Rated M for language and later content
GLORY
facio
Northern Uchiha Kingdom, Fire Country
February 2, 1311
Sasuke's skin itches, burns, an infernal fire in his chest raging poisonous and hot.
Staring at the decree in his hand makes his thoughts riot and his stomach sick. His fingers fight against the trembles, crushing the parchment and hoping to still the emotions that well up.
It does nothing. It just hurts more.
Kakashi is gentle when he pries the document from his Lord. Pressing callused hands to shaking ones, he's careful to slide it away and leave it on the table, eyes only on the young man who looks too fragile to stand.
"Sasuke," he says softly, "let's think about this."
"I—" His voice is hoarse, small. Defeated. Desperate to hold onto anger. "Fuck."
The advisor peers down, eyes tight. It's unmistakable in the cursive; Lord Itachi's handwriting has always mimicked a candle wick's smoke after blowing out the flame. That's his stamp too, in the merlot-red ink of his preference. No, there is no denying that seal: the uchiwa fan, flanked by a crow's wing, the signature, the title.
This is indeed true, Kakashi grimly thinks. They stand in the same room as a formal royal forfeit of title and land.
Sasuke's palm begins to sweat, quiver, and in response Kakashi holds tight. His Lord is going into shock and the next step is panic.
There is something inherently wrong with this document, as if it shouldn't even exist in the first place.
Because Kakashi knows above all else what Itachi's work ethic is like. Sasuke might've memorized his own brother's favorite food, favorite color, favorite pastime, but Kakashi knows what Itachi is like on a throne, on a battlefield, on a pile of corpses.
Fifteen years ago, after Rin's tragic death and before Obito's, the latter and Kakashi were in the same platoon as Itachi under Fugaku's direction during the last war. Kakashi had been Itachi's advisor up until Shisui had taken his place—
Wait.
Shisui.
"What about your cousin?" he tries again, careful. Steady. "Shisui?"
"Nothing was recovered."
Sasuke sounds as hollow as he looks and it's clear the way his wintry eyes storm, refusing to give into heartbreak, saturating it with gas to light a fire. He's anguished, fighting to maintain rage and anger when he's shrunken so small. Itachi has laid down a bed of glass and Sasuke is barefoot in the center of the room.
His own brother in heart and blood has forfeited the right to his land, killed his closest men, allowed the slaughter of his people and defected from the crown. It'd been written here in cold, clinical clarity.
To my sibling, it writes near the end, a mockery of their affectionate calls for each other, I give ownership to the Southern Uchiha Kingdom and its castle. I renounce the crown on my head and the blood in my veins. I deny my lineage; my last name is but a word.
The Uchiha are a corrupted lot with a cursed heritage. I have chosen to follow those whose ideals parallel mine, whose morals will right the wrongness of the world.
Farewell, Brother. The next time we meet, it will be on opposite sides of a sword.
Lord Itachi of the Southern Uchiha Kingdom.
Kakashi's instincts have yet to fail him—not in the war and certainly not now. But anxiously, he reads the passages over and over again and cannot find fault save for an unexplainable hunch and past memories.
Even the greatest of people can be lost to a cause they believe in, good or bad.
So he tucks the thought away, reaches out to touch the hair at Sasuke's neck. A trembling sigh rocks through the younger man's body and Kakashi's chest aches, watching the boy he's inadvertently raised and guided throughout all these years break.
Sasuke's always been an infallible wall, a towering behemoth of indifference, brute strength, impenetrable defense. He's always been passive to a fault, older than his years, harder than his heart.
Now he's reduced to his true age—twenty-five and too young to feel the betrayal of his now only living relative—his brother of all people. The man he's loved like a sun to his wildflowers and the moon to his lakes. The man who polished his swordfighting skills, taught him everything he knows, helped him live in the aftermath of their parents' death.
And it's all gone, Kakashi thinks, hurting for the boy in man's skin. In one day, it collapses.
Sasuke, who hates the thought of physical contact save for few exceptions, crumbles into Kakashi's protective hold. The elder man embraces the person he privately calls both son and student despite an eight year age gap, careful to keep him together as he falls apart.
"Orochimaru," he begins, breaking the tension, feeling his liege wind up tighter and tighter, "is not the answer. He's a snake. He can't be trusted; you know this."
The fight leaves Sasuke in a rush; he shakes like a leaf, eyes wide, fists clenched shut. "What choice do I have?" He'd exploded earlier, remembering Orochimaru's offer a year ago. He knows the Serpent Man has the resources and the means to help him.
Help him what?
Hunt his brother down?
What will he do when he has him cornered? Does he even stand a fucking chance?
I don't know, I don't know, I don't know.
"Just because your enemies are dishonorable, doesn't mean we stoop as low," Kakashi says as he always has, gentle but firm. "Look underneath the underneath, Sasuke." He's rubbing circles in between the young man's shoulder blades. "If you want to do this and get answers, then we'll do it with dignity, integrity."
"How?" Sasuke swallows; the bile is back. The next time we meet, it will be on opposite sides of a sword. "If it's true, if he hates the Uchiha and he's out there, aligning himself with people who agree with him..."
Itachi will come back.
And it will be war.
Kakashi sighs, exhausted. Single-minded. "Fire Country has four corners." He coaxes Sasuke's shoulders to unwind, to give into the pain and let it out ("It gets worse before it gets better," Obito used to say, smiling crookedly, standing next to him at Rin's grave. "So let it get worse. Spare your sanity. Then make it better"). "If we need help, we'll get it from people we can trust."
Yes. Because Fire Country is split into multiple kingdoms but they're all one people, through and through. If anyone can support him, it's his own kin. His breath leaves on a rush and the tension snaps.
He morphs into the little boy who used to bring Itachi handmade presents when they'd been young and he'd only ever wanted his brother's love, attention—and he cries.
Here lies the people they've lost, both dead and alive.
Southern Hyuuga Kingdom, Fire Country
February 11, 1311
Songbirds chirp in tandem with the wind, singing to the pull and sway of leaves and branches. Lying at the base of an apple tree in a bed of wildgrass and flowers is Lord Neji, shirt unbuttoned, riding boots discarded, trouser ankles folded up.
His feet are wet, drying in the sun after wading through shallow waters with his trusty stead. Aki neighs softly in the near distance, treading along the forestline and lazily galloping after dragonflies.
Arm behind his head and attention absorbed in other things, he barely acknowledges his closest friend and confidant arriving. He flips a page of the novel in his hand, skims the words, listening to the rustle of clothing and the thump of boots tossed next to his.
Neji glances only once before returning to his book. "Skipping out on duties?"
"Like you? Never." Shikamaru reclines beside him, hands propping his body up. "I came with a message."
"Oh? What kind?"
"It's from the Uchiha Kingdom. Lord Sasuke to be exact."
Peering from over the top of his novel, he closes it shut and sets it aside, sitting up. He and Lord Sasuke are the furthest from friends but certainly not enemies; competitive acquaintances and distant relatives are better terms. Odd that a personal message would come to him from the last person on earth who would bother.
Unraveling the document that his advisor proffers, he scans quickly.
The more he progresses, the tighter his brows wind, pinching in the middle. Shikamaru pulls away from fondly watching Aki to look at the tension in his Lord's frame.
"What is it?"
"How soon can you have an informant out to Lady Hinata and have Iroha prepare my traveling gear?"
Shikamaru sobers up at the seriousness in his Lord's tone. Normally privy to the silver-eyed king's more relaxed side, seeing this version of him means he is talking to Neji his King, not Neji his friend.
"Within the hour," he says, sitting straight. He's quick to stand when Neji rises to full height, picking up his boots. "What's going on?"
Neji whistles, high and tonal and Aki neighs in the distance, galloping.
"We may have a war, Shikamaru. And we've very little time to prepare by the looks of it."
Namikaze Kingdom, Fire Country
February 16, 1311
The halls of Namikaze castle beam bright and warm with laughter as Lord Naruto roams, belly full of his favorite noodles and heart brimming with happiness. Nothing caters to the soul like the loving embrace of ramen and he'd attest to that as many times as his body requires him to.
"Gotta hand it to Chouji!" he remarks, turning a corner and grinning brightly at a pair of maidservants giggling at his odd but commonplace behavior. He gives a short wave to dismiss them and throws open the doors to his study (where he'd take his customary post-noodle nap). "Hiring him as my chef seriously changed my life for the better!"
"Your arteries must really be screaming 'help, we're trapped inside of a dimwit.'"
At the sound of a new voice—so familiar and paternal—Naruto pauses and all but lets his jaw unhinge to the floor.
"Pervert!"
Jiraiya entertains the thought of chomping off the finger pointed at him. The snow-haired sage settles for glaring as best he can, stamping down Naruto's screams with very little result.
"Will you shut up," he demands, choosing to throw a good slap to the head at the Uzumaki Lord. Said ruler clutches the new bump, cradling himself like an injured animal.
"You cruel, peeping tom," he mutters, cowering away when another punch looms near. "A-Anyways, what are you doing here? I thought you weren't supposed to come back from another one of your trips for like, months."
Settling back into his informal cross-legged position on an empty corner of Naruto's messy desk, the sage folds his arms thoughtfully.
Then he reaches out, undoing one of the packs on his person to toss a parchment at the blonde.
Snatching it from the air, Naruto squints and starts to read, brow deepening in furrow the further he gets.
"What...?"
"Trouble in paradise," Jiraiya offers, his easygoing nature replaced by a demeanor of long-grown wisdom. He's grim, frowning hard. "Seems Lord Itachi has given up his land, defected, and now serves under the Lord of Ame. Much of his royal court is dead. I've no reason to believe it wasn't him that killed them."
Okay, what?
"You're joking, right?"
The sage raises a brow. "Naruto—"
"It's a joke, right?" The blonde king with the visage of a child has never looked more serious, more mature. He looks just like his late father. "This whole thing?" He sets the parchment down with a deadly calm; Jiraiya warily watches. "We both know Itachi isn't like that. It makes no sense and this? It's a bad joke."
"Naruto," Jiraiya says carefully. "While I would encourage seeing the good in people, this isn't said in jest. These are facts and you have to face them."
No.
Simple as that—no, it just isn't possible.
They're talking about the guy who looks at his younger brother as if he were the stars in the sky, the man who'd die long before he ever had to put his sibling—and all under his jurisdiction—anywhere near danger. Itachi has forfeited his throne? Killed his court? His cousin?
Might go after his brother?
Might declare war?
He's not like that. This can't be right.
But Jiraiya shakes his head, reading his godson's thoughts. Believe what he might, this decree is as real as the ocean blue.
"Boy," he says with mild calm. Like talking to a wounded animal. "Itachi is aligned with Rain Country and you know how Fire feels about them. He's an enemy of the state now and this?" He points at the paper on the desk. "This is hinting at a war. Sasuke—and no doubt Kakashi, too—they're aware of what this could lead to. You know the Uchiha. You know how dangerous this can be if Pein has recruited him."
He does know the Uchiha—he knows their passion, their will, their deep sense of kinship. They're family.
"But..."
But nothing. His words leave him, because yes, believe what he might: as a friend, he thinks this is malarkey.
As a king?
Call him stupid all you want, but Naruto isn't an ignorant man. Observant, actually—more than he seems and he dreads this, but Jiraiya is right. He falls silent, anxious at what to do, what to feel.
"I'll leave again," the snow-haired sage says placatingly, grimly. "I'll be passing east towards Wind Country with a message to Gaara. If a war is in the making, we're gonna need all we've got."
The chambers bang shut and Naruto is alone, fists clenched, teeth hard. As a king, he must put duty before many and honor before most and he's never hated anything more than that.
What the hell are you doing, Itachi?
Senju Kingdom, Fire Country
February 23, 1311
Shizune lets go of a breath, shutting the door to Lady Tsunade's chambers. Really, the woman needs to let up on the drinking and the gambling and the binging (oh, the screams of her tortured liver). Trying woman—sometimes it's a wonder how a person as insane as she had managed to strong-arm a whole kingdom and build a household name for more than five decades now.
Wiping her hands off on her skirt, the raven-haired woman begins the trek towards the new Lady, grateful for how much more pleasant she is compared to her mother.
Honestly—look at their temper and their ferocity and they're most certainly the same blood. But in terms of company, Lady Sakura has her father's personality: easy, sympathetic, calming.
No offense, Lady Tsunade. These are just facts, she quickly amends.
As she stalks down a long corridor, she encounters a lesser chambermaid—a mousy little thing, new to the job and still jumpy when it comes to the upper class. Sternly, Shizune looms over the small girl with a hand on her hip and a brow hitched.
"What are you doing outside of the maids' quarters?" she demands. Running a tight ship such as a whole castle requires no wandering, no dilly-dallying. Shizune is no head maid—a Lady in Waiting for the Queen, actually—but has no qualms about manning the operation like one.
The small brunette squeaks, shielding herself using a parchment with trembling hands.
"I-I've come to deliver a message!" she tries to explain frantically, knees knocking together. "A-A royal courier from the Uchiha Kingdom left this with me while I laundered some sheets!"
Uchiha?
Shizune pauses thoughtfully, crossed between stunned and confused.
What would the Lady's ex-husband want?
Wondering on what the nature of the parchment could possibly be about but unwilling to look because privacy is a foundation of trust, the dark-haired woman juts out a waiting hand. "So it seems. And you have not looked?"
The girl nearly breaks her neck shaking her head side to side in wild negation.
"Does anyone know about this?"
"No!"
Shizune hums, shakes her palm again. "I will give it to the Lady."
The small brunette looks all too relieved at relinquishing her hold on the thing, dropping it and bowing with a clumsy grace. She rushes away, mumbling something about tending to the gardens, but Shizune is already down the hall.
From Uchiha Kingdom?
Were they still in touch without her knowing?
For how long?
There wouldn't be a single moment where she'd want or need to get in touch with that man; it would only bring more pain than good and she's very easy to read when she's hurt.
Perhaps they rekindled their relationship?
No, she firmly believes. She would tell me. And Lord Sasuke still has his Mistress. All the kind hearts in the world can't forgive what has happened.
Resolved, she knocks on the entrance and waits for the affirmative. Entering, the aforementioned woman sits at her vanity, mid-move in brushing the length of her carnation hair.
Realizing she's late and the Lady has started her nightly routine without her, Shizune mumbles apologies and rushes to her side, taking the offered silver-plated brush. Sakura nods in greeting, smiling in the mirror.
"Did my mother keep you?" she asks, laughing.
The dark-haired woman huffs quietly. "Really, one day she'll drink herself into a coma or something if she were a lesser woman," she jests. "Were she not such a good Queen regardless of her sobriety level, I would've driven her into the ground for it."
"A good thing it doesn't seem to run in the family," Sakura offers, grinning impishly at the groan her Lady in Waiting made. "Otherwise we'd all be hopeless alcoholics."
"Oh, don't even remind me."
"Tragic," Sakura says solemnly. "What did she need you for anyways?"
"Asked to make sure I sent the birthday invitation to Lady Hinata." Picking apart a length of silk ribbon, she cuts it to perform a braid. "Had me revise the letter after whatever you talked about this afternoon."
"Ah, the transferability." Rotating her aching shoulder, Sakura hums thoughtfully. "How are the gowns for the party?"
"Emi left a message with one of the regular village guards. She said they'd be available for pick up tomorrow if you would like to go?"
"Sounds perfect." She glances at her vanity table, momentarily confused between the current subject matter and a new one that crops up at seeing the forgotten missive. "Shizune?"
"Hm?"
"What is this?"
Shizune sobers immediately, hands slipping, particular things Sakura doesn't miss. Unease settles on the older woman's brow.
"It's... a maidservant was carrying it. A courier brought it earlier today for you."
"For me? From who?"
"...Lord Uchiha."
Hello lads.
As of about 06/27/20 - story's been updated to match my new prose/tense preferences. Changed up the scenes with Sasuke and Neji- felt they were a little too serious so I loosened them up to coincide with my newer style.
Thought I'd mention it now but I'm not a huge fan of OCs (for use in my own stories) so every single name/character that pops up in any of my stuff are actually from canon. Iroha, for example, is a jonin Hyuga about ten years older than Neji. Emi is a very briefly shown character in Part I, a tailor shop owner to be more precise. Took some time finding the right people for each role but it fit fabulously.
Once again, story is a doozy but we're all chill here, so sit back, relax, and have a good one.
- burrblefish
