Disclaimer: I own nothing of Naruto. R&R please.

The Portrait of a Hyuga

Chapter 1: Memento

The fresh sticks of incense had been lighted, scenting the hall with the cloudy, somewhat stifling air of sandalwood and various perfumes. This was the second time that the incense had been offered for today, and his ancestors seemed to peer down at him from their individual windows.

Some had died young and were thus portrayed with long, dark hair in the style that they'd kept since they'd been children. Most of the others were far more senior when they'd passed on, and their portraits had been accurate to the very last wrinkle, hints of grey and somewhat haughty expressions.

Of the long rows of such portraits, a particular tattoo was present in plenty of the images. Some had received theirs at the back of their necks or on their chests, but most had those on the skin of their foreheads. It wasn't a particularly large tattoo, and the lines of the marks were thin and very fine, but the features of the tattoo were clear enough.

Framed and lighted by votive candles, all the various portraits nonetheless revealed the clan's characteristic traits—the pale skin, dark hair, and most prominent of all, the grey-lavender, pupil-less eyes of the Hyuga clan members. Pearl-eyes, some Konoha villagers liked to say. All-seeing eyes, as the Hyuga clan members themselves claimed. His own father had claimed so as well- been damned proud of it, as a matter of fact.

It was just as well, he thought now as he located his father's portrait. That one had died at a ripe old age, although he'd been remarkably fit and well-kept for someone so senior. At least there was some consolation, he thought silently, since their father would only need to watch this sorry state of affairs from his frozen portrait.

His own, he estimated, would be somewhere on the right end of the hall. There was some space there. He twisted his lips a little, wondering if the portrait-makers would take an old photograph of his. Or perhaps, they would secretly take his brother's image as direct reference. That, admittedly, would probably work too.

The thought almost made him smile.

Nobody was here in the main ceremony hall, save for him. Plenty of them had been here some hours ago, some speaking heatedly, and some looking woeful and helpless. The Elders themselves had been divided even after hours of discussion, but his acceptance and subsequent volunteering had provided a casting vote of sorts.

The incense sticks were still smoking faintly. Those had grown shorter over the hours, as had the candles, and he knew that it was nearly time. It seemed strange that everything would be marked by such inconsequential prayer items, especially when the most fervent of prayers would not change much now.

He vaguely wondered what his boy was doing now. Perhaps, the child had grown tired with the wooden puzzle that had been provided for him. The evening was approaching—surely a boy of that age would want of other playthings? But that boy was a very focused child—he'd taken it upon himself to solve it. He'd also promised to finish it within the week and to present it to his parents, since he'd imagined this to be a mission of sorts. Hopefully, it was still preoccupying most of his attentions until everything was complete.

Besides, he considered, his boy was still on mostly friendly terms with his cousin. She had wanted to help him with the wooden puzzle, and most probably, they were working on it together even at this point.

Over this year's festival, his boy had been introduced to the Hyuga heir and his cousin. They'd waited, watching out for a particular palanquin amidst the colourful, busy streets. The girl had been a pale, pretty little creature, eyes large in her childish face. And as immediately as his boy had laid eyes on her, he'd whispered, "She's adorable!"

At his son's exclamation, he'd tried to hide his surprise and pain, and he'd said quietly, "You must look after her."

The girl's father must have heard his nephew and brother, but his expression had not changed. If anything, it had become grimmer.

Now, he wondered if he'd done the right thing in instructing his son as thus. He thought of the subsequent affection that his boy had shown towards his cousin even after the sealing ceremony. His boy hadn't struggled when his uncle had placed the seal upon his flesh. After all, the searing pain of the tattoo's implementation had been momentary, and the boy had accepted his father's explanation that the seal that his uncle put on him would help to protect the boy's cousin.

Hours after the boy had woken with bandages over his forehead, he'd asked to see his cousin, and the two had been nearly inseparable since then. But surely, he reflected now, the boy was beginning to learn things. He was beginning to turn against the main family and to resent those from it, including his cousin.

Just the other day in the East training hall where the main family resided near to, the boy had seen his own father cry out as the white-shock waves of pain paralyzed him. The boy had seen what his uncle had done, and from his perspective, his uncle had been cruel. The eyes that his boy had turned to the members of the main family with had been wild and filled with anger— familiar eyes, he supposed.

It wouldn't take long now, he supposed, for the boy to view his uncle and even the cousin with fear and hatred. The boy hadn't understood that in some ways, his uncle was trying to protect his own child; not when he hadn't understood his own father's resentment. The boy had not understood the extent of the rage his father had been unable to control for a moment.

Perhaps, he thought, the boy did not sense his uncle's reluctance in dealing out the punishment. The boy thought that his uncle had done this on a whim, but he didn't know what kind of rage his own father was capable of. For sure, the boy had never seen his father fly into that blind, crushing rage, whereas his uncle had. The boy did not know that his father had lashed out at his uncle and near-strangled his own twin, and that even then, his uncle had not used the seal to fight back.

The boy did not understand that his father had felt remorse for directing his frustration against the young girl; did not understand that his father had ultimately accepted and somehow welcomed the punishment that his brother dealt out. Rather, the boy had thought it was solely at the unfair treatment that the branch members received. It was true, but there were other reasons why that resentment had developed. Whatever the case, the boy was beginning to look at even his cousin with different eyes.

Just a week ago, the boy had said to him, "I won't lose to anyone."

With some pride, he considered his boy. The child was barely five, but he had begun his training with another member of the branch family. His boy would surely grow to be a fine young man. But he had no more time to sit there, imagining what his child would accomplish.

He was not alone in this hall anymore.

The woman who'd just entered the main ceremonial hall did so in such a quiet manner that he may not have sensed her presence at all, since he'd been particularly deep in his thoughts. She'd slid the doors open gently, pattering in with bare feet that were small and white like a child's. Rather like his own son's, he thought.

As she knelt before him, he opened his eyes, looking at her. She knelt before him, both of them at the center of the hall, and he saw that she did not dare to look at him. She had always fallen into that habit—she had always been a little timid. In fact, when he'd first been introduced to this cousin, she'd hidden behind her mother.

"She's adorable." He'd then told the branch family member-cum-servant in charge of looking after him. The girl had seemed like a woeful little rabbit, peering with wide eyes at him from where she'd flattened herself, and he'd been rather charmed.

It was almost cruel, he thought, recalling the way his son had received his own cousin all those years later. His niece was but three, and yet she had already begun revealing her uncanny resemblance to her mother. What would his boy have said, he wondered, had he known everything in the past and everything that was to come?

"Your father wants you to train with her," he'd been told. "You will both protect your elder brother when the time comes."

It had been easy to forget that when they had been so caught up laughing and skipping rocks in the subsequent years. Now though, the words of the servant rang in his mind, and he surveyed the woman before him. Her head bowed now, he could see the hint of the familiar symbol. She was shivering, unable to meet his eyes.

When she was afraid, she could not really hide it. Yet, she could be courageous as well. He had learned that even when they'd been wayward children who'd run off to play in the woods despite the strict instructions issued. He'd fallen into a ravine while fishing, but she'd jumped in and swam to rescue him. She'd done that, despite her being a far poorer swimmer than him. She could be reckless and very, very brave, and for all their sakes, he willed her to be so in this particular moment.

"The hour will approach soon." He said calmly. He had been prepared for this—he had always been, ever since he had been a child. "I suppose you will prepare the body once it is ready."

Her head still bowed, she refused to look at him. It made pity well into his heart, and he sighed a little. "And what have you brought?"

He reached over with one hand, pulling her folded hands apart even as she remained prostrate. There was a little vial in it. But it was sufficient. She was very skilled with these— she knew exactly how to time deaths and to injure specific parts of the body without spending an excess drop.

Come to think of it, his brother had probably first taken notice of her during the time when she'd treated his poison-infected wounds. Since the main family led a somewhat segregated life even within the clan, his brother had never really interacted with his young second-cousin before that. As for the branch family members who lived at the West end of the estate like her, his elder brother, the Hyuga heir, must have been only a vague presence at the back of their minds—if a presence at all.

But one particular mission had left his brother severely poisoned, and she'd been the one in charge of helping him recuperate at that time. That said, the general lack of opportunities to interact would not have made this particular woman any less noticeable amongst all the others.

Looking at her now, he was rather sure that the single, chance encounter had been enough—it was likely that his elder brother had waited impatiently for her to come of a marriageable age. Certainly, the Hyuga heir had not agreed to any suggested betrothal, despite being nagged constantly and presented with distant relative after distant relative over the years.

Despite how weak and decidedly frail her body was, his brother had brushed off every objections and concern that the Elders had voiced about the unlikelihood of an heir. His brother had been fairly stubborn about his choice—that the woman he had in mind was capable of producing a child as healthy and robust as the boy that his brother had. Strangely, nobody, lest of all the Hyuga heir, had raised objections about the lack of interaction. The entire marriage had been arranged on the premise that such trivial matters were not worth considering, and that the bride would not refuse the proposal that the Elders imposed on her.

Thinking about the past and looking at the woman before him, he might have laughed aloud now. How strange it was, he thought, that they'd all been connected in this way. As an Academy student that was seven years his junior, she'd tried to keep up as best as she could. She always fell behind, but they'd still linked pinkies and sworn to be there for each other when either of them was in a pinch.

Perhaps, she was just as aware of the present irony as he was.

"So it's come to this, has it?" His voice was a mutter, but he ended his words with a tired little laugh. He noted the strip of cloth that she'd brought with her. To mask the tattoo for later, he supposed.

His sister-in-law bowed her head even lower. When she spoke, her voice was a whisper. It was barely heard, even in the stagnant air of the room. "I was instructed to bring this in." She shook her head, and a strand of her dark hair slipped from its smooth knot, framing her pale face as she looked up slightly. "I was afraid to at first. But I agreed to administer it— in the hopes that I could see you and convince you not to do this. It was unlikely for us to speak otherwise. We haven't, for all these years." She cast her eyes downwards once more, mouth quivering. "But please, if you'll listen to me just this once— don't do this. There has to be another way."

He sat there, looking as if he was meditating still. But he had not quite cast off the worldly thoughts yet. He had thought about his wife in these few hours. She had known better than to plead, even if she'd turned paler than she already was. She'd simply bit her lip, nodded, and accepted his fate—all of their fates.

This woman though, had begun to weep. Silently, her delicate frame began to shake and she pressed a hand to her mouth to stifle her sobs. Unlike his wife, this woman had not been present when he'd stepped up and said what he had. Unlike this woman, his wife had not turned away or broken down. Rather, when the various Elders and important members of the Clan had filed out one by one, she had as well too. She'd had affairs to put in order—the preparation of the funeral that was to come, the adjustments to her life and their son's thereafter; the financial realignments once her husband had passed on.

They'd said nothing to each other about the approaching hour; not even when she'd served him some tea. He'd accepted that and the slight brush of her hand against his before he'd left to sit here in the hall. No bitterness, no tears, no final words, no promises, nothing. In some ways, he knew that neither of them needed that to understand and to deal with the matters at hand. That was the dignity that he'd come to appreciate about his wife, especially in these moments when she proved to be strong enough for all of them. He had learnt to understand her silence and somewhat stiff manners; loved her because she was his wife and the mother of his boy.

In contrast, he was glad that the woman before him had not been present at the meeting. It wasn't that she was prone to a lapse in her control of emotions. It was just that she could not quite hide her grief, and it would possibly have crippled him to have seen it. Even now, it took a great deal of resolve not to reach out or to say anything to comfort her.

"Please don't do this." She said again. She circled one shoulder with the hand that he'd shifted away from the vial, as if pressing a shoulder wound to stop it from bleeding. A defense mechanism, he realized, to stop her shoulders from shaking.

If she been present when the decision was made, would she have cried out in place of his wife, or protested as vehemently as her husband had? Or would she have wept there and then and begged on her knees? She was not cold and proud like his wife—she had never been able to grow out of and cast off that child-like mantle that had intrigued him for a long time. "You can't. Please don't."

A tiny crease worked its way between his eyes, and he shook his head. "Think of the clan's interests, Hinako. Or Konoha's for that matter. We can't afford a war."

She flinched at the use of her name. It was just as well, he decided. There wouldn't be very much longer to use it, and what were strict formalities and grand titles when one considered the way that they'd shared their childhoods?

From where he sat, he reached to her chin and lifted it gently. Her eyes were swollen and her lips pale, but even then, he could see why the seal had been branded on the back of her neck rather than across her forehead. It would have been a waste, as one of the Elders had said. Certainly, she had blossomed over the years and had subsequently become an obvious choice as the bride for the current head of the Hyuga Clan.

"I do not feel unhappy." He told her. "On the contrary, I feel that my existence and that my role is justified. I would give my life to ensure my brother's safety, even if it had not been asked of me."

"Think of Haruka," She said tremblingly. "And Neji is but four—a mere child!"

"He is no more a child than your girl." He told her. "Haruka is strong enough—she is a woman that both Neji and I are proud of. And at the very least, I know that my brother will ensure that my child grows up. My boy will learn how to protect himself," He looked at her smilingly. "As well as those who are dear to him."

He looked around at the portraits. The faces seemed to be less harsh than when he'd gazed up at those as a child, standing some distance behind his brother. He smiled at his ancestors now, sighing a little. "Come now. I will require your assistance."

She straightened, inching a little closer while still on her knees. Wiping her tears away with her sleeve, he saw determination flash in her eyes. "I will take care of your child as if he were mine. And Haruka—I will not let her suffer."

"Of course." He said quietly. "As we promised, when we were children. We are friends and members of the same clan, are we not? You will keep your promise. As will my brother, who sent you to administer this to me." He picked up the vial, uncorking it deftly. "He of all people, I expect, understood that I would rather have you and nobody else deliver this to me."

Her hand moved to her mouth once more. It had been her habit since the old days, when she was frightened or upset. He tipped the vial against his lips, nodding a little. "Tasteless, I see. You were always skilled."

She looked stricken, but he smiled comfortingly at her. "I thank Hiashi for looking after you and the members of this clan."

As his vision blurred and he leaned back, he saw her lips form a silent cry, and he felt her hands catch and hold him.

He felt no pain or remorse, but sensed that he'd clutched hold of something quite unconsciously. Granted, he felt only the slightest caress of her long, jet hair as it fell against her face and swept against his outstretched hands. Nor did he really see the pin that he'd dislodged clattering to the wooden tiles. By that time, a searing, white pain had erupted and a film of snow washed over his vision.

But he heard his name from afar and willingly closed his eyes, thoroughly exhausted but fully at peace.

A/N: So that's it for the first chapter of my first Naruto piece! Hope you enjoyed it and look out for the developments- do review please, I will most certainly read, re-read, appreciate and treasure every one!