#misty works at the flower stall down the road

[its3amandiamverytired]

been blessed with the vision of line-cook!shauna and waitress!jackie and now i cant let it go

[hisakata-resutomoshibi]

I see your unhinged!morallychaotic!Kuro idea and I raise you a Kuro who just let Inner!Kuro/BlackCat takeover.

Hey! Sorry it took me SO long to answer this! But you got me thinking lol

I played around with an appearance change, like what about incorporeal horns?? Just kinda misty and tranluscent. Maybe some two tone hair..... but personality had me the most hung up. Blackcat seems SO different from Kuro on a basic level that I’m not sure how his personality would change. I couldn’t stop thinking about it so here are some quick sketches and a little fic that I wrote trying to work out what I thought the changes would be!

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

The man across the plaza had caught and held Mahiru's attention for a while now. 

"Hey! What did you want to drink?" The attendant running the punch stall asked exasperatedly. 

"Anything's fine." Mahiru shot back, his eyes still trained on the shocking black and white hair gleaming sullenly in the wavering spotlights. "Tea?"

The server muttered something and in just a second was shoving a glass into Mahiru's hand and waving him off, signaling the next person to approach.

His long island in hand, Mahiru shuffled sideways, hoping to keep the mysterious man in view. He hadn't moved for several minutes now but the streets were crowded, just as they always were on Halloween and Mahiru was no fool- one could disappear in the span of a breath to never be found again. He had no plans, no real desire to talk to him, but something about the way the man stood was like a shout; Mahiru had heard it and couldn't seem to shake the feeling that he had been meant to.

"I just want to know if that's a wig." He muttered, trying desperately to convince himself. The man's hair, long and choppy, was stupefying. Black on one side and a stark blue white on the other. There was no way it was real but the fade in the color looked so natural compared to many of the other two tone wigs Mahiru had seen that night that he couldn't be sure it hadn't been a hundred dollar dye job. "What kind of person spends that much money on a costume?"

He glanced down at his own clothing; a simple frock, tied with a sash, black satin pants, and knee high boots. His cape clasped securely around his shoulders, and a jaunty wide brimmed pointed hat was perched crookedly on his head. It may not be flashy but he was sure there was no doubt to be had about what he was.

Looking back up, he felt his heart drop when he found that the man had indeed slipped away into the crowd. Trying not to frown and wondering just what exactly was wrong with him, he started violently when a lilting voice trickled over his shoulder.

"Looking for me?"

He jerked around, sloshing a portion of his drink down his hand, to find himself face to face with the very man he had been casually stalking for the last ten minutes. "How did you-" He faltered, his eyes darting back to where the man had been before, a good hundred feet away. It hadn't been more than three seconds between when he'd looked down and back up. How in the world had he managed to navigate the crowds and cross the plaza in such a short amount of time?

"You were, weren't you?" The man asked excitedly, leaning farther forward, his eyes wide in pleasure. "I can tell."

"W-w-what are you-"

"Don't worry about details! That's not important!" He raised a hand, curling his fingers seductively around the air just next to Mahiru's cheek. "I have what you're looking for."

"I'm not looking for anything!" Mahiru burst out. "I have no idea what you're talking about! I just wanted to know if that was a wig."

The man's brows raised in shock and he darted a look up to the fringes of hair that tickled the bridge of his nose. "It's not a wig."

"Hah!" Mahiru pointed a finger at him. "I knew it!"

"Did you now?" He purred, tilting his head, heavy gaze traveling down Mahiru's neck and to the line of his shirt. "Aren't you a smart one? Then let's keep the games going, shall we?" As quick as a shot, he reached out and traced one cool, long finger across Mahiru's collar bone and grinned. "Who are you?"

"Who am I?" Mahiru asked blankly, trying to take a subtle step back. The finger still planted on his neck was distracting and numbing, as though a current were running through it. "I'm me."

The man leaned back in surprise, brows drawn up. "You're you?" He repeated hesitantly. "What kind of an answer is that? You were supposed to tell me your name."

"Well it was kind of a dumb question." Mahiru said jokingly, glancing around for an exit, willing this strange, annoying conversation to be over. "I mean, the answer is simple."

"I don't know the answer."

Mahiru turned back just a fraction, his drink and escape both forgotten as he stared into the wide and unsure lightning blue eyes staring right back at him. He could see his reflection, slightly distorted and washed of color by the storm of sky within the irises, and somewhere in his subconscious registered that he was looking rather disheveled and short.

"How do I find the answer?" The man asked, almost desperately, leaning forward and making to grab Mahiru's shoulders.

"How should I know?" He asked quickly, startled and more than a little worried. This man was turning out to be more complicated than he had expected; but the soft, vulnerable confusion rolling from the stranger in overpowering waves staid him and he sighed. "Why don't you list some of your interests and hobbies? Start from there. Then maybe your favorite places and people. Build your life around your relationships and experiences. That-" He broke off as the man darted forward, wrapping him in a hug so tight he heard a rib creak.

"That's exactly it! That's what I'll do! My hobbies, you say?" His eyes narrowed calculatingly and he grinned, a slow, feral thing. "I'll show you them right now~"

Before Mahiru could capture the breath to ask what the hell he was talking about, the man had released him and stepped back, glancing curiously around, as though looking for a particular vendor stall. His eyes lit upon the fireworks seller and his grin widened, taking on a kind of manic joy.

"Perfect."

"What-"

The man pressed a finger to his lips, his smile softening around the edges just so. "No, no. Don't worry about it. You'll see!" He took a quick step away but hesitated, struck by a thought. "My name. I can tell you that, at least. Kuro. I like you." The smile brightened for the barest moment and he pressed those twisted, smooth lips to Mahiru's cheek for the briefest second. "Mahiru~ Yes, I think I might like you."

Too late, Mahiru jerked back, unsure whether to be more upset by the abrupt kiss or the fact that this strange man somehow knew his name. He was sure he had never mentioned it, always painfully aware of what his uncle had drilled into his head on 'stranger danger'. "How did you-"

"I said no questions!" The man barked before frowning and turning away. "Stay there." And with that he darted off, through the crowds, winding like a snake through reeds.

For some reason Mahiru found himself staying where he was, curious to see what this strange person- Kuro, his brain supplied belatedly- was going to do. He couldn't delude himself into thinking he was being flirted with, despite the forward approach that Kuro had, it just didn't seem possible. And he was undoubtedly foreign, of European descent most likely, given the long hair and bright, clear eyes, so it must just be a cultural difference. Comforted by his conclusions, Mahiru leaned back, crossing his ankles and waited.

The wait was short.

Across the busy road a sudden explosion rocked the air, it's fires spreading from the fireworks stall and outward like a hot flower opening its petals to the night sky. Screams and calls further disturbed the fragile atmosphere and it was several seconds before Mahiru registered that he was on the ground, almost unconscious and bleeding from more places than seemed safe. Trying to raise up on his hands, to get a look around, to see if he could help, his vision blurred and wavered. Dizzy and faintly nauseated, he slumped back down, his cheek pressing into the gritty cement of the walk. The sharp pricks of rocks brought a little feeling back into his numb face and he drew a deep breath. A shadow pressed in on him and he glanced up, relief and panic fighting for equal purchase, but both quelled and fell back, buffeted by his surprise.

Above him, smiling sunnily, stood Kuro, unmarked but for a dash of soot across his forehead. "Pretty good right?"

Mahiru worked his jaw, struggling valiantly to summon some form of response, willing his sudden rage, for he now had a very clear image of what had happened, to give him strength. "Did you do this?!" He exclaimed, squinting up. 

"Of course I did!" Kuro looked confused and squatted down, bringing him almost level with Mahiru who was still floundering on the ground. "You told me to start with my hobbies!"

"I- I-" Mahiru cut off, winded by both his bruised and bleeding lungs and his immense disbelief. "This isn't a hobby! Did anyone get hurt?!"

"You did." Kuro pointed out neutrally.

"Of course I did!" Mahiru yelled. "You blew up the fireworks stall!"

For the first time Kuro looked slightly angry, his lips tilted in displeasure, and he leaned farther down, closer, until the curtain of his unnatural hair was blanketing Mahiru's face. "For you."

“For me?” Clarity was returning to his mind in short bursts and jagged leaps and he slowly, slowly pushed himself up, wincing when his wrist flared a warning. “I never asked you to.”

“Do you need to?” Kuro asked worriedly, biting his lip, eyes darting around in an almost panic. “I didn’t know that. I just thought-”

“You’re insane, aren’t you?” Mahiru muttered, at this point numb to any real fear. “Or is this some elaborate Halloween prank?” He glanced around, hoping without any real hope, to see Koyuki or Sakuya lurking in the outskirts of the pandemonium and laughing at his folly. "Please tell me that Ryusei put you up to this."

"Who is that?" Kuro glared down at him, leaning still closer, the corners of his eyes crinkled in a quiet kind of anger. "Is he your 'friend'?"

Mahiru paused, watching Kuro grow ever more irritated, and contemplated the way he had stumbled over the word friend. It had rolled and fallen from his lips as though it were a foreign concept, something he had only read about and never actually seen in person. "Yes. He is." He said it more as a taunt than anything else, just to see if it would incense Kuro any more than he already was, and was not disappointed; Kuro's nose wrinkled and he bared what Mahiru, from this distance, could see without a doubt, despite a complete lack of belief in the superstitious, were real fangs.

"I'll kill him."

Surrealism floated down like a gentle mist, coating his tingling limbs and swirling thoughts, and Mahiru rolled his eyes. "Don't be such a baby. What did Ryusei ever do to you?"

The question gave Kuro pause and he cocked his head, studying Mahiru intently. "He met you first."

"And?"

"And?"

"So have a lot of people. Are you going to go around killing anyone who's ever said hi to me?"

Kuro opened his mouth, no doubt to confirm the sarcastic, rhetoric question but closed it again at the look Mahiru threw him.

"Please. That's unrealistic. And extremely inappropriate." He added as an afterthought.

"Inappropriate...." Kuro echoed, looking shell shocked. "I didn't know."

Mahiru raised a brow in blatant disbelief, flinching back when Kuro suddenly reached out and scooped him up into his arms. "Wha-!"

"You'll have to explain exactly what is 'appropriate' then!" He continued excitedly. "I don't particularly like being wrong but I suppose if it's what you want, I'll do it. You seem like the tiresome kind of guy who won't accept anything but adherence to your own strict set of morals."

"Do- do what?" Mahiru stuttered distractedly, eyes focused on the ground which was steadily flashing by as Kuro dashed off through the bustling plaza, ignoring the panicked gasps of the emergency workers and few still lingering civilians, cradling Mahiru as though he were but a sack of flower and feather light. "Please just-"

Kuro grinned down at him, seemingly unaware of the terror that was racing up and down Mahiru's spine at the speed and sudden kidnapping. "Be appropriate." He enunciated stiffly. "I'll try." His eyes danced, happy and bright, and buoyed by a depth less madness.

"Oh god." 

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

pictured: a transition of destructive mischief 

[silverfootstepswrites]

Amaryllis | Chapter 2

< Chapter 1 | Chapter 2 | Chapter 3 >

+++

The marketplace wasn't a crowded jumble of noises and smells. Uniform stalls lined the big streets. Merchants waited with their hands folded, smiles in place. They only spoke when spoken to.

The sterility felt very wrong.

A market, as she remembered it, was always overflowing. With smells: Meat roasting on spits, bread baking stuck to the sides of hot ovens. Spices from faraway lands, mingling with spritzes of perfumes from oddly-shaped bottles.

The only thing stronger than the smells were the sounds. Merchants yelled over the bleating of goats, squabbling with their neighbors if they offered a better price. Their children shrieked with laughter and chased them around the legs of adults. Running under the tables and sending displays askew when their feet caught on the cloth.

"I'm afraid this will be much smaller than what you're used to," Sasuke had warned her on the ride down to the city. They had carved the infrastructure into the sides of the mountain. The roads spiraled up the sides of the slope, with the city trickling down the incline. These roads were paved, and there was rumored to be running water in even the smallest houses.

It struck her as odd that the castle was so far-removed from everything else. She was so used to the marketplace waiting just outside the walls of the palace. Voices calling "Lady Sakura" so clearly when she was young. And then "Your Grace" when her mother and father were no longer there.

She remembered the hushed whimpers that rose in the streets when news had arrived of her parents' death. White flowers spilling into the waters around the palace. The endless chorus of thousands of bells swaying in the wind. The entire city was shrouded in her mother's favorite color: a deep purple fit for a queen. She didn't remember much of those days apart from being held in her aunt's arms and the way her cousin's clammy hand tightened around hers as the empty pyres burned bright.

"What sort of place is Plumeria?" asked Sasuke, pulling her from her memories.

Sakura was already smiling as she thought. The busy city of Plumeria was where she had grown up. It sat at the bottom of the Southern Tea Isle. Its port rarely sat empty as vessels filled with tea and silk set out to the far corners of the world. In their place, merchants came in with grain and vegetables from the mainland. Others came from greater distances, ships groaning with spices and textiles in a dizzying array of colors.

The Haruno family had found a home on the island after a long journey across the ocean from the east. She had grown up hearing the story a thousand times.

The island nation had struggled to fend off the attacks of the vicious mainlanders. Its people had called the land 'Aiga' then. And their peaceful fishermen were no match for the pale invaders with their heavy metal suits and their great beasts that trampled them with hard feet. When the Haruno's arrived, they came with spices in a dizzying array of colors and smells. They brought tea leaves, which grew beautifully in the tropical sun. They also had something that they called 'gunpowder' that made it very easy to make the men in metal suits stay far away.

The Haruno's and the islanders formed a partnership. The islanders' way of life would be preserved, and their foreigners found a home after many months of travel.

The story went on, and the details of how that small noble family had become a duchy of the Forest Kingdom was long and complicated. In the end, all that mattered was that the Southern Tea Isle supplied the entire kingdom with tea leaves and high quality silk. As the secrets to silk production were jealously guarded, no one had ever come close to producing fabric of such quality. The Haruno family's coffers grew as noble ladies clamored for gowns made of the precious material.

Around this time of year, the hills would be filled with the bright green leaves. Workers would be bent over in the rows, plucking the harvest and placing it in their baskets. In the afternoons, the air would fill with the aroma of roasting tea. All the while, the rush of the ocean waves would beat against the coasts of the island. The tides pulling boats home as fishermen rinsed and folded their nets in preparation for the following day's work.

There were no words to describe her home. She had tried and failed countless times. To call it "beautiful" was an insult. It was busy but never rushed. Peaceful but never silent.

"It's perfect," Sakura finally managed to say.

The capital city of Plumeria was built on the water. Each building was held up on wooden supports. And the ones that could afford stone used that instead. The white-washed homes sported red or blue roof tiles. And a series of wooden walkways connected one building to another. During high tide, boats pulled up right beside homes, bobbing on the salty waves as people yelled out their greetings. Just recalling the details made her feel like she could taste salt in the air again.

When she glimpsed Sasuke's face, she suddenly pitied him for not carrying the memories of such a place inside of him. And so she painted a picture for him.

The clear waters of the sea reflected everything from the palace to the sky and the clouds above. On calm days, it looked like the palace sat on a great mirror. None of the great works of art could do the place justice, she claimed. And Sasuke simply nodded.

Sakura had grown up wandering the stone halls that were cool even on the hottest days. Admiring the ethereal glow of the white stone in the torchlight. The islanders didn't really believe in doors because they blocked the path of good spirits who came bearing fortune. Instead, there were large archways from one room to the next. And when more privacy was needed, white curtains were hung up. Whenever a strong sea breeze swept through, the curtains billowed and waved like the skirts of so many dancers. Giggling, Sakura had spun through the fluffy fabric, marveling at the sun-warmed dance partners they could become.

The smell of the salty sea clung to her hair and clothes no matter where she went. Barefoot and breathless, she tiptoed the halls and squealed with laughter when her father caught her sneaking around after bedtime and threw her over his shoulder. She remembered drinking sweet coconut water and biting into mangos with the juice dribbling down her chin. All the memories piled together, filling her with warmth even on the coldest nights on the mainland.

Sasuke blew out a long breath. "That… sounds amazing. I've always wanted to see for myself. My tutors always called in one of the great wonders of the south," he commented. And then he cast the approaching market with an odd look. "I'm almost ashamed to be bringing you here now. This must seem like a joke to you."

Sakura laughed. She barely watched as Kaze ambled down the steep path. "It's true. Everything seems small in comparison to a port city," she answered. "I miss it so." Her laughter trailed off, turning into a sigh. She turned in the direction of that distant home, imaging those rushing waves and the smiles of the people who welcomed her back.

+++

Sakura's first memories were of an island filled with people who she loved and who loved her in return. Mother was away often, because being Queen was a difficult job. But Mother sent her love in messages often. And when Mother was home, Sakura never left her side. Clinging to the end of her dresses, snuggling up in her lap in the throne room.

One foggy morning, during one of the long periods of Mother's absences, Sakura had woken to the urgent voices of men echoing through the halls. The room was dark. She opened her mouth to call for her father. But then she heard the voices again.

Blanket draped around her, she snuck out to see what was going on. The end of the blanket dragged along the tile as she padded out of her room, out into the misty morning. She navigated the familiar walkways with ease, straining to listen over the roar of the ocean waves. Eventually, she found her father sitting in the throne room, white hair messy from sleep. But his dark eyes were intense as he listened to the men. His right hand gripped the armrest, knuckles popping out. Left hand under his chin to keep his weary head up.

Sakura stood in the doorway, watching. Waiting until her father noticed her. It never took him long. He held his hand out to her.

"Your Majesty, the reports from the border have been growing more urgent. We desperately need you back in the capit-" one of the men insisted. The talk cut off when Sakura ran through their legs, bare feet sleeping against the stone floor. She sat in the crook of her father's powerful arm so he could lift her into his lap. It was the world's safest and most comfortable place.

"Continue," Father prompted.

Sakura knew it wasn't polite to interrupt adults. She patted the back of her father's hand once. And then she watched his stubbly chin, waiting. When he finally bent his head down to listen, she whispered in his ear.

"Is something bad happening?"

"In a way, sweetheart," he answered with a brief smile.

She gripped the front of his shirt. "Is Mother alright?" She couldn't help but worry. It had been months since she had last seen her mother. And there were bad people in the world who wanted to hurt her. That was why there were the good guards at the palace to keep them safe. But what if the good guards hadn't been strong enough?

Sakura's gaze rose when she felt her father's hand, clumsy and big, stroke her head.

"Your Mother is fine. You can stay and listen if you're very quiet," he suggested.

And as Sakura stared up into his tanned face, she loved the way the corners of his eyes crinkled. The way his silvery stubble shown in the lantern-light.

"I'll be very, very quiet," she promised.

"Good girl," he said.

Sakura remembered dozing off. Because when she opened her eyes again, they were standing at the dock. The sun was already rising over the waters. She blinked, slowly focusing on the men running back and forth lugging trunks and barrels onto the ship.

"Daddy?" Sakura mumbled, rubbing the sleep out of her eyes.

She felt her father shift her in his arms, the blanket still draped around her. The thick green and teal tassels brushed against her hands. And though he usually reminded her to call her "Father", he didn't correct her this time.

"Yes, Sakura," he replied.

"Are you leaving home? To go to the border?" Sakura queried. His eyebrows rose.

"You were listening," he mused. And then he let out a heavy sigh. "Yes, dear. We're going to the capital. It'll be our home for now," he answered. Sakura's forehead puckered.

"But this is the capital. Plumeria's the capital, isn't it?" Sakura said, confused. She was even more confused by the way he chuckled.

"It is. But I meant the capital of the entire kingdom. We get to live in an even bigger castle in Leaves. And that's where your mother is. Isn't it exciting?"

"I do miss Mother," Sakura admitted. But then her shoulders drooped.

"What is it, Sakura?" her father asked.

And then Sakura peeked up at him again. Because her father was always so kind and never raised his voice. She hoped it wouldn't hurt his feelings to say what she was thinking. The way he smiled at her made her think it would be alright.

"Whiteriver Keep is ugly," she admitted. Because the place where she lived was so pretty, day or night. The castle in the capital was not a beautiful place. It was a castle with fortifications and siege weapons. Fortresses were big, hulking things meant to fight wars. Even from a young age, Sakura understood that there was no beauty in something like that.

"And that means I have to leave Auntie behind. And then Sasori can't come either. So who will I play with? And who will help Shizu fold bedsheets? Or pick the flowers to put in Mother's room?" Sakura fretted.

Her father let out another sigh. He patted her back. "Sasori will come to visit often. And I'm sure you'll make many friends. There are so many people who can't wait to meet you," he comforted her. Sakura's frown eased a little as she took in his words. She met his gaze to slowly nod. He smiled.

"Come. We'll have breakfast while they finish preparations," he boomed in a cheerful voice as he turned to take them back to the palace.

+++

"Watch out, General," she heard Sasuke say. His voice pulled her back to the present.

Sakura looked up. She found Sasuke's hand hovering near her elbow, like he couldn't decide whether to touch her or not. And then she spotted a man rumbling down the road in a cart piled high with cured meats. They moved to walk closer to the buildings. The man tipped his hat to them in thanks as they passed.

"Wasn't there a special word for the market where you come from?" Sasuke questioned. They paused to peek in at a stall selling fresh berries harvested in the mountains just that morning. Sasuke handed the woman a coin. She passed them a tiny basket filled with fruit in return.

"Bazaar," Sakura replied. The sound rolling off the tip of her tongue. Sasuke muttered the word beside her, stumbling over the foreign sounds as she took a bite of a strawberry. It was sweet, the juice rolling down her chin. Sasuke laughed at her before he offered her his handkerchief.

They perused through the other wares. There were trinkets from foreign lands and books labeled in unfamiliar languages. There were bracelets made from smooth jade beads, which she hadn't expected to see so far west. There were also bolts of fabric that claimed to be made of silk. But her nose wrinkled as she passed her hand over the rough weave.

What surprised her most was how no one called Sasuke by his name. Some of their gazes lit up with recognition, but they simply addressed him as "My Lord". She gathered rather quickly that Sasuke kept his identity as a prince hidden, likely for security purposes. Although she was unsure of how subtle he was with two guards trailing after them.

At noon, Sasuke took her to a tavern for a meal.

"My mother would faint if she could see us here now," Sasuke whispered as they settled at the wooden table. It was a clean little establishment, with a bard crooning in the corner, and just one drunkard slumbering at a table in the back. The bartender eyed them with suspicion as they walked inside, but that was the standard behavior for any bartender.

And then he smiled a secret, conspirator's smile. "I hope it's to your liking."

"You will never see me turn down a tavern stew," Sakura assured him. And Sasuke's expression brightened a little.

Sakura raised an eyebrow as the two guards sat at a separate table.

"Too good to sit with us?" She commented.

The larger of the guards jumped out of his seat. "No, ma'am. It's just not proper, ma'am. How can commoners like us sit with people such as yourself?"

The smaller guard nodded along with his partner.

Sakura took those words in. Thinking. She crossed her arms across her chest. And then the corners of her mouth turned up. "Proper. Yes, while I appreciate your concern, you've missed one detail."

Both of them looked at her now.

"Propriety dictates that an unmarried woman should not be dining alone with an unmarried man. Rumors spread about them. I would feel much more at ease if you were to sit with us. For my reputation's sake," Sakura said.

The two guards glanced at each other. Silently mouthing words and gesturing with jerks of their head. This went on for a long time before they got to their feet and moved to join her. Sasuke watched the exchange, but his face betrayed nothing.

"Forgive me, sirs. I'm having trouble remembering your names," Sakura greeted them as they sat.

The larger guard bolted to his feet again. "I beg forgiveness, ma'am. We never gave them. I'm Juugo."

The smaller guard bowed his head, both hands planted on the tabletop. "I'm Suigetsu."

Sakura dipped her head toward them in return.

"Thank you for accompanying us today, Suigetsu, Juugo. It puts me at ease to know that you two are here," she stated.

Juggo's face began to turn a shade of red similar to his hair. Suigetsu coughed, his gaze flickering from Sakura to his companion.

"Well, if rumors are right, I don't think you have much need for us. Word gets around, you know, General," Suigetsu said with a nervous laugh. Sasuke's eyebrows rose. And then they pinched together.

"You are speaking to an esteemed guest of our kingdom. I will not have you sour her stay with frivolous rumors," Sasuke's voice whipped out, suddenly sharp.

She waved a hand, drawing Sasuke's attention once more. "Oh no, please. I rarely get the chance to hear of my reputation. Usually it's whispered when I'm not around. I'm terribly curious," Sakura insisted.

"Um…" Suigetsu hesitated, wary eyes darting to Sasuke once more. But when Sakura nodded, Suigetsu grimaced and spoke again.

"Well… they say not to make an enemy of you, General." And then he spotted Sasuke's expression and added, "I think it's a compliment, really!"

"They say you slew a hundred men on your own at the Battle of the Deadlands," Juugo spoke up. Quietly.

Sakura wasn't smiling anymore. "What else?" she prompted.

Juugo met her eyes as he uttered: "They call you The Heartless…. But you don't seem like you are."

And just as suddenly, Sakura's smile returned.

"Rumors are not called facts for a reason. It wasn't a hundred men, and I wasn't on my own," she corrected him. As if he hadn't said the second part at all.

She regaled them with the true story of that particular battle. And when Sasuke asked for more, she told them of other adventures and campaigns. Of swords clashing and sparks flying. Of the roars of the soldiers as she shouted for their support. She noticed that the bard had gone quiet, and the drunk in the corner was awake, watching them with bleary eyes.

It was easier to remember it like that anyway. All glory and triumph. Not the way those memories really lived inside her head. Echoing with the screeches of the crows as they feasted.

After lunch, they returned to the city to finish their tour.

The capital city of the Mountain Kingdom was called Ispolin. It was built into the southern face of the mountain, carved into the stone. Goliaf Castle sat on top of it, with a clear view of all the miles of forest that coated the faces of the mountain range.

Ispolin was a bit larger than Plumeria. It owed its prosperity to the mines carved deep into the mountains. Workers ripped iron ore from the insides of the tunnels, carting them out to be processed and sold. It was no surprise that the Mountain Kingdom was also famous for its weapons and strong armor. Mines further to the north were also known for harvesting aquamarines that were coveted by all its neighbors.

"This is lovely craftsmanship," Sakura remarked as she picked up a sword at the blacksmith's stall. The blacksmith himself was hard at work inside his workshop. She could see him standing by the heat of the fire, muscles gleaming as brought his tools down on what looked like the beginnings of a sword. The older man watching the weapons on display also glanced back at the blacksmith. He gave a vague grunt of approval before he turned back to Sakura.

"May I?" Sakura requested. The old man gestured to the wares with a nod.

She picked up a sword. Her gloved hand tightened around the simple hilt. The iron was lighter than she expected. She raised it to admire it in the light. The blade glinted when she turned it at just the right angle.

"Excellent balance. And such beautiful attention to detail," she murmured.

"You've got a fine weapon yourself, M'Lady," the old man noted.

Her leather scabbard hung from her belt, as it did almost every day. She carried a falchion, sharpened to a deadly edge on one side. It was light enough to be used one-handed, and that gave her the advantage of speed. A smaller version of this weapon was what her father had used to first teach her to defend herself. And this particular blade had been a gift from her Aunt a few years ago.

"Can't really put a lot of weight behind it, though," he then observed, squinting at the shape of it.

An odd smile appeared on Sakura's face. "Weight isn't necessary. A few well-placed cuts can bring anyone down. Don't you agree?" she quipped in return.

And then she set the weapon back in place on the display. The old man turned quite pale as he bowed

They went on walking. Sasuke eyed Sakura. "I thought you were a bit young to be a General," he confessed.

"Thought?" she repeated without looking at him.

"Thought," was all Sasuke said in response.

Sakura glanced over her shoulder at him. "I knew there was a reason I liked you, Prince," she declared before she hurried on ahead to the next street.

As they perused the wares in various stalls, Sakura began to notice a pattern. While many stalls sold jewels that had been polished and cut, few merchants sold any real jewelry. At best, the gem hung from a simple chain. She made a note to herself. This was something Sasori would love to know.

She stole a glance at Sasuke, who met her gaze with a nod. "Ready to go?" he asked.

They rode back up to the palace late in the afternoon. The guards parted ways with them along the way. Bowing far too many times as they did so.

"I apologize about the state of the fish. I can speak to my father about finding something to suit your taste," Sasuke offered.

"It's alright. No sense in crying over something I can't have yet," Sakura waved him off with a laugh.

And then Sasuke's forehead wrinkled. "Before I forget, I never got a chance to ask," he added. Sakura nodded.

"I was thinking about what you said. About reputations. What do they say about me?" inquired Sasuke.

Sakura squinted up at the sky. She could see clouds gathering on the horizon. But they were far enough that perhaps the storm would miss them. Kaze's ears perked up, as if he were listening for the storm too.

"Well, you're known as somewhat of a heartbreaker," Sakura admitted.

Sasuke's mouth puckered. Like he was trying to decide whether to be offended or not. In the end, he gave a shrug, saying, "You have two options. Either you're cruel and the woman leave crying, or you're kind and they don't leave at all."

"How terrible it must be," she retorted.

"It is. I've had them follow me to every social event of the season. Some threaten to kill themselves if I won't marry them. One woman even crawled into my bed at night. It's unbearable."

"Well, find the least insane one and just marry her. People like us don't love, Prince. We breed," snorted Sakura.

"Breed?" he repeated, face contorting.

Sakura ran her fingers through Kaze's mane. The horse tossed his head, ears twitching. And then he glanced up at her. She smiled and rubbed her palm along his neck in apology for bothering him.

"A ruler must be intelligent and charismatic. Level-headed and just. Beautiful as well. People don't follow ugliness," she listed. She met Sasuke's gaze with a pointed look.

"We are better than the common folk. Our carefully-curated pedigree guarantees that," Sakura added. A smile flickered across her face before she whistled. Her horse broke into a run, dashing along the path. Leaving Sasuke to watch the swish of her perfect ponytail as she galloped ahead of him. As he opened his mouth to call out to her, she looked over her shoulder at him, suddenly smiling again. As if that conversation had only happened in his head.

Supper, that night, was an exercise in self-control. As Sakura struggled not to roll her eyes.

"A party?" Sasuke repeated.

Naruto's fork, heavy with roast meat, froze on the way to his mouth. He tried to meet Sakura's gaze, but she wasn't looking at him.

Sitting at the head of the table was King Fugaku, holding up his glass so a servant could fill it with more wine. Queen Mikoto sat to his left, chewing silently like any good lady should. To his right, in the seat of honor, was Sakura. Who ran her tongue along the edges of her teeth, listening. Her eyes barely flickered upward toward the king at his sudden announcement.

"Just a small one. To welcome our guests," Fugaku said before taking a sip of his drink. Mikoto nodded.

"A wonderful idea," she agreed. And then she turned to Sakura.

"General, please don't worry about your attire for the evening. I will have my personal tailor sent to your quarters tomorrow. He can work his magic in time for the festivities," Mikoto assured her. Sakura, who had lifted her goblet to her mouth, pulled it away to return the smile.

"Thank you, Your Majesty," Sakura replied.

And as the focus of the conversation turned to Naruto, Sakura's eyes finally met Sasuke's across the table. She rolled them. Hard. Sasuke choked on his wine a little as he tried not to laugh.

"A wonderful idea," Sakura repeated after the meal was over. They had retreated to one of the lounges that no one ever used. There were a lot of those. It was a large castle.

"No. It's a wonderful idea," Sasuke corrected her, mimicking the pitch of his mother's voice. Picking up his cup of tea, he turned to face the window. He stood there, back perfectly straight as he sipped. Sakura sat with her right leg crossed over the left. She picked up her own white cup painted with red flowers. Her eyes glittered as she eyed him over the rim of her drink.

"Is it the dancing you hate? Or the nobles?" she asked.

"The artifice in general. The dancing I could also do without," Sasuke confessed. And then he pivoted on his heel to look at her. "Although I'm more worried about you."

Sakura's eyebrows rose as she set her teacup down on the table.

"Do you think that I speak with such candor everywhere I go?" Sakura challenged him. She examined a fraying thread at the bottom of her shirt. There was a dagger strapped to her thigh everywhere she went. She pulled it out of the sheath to carefully sever the stray strand. The blade slipped back into its sheath with a small click. Her gaze then lifted back to Sasuke leaning against the window. Steam rose from his cup, curling and twisting against his chin before dissipating.

"Well… I suppose that explains why you keep mentioning being stabbed," muttered Sasuke.

Eyes popping open, Sakura threw her head back and laughed. Sasuke chuckled too. Hooking a finger into the high collar of his black vest, he loosened his tie just a bit.

"But you do hate nobility, don't you?" he then insisted.

"I don't hate based on social standing," Sakura retorted. But as Sasuke lifted his cup again, she added, "Though I do hate idiots. And I've noticed somewhat of a correlation between the two."

Sasuke lowered his cup.

"This is what I'm talking about. If you said that during the ball, one of my great-uncles would die of a heart attack right then and there."

"…And?" Sakura prompted. "Has he not named an heir yet?"

Sasuke blinked several times. He let out a sigh. "I really hope that you're not lying, and that you're not like this with everyone," was all he said.

It was Sakura's turn to sigh. "You'd think with all the education nobles are given, they'd have some shred of common sense. Some of them do-" Sakura paused to gesture toward Sasuke. He dipped his head. "But many of them don't understand anything outside of drinking and hiring expensive whores. Those are the ones I hate."

Sasuke's eyebrow rose. Just the right one.

"Whores?"

"The more exotic, the more expensive," Sakura confirmed.

Sasuke cleared his throat, suddenly looking very uncomfortable. He went to take another sip of tea and found his cup empty. He set the cup down a little harder than necessary.

"Well, back to the topic at hand. Prepare yourself. My mother's tailor is… talkative. I would ask that you not strike him dead," he said with a touch of humor.

"I would never harm an unarmed foe," Sakura promised. Her hand over her heart as she spoke.

Sasuke's eyes widened. Sasuke was quite unbothered as she drank the rest of her tea.

Soon, it was time to retire for the night. No matter their closeness, people would talk if the two of them were seen spending too much time together. Especially after sunset.

"Your br- cousin has asked for a tour of the palace tomorrow morning. I don't suppose you'd accompany me," Sasuke offered.

"I would prefer not to," she retorted, face turning stony. "The bonds of our friendship are not yet so deep that I would subject myself to such suffering. Sasuke nodded, as if he had been expecting such a response. And then he tilted his head.

"Yet? Would you, eventually?" he wondered.

"It depends on how well you behave yourself," declared Sakura. She got to her feet.

Then I'll see you for lunch tomorrow," she then said before she headed back to her apartment.

Her quarters were empty and quiet. There was no mail waiting for her. Sakura changed out of her clothes and left them in a large basket by the door. Moegi or Haku would take them to be cleaned in the morning as they dropped off breakfast. Her uniform hung in the otherwise bare armoire. She had only worn it for her first day in the castle. But she had still glimpsed one of the maids taking it out to air in the sunlight and brushing it so dust wouldn't settle on the white fabric.

In the morning, Sakura was one of the first to rise, as usual. The stable boys had her horse brushed and saddled up by the time she stepped out to greet them. The guards saluted with their spears as she rode past on Kaze. It had all become part of her routine during the several days that had elapsed since her arrival.

But that day, as she followed the path, Sakura found her thoughts drifting. Their usual quick ride turned into an hour. And then more. Kaze wasn't complaining. He was used to marching. They both were.

Moegi greeted Sakura in the foyer when she returned. "Welcome back, General. Did you enjoy your ride?" Haku also bowed, hands folded in front of her.

"What? Oh… yes, did," Sakura answered. Tucking her helmet under her arm, she strode off down the hall. Moegi and Haku followed on her heels. They had learned her pace by now. They could match her steps without bumping into her or lagging behind.

"What time is it?" asked Saura as they neared the stairs.

"It's almost 9, General. Prince Sasuke sent a message begging your forgiveness," Haku reported.

Sakura climbed the first step. Paused. "For?"

"For inviting Prince Naruto to lunch, General."

Sakura let out a long sigh. "Please send word to Prince Sasuke that he should beg harder," she finally replied.

A smile tilted the corner of Haku's mouth. Moegi quickly covered her lips to hide her titer.

"Ah, and before I forget. Tell the kitchen that I'd like tea to be sent up to my room at night as well. Something herbal if possible," Sakura told them. Haku, who had the better memory of the two, hurried off to deliver the message. Moegi continued on behind Sakura.

"Pardon me if I'm overstepping my bounds, General. But is something troubling you?" Moegi ventured as Sakura reached out to open the door. Fingers lingering on the handle, Sakura turned her head to look at the girl. She was fresh-faced, always so eager to please. Her eyes glittered at the smallest forms of praise.

"I didn't sleep so well last night," Sakura replied.

"Ah! That's why you asked for the herbal tea!" Moegi realized.

Sakura smiled. "Clever girl," she said as she stepped into her quarters.

It was only later, after she had bathed and dressed, that Sakura could even think of the truth. And even then, she took up a pen, dipped it in ink too many times. Trying to gather her thoughts into words that would mean something more than just nonsense.

Dear Sasori,

I've been tossing and turning at night again.

She scribbled it out.

I wish I could tell you that my thoughts

Scribbled.

I'm scared.

Her pen stopped moving. The tip of her nib dug into the paper for too long and left a blot. It spread, blurring out the word. She crumpled the paper up and shoved it into her jacket pocket. She could have one of her maids burn it. Or better yet, she could find an excuse to walk past a fire and burn it herself.

A rush of disgust swelled in her chest as she remember the physician's words when she had first returned from the battlefront.

+++

Yashamaru's hands were always a little too cold. She held very still as they pressed to her throat. He counted her heartbeats. And then he checked her eyes, scrutinizing her pupils. Every so often, he jotted something down in his notes.

They could hear laughter in the distance. The waves lapped at the beams supporting the room. Yashamaru let out a soft sigh. He brushed his hair out of his eyes.

"As I suspected, Lady Sakura. You're in excellent physical condition," he declared.

Yashamaru was a distant relative of hers. The light-colored eyes signature of their family made that obvious enough. Sakura found herself staring at them without really seeing. She traced back the lineage to place him in her family tree. He was the brother-in-law of her second cousin's father. So that made him… her… first cousin… once removed?

His mouth was still moving. She wished that she didn't hear the words coming out of it.

"But I've seen this before. It's stress from the war. You just need to rest."

"I have been resting," Sakura grumbled.

It had been nearly a year since she had returned from her successful campaign on the western border of the kingdom. She had been hailed as a hero. Her battered regiment had marched into the city in a shower of flower petals and applause. There was even a parade, complete with music. She remembered sitting on Kaze's back, ears ringing and her head barely nodding whenever people spoke to her. There were many soldiers who just stood there and wept. What cruelty to celebrate the hell that they had just barely managed to crawl out of.

In the name of reconstruction, she had stayed in Whiteriver Keep. She oversaw the distribution of soldiers and supplies to the scorched areas of the kingdom on the mend after the war. There were still small pockets of surviving enemies to clean up. Some groups she sent just to help people rebuild their towns. If possible, she asked that soldiers be sent as close to home as possible. And for their commanding officers to turn a blind eye every now and then if some slipped out in the night to be with their families.

Three years of battles and travel had taken a toll on her. Sakura's first days back in the castle had been difficult. Servants there had never bent over backwards to please her. And as she jolted out of nightmares, often drawing a weapon, the few who had once served her began to steer clear of her quarters entirely. Every shadow was an enemy. Every sharp noise was the scream of an innocent. When she closed her eyes, a battlefield of ashen corpses stared at her. Sometimes the bodies demanded to know why they had died and she had lived. She never had an answer for them.

It was her Aunt Kushina, the Queen Regent, who had recommended a change of scenery.

"You've always liked Plumeria. And the the sea air might be good for you," she had suggested. Part of her had suspected that it was a trap. But another part of her didn't care. She ran home- to her real home. Where she was welcomed with open arms. Where smiles were real and where when people said, "I love you" and "I care about you", it really meant something.

"You haven't rested. I mean here," Yashamaru persisted, touching two fingers to his temple. As Sakura stared at him, he reached out to touch her temple too.

"Your wounds are healing on your body. But not in there. You need to relax a little," he went on. Sakura's eyes narrowed. She pushed his hand away.

"Alright. Then why don't you try watching your commanding officer's decapitation? And then witness his body torn apart by beasts? Or, why don't you go see enemy soldiers set fire to entire towns? And then see how easily you can relax at night," she spat. Yashamaru recoiled a little, like she had burned him.

"Actually, you know what might be fun? Why don't you find orphans who survived by eating the bodies of their siblings and parents? That should help you rest a little, don't you think?" As she spoke, Sakura could hear her voice catch. She clenched her hands into fists.

"You try having all those thoughts in your head, Doctor. And then see how well you relax," she hissed.

And when she met Yashamaru's gaze, she was almost sorry for lashing out at him.

Slowly, he closed his eyes. Let out a deep breath through his nostrils. When he opened his eyes again, he offered her a wan smile.

"All the same, you need to sleep. The dead need not rest. You do," he insisted.

Sakura's mouth tightened before she confessed: "I'd rather not sleep. My dreams are unkind."

"Moon tea, then. To force sleep despite the dreams," Yashamaru responded.

A shaky sigh left Sakura's mouth. She touched the back of her hand to her forehead. Trying to gather her scattered thoughts in her even more scattered brain.

"This is common. Soldiers returning from war always struggle to adjust," Yashamaru told her.

"Some of them seem fine," Sakura protested.

Yashamaru shook his head. "Some of them are liars, then. Or at least better actors than you are," he corrected her. And then he got out of his seat.

"And I'd hate to offend you more than I already have, but it must be said," Yashamaru then added. Sakura glanced at him, already wary.

"You've left the battlefield. Stop dragging it around with you," he said.

Sakura's expression hardened. She got out of her seat.

"Will you drink the tea?" asked Yashamaru, following her with his eyes.

"Prescribe it," she ordered. She got to her feet and walked off, hands clenching and then unclenching with every fall of her boots against the path.

+++

It had been almost four years since then. It had taken a long time for her to even begin to be able to pretend that things were getting better. The staff in her palace had worked tirelessly to nurse her back to health. None of them complained about the broken dishes or the sleepless nights. They greeted her with smiles each morning, answering her listlessness and anger with compassion. Sakura knew for a fact that they had been the ones to save her.

Still, the nightmares returned every once in a while. It was worse when she was away from home. If the doctor was correct, which he usually was, stress was to blame.

Her nights in Ispolin were spent tossing and turning more and more. Flashes of blades and the booms of cannon fire filled her ears at night. When she jolted awake, sweat dripping down her face, she wondered how a phantom sound could seem so real. Why her scars still ached like her wounds were fresh. Clarity only returned to her with the rising sun, after she had managed an hour or two of sleep to soothe her aching brain.

Kneading the heels of her hands against her eyes, Sakura sucked in a deep breath. Inhaling. Exhaling. Calming the noise in her head.

She let her hands fall to the desk.

There was no point in telling Sasori, she finally decided. He would worry and abandon his duties to come see her. And then he would insist on taking her home right away. There was no point.

Her eyes drifted to the books sitting on the edge of the desk. There were so many interesting titles in the library. His Majesty the King had invited her to explore it at her leisure, even if Sasuke was not with her. When she had mentioned this to Sasuke, he had nearly spit his tea in her face. Half-choking, he had let her know what a huge honor it was. Sakura had suspected as much. But then again, what use was a library when most people didn't know how to read?

With the King's permission, she had begun borrowing a few books at a time to read in her room. Haku and Moegi trimmed the candle wicks to make sure that they were steady enough to read by. During the many occasions that she suffered through a sleepless night, having a book was a small comfort. These particular books were about the accomplishments of some of the Mountain Kingdom's famous tacticians. It was dry, but informative. The texts even suggested a few strategies that she had never imagined.

There was still time left before lunch. She stared at the books for a long time before she made a decision. She scooped the up in her arms and carried them to the other wing of the castle. It was a long walk, but she didn't mind it at all. Keeping her muscles busy distracted her mind a little, too.

As she pushed the double doors open, she thought she heard a noise. She hesitated in the doorway. Free hand sliding down her leg toward her dagger as she waited. She counted to ten, holding her breath to hear better. When it was silent, she let the doors swing shut behind her.

Sakura remembered where she had pulled these books from. It was a testament to how infrequently people entered this place that the empty spots in the bookcase were still there. Where the lonely spines had slumped to one side in the absence of their neighbors. Sakura squeezed them back into place. She skimmed her fingertips along the bindings as she walked past.

As she drifted to another section, she began glancing over the titles.

History, philosophy, religion. She couldn't even begin to imagine how much this room was worth. Each book was handwritten by a scribe. Bound with fine leather. It was, frankly, a bit stupid to let her, a stranger, have free rein of this place. Surrounded by what was essentially piles and piles of gold.

As she moved to a new shelf, she heard a heavy thud. Sakura peered around the corner. Itachi stood frozen, a sheepish expression on his face. A book lay on the floor.

Her eyes traced the bottom of his shadow all the way until they reached the bottom of his dressing gown. It was a thick robe the color of the night sky. The hem shimmered with silver thread. It reminded her of the sheen of polished armor.

"That sound I heard earlier… Was that you, Your Highness?" she queried. When her eyes reached his face, she found his cheeks turning pink. It was easy to tell. He was so pale.

"… I wasn't expecting company. This place is usually empty," he said in response. And then he fidgeted with his dressing gown a bit. It was a beautiful garment. Although the fabric was a bit heavier than she would have expected in warmer weather.

This was only her second time seeing him, but Sakura could see that he truly hadn't expected to see anyone else. His hair was loose. She could tell that he had thrown his robe on without even checking a mirror. Half of his hair was tucked into the collar of his clothes, while the rest fell down his back. She rested her palm against her heart, bowing from the waist.

"My apologies, Your Highness. I was unaware that I was intruding on your personal space. I'll take my leave then," Sakura said. But as she turned, she heard him say: "Wait."

She turned back to him.

"Yes, Your Highness?" she responded.

His forehead wrinkled. His gaze seemed to search for his next words. And when his eyes finally met hers, she was startled by how much lighter they were than his brother's.

"If I'm not mistaken, you're a princess yourself. There's no need for you to bow to me," he pointed out.

Sakura opened her mouth. Closed it. Head tilting a little to one side, she scrutinized his expression. When she decided that he wasn't being condescending, she finally spoke.

"I was led to believe that someone such as yourself would have received the finest education in foreign affairs. What a shame," she sighed. And then she gave him a smile that didn't reach her eyes as she added: "Please excuse me." She bowed once again before she turned and left the room. The heavy door closing with a bang behind her.

Sakura was out on the terrace for lunch as she had promised. But when Sasuke showed up with Naruto on his heels, he hesitated. The look she gave the both of them over the rim of her teacup seemed like a warning.

"Fetch some milk. It appears that the General's tea is bitter," Sasuke said to the nearest servant. The woman bowed before she hurried off.

"Good afternoon," Sasuke then greeted her.

"Good afternoon," Sakura replied, perfectly polite. If not for her her sharp gaze.

Sasuke and Naruto exchanged looks. When Naruto gestured to the seat across from Sakura, Sasuke gave a quick shake of his head. He settled beside her, instead. Where, at the very least, he wouldn't have to look her in the eyes each time he looked up. Naruto mustered a grin as he settled in that spot instead.

Sakura set her cup down in the saucer. It barely made a sound.

"Hi, Sakura. You must have been up early. Did you go horseback riding?" Naruto greeted her, keeping his voice light.

"Yes, Your Highness," was all she said. Her eyes met his, daring him to ask another question. Naruto's smile sagged, as did his shoulders. He fumbled to find another topic of conversation.

"Have you been adjusting well here? I like their food," he ventured.

"I can eat just about anything, Your Highness."

"Oh…. Well, what's your favorite thing you've eaten here?" Naruto struggled on.

"I don't have favorites, Your Highness. As long as they're not rations."

Naruto seemed to give up after that second failure. Sakura's eyes were cold as she let the conversation fizzle out that way.

Sasuke grimaced before he took a sip of his tea.

"Is your tea bitter as well, Highness? The milk should be here shortly," one of the servants whispered. Sasuke just nodded.

The milk, along with their lunch, arrived not long after. Naruto perked up a little at the steaming slices of ham. He seemed most excited to have something to do instead of fidgeting in that silence.

Sakura watched, arms folded across her chest, as Naruto helped himself to the food.

"General… we haven't known each other for long. But… I'd like to request something," Sasuke finally spoke up.

"Yes, Your Highness," Sakura said, turning her face toward him.

She found him with his lips mashed together. He coughed into his fist once before he requested, "Can you please stop making it so uncomfortable here? I don't think I could eat a single bite with you sitting there like… that." And with the last word, Sasuke gestured at her tense posture.

Sakura looked down at herself. And then at Naruto, who was nibbling at a roll, peeking warily at her with the look of a child who had recently been scolded.

She exhaled through her nostrils. Uncrossed her arms. Took a deep breath. Let it out.

"You're right," was all she said.

She could feel their eyes on her, waiting for the rest of the apology. Because that's what usually happened in a situation like this. There should have been an explanation. Or at the very least, an excuse. But while Itachi's comment had dug a sharp finger into an old wound, it had reminded her of something she had learned as a child. Sitting on her Aunt Kurenai's lap as the smoke from her pipe tickled her nose.

"You are a princess. And you will be a queen. Do not apologize."

Sasuke gave another fake cough. He shook out his napkin with a snap and laid it in his lap.

"Well… Prince Naruto and I visited my family's mausoleum. Unfortunately, he seemed not to have enjoyed the tour," Sasuke tried to change the subject. Naruto wrinkled his nose.

"Why have dead bodies just laying there? They should be buried," Naruto protested.

"Sometimes, people don't have the luxury," Sakura told him in a quiet voice.

But he went on: "And, I mean, people rot. That's disgusting. No one wants to see that. And the smell! They're better off staying out of sight."

By now, Sasuke had caught the look on Sakura's face. The tightness in her shoulders. The way her mouth flattened, lips pressing together. It took a few seconds for Naruto to feel her stare burning into the side of his face.

"Like I said, Your Highness, burying the dead isn't always an option. Religions and traditions differ- even from village to village in the same kingdom. The condition of the land and soil could also be a factor," she enunciated. And then she looked Naruto in the eyes, her voice going flat.

"Sometimes we have to carry the bodies through the mud. Stinking and rotting all over our uniforms. You see, the soil in the south is too wet, too swampy. The bodies don't stay buried for long," Sakura explained. Her voice measured and as calm as if she were discussing the weather.

Her stare pinned Naruto in place. He didn't move. His face had gone very white. Sakura was quiet. And then she nodded several times.

"But perhaps you're right. Keeping the dead out of sight is comfortable for people like you, isn't it? And of course, it's all about what you prefer," Sakura added.

A bead of sweat made its way down the side of Naruto's face. Then another. And it must have been sweat gathering in Naruto's eyes too.

Sakura turned her head toward Sasuke, suddenly smiling again. "I apologize for Prince Naruto's lack of tact. He's had quite a sheltered upbringing. It must have been an honor to visit a sacred place like your family's crypt."

Sasuke's gaze flickered to Naruto. Back to Sakura. Because Naruto's mouth was open, one hand reaching toward Sakura. She should have been able to see him out of the corner of her eye. But she kept her eyes trained on Sasuke instead.

"Well… I had no idea it would be interesting to you. Would like me to take you after lunch?" Sasuke offered. And then his gaze skimmed over to Naruto again. The sudden sharpness there made Naruto lean back a little. Mouth pulling into a smirk, Sasuke added: "I didn't have the time to pay my respects properly. I would love an excuse to return there."

Sakura caught on to his game. She hid her smile behind her teacup.

After the meal, Sakura spent the rest of the day following Sasuke around the palace grounds. They had explored much of it already. But the mausoleum was a new adventure.

The underground crypt was dusty and draped in cobwebs. There was a strange charm to it nonetheless. Monstrous carvings of stone lions filled the walls. Statues of more lions stood guard at the entrance of each room. They went through several rooms, climbing deeper and deeper into the ground. It occurred to Sakura that this would be an excellent place for Sasuke to kill her if he wished. When she pointed this out, he looked horrified.

"Why would I do that?" he hissed, rattling the lantern in her direction.

"Cleanup would be easy. You could just leave the corpse here," Sakura went on.

Shaking his head, Sasuke laughed as he led them on. Sakura's smile dropped as soon as his back was turned. It didn't seem like that was his plan. For now, at least.

The dried bodies of past Uchiha nobles lay on stone slabs, like exhibits in a desiccated museum. The founder of the Uchiha dynasty, a king named Madara the First, lay in the largest chamber. His body was so old that the thick cape of velvet and fur he wore had partially rotted away. Or perhaps it had been eaten by moths.

Sakura lingered by the slab. Sasuke stood beside her, holding the lantern up so that she could peer into the dried face. For an instant, Sakura could imagine the grace that must have embodied that shriveled face.

"On the island, they believe that people are reborn. If their spirits are given the proper rites," Sakura mused. The light moved. She began following Sasuke out of the chamber.

"Do you believe that as well?" Sasuke's voice drifted back to her.

Clasping her hands behind her, Sakura shook her head.

"I sincerely hope not. I hope that this is it. I'm exhausted by the thought of having to do all this again," she sighed. She heard Sasuke's feet scrape to a halt. She stopped too.

Sasuke had started to climb the staircase to the outside. He had turned to look at her. The lantern casting just his throat and bottom of his face in warm, orange light.

"Has anyone ever told you that you're a very sad person?" he queried.

A smile bloomed across her face.

"Only the ones that really know me," she responded.

That night, as Sakura prepared for bed, Haku knocked on her door. He handed her a letter. It was still cool. A messenger had probably just brought it through the castle gates. She patted Haku's cheek, grateful for how he was always running for the smallest things she requested. Fighting to bring her hot water while it still steamed. Ironing her clothes twice to make sure that they hung just the way she liked.

Haku's eyes went wide. He touched his cheek, gaze wondering as it followed her around the room. Sakura plucked a cookie off the tray on her desk. She placed it in Haku's mouth and gestured for him to sit. She could hear him moving as she slit the envelope. When the unfolded the thick, creamy paper, she smelled salt.

Dearest,

I've been rather occupied, so please excuse the lack of correspondence. There were pirates lingering around the southern waters near the island. Both the Counts urged diplomacy. So naturally, I ignored such foolish counsel.

I gathered a small fleet. We destroyed their schooner with little challenge. We found them transporting children. Slaves, I hope. Anything else would be worse to imagine. The criminals are currently awaiting judgment in the cells by the docks. I suspect that a few hangings will be in order. You know my opinion on pirates. I'll be glad to see them swing.

I write this sitting in the port of Plumeria. The Regent asked for my presence at Whiteriver Keep. I spewed some nonsense about overseeing our family's lands in your absence. He was very apologetic in his response. He seems to have forgotten that you've named Gaara as your proxy. Or perhaps he does not understand what a proxy is. The poor man must have headaches all day.

My little birds tell me that you have been having a grand time in the Mountain Kingdom. Not that I doubted you, darling. Strengthening ties to our neighbor to the north is key, as you already know. But I will needlessly remind you to be careful. 

I've enclosed something for you. A small token to keep you safe when I'm not there.

Thinking of you always,

Sasori

Sakura needed to burn the letter. The jab at the Regent's intelligence wasn't something she wanted anyone else to see. She could imagine Sasori rolling his eyes as he penned the insult. And then she could imagine one of the Regent's followers bellowing about treason until they turned purple in the face.

As she unfolded the paper the rest of the way, something fell on the rug. She stooped to grab it. It was a piece of fabric. She recognized the feeling of the high-quality silk only her island could produce. It was a soft shade of lilac with a snake curled around a staff stitched into the center. When she unwrapped it, she found a pair of earrings. They were made of gold. Sparkling pink tourmaline dangled from the wire. She shook them. She could see the slosh of something liquid inside the crystals.

There were many codes that the Haruno family used to communicate. Aunt Kurenai had made sure to teach them every one that she knew. This included using images that others would just see as decorations and patterns to send messages. In this case, the embroidery indicated that this was an antidote. Aunt Kurenai wore a similar pair each day. The top of the jewelry was designed to detach, revealing an opening at the top of the crystals. She had only ever had to use them once, and not on herself.

Sakura slipped the hooks through her ears. She slept with them on that night. And that night, her dreams weren't of clashing swords and blood misting through the air.

Instead, she was lying in a hammock by the beach. Swaying in the strong ocean wind. One foot dangling. She heard her father's voice, rising and falling in murmured words and laughter. The night was cool, but she was so comfortable. Wrapped up in something soft that smelled familiar. And she was safe.

It was the first time in a while that she had felt that way.

+++

< Chapter 1 | Chapter 2 | Chapter 3 >

[chris-carson]

The Economist

Up until that day Arthur had spent his life on one branch of a family tree ripe with independent wealth. When they met, his parents joined their respective fortunes—his father’s from a string of agricultural technology patents and his mother’s from a high profile corporate law practice—to bring him, their only child, into a very comfortable nest. He had a cousin that made a fortune with an app that alerts users that their laundry is dry. One aunt made a fortune ghostwriting bestsellers for entrepreneurial men that, like her son, make apps. His uncle was publisher and editor-in-chief of an iconoclastic political magazine called The Ambiguous Review . Then, of course, there were his grandfathers, on both sides, whom he only ever learned to describe as “businessmen.” Call it a blessing or call it a delusion, but Arthur never thought about money. When he finally attempted to fly the nest he only fluttered softly to the ground like a maple seed, where he sank into reverential daydreams about his own lineage. He wasn't mesmerized by the fortunes, no, but by all the ability, the talent. He was sure that equal, or greater, talent was waiting in him for its moment to flower. It was only a matter of finding the right habitat. After four years of college in San Francisco, and three more years there waiting to blossom, Arthur had relocated to Washington DC, to more fertile ground in which to take root.

The week he arrived, the whole historical DC skyline was erased by a thick gray blizzard that, when finally settled, had buried the eastern seaboard under feet of snow. As the city stalled, trying to clear the streets and dig out the metro stations, Arthur stayed indoors, typing. He was planning on starting a blog about DC, an insider's look at the world’s most powerful city. He wrote a few pieces that he never published. Then as quickly as it came, the snow melted away. From his window Arthur could watch clouds of honking geese push their gracefully rounded weight through the thick, misty air. He watched as people, thawed out of their apartments, made their way back to work. But Arthur had no work to go to. He had a freezer full of bagged food from Trader Joe’s and in between episodes of “House of Cards,” Arthur Isaacs began to worry about his future. Something would have to happen.

And something did happen. Arthur’s publishing uncle called one afternoon to say he had a good friend in DC, an economist named Lev Reissmann. He was the world's foremost expert on Sri Lankan rubber imports. Arthur recognized the name from college when Reissmann came to lecture, Arthur’s sophomore year. After hearing him speak, Arthur changed his major for the third time in two years to study economics. When Arthur learned that his uncle knew Reissmann, not as the wizard that had predicted Myanmar's boom in thumbtack sales, but as Levy, fellow Cub Scout and childhood friend, Arthur saw a chance to make a big connection in a city built on connections, and finally do something for himself.

All Arthur had to do was find P Street and hurry to the meet Reissmann. He was already late, but heading in the right direction now, he walked down a long street. Victorian town houses rose above him on either side, with long thin fronts, the paint faded to colors like soft pastel and red brick faded to orange. They were squeezed together like layers in ancient rocks. The leafless limbs of the magnolia trees lining the street bent arthritically in all directions. Parked along the sidewalk was a steady stream of placid luxury sedans and station wagons. The narrowness of the street made it seem like a dry bone that had shrunk under the heat of time. But with the sun at his back Arthur walked quickly through the whole scene, up to a tall house fronted by thick brown stone steps. There was the  figure of a man standing at the wide window holding a road atlas but gazing past it and onto the street from under a red baseball cap. It was Reissmann.  

The front door was nearly ten feet tall with a big brass door knob and a glinting mail slot. The big front window jutted out from the front of the house and through a thinner pane of glass on the side, Arthur looked into the front parlor room at Reissmann, still standing at the window. The immaculate room could have swallowed Arthur’s entire studio and held room for more. The fireplace alone was larger than Arthur’s kitchen. It was framed by a glittering marble mantle, cut with straight stately lines. Books lined the walls from floor to ceiling. Billowing white sofas sat carelessly in the center of the room surrounding a low table carved from wood fine and red. Arthur stood at the window on the porch waving, trying to catch Reisman's attention but couldn't. Arthur’s own reflection in the glass waved back at him, like it were mocking him from the center of that wonderful room.

How nice it would be to live in one of those, instead of these tiny apartments in these old buildings. In San Francisco, he had shared a basement apartment with his girlfriend Anne Marie, and standing in the cold he suddenly thought of the musky smell that permeated from the carpeting and the constant battle against black mold in the bathroom. Before his last rainy season out west, Arthur remembered getting a call from his cousin, who mentioned that a tech millionaire was looking to invest in something artistic, like a movie. Arthur felt confident he could write a screenplay. He told his girlfriend Anne Marie about the opportunity. She was a small young woman, almost squat, with plump red cheeks and little pea-shaped brown eyes that would droop at the corners when she was excited, and she was excited by the news, as she was by all of Arthur’s opportunities, and much of what he thought and spoke.

“Oh babe, that is so great. I’m so happy for you” Anne Marie had said.

She was working as a waitress in a hotel restaurant to earn a little bit of money while she got her graphic design portfolio together for graduate school. Every night she made a point of bringing sushi home just in case Arthur had forgotten to eat dinner. So while Arthur ate salmon nigiri dipped in soy sauce, he glowed vibrantly with all the ideas he’d ever had over the years that could be used for a screenplay.

But on a night when the rain came, without a sign of letting up, Anne Marie returned from work with her leather jacket pulled over her head, the paper bag of sushi soaked through and torn. After eight months on the screenplay, Arthur had taken a lot of good notes, but hadn't put anything to paper.

“I hope the sushi isn't wet,” Anne Marie said, shaking herself off at the door, and combing her fingers through her dripping hair. Arthur was reading on the couch, a little drunk.

“Hi babe,” Anne Marie said, but Arthur didn't answer.

She walked over to him. “Are you not talking to me tonight?” she asked.

“No, I’m sorry,” Arthur said, “I’m just busy doing some writing.”

She bent down to kiss him. Walking off to the kitchen she asked, “How has the writing been going?”

“Fine,” Arthur said.

“Are you getting a lot done?” she asked.

“Yes,” he said.

“When can I read it?” she asked.

She came back with a glass of water and the sushi on a plate that she placed for Arthur on a low table they kept in front of the sofa and sat down next to him.

Arthur didn't answer. Anne Marie turned the television on. He was better off without her. He was better off here, in the city of his future. It was only a matter of ringing the doorbell. Arthur fired his hand quickly at the brass encased doorbell and heard it chime inside. When he turned back to look in through the window Reissmann was gone, the road atlas rested on the back of one of the white couches. But nobody answered the door. Arthur worried he had done something wrong. Had he imagined hearing the chime? Maybe he had imagined pressing the bell all together. Maybe this wasn't even the right house. In a panic, Arthur fired his hand again. As he did, the door opened and a now hatless Reissmann, bundled in a dusty wool coat and scarf, appeared at the door as the second bell chimed just above the old man’s head. Reissmann gasped and jumped back in surprise.

“Sorry to keep you waiting, Mr. Isaacs,” Reissmann said, hard lines cutting through his forehead, below his marble white hair.

“No, I’m sorry,” Arthur said, “Are you okay? I just didn’t think you heard me.”

“Yes, I’m fine and I can tell you I heard that,” Reissmann said, ducking back inside the house, leaving the door open. Arthur watched him shuffle down the long shadowed hallway to a block of light coming from the back of the house. Arthur began to follow him, only to realize, after three or four steps in, that he had not, in fact, been invited inside. He quietly made his way back out, hoping Reissmann wouldn't see him. Arthur heard muffled voices coming from the back. Dipping his head back through the doorway into the shadows, he asked, loudly, “What was that?” No answer. When Reissmann came back outside holding a briefcase he told Arthur, “I wasn't speaking to you,” and locked up the house.

They walked down the street, back in the direction Arthur had come from. The sun in the late afternoon was low in the sky. It spread a thick blonde light over everything that briefly reminded Arthur of San Francisco. Anne Marie used to squeeze honey that was the same color as the light spreading over everything into her mint tea. Thinking of her like that made it hard for Arthur to concentrate on whatever it was Reissmann was talking about. All that honey she would go through, how greedily she’d squeeze that bear-shaped bottle into her favorite tea cup.

“You live on such a beautiful street,” Arthur said suddenly, cutting Reissmann off in the middle of an anecdote about his son’s tenure.

“Yes, I suppose I can take a little credit for the street,” Reisman said. “You see, when my wife and I bought our place — that was nearly fifty years ago now — this whole street was just full of empty houses. We basically had our pick of where we wanted to live and bought the place for a little more than the money we had in our pockets. Not really, of course, but you get the idea. It was cheap. Now it must be worth...well, millions!”

“You are very lucky,” Arthur said, unsure himself what he meant by lucky.

“Luck has nothing to do with it. We are still working on the house, of course, and that means, still paying for it,” Reissmann said.

“But at least it is yours,” Arthur said.

“Yes,” Reissmann said, “it is ours.”

A silence fell between them as they paused at an intersection. Arthur looked at Reissmann who looked back and gave a forced and toothy smile. Reissmann’s teeth were in bad shape, small, birdlike and brown, his lips were all chapped and cracked and dry. Looking closer, Arthur saw his small and crooked fingers gripping the faux leather briefcase. His chinos had bleach stains near the pockets. He had loosened his scarf, warmed by the walk, revealing the wide collar on his dress shirt poking out of his sweater like a gaping mouth trying to swallow that little head of his.

“I have a late meeting this afternoon, in just about half an hour. I thought we could get coffee at the Bolingbrook Institute, where I work, and bring it to my office, instead of going to the cafe to chat,” Reissmann said as they crossed the street.

When they arrived at The Bolingbrook, Arthur looked up towards the angled glass structure donning the front of the tall, brick building, home to one of DC’s most influential think tanks. Looking up, he could see people walking quickly from one floor to another, working on the world’s finest economic quandaries. They were as busy as ants, moving like quick geckos in a terrarium. Arthur didn't know the first thing about what they did at the Bolingbrook Institute, but he still pictured himself charming Reissmann into an internship, then watched himself rushing down those white steel steps, looking out from inside the glass box at a hopeful young man looking up from the street the way Arthur was. He could see himself invite the boy up to give him an opportunity, just like the great Lev Reisman did for him. He saw it all before even going inside.

Inside though, Reissmann led him silently downstairs to the cafe. Arthur ordered a simple black coffee, while Reissmann got a large cafe au lait. The young woman working the counter had big eyes brown as acorns like they were painted onto her soft, full, brown face. As Arthur tried to pay Reissmann for the coffee, Reissmann was busy following this young woman along the counter, saying, “And please, more milk than coffee.”

She nodded at him without a word. Reissmann, though, was eager to talk. “Your hair looks very pretty today,” he said. She didn't respond as she turned to fill the tall paper cup with more milk. When she turned back, Reissmann asked her, “How are you?”

She nodded and handed him the cup. He took it and said, “Gracias,” with a long, roll of the R. He held up one dollar for her to see, then stuffed it in the tip box with a smile.

This woman was not Mexican or Spanish, and Arthur could see that, but he didn't think he should say anything. He watched Reissmann struggle with his stiff fingers to pour honey into the cup, but didn't offer to help.

Upstairs, Reissmann’s office was spacious, but mostly empty. There was a desk in the center of the room, some wires running from the dusty computer on the desk, back to the outlet below the wide window on the room's back wall, directly behind Reissmann, who sat behind the desk. There was a filing cabinet in the corner. All the drawers were open and empty. Along one wall were stacks of old boxes that looked to be deflating like old pumpkins. There were no bookcases, no phones, the computer wasn't on. It was hard to tell if somebody was just arriving, or on his way out. Reissmann got right to the point.

“We don't have much time,” he said. “So tell me how it is you think I can help you?”

“Well this is a big help,” Arthur said, “just meeting with me like this. I know you are busy, so thank you. I guess I’d like to know if you have any advice for a young person who's just moved here, any advice on how they can make it.”

As he was finishing talking, Reissmann raised his cup to his lips. Arthur watched as the loose top slipped off and he spilled a stream of milky yellow coffee into his lap.  Reissmann shrieked and leapt out of his chair.

“It’s fine,” Reissmann said.

“At least it is more milk than coffee, right?” Arthur said.

“Something like that,” and sitting back down Reissmann added, “I don't know what happened.”

“I do,” Arthur said.

“Excuse me?” Reissmann asked.

“The top wasn't on all the way,” Arthur said. “I noticed it downstairs too, but didn't think it was my place to tell you, or say anything.”

Reissmann looked at Arthur for a moment, his lips taut like he was about to say a hundred things, but couldn't start somewhere. “Anyway,” he started after a moment, “to answer your question. Young people have been moving to DC for as long as I've been here and seem to make it, as you say, just fine without any advice from me. You see?”

Arthur nodded.

“In fact, I think there have been entirely too many young people moving here and expecting the city to give them all kinds of things, expecting the city to change for them in all kinds of ways. They don't appreciate the history. They don't appreciate the culture. They don't want to work hard. In fact, it is as if all they want is advice.”

As he went on and on, Arthur saw, in the lines around his forced smile, could hear, between his polite tone, exasperation and annoyance. He thought about San Francisco again, about the last time he spoke to Anne Marie, when he told her he was thinking about leaving and he could see in both the shape her face took and the way her eyes moved, that the surprise and confusion had morphed into anger and resentment. He remembered the way she challenged him to simply say what he wanted, whether it was to leave her or stay with her, it didn't matter but just be a man and say it and stop the excuses. He never did. He told her he was going to visit family on the east coast, but never intended to see her again, and somehow, listening to this old man talk about what he learned in the Peace Corps, Arthur finally understood what it must have been like for her, trying to talk to a cowardly, selfish man.

“Well, thanks for your time,” Arthur said, standing to go, “It was a pleasure to meet you.”

“Sure thing,” Reissmann said, “and good luck.”

The two men never saw each other again, but when Arthur got home he found an email from Reissmann waiting for him with the name and number of a reputable temp agency. There was no response to the Facebook message he had sent Anne Marie a few days before, telling her that he was going to meet Reissmann for coffee. Arthur opened their messages and looked at the little thumbnail picture of her for a minute, then wrote, “Well that couldn’t have gone any better. I think I may get a fellowship at Bolingbrook!!” She never responded to that message either. San Francisco was having a heat wave and the nights there were suddenly warmer and Anne Marie was happy to find herself enjoying bourbon for the first time in her life, and giving up mint tea completely.

[anotherlifefic]

Chapter 38: Happy Days

We returned to our home in the city after the party. For the first time in what seemed like years. And after that, everything seemed to go back to the way it was. Link made a full recovery, I continued to attend my fighting lessons at Ashanti‘s school once a week, during which I would leave Gareth in either Link‘s or Sanna‘s care, and worked on Malon‘s wedding dress. Navi soon left us to return to the forest, promising to come back if we ever needed her. The chill of winter slowly faded into the gentle warmth of spring, which was then replaced by the heat of summer approaching. And when the first day of summer arrived, I spotted a familiar wagon while out shopping.

Link and I were walking side by side, talking about whatever trivial things came to our minds. Link was holding Gareth and I carried the basket. While I let my eyes wander over the stalls on the marketplace, I stopped and called out:„Jenna!“ Link must have heard the excitement in my voice, because he gave me a puzzled look. „Why are you so excited about her being here?“ Oh right. I hadn‘t told him. And he would have to wait for an explanation. I just grabbed his sleeve and tugged him towards Jenna‘s wagon. „Come, let‘s go say hello to her!“ Gareth, sensing my excitement, cooed and stretched his tiny hands out towards where we were headed. He was four months old now and much more aware of his sorroundings. Jenna poked her head out of the wagon when she heard my voice, and gave me an annoyed look, until she saw Link. She gave him her usual bright smile and waved him over. „Link!“ Link looked at me doubtfully. „What...“ „I‘ll explain it later“, I assured him and stepped in front of Jenna. „Hello, Jenna. Good to see you again. How have your travels been?“ Both Link and Jenna seemed equally baffled by my cheerful attitude. They looked at each other, then at me. „It‘s been… nice. Always good to see a lot of the world“, she sputtered, caught completely off guard. „That‘s good to hear. Hey, Link and I were planning to make baked salmon for supper. Why don‘t you join us, so you can tell us all about what you were up to?“ She looked at Link again. „Sure. I‘d love to.“ „Great! See you at six!“

„What was that?“, Link questioned as we moved on, occasionally stopping in front of stalls to browse their wares. „I met Jenna in the erased future“, I replied, and then explained what had happened. Link was quiet for a long time after I finished, just silently rocking Gareth in his arms. Then he finally asked:„So you think you can become friends with her now, based on what you experienced during your time-travel.“ „I know I can. Jenna has a good heart.“

That evening, just when I got the salmon out of the oven, there was a knock at our door. Link went to open, and a few seconds later Jenna stepped into our dining area. She wore an exquisite blue dress made of silk, with a low neckline and fine embroidery on the seams. Her hair was done up in a crownbraid. „Ah, just in time!“ I placed the food down on the dinnertable. „Make yourself comfortable!“ She sat down at the table, still looking at me suspiciously, before she turned to Link. „Oh, your house is beautiful, Link! It must be so nice to live here!“ „It is.“ „Though I kind of expected you to have a bigger home“, she continued. Before Link could answer, Gareth, who was sitting in a crib we had placed in the dining area so he could sit with us while we ate, started fussing. I took him into my arms and rocked him until he calmed down. Jenna slowly turned her head to look at him. „...Is this your child?“ „Yes“, Link replied, his chest positively swelling with pride. „That‘s my son.“ I could almost see Jenna‘s heart break. She looked at the toddler in my arms with her mouth slightly open as if to say something. I wanted to comfort her. To say, or do anything to make her feel better. So impulsively, I stretched out my arms. „Do you want to hold him?“ She swallowed, but took Gareth, holding him close to her chest. „So cute“, she mumbled. „I wonder what you would look like if I was your mother.“ I reached over, but only to stroke Gareth‘s cheek as he dozed in Jenna‘s arms. „I‘m sure you‘d have the prettiest babies, Jenna.“ She looked at me, bit her lip and looked away. „Well I guess we‘ll never know.“ With that, she carefully placed Gareth back in the crib and started eating. After a while of quietly enjoying our meal, I tried to get the conversation going again:„So where have you been, Jenna? You were gone for almost a year, so it must have been far away.“ „I went to a lot of different places“, she replied, pulling the fish apart with her fork. „I went back home for a while, and then travelled through the Faron region just east of Hyrule‘s border. Have you ever been there?“ I sighed wistfully. „Unfortunately not. The only time I ever left Hyrule was not too long ago, while I was… looking for someone.“ Link and I exchanged a quick look. „But even then, I was still fairly close to the border.“ „Oh, Faron is a beautiful region. Most of the trees there are palm trees, and you can find all kinds of exotic fruit and animals if you know where to look. But it‘s also fairly dangerous. There are thunderstorms every other day… the locals say it‘s because there‘s a dragon living in the region. I never saw it, though.“ Jenna‘s demeanor had brightened considerably. „And what about your homeland? What was it called? The Great Lebian Coast? Where is that?“, I asked further. „It‘s very far to the west. You see, north of the Haunted Wasteland lies a region covered in snow, called Hebra. Now if you go further west, you eventually cross the border to Labrynna, and right behind Labrynna is where the Great Lebian Coast is.“ In between two bites of potatoes, she continued:„I technically still own my parent‘s farm, but I was so lonely living there alone and I couldn‘t run it all by myself. That‘s why I became a merchant. I hoped that travelling around would help me… find a good husband. Someone to continue my family‘s legacy with.“ „I‘m sure you will find someone eventually“, Link said with a smile. „You are a sweet girl, Jenna. Someday, someone will see that.“

As the night went on, Jenna told us more about the many places she had visited. Countries I had never even heard about, with odd people and even odder costums. And the more I heard, the more I wished to travel myself. When it was finally time to say goodbye, Jenna was smiling at us. „Thank you for the invitation.“ „You‘re welcome. And feel free to visit us whenever you like while you‘re in the city.“

I didn‘t have much time to think about travelling after that. The days leading up to Malon‘s wedding were busy, to say the least. As the matron of honor, I was in charge of most of the preparations. I helped the bridesmaids decorate, I oversaw the preparation of the food, and I finished Malon‘s dress and veil just in time. She looked beautiful in it, like a princess. „Matthias will love this“, I told her as I finished some adjustments due to her advanced pregnancy. „I know I do“, she replied, a bit misty-eyed. „Thank you, Rebecca.“ I lightly booped her nose. „Anything for you.“

And then, finally, the day had come. I held back tears as I saw Malon walk down the aisle, holding onto the arm of her father, while Matthias beamed at her. I had made sure that LonLon Ranch was properly decorated. Flowers of all colours were wound around the arch, and the aisle was covered in petals. For this day, the ranch had been turned into a fairlytale bathed in flowers. Once Talon handed her over to Matthias, I took Malon‘s bouquet and listened to the words of the priest. It was the same kind of sermon he had giving during my wedding; the standard for most couples. Malon and Matthias were looking at each other the whole time, as if only they existed in their own little world. „I, Malon, take you, Matthias to be my lawfully wedded husband...“ „To love, to cherish… „...in sickness and in health...“ „...until death do us part.“ They exchanged the rings, and then kissed. The whole wedding party cheered, some were crying. Talon was probably the loudest, blowing his nose into his hankerchief.

The reception afterward quickly became a big party, with all of the guests drinking and dancing. I mostly stood by the side with Link, watching everyone have a good time. At this point, I was quite happy just watching. I was exhausted from the preparations, but it felt good to see everything come together in the end. Link took my hand. „Reminds me of our wedding. Our reception wasn‘t quite as lively, though.“ „Well… we kinda got married in a rush because of the approaching war.“ He nodded thoughtfully. „Do you think we should have another wedding? A proper one this time?“ „I mean, we could technically renew our vows at some point… but I think it‘s a bit early for that.“ „That‘s true. Maybe a few years down the road, then.“ Now that I was finally a bit calmer, I looked over to him. „Actually… there‘s something I wanted to talk about.“ He raised his eyebrow. „Oh?“ I was quiet for a moment, not quite able to find the right words. But then I just blurted out:„I want to go travelling!“ „Travelling? But what about our home? What about Gareth?“ „We can take him along. He can grow up seeing all kinds of different places.“ I held onto Link‘s hand, begging for him to understand. „I‘m not saying we should leave Hyrule forever. Just… see a bit more of the world. Without the threat of certain doom constantly on our minds.“ He took a deep breath. „I… I‘d be lying if I said that I haven‘t thought about this before. But are you sure?“ „Absolutely!“ I insisted. „All of the places Jenna mentioned… and much more! I want to see them all with my own two eyes!“ This was ridiculous. I felt like a child begging for candy. Link thought for a few more seconds. „...We‘ll have to wait until after the coronation and then ask Zelda what she thinks about it. It may be an unofficial title, but I‘m still the protector of Hyrule.“ That sure as hell didn‘t bother you when you left ten years ago, I though but didn‘t say it out loud. I didn‘t want to start a lover‘s spat at my best friend‘s wedding. Speaking of best friend, Malon walked up to us, a wide grin on her face. „Hey there! I hope you enjoy the party!“ „Sure we do, Malon“, I assured her. „What about you?“ „Oh it is everything I ever dreamed of.“ She hugged me and kissed my cheek. „Thank you, Rebecca.“

The coronation was not long after the wedding. Link and I were standing in the throne room, somewhat off to the side, while we watched Zelda walk down the red carpet up to the throne her father used to occupy. She now wore an elaborate gown of white and purple, with the emblem of the royal family stitched down the front of her skirt. It was noon, and the sun‘s rays that were falling through the window above the throne hit her hair and almost made it look like she had a halo around her head. The sages were gathered around the throne, as they would be her vassals during her reign. She bowed before them, and they reciprocated; a sign of mutual respect. Rauru stepped forth. „Zelda, once Princess of Hyrule, do you vow to protect Hyrule and its people?“ „I do“, she replied. „Do you vow to keep the peace, to rule justly and with mercy?“ „I do“, she replied again. Now Rauru turned around. „Will the representatives of the races lend our new Queen their power?“ „By lake and stream, sea and river, us, the Zora, will grant Her Majesty our loyalty“, Princess Ruto replied. „By mountain and hill, rock and stone, us, the Gorons, will grant Her Majesty our strength“, Darunia added, pounding his fist against his chest for emphasis. „By darkness and shadow, by secrets to be kept, us, the Sheikah, will grant Her Majesty our protection.“ Impa gave a small smile as she said that. „By forest and meadow, and all things green, us, the Kokiri, will grant Her Majesty our friendship.“ Saria beamed up at Zelda. It was good to see how much the once so reclusive Kokiri had become part of the kingdom. „By sand and spirit, blood and steel, us, the Gerudo, will grant Her Majesty our support.“ Rauru nodded, then turned to Zelda again. „And I, Rauru, grant Her Majesty the blessing of both her ancestors and the Goddesses they served. May Her reign be long and prosperous.“ He took the crown that had been resting on a small table next to him, and gently put it on Zelda‘s head. The gemstone on the middle of the piece flared up in the sunlight, and Zelda turned to the people. The hall erupted into cheering, its echo so deafening that I had to cover my ears. But I smiled. Zelda would be a wonderful Queen.

The coronation party lasted for hours, which Link and I spent dancing and talking to the sages. But once it all died down and people started to go home, we could finally catch Zelda alone. „There you are!“, she said. Then she looked around. „I hope you enjoyed the celebration.“ „It was grand, Your Majesty“, I replied, not sure if I could still call her Zelda now that she was Queen. „Rebecca“, she said gently, taking my hands. „It‘s still me. I‘m still your friend. Me being Queen doesn‘t change anything.“ Then she leaned over and planted a gentle kiss on my cheek. She smelled sweet. Of lilac and roses. „There‘s actually something we wanted to talk to you about“, Link said, nervously shifting his weight from one foot to the other. „Rebecca and I have been thinking about going travelling for a while.“ It wasn‘t hard to see that this revelation hit her. „You want to leave? Now?“ „Not… now. There‘s still a lot to be prepared. But sometime within the next year.“ „What about your son? And your home? What about m-… “ She stopped, stuttered a bit. „What about Hyrule? Link, you are our most powerful warrior. What if something happens while you‘re gone?“ „We won‘t be gone for long“, Link promised. „We‘ll be back before you know it. With a lot of new stories to tell.“ Zelda faltered. „I can‘t stop you, can I? No. You were always a restless spirit, Link. Alright then. But do stay in touch.“ „We will“, I promised and kissed her hand. „We will always return to you. No matter how far away the wind takes us.“