Rated M for language and later content


GLORY


acri


Senju Kingdom, Fire Country
March 25, 1311


The village lives and breathes, moving like the winds at sea. There's a fervor that exists, warm and bright—a far cry from the expectation. It's clear that this place is one of the many wonders of the world.

Senju Kingdom's fortified walls keep away all who do not belong here. Everything within is privy to only its people and to its court, which crops up common misconceptions that include (but are not limited to) secret tyranny and incompetence.

(Clearly just the nonsensical jibes of courts that are envious of those who actually get to enter.)

The closest friends of the Senju, near and far, usually find themselves invited to their grander events. It behaves almost like an exclusive club, an exquisite example of feeling like you are part of the higher, harder powers. This kingdom sees itself as its own little haven. A private happiness.

And their queens are the human embodiment of these Great Walls.

Lady Sakura's twenty-sixth celebration is news spread throughout the country. Eager are the outsiders in receiving an invitation to this premier palace—eager are the newcomers in seeing a land where only women have ruled for two generations now, and for the returning visitors to come experience a special kind of paradise once again.

It had been sheer luck that Lady Hinata just so happened to be one of the select few outsiders invited to the celebration, but had been unable to go (one of the ladies of her court, Kurenai Yuuhi, is scheduled to give birth any day now and Lady Hinata has always been attached to her former mentor).

Instead, she handed the document to Advisor Shikamaru, who'd been given earlier orders to rendezvous with Neji just beyond the Uchiha borders.

He presented such information late in the game with little preamble and less grace. "You'll be pleased to hear, My Lord," he'd drawled, petting Aki's precious felt coat as the horses sip from a nearby river, "that Lady Hinata had been given an invitation to Senju Castle, but seeing as previous engagements are preventing her from attending, she's given the document to us."

Neji snorted softly, marveling the odds, and the blonde King hollers with joy. His tirade explaining his excitement is interrupted by loud, distinct screeching and heads turn to look at one of the other tag-alongs.

Shikamaru sighs exasperatedly seeing Mistress Karin angrily rambling at one of the horses for pushing her into the river—really, Lord Sasuke's tastes couldn't be any quieter? What was she even doing here anyways, this was official business—

"Souvenir shopping," was her reply, nose upturned and Shikamaru lets the whole thing drop because frankly, something about her reminds him a lot of a Yamanaka he once knew and he really doesn't want to think of that walking headache right now.

And when things couldn't escalate any further in volume, Gaara enters the scene with an irritable Sasuke, bickering about this or that. Naruto joins them and he and the latter face off like the children everyone (but Karin) had grown up with.

"Morons, I work with morons," Neji mutters.


Senju Kingdom, Fire Country
March 28, 1311


Sasuke's hands clench and unclench periodically, unused to feeling anxious at recent developments. You'd think that after years of being forged from fire and built like steel, a man such as Lord Uchiha would've been able to quash all forms of emotion. He learned the hard way that feelings could not be necessarily removed, but could be repressed.

Conquering though—that is an entirely different demon.

What could happen? He wonders on the reactions, the words, the outcome. Memories of his ex-wife come unbidden.

Sweet kisses, sweet touches. Shy first times, the way she'd bloomed beneath his fingertips and the way he came undone beneath hers. The way he'd had hope.

But then comes the aftermath, the gradual cracks in their respective facades that led to their undoing. The boundaries, the forced professionalism wedged between them—him disappearing to seek the flame elsewhere, her, facing corners and behaving with a constant crown.

Something tugs low in his gut. He's nervous, he realizes with mild frustration. He's nervous about facing her somehow and it makes him feel sick and a little angry at being put in such a position. He's more than this—why isn't he acting like it?

Simple. Because while he may not feel regret about divorcing her (they both must be happier this way, destroying a lie before it became too much), he feels a thread of guilt coil inside.

He remembers with stark clarity the night that she'd found him with Karin in a wing that didn't house their bedchambers, how her perfect face hadn't flinched but her eyes—they'd done all the talking. They'd brightened with hurt before carefully frosting over, taking in the way a nude Karin lied in tangled sheets with him on a bed, pillows and feathers decorating the floors.

She'd observed them clinically, silently, before turning and shutting the door behind her. He'd stared disinterestedly, smothering the slight panic in his chest with indifference, holding onto the coldness of her behavior with a mockery of his own.

Guilt eats at him from time to time. While she'd been the indirect cause of his infidelity, had he been the cause of her coldness? She'd always been politely distant, but never curt, short, frosty.

Somewhere, he thinks, they'd broken each other. It's what had driven him to call that divorce—they would only continue to poison themselves slowly.

Surely now that they're unattached, they've gotten better. Healed.

He hopes that his words before she'd departed will come to fruition now—when he begrudgingly but truly knows he needs her kingdom's support.

Sasuke shifts in his seat, obsidian eyes opening at the feel of soft lips touching his collarbone. He glances down, immediately flooded with luscious scarlet and a noseful of cinnamon spice and heat. The whirlwind of anxiety frying his nerves settle into a dull ache at the sight of his wife.

Karin smiles languidly up at him, tucked up against his side and beneath his arm, nimble fingers gracing the pulsepoint of a wrist. He stops her hand and cups it with his, knitting digits together until they are locked.

"You didn't have to come with me," he quietly says after a moment, thinking this is no place for a woman like her. She's much too soft, malleable, and so long as he is her husband, she shouldn't have to worry about external affairs.

She laughs in response. "Sakura doesn't scare me," she replies.

Sasuke circles his free hand tighter around his wife, reveling in the feel of her face burying somewhere into his collar. Lips touch his neck, his jaw.

"We might've benefited from having someone at the castle," he says. "Kakashi's here with me and no one's watching my crown." Sakura used to do that—take care of the kingdom while he was away.

The flame-colored woman pulls away to pout. "You don't want me here with you?"

He shakes his head. "No, not that," he amends. "It would've done me good knowing someone were at home, though."

She huffs, returning to nuzzle his chest. "If you'd said it like that back there, maybe I would've."

"You would've?" He feels his lips pull into a smirk when she stiffens like she'd been caught.

"...No." Defeat, and he chuckles, amused.

"You'll have to learn to rule eventually, Karin," he chastises softly, nudging her forehead so that she is looking up at him. "You've been putting off your duties for nearly three years now."

She pouts again. "Don't scold me."

"I'm not. Merely reminding you."

Karin lifts one shoulder up in a small shrug. "I will. Adjustment like this takes time of course, but I am a fast learner. I'm sure I can pick it up faster than Sakura had."

Resettling into her lord's arms, she inhales deeply and shuts her eyes to relax in the following silence.

At the namedrop, the previous anxiety returns anew.

Distantly, Sasuke thinks Sakura hadn't needed to learn; leadership ran in her blood from day one when he'd seen the way she prodded his Council for kingdom reports on homefront operations.

She'd been a natural.

He grows quiet and looks out the window, soaking in the afternoon sun and hoping the warmth will wash away his thoughts.


Carriages swarm the Great Walls of Senju Kingdom like busied honeybees gaining entrance to the hive. Hundreds of people await entry into the ever elusive kingdom; the excitement is palpable from even miles away and when they pass inside, awe strikes like a thunderbolt.

Left and right, above and below, blazing reds and phoenix oranges roar like flames, encouraging celebration and exemplifying the fires of a home. Flags bearing the Senju symbol, the late King Dan Haruno's circlet, and Fire Country's insignia soar high and true, rippling broadly against the setting sun.

Smells from food vendors waft in all directions, urging people to have a go at Senju's famed sweet and spicy cuisine. Shops twinkle lights and holler offers, hoping to attract guests with glee. Children scream and run, winning prizes from game booths and following their parents like ducklings. Adolescents and young adults pedal around like first lovers, using festivities as reasons to mingle, live and love happily. The elderly sit by on rocking chairs, weaving tales of Senju, telling stories of old and new about their village and their crowns.

To those who've never ventured beyond the village walls, the sheer force of celebration feels like a tidal wave smashing onto shore. Sasuke and his wife in one carriage, Gaara with Baki and Kakashi in another—they are some of the ones new to the sights and smells. And though Naruto had been here before accompanying Jiraiya (an old friend to the previous queen), shock may forever be a reaction to the town.

It bustles so fiercely with life and in stunning clarity, and both Neji and Shikamaru know this all to be a product of both Queen Senju and Lady Haruno's work.

Born rulers, they often agree on. Leadership runs in their blood.

Should war throttle their kingdoms, their people will be in perfect, capable hands here. The size and space of the place is wonderful indeed, but it's the protection, the trust. The people here live life fully and whole-heartedly.

In Sasuke's carriage, he finds himself on the cusp of amazement. The only tell is the slight drop in his jaw, the way his pupils have dilated and ears have perked to take in the sensations. Booming town drums strike a marching beat, thunderous and timed to rapid heartbeats, accentuated by laughter, giddy screams, hollering vendors, chatter. In the many years of his crownhood, there were only a handful of times where he'd heard his own village celebrating like this, usually at the hands of (ex) Lady Uchiha's seasonal festivals.

But he hadn't indulged. If it weren't because of diplomatic duties, it was because things like this weren't his thing, therefore he stayed in his castle, carrying on through the week like it's any other time of the year.

Karin leans across his lap and he becomes aware of the way he hasn't blinked. Ripping away from the glimmering lights and fireworks splashed against the approaching stars, he watches as his wife pulls open the curtain further to see.

She makes a small noise of awe when a bright violet explosion highlights the inside of the carriage. Another, much closer, startles Karin and he steadies her absently, glancing outside again to see the way the buildings grow slightly sparse and how the road clears, making way for flatter earth and stacked cobblestone.

They are on the path to Senju Castle, the large wicket gate opened and pouring lights like a portal to another realm.

Soon enough the carriages come to a stop, guards recognizing the golden emblems on their rides and the banners on their horses. They are given space a ways away and Sasuke steps down, meeting Naruto screeching at the festivities and Gaara staring in awe. Neji and Shikamaru, unfazed, are softly murmuring to each other.

He catches the tail end of Naruto's exclamation of, "—ly shit, Sakura knows how to throw a damn party!"

"Overboard if you ask me," Karin mutters, folding her arms, watching teal and orange shoot across the sky like lightning. She eyes passing nobility, finds that many of them are not of the higher royal courts. "A birthday—big deal. Lords and Ladies and their clans hadn't even shown aside from us."

"Passing gossip mentioned this is Lady Sakura's first public celebration by invitation. It's usually Queen Tsunade who hosts these parties," Shikamaru corrects smoothly, sending an inconspicuous raise of the brow at an annoyed Neji. Naruto seems to be all but ignoring the female of their party; Gaara remains passive. "Burdensome thing."

"Sheer luck I'd say that Lady Hyuuga graciously gave us her invitation," Gaara adds. He smiles slightly when Naruto points at a group of fire-breathers and sword-swallowers performing on a stage, amazed.

"If we intend to make good time, we must go," comes Kakashi's suggestion. He approaches with Baki in tow, smoothing down his long-cloak and adjusting the pouch at his hip. It carries their most important item on this trip, more important than each of them individually.

Just the sight is enough to pull Sasuke out of his slight dissociation, grounding him to the severity of the situation. They are here for business, not a party.

Holding onto Karin's hand looped at the crook of his elbow, he nods stiffly at his large party of eight and waves away Senju servants handling their carriages.

It's Neji who takes the helm, leading them through the entryway with confidence and grace—a thing that strikes Kakashi and Gaara oddly.


Sashaying ballgowns sweep across the ballroom floor, a physical embodiment of the string orchestra warbling songs of dance across the room. Heels click in time with a beat and partners glide in tandem; women twirl into the center of a double-circle, dipped low and brought to a new partner to start once again.

They spin in perfect unison, cogs in clockwork, a single body immortalizing music.

The air feels charged with electricity, merriment, simmered into a warmth that is hard to ignore. Many eyes glance secretly in the direction of the thrones, hoping to catch the attention of their hostess.

Being in the presence of Lady Haruno tends to incite this sort of reaction; hearing of her and seeing her in person are two completely different worlds. While she is known to be kind, generous, passionate, something about the sunset-kissed fall of her hair and the eerie, wicked quality of her bejeweled eyes strike different up close.

She sits in the back of the room on her mother's left, gazing at the "inconspicuously" staring crowd with a small huff of amusement. Dressed in a ruby-red ballgown bordered by only the finest golden silk crafted solely for the royal, she looks the vision of a damasked rose, ornate, elegant, powerful.

"If I knew any better, I'd say you look like you're ready to test the waters again," Lady Tsunade randomly inputs from beside her daughter. She laughs at the look of horror briefly passing over her face. "I don't blame you, really. It must've been something, those trysts with Lord H—"

"Mother!"

Sakura grows flustered, an indignant blush constricted to her ears but growing across her cheeks by the second. When Tsunade responds with more riotous laughter, the flush escapes to her neck and collarbones.

She reaches out to smack her mother's forearm, frustrated. Tsunade indulges often in teasing Sakura's past escapades, presenting jibes with unrestrained glee.

"Oh, don't be like that," the blonde woman chastises, waving down a manservant carrying a tray of fine honey wine over—a Senju specialty. "You love when you love; you know I have nothing against you ruling alone."

Sakura swallows her embarrassment, sighing. "I appreciate that, Mother. Really."

"Yes, well." Tsunade straightens to full height, smiling at several chambermaids coming to flank her. She winks at down at her daughter. "It wouldn't hurt to mingle though. I don't have anything against that either."

And she's gone before Sakura can string together a threat. Muttering soft curses, Lady Haruno almost slumps against her throne, watching the spiral of dancers spinning large loops across the floor.

Anxiety had been pulling at her leg since morning; while Lady Hinata is a good friend of hers from her days as an Uchiha, they are not quite close enough to pay normal visits to each other,, relying only on missives and messages. The Hyuuga Queen, like most other crowns, had never stepped foot into Senju and it only makes Sakura think—

When she looks into the moonstone glow of Hinata's eyes, will her mind wander? Face to face with them, will she remember things left behind in the past?

She knows she will not stumble; her queenhood is built on stone and forged with fortitude and it does not fall so easily in the face of nostalgia.

But she's certain; later, after meeting with Lady Hinata she is sure she will dream of phantom touches not too far behind, another man's fingers will greet her in the dead of night. Though her and this man are close now, it's hard remembering him without remembering what preceded becoming friends.

That is what keeps her on edge.

Watching the dancers help coordinate her thoughts. Organizing the tangled lines according to the perfect whorls make for peace. Perhaps joining would help loosen nerves further.

Shizune starts to approach her when she stands but stays put at the nod of assurance. Eyes from the crowd redirect blatantly in her direction, hyperaware of every move she makes like birds of paradise observing a potential partner, hoping to look beautiful enough to capture her attention.

Finding an opening in the dance—a pretty brunette with Water Country's baron insignia threaded into his breastpocket—she locks eyes with him to signal her intention. He smiles charmingly, murmuring to his current partner before spinning her away.

Gracefully, Lady Haruno slips directly in between a space in the clockwork, landing in the arms of the brunette gentlemen and matching pace, swept in the current.

He matches her elegance with ease, positively radiant.

"My Lady," he greets, the color of his voice high and rich. It seems almost feminine, somewhat soft to match the beauty of his features but the build she can feel beneath her hands tell of masculinity. Pressing into the muscle of his bicep, she returns his smile.

The waltz carries on in perfect sync with the other dancers. She exchanges a few words, content with being in the heart of the crowd rather than an observer. The men come and go, exchanging her and the other women in flawless harmony.

Eventually, she finds herself spun on her feet, caught in a new pair of arms, different from the ones who held her almost carefully. This one holds her with certainty, self-assuredness.

The distinct aroma of sunshine and beachside white sand hit her senses, traces of cold bamboo trees a light undertone. There is only a little time to see her last partner giving a light, farewell bow before crystal jade circled by coal black enters her line of sight.

She inhales softly.

Long, limber arms curl around both her waist and hand, drawing closer than what other partners dared. The slightest tilt of his chin causes firestorm hair (the annoying color) to fall in his eyes, kissing his lashes.

Then they move, assimilating with the crowd until they are once again one musical entity.

He carries himself with the ease of a man in power, she notices. Warning bells toll ominously.

"I must say," he begins quietly just as she surfaces from a dip. The thrum of his baritone is thick, lavish, slightly graveled like sand and sea. "I'd only heard rumors about the Queen of Senju Kingdom. They do no true justice."

She smiles simply and politely at the compliment, gown brushing against the floor as pairs spread themselves apart and twirl back into the arms of their partners. Drawing her hand up and over his bicep, she trails his shoulder, eyes flickering quickly without notice.

Etched onto his breastpocket is the golden insignia for Wind Country.

"To whom do I owe this pleasure?" she inquires carefully, gaze growing flinty and calculating in light of the observation. There isn't anything threatening about the man necessarily; however, she can't recall sending invitations as far out as Wind, nor to any noblemen capable of using threaded gold.

Well, unless

"Lord Gaara Sabaku of the Suna Kingdom," he introduces, and she freezes in his arms.

A king, she realizes. She is in the presence of a king—that she hadn't invited.

And there's no way he'd be here by chance. All invitations are with strict orders to avoid bringing disallowed parties and plus-ones but for a single, recent exception.

"If not Lady Hyuuga," her mother had said over breakfast a few weeks ago, "then the invitation should be made transferable. She is indeed a queen and we know how unpredictable the demands are of us. If something arises, then her sister or anyone she feels comfortable with sending should be allowed."

She'd nodded because that's perfectly plausible; they rarely—if ever—invite crowns to their kingdom and royalty have enough responsibility as it is. She hadn't realized that there was a possibility that Hinata would potentially send someone else of equal standing, who knows her kingdom just as well as she.

Neji is here and he seems to have brought company.

Gaara re-enters her line of sight and he looks on questioningly, a hint of concern on his handsome features. He picks up on the panic that begins on her brow and speaks but she cannot hear him.

Instead, she zeroes in on the entrance of the ballroom, recognizing a band of people dressed to the nines and bearing golden thread on their clothing. There, indeed, at the forefront of the group is Lord Hyuuga, as regal and beautiful as the day she last saw him. But he's not the problem. They're friends. They're close enough.

It's Lord Uchiha that appears next to him, a ghost of a million 'could-have-been's and 'never-will-be's.


Lord Hyuuga tells himself what he always does—he's over it, it's in the past, she's moved on and he has too—so of course he's hit full-force with the memories of their affair the second he sees her.

And seeing her is putting it lightly. It's more like he experiences her again, bathed in the beauty and sexuality of their history.

The moment his eyes catch hers, everything returns at once. The taste of her skin, slick with salty-sweetness and sweat; the feel of her hair, silken and bundled in his fist. The way the space between their dancing bodies smell of drunken love-making; the way the sheets get thrown off the bed, flesh to flesh, erasing gaps so that nothing exists, not even air.

Annoying and frustrating are the matters of the heart and he'd long forgotten how debilitating they'd been until now.

It isn't fair—he decides—for a man such as he to crumble at the feet of a woman.

Even more, it is almost (almost), shameful how he enjoys falling apart for her, how he likes the way she pins him down, spreads him open to peruse and experience at her own pace and pleasure. For that portion of time in his life—all kinds of passionate, painful, sensual, destructive—he'd clung onto the idea of being at her mercy, at first to douse his own pains, and then to fulfill his own desires. And when that was spent, he would content himself with her simple, platonic company, sipping her favorite teas, smelling her favorite flowers.

He remembers how much he equally hates and loves it.

Something inside swells and simultaneously wilts as he gazes at her. They sit on the comfortable side of friendship while he treads the precarious line between There and Here. Every moment spent looking at her shakes his resolve, wants him to breach that line again and again and again.

Then she turns away. Brought back to reality, Neji remembers with a cold fury who exactly is on his left; pain jabs at him when he sees anguish color his former lover's visage.

He and Sasuke already barely get along and adding Sakura onto the list of reasons increases his ire tenfold. What an asshole this man is.

For all her faces, Sakura's love has always been genuine, pure, a gift that Sasuke practically held in two hands and shattered with only one for a handful of good fucks.

It's infuriating.

He doesn't stay with their party, feeling Lord Uchiha also grow rigid. No doubt he's finally caught sight of his ex-wife.

Neji stalks through the crowd, slicing between the waltzers coming to a stop.

His chest inflates when his movements force the Queen's staring to cease, switching her attentions to the man now pacing in her direction.

Panic colors those vivid eyes but before she can flee, he reaches Gaara's side and mumbles her name, soft and short.

She freezes mid-step, half-turned from him.

Neji steps closer, thankful that the waltzers have begun swaying away from the trio of royalty on the ballroom floor. There is fear there on the profile of her face, mixed with uncertainty. Powerful Queen Haruno, reduced back to the woman he witnessed in pain even as he warmed her bed.

He shifts to the right, glad her body language follows him, shielding her from the general populace's prying eyes on the other side of the ballroom. The lord vaguely registers a woman—Shizune?—ushering the party back into celebration, and keen honey eyes piercing across the thicket.

Gaara steps forward, lying a hand on his shoulder and whatever intention is put behind it, Neji takes anyways as a grounding touch. Reminded of his purpose, Lord Hyuuga nods.

"Sakura," he says softly, low to keep it between them, "I'm sorry about this, but can we talk? It's important." His mouth twists. "It's a matter of national security."

"In private," Gaara adds to the side. "We have a problem and we require your help."

"Just a little bit of your time," Neji insists, swallowing, refraining from taking another step. "Please."

"Neji," she mumbles, uncertain. Her lips purse in thought. Warring with herself, she glances at both men before her, then flicks her stare at their joint party.

Then they harden, turning flinty and jaded and Neji knows what she had seen, what she will say.

"I'm sorry. I can't do that for you."

"Sa—" But Neji's urging is sharply cut in half by emerald fire.

"Unfortunately, you arrived at this celebration without forewarning," she begins a little coldly. The telltale clenching of her fists expose the raw anger and hurt in her body at having her past thrown in her face. "Not just one, but four outside crowns stand in this room, on foreign land, with neither warrant nor warning. This can be seen as a threat against my people and I. Please. Leave."

Knights form a barricade between him and her.


Rewritten maybeeee... 06/29/20? I'm rewriting these chapters across multiple days and sobbing because I keep getting sidetracked and distracted. Quarantine is a monster on motivation (among other things).

But that's cool.

Anyways, the usual was corrected: prose, tense, style. Got rid of wordy and gummy sentences and put a little more personality rather than vocabulary. Also added or subtracted scenes to help flow the story better so I'm hoping those changes come through in the end. I felt like I was setting up Sasuke to be hated in the first write of this story which wasn't fair to him. My intention was to make him be the first catalyst in Sakura's character growth, not some cold asshat who cheats for fun.

- burrblefish