Author's Notes: I caught the MoB bug again… I really, really want to update "Nights With Matches and Knives" but I made the mistake of looking something up in my Japanese history book and stumbled across the siege of Odawara. Well, and then this little scenario popped up in my head, jumped up and down there, yelling "write me, write me, you know you want to!" Hmph.

As a result, this one is historically incorrect on so many levels that I can't count them anymore. For example, I don't know if in feudal Japan prisoners of war were ever sent into slavery – and if so, how this would apply to members of noble families.

The final siege of Odawara happened in 1590 and neither Oda nor Uesugi were involved – the Hōjō under the lead of Ujimasa were actually up against Toyotomi Hideyoshi. Odawara fell, and Ujimasa and Ujiteru were forced to commit seppuku. I changed some of those facts and moved the fall of Odawara to Saburō Kagetora's lifetimes.

Summary: Historical AU – 1569: The Hōjō are defeated, their realms about to be cut up between their victorious neighbor clans. For outstanding services during the siege, General Naoe Nobutsuna is given a very special reward: the youngest of the Hōjō brothers.

The Prize

/\/

Sixteen years, eight months, eleven days

That morning – the last morning of Hōjō rule over Odawara Castle – carried the scent of cherry blossoms down from the elevated fortress over the battle fields into the camps of the besieging armies. Irobe Katsunaga had been to the castle before the war for negotiations. He knew that there were other flowers gracing its gardens – wisteria, morning glories, chrysanthemums – but the cherry blossoms drowned any other scent except for the salty tang of the sea right behind the castle.

Hours later when he entered the castle grounds on horseback, surrounded by the pitiful moans of the defeated and the victorious cries of his own soldiers, the stench of blood overlaid everything else. It had been a long siege. Hunger, disease, shortage of fuel – nothing could break the resistance of Odawara's defenders. In the end, the allied armies of the Uesugi, the Oda and the Satomi had to take the castle by storm.

And even then the outcome would have been uncertain if it hadn't been for young Naoe Nobutsuna's risky maneuver that took down the Hōjō's redoubtable contingent of archers. Naoe had paid the price while still on the battlefield when he took an arrow to the chest, right above the heart. After removing the greatest obstacle to their victory, he couldn't join his comrades when by midday, war had ended and they were taking possession of the Hōjō's ancient stronghold. Their archers had been the Hōjō's greatest asset in battle.

And their ninja, of course. Their wretched ninja...

Even now – Hōjō's pride lay in the dust, Nobunaga's banner had been run up over Odawara's walls – these creatures just couldn't accept that it was over for their lords, for them. Irobe felt something cold and heavy settle in his stomach when he came to the inner yard of the castle and found the entrance blocked by two of them. What exactly did they believe they were protecting now? The Hōjō were all but extinguished. Only a couple of their family members hadn't been found yet. But these two representatives of the infamous Fūma clan seemed bent on standing guard on the orders of their dead lord. The only difference now was that they actually showed their faces.

At the sight of them, Irobe's personal guard immediately drew in closer around him, alerted by the mere presence of these two slender figures in their black attire. Contrary to most in their army he believed the Fūma to be a highly skilled nuisance, a force to be reckoned with, of course, but not a bunch of magicians. They could bleed and die just like the rest of mankind – and they would if they didn't stand aside now. He saw the older and slightly taller one catch his younger companion's eye as a wordless exchange seemed to take place between them. Then the latter retreated towards the yard.

Irobe narrowed his eyes. One of the things that made the Fūma such formidable enemies was their ability to act as one in a fight. Never would they have needed as crude a method of communication as eye-contact in a situation such as this. He didn't get around to spend much time thinking about this odd phenomenon, though, as his men immediately engaged the remaining ninja in combat. Despite the high alert they had shown earlier, they didn't hesitate now as Irobe noticed with a flicker of pride. Open combat wasn't the Fūma's specialty, of course. They stroke in the dark, with daggers, with poison, by attacking locations of their enemies' bodies that were sensitive to acupuncture. As a result, it didn't exactly happen every other day that one got to witness them deploy their fighting skills – leave alone, one of them fighting for his very life.

It was terrifying and wonderful at once.

It was the end of an era.

The Hōjō were no more, and their demise would lead the Fūma into the obscurity of history, too. In the beginning, though, it seemed as if the ninja were able to take on all the Uesugi soldiers opposing him at once. Kicks were flying, grips to their limbs quick as lightning were rendering grown men unable to lift a finger. How long he could have kept this up, Irobe never found out, however. The ninja had decided on the precise moment when he wanted to die. He just seemed to will his own body to slow down enough for the deadly blow to fall. His pale, narrow face was completely calm. A strand of hair come loose from his pony tail was lying against his cheek. Irobe was able to register all those details exactly before the ninja was stabbed and tumbled to the ground as the soldier removed his weapon from the dying body.

He had chosen his death, Irobe came to understand. He looked towards the entrance of the inner yard. And his last mission had been to delay their entry. What was so important that was happening in there for this Fuma creature to sacrifice his life?

It was to be expected, Irobe thought as he directed his horse towards the entrance and the weeping of women reached his ear, that the soldiers were running wild in the aftermath of this long, uncertain fight with its high death toll. The more surprised he was by the downright reverent silence of the inner yard. Hoping to find out what had cast such a spell on his men, Irobe dismounted and approached his soldiers some of whom recognized him and made way for him to step into the yard. He immediately summed up the situation.

An old man was kneeling there in perfect composure, his upper body bared. Nagahide's breath caught in his lungs when he positioned a short sword in front of his stomach, determination in his eyes. Without haste, the old man drove in the sword almost to the hilt and then drew it right across his belly, through his intestines. The tendons emerging from his neck, a feral sound, half groan, half snarl, broke from his throat.

After a few heartbeats, a loud cry cut him off and a second figure that Irobe became aware of only now moved forward with feline swiftness. Light reflected from a blade and the old man's head landed on the ground with a soft thud.

The following silence was so absolute that a falling needle could have been heard. Irobe saw the ninja from before who had aided the old man's seppuku poising as if in a stupor, sword in hand. Long black hair was spilling over a slender back, so for an insane moment, Irobe believed it to be a woman, the old man's wife or daughter maybe, disguised as a warrior to escape being disgraced by the invading soldiers. Then the blade lowered, the svelte silhouette turned around and Irobe could now see that it was indeed a man who had dealt the final blow.

Or in fact, Irobe thought somewhat ruefully, he was little more than a child. The high cheekbones and slender nose in the fair-skinned, oval face bore no resemblance whatsoever to the Fūma clan. However, Irobe had seen faces like this on the battleground, their lightless eyes open to the sky. They belonged to members of the erstwhile ruling family of the Kanto region.

"Who was he?" Irobe asked with a quick glance at the lifeless body in the middle of the yard.

"Hōjō Genan-dono, my uncle," the youth answered in a melodic voice and confirmed Nagahide's suspicions.

"And that would make you…?"

"Hōjō Saburō, youngest son of the late Hōjō Ujiyasu-dono."

Ah, yes. If Ujiyasu had been alive, Irobe would have been hard pressed to say how this war would have ended. Most likely, there wouldn't have been a war at all. Ujiyasu had been more adept at maintaining a fragile peace than his oldest son and successor Ujimasa could ever have hoped to become. He had paid the price, too.

"Will you allow me to finish this?" the youth asked in a voice as calm and steady as if he were talking about calligraphy lessons and not asking permission to end his life. His eyes, though, said clearly that he was aware of the enormity of today's happenings. Irobe saw now that the black attire he had taken for a ninja's costume was in fact a wooden armor with the insignia of the Hōjō.

So many times during this siege, Irobe had wished that entire family to the deepest available pit of all the Seven Hells. But now – faced with this pale, exhausted child, so composed in the aftermath of what must have been the single most tragic event of his life – he felt something very akin to sympathy flicker to life.

"I cannot," he answered more softly than he had ever imagined to speak to a Hōjō.

The boy lowered his gaze under this last, in a way most fatal blow. It was all over: his family were dead, his clan defeated, any possession he ever could have hoped to inherit would be scattered to the winds. His life had come to an end, but he wasn't allowed to take the only appropriate action - something even the lowest of all peasants could have decided for himself.

Irobe saw and understood, but it wasn't his place to decide who should be given permission to flee his defeat.

/\/

"Not too long ago you served the lords of this castle." From his elevated seat in the back of his tent, way outside the gates of Odawara's castle, Oda Nobunaga the victorious warlord, swept his gaze over the back of the man who knelt before him on the ground. Technically speaking, he wasn't a vassal of his, but of the Satomi clan who had aided the Oda and their reluctant allies, the Uesugi, in this long overdue campaign to take down the Hōjō once and for all.

They had accomplished as much. Ujimasa and most of his brothers were dead either in battle or at their own hands, the rest of them facing the same fate. Now that the fighting was over, Oda intended to enjoy his enemies' downfall to the fullest. Or he could have done so, if it hadn't been for those aforementioned allies.

Since the Uesugi bore the brunt of most of Hōjō's attacks and in addition to that developed the plan how to get around their archers, Kenshin requested that his general who had been severely injured the day before the victory "be given the most precious and best part of all Hōjō spoils".

Those were Kenshin's very words, delivered by a messenger from Echigo, and they were the reason why Nobunaga had summoned this Hōjō renegade who had become a Satomi vassal only a couple of years ago after a severe conflict with Hōjō Ujimasa had him and his brother turn his back on their birth clan. "Of all men who fought on our side, you are most intimately familiar with everything inside those walls, every heirloom, every treasure the Hōjō owned. If there were but one thing you would give to your most deserving warrior, one priceless object –"

He broke off since there was an obvious answer to the question of what should be given to the man who had all but won the war for them. Odawara Castle needed a new master. Nobunaga knew that Naoe had been given a fortress of his own by Kenshin – a windy shit-hole on a rock somewhere in the northern lands the Uesugi called home. He had no doubt that the young general would have preferred Odawara castle with its gardens and beaches on any given day.

But Nobunaga wasn't ready to part with Odawara nor would he ever be. As it happened, this had been one of his favorite day-dreams for years: walking the crenellations of the Hōjō's stronghold, knowing that he'd crushed their pride, their very lives. He wasn't going to abandon that vision, especially not for Kenshin's self-serving ideals.

So he needed something else for Naoe – and for Kenshin to be satisfied with his vassal's treatment, it had to be something beyond compare. Now he could only hope that the Hōjō did own any such thing other than their beautiful castle and that it would be movable.

"Tell me, Matsuda-dono," he requested. "Of all Hōjō spoils, what is the greatest prize we won today?"

Matsuda Takahide lifted his gaze from the tatami mats on the ground of the tent. He was a bulky man, better placed on a battleground than in a palace. Not the cleverest kind of individual, but not without some amount of cunning when he had set his mind on something as Nobunaga had come to learn. Now, to Nobunaga's faint surprise, he noticed a smile lurking on the corner of the man's mouth. When he lifted his gaze to meet Nobunaga's, there was a glimmer in the depths of his eyes that the warlord couldn't make sense of. Memories perhaps of the days he had spent at court in Odawara, of laying eyes on what he was about to name?

"My lord," the Satomi vassal said finally, phrasing his words carefully. "There is but one thing of the Hōjō clan that I consider beyond compare."

/\/

They came for him as evening fell – the evening of the first day Odawara Castle had seen under foreign rule. The Uesugi general who had witnessed his uncle Genan's suicide had sent him to the small hall where they kept his brothers prisoners. Ujinori was badly injured and started developing a fever.

Against his better judgment, Saburō spoke up about his brother's critical condition and was met with crude laughter. He should hope for his brother's demise, he was told, for it would spare him a life in slavery. As it awaited him, Saburō concluded from that. The darkest days were indeed upon them.

The others had been spared, Saburō understood, feeling a desperate longing for Ujiteru-ani wash over him. His favorite brother had died first, in battle. Saburō had watched it happen from the walls of the castle, bow in hand, but still unable to prevent his death. The first war-dead in their family of this generation. But Ujitada and Ujimitsu had followed soon. Ujimasa had committed suicide when the gate was crashed open or so Saburō had been told. And now Ujinori would die a dog's death after fighting so bravely…

All this left Ujikuni who had gone stone-cold and silent. He sat next to Saburō in the tiny shed where they had been placed, separated from the other prisoners of war. A couple of times, Saburō had believed he heard his sister-in-law's voice somewhere nearby and even mentioned as much to Ujikuni, but it didn't coax a reaction from his brother. Therefor it came as a complete surprise to Saburō when they overheard one guard talking to another that Saburō was wanted in Oda's headquarters, Ujikuni immediately drew the according conclusions.

"No, by the Gods, you're not taking him!" it burst from Ujikuni's mouth.

Saburō started struggling when he saw one of the Oda soldiers hit his brother in the face with the blunt end of a spear. Their eyes met, all of Ujikuni's unvoiced fears plain to read for Saburō. It struck a strange chord with him that his brother would consider the more heinous possibilities of what could befall him when his whole family had been so blind about what had happened a couple of years ago right under their collective noses.

Odawara hadn't given him protection then, much less would it do so now, full of enemy soldiers who hadn't touched a woman in months. If nobody had tried to force Saburō yet it was only thanks to the fact that nobody could be certain by now about what was to happen with the captured Hōjō family members.

He held Ujikuni's gaze as he was yanked away. This is nothing, he wanted to say, nothing I haven't lived through before.

/\/

Nobunaga was pleased with the latest development regarding Naoe Nobutsuna's reward. A boy – and be he the youngest of the infamous Hōjō brothers – he could do without. He had enough pretty playthings. Even if Matsuda claimed the boy was beautiful beyond the imagination of mortals – that kind of thing was said of too many young boys.

Kenshin who harbored similar preferences would appreciate the gift for what it was and his general was the ideal receiver. Naoe Nobutsuna struck Nobunaga as one cold son of a bitch, a man who would never choose the fulfillment of carnal desires over the realization of his ambitions. And ambitious he was – he certainly made no pretense of that. Experience hadn't yet taught him how imperative it was to pursue his objectives without stepping on his peers' toes all the time. The young man seriously needed to be taken down a peg or two. This affront disguised with a pretty face might very well do the trick, Nobunaga thought gleefully.

But the important thing was that neither Kenshin nor his general could lay claim to Odawara castle now or later. A boy would come Nobunaga much cheaper than a fortress. And everything else aside, he smiled to himself, the little transaction would infuriate Takeda Shingen beyond measure. Matsuda had told him that the boy had been a hostage in Kai as a young child – and that Shingen had gone as far as to adopt him. "That's why they called him Saburō when he was in fact the eighth son of Ujiyasu's, the seventh to survive to adulthood."

It was getting dark when the soft clinking of armors announced the return of the guards Nobunaga had sent to the castle to collect Naoe Nobutsuna's prize. A slender figure clad in the plain, uncolored garment typically worn underneath a samurai's armor was manhandled into the tent and more or less thrown to his knees in front of Nobunaga.

Ah. He could see at once what Matsuda had been talking about, even though the boy kept his gaze lowered to the ground the whole time. Even so Nobunaga received the impression of a fine, even bone-structure, unblemished skin and long lashes resting on high cheekbones. Black, silky hair had come loose from the ponytail it had been tied up in before.

Yes, Nobunaga could see why such a pretty face would trouble a hick like Matsuda. The man had gone very still a few seats next to him, his eyes fixated on Hōjō Ujiyasu's youngest child. Again, it made Nobunaga wonder what memories connected the Satomi to this boy. Then again, he was hardly the only one present who'd forgotten decorum at the sight they were presented with.

Hōjō Saburō had frozen on the ground in a position that would have looked awkward on anybody else. With him, it seemed that he had left all considerations of his body behind by now – anticipating perhaps what fate had in store for him. Nobunaga caught sight of more than one respectable bushi's attention being captured by their young prisoner. He decided to get to the point before any of them got their hopes up.

"Irobe-dono," Nobunaga addressed Kenshin's spokesman, the oldest of the Uesugi generals present. "The youngest son of Hōjō Ujiyasu is to be given to General Naoe Nobutsuna as a reward for outstanding services to our just cause."

Irobe froze while a murmur went through the room and died down again. Generals Yasuda and Kakizaki who were flanking their elder, exchanged looks that clearly spoke of how aghast they were at this unexpected turn of events. Nobunaga suppressed a smile at their thinly disguised irritation. They were perfectly able to put two and two together and detect the reason behind this move of his. Most likely they had also hoped for Odawara castle to go to one of their own. And now this. It was a deft move, a subtle insult to their injured companion's achievements, hardly able to ward off for how could they speak up in public now?

Irobe's frown seemed to have different causes, though, as Nobunaga realized with some astonishment. He followed the old Uesugi general's gaze to where the youngest of the Hōjō brothers knelt. There was concernment there, a kind of regret that seemed all the more remarkable among all the leering stares the boy had been receiving since they'd brought him into the tent.

However, it was impossible for Nobunaga to tell whether Saburō had become aware of either the stir he was causing or the announcement and what it meant for him. His eyes alone might have betrayed what was going on behind that aloof facade, but he had cast them down when he entered the tent and never lifted his gaze from the ground.

"Show your face, boy", Nobunaga ordered, egged on by the prisoner's attempt at escape from the world.

With almost imperceptible hesitation, Saburō lifted his head.

As the Oda's chronicler was later going to put it, "the fertile lands, the majestic castles, the finest weaponry, all gold and jewelry paled before the heavenly beauty of Hōjō-dono's last-born son."

Truly, a small voice echoed in the back of Nobunaga's mind. Beyond compare. The Satomi filth was correct. His eyes… they're like a wild animal's.

And this was also what made the boy special, he understood. Not his physical beauty, but what shone from his unusually colored eyes. The contrast between his subdued demeanor and that fiery spirit couldn't have been more harsh. What might one call this hue, Nobunaga wondered. Gold…amber?

Nobunaga had stopped being attracted to appearances a long time ago. Certainly, it didn't hurt if a bedmate was good-looking, but to instill a prolonged desire in him, he had to possess a certain strength of his own – at least some will-force, some sort of character.

Unfortunately, there weren't a lot of people falling into this category.

Even among the noble classes, there were those born to lead and those born to follow. Nobunaga had always understood that. And he understood now that this last-born son of Hōjō Ujiyasu's was of the former kind. Not even the recently suffered tragedies could take that from him. What a daimyō this child could have grown into in a different life where he wouldn't have been the youngest of seven brothers, where his clan wouldn't have been defeated and extinguished.

Others would have cowered, Nobunaga thought, exhilarated by the cold fire that met his gaze as if the boy had temporarily all but forgotten about his precarious situation. Others would have bent.

Breaking a spirit this strong promised immeasurable delight.

Regret gripped him, but it was too late now to take his own words back. As Nobunaga had announced in public, Saburō would go to Kenshin's general and sweeten that one's nights from now on. He made a gesture to the guards who yanked the boy up from the ground again and directed him towards the entrance of the tent when it happened.

Being turned around, Saburō's eyes fell on Matsuda Takahide who had sat in silence throughout the announcement, without calling attention to himself. Saburō didn't exactly freeze when he recognized the man, but it seemed as if he were holding his breath for a long second. Of course, he was bound to recognize his brother's former retainer, a traitor to the Hōjō clan twice over and now witness to their ultimate defeat.

As for Matsuda –

Nobunaga frowned ever so slightly at the shine in the Satomi vassal's eyes. This was more than just the gloating of a renegade who had picked the winning side after all and now wanted to rub it into his former clan lords' faces. It seemed to be personal, aimed at Saburō himself and not so much at the fact that he was a Hōjō.

Again, Nobunaga found himself wondering about their history. Matsuda must have known Saburō for a long time, he mused. He'd watched him grow up, grow more beautiful day by day, become more and more untouchable… For obviously, it would have been completely out of the question for a vassal to ever as much as lay a fingertip on his lord's own son. Which didn't mean, though, that he didn't harbor any desire for the boy.

Was that it, Nobunaga wondered. Embittered that he couldn't take the boy himself he had eagerly played his part in subjecting him to that humiliation at the hands of another? My, my. This one's mind certainly makes for a fine cesspool, Nobunaga thought.

Then again, if anybody could bring out such twisted desires in a man, it would be this golden-eyed youth.

/\/

Saburō looked into the eyes of his tormentor and thought, it was his doing.

If there had been the slightest doubt in his mind about Takahide coming up with the idea of bartering him away to this still faceless enemy general, it would have been extinguished at once by the expression the older man wore. He wasn't exactly smiling, but his eyes conveyed a mixture of satisfaction and excitement that was oddly contradistinctive to the stupor Saburō found himself in at the sight of him.

He remembers the red moon and now he wants to pass me on to this Uesugi general hoping that he will give me new nightmares.

During the last year, he had sometimes imagined coming face to face with the Matsuda brothers or any of their companions again. The siege of Odawara and the participation of the Satomi had made it a likelihood after all. The fall of the castle and all those deaths in his family had stirred his thoughts from that trail somewhat, but as a matter of fact he had feared somewhat that Ujimasa might come face them in battle – and that they might tell him of… that night to unsettle him.

If you want to hate somebody, hate your brother!

He had avoided that pitfall, had protected Ujimasa from that knowledge, but now new horror gripped him. Would they learn about what had happened, Ujikuni and Ujinori? There was no way he could prevent Takahide from confronting them about it.

And he knew it, too, Saburō could read it from his face that he was aware of holding that sword above Saburō's neck. His thoughts were racing, fluttering through his mind like caged birds, so he became aware of movements in front of the tent only dimly. A puff of air hit his face when a soldier in the armor of the Oda passed him on the way to the podium where he sank to his knees. "My Lord Nobunaga. Your order has been executed."

"Ah," the warlord said as if only now remembering giving said order in the first place. With an air of satisfaction, he addressed the assembled officers: "My clan, my brothers in arms, bushi of the Uesugi and the Satomi. Tonight we celebrate the fall of the wretched Hōjō clan. In their arrogance, they believed that they could set themselves up as the rulers of Japan, that they could enforce their will on us all. Their schemes failed them when they encountered our combined forces in open battle. And tonight I have forestalled their plans once and for all times."

Presentiment made the hairs in the back of Saburō's neck rise as Nobunaga paused for a moment during which every soul in the room seemed to hold their breath. Then the stroke fell.

"The Hōjō are no more."

Saburō heard the words but as soon as they were uttered a different sound rose to his ears, almost drowning them, like the roar of rapid water. His gaze flitted about the room for a few heartbeats, then stilled to complete numbness.

They killed them.

They had taken him away and then killed them. No. Ujikuni had been allowed to commit seppuku. And Ujinori? Had they just left him to his fever? The interior of the tent began to swim before his eyes, although it weren't tears veiling his gaze. Darkness flickered at the edges of his field of vision.

"Come", a harsh voice reached his ear. Someone grabbed his arm – to prevent him from falling or to lead him outside as they'd been on the verge of doing anyway, Saburō never found out. He stumbled along, blind to the way he was led on. On the hem of the man's robes he noticed the Uesugi coat of arms. Were they collecting their prize now?

The void in his mind suddenly filled with but a single thought: that everything he had ever suffered had been justified and worth the pain because of the Hōjō name. As long as he could tell himself that his own sorrow was insignificant compared to the fate of his clan, he'd been able to overcome any hardship, but –

This is the end.

With the conquest of Odawara, his very foundation had broken away from underneath his feet. His clan was erased and shamed in defeat. He was enslaved and to go to one of the victors, who could do with him as he pleased. A thin veil lay between him and his own insanity.

Despite having been raised in a temple, Saburō had never considered himself a devout person. His mind was empty of names safe a precious few – the Kannon, the goddess of mercy, the war god Bishamon-ten, the patron deity of the Uesugi. He found his spirit reaching out into the unknown, into what not even the most pious could claim to know for certain that there was indeed someone or something out there who would listen to his prayer.

His plea for death.

/\/

Author's Notes: Man, this turned out a lot darker than even I imagined when I came up with this unhappy little plot… Seriously, war is no fun *roll-eyes* Thankfully, this is just a fic – darkest before dawn and all, you know.

Next chapter: enter Naoe Nobutsuna :-)