Golden Crown of Sorrow, Bloody Sword to Swing

Chapter One

A/N: Reposted after some editing and revising! If you see me writing this instead of updating Zaman, no you don't <3

Even from meters away, Itachi could feel the oppressive heat of the pyre on his face, the fire burning hot enough to melt the ceremonial weapons placed beside the corpse, the slab of obsidian that formed the base glowing with the heat. Itachi had been the one to light it, the one to begin the blaze that would reduce his father's corpse into nothing but a few handfuls of gray ashes. He would go with his mother and Sasuke to the Naka to distribute the ashes the next day. Then Fugaku would be gone.

A woman sang somewhere behind him, though he extended no effort to listen to the words. The melody was enough to impart the intended emotions of a funeral dirge. His mother stood behind him, her eyes dry and back straight, but Itachi could see the guilt that dulled her eyes as they danced with reds and oranges from the reflections of the fire. The weight of his father's death sat on Itachi's chest too, but his weight came with some peace–with an acknowledgement of an inevitability. The Uchiha as they had been were doomed to fall, after all.

[Golden Crown of Sorrow]

Water rushed. Waves crashed over rocks, eroding sediments and crushing everything beneath the weight of its body. Water enveloped sound, taking it into itself and crushing it too and Itachi's thoughts joined the ineffable void into which all sound retreated.

Compartmentalization: the first lesson a jonin learned. Itachi considered himself more than proficient–perhaps not a master, as that title belonged to Kakashi–but certainly good enough. When his thoughts fell into the void, he had to retrieve them and file them away in a metaphorical lockbox of sorts. Itachi had experienced traumas far past the appropriate amount for someone of his age, but to be a shinobi was to lose and such was the destiny of a child soldier.

Yet Itachi was no child, was he? Though well under the age of eighteen and far from his full height, no one viewed him as anything less than an adult; responsibility for the lives of others and the burden of lives he took weighed heavy on his shoulders with a force only fully grown adults could be expected to bear.

Itachi was no child and that was why Fugaku implored him to attend the jonin-only Uchiha clan meeting. He was no child and that was why Fugaku trusted him with knowledge of the intended coup. Yet he was no adult either and that was why water rushed in his mind, drowning out his sensibilities as he imagined the future of the Uchiha clan and most importantly, Sasuke's future.

A coup could end in nothing but civil war, Itachi knew; how could the others not see that? Yes, the Uchiha stood strong but the vast ranks of Konoha shinobi greatly outnumbered them and though Konoha had never seen the genocide of a clan on its soil, the Council of Elders would not hesitate to quell such a revolt as soon as it began. And where would Itachi stand in the civil war? Would he honor his oath to the Hokage and stand with the village or would he join those of his blood and die for a foolish dream of greatness? How would he spare Sasuke in either situation? Would he fall to his knees in front of the Elders and beg for Sasuke's life? Would he offer his and Sasuke's exile in exchange for their lives or would he offer his own life as compensation for sparing Sasuke's? Where would Shisui stand? Had he already chosen to join his blood or had he already begun planning a way to halt everything in its tracks?

Water rushed. Blood red water: blood that carried the power of the sharingan and the weight of the Curse of Hatred. Itachi could see nothing but a sheer cliff peering dizzyingly down into the bloody rapids. The future of the clan, his future, and his brother's future lay in the rocky shallows below the cliff, battered and beaten, Uchiha blood feeding the rushing waves.

"We need to regain respect for our clan," Fugaku said, voice cutting through the roiling eddies of Itachi's thoughts. "Don't pretend like you haven't seen their hateful looks, their fearful apprehension. How many times have we tried the diplomatic route? I refuse to beg at the Hokage's feet. It is time for action."