Naruto 1. Monster

When I was a child, there was a Monster that lived in the House of the Sand lord's castle.

I thought the story to be a child's fairy tale Father told to make sure his children were inside before night fell. And it was, to some extent. There was, of course, no monster. Not like my parents had in mind.

But my parents' wild imaginations were closer to the truth than they'd ever care to believe.

The sun was setting. In just a little over an hour, the sky would be cloaked in velvet. Mother had warned us not to be late in coming home, but tonight was the fifteenth of May.

Twice a year, once in May and again in August, lanterns were released from the King's palace to honor the birthdays of the Prince and Princess. Never before had Mother and Father ever permitted us to stay outside long enough to watch the floating stars, or to play any of the games the villagers hosted in their booths; we were always expected to be home before the sun set. Oftentimes, my younger sister and I would peek out the single window in our room, hoping to catch a good look at the lights.

But it just wasn't the same.

Groups of men clustered along the sides of the streets, passing around the planks and parts that would be used to assemble their stalls. Hand in hand with my sister, we walked together through the throng of people that had already filled the streets in anticipation of the night's celebration. Shop owners were perched atop ladders outside their stores, stringing small multicolored lanterns along the awnings.

Mother had sent us out with the funds to purchase rice for that night's dinner while Father was away, working as a guard overlooking the town gate. Kyoko tugged gently on my hand, drawing my attention to her. She gazed up at me, a wide grin spread across her face as she pointed in the direction of one of the crowds of men, hunched over a partially assembled stall. Several men stood by, some leaning against wooden barrels as they watched the others talk among themselves and gesture to the stall. One man in particular stood out, his large belly spilling over the drawstring of his pants. With one hand, he stroked his beard, his other waving in circles as he spoke animatedly, obviously distressed with something.

Kyoko wanted to say 'hello' to the man, Rishi, a fisherman from Tanigakure who often made trips to Sunagakure in order to sell his fish. Although uneducated, gluttonous and brash, he was a kind, fair man, and one of the few people my sister and I were on a first name basis with.

My younger sister paid no attention to my hesitance, dragging me over to the group excitedly, calling out the man by name. He turned, as did many of the other men, the right corner of his lips quirking upwards. Holding an index finger up to his companions, he greeted us. All business, my sister promptly reminded Rishi of his promise to one day bring one of the "magic lamps" back with him so that she and I could have our wish granted by a genie. Several of the men laughed as they eavesdropped on our conversation, ushering Rishi to "own up to his word". Squatting down onto one knee, the middle aged fisherman locked eyes with my sister, whose face was flushed and her eyes hardened in her resolve, thinking the men were mocking her. With a hearty chuckle, he explained to Kyoko that he simply needed more time to find the magical lamp, and that it was proving more elusive to find than he'd initially thought. He asked her what she'd wish for when he finally brought the ornament to her, to which she replied 'goldfishies' with an excited giggle, knowing well that twice a year, Rishi was the one that operated the goldfish scooping game. The men threw back their heads as they howled with laughter, and even Rishi joined them.

"What would ya do wit a buncha fishes, 'n no water 'n no bowl for 'em ta swim?"

Kyoko frowned, taking his question very seriously to heart. While she pondered his unexpected reply, Rishi turned his gaze on me, and asked me what I'd wish for.

Without missing a beat, I knew exactly what I'd wish for— I desperately wanted to stay out, just once, to attend the festival and observe the floating lanterns. Telling Rishi as much, he laughed at my confession, telling me that my father would never allow me to, and that in just a few years I'd be married off to a man who wanted me bearing his children and cooking meals, leaving me no time to "go gallivanting outside".

Scowling, I reminded him that he was the one who had asked for my 'wish', and called him an air-headed pig. He frowned, informing me that I should have more respect for my elders before returning his attention to his friends. Mentioning something about "finding bolts that fit", he bid my sister and I farewell before he heaved a bag of tools over his wide shoulders and trudged down the road.

Once again, Kyoko tugged on my arm, silently leading me away from the crew of men she was suddenly aware she didn't know. Suddenly aware of the darkening sky, she spoke to me in a hushed tone warnings of Father's impending wrath if we stayed out for much longer. In that moment, I made the decision that would change the course of my life.

I would not wait for some mythical "_genie_" to come and grant my most desired wish. As a child, I had wanted nothing more than to witness the floating lights. Instead, I had decided that I would be the master of my own juvenile dream.

My grasp on her hand slackened, earning me a questioning gaze from my younger sister. I slipped my fingers out of hers, and I watched as her expression contorted, torn between confusion and betrayal.

"I'm going to watch the lanterns tonight," I revealed to her softly.

The terror was nearly palpable with my brazen declaration. Kyoko whimpered, shaking her head as she reached once more for my hand, her face contorted in pain as if I'd dealt her a physical blow. I withdrew from her as her fingertips brushed my own, holding my hand to my chest and well out of her reach.

Kyoko pleaded desperately with me again as I left her side, reminding me of Father's wrath should I come home after dusk, her tiny fists balled stubbornly by her sides as tears pooled in her fearful eyes. Fearful for my sake.

Ignoring her appeal, I called over my shoulder my instructions for her to go home. My sister had not been as taken with the floating lights as I was; to me, they were more than just 'lights'. To me, they were symbolic of the freedom I feared I would never have. In retrospect, it was not lost on me the irony that I was forbidden to set eyes on them, just like I feared my eyes would never see the light of the 'freedom' set outside the shallow class I'd been born into.

I ventured further from my sister, until her quiet sobs disappeared into the noise of the market crowd altogether. Night was nearly upon us, and my eyes kept a careful watch on the sky as I walked. No matter what, I was determined to see the lanterns soar tonight. Even if seeing them meant punishment when I returned home, I had decided that I would not be deterred.

I had just passed the pottery shop when I heard someone gasp, breath shuddering as they inhaled. The voice was followed by a sickening _snap_ and a muffled gurgling noise as something shifted and moved across the desert floor. I froze, skin crawling at the sounds. My head screamed in dissent as I turned to peer into the alleyway, inching forward to inspect the source of the strange sounds in defiance of my instincts. Standing in the alley was a young boy who couldn't have been much older than myself. The boy's body was rigid, his head bowed and his eyes fixated on a rather large mound of sand against the wall in front of him at the end of the alley. Curiosity overtook my hesitance, and I shuffled forward a few paces.

"Hey…"

The child's head snapped up at the sound of my voice, his body pivoting as he glared at me, lip curling up over his teeth in a distasteful sneer. At the sight of the boy's face, I felt a twinge of fear. Marring the flesh above his left eye was a tattoo, the kanji for 'love'. More so than the markings, it was the expression in his black-rimmed eyes that made me uneasy. I'd thought Father's ire was a fearful thing, but even his malice paled in comparison to the fury reflected in this boy's teal irises. It wasn't his face, however, that made my heart skip a beat in terror.

Were it not for the white sash tied across his chest, I would have missed the blood splattered across his front in contrast against his dark clothing.

From the mound, I suddenly noticed, protruded a foot. Near the foot lay a bag, its former contents of hammers, hooks and nails strewn across the ground. Gawking in horror at the allusion of a body, my mouth fell open in a silent scream.

He inclined his head as he continued to stare, the scowl dissipating as a cruel grin took its place on his lips. It was as if he were _glad_ I'd borne witness to the mess that had been made. As if to affirm that twisted thought, the sand at his feet stirred, rising to swirl at his ankles in an intricate dance. Coiling around the corpse, the mangled body was revealed to me, and I finally found my voice in a blood-curdling scream.

Bloodied and horribly mutilated, the body was that of the fisherman, Rishi.

Tears spilled from my eyes at the death of the trader I'd known since infancy, having been a longstanding friend of Father's. Shaking madly, my hands ran through my hair as I sobbed uncontrollably, unable to tear my eyes away from the soiled carcass. I quietly lamented the spite I'd harbored for him just moments ago, my last words to him cruel and unjustified.

It was the telltale sound of a soft, but clear grinding that brought me back to the danger I'd inadvertently placed myself in. The sand had slid from Rishi's corpse, stained with his blood, and had begun to snake its way down the alley towards me. My heart hammered in my chest as I realized just what had happened to Rishi.

_I'm going to die just like that. Broken and pitiful, buried forever under the sand._

Propelled by panic, my body moved before my mind had given the order. My feet pounded against the sand as I tore across the town on my way home. Somehow, in my juvenile mind, I thought it was a given that my home was my one 'safe spot'. It was my base and my shelter, and no Monster could touch me there.

In my peripherals, I noticed the first few lanterns cresting over the buildings. For the first time in my young life, I didn't care about the lights.

My face red from exertion and the tears I'd shed for my murdered friend, I burst through the door of my home and fell to my knees as I wept into my hands. Although incoherent, I remember blubbering about the Monster that had almost killed me. Kyoko fled to my side, forgetting her earlier frustration with me as she tried to calm me, her hands stroking my shoulders silently. Mother was cradling my head against her breast a moment later, asking soft questions of where I'd been and what had happened. My bawling ebbed into contented whimpering at the affection that showered me as my erratic heart began to settle.

I was home. I was safe in the arms of my sister and Mother, and nothing could touch me.

Father was a petulant man, but he wouldn't let any Monster kill his eldest child, right?

Despite the scene I'd made upon my entrance, Kyoko was right. I had still returned home after nightfall and Father was undeterred by her protests that "children will be children", so Mother reluctantly went into their bedroom to retrieve the switch per his demand. Upon her return, he whipped me until my legs were red and sore. This wasn't the first time he'd punished me in this manner, so I knew better than to scream. Giving Father the satisfaction of hearing our cries only made him strike harder, so I had learned quickly to bite my lip to help suppress my sobs.

That night, however, such precautions were unnecessary.

Even after my tears subsided and the punishment began, I had fallen into a state of numbness. Compared to the fear of death I'd faced only minutes ago, this 'punishment' was _nothing_.

When my skin speckled with blood, he relented, tossing the switch to the floor as he reminded me of how lucky I was to not have been devoured by the Monster.

If only he knew.

Father made me eat the cold rice and fish that everyone else had eaten hot in my absence. I took it without complaint. Four bites into the meal, however, and I vomited onto the floor. Swearing, Father threw a towel at me and commanded that I clean the mess up and get out of his sight. He took the bowl from me and began to eat the food himself. I silently obeyed him, retreating to the warmth of my futon, where Kyoko was already laid.

My younger sister whimpered softly into the finger curled at her lips as she choked back sobs. She murmured her apologizes, revealing her regret for having not made me come back home with her.

Mute, I returned her gaze. When I didn't answer she began to prod about the circumstances concerning my dramatic arrival home and if I'd gotten to see the lanterns like I'd wanted to. Wide eyed and still very much afraid, I sank into the futon, a terrible chill coursing down my spine as I turned away from her in silence. A foreign kind of ache began to blossom in my chest.

I thought I'd feared Father. Up until then, I realized that I'd never possessed the faintest inkling of what fear _truly_ was.

That night, the meaning of what it was to genuinely fear something was born in me.

* * *

_Side notes:_

I'm aware that Yondaime Kazekage obviously has three children, not two. He even went as far as to call Gaara a "failure". I imagine with that kind of relationship, he wouldn't further publicly acknowledge his youngest son. Therefore, I'm having Yondaime launch two fleets of lanterns to celebrate two of his three children's birthdays, deliberately overlooking Gaara's altogether.

Tanigakure — River Country.


	2. Heir

Thanks to those of you who reviewed. I get that hearing "great story, update soon" is nice and all, and the 'review count' is pretty much the lifeblood of any writer on this site, but that doesn't help me "improve". So much more than any of that malarkey I want to hear your guys' thoughts and feelings on the chapters. So… feed me.

* * *

Gaara's stomach flipped faintly as he watched the tailor fold back the hem of his sleeve, the man's fingers brushing against the royal's wrist. Normally, his father summoned the live-in maids for occasions such as these, so the young heir wasn't used to frequenting shops on his own; in fact, he could count on his fingers all the times he'd left the palace before he'd been named the Fifth Kazekage, the Fifth King, on occasions that were not related to him being sent off to war. And yet here he stood stock still in broad daylight in this tailor's shop, and though he'd never admit it, the proximity of the man who, just like everyone else, was outside his comfort zone made him incredibly tense.

But his anxiousness paled in comparison to the tailor's.

The clothier snipped carefully at the material, carefully cutting along the marked edges drawn along the inside of his client's sleeve. His hands had been shaking madly since the moment the heir had walked through the door, and for the umpteenth time that morning he dropped his blade. Quickly stuttering his apologies, the needle worker fetched his tool from the floor. Gaara quietly reassured the flustered man that his blunder was tolerable. This did nothing, however, to ease the tailor's stress. The moment he risked stealing a glance up at his liege was his undoing, however, as the heir was peering back down at him with wide, analytical eyes. The former King had been a stoic, strict leader, but the man hadn't been feared since the womb, unlike his youngest son. As the man went back to work on his garments, Gaara's mind drifted back to the task at hand in only a matter of hours. Accompanying the thought was the strange sensation of his stomach churning again. For a moment, he thought he might be sick.

"That there was the last adjustment, my Lord. How, ah… does it fit? Is it alright?"

Gaara brought the sleeve to eyelevel, examining the hem.

"It's better than it was."

"Oh. Ah, well… Here. I can f-fix—"

"No, it's alright. This will do."

The clothier fidgeted uncomfortably, shifting his weight between his feet. He fixed his gaze on Gaara's hem, preferable to maintaining eye contact with his soon-to-be King.

"Lady Temari warned that if the task was not completed to perfection this time, she'd have my job, so, please, I beg of you… And… and b-besides… none before have taken your measurements, so… please allow me to… to do this right, this time."

Leave it to Temari to threaten others with their livelihood at the idea of an error. He rolled his eyes, musing that sometimes he believed his sister would make a better leader for this country than either of her brothers. Being a female, however, her position took the back seat to her male kin. Despite the fact that he could surely contest Temari for the right to fire a tailor, the ensuing argument would have been pointless, and easily avoided. He held his wrist out to the needle worker, resigned.

"Very well."

"Thanks to ye."

The man turned Gaara's wrist in his hands, observing the fault in his work.

"If you don't mind me saying, milord… the rumors of your volatility seem to be false."

The clothier's admission brought a wry smile to the heir's lips.

"I can be plenty volatile."

"Can't we all when pressured, Lord Gaara? I have heard many… _horrible_ things about you… you and your temper. When I first heard that I was the one who'd be outfitting you for your inauguration robes, well, I… I was terrified." A soft grunt bubbled up from the tailor as he tried to clear his throat. "Shamefully… I admit that I had nightmares for days."

Gaara pursed his lips at the clothier's admission. For what seemed to be the first time in hours, he lifted his gaze from the man. Shifting his eyes to the window, a familiar pain began to creep into the Prince's chest. He idly wondered if the passerbys recognized his face. Could they pin him down accurately as their soon-to-be King? Or did they look at him and see nothing but a monster?

"You wouldn't be the first. Nor the last."

"Please don't misunderstand, milord. That wasn't an insult mean to offend you. Rather… you've surprised me a great deal."

The clothier cleared his throat again, his lips pressed into a firm line. "At first, my response to this task was to decline the work. But I knew I couldn't. Being summoned by the Princess to take the Prince's measurements is supposed to be an honor, not a death sentence. Had I declined, I'm sure she would have striped me of my profession, and without work, I would be as good a dead man anyway. I'd have starved, and died a beggar's death. My second idea was to get drunk, and as that sounded far more reasonable, that's what I did. I'm not married, I have no children, and I haven't even begun to taste much of wealth. I'd thought, hell, if I'm going to be killed by this guy before I've even lived, I might as well enjoy one last night of life and do what I can while I'm still breathing. Others there jokingly began to place bets on whether or not I'd truly die. That gave birth to a bet of, 'how quickly will he die? After an hour? A day? A week?' Once I was drunk enough, I was able to shake the feeling of fear that had enveloped me ever since I'd received the commission from Lady Temari, and partake in the grim humor of my own death. And yet, after all this time… I am so very ashamed of my childish prejudices, Lord Gaara. Not even having ever met you before, I bought into every single one of the foolish manmade stories that get passed around this city, and I let the fear of a fairy tale monster stain my view of you before I'd even seen your face. Milord, you defy every prejudice I'd ever heard of you. You're not the nightmarish beast I'd heard so much about. I wonder how such fables even came to be, in light of the patient and soft-spoken man you are. I have long since abandoned my irrational fears of you, and have nothing but high hopes for you as King. I… merely thought that you should know this."

Once again Gaara found himself staring at the tailor in wonder. The man was clearly bothered by Gaara's presence, and yet he retained the ability to speak frankly.

'_My brother,'_ he mused, '_is the same.'_

If only the man knew how real the monster _truly_ was.

"You are bold."

A soft _clink_ resonated as the scissors hit the floor again, followed by a soft choking noise.

"I pray… that you are not offended, Lord?"

"No."

The clothier sighed, taking care to steady his hand as he positioned the scissors at Gaara's sleeve. After a moment's hesitation, he closed the blades.

"Let me ask you one question."

"Anything, milord."

"If you've long since cast aside your fear of me, why do your hands still shake?"

The tailor chuckled nervously, reaching into his coat pocket for his handkerchief. Folding it, he dabbed at the sweat that had gathered on his brow.

"My apologizes, milord, for it is not you that intimidates me. It is your sister. After all, she swore she'd have my job if I failed to produce a robe to her high tastes!"

Gaara's mouth wrenched in an awkward way, relief washing over him as the sickening feeling in his stomach began to subside.

'_He isn't scared of me. Not me.'_

"What is your name?"

"Tachibana Ude, Lord."

"Ude, you will not lose your job. I will make certain of that."

"I'd be very appreciative of that, Lord Gaara."

Gaara nodded once before his eyes lifted once again to the window in time to catch the wide, overly-curious gaze of a brown-eyed young girl, perhaps in her early or mid-teens.

Temari had once suggested that he make himself seem more "approachable". The heir often appeared standoffish and withdrawn when interacting with others, so his sister devised a solution for him to counter that.

Gaara forced the right corner of his lips to quirk upwards. He watched as her cheeks flushed, his effort rewarded with a toothy grin. Her expression gave him boldness, and he struggled to pull his own countenance to match hers.

'_Not everyone fears me. Not anymore.'_

* * *

"It's time, milord."

But Gaara had already known this before the maid had said a word. He'd been watching the sky dim, anticipating it all day. With a curt nod, he rose to his feet and held out his arms as she swept the robe Ude had made for him many months ago around his shoulders.

The halls were quiet, save for the footsteps of Gaara and his handmaiden, who hastily fell into step behind him after his hurried departure from his rooms. Everyone else, from the nobles to the castle servants, was already present in the courtyard, patiently awaiting the arrival of their King. Had he had his own way, Gaara would have spent his entire day milling about in the courtyards, lost in the daydream he'd given his mind over to anyway. But no, the wheel that was Suna would not stop turning for the sake of his daydream and he, being the King, had to press on and find better usages for his time. No longer was he a tormented twelve year old boy whose freedom was his own in part because his existence was ignored. His time and mind was valuable to others now, but it came at the price of his personal freedom— an exchange he gladly made time and time again.

He could never have the years back that his father had stolen from him, nor the years that the boy had stolen from himself. But he'd be damned if he would sit and brood over the years laid ahead for him as the King of his country. He would reconcile with the time he'd lost, and mourn it no longer.

Temari met her brother and his handmaiden as they approached the balcony doors. He tuned out the words she spoke, becoming enraptured instead with the paper fixture in her hands. After a moment, she lifted the lantern to his chest in offering. Gaara carefully accepted the lantern into his hands as his brother opened the door before them, bowing as he swept his hands out to his side with a broad grin to the King. With a stiff nod, Gaara walked out onto the balcony with his siblings at his side.

Stepping up to the railing, Gaara raised the lantern to his chest, over the garden below. His eyes scanned the terrace, his chest rapidly swelling with a sensation of happiness that, until recently, had been foreign to him. All of the council members and palace residents were standing in the courtyard, waiting for the first lantern, _his_, to be released.

His entire childhood, he had watched on in agonizing silence as his father had done this very action for his elder siblings year after year, while his own birthday was ignored entirely. At first, he had cried over the rejection; then, he convinced himself he didn't care if anyone knew he was alive, and took his frustration out on others. Until the announcement that Gaara would succeed their father over Kankuro, most of the country had been oblivious to the fact that Lord Kazehiko had _two_ sons. He had grown older, but no one had cared.

Now, it was _he_ that launched the lanterns personally.

Today was January nineteenth. And tonight, he would finally watch as balloons took to the sky in honor of _him_.

A hand came to rest on Gaara's shoulder. He turned to the owner, his sister beaming with pride.

"Whenever you're ready, Gaara."

The King turned back to the terrace overlooking his Capital Suna. Resting his left hand on the railing, he rose the other into the air, lifting his lantern. With a gentle push the lantern was airborne, the sole contrast of glowing red against the otherwise clouded sky. When Kankuro and Temari launched their own lanterns, Gaara watched in wonder as someone directly below him lit their lantern, igniting a chain reaction across the palace grounds. The lights spread like a wildfire, slowly rising to follow his own light into the sky in a collective wave. His right hand clutched at the banister on the balcony until his knuckles were white. The shudder that ran down Gaara's back was not missed by his elder brother, whose stomach began to churn, thoughts of Gaara's prior instability racing through his head.

"You okay, _jan_?"

Kankuro peered at his brother curiously out of the corner of his eyes, regarding the young King warily. Gaara had begun to confide in him within the past few months, but that didn't mean that the boy was suddenly above throwing a fit, as he had been notorious for doing.

"I'm…" The King fumbled with his vernacular, searching for a word that could properly describe the emotions blossoming within his chest.

The country, its people, its welfare… they were all _his_ now. Never in his life had he ever anticipated standing in his current position, an observer and sovereign ruler to a land of people that celebrated his life as he governed over them.

No. There were no words to describe these feelings.

"… _happy_, I suppose."

"You '_suppose'_?" Kankuro repeated, his face straining to maintain a mask of indifference. His tone, however, betrayed his incredulity.

Gaara shifted forward, out from beneath the warmth of Temari's hand. Gazing down at his subjects, he once again had trouble finding words to pin his feelings with.

"My entire life, no one has openly cared about my birth. I was regarded more as a feared weapon instead of a prince. Never was I treated with the same faithful care as you two, who were celebrated as noble children while I was a monster. Though I was also of royal blood, I was sent out to fight this country's wars while our father crossed his fingers behind his back in hopes that his enemies would erase the existence of the mistake he'd made in me. I thought I hated this country, and everyone in it, because I thought I was alone. And though perhaps I once was, I am not on my own any longer. That boy from Capital Konoha, he… although he was considered a beast the same caliber as me, he never saw things the way I did. He showed me there can be _happiness_ in living for someone besides yourself… happiness, something I believed I'd never truly feel, and yet… Happiness, joy, elation… These are all words I could use to explain how I feel, but they all pale in comparison to the actual feeling."

"Gaara…"

As he stared in awe at the back of his head, Kankuro felt the urge to hug his younger brother. Never had Gaara shared his feelings so openly, aside from the occasional reminder of how much he hated his family, or how easily he could kill any one of them. Casting a sidelong glance at his sister, Kankuro noticed that even she was stock still, her mouth shaped in a perfect O as she stared at their brother in shock.

"You've… been given a difficult hand, Gaara. Had you been born in my place and I in yours, then our roles would have been—"

"I don't want your fate, Kankuro," Gaara swiftly intervened. He turned his head to gaze at his elder brother, finally tearing his eyes away from the lanterns that were quickly fading in the distance. "I want to be needed even with my own."

Kankuro quickly closed the space between himself and his brother before he lost the gall to do so. Could he touch him? Or rather the better question was, would Gaara even _let_ him? Temari had touched his shoulder. Gaara had always _hated_ to be touched, and yet he'd seen her breach that unspoken rule several times in the past month.

He just wanted to finally stake his claim on the title, 'big brother'.

Before he overthought the gesture, he reached out, pulling his brother into his side in an awkward embrace.

"You're gonna do this country good, _jan_."

Before he had a panic attack or Gaara decided to kill him on the spot, Kankuro quickly released the boy, hastily backing several paces away. A puzzled look flitted across Gaara's features, before being quickly replaced by a gesture Kankuro nor Temari had ever seen outside of Gaara's frequent fits of insanity as the host of the bloodthirsty Shukaku.

"I know," the King replied with a smile.


End file.
