(This is part of a massively ongoing project written by the members of the TTT. Not all members are going to be involved 100% of the time, but we will pass the duties to update this fiction as the time, plotline, editing, and real lives see fit. Most of us have induvial projects going on, but as a group, it is often fun to write together. This is a short chapter/placeholder so that once we're ready we can get this project into full swing. Chapter 2 will be released sometime in late November/early December, when we are finally ready to kick the story into full motion.)

Obvious Disclaimer: We Do Not Own Naruto.

Stories in this universe by order (for those interested):

1) The Sand Child

2) Whispers of the War Maidens: Temari's Story

Summary: The fourth shinobi world war changed more than the world at large, it changed every shinobi that participated in it. Some for the worst, and others for the better. These are Temari's confessions, and only she can lay them bare.

Takes place several years after The Sand Child.

Whispers of the War Maidens: Temari's Story

Chapter 1

Temari hated war.

It was the one thing that made her weak. War was terrifying, leaving her haunted at night, breathless and alone. It gave her bad memories, ones that choked off her sobs and made her grit her teeth to halt her staggering sobs. Temari was a proud person, a ruthless shinobi that held pride and honor far above what one would expect from any person. She's be damned to her emotions that kind of power. Damned if she did, condemned if she didn't.

War could turn her into a sniveling little girl, afraid of the dark.

It was unlike any other type of shinobi fighting. Allies and enemies alike fell around her, pools of blood and chakra were indiscriminant as it painted the ground underfoot. The sounds were unusual. A mass of shouts that weren't descript enough to make out, explosions in the distance, the sounds of powerful attacks and weapons whizzing past her head in a barely there hiss.

All of it congealing together, to leave her awestruck by the blind madness that washed over her. She could count on one hand the number of times she had actually vomited from an all too sickening sight. Friend or foe, it didn't matter. Blood was red, death everlasting, and the memories unfading. It was said that all great wars were like a purge of the land. What the preachy texts of the past failed to mention, was that the purge included the good and the bad.

War never changed, so they say. However, it would change the shinobi world as they knew it.

Temari found the saying to be true. She remembered the first time she killed a man, it was singular and simple. One man or her little brothers, which would it be? The answer was as easy as the sun was bright. She'd kill the man, kill before her brothers were hurt or worse. She'd take down the adversary that threatened her unhappy little home. She'd take care of her blood and bone. It was hardly a choice. It was so straightforward that no regret could come of it.

War wasn't so clear, and friends would be killed in the crossfire.

In war, every person she'd spare was another life. Either putty in her hands, or a new threat she should have removed when she had the chance. Did she kill on sight, or drag battles out? It was a question faced every moment, especially when friends got mixed with foes. Did she attack and risk hurting a comrade, or stand quietly aside, and let them fight alone? There was no simple answer, and even the topic itself sat atop an all too high mountain of scorn.

Temari absolutely hated war.

She hated thinking about it, dreaming about it, talking about it,
but it was there in her daily life, her past, and possible future,
there was no escaping it.

Remembering it was the only thing she could do.

"Tem, stop it."

"Stop what, Shika?"

"Damn it, woman, don't be difficult."

"I'm not being difficult, you're being an ass."

"You are thinking about it again, and I know that without you having tell me."

"Bastard."

I know," Shikamaru admitted softly. Lazily he rolled over in the bed that was far too warm for his liking. "What nightmare was it this time?"

She didn't answer him. Instead, she flipped her pillow over. Suna, located in the blistering sands had a knack for heating early the morning. Adversely, it dropped into near freezing at night. Temari huddled deeper into the blankets, a strange gesture at best. The extreme temperatures were something his wife of over a decade and a half had been well acclimated to, she usually thought little of them.

He worried, "Tem?"

"Damn it, Shikamaru, I wasn't having a nightmare," Temari barked quietly.

"You did too," Shikamaru grumbled deeply, his voice rough with sleep as he cracked open an eye to gaze at her. "Your breathing is uneven, every so often you fidget, and if you look at that fan of yours one more time I swear I'll-" his words were silenced by her kiss.

'Shit,' he tasted salt, and cursed inwardly at that implication. 'She was crying in her sleep again.'

It hurt to know she suffered so much. His warrior woman had grown softer over the years than she wanted to admit, and he was sure motherhood was part of the cause. That, and one too many battles, one too many losses. Age had finally cracked that angry shell of hers, and what remained was a very battered woman who couldn't bury the past behind her. He loved her, flaws and all, but she was still as fiercely independent as ever, and it drove him crazy.

"I'm fine," Temari said softly, "I'm just thinking."

Shikamaru rolled his eyes at that. "About?"

"Mariko, she's going to graduate soon," Temari said when she pulled away, rolling onto her back. Her eyes glared deeply into the rocky crevices of the ceiling. "I think it's time for one of those mother-daughter type of talks. I'm just not sure it's one that I'm ready to have."

"Do you think it's wise?" Shikamaru murmured, arms wrapping around his wife as he studied her expression. It hardened further under his watchful eye.

"I think it's a requirement," Temari said after coming to terms with reality. "History books have given Mariko a skewed perception of things."

"The history books are all to standard," Shikamaru rebuked, feeling his wife tense up in his hold.

Temari gave him a harsh look, shoving him to the side. "That's too convenient."

"They're accurate," he added softly, "I wrote them myself."

"Academically, yes, there's no question that they are," yet somehow, Temari didn't feel that it was enough. "Our friends and family died out there, and we all have things we can't put down because of it. I can't leave all of those unmitigated losses to history."

"She's young," Shikamaru replied, his wife swung a leg over to his other side, straddling him.

"Old enough to fight her own battles," Temari's stare intensified.

"Not alone though," his words were weak against her gaze. He could see the troubled look in her eyes, and that made him wish he could stay in Suna longer. Alas, he could only be away from Konoha for so long, the Hokage required Shikamaru as an advisor. "Maybe... Maybe that kind of talk should wait for another day."

Temari would have none of it. Neither his compassion, nor his protection from even herself. "You're too soft, Shika."

Shikamaru shook his head. "You've just been hurt too much."

Such was the way of the ninja, Temari assumed as she kissed the man she loved. It had been far, far too long since she last melted in his arms. The stubble on his face was rough to the touch, contrasting sharply with his silky shoulder length hair. "Hurt or not, her place is here. Suna is not the most forgiving place to learn life's lessons."

"If you feel that way, maybe you should stay a little longer," Shikamaru frowned worriedly, his fingers caressing over the sun kissed skin of her shoulder, and down over her ample breasts to finally rest on her hip. "I wouldn't mind."

"I can't."

"Why not?"

"She's not a baby anymore."

"Aye, that may be," Shikamaru relented with a sigh. "She's still young enough to need her mother though, and that's fine by me."

"Gaara and Kankuro will be here," Temari reminded him, resting her head on his chest. His hand lifted along the back of her thigh to rest on her shapely rear in reply, giving her a gentle squeeze. "Besides, I learned long ago that you never stop needing a mother. You just learn to do without one."

"She doesn't have to do without," Shikamaru pointed out as he sighed. His free hand abandoned the support of his head. Cupping Temari's cheek, and forcing her to look at him, he studied her. "It'll be fine if you just stay a while longer."

"That would be a disservice," Temari told him, her teeth gently clenched. "I know you don't understand that, but I'd like to think I know what she'll be up against. I'm pretty sure I know better than you do."

It was the life lesson Temari learned after her own mother had died, leaving behind a mourning husband, toddler, and infant son behind. Temari was a little girl back then, and old enough to recall the woman more vividly than Kankuro did. She remembered a childhood of brighter days that darkened quickly after Gaara's birth. As an adult, with a family of her own, she could better appreciate her mother.

Temari understood the legacy the woman had left behind. It was one so clear now, so imperative as a mother's love. As the eldest of the three sand siblings, it fell to her first and foremost to protect that legacy. With a heavy heart, Temari had decided that once Mariko graduated from Suna's academy, she would leave the girl behind, as a Suna genin.

It was a tough decision to make, but one that couldn't be avoided.

Temari's place was back in Konoha, with her husband and son. She had no other choice, and Mariko belonged in Suna. Temari was sure of that. She wouldn't leave halfheartedly though, not without being sure that Mariko understood her reasons why. Temari had thought long and hard about what to say, how best to convey her feelings on the matter, but found herself unable.

Mariko was only twelve, but as a Shinobi, she was an adult. Her little girl was leaving childhood behind in more ways than one.

In a normal village, Mariko would be shadowing her mother, learning how to run a household. She'd spend several hours a week learning how to sew, cook, clean, and tend the family business. If she were a normal village girl, she might find a suitor by fourteen or sixteen, and spend her free time tittering about with him. If she were a normal village girl, by seventeen or eighteen she'd be married off. By nineteen or twenty, she'd be ready to have children of her own.

If Mariko was a normal village girl; she would have lived and died a villager's wife.

But, that was not the case.

Mariko had been born and raised as a ninja. She wasn't a normal woman, and her life would play out differently.

For the next two through eight years, she'd train hard and take low ranking missions. If she became skilled enough, she would become a chunin. If she didn't rank up by her twenties, she'd settle down, marry, and raise a family. If she did rank up, she'd lead a squad and become stronger. If she became skilled enough, she'd become a jonin, either joining black op's, or taking on a squad of genin as her pupils.

Then, after all of that, if time and luxury afforded it, she might still get married and have children of her own somewhere in the mix.

Or, as a jonin, the more possible outcome would be that Mariko ended up dying honorably in combat before she reached middle age. If luck were on her side, however, she might surpass those missions, become stronger for them, and one day stand as Suna's next Kazekage.

Suna depended on Mariko to become that powerful, they needed her to be strong.

Knowing that this turbulent and dangerous life was what Mariko would be up against, her mother couldn't coddle her. After all, Mari was a genin now. She had the right to hang her forehead protector up at any time and return to Konoha. It was her right as a ninja to cease battle at any time.

Temari knew the truth beyond a shadow of a doubt. Mariko would not hang that forehead protector up willingly, come of it hell or high water. It didn't matter. Mariko was too damn proud, too damn idealistic to see the truth...

And as a mother, that's what worried Temari the most.