Chapter Forty: The New Head
AN: Shide are paper streamers that decorate sacred ropes in Japan. It's done to manifest an object's sacredness.
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Autumn was insistent, wind cold and persistent. Biting into the bodies of Shinobis, it surrounded the ones who went out to patrol Leaf's outskirts. It was a part of their duty. Wants were of little value in the grand scheme of politics; so they obliged, weather-beaten and crestfallen after many forays to keep the barrier intact. It was the source of their survival, their lifeline, the higher-ups always said. Sometimes, it made few wonder: was it really so? Lies—pretty lies; but unneeded words were better hidden in the corners of their feeble minds, for spilling them meant nothing but trouble.
Naruto was no different. He was boisterous, flippant, naïve even, but he was still a good shinobi. To think that he would be famous for being the son of the previous Hokage, but it was a passing daydream. No, he was considered a disgrace, a reminder of a taint his father bore to this day.
If it was not for the Uzumaki blood in his veins, he would have been discarded long ago and left to rot before the whims of fates. How Men were cruel to him—an Uzumaki half-breed. Even his blood was half the worth of the pure-bloods. He was not born that way to exhibit a pure-blood clansman's honour. It was but a wish he forever had in his breast.
His fault was innocent, small: a crime of birth. Fates would have him believe that his mother deserved to suffer and lament in the Blood Pool Hell, not because she killed herself in throes of birth, but because she brought him into this world to ease her burdens.
Naruto's thoughts wandered, like wayward little boys they ran, and he believed her to be a culpable sinner, an abettor in a crime that left his life a yarn of misery. If only they had left him alone, left him free, he could have taken a chance to forge his own destiny; yet the brush to finish the first stroke of his life was snatched away too soon; he was but a sacrificial lamb in their stories, an actor at the mercy of their tales. He hated—that feeling when he cringed at their feet, pleaded before them to grant him a little room to breathe.
Even his wife was cold to him. The times when he tried, she acted as though he disgusted her. She closed herself up, body and mind, when he went near her. It angered him. Her aloofness was unbearable. After that last miscarriage, he vowed to never touch her, never claim her again. When he would become a Jōnin, and she a Chūnin, he would end this sham they called marriage. She would be free, and he, freer than ever!
His mind was clearer now. He could think straight, weave thoughts. Not long ago, even that was an impossibility. Whatever he had suffered from, he managed to beat it. Cure it, he mused. It made him feel a little happy. At least, he managed to cross one hurdle in life. At least, he beat something.
A smile crossed his face as he flashed from tree to tree, with Neji ahead of him. Rain was calmer now, but it was not any less cold. Its droplets were tiny pins on his skin, but he ignored it. He was gaining experience. It was good. He turned his shy gaze slightly, and his smile widened: Sakura was with them today!
He was a boy around her still—shy, unsure, nervous. He even blushed. It would have embarrassed any man of his age, but he did not care. She made him feel happy and free. That was all that mattered. Feeling her presence, his heart leapt; it agreed with his thoughts of her. She was freedom to him, everything Hinata was not.
Neji indicated with the flick of his hand that they needed to proceed to the left. Naruto did that. He gathered more chakra into his legs and made a long leap for a tree about forty feet away. His feet did not falter. They easily found purchase upon the thick branch. He saw a good clearing some twenty feet from him.
He flashed forward, right at Neji's heels, and landed in the clearing. Sakura jumped down just behind him. Her hair was quite wet and stuck to the sides of her face. Few soft strands were meticulously tucked behind her ear. She smiled when he looked at her and his own broadened at the sight of her green eyes and pink cheeks, quite indistinguishable from her hair's hues. She looked so lovely to him.
"We have to make sure the passage is safe for the emissary," Neji said, his Byakugan out to scan the area. For him, the world was awash with black and white, submerged in a colourless ocean; it was always difficult to play hide and seek in his eyes' world. He could see all.
"We've already double-checked the area. Do we have to make the third round?" Naruto asked and put his hands behind his head.
"Yes, Naruto, it is," he said, turning around. "It's Itachi-Sama's orders. Unless you want to get scolded, I suggest we finish this as soon as possible. He wasn't happy when I gave him our search-report late last time."
"He's never happy. That scowl's permanent," he said, wearing a big grin on his pastry-pink face.
"Make few Bunshins and fan out. Send two with me. I want to check the area close to the borders," he said, rubbing his hands together. His breath hung like a ghost before his face. It was so cold. "You two, stay here and make sure the barrier's working fine."
Lightning sparked overhead, and the rain turned heavy. It pelted their faces, but the wind was calm. Naruto stared up and groaned. He made his signature hand-seal and created six annoyed versions of himself. They made terrible faces and emitted sounds of protests, but they went away with Neji.
Sakura took out a scroll from her pocket and spread it over the wet ground. The ink was waterproof, and the raindrops could not soak through the water-repellant surface. Naruto looked down and made a few hand-seals. It materialised the barrier. It was a gauzy thing: big and round. It stood motionless before them like a stretched out, flimsy curtain. Light slithered off it and rain fell through to the ground. It was a strange-looking thing that simply sounded off an alarm in the Headquarters.
Naruto moved his hand to touch it, but it went straight through. The thing was ghostly. He felt nothing on his skin other than a tingling sensation. He guessed that it was due to the hand-seals they made. Sakura gathered chakra on the fingertips and poked at it and created ripples that went far and wide.
"Looks fine here," she said and gazed up towards the sky. Clouds were breaking apart above them. The rain would stop soon.
"Itachi's really offered you a place in Anbu?" Naruto suddenly asked, and her face smoothed out like the sudden shock left her with nothing to show.
"Who told you that?" she asked, sounding almost annoyed. Her face knotted with an emotion he could not read, but she quickly turned her face away, pretending to be distracted by the crow cawing up in the tree.
Naruto walked away from her and sat down on a large rain-slicked stone. He put his hand upon his face and wiped away the raindrops from his cheeks.
"The whole squad's talking 'bout it," he said, shrugging, his eyes upon the waves of pink fallen loosely around her face and broad forehead: it was something she was ashamed of to this day. She combed her hair in so many ways to hide it, but she never quite managed to conceal it completely.
She turned around, hands on her hips, mouth contorted with something of a scowl. "Serizawa-San's busy with advanced training, so Itachi-Sama offered me a place as a replacement. It's a contract-based job. I'd have to perform some of his duties as a replacement. It doesn't make me an Anbu," she said and huffed out a deep sigh, and her cheeks grew redder. "I've got to say, the team talks a lot. Sasuke probably ratted it out."
"I doubt it. I haven't seen him in weeks. Besides, he's not the gossiping type. You know that," he said and palmed rainwater into his mouth. He drank it and emitted a satisfied sound. "You sure hate him these days. I don't know what's going on between you two, but you've got to work it out. We're not children anymore."
"I don't hate him!" she burst out loudly in anger and fell silent, realising that it came out louder than she had expected. Her eyes flit from tree to tree on her right in nervousness, and her heart began to trip and writhe when she thought of him, his face, his body. Damn him—damn him—she so wanted to wish ill upon him!
Even if she had lain with Itachi, it was impossible to satisfy her lust completely. It stayed and fed upon her like a leech with a draw so hungry as it soldered itself to her body, not in a mood to leave her be. Slowly and torturously, it sucked her dry and left her helpless. The heat from his body was drugging. She had not even touched him in a way she wanted, and still . . . and still she was at his mercy.
How she longed for him to be at hers, bound to her and her iron-will, shackled to her body and spirit, so that she would have her way with him again and again . . . and again, and leave him without a mercy, without a ground to stand on. Then he would come to know how it truly felt; how it felt to be rejected and unwanted and still continue feeling the aches; how it felt to taste rejections and be shamed at another's whims.
He was cruel to her. What would he lose if he answered her plea when the hunger for him turned ugly? Nothing, but he enjoyed her weakness. It was a game he loved to play. Sakura felt that she was a broken little toy to him, and he, an unruly and naughty little child. He had bought her but never wanted to play with her. She rotted away under the shadows in the corner of his room, neglected by him, and it hurt so much.
Sakura bent her head, and her face slowly transformed itself to rage. Itachi . . . his tongue was harsh, but what would he know? He knew nothing, nothing of the depths of her want. If he rejected her, then she would make sure that fates would leave him at her mercy; and she was close—so close to seeing him cringe by her feet, with a rope tied round his neck, like an obedient whelp; and it made her lips tremble with a smile. The sudden anger was forgotten against sudden joy.
"A'right, Sakura-Chan. I believe you," he said, grinning. "You don't have to be so angry with me."
"You haven't seen him?" she asked, met his eyes, and pulled a concerned look.
Naruto shook his head and picked up a wet stone from the ground. He tossed it at the tree in front and let out a loud sigh. "Itachi's probably keeping him busy. He sends him on a lot of missions. He's the Squad Captain of our good ol' Espionage Team, after all. I'm not surprised—he always over-works him like he's some kid o' mule," he said, his face a little expressionless as he stared at his feet.
Lightning flashed and thunder barked in the distance again. Wind suddenly rushed at her naked legs and they shivered. She was wearing the same black shorts today; they barely covered the swells of her thighs. She was regretting her decision now. Small droplets moved down the bare skin, and the sensation they produced made her feel colder. She wanted this mission to end . . .
Naruto's head was bent, and he was quiet now. He sighed a few times and looked up at her, his face sad and innocent. "Sakura-Chan, I was thinking," he paused to let out another loud sigh as if he was preparing himself for something, "I should end the marriage and move in with you."
Sakura's eyes widened in shock. Her mouth appeared pinker than her hair, as if roughened from the wild boy's kisses she wanted, and she forgot to breathe for a moment or two. Her heart almost like thunder in the sky when she met his gaze. He was smiling—it was a carefree smile. He was the same naïve Naruto she knew since her Chūnin days. It made her feel like a monster. She did not want to do this to him, but she had little choice in the matter. It was for his own good—hers, too.
"Naruto, it's so soon," she said and watched his lips lengthen in the saddest smile. She really hated herself at this moment.
"You always say that," he said, and his mouth twisted down into a frown. He looked a little sad, a little angry. Then his mouth rebounded into a half-smile again.
"Naruto," she whispered and approached him. His head was hanging down a bit to the left, and he sniffed loudly and moved his hand across his cheeks. He was weeping.
She put her hands on his head, her fingers threading into the thickness of his sun-like hair. He leant forward and burrowed into her stomach with his head, and his arms reached up to curl about her hips. "Sakura-Chan, you . . . you don't love me?" he asked weakly. He was still silently weeping.
"Naruto," she breathed out, her eyes misting over, "of course I do. Why would you even ask me that?" She stroked him gently and fixed him with lying eyes as he strained his neck to look up.
"Then why don't you?" he asked and there was desperation on his face. He seemed beaten, tired. He looked the same as she, forever pining.
She cupped his cheek and wiped away his tears. His whites were pink with grief and the blues made him look like a love-sick boy. "Do you think it's wise to break off your marriage now? You don't have a Jōnin rank yet. You need it to stand on your own two feet. If you do this now, who knows what your parents would do. It'll only complicate things. I don't want that for you."
He was silent for a few fleeting moments, meeting her green eyes with a hot intensity in his. "This isn't fair to Hinata, either. She doesn't want me and I don't want her. I want her to be free, too. The sooner this ends, the better," he said roughly and pressed his cheek against her stomach again. Her clothes were soaking wet, but he did not mind. He loved her. They were not going part them—he would not let them.
Sakura skittered her hand through his hair and whiffed at the smells of Leaf's earth, her mind lost in thoughts. She needed him. She was selfish, but she needed him to play his part. "Wait it out. It's too soon. You've got nothing to help you fall back on your own feet. It'll ruin you," she said in a softer voice. It was barely audible against the wind and its whispers.
"No, you don't understand," Naruto said harshly, pulling away as he slapped his hand against his breast. "I don't want her to see me as a bad man in this any longer when her father ruined my life. He wanted this more than my parents did. Who knows what possessed him to pressure my father like this, but he gave in. I never wanted her. I never . . . wanted her . . . " He lowered his head again, his face knotted in anxiety and anger. She did not know what to say.
Sakura sat down and placed her hands on his knees. She wore a warm, caring smile now. She was a liar, but it had to be done. "Be patient for a little while longer. Let Sasuke get back. I'm sure he'll help you out—he always does," she said and raised herself up to sit on his thigh. She pulled his head to her breast, and he loosened and relaxed in her tight embrace.
Naruto nodded in response, putting his hands behind her back. It did not matter to him; as long as he could have her, he would face them all. The thought gave him strength, and he closed his eyes and listened to the gentle sounds of rain and thumps of her young heart. It was soothing somehow . . .
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Bare legs, with a pair of underwear around the right ankle, were parted wide. He drove into her with all the strength his small body allowed him. He was still little and young. His hands roamed over the tiny swells that would develop into breasts in later years—when she would attain that womanly shape. She was so young, too—so tight and warm. It did not seem right to claim her body. She was a child still.
For now, it did not matter. She was warm, slick, taut. The way she sucked him in . . . he was surprised that he was the only one she had had intercourse with. With hands pressed over her lips, she suppressed her mewling. He had taken her on the library floor this time, her small, child-like legs raised in the air as his thrusts propelled her forward.
Her tight buns had come loose, her hair a tangled calamity. Her moan was sweet and soft, her blush deep, her bosom slick and wet; he had only opened the front of her kimono to take a peek again—a boy's curiosity. The small nipples were hard as pebbles on the swells. He could not say he found her all that enticing to look upon. She lacked the curves of a woman; her cheeks, too plump and her fingers too small. He would not even call her a girl. A mere child she was.
Yet still it did not matter for he took her as he enjoyed the warm, wet walls around his shaft. The way they tightened unbearably was so amazing. It was unlike any other feeling. The pleasure relished by his small body and mind numbed him when the act was done. He lusted to be surrounded by her heat whenever he felt anxiety and grief take hold of him. He wanted to be rid of them; and this was the only way—this was the only medicine.
The hot friction, the torrid feel of her walls, the exquisite wetness her tiny body could give—it was wonderful. It all started with a simple request. She heard of the act and asked him to do it with her. She was an Uchiha girl like he was an Uchiha boy. They called her Mayu, and she came often to the main-house with her parents.
He was a virgin no longer: he had lost his innocence to Karin over a small game when he turned twelve. Karin's budding body looked beautiful to him. She was almost a woman; an adolescent girl of one and six, she had developed delicate curves. The flare of her back and hips was new to him. Her buttocks, round and soft, and her small breasts spilt into his hands so perfectly. He was very curious to see this girl's body, but when he tore down her kimono and underwear, her form disappointed him.
Everything was small on her. Her limbs were weak—they possessed no shape. Her genitals were too soft, not a hair on her lips. It left little to the imagination. Karin had pretty thick hairs on her vulva, and he remembered pulling at them gently when she asked him to play with her. She had yet to develop a scent of her own, a strong and stirring female odour. He imagined she had just reached sexual maturity. She told him as much that she started bleeding a week after her twelfth birthday.
Perhaps that was the reason why she was so tiny. Her body was tiny; but he only loved that one tiny part of hers. When he took her for the first time, he was glad he had had a little experience. He set her down on the futon, peeled away her little kimono, together with the colourful underwear, to look down at her underdeveloped body . . . curiously. There was nothing to play with there. Her softness was that of a babe's, and her genitals were too pink, puffy, and clean.
She started weeping when he drove past the thin barrier. She had one that covered her entire entrance save for some tiny holes that allowed her to menstruate. Dear Sage, how she had bled. Many dolls sat on the futon with them and surrounded them. They stared, with eyes empty, and he felt as though they were watching him soil her body.
With her, he was gentle and kept himself above her, hands on either side of her red face. Loudly, she breathed in and out and muttered something that it was supposed to hurt for girls like her. He was not an expert in female affairs, so he nodded innocently as though he understood her cryptic statement, a little horrified by the red stain beneath her buttocks and a big red one where they connected. If he was honest with himself now, he really did not care back then. She wanted sex and he did, too; so she would sneak out of her room at night, with a doll held tightly in her one hand, and she would meet him by that old well, giddy and happy.
He asked her often about the doll with ugly-looking stringy hair and big round eyes, and she would simply laugh and tell him that it made her feel safe. He always felt a little disgusted with himself when she reminded him that how child-like she was. They had fun almost every night, but how shameful that he ended up in a prison-cell after her lies, humiliated before the Elders—even his brother did not shield him.
He sat in a prison-cell now, too, which had only one window and one door; and his brother stood beyond the wooden bars in the door. Itachi was looking at him, but he did not look back. Everything reminded him of the shame he felt that day when Itachi abandoned him to be judged and left alone in a prison-cell.
Sasuke took in a lungful of air. It felt good to breathe now. His eyes were downcast as he looked at his pet bird: Kirin was eating pieces of meat from his plate; he had left some to feed it. It was happy as it moved around on his legs and hands, bringing a smile to his face.
He could not move his arm properly. It was still healing, and the pain made him hate his brother even more. He did not know what Itachi felt whilst he stood behind the door, looking at him and his smile; but he had no desire to read Itachi's mind. He wanted him gone.
The bars, this prison-cell . . . it made Itachi remember that day. It was a strange day like this. It was drizzling and evening was nearly upon them all when Mayu's father, Morinaga, came to his house. Her hand was in his tight grip, and she was weeping. Morinaga was red in the face, veins bulging out in his neck and temples, eyes bloodshot. He looked a bit mad. His accusation was madder . . .
"That is a big accusation," Itachi spoke, maintaining calm. "My brother would never do something like this."
"Am I lying? Is my daughter lying?" he shouted in the garden, jerking Mayu by the arm as she rubbed at her swollen eyes, with her tiny knuckle.
"He is just a boy," he spoke in a thick voice, his anger rising. "You expect me to believe that he subdued her, dragged her off somewhere, and had his way with her? Surely, you cannot believe this. It sounds outrageous."
Morinaga looked livid. He let go of his daughter's trembling hand and put his hands to his cheeks; his mouth was half-open as if he was outraged. "Your brother's a prodigy—a powerful shinobi. We all saw how he defeated a grown man in the Chūnin examinations. He's no ordinary boy. My daughter's only twelve. She's an innocent little girl. She's not a shinobi. How hard would it be for him to do that to her? Dear Sage, I've been disgraced. Your brother has shamed my daughter at a tender age. Look at her," he said, his voice grating, and pointed to his daughter.
Mayu hid her red face in her hands, her whole body trembling like a lush summer's leaf in the wind. Itachi looked at her for a moment, and then fixed the angry man with an indifferent gaze.
"Her tears do not mean that she is honest. She is a child. Children misbehave. They also lie. Have you thought of it that, perhaps, she consented and then wanted to hide her disobedience behind a lie?" he asked, his voice flat and cold. Tears never moved him.
Morinaga clenched his jaws together, his red-less eyes bulging. "My daughter would never do such a thing. It's your brother. He already has a Mangekyō. Sage knows what he did to her," he said so loudly that his voice trembled and rubbed his hands vigorously together.
"That is enough," Itachi spoke and his face turned cynical and guarded. "How can you pin him with a sordid crime? Your accusation is unthinkable. My brother would never do something so disgraceful. Your daughter wept and you believed her? She is a mere child and children always lie when they are caught. Is that not true, Mayu?" He turned his face to her, his expression a ghostly visage of emotions.
Mayu removed her hands from her face, breath still hitching in her breast; she hiccupped a few times, and her eyes tried hard to flee his red. Suddenly, Morinaga stepped before her to shield her from his eyes.
"Are you trying to cast a Genjutsu on her?" he asked with a shout, spit flying from his mouth.
"No, I am going to read her mind. Let us see what she has to say," he spoke and brought the sharp glare of his eyes upon him. He saw the man flinch, but he was stubborn still.
"I won't allow you to rewrite her mind. You have a Mangekyō, too, and you like your tricks. I know what that boy means to you. You could kill my daughter to shield him. I won't let you do it," he snarled and clasped his daughter to himself. She was so small that she barely came up to his stomach.
"Morinaga," he spoke in a low threatening voice this time, "you are crossing a line. I will not abide this behavior—and in my house? Get out of my sight and take your daughter away to the Elders' House. I will come by in the evening with my brother. I am done speaking to you."
Morinaga mumbled in anger and dragged his weeping daughter away. They disappeared behind the large stone, girded by a sacred rope, decorated with shide. The chilling breeze moved the boughs and blew the dry leaves away. He was only momentarily distracted when a sound from behind made him turn: Sasuke stood in the door. He had come back home from his evening training with Serizawa.
"Nii-San, why are you standing outside?" he asked in a small voice and looked around. The garden was empty and dry leaves moved in spirals across the ground. He smiled and approached him and stopped in his shadow. There was a shy blush on his face as he looked up to his brother's sober face.
When Itachi did not smile back, his smile faltered and his face turned nervous. His brother always received him with a smile in the evening. It was strange for him to be so cold to him.
"What's wrong, Nii-San? Are you angry with me? What did I do?" he asked and grabbed his hand in his.
Itachi pulled in a long and deep breath and spoke: "Sasuke, were you intimate with a young girl? Mayu, was it?"
Sasuke's eyes widened, and he averted Itachi's gaze immediately and pulled his hand back. He looked nervous. Then his expression changed, and he frowned and looked back up. "Who told you that? I told her to keep it a secret. Girls—they always lie!" he said in anger, and his mouth twisted in a scowl.
Shock crossed Itachi's face. He was not expecting this. "You are still a young boy, and already you are sexually active? You are too young. Do you have any idea of what you are doing?" he asked, his face enveloped by shock.
"So what? It's only sex," he shot back, stubborn, his fingers clenching into fists. "What's the big deal?"
Itachi sat down on one knee and grabbed him by the wrists. "It is a big deal for a boy of twelve. What if she conceives? Have you thought of that? What will you do if that happens?" he asked and watched as the features delicately changed on Sasuke's sweet face.
"Someone told me that you were active when you were thirteen. Then why can't I do it?" he protested, his eyes big and hard.
"What is this, a competition? You want to best me in everything no matter how terrible it is? Is that how you want to live your life, imitating my every action no matter where it hurls you?" he asked, looking at Sasuke and the flash of innocent confusion coming over his face. "Not everything I do is good. You should be aware of that."
"But you're perfect, Nii-San. You're the best. I want to be like you!" he said with honesty, the corners of his lips curling up in a slow and warm smile.
Anger faded from Itachi's face, and he smiled and brushed Sasuke's rough hair from his forehead. He would reason with Sasuke. He was too young to understand these things. He brushed away the dirt from his high-collar, too. "Change your clothes. We have to be at the Elders' house in the evening," he said and stood up.
"Why?" he asked and stared up as his brother's face that hardened again.
Itachi considered him for a moment, but he did not say anything. Looking back now, he had made a terrible mistake—a very terrible one . . .
When evening came, they went to the Meeting Hall in the Elders' House. It was a dark room, barely illuminated by lanterns. Shadows festered thick and tall all about, and silence permeated the space like something ominous. Even the girl's cries were muffled and weak.
"She's lying. I did no such thing!" Sasuke shouted and sprang to his feet, face working into a reflex of cold fury, fists shaking.
"He—he—" Mayu cried and hid behind her father.
"Shut up, you dirty little wench!" he snarled, his face set, and his jaw twisted. "I'll break your bones. You better tell the truth."
"Sasuke, cool your anger. You can speak without this crass language. Do not shame me in front of the Elders," Itachi spoke and grabbed him by the wrist. He tried to pull him back down but he would not budge.
"But, Nii-San, she's lying. She asked me to have sex with her every night. And now look at her—acting like she's so innocent," he said whilst his face continued to work with anger.
Itachi parted his mouth to speak, but one of the Elders Nomura forestalled him: "I will read her mind. Children should be taught well to obey and recognise restrictions. Itachi, you have been lax with this child. This is not the way to bring up young Uchiha boys who will bear the torch of the clan," he spoke slowly and gestured with his hand for Mayu to come to him.
Itachi let go of Sasuke's hand and bowed. "I apologise. It will not happen again," he spoke with sincerity.
"It will not," he spoke and gently grasped Mayu by the shoulders. She was still shivering.
"What are you suggesting?" he asked and lifted his questioning eyes to him. His fingers contracted and formed fists on his thighs.
"If her accusation turns out right, he will be put in a prison-cell for three years and disciplined. You are from the Head House. You know better than anyone else," he spoke calmly and gestured the girl to sit down before him.
"You cannot expect a thing like this from me," he spoke, his voice graver than the air in a graveyard, his eyes moving to the right to look at his grandmother's heavily wrinkled face. She was staring down at the rough hands in her lap, distraught. Her frown was deeper than usual; her thin mouth, twisted down.
"Itachi, you know the laws," Nomura spoke and clasped his hands together, his Mangekyō out. It had a strange spoke-like pattern to it. It whirled in his eyes like his, and his own resonated. Suddenly, as if a hot wave ran through the room, the occupants had their Sharingans pulsing together with almost everyone else's. Several pairs of red eyes glowed in the dark, trying to keep the darkness at bay.
"I know them by heart. They speak of two months for a boy so young, and it is not up to you to discipline him. If he has made a mistake, it can be over-looked in the light of his age," Itachi spoke slowly, danger radiant about him.
"Stay calm, young Itachi. We are only deliberating," another elder spoke from the left. The darkness gave him a subtle cover, his voice weak and rough from age—years had taken a toll on his body and tongue.
"I am calm," he spoke whilst Shurikens spun with severe precision in his eyes. Sasuke's anger had vanished; he was afraid now. Sasuke's hand was clamped on Itachi's shoulder, and he could feel his fingers trembling through the thick material of his Anbu shirt.
Nomura cleared his throat and blinked. "You are the Head's son and are to take his place. The rules are strict if the Head family falters. It is only—"
"I am not a Head, and I have not given my consent on this matter. My father is also dead. It is nothing but an empty title now," he spoke calmly. "You should read her mind. I have more pressing issues to attend rather than watch her weep and brew up a storm."
Nomura considered him for a moment and smiled. He stayed silent and looked into the girl's eyes. It did not take long for him to break apart her thoughts and read it all. After a second, he blinked and met Itachi's un-answering eyes, which did not delight Itachi—never did. "She is speaking the truth," he spoke and gasps went like spears into the room. The silence broke, and all Itachi could hear were murmurs. The shame was unbearable. Sweat broke out on his face, and the character of his features showed nothing but pure shock.
He got to his feet and looked down to Sasuke whose eyes were wide-open, and he was shaking. "H-He's lying, Nii-San. I didn't do it. I swear it, Nii-San—I didn't do it. I'm telling the truth," he pleaded, his eyes wide with denial.
Itachi's face was hard and frigid, but he did not say anything. He grabbed Sasuke by the arm and dragged him harshly out of the room and left the sharp bites of voices behind. Sasuke kept pleading in a shaky voice, but he did not listen. He did not say a word and dragged him all the way to the empty prison-cell.
"Open it," he spoke without gentleness and the guard obliged. He fumbled with the keys and opened the heavy padlocks on the door.
"Nii-San, I swear it, I didn't do it!" he said again, and his voice cracked with fear. He was on the verge of tears now, looking from his hard face to the darkness at the back of the empty cell.
The guard opened the door, and Itachi pushed Sasuke in. He staggered forward but quickly regained his balance as the door was closed behind him. He spun around and mashed himself against the wooden door, his fingers knotted around the bars as firmly as that of a man's.
"Nii-San, please, I didn't do it. Don't do this, Nii-San—" He stretched his arm out of the bars, his hand reaching out to him.
"How could you do this? You have shamed me. Is that how you return my love? You have no idea of what you have done. I will never be able to wash this taint clean from my reputation. Is this what you desired, tell me?" he asked through clenched teeth, watching Sasuke's young face work with something other than sadness: it was anger . . . disappointment.
The anger was so immediate that Sasuke felt a lump come up to his throat. The fleeting sting of tears in his eyes was forgotten. They never travelled to his cheeks, and his face trembled. "You're all the same," he hissed and pulled his hands back in. "If you don't believe me, then go away. I don't need you." He slinked back into the darkness, and Itachi did not know what to say.
He could see Sasuke no more; he had retreated into the arms of darkness. Even the glow of his red eyes vanished. He stood there for several moments, his Sharingan gone. It was as though it could not bear what he felt. He slowly turned around and left. His heart was in distress that he did not know what to do . . .
When night fell, it brought with itself a burden that made it impossible for him to close his eyes and rest for even a moment. Three years . . . he would not be able to see him, his own brother and his only family, for three years? It was a long time. What did they expect from him? Was it a test? Itachi sat in his office chair, his eyes open. He had not been able to do any office work. His mind was a chaotic mess.
Had Sasuke eaten anything? Was he hungry? His face flashed before his eyes over and over again. There was innocence on his face and sadness in his voice; but what he had done . . . it was forgivable? He could not find the answer; yet an emotion, which always existed, crossed his heart's barrier and came over him, and he began to weave his own reasons: Love was beyond morals; it was beyond its shores, and he was a traveller, lost amidst its obsessions for as long as he could remember. Its waves rose into choppy combers, and the rush of briny wind was soothing.
When Sasuke had opened his eyes for the first time to gaze upon him and the world, he knew he had to be the one protect him. Love him. Guide him. He was his child—always had been. Love was blind and his was blinder still. He did not want any reason lighting its dark corridors. It was meant to be bereft of reason.
Reason polluted love. They were never meant to be together. Love was only love if it was without reason, without condition. If such chains were attached to its flesh, it was no longer love; it was pretend-play; it was a lie, and he was no liar who prayed by love's feet, enticed by its heart's beat!
Itachi rose up—his mind made. Sasuke was a young boy; he reasoned with himself. He had made a mistake. He would learn; he was a mere child still. With this reason in mind, he left the office and started walking to the prison-cell. He was going to get him out and take him home. He would punish him, but he would not leave him to rot alone in a cell. As a boy so young, he did not deserve it. If he did not protect him, who would?
He drew up short of the girl, Mayu, who sat alone on the well outside the Elders' manor. Her father was still inside. Her small feet were hanging above the ground, and she was speaking to a doll in her hand. He approached her, his Sharingan out. The crunch of the dry leaves under his sandals made her look up. The smile faded from her lips, and a look of terror passed over her face. She hopped off the well and made to dash inside when Itachi grabbed her by the arm.
"You little liar," he spoke disdainfully and knelt down, her tiny arms in his tight grasp, his voice cold and his face angry.
A scream swelled in her throat, but she did not get a chance to let it out. He saw the whole thing. His Genjutsu was so powerful that her eyes rolled back into her head, and when he let go of her, she collapsed to the ground and frothed at the mouth. The back of her head hit against the stones and a little red sprinkled the pebbles, but he did not care. Had he used his Mangekyō, it would have snuffed her tiny life out in less than a heartbeat.
"You almost passed the trial, Itachi, but the boy means so much to your heart," the voice spoke from behind, and Itachi stood up and turned around.
"You lied. Why would you do this?" Itachi asked, his face touched by raw anger, and he was barely able to contain it.
The wind was cold, but his heart was colder still. He was furious. The feeling shuddered through him that he felt the air on his body so clearly. It was like ice on fire. Blood pounded in his ears, and his heart took to thundering. The anger spread out in his veins that its powerful surge was difficult to suppress.
"Her neighbour saw them in the library. She told her father. He would have beaten her with a wooden stick they keep in the garden. She was afraid. She lied. Children lie," Nomura spoke and tilted his head to look down at the girl convulsing on the ground; her ordeal had still not passed—Itachi had been ruthless. "I wanted to see if you would value laws over your brother.
"You have always put them above Clan and family, but Sasuke makes you falter so much. Your love for the boy is truly admirable. It surprises me that you were willing to rewrite her memory just now to save him. I did not think a merciless man such as you had a softer heart for the boy—you have disappointed and shocked me a little," he spoke and smiled a little to soften the look of disappointment in his face.
"He is a child," he spoke in anger's cold clasp, his hot eyes, like sharp Shurikens, pinning the other man in place. "You have filled his heart with distrust. You have poisoned it against me. Why would you do this? Your methods are unpleasant, and you are an unpleasant man."
Nomura's smile lessened without disappearing. He looked slightly taken aback. "Perhaps I should not have done this, but you are unfit to take over the seat as a Head. You speak of distrust, Itachi, but you never did anything for your own slain family. It was the repute of the village that made you bury it deep into the ground and forget. The boy has suffered much at your hands. How many times have you filled his head with illusions—pretty and ugly ones? He hardly speaks of them anymore when he used to weep so much not long ago," he spoke, his calm returning, his long robes flowing in the wind that he looked as if he was floating on water.
Mist rose between them and wind stopped. It was quiet all of a sudden, and when Itachi breathed out, he could hear no sound but his own. "Is it about the seat? If you desire it so much, all you had to do was ask. I would have satisfied your curiosity and greed," he spoke, holding his malice-touched gaze.
Nomura emitted a soft, low laugh. "No, this was never about the seat. I have never considered you apt for the position. You are too . . . cold, too cruel, too invested in Leaf rather than your own people. You did not even listen to your own brother. It was his absence that affected your heart. If he is not absent, I doubt you think of him so much or value his worries. Is that not so?" he asked and kept his voice free of amusement this time.
"You think you know me, for you knew my father? We are not the same," Itachi spoke with a thoughtful smile and turned around to walk away when his words stopped him again.
"No, you are not the same as he. I wish you were, but it is not hard to know you," Nomura paused to breathe in the air about him, "I know you do not hold your own clan in a high regard before Leaf, but you do not even think too highly of it before your brother. How selfish and strange is your wavering mind? You thrash back and forth between the two like a fish. You should choose one and cling to it. This flip-flopping will only get your brother killed."
Nomura started walking, but he stopped to add: "your father was a King amongst men. You do not even have his shadow—as common as a leaf." Then he walked away, and his words wafted softly to Itachi upon the wind, and he heard them loud and clear.
Itachi chose to keep his words to himself and left for the cell. It was dark when he climbed down the stairs. The flames in the lanterns were guttering. They needed more oil to burn. He could not see anything at the back of the cell. The guard opened it at his command, and he stepped inside; a thick wall of shadow stood before him.
He did not want to take out his Sharingan, so he peered at the back and found his brother sitting in the corner. His knees were drawn to his breast, and he had his arms curled about them. His head was resting on his knees. A tray was set by his feet. The food had gone cold; he had not touched it.
"Sasuke, I have come to take you home," he spoke softly and sat down beside him. He moved his hand and stroked his dishevelled hair.
"Go away. I don't want to talk to you. Leave me alone," he said, his voice choked back and strained, his lips shuddering.
"Do not forgive me if you do not want to, but come with me. You can stay with Obā-San. I will not stop you," he spoke and grasped him by the arm.
Sasuke snatched his arm away roughly and raised his head. His face was red, fresh anger glowing on his cheeks. He rose up and rushed out of the prison-cell without him. He sat there alone in silence for a few minutes, his eyes searching for something aimlessly in the dark. At last, he got to his feet and made his way home.
The wind was harsher now, and it hissed in his ears. It was a liar like he, like Nomura . . . like everyone else; but his brother was pure. His thoughts flit from memory to memory. His mind did not linger on anything long enough to relive the moments again. By the time he reached home, Sasuke had already left for their grandmother's house. He did not speak to him for months. His anger was always difficult to thaw. It was not till he gifted him Kirin that he came around . . .
Itachi was still looking at Sasuke, his mind caught up in memories and their delightful web that no man was safe from, when Serizawa's voice broke his thoughts. "Itachi-Sama, your grandmother is here. She says she wants to meet with you," he said and watched Itachi's expression subtly change.
"Close this portal," Itachi commanded and left the underground prison. It was raining in the garden and the ground was soggy. When he opened the front door of the manor, he found his grandmother standing with her back to the door. She was poking at the Uchiha symbol in front of her.
"Obā-San, you could have asked for me. You did not have to come all the way here," he spoke and closed the door.
The old woman turned around, and her heavily lined face gathered itself into a pleasant smile. She was a small woman with a great stoop to her back. Her family had named her Rao when she was born. "I wanted to see you, Itachi. It has been so long," she spoke in a voice weakened by age and time. She held out her trembling hand, and Itachi took off his sandals. He stepped onto the manor's floor and took her hand in his—hers shivered in his grasp.
"Let me take you to your room," he spoke and placed a firm hand on her back. He led her slowly to her room. She did not live with them: she had her own house behind the large sacred stone; but whenever she visited, she stayed in the room that was kept clean for her.
Rao took slow careful steps. Her body was fragile. She suffered from cold last year. They did not think she would survive, but she was strong. She had seen the deaths of her husband and all her sons and lived through them. There was nothing more Kami could have taken from her—nothing more than Itachi, perhaps?
Slowly, she sat down upon the futon and adjusted her kimono. Her small eyes glinted on her face as she smiled. "Come here. Sit," she spoke lovingly and slapped her hand once on the wooden floor.
"I will ask the servant to prepare tea for you. I have to leave. There is a lot of pending office work. If I do not go—"
"Anbu will not stop working if you stay with me here today. I have asked Serizawa to take your application to Tsunade. Come here. Put that sword away. Let me take a good look at you. I have not seen you in weeks," she spoke in a way, anguished, that it disturbed that little smile on her aged face.
Itachi unbuckled the sheath and put it on the heavy set of drawers standing next to him. He took three steps and sat down in front of her, his legs folded underneath his thighs. Her trembling hands reached out and touched his face. She leant forward and pressed her lips to his brow, and she held the kiss long, breathing in the smell of his skin and hair.
"You are such a beautiful boy," Rao spoke and passed her rough hand across his cheeks. "You look just like Mafuyu. Even your nose is the same." She emitted a soft laugh.
Itachi smiled a little. He knew that his grandmother doted on him. Often, she told him how he reminded her of her oldest son, Mafuyu: he perished in the First Great Ninja War; and he was so young, too, only twenty-two. If he had lived, he would have been thirty years Fugaku's senior. She loved him more than all her sons. She could not bear the grief his death brought her, and it drove her mad. She used to run out of the house at night to dig him up from the grave. They locked her up in those days, and it took years for her to regain her sanity. Fugaku was the youngest to meet his end. She had come to accept the deaths of her children . . .
When Itachi was born, she told her youngest one that Mafuyu had come back to her. It was only love, but she secretly believed it to be true, for he truly looked like him; so she loved him will all her heart. She would carry him around in her house and tell him stories she told Mafuyu. He was a brilliant child. He used to stare at her wide-eyed and listen to the old folktales as though he enjoyed them, understood them. He never cried for milk. He would part his lips a little when he got thirsty, and she would call upon Mikoto to feed him. He was a quiet little babe.
He gummed away on her soft nipple. He never bit her when he grew tiny teeth in his mouth. Sasuke did that often. He was feisty even when he was young, but he never wept and complained when he was in Itachi arms.
"You did not come here just to see me, Obā-San. You send in missives to show your displeasure," he spoke, smiling.
"You clever child," she spoke and pinched his cheek. "I came here to speak to you of the coming ceremony. Missives have been coming to my house. You never respond. You have not changed your mind, have you?" She pressed her quivering knuckle to her lips and coughed into it. It was difficult for her to talk so much. She was out of breath now.
Itachi exhaled and looked down, his fingers clenching on his thighs. "I have not decided yet," he spoke honestly and listened to her draw breaths loudly.
"Child, there is no one better than you for the position. The Elders feel the same. I know you have never forgiven Nomura, but he resigned. No one would ever test you in that manner. I give you my word," she managed with great difficulty, her tiny hand stroking his hair.
"I cannot ignore Sasuke for the position," he spoke and lifted his eyes to look into her black ones that had long since lost youth's glimmers.
"Heart is a difficult place, is it not?" she asked, and he suddenly looked a little curious in his own way. "I do not have enough space inside it beyond you . . . and Mafuyu. And you do not want Sasuke to leave its chambers, but we have to live our lives, do we not? We have to make compromises. You can still lead this Clan and love Sasuke. Care for him. Protect him. But the people need someone to guide them. You have denied this position for so long. I want you to take it—if not for the Clan, then for me, for Sasuke."
Itachi was silent, his eyes downcast, the character of his features affected by mild confusion. She kept looking at him and tucked his hair behind the right ear as if he was a wee boy.
"What troubles you? Tell me, my darling," she asked and let out a wheezing breath.
"If I take this position, I will be burdened even more. I can barely control Sasuke as it is. I will have to manage Anbu, as well. I cannot do this much, especially not at the cost of his safety. He has grown so disobedient. He does not listen to me anymore. With this position comes a political responsibility. Who will watch over Sasuke? Who will keep him out of trouble? I cannot take this risk. You ask so much of me," he spoke, his voice firm.
Rao regarded him with fond and soft eyes and remained silent for a moment. Then she cupped her chin and spoke, "if you do not take this position, it goes to Sasuke. He has Eternal Mangekyō Sharingan—very rare eyes. He holds a miracle inside—an ability to awaken and re-awaken our most coveted Dōjutsu. We have not seen them in so long. He is so clever, powerful, and does not think highly of Leaf. He loathes it. What do you think he would do once he attains the power of the whole clan?"
Itachi's eyes became stones. "Sasuke is just a boy. He is but a child. This will put him in danger. I will never allow it," he spoke a little harshly, his fingers clenching harder on his thighs.
"Someone has to take the seat. It has been left empty for years. If not you, then another prodigy would do. He is also brilliant. Orochimaru did not request of you to allow Sasuke to become his student without reason. Everyone talked. You allowed it, and he honed his skills more under his care—became more powerful. Many Elders value his loyalty, power, and strength. Sasuke never cared for Leaf. Rumours of treason only fanned his hate. People can use it. Do you really wish that for Sasuke?" she asked with a trembling mouth. The sagging skin around it shuddered with emotion.
"He is rash and he is young . . . and he is so innocent. I do not want this for him. You and the Elders are not being just. Not to me. Not to him. Where is the reason in this? I take the seat and I would not be able to protect him as I do now. If I do not, he takes the seat and gets himself killed over vengeance. I do not win either way—" he stopped before he could say any more. The anger rose and rose in him like wild flames. It touched his face and it changed ever so slightly under its influence.
Rao was looking at him and the mild pink hue in his cheeks. Her rough fingers were pressed to her thin lips; her bright eyes twinkled in the lantern's light. She moved her eyes and looked at the paper-screen in the door. It wore shadows of bonsai trees in the garden. Soft sounds of drizzle broke the silence in the room. It was suddenly filled with fragrances from earth.
She breathed in a lungful of that smell, and a cool wave rushed through her. In her old age, such small things were enough to calm her body and mind. She felt a shiver jolt her for a moment before she pressed her hands together to trap the fleeting sense of warmth her old body could provide. It had long since given up on the heat of youth—her body's un-forgotten memory.
Itachi looked down at the cold hearth beside him. He spat out a little flame, and the hearth was warm again. A trail of smoke rose up from the coals. The rising heat touched her skin and imbued it with warmth. The blood was cold and slow in her veins now. Years did that to people; it was not a new tale.
"I understand your grievances, Itachi, my beautiful darling," she spoke, her eyes wandering over his face, "but it will give you more political power. It will elevate your political status and grant you more power than Leaf's Elders. You do not think it will aid you in any manner?"
"In the past, Hiruzen denied it as the acting Hokage. Minato was no less cold to this proposal. Has Tsunade re-considered to allow us this position of power? It certainly is not in my knowledge," he spoke and met Rao's warm eyes with expressionless ones, his face blank. The light in the hearth broke his face into dull patterns of light and shadow.
"She has," she spoke, "her missive allows you to become the Hokage's right arm. She was most considerate in burying old records. No one knows what happened in the Police Force. It was an unfortunate incident for most, and it will remain that way. The taint of treason does not remain. It was a rumour, but now, it is a story. Soon, it would become a myth. With this power, you can limit Sasuke's power in and out of Clan. Will this sway you?"
Itachi placed his hand upon his eyes. He knew that his threats towards Sakura and Danzō's shady activities against her political reign had a lot to do with her decision than her kind heart. She wanted him on her side to deal with Danzō, and he needed her to bring him down before his brother was caught in his schemes.
He gave a slow nod and sighed. It was no use. It was either him or Sasuke. It was better this way. She coughed into her hands and straightened her bent shoulders and sucked in another whistling breath to speak: "you will have to take a wife, too. No need to rush. There are many lovely girls in the clan who desire you."
"It is a little soon for that," he spoke and looked at her small, deep eyes. Age had honed them in a different manner. They were filled with honest emotions. She was not like he was; she did not know how to hide them as they hovered in and out of her eyes—like soft lights wavering.
Rao bent forward and took his hand in hers. "It is, but we all must compromise from time to time. I have selected Izumi. She is a sweet girl, and she adores you so much. She would make a good, obedient wife."
"Izumi? Sasuke . . . does not like her. He could never stand her mannerisms and exaggerated confessions of love for me in the secret missives. They irritated him. He will never accept her," he spoke with disinterest in this matter of marriage.
"But you?" she asked and pulled his hand up to press kisses to his fingers.
"I do not feel anything particular for her. She is a child who has yet to experience the delights of wisdom. I find her to be strange in nature," he spoke, his voice unchanging.
Rao pressed her hand to her heaving breast and let out a laugh that left her shuddering. "She has kept herself pure for you, yet your heart is so small for anyone else. You can keep her for an heir. You do not even have to marry her, and if she displeases you, you have the right to send her away. Child, get this ceremony matter out of the way. That is all I ask," she spoke and cupped his face in her little hands.
Itachi looked back at her and her warm eyes silently. He still had to ask for Sasuke's vote and approval; and asking him for anything now, especially about the Head Seat and Izumi, meant nothing but trouble . . .
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