author's note at the end.
Warnings: typical canon violence. Lotsa breaklines.
Of Lasting Dusk
by avet
.
"What are shinobi?"
In a cramped chamber, a well-dressed man stood on a dais and addressed the people surrounding him.
"Well, to most of the world, or to certain intellectuals, they are a group of super powered individuals who posses the answers to their needs. They are protectors, allies, hired personnel and even dear friends and families. I stand here to tell you that is untrue."
A pause, filled with almost tangible tension.
"'Shinobi' is a word that denotes an individual functioning in espionage, sabotage, infiltration, assassination and guerrilla warfare. Shinobi, in short, are merely honorless lot who cause conflict for their petty interest and wage wars over lands not their own!"
Some of the audience shifted restlessly, while others begun to nod firmly in agreement.
"I see that most of you are frowning, perhaps hesitating to agree with me, for surely not all shinobi are rotten? Well, I shall give you a few names, and tell me if you had not known a relative or an ancestor who have not passed in these events: First Shinobi World War, Second Shinobi World War, Third Shinobi World War and all the following Great Wars that were waged for ultimately mundane reasons, for resources, for land, for passing slights, and all simply unite in the need to spread fear throughout nations, but for the loss of millions of civilian souls!"
The speaker stopped to sigh in apparent sorrow.
"To answer the accusations of countless civilian massacres, the shinobi would later say that they were caught in the conflict! Caught! As if we had crossed over some foreign lands, not woke up in our homes in the dead of the night to find killers upon us! Are we lesser? Are we expendable? Well, for the shinobi, we are!"
There were rising murmurs of agreement, and few dismayed headshakes. The passionate speaker saw them, and hastened to continue.
"If we attempt to explain why these senseless wars continue, than it would be for a very simple reason: their industry relies chiefly on conflict. If there is no threat, then there's no reason for people to pay for protection or assassination. Essentially, we are their livelihood! We are the ones who pay them for protection against enemies they themselves have made! We are the ones who provide for them their food, or do you think that they have special farms where they grow special crops?! We are their clients, providers, servants, allies and victims!
I grow tired of hearing tales about how so-and-so lost their lives due to 'accidents', of shinobi not knowing the true measure of their strength, of careless mistakes! Tell me, what are we to them? Let's speak of our brethren in the Great Shinobi Villages, those who have accepted living as secondary citizens for meager protection, to hide with shinobi against shinobi! Their children, shinobi's canon fodders, their women, breeders for child killers, and their men, shinobi's targets and meat shields!"
A roar of anger swept the chamber, and the red-faced speaker concluded his speech with a hoarse cry.
"I say enough! The time has come for these scum to disappear, and for us to live in peace!"
Amidst the approving chaos, a small figure silently slipped out to the dead of night.
.
Sculpture
shaping wings
from clay, knowing the weight
of carrying flight
.
Senhime stared sightlessly down at the bound papers, in various states of being; some browned with age, others fresh in their crispness. All reports confirmed what she feared, and - to be perfectly honest - long anticipated.
Another war is knocking on their doors. So soon after what the shinobi call the Fourth Shinobi World War. But she fears that this one won't end as peacefully as the previous one, after all, this will be of a wider scale, and will have more permanent repercussions due to unanswered transgressions that has been brewing underneath the surface for hundreds of years.
A war between the shinobi populace and the civilian one.
She sighed.
This world is rotten, but certainly no more than the hundreds before it.
She turned her head to gaze at the open window, the last tendrils of April's sun; deep purple and dreamy blue overtaking the sky of the Fire Country's capital - Kōryō, a magnificent finale of a long day.
It was so tempting; to forsake everything and run away, take refuge in a tiny cottage over the rolling hills, the nature being the only companion. To sleep under the sparkling skies, to wash in cool rivers, to hunt in the forests, to chase the game, to dream undisturbed of days gone by.
But Senhime was not Harry Potter.
She was not a man steered by his desires, by his wants – to leave abruptly, ungratefully, indignantly and self-righteously, to chase the fleeting moments of freedom not earned.
Harry Potter died a thousand years ago, buried deep under countless different lives – never to surface and damned if he tries.
So that was it all, mere temptations dancing in the back of her mind, never to be truly considered.
She turned back to appraise the wide room, the folding screen with the eternally-stilled scene of nature facing her – a figure lost in the Gods' creation.
Another sigh passed her lips, she was tired.
Duty, duty, duty.
All her lives required immense duty.
Soft and deliberately suppressed footfalls reached her sensitive ears, before a silhouette knelt behind the paper door.
"Hime-sama, 'tis I, your servant."
"Do enter, Mai-san."
The middle-aged man that entered with lowered head was both a familiar and a dear individual – Minari Mai; a samurai descended from a vessel clan to the Minamoto's, her late mother's clan. He was by her side almost all this life's passage, and never had she took a step without the loyal retainer following directly behind.
She graced him with a kind smile, and felt genuine fondness when the slightest of red crept on his aged face.
He sat with straight back and hands on his folded legs before her, and met her eyes unflinchingly. "For whatever reason have you summoned me, Hime-sama?"
She motioned to the documents on the table between them, and watched from behind a paper fan as his shrewd eyes narrowed as he skimmed past them.
Finally he lowered the last one, and she was met with a troubled face. "Hime-sama, this is-"
"I plan to marry." She cut him off.
She waited patiently for his sudden bought of cough to end.
"M-marry! Hime, what brought this on!" He exclaimed in shock.
She lowered her ornamented fan and regarded him sincerely.
"I have been privy to worrying gatherings.." she began hesitantly. "Civilians, samurais and the rest of my citizens ungraced by the shinobi's chakra."
He still stared at her incomprehensibly.
"This last Great War unsettled them, understandably. However I do not think that these gatherings would result in a peaceful solution of coexistence with our shinobi counterparts. And many unfounded accusations about my person reached my ears, ones that claim I have been playing favorites."
"That is mere drivel, Hime! Surely you would not think them true?" Mai hurried to say worryingly.
"I know that is not true." She said dryly. "However, certain facts manipulated or exaggerated by spiteful ones would prove otherwise."
He knitted his eyebrows, before she saw them lighten in understanding. "Surely not—" He cut himself off, alarm clear on his face.
"Unfortunately, looks like our loose ends tangled themselves together." She affirmed with a sigh, grasping her china teacup and taking a sip. She grimaced – it had cooled off.
"But marrying- what does marrying have to do with this, Hime-sama?"
"Ah, it was an idea that recently crossed my mind." She admitted. "However, I do not plan to marry a nobleman or a Daimyō. Rather, I wish to marry a shinobi – a Fire shinobi, to be precise."
Poor Mai, he looks like he might have a stroke.
.
.
.
First, there are the Founding Clans: the Uchiha Clan's last heir is an inapt teen, and the Senju's heiress is the current Godaime. Then the four 'noble' Clans: the Hyuuga main branch has no male heir, the Aburame's obsession with pests are not appealing, the Akimichi are too... flippant.
Other considerable Clans were the Hatake – she was not a fan of the Copy-nin – as for the Sarutobi, dear Kami she was not a pedophile, and while there's an option of waiting for boy to reach the majority age, it's simply too far. The Yamanaka... maybe a last resort? Then there is the Inuzuka clan..
Hmm...
She gazed at the picture of the current heir, far too young. She sighed, and threw the paper away with annoyance.
They were all unsuitable.
Senhime almost closed the files and discarded the idea, when something drew her eyes.
The scarred face of the current Clan Head of Nara stared back at her with strangely familiar dark, sharp eyes.
All too familiar, for she never forgot a face, even if seen once.
She tilted her head in thought as her eyes skimmed down his file.
Ah, she remembered.
.
.
Sixteen Years Ago
Fire Country
The Seventh-Year of His Imperial Highness
.
Breeze caressed the delicate silky curtain, yet the atmosphere inside the clustered rickshaw remained sordidly humid. Senhime passed her ninth summer on a travel-worn road, in contrast to her previous year, where merriment and finery surrounded her.
The buzz of crickets and methodical slap of feet on ground were the sole recurring sounds around her, beside the occasional soft mutter or cough.
They were taking the nearest and fastest route to Manabi, the closest town to the Fire Capital, and they were not overly discreet.
Of course, there were decoys sent in several directions, but their pursuers should have regrouped by now and found the right track.
Senhime sighed, causing the soft mask covering her lower face to slightly shift.
All this trouble because of a few bitter mistresses, it was overkill, really.
But ultimately, pointless. To think that they murdered her sweet, frail Mother simply for a place in a crumbling hierarchy…
…. what a waste.
For all her pacifist outlook as a feudal princess in this lifetime, she will never forgive them for that.
Suddenly, there was a great commotion outside the cramped carriage, which halted rather forcefully.
Senhime lifted the curtain and asked the guard standing near. "For whatever reason have we stopped?"
The guard – she recalled that his name began with Ryo, but nothing else – instantly bowed and replied with a low voice. "Begging your pardon, Him—Ojou-sama, it only some rowdy road bandits, they will be taken care of immediately."
They both know that there's no such banal thing as bandits on the main road to the Capital, so she turned discreetly to look at the surprisingly uniformed bandits from behind the guards specifically selected to accompany her, not too much and not too little, fitting enough for a wealthy family's daughter, but not for a Fire princess.
Senhime wondered which opposing clan hired the ninja, because nothing else denotes the lean, blank-faced individuals.
Not that it mattered now, she conceded, for it seemed that her flight came to end. And for all the bravery her current guards possessed, bravery cannot combat hired killers alone.
A disappointed sigh was all that she allowed herself, she had many plans for this life after all and she just began some of them, the notion that she'd be forcibly removed to the next one rather stung.
She drew back the curtain and gracefully slumped back on the cushioned chair, and began to count.
One – a rallying cry, the clash of metals.
Two – screams of pain, scent of iron.
Three – desperate shouts, thuds on the carriage.
Four – silence.
Five – steps closing in.
Six – a bland voice, politely enquiring.
Seven – the curtains lifted, a glint of metal, scarred face looking right at her.
Eight – Senhime closed her eyes.
Nine –
.
.
.
.
.
.
.
- Wait, was that a Konoha hitae-ate?
She opened her eyes once more to look at the boy who appeared to be between nineteen or twenty, looking rather amusedly at her, the fresh scar on his face pulling at his skin, giving him a rather mean mien.
"I too would love to sleep, but not when strangers are invading my space." The boy drawled, opening the door and extending a filthy hand to her.
She gave it a glance, ignored it and stuck her head outside. There were three Konoha-nin spread out, cleansing their weapons whilst her would-be killers were laying still on the ground, her guards all eliminated save for a moaning one who appears to be at death's door, and Ryo-something who was shaking and heaving next to a scorched tree.
"Now, I'd like to know why there were foreign nin on Fire soil, and poorly hidden at that." Said a fair-haired man who most likely was the leader of the unit.
Senhime was willing so say something scathing for him, but Ryo pulled himself together and straightened to fire back a well-crafted response.
"My Ojou's family had some troubles with—" she tuned him out, and watched them callously loot the corpses of their possessions. She had forgotten that the dead had no dignity in this world.
They cleaned the place after them, and gallantly offered to accompany them to Manabi. Senhime graciously accepted, not for herself, but for the traumatized Ryo.
"You know, you could at least thank us for the trouble," the scarred boy said, seemingly annoyed.
Senhime felt her eyebrow rise. "Whatever for?"
His eye twitched. "For saving you, maybe?"
She smiled sweetly. "I certainly did not ask you to, and to be perfectly frank, for you to stand idly by whilst a Fire citizen is attacked is a blatant violation of your Shodaime's pact with the Fire Daimyo, thus it is your job. I have nothing to thank you for."
Silence.
The fair-haired man coughed into a fist, and clamped a 'friendlily' hand on the shocked boy's head. "All too true, forgive Shikaku-kun his rudeness, Ojou-chan."
She bared her teeth in semblance of a smile. "Oh, all's forgiven, shinobi-san."
The two-day journey to Manabi was rather stilted and filled with awkward interactions.
.
.
.
.
Senime's eyes crinkled in amusement, she had met this man once in her youth, when she was brimming with aversion for all shinobi and their dreadfully unstable system.
Not that it changed, but nowadays she learned to tone it down.
She leaned back against her chair, the file falling from her slack fingers. Her ninth birthday was filled with action, her dear Mother assassinated, her spineless Father was cowering and could not protect her in the Capital, so he sent her to her Mother's clan in Manabi, where she plotted with her seething maternal relation and ruined all those who dared to harm her openly or subtly.
It was a glorious obliteration.
None dared to oppose her since then, and she managed to finally upheaval the entire corrupted system in the Capital and all civilian major cities. It was the start of her personally funded agricultural, industrial, educational and social revolution.
But the sole shinobi village in Fire, Konoha, she could not touch. That would require subtlety, and a much closer insight than the one she currently possess.
The end of shinobi era draws near, she comprehends that, but Senhime would rather a peaceful termination rather than the one her kin currently desires.
She sighed.
Duty.
What a boring word.
Well, it appears that marriage is on the horizon.
"Mai-san, please do inform the ministers of my upcoming plans, I'd like to send a discreet signal to my informants in Konoha too. It's paramount that the shinobi think it's their own choice rather than ours."
"Forgive my impertinence, Hime, but why would you accept such a.. ruffian of unseemly statue?"
"I hope that marrying a shinobi would settle some of the tension, Mai-san." She benignly overlooked the distaste marring his face.
Yet Mai persisted in his disapproval. "If that's the reason Hime, then why the Nara? Surely there are many suitable candidates other than an old widowed man with a heir already of age!"
"Of course there is, Mai-san. However think of it in this way: Nara is old, and with the expiration date of shinobi so low, he is already in age most shinobi do not reach. That attributes to his skills, which I doubt I'd ever need but it is a good reserve to have, and at most I would be with him for a decade or two before he passes away." She explained clinically to the uncomprehending man.
"As for the heir, I'm pleased that he has one, for there will be no pressure on me to provide another."
She nodded resolutely, ignoring Mai's splutters, and hit the table with her fan.
"It's decided, I shall hear no more objections."
Now, she only has to coercer the upper nobles to support this plan, and that will be a battle of its own.
.
.
Fire Country
Konohagakure no Sato
The Twenty-Sixth Year of His Imperial Highness
.
It's been three years, seven months and two weeks since Shikaku was married a second time. Not that he was counting, because that would be a hassle.
Shikaku did not marry for love, not the first nor the second time, only for duty to his village.
But he cannot deny that the second time he was blessed to discover it.
He remembers when the summons arrived from the Capital, so abrupt and unexpected that the shinobi populace in Konoha was left reeling. The Godaime has been probing the Capital for rising tension solutions, but the attempts were discreet and light, nothing that would be taken as affront or cause the immediate response from the Daimyo.
But that's what happened. It was a territory so unfamiliar to them that they were stumbling blind into the Capital, only aware that in the span of three months since the Godaime's last missive there has been utter silence from their informants in the Capital.
And so when the reason for the summon became apparent, Shikaku did not back down.
"What troubles you?" He caught the scent of cinnamon and lingering sandalwood before she appeared, so he was not overly startled when she spoke.
"Nothing of importance, Hime." There, right between arched eyebrows, appeared a furrow he was so fond of.
"Then come make yourself useful, I need everything to be in perfect order before the minister arrives," she sidestepped his sprawled body with a sweep of her three-layered kimono, the least amount she wears even in Konoha's scorching heat, and beckoned him.
He sighed, but obediently rose to follow. "Is it Amane-dono again? He was here just last month."
"Is that a complaint I hear?"
"I wouldn't dare," it was half-truth, half-lie. Now being more than familiar with her slightest expressions, he noticed the upturn of her lips, and found himself not terribly minding the intrusion of that geezer after all.
Whipped, he is so whipped.
"Good."
With that secretive smile of hers, she gently patted his hand, then fluttered away to manage their household.
.
.
End
an: look, 2016 was shite.
2017 was mildly better, but still shite. I only had the inspiration to continue this unexpected fic three days before my finals.
I attempted to answer some of the questions that rose with OPE, but for further clarification im gonna lay the following bit:
1. Harry was punished by reincarnating into shitty places to know the price of duty. that and not playing with death's things.
2. Senhime was 25 when she got married, a year after the Fourth Shinobi World War, and Shikaku 40.
3. yes they met once, but Shikaku thought she was just a rude, spoiled kid.
4. Yes, this is the ending. It was supposed to be a prequel, but for the sake of a 'happy' ending, it turned into a prequel/sequel thingy.
To end, the beautifully written haiku in the fic is by David Marshall, here's his blog (haiku streak) if you're interested in more: dmarshall58
Edit Jul 26, 2018: the bit about Harrys past was deleted bc it didn't go well w/ the flow. hope you enjoyed.