A Ballad of Spring and Winter
It does not take any grand gestures, no world-ending battles with extravagant rescues and no romantic confessions under the moon and stars.
It happens as just as naturally as sunflowers bloom, as the birds fly and the rain pours. Like the sun rising in the morning dawn as it showers the earth with its warmth and light, and the wind blows the air through the sky unaware of all that's below, dancing both gently and violently, and beautiful, and free.
One late November night, as she is seating in her large office quietly reading an old tattered scroll, a shadow makes presence before her with a message on her Hokage's behalf. She is requested to lead the efforts in negotiating an economic treaty with a village in the far west on the snow country, a part of the alliance's plan to spread out and welcome more vulnerable communities in their wide net of protection.
Her role as ambassador is an unexpected if not humbling one, she is not ignorant of the significance endeavors like this one hold to the people who live in small and remote environments lacking defenses against bandits and rogue assassins.
She accepts
After all, she is no longer stranger to diplomacy and performing tasks relying on leadership, her responsibilities in providing and taking care of her people slowly drowning the echoes of voices and phantoms that haunt the depths of her mind.
It is to be a long, perilous journey and Naruto informs her he's arranged a protective detail to escort her during her mission.
The blow to her pride is not insignificant yet she's not nearly as arrogant as to put innocent lives in danger believing herself invincible. She has a grave she visits every Saturday at nine thirty in the early mornings as a perpetual reminder.
She bows in understanding and leaves his office to begin preparations.
Her departure is a bittersweet one as she bids farewell to the many members of her family, the compulsion to watch over them and ply for their safety and comfort temporarily rooting her in place before she embraces the young ones and assures them of her safely return.
Her little sister has gotten so big, and mature, and reliable her heart aches with pride and love when she holds her petal-soft face and kisses her forehead before turning around, walking away lest the tears she felt slowly building into her eyes escape free of her control.
She parts from her family estate accompanied by three of her trusted retainers, hard-working, and graceful, and so very Hyuuga that it doesn't feel too much like a good bye.
When they arrive at the gates, their carriage is already placed waiting to depart at her command, the guards Izumo and Kotetsu bowing to her in respect as they bid her farewell.
She does not notice at first, his tall, intimidating figure shrouded by humble robes that seem more fit for a travel through the harsh rays of the sun desert than the blankets of gelid ice and below zero temperatures proper of their current destination.
His name is one she has not heard of in more than nine years, his existence a shallow recollection as if the voids of time had swallowed everything that he was.
For but one single instant, she wonders what his purpose is in being there, doubts of his role as her escort, but then… just as easily she understands. Of course Naruto would entrust her safety and that of her companions to that man, her leader's blinding faith in this silhouette of a fallen star something that would never be disputed.
It is a strange meeting, if only because he is but a perfect stranger, a man whose story has been nothing but wiped out of their walls in its entirety. As far as the world is concerned, he does not exist. Whatever feeling of pity this fact evokes from her is quickly dismissed. There are enough ghosts inside her head.
She approaches and greets her temporary guardian with a solemn bow that her retainers replicate. She is the only one privy to his identity.
He responds with a slight but polite nod in her direction before gesturing for the carriage to begin their journey.
"It will rain by nightfall" he says as he closes the door next to her, his eyes sorted on the pigments of blue in the skies as if he could see something nobody else can.
She does not see him for the rest of the day, not as she stares out of the small room she rented in Tanzaku's inn into the falling rain harshly ahead nor the next morning as they embark to resume their travels.
But he is there, she knows. It is a feeling she cannot quite explain. She cannot feel him, he's too adept at concealing himself, nor can she unveil him with her all-seeing sight. His skills are as sharp as they were, a lifetime ago back in the war.
But he is there. Like a prickling sting in the back of her neck that does not allow her to forget this fact.
It's unnerving, and in a very strange way it is also reassuring.
She finds his figure again when they are first ambushed ninety kilometers away from the village hidden in the leaves, on the second day on the road.
She sees them before she feels them, the blessed eyes of her family lineage and her prowess as a sensory ninja allowing her to detect them well before they actually make contact.
Her mind is calm, almost eerily serene as she continues to monitor them like a sentry, and she isn't sure when this becomes quite so simple. Like the very act of drawing breath. Despite her many years off the active roaster, years she spent leading as the head of her clan, her fingers tingle with barely suppressed energy. The tenketsu of her attackers are in her line of sight as she waits for them to enter her range, a procedure so deeply ingrained into her system it feels like she is not entirely in control.
The killing arts still flow through every pore of her body, yet it is a muddled guilt and something akin to sorrow that hum dully around her heart. Like a spill on the rivers of her tainted spirit caused by time and experience, a wound that invites the whispers to come closer. She frowns, and she breathes.
The carriage stops, and he is there.
standing, waiting, his form tall and straight and so nonchalant she almost wonders if he's aware of anything. But that is a silly thought, because not even she herself saw him arrive.
They come, sharp weapons at the ready, fully intending on inviting massacre, and red, and death and then… they fall.
And it is anti-climactic, because once again her eyes managed to miss it. One moment they had the vehicle surrounded, and then the next they were motionless at his feet.
Often times, when she has to collaborate for missions with the interrogation and torture department, she hears the word monster thrown around by the worst kind of creatures this world has had the disgusting disgrace of spawning, a collection of human waste whose fitting fates should have been to serve as food to the worms beneath. It is spoken with dread, and terror, and repugnance.
And It is a testament of the power the name Naruto Uzumaki exerts on those who would threaten the world he protects.
Their abhorrence for the Hokage aside, she can see it. The might of those who could flatten countries with but a flick of their fingers. Entities not at all entirely human.
Beacons of hope, unreachable to all in this mortal ground, envoys of change and revolution. The ones called monsters.
And perhaps this too, is something only the two of them share together. As she sees him standing there, his figure alone, and stoic, and still before the unconscious murderers, his image casts the perfect contrast to that of the warm inviting individual who leads their people in the leaf.
And so this stranger, this benevolent monster just like one within the center of the sun, becomes unreachable.
Or he should have.
But then he crouches down and lifts one of the attackers with his single arm before placing him gently against the trunk of a tree, and something like curiosity and confusion robs her of her senses.
They are alive. He did not kill them, any of them.
She is not happy, and she is not angry or sad or disappointed. It is inconsequential wether they live or die, they are merely enemy attackers. With their actions they have become criminals against the hidden leaf. She had been ready to kill them to defend those in her care.
And maybe this, this complete control over the lives and deaths of others is something only monsters understand. Because she does not. It is uncomfortable, the visceral knowledge that she had decided to take the life of someone else in a struggle to keep herself and her retainers alive and this man is not tied by those mortal conventions.
She wants to believe it was the arrogance of a giant as it stared down an ant, but his eyes tell a different story.
One of freedom, and peace, and mountains and seas. And she is sure then that his eyes can see farther than hers.
It does not take any grand gestures, no world-ending battles with extravagant rescues and no romantic confessions under the moon and stars.
It happens as just as naturally as sunflowers bloom, as the birds fly and the rain pours.
This stranger becomes an acquaintance, he is a man who does not kill, a blend of man and monster.
She wants to ask, to clear her mind of her confusion. She wants to know the reason why this man who was once regarded as the ultimate ninja weapon behaves like anything but.
Her answer comes in the covers of the night, a small campfire illuminating his face after a meal shared between the travelers. It is now only him watching over them, and her casted away from Morpheus' world.
"I…am tired. Of seeing it I mean, blood"
And she can tell, it is the truth. She understands, the feeling of that viscous liquid spreading on her hands as corpses fall impetuously. Wether her mission is to kill or to heal the seeping red never stops, the voices never quiet. The smell of rust lingers in the air, reminding her, poisoning her, she feels her head ache and her vision distort. That is the life of a ninja.
A life she abandoned years ago. Either out of cowardliness or prudence she threw it all away, simply unable to handle the remnants of death dragging through her skin, suffocating her slowly, painfully until the only thing in her mind is the glint of that kunai knife standing inertly in her weapons pouch, and how easily it would be to just make it stop.
This man, is like her. At least…in that respect
They arrive safely to a place enveloped in vastness of white. Snow falls like delicate petals in the chilling wind. And the citadel, an enormous structure of crystallized ice is so beautiful and magnificent it exceeds any expectation she could have had.
For the time being at least, she grits her teeth and the whispers stop. she follows the guards to meet the feudal lord. There is work to do.
Weeks go by in meetings with officials, discussions and platitudes. It is tedious, and difficult yet distracting enough. She frowns, and she breathes.
They are discussing the merits of opening up transport routes that connect with Suna when loud distant giggles reach her ears.
She turns, her gaze searching past the wide crystal windows of the main palace into the city plaza on the streets below as people go to and fro around the square.
The sun rising from the east illuminates a tall ebony building marked with the word bakery above its long thick window frame. The warmth from within is palpable as streams of thin steam escape the edges of the door. The smell of baked goods invigorating the townsfolk with enticing richness and sweet aromas.
Directly in front of it, a burly stall of trinkets stands as a man in a fur coat invites passersby animately.
The giggles repeat like Christmas bells and her gaze falls on two young girls dancing to their hearts content with what appears to be a little marionette.
They shout in glee and hold hands with the wooden toy but her eyes drift away onto something else.
Just beside them, sitting in the snow-covered steps of a closed for maintenance laundry place, the man she has barely paid attention to since arriving in the village hidden in the snow looks on with with a faint display of joy.
It is but a slight uplifting of the corner of his lips, a barely-there smile, yet all the same, it is an image she has never seen.
The fingers on his right hand move with deft prowess and its like she can see the threads connecting to the little wooden figure without having to call upon her birthright.
The marionette dances overjoyed, spinning and bowing and its like he's bringing to life a little piece of happiness for those little girls to have.
She feels wetness on her cheeks and her fingers lift to find drops of salty liquid descending from her eyes.
She clears her throat and calls the meeting up before standing and turning away to wipe away the evidence of her lapse in emotional control.
Her attendant Takagi approaches concerned but she smiles at him and requests some time to herself. The conference room is wide and exquisitely decorated, the furniture composed of solid crystal with masterful engravings and details carved into them.
Alone, in that room of winter and starlight it almost feels like she could forget, like the chains on her heart and the scars on her mind could drift away, like falling snow.
Her eyes return to the place outside, the girls are waving good bye as they hold the hands of an older couple as they are walking away, to the warm and safe place that is their home.
The man moves his fingers and then the toy waves one final time before it vanishes into the pages of a book. He remains there, seated in the cold, freezing temperatures. And yet…his eyes of night and stars and space are so warm she feels her control falter once again.
"I didn't know you could use the puppet master jutsu"
"A few years ago, during my travels in the land of the wind, I met this orphan boy. His name was Akito Miokotsu. He used to sculpt these little toys every day and gave them away for free. He wanted to become a ninja so he could use puppets to make people laugh. His little brother was killed during the war, a kunai pierced his right lung. He was poor, had no money to feed himself, he was thin and yet he was always smiling. i… wanted to help him. Just make sure he was able to accomplish his dream. I took him to Gaara, bought him some food, took him to the hospital. I thought…"
"He gave me this, before he passed. He said…it was his greatest masterpiece"
…
She cries. Once she's in the privacy of her room. His words repeating as the image of the girls dancing happily overlap with the tale of the little boy. It disconcerts her. The fact that she hurts so much for a boy she has never met, will never meet.
The world they live in is filled with tragedy, she knows that. She knows it so well it sometimes feels like there is nothing else but tragedy. And yet…it hurts. That this world is still so cruel to people who have already suffered so much.
She tries to focus on her work, of balancing the budget for construction projects, the logistics of stationing military presence, meeting with third party officials, discussing trade with the merchants, and fulfilling the role she was given by the village.
But the voices are so loud. She can barely hear what transpires around her. Her head feels like it's being crushed under pressure, her skin burning as if it was set on fire. Breath enters and escapes laboriously out of her lungs and she feels like finally collapsing.
It is midnight when she wakes. Her room dark and empty save for the falling snow across the window.
She feels marginally better and then notices her state of dress. Stripped of her previous clothes and in a robe made of silk but safely tucked under the fur covers of her bed.
It is surprisingly quiet and she opts to lay there, staring at her reflection in the ceiling.
The door to her room opens and her gaze drifts to that man bringing a silver tray that he deposits on a table made of crystal just beside her bed.
She turns away, seeking to escape his observant gaze in such a vulnerable state.
He does not leave. His form sets beside the looming window, endless white flowing like petals drawing his eyes into the darkness.
"You should eat that before going back to bed. You need the energy"
"I'm not hungry"
"You haven't eaten anything the past two days. It's why you collapsed so suddenly. You haven't been taking care of yourself"
"I'm fine"
"You're not doing any favors to your aides by behaving in this way"
"stop"
"At this rate, the mission will have to be extended and you'll take longer getting back to your family"
"I said stop! Just stop it! Please!"
She cannot hold the tears from slipping down her cheeks, everything finally coalescing into this moment of release. The cries and screams of those that fell, those she killed and couldn't save finally breaking past the walls she had built trying to push them away. The unrelenting work no longer allowed her to tune them out of her head.
Her hands sparkled with blood with every blink and any semblance of nourishment produced nausea.
A piece of damp fabric making contact with her neck snaps her out her spell and her eyes connect with a pair of serene obsidian ones. She does not notice his approach, yet the erratic movement of her lungs slow down to normal. The cold feeling of the water wiping away her sweat feels oddly relieving.
"You will be okay"
He says it softly, as if he was taking to himself. But his gaze rests on her. And it is said with such conviction, so sure that what he is saying is the truth, that she has trouble dismissing it as just another empty statement.
"How do you make them go away, the ghosts of your past that drag you to a place of suffering. That drown you with guilt and sorrow until you feel like you are dead yourself"
"You don't. You face them, and smile, and you ask for forgiveness, and then you move. Step by step. Even if you stumble, even if it hurts, you smile anyway. And you say thank you, for being with me, for saving me. That is all we can really do."
"How is it, that you can believe so blindly so certainly that I will be okay?"
"You are alive, just like me. Happiness, and peace, they are just past your fingertips. You only need to try and reach them"
He leaves, only after making sure she's eaten her fill. Somehow it tastes better than what else she has eaten in a long time.
It does not take any grand gestures, no world-ending battles with extravagant rescues and no romantic confessions under the moon and stars.
It happens as just as naturally as sunflowers bloom, as the birds fly and the rain pours.
This acquaintance becomes a friend. He is a man who does not lie. A little rough around the edges but always willing to lend a helping hand, a little more man than monster.
The mission concludes in the next few days, all the details and negotiations handled successfully, another ally to their efforts in the betterment of the world.
The snow is whiter, somehow less cold and her smiles, they are not quite so forced any longer.
Their return trip is a quiet one, the changing weather from snow to blooming flowers bringing warmth and color all around them.
He lays atop the carriage as he would a bed, no longer concealed from her eyes. It makes her smile, how alike a cat he is.
All too soon they have arrived, and she has to go back handling her clan's affairs. There is work to do. She turns around and he is there.
His form tall and straight and so nonchalant she has to wonder if he's aware of anything.
"Will you be departing soon? i want to hear about all the other places you've been to. All the sad, and happy things you've experienced."
"Not for a little while, I have time for one more story. There used to be someone I admired with all my heart, someone greater than the stars and more brilliant than the sun. The story of my big brother…"
It does not take any grand gestures, no world-ending battles with extravagant rescues and no romantic confessions under the moon and stars.
It happens as just as naturally as sunflowers bloom, as the birds fly and the rain pours.
This friend becomes something more. He is a man who learns to laugh, after having struggled for his happiness and peace just like everybody else. A man who loves and that is loved, a ballad of spring and winter.