Author's Note: For those of you that aren't aware, "Mythos of a Shepherd" used to have an entirely different ending. It was only due to the meddling of a couple of well-meaning reviewers that Iruka was carried away to the Land of Grass. This is the original version, which I've included in full even though it contains a few overlapping scenes. It begins just after chapter 8 of the published edition.

Alternate Ending

Chapter 9

In Asuma's opinion, Konohamaru had the loudest, most sullen mope of anyone he knew. His nephew (no longer such a little brat anymore) had been skulking around with his arms tucked in and chin drooping for days now, and seeing the mood persist in spite of the night's festivities, Asuma began to feel genuinely concerned.

"So," he began as he seated himself on the low porch outside the main house. He ran his hand through Konohamaru's unruly thatch of hair, fully expecting the predictable squall of protest – 'Not a baby!' Instead, the young man leaned into his palm without a word.

It was then that Asuma began taking this melancholy quite seriously. Because, sure, the little ankle-biter was annoying at times, but he was his sister's son, and he loved the brat like anything. It would take something quite significant to knock the rambunctious energy out of Konohamaru.

Shifting, he drew his nephew closer under a heavy arm. "Hey," he asked gruffly. "What's wrong with you?"

They were the most mournful eyes he'd ever seen. "Someone's gonna take away Iruka-sensei," Konohamaru snuffled.

Asuma had to struggle with this news for a moment before he was able to respond. "Iruka. Why would anyone bother with him?"

A child's wrath was brilliant when it flared. Snot still dripping down his face, Konohamaru sputtered, "You're all so stupid! Nobody believes in Sensei at all, but even the Kusanin know he's special and they're going to take him away! Maybe they already have."

Asuma frowned. He was a straightforward man, however, and that was how he answered – with a little anger of his own. "First of all, brat, I don't want you going on like I don't care about Iruka."

Iruka had been practically an extended family member in the years his father had been alive, and since then he'd done more to bolster the morale of Asuma's comrades that any number of counselors or stoic ninja philosophers ever had. Iruka was behind the stability of dozens of warriors whom he'd dragged back into real life or out to lunch. Human with his smiles and gestures and friendly inquires. Yes, they all thought well of Iruka.

Asuma finished, "Second of all, what is this nonsense about him being taken away?"

"The Kusanin told me that they would," the boy confided. "He said it like a joke, but it wasn't a joke. And Iruka wasn't here to help us at the parade tonight. Even though Udon and Moegi said they saw him."

Asuma considered. Rumors resurfaced in his memory, suddenly relevant among the vapor of other facts: of restlessness among the civilians, murmurs in the mission room, and from half a dozen other sources. Idle complaints, he'd thought. But this…

"Uncle, please," Konohamaru tugged on his dark kimono. "We have to do something."

After passing what remained of the night in a restless sleep, it was nonetheless by the earliest yellow light that Iruka sat up and stubbornly resolved to go about his day as he usually would. When they had parted some hours ago, Kakashi had sworn to him that he would speak to the Hokage about the Kusanin and their threats. But for now – for now, everything was as it had been. He was still a teacher, and still a Konoha shinobi of good standing.

So he got up and tied back his hair, and – because it wasn't a weekday – prepared what he needed for a morning spent tutoring some of the village's youngest children. They met him cheerfully when he entered, and his hands lingered over their heads perhaps a little longer than usual. He soaked in their sweet, dimpled grins and determined, squinty-eyed faces as they leaned over their course work, wondering…wondering if he had much longer to enjoy this.

A crumpled paper was forced into his fist, and hopeful eyes blinked. The toddler lisped, "Ru-ka, lookit."

The chuunin smiled at the crude drawing of the winged insect, mirrored by an even less distinguishable symbol trailing down the side. He laughed, tracing the picture with his finger. "It's very good," he praised, and drew the child up beside him on the bench so he could guide the tiny hand once more through the symbol strokes, twice. "Butterfly."

"Budderfry," the baby grinned proudly. She marked it again and again.

Iruka loved being a teacher.

The end of the session came too soon, as parents came to collect their children for lunch. Distracted with the ache of watching them go, Iruka didn't notice the way the adults' hands lingered on his arm, or the way their looks caught on his downcast face. He didn't notice their worry, and he didn't know what word they spread upon leaving. All he knew was that he was sad, and almost sick with it.

Finally, only one of his charges remained, young Kouichi whose father was a widower and wasn't able to pick him up. Happily, the little boy extended his hand when the teacher had finished gathering his belongings. "Ready now!" he crowed, clinging to Iruka's fingers.

The walk home was uneventful. It was only as they reached the front of the child's house that events shifted. In the space of a heartbeat, the pavement around them filled, and suddenly Ri-Tou the giant loomed behind him once again.

"Captain Shouda," Iruka greeted him formally, his hand creeping protectively over his charge's head. "I'd hoped not to see you again while you were still breathing."

"That's cold, sensei," the ambassador shook his head solemnly. "And after all the effort I've made for your benefit."

The fierce little ball of defiance that had always dwelt in Iruka easily batted away notions of acquiescence and common sense. It took the form of sarcasm. "By working for my benefit do you mean harassing me, illegally seizing my private records and threatening to disclose them, or menacing me and my children?"

Shouda frowned. "I've already told you that seeking your records was directly correspondent to my mission. I regret the hostility you're showing, Iruka. I'd hoped we could be very good friends."

His cool, detached demeanor was as unsettling now as it had been the night of the festival. Involuntarily, the teacher felt his nerves jangle, twisting in a shiver all up and down his spine. All Iruka could see in this man was drive. And driven men were a narrow foot-path crossing away from crazed.

"Sensei…" A whine. Kouichi's paws were white. Barely two, he couldn't possibly understand the subtle menace pressed between the words exchanged here, but he felt as well as any instinct-driven creature, and he was afraid. He rubbed his nose against his guardian, seeking comfort.

The ambassador looked down on him. "Smart little boys would know to be quiet," he warned, and the baby pressed his face even more firmly into his teacher's leg.

Iruka had to grit his teeth hard not to physically attack the man, keenly aware of the sharp little fingers digging into his side, the soft head under the heel of his palm. With careful control, he demanded, "Let him go back to his father."

Ri-Tou stepped closer, so near that Iruka could feel the toes of the man's sandals against his heels. And then Iruka felt he nip of sharp pain between a ridge of his vertebrae. His leader said, "Yes, he may go now." He looked around the bright, full neighborhood. It was no place for a violent struggle at knife-point. "He's served his purpose."

Iruka spoke softly to the boy, using his most calming voice. "Kouichi, let go of me now. Are you listening? It's time for you to go inside."

The toddler looked up at him, expression bereft. Children always knew more than reason could explain. "Come too," he insisted, but his teacher gravely shook his head.

"I can't, little one. I have to talk to these men now. You'll have to tell your papa 'hi' for me, okay?"

A crawling up, fretful whine of pure panic rose, but Iruka's firm expression was able to do what entreaties could not. The child reluctantly let go and, with encouragement, turned and waddled haltingly into his house. Iruka waited until they were completely alone before, face twisting, he demanded, "Have you sufficiently feed your ego on a little child's fear?"

"That was not about ego, Sensei," Shouda denied. "Only practicality. I don't want a scene. But we've come to the end of all things. You're coming with us to Kusagakure."

"Like hell I am," Iruka snapped, only to jump as Ri-Tou's knife tip scraped over the thinly covered bone. An unmistakable warning. Paralysis was worse than death in the shinobi world.

"This doesn't have to be hard, Sensei," Shouda said, even as the pinnacle of the tyrannous blade bore more deeply into the hollow of his back. "I've seen every record on you in this village. And if any doubt remained, my visit with your Hokage cleared it. You're not valued here. Think of how good a fresh start could be. You'll be needed in Kusagakure. Respected."

"Respect," Iruka hissed, low between his teeth. He wasn't stupid enough to believe that.

"You wouldn't have to be a prisoner." The captain took a step forward, near enough that he was looking down at the chuunin's face. Iruka tried to draw back, but the kunai was still there, biting through his shirt. There wasn't even a hair of backward space for him to move into.

Shouda requested, "Come with us willingly, Sensei. Walk out of this place. If I have to, I will carry you to my country dangling over my saddle. But I don't want to do that to you. It would be a bad start."

Iruka refused to look at him. Impotent anger rolled in his stomach. "You're a deceiver and a fiend," he accused. "You've been planning this from the beginning, even as you sat across from me in my house telling me of your past. Even as you warned my friend to beware of other shinobi villages."

"It was a truth bred with a lie. But I'm not lying now," the Kusanin captain said. His eyes sparked, a little fey. "I'm going to save my people by rescuing you."

"You're delusional if you would kidnap me and call it a rescue!" Iruka was unable to contain his indignation any longer. Only Ri-Tou snatching his arm and bending him over the blade kept the chuunin from doing something foolish.

"I should strike you," Shouda told the chuunin frankly after a contemplative moment. The charcoal pits where his eyes had been were dried out like smoking tender, ever threatening to flare. He warned, "My country isn't so kind as yours, Sensei. You won't like it if you choose to go as a prisoner. But I'm going to give you a chance to learn that before you test yourself against less merciful men."

And with that he turned his rigid back, gesturing to his men. "Let's go."

As with most protected places, getting out proved easier than getting in. Even with an intensely reluctant party, they managed to pass outside the wall where the forest was deepest. Carefully, they made their way, until the soft whiney of a horse reached Shouda's ear, followed by a distant hoof-beat on the leaf-strewn forest floor.

Almost feverishly, Shouda smiled. Home, as he'd planned. Home, with the teacher they needed. Home, with the shepherd.

His gaze raked over the man upon whom his hopes rested, seeing the lines of resistance all through his stiff, unwilling body. Ri-Tou had already had to be tough with him, had already had to leave marks on him. And he would attempt to escape if he could, might even try to kill himself. Maybe.

The captain pressed his lips together. It didn't matter. He forced images to the front of his mind, of the way Iruka's face would transform when he stepped among the grass of his homeland and was escorted among the dwellings, overflowing with people. They'd touch his face, and the children would crowd his knees and he'd realize, then, that what Shouda was doing was right. He'd stop struggling then.

All Shouda had to do was make sure the teacher got there. Everything else, he convinced himself, would come with time.

They'd just reached the clearing where they'd moved the horses. There was a fretful putter as one of the animals blew through its lips, tugging at its reigns. "Easy," Keno reached to calm the animal, though his own expression was uneasy. He said, "Something's wrong. They're spooked. Captain –"

He didn't have time to finish his warning. The trees – the trees that guarded Konoha and made it a land of multiple dimensions – flowered, sprouting people that dropped down and stepped out from every angle. Shouda's men reacted instinctively, moving to defend them, but by then they were overwhelmingly surrounded.

A cry fell out of Ri-Tou's mouth as the kunai he'd been holding at Iruka's back dropped nerveless from his fingers. His captain saw the long thin barb punched neatly through the bundle of nerves at his wrist, and then the slow ooze of blood. He looked up into the cold, flat expression of the guard who had escorted them through the gates on their first day – Genma. He no longer had a senbon clinched between his teeth – presumably it was protruding from his subordinates arm – but he had several others spaced between his fingers. And his was only one of the ring of grim faces.

Incredulous, the Shouda's eyes ranged over them, recognizing shinobi of all ranks, teachers he'd observed, and dozens of young people of varying ages. He even saw the hard eyes of several women and brawny men – civilians. Civilians among that circle. They looked like an army.

Out of the crowd, a bearded man stepped forward. A youth with a strong resemblance stood sentinel in the space beside him, and Shouda suddenly recognized him as the sarcastic brat he'd met outside the academy. His scarf still trailed the ground.

"I am Sarutobi Asuma, son of the Sandaime and representative of Konoha," the man announced with a look of only thinly veiled abhorrence. "Shouda Tsukene, I'm here to inform you that your right of free passage has been revoked. This is our formal request that you leave."

The captain began, "The Godaime –"

"Regrets to inform you that Konoha does not deal in bodies, you naïve bastard," Asuma ground between his teeth.

"And to keep the hell away from our sensei. He's not for sale!" Konohamaru burst out. A distinct rumble echoed from the crowd behind him. Agreement, warning, hostility. They were standing at the edge of a mob.

Gorge rose in Shouda's throat as he felt control of the situation slip away from him. Desperation welled up like bile, breaking him out in a sweat. No. This was over. Iruka-sensei had to go back to his village. They needed him.

He could tell his men were failing, faltering. They hadn't come here to be captives or begin a war. Ri-Tou, though he'd retained his grip on Iruka's shoulder even without his weapon, visibly faltered. It was instinct that made Shouda lurch forward and snatch their hostage away from his stunned subordinate. He wrapped his thick arm around Iruka from behind, his own weapon whistling as he brought it to bare.

Iruka's blood beat less than a millimeter from open air, a skin's width from a hundred set of eyes. Shouda pricked the vein deliberately, letting a tiny stream flavor the air. "No," he hissed wildly. He hardly know who he was talking to anymore – Iruka, the angry villagers, or himself. Loudly, he snarled, "No! He isn't Konoha. He belongs to Kusagakure now."

"Wrong." Shouda knew that animal growl, though in the broad sunlight, the man's mane was more white than silver. He stalked forward with two eyes like parallel versions of hell – Dante's ice and St. John's fire. Both burned on him; fury. He said, "That man you're threatening is Konoha as much as anyone here. He's bled for Konoha, lived for it, and nearly – very nearly – died for it. He has friends here."

"And family!" Konohamaru crowed.

"He's ours," another answered, a woman with an apron folded over her belly. Murmurs, affirmation: "He's our Sensei."

"So let him go," Genma was using that same reasonable voice he had at the gate, the one that promised violence if provoked. "Or you'll die, oozing. I swear it."

Shouda vibrated, images of his village before his eyes. Burning grass, endless against the red sky. Mass burials and no savior; kage dead. And then a thousand mouths to feed in a land stretched between four enemies. A hundred orphaned faces. Kusagakure needed this healer, teacher. Yet now this force of snarling lions bore their teeth at him, threatening what he had gained for his people.

His needle point hitched higher with his short breaths, but he hardly noticed. Destruction loomed over him like a panting beast and he felt crazy, unsure what to do.

"Shouda." The voice came from so perilously close that the Kusanin flinched, grip tightening compulsively. The sound was right under his chin. To this point, Iruka had remained still under Shouda's grip, his body deliberately relaxed, but now he spoke: "Shouda. If you continue like this, you're going to get your men killed."

"I won't. I'll kill you first."

"If you do, violence may well come to those children for whom you came to seek help. Defying the Hokage has consequences."

Desperation welled. Shouda pressed Iruka closer, drawing the man under his chin in a parody of an embrace. He implored, "Konoha has dozens of teachers. What do you think will become of my village without you?"

The teacher reached up, slowly sliding his fingers over Shouda's bunched fist. Gently, he comforted, "I know. But there are better ways to ask."

The soft voice, so reasonable and so bereft of condemnation, touched Shouda. For long moments he sucked in air, fought his own reaction. It was all scrambled now. His men, and his people. Iruka.

"Let me go, Shouda," Iruka asked him. "Please."

He did. He let go. Two pairs of hands immediately had hold of him, twisting his arms behind him and pushing him – not ungently – to his knees. Beyond him, he saw that Keno and Ri-Tou had been arrested in the same matter-of-fact way. His heart pounded in his head.

"Shouda," he was called by the same voice, and he lifted his face to Iruka. The boy Konohamaru had fastened around his waist, and Hatake Kakashi stood close, his palm clasped firmly over the wound at Iruka's throat to staunch the bleeding. It was making a mess of Iruka's shirt collar, a smear over his shoulder. Yet he met the desperate eyes of his would-be abductor. "I'll talk to the Hokage about Kusagakure," Iruka promised. "Something will happen."

Belief, and relief. Shouda went quietly.

As they lead the shivering captain away, Kakashi murmured, "You shouldn't make promises you can't keep." He didn't have to vocalize his other thought, the one that ranted, 'And whatever Tsunade says, you're not going anywhere.' That went without saying.

A little hoarsely, Iruka answered, "Konoha will do something. After all, they aided us once."

Asuma saved Kakashi from voicing a scathing retort by sauntering up beside them. "Sensei," he said. "I'm glad you're okay. You should know that the Kusanin have been taken into custody until this matter can be cleared up. Although," his eyes flicked sideways. "It seems probable from the captain's behavior that this attempt was spontaneous. It's possible he was acting on his own."

Iruka appealed to him, "Asuma, don't hurt them."

The jounin's eyes were unreadable, but finally his mouth stopped moving around the cigarette he'd been chewing on and he said, "Not unless we're certain this was an act of Kusagakure itself, and for the moment Ibiki doesn't believe that's true."

Kakashi actually felt a measure of tension drain from the man under his hand. "Good."

"You're too forgiving," Kakashi said. He was remembering Shouda's cruel threats, and the knife at Iruka's throat. Shifting his grip, he checked to see that the wound was clotting, and once he was sure, let loose. "He could have easily killed you. The way his hands were shaking…"

"Forgiveness is an essential, human thing," Iruka retorted absently, fluffing Konohamaru's hair as the boy stood fisting his shirt as though he still expected the teacher might get carried off. He grinned at the young man, saying, "You saved me, didn't you? And not even graduated."

The brat puffed up. "I guess," he said proudly. "But I hadta. What would the boss have said if he'd come back and I'd let you get kidnapped?"

It was an interesting question that Kakashi only belatedly considered. What would Naruto have said or done? It was a thought that very nearly made him smirk. Captain Shouda was lucky that he'd only had half the village to face, and not a certain tame blond-haired, half-sealed monster. With a very protective streak.

"Hey, I saved you too," Kakashi felt the need to point out.

"Did you?" Iruka tapped his chin, deliberately oblique.

"Mmhm, yes," Kakashi extrapolated. "I had them figured from the beginning, even before I spoke with Tsunade. They don't call me a genius just because of my superhuman physique and incredible good looks, you know."

"And they don't call you modest at all," Iruka commented.

Putting his nose in the air, Kakashi retaliated, "Pride is a jounin's prerogative."

"Only for the obnoxious ones."

The prompt rebuttal provoked Kakashi to poke Iruka harshly below the ribs. It made the teacher jerk and laugh – and it was a good sound. Still, the copy-nin was feeling relieved enough to loop Iruka's shoulder in mirror of Konohamaru. It felt good to have him safely between them.

He wasn't going anywhere.

Iruka had too many well wishers.

Kakashi had decided this when he found he could find him by himself. Two full weeks had passed since the Kusanin's attempt to appropriate the shepherd of Konoha, and ever since then Iruka had been flooded with nuisance callers. It was everything he deserved, of course. In this alone, Kakashi agreed with Captain Shouda – Iruka deserved to be recognized for his unique abilities. If not the ones that were still cloistered in secret, then at least for those the world could openly see.

Iruka had just shut the door behind yet another set of visitors after another long day, then put his back to it wearily, slouching with a sigh. Kakashi took this opportunity to come in through the window. He hailed, "Yo!" and watched Iruka roll his eyes.

Then the man started making tea – the good stuff that he kept in the high cabinet. "I kept expecting to see you around every houseplant," the chuunin commented as he drew out utensils.

Iruka really was glad to see him; he was making food. The copy-nin shrugged. "Thought you might be jumpy," he said as he slide into his customary place.

A cheeky look over one shoulder, but Iruka let the teasing pass. "Hrumph," he muttered instead. "I'm starting to think I was born under a bad sign. I attract creepy stalkers. Really, I may have to see the Godaime about a ward."

Kakashi sniffed as though offended, though his mind trickled briefly to the Hokage. She'd been very stern with the Kusanin, very expansive with her authority. However, as ugly an impression as she'd have liked to give, she was far from heartless. Aid had been negotiated for Kusagakure just that morning. Blame had been established upon the appropriate parties.

"Poor Shouda," Iruka had said when he heard, his words flavored with genuine regret. "In the end, he was desperate. He was just trying to help his people."

"Like a lumberjack lances a boil," Kakashi retorted unsympathetically. The thought of the captain still brought a growl to the back of his throat. In spite of the fact that all had gone well, he was acutely aware of all that could have gone wrong. It seemed incredible, but they could easily have lost Iruka within sight of their own village.

Iruka was humming, steam rising from a pot as he emptied in a package of egg noodles. Kakashi groaned. "Ramen? Don't you own anything else?"

A pout and an angry line; only Iruka could do both a once. He snarled, "Don't like it, don't eat it. I accept no complaints from uninvited guests."

"But, Sensei," the jounin whined. "Couldn't we have miso? I know you have some. I checked your refrigerator."

"When have you been in my refrigerator?" Iruka had his hands on his hips now, glowering fearsomely. He made a violent gesture with a chopstick. "You quit sneaking around my house, you hear me?"

Kakashi lounged expansively. "Sneak?" he wondered. "Me?"

A mug slammed down before him. A honeyed scent rose to his nose. Kakashi yanked down his mask. "Mm. Just how I like it."

The chuunin stalked back to the stove, but it was all a farce. Ease with his present company was drawn all down his body. He was grinning behind his turned back, too, Kakashi knew it. "Yes, well," Iruka said. "You've given me enough practice."

'And so I'll continue,' Kakashi offered the silent promise, smirked over his cup rim. Because he intended to haunt Iruka for a long, long time. In the very best spirit, of course. And never quite like a stalker.