Chapter Two: Fate's Hands.

Summary: AU GaaSaku. Because war is coming. Because a king needs a queen. And because no-one warned him his most dangerous opponent would be the one warming his bed.

-o-

The bright lights and colours of the fireworks blanketed the night sky. Gasps and shouts from the onlooking crowd followed the newest eruption of screaming and whistling in its wake. The spectacle was enchanting and awe inspiring to everyone who saw it.

All except one.

The name Sabaku no Gaara was synonymous with words like buzzkill, sourpuss, killjoy, and his personal favourite: stick-in-the-mud. He'd never been one for any kind of festivity. He would never admit it out loud, but he hated these mandatory traditions (because the people loved it). All these spectacles, all the bright colours and loud noises; they just gave him a headache – his siblings had always seen through his façade, however.

But the rigors of their three-year war were still showing, and the people needed some semblance of normality – a return to happier times. Even if it was a sham; a silent lie that hid the promise of bloodshed on the onset of the morn. For a night, they could forget their troubles and pretend like many of them weren't going to die in the coming weeks.

Gaara would never think of trying to deny them that.

He could put up with this for one night… right?

He nodded in acknowledgement as another partygoer approached him, bowed at the waist, and moved on.

Yes, he could put up with this, for now.

This was tradition, after all, and as the future king, he had to respect it.

Temari had waved away the offer for joint leadership (what had changed her mind, Gaara didn't know – he'd have to ask her later), surprising everyone. It didn't sit well with him.

Gaara looked up, again, as a particularly large stream of mixed sulphur, charcoal, and saltpetre exploded into the sky. It created an image this time; elemental kanji. One that represented the god of fire.

All the gods of the land of wind were elemental in power. And every season, as well as turning of the year, was celebrated with a different elemental god in mind.

They were about to leave summer – hence the fireworks and imminent fire dancing – and this celebration was to honour the gods for the last time this season. Not to mention that Obon was upon them, and he was dreading the offerings to the spirits of the ancestors.

Gaara sat in silence, and occasionally nodding as a citizen would approach him to offer their respects, but mostly just tried to look like he wasn't bored out of his mind.

Until his sister finally decided to grace him with her presence.

"Fire dancing is next," Temari said, breathing heavily as she sidled up next to her brother.

Had she just run through the entire length of the palace to get here, or what?

She had a strange, warm glow about her; Gaara's eyes darted to Shikamaru as the man dutifully followed behind her, but remained silent (his sister's General during the war was quite the tactician). They'd married on the eve of the civil war.

Gaara frowned.

He hated happily married couples.

They made him feel lonely and bitter, despite his preference to avoid that particular entanglement. He'd worked his entire life to convince people that he didn't need anyone, even when the freedom he gained from avoiding spousal dependency made him feel better, it was still a farce; the post coital glow of his sister just served as a reminder that he had no-one.

And frankly, the mental images were disgusting.

Gaara didn't answer her.

"I hear there's a new dancing troupe in our fair city."

"Advisor Yura." Temari greeted the older man warmly as he approached them.

"It might be worth a look," he added. "They could be added to the celebrations – it'll definitely help morale."

Gaara sighed, already knowing what the advisor was talking about.

'Just what I need,' he thought sarcastically. 'Flashes of half-naked people dancing in front of me.'

And with his luck, every single one of these inevitably female dancers would be the highlight of the show. Just because he liked the idea of nicely shaped, feminine curves swaying to-and-fro, didn't mean he wanted to be exposed to it. He hated temptations.

"Yes." His sister looked intrigued. "I heard they're looking for permanent residence. Has the council gone over their petition, yet?"

"No. But their first petition was a request to speak directly with the late king."

Temari closed her eyes momentarily at the reference to Kankuro.

"A matter easily handled to Lord Gaara," Shikamaru said, breaking his silence, and stepping up next to Temari, protectively. "The advisors are more than capable of assisting the transfer of responsibility."

The previously bored expression he'd been wearing now reflected his distaste of Yura.

The advisor nodded in affirmation. "The troupe–" He started.

"They're a nomadic tribe," Gaara interrupted, correcting him. He'd read the reports.

"The outlander territories have become exceedingly dangerous in the past few years," Yura said diplomatically. Something must have caught his attention, because he bowed to his majesties quickly before taking his leave.

Temari smirked at Gaara as another firework exploded in the sky above them.

He raised an eyebrow at her questioningly.

"I've read the reports too," she said. "Some of the young women in the tribe are of marrying age, so they may do their vows in the city shrines. It'll affect the agreement of any tenancy we allow them." Temari grinned mischievously. "You could take this opportunity to find someone exotic to marry, little brother."

Gaara flushed with embarrassment, remembering a talk with Kankuro a few weeks ago; affably, his brother had teased him over his "taste" in lesson traditional female "flavours".

'Taste test them, little brother,' Kankuro had said. 'See if the creamy centre matches the chocolaty outside.'

It was a real thing too, with nobles these days. Many of the court had begun negotiations to wed women (or men) from more ethnic tribes and areas in the land of wind.

Not that he'd considered it for himself…

Gaara had more important things to worry about.

If he found a wife, he found a wife; Gaara didn't want to spend too much time worrying (or blushing) over it. He decided to let the gods decide that fate for him. Yes… he could pretend that was out of his hands, too.

The law was against him on that, but he didn't want to force himself.

Gaara pushed all thoughts of courting, fiancés, and marriages aside for now. The only thing that mattered was getting through this night so that, come morning, he could set his mind to the task of avenging his brother.

-o-

The night was still young, and Sakura Haruno had a plan. She was going to dance her arse off.

She would do everything she could to attract the attention of the future king, as her father wanted, of course. But that was up to the gods, not her. And fate.

Superstition was common in her people, and it was fate that they'd arrived in Suna on this auspicious day. And the Obon festivities were in full swing.

The once power hungry clan of Kiraaku – who now went by the name Ryokōsha – were the precursors of the fire dancing that has now been around for centuries. It was their specialty before, during, and after their notoriously manipulative ways in the noble court. Every child in the Ryokōsha learnt to dance, though most did not train with fire anymore – a tradition that sadly became less important, even though they were often mistaken for a travelling, performance troupe.

The discipline and skill involved were still taught, but a student needed permission from their Master Teacher to advance to working with fire. And Sakura had surpassed her master long ago.

So she decided to take advantage of tonight's Obon celebrations. That was where Lady Chiyo came in.

Since her mother's death, Sakura had been tutored under Lady Chiyo; she was Sakura's kahu (caretaker), a respected title in their tribe, though not her only one. She had some rough edges, but Chiyo was otherwise the kindest person Sakura had ever met. The woman was warm, psychologically-minded, with an uncanny radar for mischief, and a no-nonsense attitude for troublemakers.

Her rank in their tribe was of Head Healer. And she was the best they'd ever produced – second only to the world renown Lady Tsunade (but anyone who valued their heads never uttered that woman's name around Lady Chiyo).

Right now, Chiyo was tutting over Sakura's wardrobe choice.

"It's unbecoming," she'd said.

"It's not like I'm naked."

Chiyo insisted on doing her hair at least.

Sakura reached up and fingered the headdress the older woman had insisted she wear (it bore the tribal symbol). Chiyo slapped her hand away.

"Do the girls in the palace all wear their hair like this?" She wondered out loud.

The worried, aging lines of her kahu worried Sakura. She was protective of the pinkette but also found her new plan to get a seat in the royal court a noble one. She was eager to see Sakura married off and happy.

Sakura had to keep reminding herself that Chiyo had not been born among the Ryokōsha, only migrating to their tribe years ago, when she'd lost her son to war – war instigated by the ruling family (two kings ago). She shared the Ryokōsha natural tendency toward ambition.

"Take this duty seriously, Sakura," Chiyo chided, not looking at her as she tugged on her hair to pull it back and out of her face. "Any girl in the clan would kill to take your place."

Sakura snorted. "Like they understand this is about me auctioning myself off."

Chiyo made a tutting sound but didn't otherwise respond.

The younger ones had been so excited since Yuri told them they would soon be meeting royalty. That ridiculous girl had them all worked up over it. She even had them all thinking they were going to some dancing ball and the prettiest girls would be married off to the cutest princes.

'That girl.'

Sometimes Sakura had a hard time believing that she was related to Yuri. Her cousin was also the only person other than Kizashi and Sakura that carried the name Haruno, which gave her the right to lead the Ryokōsha if circumstances allowed it. And now they did.

But the silly girl was far more interested in spreading rumours about Sakura's impending nuptials and their clan's "rise to power" then catching up on her lessons. She needed to prepare, since their patriarch didn't have much time left.

A familiar pang hit Sakura and she winced, remembering that her father was currently asleep next door, in pain, even in slumber. He kept up a brave face when awake, but the moment he slipped into unconsciousness all his worries manifested on his old, tired, and worn face.

Sakura closed her eyes to distract herself for a moment. But her thoughts returned to the current state of affairs.

Why didn't Kizashi ask Yuri to seduce some noble?

Sakura huffed, fidgeting again, and earning herself a stern look from Chiyo.

Tradition dictated they find an intended among their own from a young age; thank-fully, incest was abhorred and the bloodlines weren't ever mingled with their own, even if they had to seek out other tribes to (prevent) it. The point being, that Yuri had an intended; at least her intended was still intended. The young man Sakura's father had promised her to had died in an ambush on their caravan over a month ago.

Sakura had mixed feelings about that – that boy had been interesting enough when she had an itch to scratch, but she couldn't imagine being particularly happy married to someone who still thought she wouldn't get pregnant if they did it standing up.

Dunce.

But at least he hadn't been her first. She'd had her fair share of childhood crushes too. Sakura had liked an older boy for a long time when she was a child – he'd be almost thirty now, but he too, was gone.

As good as, anyway.

She glanced at Chiyo in the mirror as the older woman started humming. That was a sore topic she avoided.

As for Yuri… Sakura could only hope that Yuri settled down when she finally settled down and bore children. It would do good to teach her responsibilities. Her intended was a good guy, so there was hope there.

"This is all happening so fast," Sakura thought out loud, before she could stop herself. She didn't mind this, but now that she was getting closer to having to do it, she worried nobody would like her.

"There will be no time to worry over how little time is left to you before the fire dance tonight."

"I know."

"If you are to attract him, you must act swiftly."

"I'm aware."

"Are you also aware of what time it is?"

Sakura looked up at the reflected image of her kahu and frowned. "What?"

"Obon."

"Yes, I know. It's a season of renewal, of visits from our ancestors, when offerings are made to the spirits."

"And the king recently died."

Sakura nodded. "I know."

Where was she going with this?

"The new king will have to be crowned soon, or it will be disrespectful to the spirits, and the law says he must marry within thirty days of taking the crown. But there is a rite of passage the future king and his future wife must go through first and it is lengthy."

"Okay…" Sakura was still confused.

Chiyo made a clucking sound, now staring at Sakura in the vanity mirror in front of them. "He will most likely have been pressured by his council to marry in the past, but has not taken any vows. Which means he will be desperate now, and a desperate man is easily wooed by a beautiful woman."

Sakura smiled, understanding now. "You really think I can do it?"

"You have wooed every man in this caravan," Chiyo said honestly, chuckling when the pinkette's eyes widened in shock. "But they would not dare approach you without your father's permission. The future king however, outranks Kizashi."

Sakura had nothing to say to that. She sat patiently as Chiyo finished and stood as instructed, when the older woman was done.

She looked at herself in the full length mirror and quite suddenly, could see what her kahu had been talking about. In front of her stood an exotic woman – more than that, the woman she had become was shapely but not out of proportion, petite but not flat; her eyes glittered like polished emeralds, her skin seemed to absorb the light of the torches in her room. Her skin was still light, since she covered it during the day (tradition for the Ryokōsha) so it wasn't exposed to the sun, but there was a soft, natural olive tint that showed when she wore more open clothes.

It had to be the fire light. All Ryokōsha looked more exotic in fire light. It was in their genetics.

Her long hair was pulled back and slightly curled, but still retain some semblance of its natural straightness; she couldn't believe how much better it looked this way.

She suddenly felt like a princess.

'A queen,' she corrected herself.

"Thank-you, kahu," she whispered.

Lady Chiyo just smiled, and nudged her toward the door.

It was time.

Sakura inhaled deeply, feeling more confident now. There were fireworks in the sky, a clear path leading to the open gardens where the main festivities were currently being held, and the future king was unknowingly waiting for her.

Spirits, fate, and gods be willing.

'I can do this.'

-o-

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