin there shy from rupturing.

Everything happens so fast she barely has time to grasp at the idea that Sasuke has basically attacked her, and as she finally connects her gaze with his own wild, unstable one, she sees him begin to lower the weapon.

"Sakura," he whispers, as if he doesn't believe it himself. There is a storm in his eyes that is clearly not from finding her there—it was there before her appearance. It shows in the cloud hanging over his troubled soul.

The hand still holding on to her shoulder retracts, if ever so slowly, and drops to his side. She has the urge to put her sleeve back in place, now fallen down her shoulder and into the crook of her elbow, exposing the skin of her chest more than she would like.

The full moon's glow shining from the entrance of the building, however, doesn't illuminate the room much, so she doesn't worry about her state of undress—what was she thinking, walking up to him in her sleep dress, white and thin and completely not professional? Tsunade would kick her out before she'd have the chance to explain herself.

But, she reasons, the man has already seen the upper half of her in the nude, under the sun, fully there for him to bask upon. They had shared a chaste kiss one afternoon many weeks ago, their bodies brushing almost innocently. This pales to then.

Maybe it's because of that afternoon that she feels rather comfortable—not that she isn't nervous, if not for the rapid beat of her heart, but there is a fondness in her for him where there was none before, and she feels at ease in his arms. Welcomes it, even.

Sasuke hardens his eyes, and ignores the way her dress hugs her subtle curves in all the right places; ignores the way his throat constricts at the sight of her beautiful eyes; ignores the way the softness of her skin had felt under his fingers.

"What are you doing here?" He asks, accusatorially, looking at her down the bridge of his proud nose.

"I... live here."

A look of pure amusement crosses his features and threatens to curve the lines of his lips, but it is gone as soon at it has arrived. Amusement is replaced with wariness, as true as the sun hides from the moon every evening.

Her heart stops beating, and is suspended in uncertain times, until he speaks again.

"What do you want from me, Sakura?"

Everything, she thinks. But of course, it is not what she says. Instead, she lowers her head as a thread of anxiousness hangs over her head—why is she here? She knows that's what he meant to say.

Her mind swims with a million thoughts; a million plausible excuses. Maybe she had gone for a cup of water, choosing to cross this area to get to the basins on the other side, or maybe she had been unable to sleep and had got up to breathe the night air, or maybe she had wanted to pray to Isis as her job demands her to do.

She could say a million things to excuse her behaviour, but her mind goes completely and utterly blank when she feels a warm hand under her chin.

Sasuke lifts up her head slowly, the thumb on her chin now sliding upward, ghosting over her frozen, parted lips.

He looks down into her expressive eyes, but moves his thumb along the lining of her lower lip, and when he reaches a corner, he decides to continue this treacherous path, and caresses her cheek with the utmost care.

"You sought me out tonight," he declares, and she's unable to negate its truth. "There is something you want, then."

"You leave tomorrow," she rushes out, her voice a broken whisper, realising that her hand is clutching the front of his thin, silk shirt.

He only gives her a nod, waiting to hear what else she has to say.

"You will be back in a new year, months from now," she continues, but Sasuke gives no indication that he understands. He prods her no further. He only waits now.

Sakura looks away for a second, biting her lip as she tries to find the words. But there is no gentle way to put it, and the worst that can happen is that Sasuke walks out insulted, but he would be leaving in any case, so she feels a strong surge of confidence and locks eyes with his again.

I love you so much it hurts.

But that doesn't come out. Instead, when his eyes shine down at her with unspoken turmoil, her gaze inadvertently drifts to his lips. She hates herself slightly—she reasons she must hate herself for putting herself through so much suffering, when she knows the only future they could ever have doesn't exist, and would never.

Just once more...

"Could you... Could you kiss me?" Again is not pronounced. She asks in a whisper between their bodies, too afraid the words may reach anyone else in the vicinity, even though it's only them right here, right now.

The question hangs in the air for a few more seconds, but it's too late for any regrets, so she refuses to have them.

Sasuke looks like he's having a debate within himself, leaning down slightly only to pull back again. He clicks his tongue and sighs, and then he leans down fully, his hand on her cheek and then on her hair.

His lips clash against hers harder than the last time, but it is not rough or violent. It almost seems tender, the way he touches her hair with one hand and places his other on her upper waist, and it makes her smile against the kiss. The movement makes him drift away slightly, only to angle his head and kiss her again, this time more fully, moving his lips against hers slowly.

She hooks both arms around his shoulders, leaning completely against the wall behind her, feeling her knees grow weak by the second. She doesn't know how long they kiss for, but she follows his every movement as if she can read his mind. She moves her lips against his faster, less paced, less soft. And more desperate, feeling the ache in her heart at the reminder than this is the last time she will see him in half a year, and knowing she will miss him with every fiber of her being.

Sasuke stops the kiss and moves away enough to look at her, and the emotion hidden in his black eyes is enough to make her own eyes water. Could he, after these two secret instances, also feel the same for her?

Suddenly, Sasuke lets go of her, and steps away. He turns and heads for the exit of the temple, sword in hand—had he dropped it before, when they'd started kissing?

Sakura doesn't know, but she runs to him not a second later, careful to conceal herself from the outside world. She grabs his sleeve and stands behind the wall next to the exit, a concerned frown etched onto her features.

"Be careful, please," she whispers. "And take care of Naruto."

Sasuke cracks a small smile at the last bit, and he nods at her.

"He'll need it more than I, of that you can be sure."

For months, all she continuously thinks about is their safe return. She prays every evening after all her duties are complete, right before she must head off to bed. Tsunade sometimes catches glimpses of her nightly activities, but she never comments on them. Every single night, for six months, she prays for their safe travels, the same moon stone clutched in her hand.

But life goes on otherwise, and with time, Tsunade gives her more workload and more responsibilities. She teaches her more antidotes and potions, as well as spells and enchantments, and on her daily free time she gets to see her mother. Sometimes, her mother's busy with other subjects, but most days she's not too troubled for her daughter.

Sakura travels to the village more now—always accompanied by Tsunade, of course—in order to visit other lesser, but not less worthy of observing, temples around the village. She attends official funerals for the elite class of Konoha when a small outbreak of viral disease spreads throughout the village for a few weeks, and learns more about the processes and rituals a funeral, embalming, and burial involve.

Her status as Priestess of one of the Palace's Temples is noteworthy and has been spread across the village. Some villagers recognize her and praise her and Tsunade, their bodies dropping to the ground in pure adoration before them one time. Sakura doesn't know what to do at first, but Tsunade says a few words of gratitude, tells the villagers the Gods are with them, and starts walking away. Sakura follows her.

A mere month after the departure of Sasuke and Naruto, she also learns that the Queen has been gifted with child from the Gods. Every week for the following five consecutive months, Tsunade and her mother visit her to make sure everything is going accordingly, and they allow Sakura to attend as well. Many concoctions are brewed for the child to be born a male.

It is soon that the frost of Winter has ebbed away, and news of the return of the Princes reaches her ears. Her mother mentions them one afternoon; says that she has been summoned to check them and strip them from the impurities of foreign war, and that she won't be able to be with her as usual for the next two days. Sakura feels trepidation accelerating her heart.

Soon.

"Sakura," she hears her name being called, and turns her head to the right. She has been praying on her knees to Osiris for three hours now, and Tsunade folds her hands over her lap and smiles. "There's someone waiting for you outside. You may go now."

It is too early for her customary break, and her mentor knows this, but Sakura feels eternal gratitude that she's letting her go outside earlier. Surely, Naruto is waiting for her to come out already.

When she dusts herself off the sand in the temple and steps outside, she does only see one of the Princes waiting for her on a bench by the gardens, and it's not Sasuke.

No matter because, despite what had transpired months ago with the man, she never really expected him to show up with Naruto outside her temple. He has never done so before, and she fails to see how he would start now—especially since such a gesture would raise a few people's eyebrows in curiosity.

Disappointment does settle in, though. However much she excuses his absence, it still hurts to know he doesn't want to see her as much as she wants to see him. She has waited for six months and three days, and the memory of their last kiss turns from treasured to bittersweet in the time it takes her to reach Naruto.

He stands from the bench as soon as he hears her light steps on the sandstone, and he hugs her tight not a moment after.

Their mixed laughter and excitement drifts her thoughts away from Sasuke.

When Naruto lets her go, she takes in the changes in her best friend. He is taller than her, but only slightly more than before. His skin is darker, tanner, and it makes his sky blue eyes shine even brighter. His muscles are more defined over his arms. He has grown, changed, and for the better.

Sakura hugs him again, recalling all the sleepless nights worrying about him—and someone else—and the endless days spent without his smiles.

"I missed you," she says, and feels him chuckle through the vibrations from his chest.

"I missed you too, Sakura," he responds, and she hears the change in his voice, too. It's deeper, no longer the immature, young boy she's always known.

She lets go and steps away, smiling up at him.

"So, how was it? Tell me everything, where did you go? What did you see?"

They walk back to the bench and sit, and Naruto scratches the back of his head in thought.

Old habits die hard, and some things never change.

She learns that Naruto had fought bravely side by side with Sasuke at the command of their mentor, Kakashi. In the span of six months, they had managed to lead four minor battles and three smaller fights with rogue citizens. The North of Fire had been in complete disarray from traitors of the Pharaoh, but they had put some order to the chaos.

Naruto had sustained some injuries in the last battle, which had taken place four days before their return, but Sasuke had suffered more than him during an unfortunate hit from a man who died not a second after the attack.

Sasuke is still recovering in his room—has been since he arrived at Konoha. He is being tended by her mother, but he should be up and running soon enough. It had been a sword to the chest, after all, and such a blunt is usually not survived. Thankfully, she thinks, the sword had missed his heart completely.

Naruto tells her that this battle has been won, but that soon there will be more they will have to attend to once more. The prospect doesn't sound appealing to her in the least, really, but Naruto's eyes shine with such wonder that she doesn't voice her concerns.

March comes and goes in front of her and, by her sixteenth birth date, she hears word from her mother that Sasuke's wound has healed completely. It is now but a faded, superficial scar, there to remind him of his first real battle; the first real threat and attempt on his life.

Two weeks after Sasuke returns, under the glow of a full moon, Sakura finds him sitting on the steps of her temple long after Tsunade has gone to sleep. She spots him by chance, actually, and in passing, wanting to drink some water after she'd woken up from a dark, bad dream.

She finds no one outside of the temple, in the near vicinity, who would be able to see her, so she—barefoot, hair down and flowing, and in her night gown—walks toward the entrance and sits on the steps next to him, a small smile gracing her lips.

It is the eve of her sixteenth birth date and, after six months, two weeks, and three days, she sees him for the first time. His eyes are wiser now, heavier in what they have seen of war, and his voice is deeper than before. He is taller, just like Naruto, but his skin is not as tan. His hair is longer. It is him, the same boy she remembers, but somehow more beautiful and tragic.

Sasuke holds her hand for the first time, that night.

He visits her every full moon thereafter, silently, without ever having to announce himself or seek her out. Sometimes he sits on the temple steps, and other times she finds him kneeling by the statue of Isis.

He doesn't have to tell her why he visits, doesn't have to explain why he holds her hand through the night, doesn't have to say why he talks about anything and everything, or shares soft, brief, clandestine kisses with her in the night.

War can change him from head to toe, but his eyes always speak for themselves, she thinks.