31

THIRTY-ONE:

"I'm not going to apologise," Danzo said.

He was sitting at his desk and she was sitting across from him. Two cups of fragrant tea sat untouched between them.

"I would think far less of you if you thought I'd be foolish enough to believe such lies," Sansa replied, sharp as shattered ice.

"Sentiment, attachment… they are dangerous," Danzo told her. "They are failings."

"That is your belief." Sansa said, cold. 

Danzo looked calmly back at her. "I tried to have the Hokage assassinated," he said, and his manner was so mild and unaffected it was as if he was admitting to nothing more than eating rice at lunch. "Hiruzen is fully aware of what I attempted. And due to his sentiment, his attachment to our long-since disbanded genin team, he did not attempt retribution. He did not have me executed for treason, as would have befitted my crime. He did not even have me reprimanded or have my power in the village restricted."

And Sansa thought she couldn't be any more disgusted by the Hokage.

"Attachment to individuals is a weakness," Danzo repeated, leaning forwards slightly, his single eye boring into hers. "For leaders, in particular, they are the single biggest danger one can have. That is why I train attachment out of my shinobi. It is why I have trained it out of myself. I am not attached to individuals, I am attached to an idea– the idea of my village, of Konoha."

And Sansa… as much as she hated it, Sansa understood where he was coming from. She did. For leaders, the kings and queens, the lords and ladies, the knights and the generals, attachments to individuals over armies, kingdoms and countries could be disastrous; if the good of the people as a whole was not put first, the results could be ghastly. She need look no further than her own Aunt Lyanna and Prince Rhaegar to see the truth in Danzo's words. For Rhaegar's 'attachment', the entire realm had bled.

And yet, there were also so many examples of where love for an individual had given strength to people to act in ways that were ultimately for the good of many. For all that Sansa loved her kingdom and her people, it was her love for her children, her family, that gave her the strength to walk to her own pyre.

Before she could contend Danzo's claims, before she could counter his arguments with her own, a blank-mask shinobi darted into the room, almost too fast for her eyes to follow. Their hands were moving, making signs, some of which Sansa recognised from Kaeru's training–intruder, ANBU, casualties– and Danzo stood, frowning. "Megitsune, put on your mask," he ordered, and Sansa did as bid, standing and retrieving her mask, unease pricking its sharp claws down her spine. No weapons were to be worn in Danzo's office and she felt almost naked without any way to defend herself.

"Get behind the desk, Megitsune," Danzo ordered and Sansa hastened to comply. She was barely in position, mostly concealed by Danzo's body, when a familiar body burst into the room like a pale ghost from her past.

"Inu?" she gasped before she could even think to stop herself, hating how her voice seemed to quiver.

Inu looked terrifying; dressed from head to foot in black, stinking of spilt blood, his presence crackled through the office like the chirping ball of lighting he held in one hand, a blood-dripping tanto in the other. He drew so much attention Sansa barely even noticed the smaller presence behind him until Danzo addressed him.

"Kinoe," he said. "And I had such high hopes for you."

"My name," the boy, not yet a man grown, said, a slight tremor in his voice even as he boldly looked Danzo straight in the eye, "is not Kinoe."

"Such high hopes," Danzo repeated with a sigh. "A pity. Kill them," he ordered.

And Sansa took a stumbling step back as the office exploded into action.

In all her missions, she'd never actually witnessed a battle like this. Kaeru specialised in infiltration and assassinations, not the sort of clash of gods it seemed she was witnessing before her. Root agents were pouring into the room and Inu and Not-Kinoe were ripping through them; white-hot, blistering lightning engulfed every body it encountered, crackling with joy, as if alive, the smell of burned flesh reaching Sansa's nostrils as the corpses of the Root agents shrivelled into singed rags, their blood a dark, thick liquid oozing out of their noses and ears, brain and organs molten from the inside, even as roots of trees burst through the floor and ceiling and walls to skewer through torsos and skulls, leaving lifeless bodies hanging limp as their insides dripped-dripped-dripped to the ground below.

Sansa could only watch the slaughter with wide-eyed horror but Danzo sighed, sounding merely put-upon. "Stay there," he ordered her, before unwinding the bandages over his arm as he stepped forward. Sansa almost screamed as she saw, for the first time, what was hidden beneath them; there were no old scars there, no battle wounds or disfigurement– there was only pale, twisted, gnarled flesh hosting unblinking eyes, all in Sharingan crimson.

"What have you done?" Inu demanded, sounding shocked.

"What had to be done," Danzo replied smoothly, and then the gnarled roots were twisting, turning back on Not-Kinoe while Danzo was attacking Inu, meeting him blow-for-blow, along with a fresh wave of Root agents.

And Sansa… Sansa suddenly realised she had not moved an inch from where Danzo had ordered her to stand.

She had obeyed him mindlessly, just as all his Root agents did.

Shin would be horrified, she thought numbly.

So would Mito and Kurama and Tsukiko and Lady.

Joining the fight… it would be a death sentence. She was good, she'd had her skills beaten into her, for sixteen hours every day, seven days a week, for three years, but she couldn't match the legends fighting before her.

And yet… If I'm going to die, she remembered, let it happen while there's still some of me left.

A sense of calm settled over her, centring her, and Sansa breathed in, closing her eyes. Under her skin, her chakra moved; she guided the currents, thinned them to the slightest trickles of streams, twisted them into curves and lines, held them there, focused;

one

two

three

four

five

six

seven…

…

…

…

—eight.

Sansa could feel the dark lines of chakra-infused ink leaking in wet trails down her skin as the binding seals broke, and she didn't even have time to feel triumphant, to feel a thrill of victory, as her senses expanded in a rush like an avalanche of snow.

Every blazing chakra signature in the room and further, so much further, she could feel them, she could feel them all, for leagues and leagues around; dizzying and intense. And oh, the emotions… it was like an exploding seal had been set off in her skull, and it was only through focusing on the familiar bright burst like the lashing of a sea storm that was Naruto's chakra, still so achingly familiar, so mighty and magnificent, that Sansa managed to stay conscious, stay upright, though even that took gripping onto Danzo's desk as she found herself startlingly grateful for the mask that hid her face from the room. Not that anyone was actually looking at her, not with the deadly battle raging in such close quarters, where a single misstep was the last mistake that would ever be made.

Sansa didn't plan on making a mistake.

She had too much to do before she died.

She had too much she'd lose if she died.

Keeping her chakra tightly contained was simple; she had spent the past three years learning how to manipulate it down to the finest detail, how to create the smallest trickles out of the roaring tides within her, and she ruthlessly suppressed her presence until she knew she would be near-invisible to the senses of every shinobi in the room. Until she would appear as no threat.

One chance.

She had no weapon, but there was a pen on Danzo's desk. Nobody was watching as she picked it up, or when she snapped it in half and bent over, shielding her actions as she shoved the broken half of the pen into the skin just to the side of the hollow of her throat, gritting her teeth against the pain as she pushed it nearly an inch in, careful to avoid any veins or arteries. She waited until the blood was really flowing before discarding the pen and straightening up, clapping both her now-bloody hands to neck and screaming.

"Danzo-sama!" she shrieked, stumbling back.

She knew exactly what sort of sight she would make– blood-soaked hands clasped over her throat, blood pouring down her neck, panicked and stumbling, calling for his help…

Danzo claimed he had no attachment to individuals. He claimed his only attachment was to Konoha. Perhaps that was true. But Sansa knew he was invested in her. He wouldn't spend so much time with her if he wasn't. And she could guess how he would react when confronted with such a scene as the one she had created for him.

He didn't disappoint.

Danzo cleared his desk in a single leap, an impressive feat for someone who cultivated the image of an old, decrepit man. "Megitsune, what is your status?" he demanded, in the same voice he used when asking for mission reports, reaching out with a hand glowing green. Gasping as if in a panic, Sansa reached for his wrist with her own, small hand, grasping onto it.

And Danzo froze.

Under Sansa's palm, a seal burned into his flesh.

And finally, her chakra unfurled around her, as freezing and all-encompassing as the deepest, darkest, hungry depths of the ocean, overwhelming as it threatened to swallow all those in the room whole.

Every shinobi fighting in the office was brought to a standstill as Danzo fell to his knees before a 'child'. He took a shuddering, pained breath, his mutated arm reaching for his chest, clawing over his heart as blank-faced, Sansa watched Mito's assassination seal in action as it stopped Danzo's heart from beating. With the last of his strength, Danzo's hand moved to claw at one of the Sharingan glaring out of his arm. Before Sansa's eyes, it seemed to spin faster and faster, its pattern turning new and unfamiliar, different to all the others implanted in his arm.

"Izanagi*!" Danzo wheezed.

~

The world shifted.

~

And then Danzo stood before her, alive, unaffected, the now-blank and glassy Sharingan weeping tears of blood that dripping down his arm, to the floor below.

As Sansa stared, Mito's words drifted back to her. A Mangekyo Sharingan is an evolution of the Uchiha's Sharingan. It is far more powerful, but comes at the heavy cost of eventual blindness. A flicker of understanding tinged with rage (and fear) ran through her. "That's Kagami's eye, isn't it?" she asked. Danzo's left eye widened slightly.

"Yes," he said, "it is. The second. And in all these decades, you are one of only two people who have managed to land a fatal injury on me, forcing me to use one up. You should be proud, Megitsune."

"My name," Sansa told him, raising her chin high, every inch the Queen she was, "is not Megitsune." She ripped off the porcelain mask and threw it, not caring where it landed, her eyes never leaving Danzo. "My name," she said, a wolf's snarl in her voice, "is Uzumaki Fuyuko, Daughter of Uzumaki Kushina and Namikaze Minato, Sister of Uzumaki Naruto, Descendant of Uzumaki Mito, Sacrifice to the Nine-Tails and Alpha of the Spirit Wolves."

And before Danzo had time to respond, Sansa reached for silver-moonlight-claws-fangs, her chakra surging up inside her and crashing down as she slammed her bloodied hands to the floor and howled, "Kuchiyose no Jutsu!"

The explosion of her chakra tore the office apart even before Tsukiko, Sayomi and four other members of the Pack who Sansa had yet to be introduced to appeared. The ceiling split open as the office caved in and all the shinobi inside scrambled to avoid being buried alive as the earth poured greedily in, leaping for the sky now revealed above them, Sansa among them, just as frantic as dirt fell on top of her, burying her alive, and she couldn't breath, not until she'd clawed her way to the sky.

Once they reached the surface, whatever hiatus had been afforded between Root and Inu and Not-Kinoe during Sansa and Danzo's exchange was well and truly over with the fighting beginning again in earnest. Inu and Not-Kinoe were fighting Danzo again and one of them had summoned a pack of dogs to help the wolves fight off the Root agents, the canines tearing through agents like wet parchment. Sansa looked over the bloody scene for a moment before grimly stepping forward, paralysis seals twisting under her palms as she pulled forth the burning haze of Kurama's chakra, knowing she'd need the protective edge it would give her once she joined the slaughter. Kurama allowed it, without even a single grumble.

Wading through the battle, Sansa twisted and twirled around flashes of blades, of eruptions of deadly jutsu, bringing the full force of her chakra and Kurama's Killing Intent down on all the Root agents before her, causing enough of them to stumble that it gave her precious moments to brush her hands against them, paralysing seals falling from her skin easy as breathing. It did not escape her notice that not one of the Root agents attempted to attack her, to harm her in any way, but she did not have time to think of what that meant, because while they may not be aiming for her, a battle was a chaotic place and all of Sansa's focus was on her fraught surroundings.

The moment she spotted Koi had joined the fray, however, she almost froze in place as fear shot through her.

You'll keep Koi safe for me. You'll keep him alive. You'll free him, you'll introduce him to your Naruto and you'll teach him how to live. Promise me, Fuyuko!

She wouldn't break her promise to Shin. She wouldn't.

'Kurama,' she begged, begged for more, past what she had the right, and Kurama huffed.

'Fine,' they huffed, as if they were so-very put upon and not at all eager to show off their superiority to a troop of upstart monkeys, and Sansa felt Kurama's burning chakra, already simmering against her skin, violently surge, sending anyone unfortunate enough to be near her flying away. The excess of bijuu chakra danced about her in wide columns of burning power– like tails, she realised. Three of them, to be exact. The Root agents, dogs and wolves alike didn't just avoid her now, they actively threw themselves away from her as she stalked across what had become a battlefield, over to the frozen Koi.

"Don't you dare waste Shin's sacrifice by dying pointlessly like this!" She snarled as soon as she was standing in front of him, drawing back her red-coated fist to punch him in the face, cracking the porcelain mask to pieces. Beneath it, Koi's face was ghostly-pale from lack of exposure to the sun and he looked up at her with confused eyes. With effort, Sansa made sure her hands were free from Kurama's burning chakra before slapping him on the cheek. Lightly. The paralysis seal had Koi falling to the ground and she seized his wrist, dragging him away from where the fighting was thickest. "I'll come back for you after," she told him, vowed to him. "I'll finally fulfil my promise to Shin." He could only blink back at her in response.

Turning back to the fighting, Sansa could see that more shinobi had joined in. They weren't Root agents either– she guessed they were the village forces and they looked like they were fighting to subdue both Inu and Not-Kinoe, and Danzo and the Root agents. They were also approaching her with their weapons out and Sansa, not looking to be attacked– she had unfinished business yet– forced Kurama's chakra back under her skin, baring her teeth at the burn, like she was forcing wildfire to sink down inside her, the icy waves of her own chakra barely soothing the burns it left in its wake.

The approaching shinobi seemed to relax somewhat as Kurama's chakra faded, and one of them actually crouched down so they were at her level. "Hey, Fuyuko-chan," he said, and his face wasn't familiar, but his voice was. And, as she took a moment to check, so was his chakra.

"…Tora?" she asked hesitantly.

"Well, not anymore," he said, "but yes. Though technically, I'm not supposed to tell you that. I'm Namiashi Raidou. It's nice to meet you properly."

Sansa smiled tentatively at him, taking a hesitant step forward. "It's strange to see you without the mask, Namiashi-san," she said softly and Namiashi laughed.

"I bet," he said warmly, "and call me Raidou."

"Raidou-san," she said, testing the name on her tongue, closing the distance between them and looking up at him shyly. "It's been a long time, Raidou-san," she said and she watched his face tighten with grief and guilt as he reached for her without hesitation, as if she was still the small child he'd watched over, the small child he'd last seen when he carried her to the hospital as she'd bled from the kunai her Academy sensei had stabbed her with.

Sansa let him. She let him cup her whiskered cheek his hand. He didn't even flinch when she lifted her own small hand to place over his.

He really should have.

In the time it took Tora– Raidou– to fall to the ground, paralysed, and his comrades to notice, Sansa had already darted back towards where the last two fighters were battling it out.

Danzo and Inu.

Neither Danzo or Inu were holding back and they both moved so quickly that neither the wolves, the dogs or the other shinobi dared to try to interfere, for fear of getting struck down or hitting the wrong person– or getting hit themselves.

Sansa moved in as closely as she dared, her heart in her throat as she sought shelter from any of the shinobi that might think to grab her between Tsukiko's paws. Tsukiko crouched slightly on her haunches, her lips pulled back to expose her blood-stained teeth in a silent threat that went well-heeded.

Sansa's eyes didn't leave the fight, so she saw the moment that Danzo faltered. Inu didn't hesitate; his crackling lightning jutsu buried itself in Danzo's chest and Danzo choked, faltering, collapsing to the ground as Inu let the elder's body slide off his arm to the ground. He did not move to get up. 

Sansa finally stepped forward, Tsukiko stalking behind her in a silent threat to dissuade any who might think to stop her. She knelt before Danzo's slumped form, reaching for his hand– not the mutated one, the one that was still human. The one she had burned a seal into to stop his heart, not so long ago.

"I'm not going to apologise," she said, mimicking his words from earlier that day. His blood-flecked lips twitched.

"I would think far less of you if you thought I'd be foolish enough to believe such lies," he rasped and she smiled too.

"Thank you for your many lessons, Danzo-sama," she said. "I'll never forget them."

More blood spluttered from Danzo's lips as he coughed and his mouth moved, as if he was trying to say something. Sansa leaned in– this was a mistake.

Danzo's mutated hand lashed out, his fingers wrapping around the nape of her neck. Sansa could feel the moment the seal there activated, the lines spreading across her neck like a collar– but even more concerning, in that moment his other hand moved to tear away the bandages covering his right eye, revealing the crimson Sharingan eye implanted there.

It was mutated, much like Kagami's, mutated and pinwheeling and as she stared into it, she could hear Danzo's voice ringing in her head. You are the heiress to my empire, he said. You are the heiress to my ideals. You are the heiress to my Will of Fire.

And Sansa heard Kurama's roar before Danzo was ripped away– very literally, as in Inu ripped Danzo's head from his body.

Sansa swayed, her hand reaching for the seal on the back of her neck. It pulsed like a living thing in time with her heartbeat, and she could trace its lines with her chakra, each line and twist and curve. She knew now why Mito could never figure out what it was– it had been incomplete. It wasn't incomplete anymore.

You are the heiress to my empire.

The heiress.

It was a leash, yes. But Sansa wasn't the one who was collared– she was the one holding the chains.

~

*Izanagi - a genjutsu performed using the Sharingan. With Izanagi, the user applies an illusion to reality itself, giving the user control over what is and is not real for as long as Izanagi is active. Users typically do this in order to protect themselves, negating any injuries they receive or even their deaths. When this happens, their injured self fades away as an illusion and their non-injured self immediately materialises in the previous self's place.