Unholy Love | SasuSaku

Echoes of War

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Disclaimer: I do not own Naruto. Naruto belongs to Masashi Kishimoto.

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"Whatever our souls are made of, his and mine are the same."

Emily Brontë, Wuthering Heights

Mikoto's POV

The grand halls of the Uchiha Castle were quiet now. The usual bustling of soldiers, the hurried footsteps of servants and the low murmur of meetings had all but disappeared since Fugaku and the men had gone to war.

Lady Mikoto Uchiha stood near the high windows of her chamber, the soft light of the morning casting long shadows against the stone floor. The tapestry above her, woven with the crimson and black of the Uchiha clan, rippled ever so slightly in the cool breeze that whispered through the open window. Her gaze fell over the vast lands that stretched out beyond the castle, far beyond what her eyes could see; beyond to where her husband and sons were now.

Mikoto took a deep breath, steadying herself. She was no stranger to this, to the waiting, the worrying. As the matriarch of one of the most powerful families in the Land of Fire, she had grown accustomed to the role. But it never got easier. Not when she knew Fugaku could fall. Not when she trembled about Itachi, her firstborn, and Sasuke, her youngest son. Both of them carried more weight on their shoulders than any son should.

The servants worked quietly around her. Aiko, her most trusted maid, silently arranged a tray of tea by the table, her hands moving with the precision of one long-practiced in the art of discretion.

"You've been standing there for quite some time, my lady," Aiko said softly, her voice breaking the silence. "Perhaps some tea will calm your mind."

Mikoto smiled faintly. "Thank you, Aiko. I suppose it would do me no good to stand here all day."

Aiko moved to pour the tea, her hands delicate, her head bowed slightly as she always did in respect. Mikoto took a seat by the small lacquered table and glanced briefly at the tea's delicate aroma. She appreciated Aiko's efforts, but today nothing could ease her restlessness.

"Have there been any messages from the front?" Mikoto asked quietly, though she already knew the answer.

"No, my lady," Aiko replied. "Not since the last one, two weeks ago."

Mikoto nodded. It had been Fugaku's customary report; a brief message about the ongoing campaign against the Senju forces, filled with the impersonal tone he often used when discussing war. Nothing about the danger, nothing about their sons.

"How are the preparations for the harvest festival coming along?" Mikoto asked, changing the subject, as much to distract herself as to fulfill her duties as the Uchiha lady.

Aiko smiled softly. "The village is abuzz with excitement. We are nearly ready, my lady. The villagers are preparing their best offerings to honour the gods. I believe some have begun weaving wreaths of fire lilies for the shrines."

Mikoto nodded again, her thoughts far away. She knew the importance of the festival for the common folk. It was a time to honour the gods, to pray for peace and prosperity, but she couldn't help but feel that peace was an elusive dream in these times.

Her fingers trailed absentmindedly over the edge of the teacup as she thought of Sasuke. He was so much like his father; quiet, proud, driven. Like Fugaku, he held his emotions within, buried so deeply that even she, his mother, could not always reach them. Sasuke's letters had been few, and when they arrived, they spoke only of tactics and preparations, never of his own well-being.