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Disclaimer: I do not own Naruto or its characters… (heh, forgot to add this)

The Slave of Sound
Chapter 2

The great doors of the palace were massive; heavily engraved oak, bound with brass and taller than most houses. The guards saluted the Konohans as they marched up to it, heads held high, eyes brilliant and cold. Neji and the others were just as bright, and even more remote. The time was at hand. They would see Sasuke Uchiha this very day, and come hell or high water, they would learn the fate of Naruto Uzumaki.

Those titanic doors, so ostentatious to their eyes, swung open smoothly, without scrape or squeak. And who should meet them at the entrance but that loathsome creature, Kabuto. He was all smiles, dressed in rich Sound livery, his silver hair tied neatly back, longer than of yore, but his glasses as reflective as ever.

“Welcome, welcome!” Kabuto caroled warmly, all smiles and smarmy bows. “Welcome to Otokagure and the great land of Sound! Come, and be welcome.”

Neji wanted to retch. Sakura stared at him with loathing, Shikamaru hid his disgust under a veneer of boredom. Konohamaru couldn’t hide his anger and was incapable of responding with anything remotely resembling civility. Thus it fell to Kakashi to step forward, his own feelings hidden tightly under a civil mask, to step forward, and return a very shallow bow. They were forced to be here, and they would acquit themselves with dignity and courtesy, but they would not respond with any forced gaiety.

“Thank you,” Kakashi responded with soft coldness.

“You must be exhausted after such a quick and arduous journey. Why, it’s only yesterday morning that we knew of your departure from sunny Konoha. Come, follow me to your rooms, so that you may refresh yourselves.”

One would think that Kabuto would seethe at having to display such gushing welcome, but, truth be told, he was filled with vast joy and amusement. Ah, those proud Konoha ninjas; forced to bend the knee and come to Sound against their will. Forced to extend olive branches of goodwill, when they all wanted to rip, rend, shred, avenge their fallen comrade. Sound’s spy network was as extensive as its trade routes, and even more complex. Oh, just wait! He barely restrained himself from rubbing his hands together in glee.

With a peremptory snap of his fingers, richly ornamented and perfumed slaves leapt forward to relieve the visitors of their burdens and lead them to the most opulent quarters ever seen. Sound had spared no expense to show lavish accommodations to their unwilling guests; rub their noses in it, most likely.

The visitors surrendered their packs silently, save for Konohamaru, whose hate filled soul had trouble relinquishing anything to these villains. But at a glare from Neji and Kakashi, the boy subsided, blinking away tears. His eyes searched wildly. Where was Naruto? But it was all in vain.

“Thank you,” Neji smoothly resumed command, once more in possession of his usual aplomb. He was the leader of this expedition, an Anbu in his own right. Usual protocol demanded he respond with well wishes, and these he gave through almost clenched teeth. Neji may hate every moment of this, but not only was he an Anbu captain, and a trained negotiator, he was also a Hyuuga and drilled to this sort of thing from the cradle. No matter what his personal or even national feelings on this visit, he would behave as behooved a Konohan delegate and Hyuuga prince.

For prince, Neji Hyuuga was. Hinata had stepped down from the line of succession, and married Gaara Sabaku, to strengthen ties between Konoha and Suna in these new times of Sound supremacy. Both nations would need all the goodwill between them they could get, as the last holdouts against treachery. Neji himself was betrothed to Hanabi, his cousin, bringing him to the seat of Hyuuga power, where his uncle now wanted him to be. There was no love between either match, but Neji would treat his child bride with the respect due the crown princess of Hyuuga, and there was a deep respect between Hinata and her husband, Gaara; born of their grief and love for Naruto Uzumaki.

The delegation from Suna was already here, having arrived an hour before. Hinata and Gaara were both in Sound now. Gaara, unable to bring himself as the leader of Sand to extend gracious goodwill to that traitor Sasuke, whom he’d always despised, and now loathed with every fiber of his being for Naruto’s disappearance and supposed death, had stepped down as Kazekage; Temari now held that office, and did what Gaara could not. She had not been sanguine about allowing her youngest brother to attend the peace talks in Sound, worrying that the young man’s hatred would lead to war, but Gaara had promised her that he would behave with the utmost propriety. And besides, he would never bring Hinata into more danger than she already was in, here in the lands of Sound. But Gaara would not take no for an answer. He would go to Sound, and he would find out Naruto’s fate. If it was the last thing he did. He owed it to the only person he had ever loved unreservedly, and who had saved him time and again. Naruto deserved no less.

Once in their rooms, they kept up a steady stream of inconsequential chatter. None of them, even Konohamaru, forgot the edict both Neji and Kakashi had drilled into them with every step of their journey.

Every wall has eyes, every corner has ears, every person is an enemy. Say nothing, do nothing. Keep your secrets close.

For this particular delegation had a secret agenda all their own. Yea, even Kakashi. Unbeknownst to everyone in the Ninja lands, everyone in Konoha save the two remaining Legendary Sannin and a select few, they had an ulterior motive. Find Naruto Uzumaki, if he is alive, and bring him home. Avenge his murder if not. By whatever means necessary. Konoha had survived one war with Sound. She could do it again, if need be. Their Hokage had given them this special S-class mission herself, burgundy eyes cold and dead. If and when the council ever found out, she would lose her job, but she didn’t care. None of them involved did. Naruto must come home; alive preferably, but to an honorable burial if not. The Light of Konoha must come home.

……………………………………

Two hours after their arrival, Neji and the others found themselves escorted to the great dining hall, where a feast had been prepared for the delegations of the last two holdouts of Konoha and Suna. Neji found himself with a surprising armful of his cousin, Hinata greeting him and her ex kinsmen with effusive joy. She’d not seen them since her wedding and relocation months ago. Gaara was far more restrained, giving Neji, whom he’d found a distant accord with, a civil nod of greeting. Kankuro, behind them, was more outgoing in his greetings than his younger brother.

Gaara had to turn away, the sight of the leaf headbands almost more than he could bear. Even after seven years, his heart ached and burned for Naruto. He had to fight down the blood thirsty urge to slay everything in Sound livery that he could see. Control. Control.

Hinata touched his hand in commiseration, light and cool. Her white eyes filled with her own anguish. They both loved Naruto above all others, and found comfort in each other’s presence, in their shared loss and grief. When they came together in the marriage bed, when they found the relief they sought, there was one name they cried out in their pleasure. And it was neither of theirs. Afterwards, they would lay together quietly, and whisper softly of a love lost before ever being claimed, and found surcease for their aching hearts. And with every passionate cry of Naruto’s name, and every stricken whisper, a soft and strange love for each other grew between them, and Gaara knew he would protect his diminuative but fervent wife with his own life, if need be, as Hinata would his.

They filed into the dining hall together, escorted by a bevy of silken skinned slaves, everywhere in Sound. The ubiquitous presences were barely clothed, reeking of sensuality and willing servitude. Already each delegate had quietly rebuffed each and every sexual overture offered them; obviously the slaves of Sound were more than utilitarian. Those golden collared men and women, some barely out of childhood, seemed to revel in their enslavement, finding a strange joy in offering all that they were.

Both Gaara and Konohamaru gave soft growls as they took their seats of honor at the high table. The delegates had a perfumed slave standing ready behind each of them, assigned to refill platters and goblets, blot brows, and whisper soft words of pleasure in their ears. Konohamaru found himself red faced and tongue-tied at the overt caresses and lisping offers whispered in his ear by a girl slave younger than himself. The others were savvy enough to ignore or gently rebuff unwanted advances and services.

On the dais before them was a long table, filled with Sound nobility, each with their own attendant slave. But what drew every eye was the man seated in the middle of the table in a throne like chair. His black eyes filled with cool amusement, every dark hair in elegant place. The Otokage. He had no slave attending him, and beside him was a smaller, but no less ornate chair. The Consort’s throne, obviously. But it sat empty and forlorn. If the Uchiha had chosen a bride of his own, she was not in evidence, and it was strange that the chair sat empty there in that place of honor. Until a consort was chosen, no chair was provided. Despite themselves, all of the delegates felt curious to know whom Sasuke had chosen to share his bed and realm with. Sakura, despite her newfound dislike of the man before her now, felt a twinge of faint envy; a holdover from younger days. She quickly squashed it. She would rather die now, than share the life of the man she once loved so much. The man that betrayed everything she held dear; her home, her land, her friend.

As soon as everyone was seated, and quiet reigned once more, the Uchiha stood up, lifting a golden goblet that glimmered in the candle light.

“Welcome to Sound, Konoha, Suna,” His sensual voice, richer now than in bygone years, rang out in triumph as he toasted each nation. “May this be the auspicious beginning of a new and glorious alliance. I welcome each and every one of you here, and bid you to eat and drink and be merry. Welcome.”

There was a frozen silence from the delegates, as Sasuke stood tall before them, eyes unblinking, smile unbreaking, pride radiating from every inch of the tall, lithe body. He stared them down until there was a scramble to pick up their own glasses, and a weak chorus of response as they each sipped what tasted like ashes on their tongues.

“Goddamn fucker’s become quite the chatterbox since our genin days, eh, Shikamaru?” Kiba whispered softly to his dinner partner. Shika said nothing, but set his goblet down quickly as soon as was decently possible.

“Let the feast begin,” Sasuke intoned happily, gesturing to the slaves everywhere.

As if by magic, silver domed and steaming platters were placed before each of them, edifices of fruits and tidbits spaced about for easy access, goblets refilled, water glasses appeared, finger bowls glinting in the flickering light. And for a moment, each of them were reluctantly impressed. It was done with the grace of an elegant dance, not a plate out of its proper place, not a piece of stemware or silver ware out of alignment, not a jingle of metal, or drop of liquid spilled. Reluctantly impressed until a gold haired slave had appeared behind the Uchiha upon the commencement of the feast, slender and graceful as a willow in a gentle spring breeze.

In the panoply of perfumed flesh, silken hair, glittering and scanty attire, at first the young man did not seem out of place, even if that golden mop of hair made their hearts throb in memory of their lost comrade. He laid the Uchiha’s plate before that man with the skill and dexterity the others displayed, golden collar winking in the candle light, and even held the goblet to his master’s lips. In a roomful of important people, nobles and delegates alike, they were paired with a slave of the opposite gender. But the Uchiha had a male slave. Moreover, one chained to the table before the Otokage.

Kiba couldn’t resist another caustic whisper to his companion. “Always knew the Uchiha was a fag,” he smirked quietly. “No one as good looking as he is would be so cold to the ladies. I knew it, I tell you. Guess that’s why the consort’s chair is empty. What woman would put up with something like that?”

“Don’t be a fool and shut your mouth, Inuzuka,” Neji whispered harshly. “A seat of such power would not be empty for such a vapid reason. The Lady of Sound wouldn’t let a little thing like homosexual slave abuse get in her way. Now shut up before you disgrace us all.”

Kiba sullenly returned to his meal, watching idly as the Uchiha’s slave, something so teasingly familiar about him, revealed the succulent meats on the platter and set aside the glinting dome.

Then, to the delegates shock, and not the nobles, the collared and barely clad slave slid into the consort’s chair with long practiced grace, and proceeded to feed his master with graceful hands. The young man had yet to lift his glorious golden head.

For a moment, the only sound in the hall was the soft talk amongst the nobles and the clinking of their utensils. The delegates were momentarily frozen. A slave? In the dinner throne of the High Consort of Sound? Unthinkable! And in that timeless moment of near silent shock, the soft words of the Otokage sounded clearly in the hall as Sasuke gently tugged on the glinting chain that began at the golden collar of the slave and ended in a crystalline ring on the table before the Uchiha.

“Open your mouth, my beautiful Kitsune. I know you are hungry as well.” The tugging gently rocked that golden mass of hair, and finally, the slave lifted his head, glimmering pink lips opening obediently for the piece of meat upon his master’s fork. There was a moment of chewing, a soft swallow. “Yes, sweet dobe, like that.” And the Otokage’s head dipped to kiss that glistening mouth; wet, deep, and carnal. And the slave’s newly revealed face was momentarily obscured by that head of dark hair.

But not before everyone saw large eyes, outlined in kohl, a vibrant cerulean, as deep as the ocean, and as remote. Not before they saw the six whisker like marks gracing lightly tanned cheeks, in that perfect face. Not before they realized why that shock of golden hair had given them each a poignant throb in their hearts even as they dismissed the gracile, delicate creature before them.

Sakura gave a soft helpless cry of anguish.