Wow chapter thirty...wow. Just...wow. Okay, so there are probably five to seven chapters after this so stay tuned after you finish this one! My dearest readers and reviewers I hope you all know that this has also been powered by you, you've given me so much inspiration and routinely have me blushing with your kind words and speculations which are amazing to read. This chapter has a lot of stuff jammed into it, and I hope you enjoy it!
Funfacts! I...I have no idea what needs a funfact in this chapter. The 'peasants floating the dead down the river,' I will admit I'm copping from Twilight Samurai because for a movie reference it seems like it is pretty darn accurate and nifty (again, 12 Japanese Academy Awards, nominated for Best Foreign Film here in the US). Just wanted to have full disclosure about that particular part.
Oh and also I went over this ages ago, but heirs: you could have a son and everything was fine, you could have a daughter and adopt the man she marries as your heir and everything is fine, or you could adopt a married couple as your heirs and everything is sort of fine. There. Have fun with this...No, I mean it! I'm really happy with this chapter as it turned out!
And without further ado,
Enjoy!
"Tenzou, Tenzou! The birds!"
Tenzou drew in a slow, calming breath as he recast his fishing pole. Naruto had been eating away slowly at his nerves all afternoon to such an extent he had started to prefer the act of fishing over interacting with the younger man. Naruto had originally wanted to take a swim but had decided against it when Tenzou had mentioned that this was the river the peasants would send their dead down if they couldn't afford a proper funeral for them—the river would take the body back to Buddha swifter than they could. Naruto had screamed and hollered at the idea of such a funeral—although Tenzou wasn't sure if the full meaning of the explanation had gotten to the boy, if perhaps Naruto had thought the river would eat him instead. He didn't ask for clarification, because Naruto had turned his attention towards climbing a tree whose branches overlooked the water, trying to see fish so that he could tell Tenzou where to cast his line. He'd fallen in three times so far.
"The birds are singing because summer is coming, Naruto."
"No, no, they sound just like they did in Edo—I thought that they were only in Edo, though, because I never heard them here before. Not for a whole month! Don't they sound pretty?"
Tenzou listened for a few long moments. The birds were indeed calling fiercely today compared to yesterday and the day before. But it was warmer and sunnier today, and it was coming on towards summer. Their nests were likely full of chicks needing to be fed, and the presence of two noisy men near the river was probably terrifying to their small souls. There were a few calls he'd never heard before, but birds were birds to him. He preferred quiet forests over noisy ones anyway.
"I suppose they do, Naruto, but we'll be done with this chore after a few more fish so get your fill of them soon." Naruto grinned and tried to reach for a higher branch, one which Tenzou briefly considered warning him was rotten like the last three. However as the yellow haired man's hands reached higher up, Tenzou found himself more in need of a laugh and less of the mind to give warning.
So it was that Naruto plunged for a fourth time into the "cursed" river, causing the birds to trill even louder as though they were laughing at his misfortune. Tenzou smiled as well as Naruto sputtered and flung himself towards the riverbank. This was actually the best time he'd ever had, being sent fishing for the family.
I could really get used to this sort of entertainment.
The box he carried the finished commission in was light in his arms. Inside was a sky blue child's haori as well as much darker blue hakama. Both were embroidered with tiny waves—on the haori they trailed slowly from the left shoulder to the right hip in deeper colors. Sakura had dotted specks of white along the tops of a few of them, a choppy sea for the five year old boy who was to wear the garments. His own well-tailored clothing gained weight suddenly, as he realized just how much clothing Sakura was responsible for. He would have to see to it that she got some proper servants around her house, she truly deserved a much easier life than she had had up until now.
As usual the walk was his favorite part of living here in Fujimi. He rarely enjoyed birdsong while in Edo, trying to pick out the real birds from the calls of his brothers and enemies of his father—but here in the northern country a bird's song was nothing more. He basked in it, despite a nagging worry that his master would likely be ruthless in retraining him once he returned to Edo. He worried for Kakashi and Sakura, what they would do without him around the house. He wasn't there for them, but he looked after them nonetheless. No doubt the merchants in town would begin overcharging them the moment he and his threats disappeared, and it seemed that it was only by his bribes that they were civil towards Sakura at all.
Perhaps the shichi-go-san commissions would soften their hearts as they saw so many little children clothed in her splendid needlework. He would ask his father to pay Sakura some tribute, her skills would have been in high demand in either Edo or Kyoto, he was sure of it. Besides, his father had expressed interest in meeting Kakashi's wife in his last letter. He had also hinted of soon visiting Fujimi to collect his goods, after so many months of putting it off. He of course was surprised at his father's decision, but there was no accounting for impatience or intrigues at the court.
Arriving into town he adopted his customary expression—slightly addled, and sweetly naïve. There was no reason anyone in Fujimi should suspect him of having recovered all of his wits, least of all his hosts but this also included the villagers. With this in mind, he asked around for the house of the family he was delivering the commission to—despite having memorized the village months ago, attention to details such as where someone lived were key. He knew where he was going, but there was no reason for him to know such—so he asked, sweet and slightly addled. The woman was in the front of her yard tending to her small garden when he hailed her. Her hair was jet black but had a dozen or so silvery white strands shot through it. Next to her a young girl of perhaps thirteen or fourteen held onto a two year old child and tried to retie the cord keeping the toddler's robe closed. The child swerved in and out of her reach despite constant scolding.
"My hostess has finished the commission you sought from her for your son," he said with a broad smile which stretched a tad too wide and didn't reach his eyes. She dusted the soil from her hands as she stood, reaching for the box. When she touched it and tried to take it out of his hands, he tightened his grip.
"And she requires payment in full. She was ill soon after you obtained her services and since recovering has worked nonstop to deliver it to you earlier than you requested. Her husband Hatake-sama told me to make sure he does not have to visit town to…straighten anything out."
Kakashi had done nothing of the sort—he had been out in the fields when Sakura had dispatched him to town, and had no opinion of what the villagers did. However, he felt that the Hatake man would of course step in to fix any situation which arose regarding Sakura's needlework and the prices she set for those who asked for it. Personally he felt, regardless of whatever her husband or parents said, that better work could not be found outside of the tailors for the royal family. There was little, he knew, that could sway his opinion once he made it—because even his master, who enjoyed taking part in the lifestyle of the imperial family from time to time, did not wear better clothing than Hatake Kakashi did from day to day.
The woman's mouth pinched when a stronger tug did not grant her wish of taking the box from him.
"I will get the money from inside, however I would like to see it before I give it to you." He renewed his smile, which had slipped a little.
"I fear that is impossible, my host has entrusted me with this job—it is part of Hatake-sama's livelihood you know, and a samurai would not stake their livelihood on substandard work. Besides, my hostess has worked her magic on your order, it will bring your son luck for many years. She is quite too liberal with it, in my opinion."
The woman's mouth turned into an outright frown as she turned away from him to go inside. He toned his smile down to a more complacent one, glancing once at the teenager and the toddler she was holding onto. Three children already, he mused to himself, it must be such a burden to be more than a peasant but less than a samurai with so many mouths to feed. The girl glanced suspiciously at him as well, holding her small sibling closer to her body despite the wriggling of the other child. He was quite glad he felt no inclination to sire children of his own—his calling was in guarding, painting, and teaching, and thankfully his father and parents knew that.
"You will have to lay down the box to count it, surely you could hand it over to me instead?" she said as she returned, grumpy and upset at the amount of trouble he was causing her. He, however, felt that she should count herself lucky. He had had to hurt the cloth dealer a few months ago—just a splinter under a fingernail, but the thing was long enough to prove his point and to get things rolling properly. This discontented woman had dealt with his nicest and most polished public side. She hadn't even managed to make him threaten her outright, and this was after trying his patience for far longer than most residents of Fujimi did.
In one of her hands a little satchel dangled, as though she hoped he would jump for it. Pathetic.
"No, I'm quite sure I can hold it with one hand while you count the money into my free one, if it pleases you," he said sweetly to her. Once she had begrudgingly counted every last coin into his hands, he gave her the parcel and then snatched away the pouch she'd taken the money out of—he had to carry it in something. He hummed a few notes to himself as he turned back towards the middle of town, wondering once again how he could force Fujimi into behaving for the Hatake family in his absence. The woman and her commission were unfortunately not the anomaly but rather the norm.
"Sai, Sai, there is a man at the inn asking for an escort out to the Hatake land, you should find him and take him," shouted the postman as he passed by, the man was his highest paid informant. He smiled and waved as he passed, following in the direction the older man pointed toward. There was only one man who knew of his current whereabouts, and he was sure he would be glad to meet him.
Jiraiya's trip from Edo had been hectic. The Sarutobi heir had had to share his horse with his wife because she was a hopeless rider. That, however, was mostly because she fretted constantly over the belongings she'd brought with her—Jiraiya noticed she cast many glances towards one pack in particular and he wondered just what was inside. He curbed his curiosity, however, and didn't ask her—he would have one of his sons take a look later probably. He made no conversation with either of his guests, preferring to look ahead and try to plan his next moves. He hadn't done anything this rash in decades it felt like, with no delicately laid planning behind his decisions. Everything was set in place, there was no reason to continue to hem and haw. But it gnawed at him in a way which was wholly unfamiliar—finally after five years of searching and preparation, he was ready to take the plunge and find the man who would be his son. A true son, not an orphan foundling raised by his wife's family to be loyal to him to the death.
His daughter rode at his side, her back straight and confident. Her hair was elegantly pinned up and if he squinted he could see where she had three knives hidden in her straight black tresses. She was every bit her mother's child as well as his. Jiraiya was proud of her for taking his orders in stride. Not every person under his command would have been as pliable to his idea as she was. He had always been happy to call her his child, but her intrinsic understanding of his plans, her ability to see behind his subterfuge, and her ease at giving him advice—all of it summed up to Jiraiya being quite proud of her as well as admiring her equally intelligent mother.
He didn't love her mother, Chiyo, even after all these years, but he had grown to respect her greatly. Besides, a woman who knew so many ways to garrote a man deserved a healthy amount of respect, he felt. His Tsunade-hime had been dead for a year when his wife had come to live in his house, a pale imitation of the woman he had wanted to marry. The happiness he shared with her was her beautiful daughter, a girl with his unfortunate nose and her mother's beautiful eyes. Chiyo had gone back to her father's house when their daughter was three, raising the girl to be as quietly deadly as the rest of her family. He wanted it no other way.
Jiraiya wondered what Tsunade-hime's son looked like. Would he have her hair? Or Orochimaru's? Was his face reflective of the sweet shape hers had taken, or was it square like his old rival's? He had heard precious little as to the young man's appearance, only of his continued well-being which was assurance enough in the previous months. He had handpicked the best man for the job last spring, and had sent him out to find out if the latest lead was a credible one, and if the town of Fujimi was the town where his soon to be son spent his years banished from Orochimaru's court. Jiraiya was glad, though, that the boy had been banished. It allowed him the opening he needed, meaning he got his way with ease.
Tsunade-hime's ghost, which was never far from Jiraiya's mind, smiled in contentment that he'd finally found the child which they should have shared. Their parents had agreed to break their engagement at the news she was to bear another man's child—despite Jiraiya's protests that he would raise the child as his own, that he loved Tsunade-hime more than that. She had written him a letter telling him who had left her in such a state, the words barely legible through the tears of rage which had built up in his eyes as he read it—Hebi Orochimaru, his greatest rival since boyhood, had stolen forever his precious Tsunade-hime. Jiraiya had been all of twenty, and had had no power in the court to at least force Orochimaru into marrying Tsunade-hime. He had wanted to kill the man, and had even gone so far as to plot how he would do it. Those plans had evaporated in the aftershocks of his beloved's death—his hopes and dreams had withered to nothing after she was taken from him.
His father had married him to Chiyo, who was the heiress of the shogun's personal shinobi house. She had consented to living with him only long enough give him a daughter before withdrawing back to her father's house. She and Jiraiya lived a marriage of partnership now, he had his network of adopted sons and she had her ninja cousins. She had trained their daughter as a killer, and the girl acted as her own bodyguard for the most part when she wasn't acting as Jiraiya's.
Soon she would act as bodyguard for Tsunade-hime's son. She would come with him to collect the young man, and they would send Iruka and his wife on to Sarutobi Hiruzen's house. He would send probably five or six of those accompanying their party with the young couple. The rest would come with him.
"Father, I am glad to see you in such good health. Sister, you as well," he said, bowing deeply in front of the tall white haired man. His master bowed slightly as well, acknowledging him just enough not to cause a scene. He cocked his head to the side, pointing southwest with his chin. If for any reason he was unable to accompany them, his master knew the road.
"I came as quickly as my duties would allow, my son. Now, your letter said you owe your life to your hosts—please take me to them."
"Hatake-sama will be pleased to know that I have remembered myself. He has been addressing me as 'Sai,' in recent months," he said as he came out of his bow and turned to leave town.
His master nodded slowly, and birdsong rose up at his nod. He counted how many his master had brought with him—at least a dozen of his brothers had their eyes on them and he felt relief course through him at this. He hadn't lost his edge in this manner at least. As they left the town gate, he quieted his steps into silence, not saying anything because he hadn't been spoken to. The master's daughter rode on her horse while he led it. His master walked beside him, silent until the town was well behind them.
"'Sai,' is a fine name, would you keep it if given the chance?" The painter's heart seized in his chest at the thought of being given a name and what went with it. He could remember when one of his older brothers had no longer been able to keep up, and his master had given him a name and a place to live out his days—
"Surely I am still of use to you, you would not send me away—"
"I had no thought in my mind of doing such, but if you are to watch over my son, surely he will want to call you something. I am not going to bet his life on only my daughter's skills. Now, does the name 'Sai,' please you or would you prefer another?"
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