I listen to Fiona Apple and Aimee Mann while writing this story. Maybe if you listen to them as you read it will someone make this story all the better?

Title: Two Swans
Genre: Fantasy/Romance
Characters: major: Temari, Gaara, Kankurou, Shikamaru, Yashamaru, Chouji. minor: Sakura, Hinata, Naruto, Kiba, Leaf warriors.
Relationships: ShikaTema, mentioned one-sided InoShika

Notes:

1.The first part of this chapter is in first person. Why? I dunno, for a chance, I suppose. I got tired of writing in third person. I haven't written in first person in a long time.
2. Chakra (as defined in "is thought to be an energy node in the human body" of which there are typically believed to be seven. In this story, the magic that is used is heavily associated with their chakra. So when Yashamaru mentions the visible chakra, she basically means she can see the magic potential in her.
3. Slight yuri (although technically, it's not)
4. There's a reason why Shikamaru thinks his people would do this to Temari/Mine. I'm not going to tell you yet, though. TEE HEE.
5. It should be fairly easy to figure out what's going on, no? If not, I'll spell it out for you: non-graphic rape.


So, the Hokage took a wife? It makes me(x) laugh at how clever that girl really thinks she is. As if I'm not intelligent enough to find a subtle way of destroying her despite being married to the Hokage.

And, as rumors have it, she's completely mute, and enjoys self-mutilation. So she wants to reverse the curse, does she? I'll kill her before I'll have that little girl surpass me.

It takes several days of preparations before I can begin my plan. Hopefully for her, they'll kill her with my first plan and I'll spare her the suffering. You know, I'm rather merciful, despite all my other faults. What is so horrible about me, anyway? Name me a human that doesn't desire a good life, as my mother and I do. Why should we be at a fault for being human?

I come to her first as a handsome stranger in a dream. People are easily managed and convinced in dreams, which is why I use them often. I mention how I am a mage, fighting against the evil clutches of Yashamaru. I am under a curse, but I am forbidden to talk in detail about it. I ask her to meet me at dawn, by the grove. After only a couple of days watching this castle, I've noted that the fat man comes to train at the grove at dawn every third day.

I meet her there, and she's different from the last time I saw her. She's grown. In fact, she is quite nearly a woman at this point. Not quite, though. In my eyes, for one to truly be considered a woman one must give up something precious. It is the trial all girls go through, the realization that men take things away, and as women came from the earth, men destroy us like they destroy the earth.

No, she is not yet a woman. She still thinks that men will treat her with respect, that men have the capability to love, when all they ever care about is themselves and destruction.

She is lovely, though. Her hair is down, and it falls down in wavy tresses of blonde. It is too dark still, to make out the exact color of her eyes, but they have an intelligent shine to them. It's too bad she is so resolute in her task. If I thought I had any chance of persuading her, I would have asked her to be my apprentice. It is quite a waste of talent, though. One can practically see the magic coming off her in waves, although it is really just visible chakra(x) seen through eyes that share the same powers.

What a waste.

I approach her with a swagger in my step, and a carefully placed smile on my face. Even so, when she catches sight of me, her dark eyes flare. What is this? I know my disguise is perfect, how has she seen through it?

My own eyes, I suppose. I can never quite keep the magic out of them. Anyone with enough ability can spot it in another, just as I have seen hers. Has her own chakra grown so much that she can spot it? I wonder vaguely what exactly she's been doing these past two years. Well, it is my one major fault, this uncontrollable charka of mine, but it will certainly not be my downfall. Before she can say I thing, in a flash I am at her side (x). I pin her hands to the tree as I ram her body up against it. Then, looking in her eyes with every bit of malice I can accumulate, I kiss her.

She struggles against me, but I am stronger than I look. I manage to make quite a production out of it, in any case. I know a woman's body better than I know a man's—and I know a man's body quite well. Lips here, hands there, and I know she'll feel good despite her desire not to. I feel her body wriggling against mine, and not completely in her struggle to escape. It really is too bad she's so focused on that silent task, because if she weren't, I would have her moaning.

But I don't need her to moan. I hear the man approach, and I know my mission has been accomplished perfectly. "Until our next meeting, my love," I whisper loudly enough for the fat man to hear, and then I flee, pretending I haven't noticed the fat man.

Perfect.


Shikamaru was like a brother to him. He had been lonely as a child, and the others had teased him for his size and awkwardness. But the future Hokage—the future Hokage—had taken notice of him, and had befriended him.

"I saw the kindness in you, Chouji," Shikamaru told him years later, when Chouji asked him to explain his actions.

Shikamaru believed and trusted Chouji and Chouji did the same for Shikamaru. And so, when Shikamaru had divulged his plan to marry the strange woman, Mine, Chouji had not doubted his judgment. Not just because he was Hokage, but because Chouji trusted him more than one else.

But how can he deny the horrible mistake Shikamaru made in marrying this girl, when he sees her pressed against another man? At least she isn't moaning against his hand, because Chouji does not know if he would have been able to control himself at the thought of her silence being yet another ruse.

"Queen Mine," he says coldly, approaching the grove steadily, his anger settling in his hand, which rests on his sword hilt. Just in case that bastard decides to come back for another round.

She looks at him, shock filling her eyes. Her lips are still slightly spread, as if awaiting more kisses from this secret lover of hers. She's shaking her head furiously, perhaps trying to deny the fact that Chouji has seen them.

"I will tell Shikamaru, because he deserves better than this." Than you, he wants to say, but he doesn't dare. She is married to Shikamaru, after all. She reaches out and grabs his arm with her ugly, callused hands and shakes her head all the more. Her blonde hair bobs as she does so —he realizes indistinctly that she's put it down from its usual confinements—, and her eyes are pleading with him. Is she so desperate to keep her place as Lady Mine, Chouji wonders to himself. Had he figured her so incorrectly?

"You're not going to persuade me not to, wretch."

He can't read her eyes. He's seen the two of them, Shikamaru and Mine, talking without words over the food on the dinner table. "Her eyes say volumes," Shikamaru has told him. These books must not be in any language Chouji understands. He's seen her lips say much, much more.

He pulls his arm away, and walks off, without another word. He doesn't want to look at her anymore. Chouji is afraid that if she somehow makes him not want to tell Shikamaru, that he'll let it pass. Either way, Shikamaru will get hurt.

Chouji knows the king better than anyone. He knows how much Shikamaru hates to be tricked, and know that he would rather know the truth and be hurt by it, than be lied to and be content. This is why he's heading towards the castle before Mine can persuade him not to. He doesn't want to imagine Shikamaru's face when he tells him, but he can't help it.

He'll be heartbroken. He may say that she 'intrigues' him, but Chouji's never seen him like this before. Chouji had begun to think he was asexual, with him ignoring the women around him, even the one who was actually interested in him for him, and not his title and his power. Lady Ino. Shikamaru cares about Lady Mine, though, quite a lot. Chouji hates to have to be the one to stomp all that to the ground.


Temari doesn't chase after Chouji. After all, what can she say to convince him what he was saw was wrong without words? Damn you, Yashamaru, she thinks. How could she have been so damn naïve? Had she really thought there was someone like her, another cursed being? She had been stupid, and Yashamaru had taken advantage of that. Now, Shikamaru will think she is scum.

It doesn't matter, though, does it? All that matters is getting her brothers back to normal. It shouldn't matter what Shikamaru thinks about her at all. After all, he cannot divorce her without causing quite a scandal. He's too lazy to make that much effort.

She returns to the castle, the morning dew still lingering on her skin. She changes clothes; burying the dress she had been donning somewhere deep underneath her bed. She doesn't want to relive the feeling of those hands on her. It felt good despite the person causing the sensations, and Temari is certain this is what Yashamaru was counting on. But the things she made her feel can't possibly be good, not if Yashamaru did bring them to her.

But they weren't. She's felt that way before. And it wasn't with Yashamaru . . .

Brushing those thoughts aside roughly, she picks up her second nettle shirt—one sleeve has been completed. Delving into the painful work, she can concentrate on sewing and biting back cries that still want to come forth, even after more than a year of work. She can stop herself from fretting about Shikamaru.

Remember Gaara and Kankurou instead, she tells herself. After all, she's doing this for them. Gaara, the small brother she knew for so short a time before he saved her from a horrible fate. His bright red hair that falls into his face occasionally. The black bags that surround his eyes from his strange insomnia that no amount of sleeping potions seem to cure. His ever-changing expressions that seem to alter at the slightest thing. She loves every little bit of him.

Kankurou. The brother that has been with her since birth. He taught her nearly all she knows, and she treasures him greatly. The purple ink on his face, and the clothes he used to wear. She never understood why he always hid himself beneath those guises, but no bit of convincing managed to stop him. Well, before the curse. He can't put purple ink on his skin as a swan.

Gaara and Kankurou. Gaara and Kankurou. She says their names over and over again like a mantra. She says it so loudly—in her mind—that she does not hear him come in. She glances out to window, only to see it is midday.

"Mine?"

She looks up at him, and is surprised at the face that doesn't seem to show any disgust or hate. Had Chouji told him after all?

"I refuse to believe you could do something like that." His arms are crossed across his chest as he leans against the wall oppisite her, his expression serious. Ah, so Chouji had told him. And . . . Shikamaru hadn't believed him? This shocks Temari. Chouji is Shikamaru's closest and dearest friend and advisor. Is Shikamaru's faith in her so great that even the opinion of his best friend cannot shake it?

He is the one person that can read her eyes, besides her two brothers. He must see the relief in them, because he grins suddenly, and nods. "I don't know how it happened, but Chouji must have made a mistake. I know you wouldn't do something like that!" He chuckles as if the mere thought of it is ridiculous.

Temari feels slightly guilty, because it had happened after all. This had caused Shikamaru to doubt Chouji, which seems to her to be nearly as bad.

She feels even worse because she finds herself shivering at the memory of being pressed against that tree and . . .defiled.

He sits down at the edge of her bed, and watches her seriously. She's begun to be able to read his face as well, even though he can express himself with words. But even now she cannot read his expression. "Mine, who are you?" he whispers, and reaches out. Her heart is beating, beating, beating, like a thousand drums calling out the warriors to march into war, into death.

These are bad omens. Yashamaru's hands are on her again. Except this time it's Shikamaru that has his hands on her, and they're on her face. His fingers are cold, like a corpse's hands. Her war-drum heart was calling for death after all, for his death-hands.

She closes her eyes as his cold fingers run themselves over her fact, his cheeks, her eyelids, her lips, like a lone traveler discovering the landscape of a new terrain. Her war-drum heart is no longer calling the soldiers to death, but for something more.

No. No more. Temari pulls her face away from the death-hands, and shakes away the thoughts. She had made her brothers a promise. She will not fall in love with a man while her task is still unfinished. That's what is happening, isn't it? Her heart is beating because she wants to love him. But she can't, she knows it.

His hands fall back onto his lap. "I think I love you, Mine. Naruto and Kiba say that I can't possibly even know you. But I do. There are other ways to communicate than with words, aren't thre." He gets up, and walks out, closing the door behind him softly.

She denies the rain passage from her eyes, and the half-done sleeve remains dry under her hands.


Mine throws the kunai at him, and her aim is pretty good. But not good enough.

He dodges it easily, pulling to the right. Not too far, but just enough to dodge the incoming kunai—and the one she threw at the spot she had predetermined he would stand in.

He turns to look at her, sweating from the sun and the extraneous effort, but looking oddly happy. She's run out of kunai, though, and Shikamaru knows this. He grins at her, but instead of returning the smile, she runs up suddenly, a fan being revealed from . . . somewhere. Women's clothing is much too complicated for Shikamaru's understanding.

She's swiping at him with it. Only Mine would go as far as to use such an item as a weapon. As he retreats, he notices something odd about this particular fan. It's got something written on it . . .

He only has enough time to notice this much before he is blown against a nearby tree. It wasn't an especially hard blow, but it was enough to knock the air out of him for a moment. Well, this isn't an especially new event for Shikamaru, who is the master at getting beaten by the stronger warriors, but there is something novel about this particular incident.

She hadn't even touched him.

When he looks up at her, she's towering over him, fan already slipped back into its hiding spot, and a smirk on her lips. Her eyes are telling him that she's beaten him, that if she could make a noise she would laugh arrogantly, and unfortunately he is inclined to agree. He grunts in pain as he pushes himself up, but he refuses her hand. He's not so sure how glad he is at the fact that he's been beaten to easily by a woman, and his pride isn't allowing him to let her pull him up.

But his pride is beaten back when she offers his arm to him. They are quite a bit away from the castle, as it seems they strayed during their little scrimmage. He thinks his foot might even be sprained, and he says as much. She rolls her eyes, obviously thinking him quite the weakling, but still offers her arm. He takes it, and they walk back to the castle.

They're silent as they hike through the forest, but Shikamaru's mind is anything but. He knows what his people are saying about this woman, and the rumors of her being some kind of barbarian queen became more abundant when she openly challenged him one day, in front of all the warriors. She didn't say so out loud, but the motions she kept making with the kunai seemed to support that fact.

It's not just the fact she challenged him, because a woman who knows how to protect herself and her family isn't too rare a sight in the Leaf kingdom, but the fact that she nearly beat him is. Growing up, Hinata was probably the only girl near his age who ever could have stood a chance against Shikamaru, but she never dared. It would have been disrespectful to beat the future Hokage.

Now, though, after Sakura left the Leaf Kingdom for nearly three years, she could have probably beaten him, if it was merely strength against strength. But that's not the point.

She fought differently than what they were used to. They whispered that she had fought dirty, and maybe she had. Maybe she only knew how to fight with what she had. Maybe a few of the rumors are right and she is a refugee from some violent war to the Far East or West. That might explain a few things.

But he has some idea where she's from. She's tan, although she was far darker when she first arrived, which hints to the fact that she lived somewhere very hot, nearly all the time. Either that, it would have needed to be summer, but when she arrived it was spring. So she must have lived somewhere that was hot in the spring.

There was only one nearby place that sounded plausible.

The Sand kingdom. He hasn't told anyone, yet. He hasn't dared. If they knew where she was from, they would chase her off, beat her, perhaps even go as far as kill her, married to the Hokage or not (x).


Then it happens again. Yashamaru interferes. Shikamaru and Chouji promised to keep what had happened between the three of them, and so the rest of the castle didn't know of Temari's 'betrayal.' This time, though, there was no way they could miss it.

Chouji's corpse was a testament for what had happened. Temari's bloody hands were as well.

But Lady Mine could not speak, could not cry out that she had been framed, that Yashamaru had slit his throat, not her. Not her. And so she screams on the inside, screams and screams and screams, and the blood blood blood keeps pumping out of Chouji's fatal wound as he falls, and Yashamaru is gone.

And the feathers fall around her as she tries to push the blood back in. If she pushes hard enough maybe he won't be dead anymore. Kankurou and Gaara are pulling her away, they are trying, but she's fighting them, possibly for the first time in her life. Chouji can't die.

He had treated her like a real Lady, instead of some girl that was raised alone in a tower. He treated her like an equal, like a Leaf woman. And now he's dead.

And now she's locked in, once again, not in her room, not in a tower, but this time it's in a dungeon. It's dirty here, and it smells of piss. She's always crying, it seems, in this dark, dank place, and she doesn't know whether its because of Chouji or her brothers or Shikamaru's stone cold face.

He had to believe she would never do that. Where was that faith he had for her? Had it dispersed at the sight of Chouji's blood on Temari's hands?

She was so close to finishing her task, at last. More than two years she had slaved at those shirts, worked hard and harder, and now she didn't know where they were. She needs one sleeve, one sleeve, and then the shirts will be done, and she and her brothers can escape from here. It wouldn't matter then if the Leaf kingdom blamed her for Chouji's death, then, would it? She would have her brothers back, and that's all that matters.

Isn't it?

She hears the men pass, and they say things to her, ugly, ugly words. They curse her, they threaten her. They tell her she's going to die soon, because that is what she deserves. One of them even comes into her cell and . . . it's like Yashamaru all over again, but too hard, too rough, too much. And she wants to scream, but she can't.

(x) He rips through her clothes, rips through her, but her mouth is shut tight, even as she wants desperately to open her mouth and scream. She tries to fight him off, but she can't. She's not strong as she thought she was, is she? Her arrogance got her nowhere. She cannot reach her fan.

He leaves her there. He calls her trash. He says she deserves this.

She doesn't make a sound.

Never is a promise, and you can't afford to lie.