Chapter Text
“And the heart is hard to translate
It has a language of its own
It talks in tongues and quiet sighs
And prayers and proclamations
In the grand deeds of great men and the smallest of gestures
And short, shallow gasps
But with all my education, I can't seem to command it
And the words are all escaping, and coming back all damaged
And I would put them back in poetry, if I only knew how
I can't seem to understand it”
-Florence+the Machine, All This and Heaven too
Sunagakure was a sprawling, spiraling village born from the earth and molded by the wind. Her buildings, though mostly in shades of brown and muted greens and subdued reds, were dappled with vibrancy. Tapestries hung from windows and doorways, woven in fine spider's silk of glittering splendor; elegant pottery, painted in various colors and shot with gold or lapis, held flowering and fruit-bearing cactus on open terraces, rooftops, and windowsills; golden domes topped various buildings, like miniature orbs of sunlight; and blown glass hung from wires along every street, so the sun's rays fractured and speckled Suna's roads and buildings with rainbows.
From the sky, the spiraling design of Suna's main road swirled like water running down a drain, leading to her heart where the deep blue of the chaitya, Suna's oldest building, was nestled. The prayer hall, ancient though it was, was resplendent. Great care had been taken over its long life to keep its walls from crumbling, the color from fading, and the artful carvings and mosaics from eroding. The saturated blue of its exterior was surrounded by the warm sepia of the earth so the eye was always drawn to it. It was not the only building in Suna to hold such color in its structure, but it was the most vibrant of all of Suna's architectural wonders.
However, it was not the only building within the village to draw the eye.
Suna's main library was situated against the northwest wall of the plateau, directly across from Suna's entrance. It had been built directly into the cliffs, rising towards the height of the Ridge—the sixth level of Suna and all that remained of the plateau—and towering over the rest of the village. Its exterior was made, not of clay but stone the color of jade; then of striated brown, as if sections of the building had been carved from tiger's eye. Where it's arcs and ledges met the changeable brown stone, it was edged in a faint orange-bronze, muted like the memory of a sunset or tarnished and rusting metal; and where those same moldings met the quiet green stone, they were the color of the sky, yet softer somehow, as if pale clouds had rolled in. Though the building's colors were not so saturated as the chaitya, expressing a humility despite the towering structure, the library beckoned the eye, calling to those who sought the solace of knowledge.
The library was Suna's greatest achievement, known throughout the whole of Wind as the Gods' Chaitya, the place where the gods went to pray, for what else could a god pray to but knowledge itself.
For Gaara of the Desert—a god to his people, by all accounts—the library had been his first home.
After Yashamaru, when he'd become the monster everyone feared and he'd had no love in his heart to speak of, the books and scrolls and the echos from the library's Oratory had been a balm for the heart he'd convinced himself he no longer had. The books were his friends, the scrolls his family, and the voices bouncing like prayer and echoing from the Oratory the whisper of love he'd surely never know. He learned, at the tender age of six, that knowledge could not fear; could not bleed; could not die; could not lie; and it could not hate. Knowledge was knowledge, nothing less than that, and knowledge was something Gaara could trust.
He could trust books and scrolls and stories echoing through halls better than he could trust the smiling face of anyone who dared speak the word 'love'.
The librarians who worked in the Gods' Chaitya—known as Suna's Keepers—had feared Gaara, like any rational person would, and so they had always given him a wide berth whenever his tiny body had slipped through the library's great doors. It had allowed him to sit in quiet corners uninterrupted as he poured over tombs and scrolls, or pressed his ear against the wall of the Oratory. He taught himself to read and write; taught himself maths and sciences; taught himself history and language; taught himself everything and anything he could. It was the only humanity he was afforded and Gaara had drunk it up as eagerly as he'd believed his sand drank blood.
As a child, he'd been convinced he'd be able to read everything the library had to offer and hear all the stories passing down through the generations. As Kazekage, he knew it would never be—Suna's library was too expansive, even for a man as hungry for knowledge as he was; even for a man who did not lose hours of his day to dreams.
But the library was always there, always with its doors open to him, always with something knew to teach him.
And one day, after years of trauma and grief; years of redemption and atonement; years of quiet, tentative happiness, the library taught him about love.
____________________________
The old stone of the library was warm to the touch, like the press of a body against another, the heat from the desert lingering in the library's halls long after night fall. Gaara preferred the library at night, when few patrons came to visit and the silence of the large hall's hung with a hushed reverence. Old whispered tales of the gods walking at night kept all but shinobi indoors past midnight, though even shinobi held fast to superstition and knew not to look a stranger in the eyes.
Gaara had never seen a god within the library. He supposed he might not have known it if he had, but he was certain he hadn't. A god ought to leave an impression, like sitting oddly for too long and coming away with a mark or the pinpricks of disrupted circulation. Sometimes, as a child, he would linger in the darkest corners of the library—and there were many dark places in the Gods' Chaitya—hoping to meet a god. He'd thought many times of what he would do if he ever did—kill the god, had always been at the top of his list, but somewhere in the hidden recesses of his soul, he'd wanted to ask the gods to forgive him, to love him, to save him.
As a child, Gaara had not prayed and he had not loved. And the gods never did come to the library—not to learn, not to die at his hand, and not to offer forgiveness.
There had only ever been Kōizo—an old, blind Weaver from the Oratory—and Gaara.
Children were not permitted in the God's Chaitya—there were too many old and valuable texts for them to destroy, after all—but Gaara had never been a child and, even if he had been, the rules hadn't applied to him. The others who worked in the library had always been too frightened to say anything to Gaara, but Kōizo had treated Gaara with a strange kindness. He'd allowed Gaara to keep him company while he recited stories from Suna's history and, when he was too busy training future Weavers, he'd provided Gaara with reading of his own.
Kōizo's old room had been cold and empty since his death. Weavers were rarer these days, too much of Suna's oral traditions withering away in the wake of the shinobi way of things, and so the Oratory of the library was quieter than it had been during Gaara's childhood. It was why, with the continued peace and the strength of alliances, he'd decided to shift his focus to preserving Suna's beautiful heritage.
“Kazekage,” the library's overseer greeted, waiting for him in the shade of the library's great doors. The sun was at its highest point, beating down upon Suna with a heavy hand.
“Kigen,” Gaara returned, inclining his head. Kigen was an old woman, though she hardly looked her age, and had been Overseer of the Gods' Chaitya for longer than Gaara had been alive. She might have been one of Suna's first Weavers and Keepers, though Gaara didn't know for certain because Kigen kept secrets better than some shinobi.
“Welcome back. It has been a while, hasn't it?” Kigen held her arms wide in welcome as Gaara stepped into the glittering light of the entrance hall. The library had few windows to keep books and scrolls from fading due to the sun's harsh rays, but the entrance hall was a work of art. It was a wide, circular room, with three high, stained glass windows—one as blue as the chaitya, one of yellow and orange, and one a kaleidoscope of color. Sunlight refracted through the colorful glass, bouncing against sea-glass tiles inlaid upon the floor and the geometric mirrors within the walls. Entering the the God's Chaitya was like entering another world, a world more colorful than the desert after a superbloom.
Gaara thought if he were a man of prayer, he would rather pray here than anywhere else.
“How is it you are still no taller than when you were newly made Kazekage?” Kigen asked, clicking her tongue.
“I believe it has to do with my premature birth,” Gaara said dryly, a wry smile at the edge of his mouth.
“Excuses, excuses,” Kigen tutted, a smile of her own playing upon her wrinkled face. “You must have pressing business here if you've come at this time of day.”
“I do.” Gaara appreciated Kigen's ability to cut to the chase.
“Then shall we take this to my study?”
She did not wait for an answer, turning sharply on her heel so the hem of her heavily embroidered skirts billowed as she walked. Her footsteps echoed across the sea-glass tiles, an echoing clink, like water hitting crystal glass. She pushed the interior doors of the entrance hall wide, her manner graceful and imperious, not looking back to ensure Gaara followed.
“Have you read anything of interest recently?” Kigen asked. She was in a good mood today.
“Not of late,” Gaara said idly. “You haven't received any new materials, have you?”
“Not of late,” she confirmed. “Our last good find must have been—what? Six months ago, now? I believe you already read that one.”
“I did.” As Kazekage, he was always the second to know about new arrivals to the library. Kigen was, of course, the first.
“We're working to track down the rest of that particular text. I believe it's a set of three.”
“How have you fared?”
“It's been six months, so that should tell you something.”
Gaara liked Kigen for her cheek. Most villagers, regardless of age, did not joke with him. “Then you'll be pleased by our discussion.”
Her eyebrows rose upon her forehead, curiosity shining in her dark eyes. “Oh, have you come bearing gifts, Kazekage? And it's not even my birthday.”
“You've never told me when your birthday is.”
“And I never shall.” She smiled at him, before turning sharply down a different hall.
Her study was deep within the first floor of the library, far from the echoing voices of the Oratory, which was in the north-eastern wing of the expansive building. The floor—no longer of sea-glass but of a deep, obsidian-colored stone—dipped slightly downwards, pulling them farther into the library's bowels. At the far end of the hall, the dark tapestry marking Kigen's study hung, fluttering as if on a gentle breeze. The tapestry was the color of a midnight sky, dark and heavy, made of silk threads which glinted in the faint torch light. At its center a family crest had been artfully embroidered in metallic threads of various colors. Kigen's family was one of Suna's oldest and thus her crest was simple and elegant, but unusual for its minimalism. A simple circle, encompassing another circle and another, each in a different color—gold, silver, and bronze. Kigen often said her family's crest was many things—the ripples of a pond, the eye of a god, the orbit of the planets—and she never held fast to any one interpretation. Either she had long since forgotten the truth of her family's crest or she enjoyed playing the mysterious Keeper a little too much.
Kigen pushed the tapestry aside and opened the door, holding it open for Gaara to enter first.
“I have coffee, if you'd like,” she offered.
“Please,” Gaara said, taking his usual seat. Her study was cooler than the rest of the library and just as windowless, lit by torches and crowded with shelves so heavy they bowed with the weight of their knowledge.
Kigen picked up one of the brass pots from a pan of hot sand, pouring its contents into Gaara's favorite cup, a small green ceramic piece with delicate butterflies flying about the lip.
“Sweet the way you like it,” Kigen said, handing him his cup.
Gaara liked his coffee with cinnamon and clove and cardamom, and he liked it made with sugar-water that was sweeter than normal. Sometimes, though not usually, he would add a bit of cream to it. It reminded him of Kōizo, who drank so much sweet coffee his study had always smelled of it.
“I'm eager to hear this pleasing news,” Kigen said, once she'd made her own cup of coffee. She was not as partial to sweetness, but she never drank bitter coffee, claiming it was much too somber a flavor. Coffee without sugar, she insisted, was for funerals.
“I've decided on a new initiative,” Gaara said, then paused to blow on his coffee. “It's something I didn't have time for before, but with the current hold peace has on our way of life I thought now would be the perfect time. You know better than most, my father did not see the merit in preserving our history and culture. He neglected the parts of Suna that did not strengthen our shinobi, including leaving the library to struggle, but I'd like to change that. My plan is to direct some of Suna's resources into researching and restoring old traditions and histories, among other things, and the library is central to this. It has been a pillar of Suna's history for centuries and I would like to see it restored to its former glory—training new Weavers, more funding for research, and the like. There are countless things I would like to accomplish with this new initiative and it all starts here—with you and this library.”
Kigen sipped her coffee in silent contemplation, her dark eyes intent on Gaara. She was one of the few people who could out-stare him and she liked to make him wait, one of her many little jokes.
“That is quite pleasing,” Kigen finally said, setting down her emptied cup.
“Have I ever lied to you?”
“Once,” she said immediately. “Kōizo may have been blind, but he was no fool.”
Gaara chuckled, hiding a small smile behind his cup. “I never claimed he was.”
“No, but you must have thought I was.”
“I thought most people were, but I didn't think of it as a lie. Not then.”
“No, I don't suppose you did.” Kigen gave him an odd look, half sad and half curious, then shook herself. “This is excellent news, Kazekage. Your father's tenure was certainly not kind to us and the war didn't help either. I imagine this will breathe new life into this place.”
“I'm glad you're pleased. I'll send the first draft of the proposal to you by the end of the night. If there's anything specific you'd like to request, please let me know. And if there's anything superfluous in the proposal.”
“I've never been shy about stating my opinion. But I trust you'll do right by us. You always have.”
“I always will.”
____________________________
“The first step in strengthening the peace between our nations—both the great and the lesser nations—is understanding one another. We cannot move forward without compassion and we cannot gain compassion without understanding. My proposal would promote cultural exchange, understanding, respect, and would ultimately further the peace we fought so hard for. Peace has always been tenuous, but I would like to see it be unbreakable. I believe this initiative will help to create that lasting peace.” Gaara waited, looking around the crowded hall.
The Nineth Plenum for Continued Peace had seen countless speeches by Kage and other village leaders, but none had earned the heavy silence Gaara's had.
Someone cleared their throat and Gaara's eyes snapped to the right side of the room where Oonoki sat beside his granddaughter, Kurotsuchi, who had been Iwagakure's Tsuchikage for the last three years.
“The floor is open to questions,” Gaara finally intoned, the quiet tenor of his voice echoing around the silent hall.
Oonoki was the first to speak, as Gaara had predicted he would be. The old man's voice creaked as he spoke, a coughing fit on the horizon. “Seems a waste of resources.”
“I'd quite agree,” the representative from Kusagakure said. “We're a small nation, Kazekage-sama. We can hardly afford to divest what little we have for the sake of a childish flight of fancy.”
Gaara narrowed his eyes at the man. “You think me childish, Shinaimaru?”
Shinaimaru blanched, the pupils of his moss-green eyes dilating. “I meant no such thing, Kazekage-sama. I simply would like to point out the superfluous nature of such a proposal. We're shinobi, not academics! If Kusa were to siphon funding away from our military force for the sake of this cultural exchange, we would be weakening ourselves!”
“But we are at a time of peace,” Kōgei, Ame's leader said. Under her leadership, Amegakure was on the brink of becoming the Sixth Great Nation in the Shinobi Union, an impressive feat which had earned her incredible acclaim throughout the Union.
“For now,” Oonoki said, before the promised coughing fit took hold of him. He hacked and heaved, his face going blotchy until he finally took back control of his lungs. Gaara was sure Oonoki did not have much time left on this earth.
“Is that not the purpose of this plenum?” Gaara asked. “We've been committed to peace for eight years. Why should that change?”
“Anything can change,” Mei said. “But we cannot afford to let our commitment to peace change. I'm in favor of the Kazekage's proposal. As it is, we've seen a huge decline since the end of the war—especially these last five years—in violence. The need for a strong military is something we made and it's something we can unmake. What better way than by celebrating the beauty within our villages and countries?”
“I agree with the Mizukage,” Kakashi said dully. At his side, Tsunade nodded her agreement.
“Of course the Great Nations would agree,” Shinaimaru grumbled. “If you divest funding from your shinobi forces, what will that do to you? It won't put your villages at risk of attack—”
“The point, Shinaimaru, is we are allies and we trust each other. Why should we attack Kusagakure? What would we have to gain?” Mei asked.
“Land!” Shinaimaru shouted, half rising from his seat. “Trade routes, resources! Kusa may be small, but our country is filled with riches!”
“I don't doubt it, but as your ally if I had need of bamboo I would strike up a trade agreement with you, not go to war.”
“As if Kusa could stand against a Great Nation!” Oonoki wheezed.
“That's enough!” Mifune rose to stand, drawing all eyes to him. “Oonoki, you are no longer the Tsuchikage. You are here only as an adviser to your granddaughter and I will have you removed should anymore threats be made against the Lesser Nations.”
Oonoki grumbled, subsiding in his chair and red in the face.
“Now that the Kazekage has shared his proposal, we will take a vote,” Mifune finally said, eyeing Oonoki carefully. “All those in favor?”
Hands rose into the air, one after the other: Kiri's forty-one representatives, Amegakure's nineteen, Konoha's fifty, and on it went. Some villages were divided in their vote, but by the end Gaara's proposal had won the majority with five-hundred votes in its favor. There had only been fifty votes against his proposal, with the remaining being undecided.
Mifune banged his gavel against the woodblock before him. “The 'ayes' have it. The Kazekage's proposal will be accepted for further review by a smaller council of shinobi leadership. Kazekage, your Cultural Council should be selected no later than the end of the day.”
“I already have my council,” Gaara said, pulling a sheaf of paper from his stack.
“Perfect. Please arrange your first meeting. The Union will hear from you again at the end of next week. Meeting adjourned.”
____________________________
By the beginning of the shinobi calendar year, Gaara's Cultural Council had the full support of the Shinobi Union and his proposal was finally ready to be put into action. It had been a trying two three months, filled with journeys back and forth between Suna and the Shinobi Union, the Shinobi Union and Konoha, Konoha and Iwa, Iwa and Kumo, Kumo and Kiri, and Suna and the lesser nations. He went back and forth between the capital of Wind, the capital of Fire, and every other capital around the shinobi world, meeting with each and every daimyo until he was sick to death of traveling and bureaucracy.
“It'll all be worth it,” Kigen told him over lunch, the day before everything was set in motion and a week before his birthday.
“Of course,” Gaara said, tired in a way he'd never been before and wishing for the first time in many years he could sleep. He sipped delicately at his coffee, staring absently at the books and scrolls behind Kigen.
“You're doing the shinobi world a favor,” she reminded him, not for the first time. “We would do well to know our history better, to remember what we were before we were shinobi. I'm sure the other nations have beautiful histories of their own.”
“They do and sharing these histories will help us fill in the blanks in our own history.”
“I imagine this could also foster enough goodwill between nations for certain artifacts to be returned to their rightful owners.”
“That is my hope,” Gaara confirmed. “I have something from Iwagakure, which I believe the First stole—who can say who started it. Either he stole this relic from them in retaliation or they stole from us in retaliation, but in the end, everything will be set to rights.”
“You are a better Kazekage than Suna deserves. Kōizo told me once you would do great things for our village, but I doubt even he could have guessed just how great you would be.”
Gaara inclined his head in thanks, closing his eyes and inhaling his coffee. “His spirit guides me.”
“As the Wind guides us all,” Kigen agreed. She lifted her cup. “To Kōizo's memory.”
____________________________
Iwagakure had stolen a tapestry from Suna's early history during the First Kazekage's rule. Sunagakure had stolen an exquisitely crafted stone key that rumor said unlocked a great treasure.
The journals of the First Tsuchikage confirmed he'd stolen Suna's tapestry in an effort to learn her secrets, believing the tapestry to be a map of a hidden city burried beneath Suna. The First Kazekage had not kept a journal, but there were documents of a mission to Iwagakure which coincided with the disappearance of the stone key. Gaara did not care who had instigated the mutual thievery, only that the tapestry be returned to its rightful place.
Kurotsuchi felt similarly about Iwa's lost key.
“We shoulda done this ages ago,” Kurotsuchi declared as they celebrated the first successful Ceremony of Returning. She was pink in the face and smiling blearily up at the canvas ceiling of the Kazekage estates private garden. The sandpit was hot, and the smell of food and coffee and alcohol curled on the desert air. Kankurō snickered into his own cup of sake, blearily eyeing Kurotsuchi.
“To rebuilding trust and appreciating each one another's culture,” Temari slurred, less eloquent than Gaara could ever remember her being. This was her first drink in over a year, having abstained from alcohol until after the birth of her first child. Shikamaru was watching their daughter, less interested in drinking than his wife, and too tired from the day's events to celebrate late into the night.
“Here, here!” Kurotsuchi crowd. Some of her sake sloshed from her cup, splattering onto her chest. “Oops.”
Kankurō was quick to hand her a cloth napkin, grinning crookedly. “Careful.”
“Your wiles won't work on me, Kankurō of the Black String,” she teased.
Kankurō raised an eyebrow, laughing into his cup. “What makes you think I'm tryna use 'em on ya?”
Temari barked a laugh, nearly cracking her cup as she set it down to point dramatically at her brother. “You, dear little brother, have the worst reputation.”
Kankurō gasped, mock offended. “And what's so bad about being known for my ability to please a woman?”
Temari feigned gagging, which did not seem to agree with her for she had to stop herself before she could speak. “Your abilities are none of my business. I'm just saying, you are the slut of the family.”
“Should I change my name then? Kankurō of the Sluts?” He doubled over laughing, falling back onto the plush cushion he'd been lounging in before.
“I will disown you,” Temari said primly despite her drunken state. “You can't be called that. What will your niece think?”
“Your daughter's first word's gonna be 'slut', you mark my words,” Kurotsuchi said, giggling.
“If that happens, the Wind curse you, little brother.” Temari sighed heavily, pushing herself bodily to her feet. “On that note, I think I have drunk far too much. I am going to excuse myself, but Kurotsuchi, please know you have my blessing to beat the shit out of my brother—that one, not that one—if he gets handsy.”
“Oi! I ain't no fuckin' creep! I only sleep with women who want me.”
“Do women usually want you?” Kurotsuchi teased. “If I had my pick of men, it wouldn't be you.”
“You sayin' you don't got your pick?”
“I'm saying I've got my pick of women,” she said, and tapped her glass against Kankurō's as he whooped.
“Ugh,” Temari said. “Now Kankurō's going to have an ally in womanizing.”
“Excuse me!” Kurotsuchi said as Kankurō shouted, “Hey!”
“Good night, Temari,” Gaara said as she disappeared inside the house.
“Night,” she called.
“This really has been a wonderful day,” Kurotsuchi said, suddenly serious. “You really had the right idea with your proposal, Gaara.”
“Thank you,” he said, inclining his head. He'd only had one cup of sake at the start of the evening and had since been drinking tea to settle his stomach. “I am eager to hear what the Keepers have to say about the tapestry once they've finished restoring it.”
“Me too. Never knew there were rumors about a hidden city under Suna. Think it's true?”
Gaara hummed a noncommittal answer into his cup. He didn't need a tapestry to tell him what lay beneath his village.
“Who cares about some ol' city,” Kankurō said. He let his head fall back against his pile of cushions to stare up at the sky just peeking out from behind the edge of the canvas canopy.
“Aren't you excited about all this?”
“Sure am,” he said. “Got a whole buncha kids from other villages eager to learn 'bout puppetry from us. Can't say I'm gonna be sharing our best secrets or nuthin', but I think it'll be good for those kids. Ya know, give 'em an outlet besides fighting.”
“Especially now we're pushing to make fighting obsolete,” Kurotsuchi said. “It's strange, isn't it? To think of ourselves as shinobi when there's no need for bloodshed and war.”
“We may still have need for war,” Gaara warned.
“But you're the one—”
“I want peace as much as any of us do. But I am not ignorant to the folly of man. We have a long way to go before war is no longer a possibility between our nations. Besides, we are not the only ones in this world.”
“I've heard all about your foreign outreach. Have you been anywhere interesting recently?”
“Not this year.”
“Last place we went was Phoenix Kingdom, yeah? I liked it there.”
“You liked the women,” Gaara pointed out.
“Hey, I experienced plenty of culture while I was there.”
“I”m sure,” Gaara murmured. “Phoenix Kingdom was beautiful, but my favorite is still Dusk Country, far west of here.”
Kankurō snickered behind his hand, giving Gaara a look. “Yeah, lil' brother, and why's that?”
Gaara narrowed his eyes, glaring at Kankurō as he sipped his tea. “Because it was beautiful.”
Kankurō's knowing laugh piqued Kurotsuchi's interest, but she at least had more tact than his brother. “Farthest outside of shinobi lands I've ever been is Iron, and that barely counts. If you do anymore foreign outreach, let me know? I'd love to join you sometime.”
“Absolutely,” Gaara promised. “I'd love to encourage the other Kage to do the same, but there's time enough. Right now, I think we should focus on ourselves, on the bonds we already have.”
“To focusing on our bonds,” Kurotsuchi said, raising her glass.
“To restoring trust,” Gaara added.
They clinked their glasses together, the sound echoing like bells around them.
____________________________
The tapestry was a beautiful piece of art, as long as the tallest ceiling in the blue halls of Suna's chaitya and as wide as the great doors of the God's Chaitya. It had taken decades to weave—perhaps even a century—and would take months, possibly longer, to restore. Gaara oversaw the restoration of the tapestry when he had time to spare, but he often didn't, needing to focus on the Cultural Council and the next steps of his proposal.
The next step—following the continuation of the Ceremony of Returning—was the exchange of shinobi.
Initially, the immersion program had been met with disdain and disinterest by the Cultural Council, with only support from Temari and Shikamaru, but as their meetings progressed, disinterest morphed into curiosity and disdain faded until finally the program became the highlight of Gaara's initiative. It was a chance to learn about another village in an organic way, to connect with a country and a people one had been conditioned to see as potential enemies. It was, in Gaara's mind, one of the most important steps to building understanding between the nations, and it seemed finally others were beginning to see its importance, too.
Once the immersion program had been announced, a month after the first Ceremony of Returning, Gaara was flooded with applications. There was an overwhelming outpouring of interest from shinobi and civilians alike, everyone vying to travel abroad and experience something new and exciting on the nation's ryo.
With the influx of applications from Suna's people alone, Gaara was forced to create an internal committee on the Cultural Council to handle it all. The Cultural Immersion Committee—or CIC, as they took to calling themselves—was headed by Shikamaru and Temari, who claimed the large, unused dining hall in the Kazekage's estate as the Committee's headquarters. This resulted in the estate being more crowded than usual, with foreign shinobi from all over coming and going during the day and, sometimes, well into the evening.
“Here,” Shikamaru said with a heavy sigh, dropping a tottering stack of approved applications onto Gaara's desk. It had taken almost two months to sort through all the applications, and would have taken longer, but Temari ran the Committee like a fine-tuned instrument.
“I didn't expect you to finish so quickly,” Gaara said, picking up the first application, which had been stamped with the pale grey-blue emblem of Kirigakure.
“Temari wouldn't let anyone slack off,” Shikamaru said with a wry smile. “Not even me.”
“At least you had Ruri to use as an excuse from time to time,” Gaara said, a smile of his own at the corner of his mouth as he began sifting through the stack.
“She's not enough of a handful.” Shikamaru tapped the stack. “These are yours, by the way. The bottom potion is all the applicants who want to come here.” At various intervals between the stack, various colored fabric-tabs had been placed, separating the documents.
“So the top are Suna's shinobi who signed up for the program,” Gaara confirmed, separating the stack. He picked up the first application from the stack of Suna's future guests, his eye catching on a familiar name, drawing an unexpected smile from him. “And these are all the shinobi coming here.”
“Yup. Some familiar faces, too. Kakashi's making Naruto do this.”
“Come here?”
“Not here, at least not yet. He's going to Iwa, first. Kakashi's got him doing three months in each village.”
“Really?”
“He's getting sick of waiting on Naruto to be ready to take over. Kicking him out of the village is his way of taking a break from training Naruto.”
Gaara hid an amused smile behind the application in his hand. “And I'm sure Naruto is loving this idea.”
“Oh, he's over the moon,” Shikamaru said with an amused roll of his eyes.
“It'll do him good,” Gaara said, setting the application back onto its stack so the bold characters of Rock Lee's name stared up at the ceiling of his office.
“As long as it doesn't cause an international incident,” Shikamaru joked. “Anyway, I better get back. Temari's still got the Committee working overtime and if I don't get there soon with everyone's lunch, it'll be a bloodbath.”
“Good luck.”
The door closed behind Shikamaru, leaving Gaara with the daunting task of sorting out transfer papers and visas for every one of his people going abroad.
____________________________
“Taking a break from the perilous task of preparing for Suna's new arrivals?” Kigen's voice echoed around the hall, light with mirth.
“I wanted to see how the tapestry was coming.”
“We've had our ups and downs. I wish Iwa had taken better care of it when it had been in their possession, though.”
Gaara watched the Keepers in the hall below as they worked on restoring the tapestry's luster. The circular room echoed with the quiet chatter of the Keepers, the noise rising up like the buzzing of bees to the observation deck where Gaara and Kigen stood.
“You made a request for an order of silk. Is there a problem with the library's store of spider's silk?” Gaara asked, his gaze flicking to the top of the tapestry where a woman was working on strengthening it's edges by hand.
“Not at all. We've simply discovered that spider's silk was not the only silk used in this particular piece.”
“Odd.” Gaara made his way towards the stairs, determined to take a closer look at the tapestry.
“Spider's silk was more difficult to obtain prior to the rule of shinobi,” Kigen explained. “We had our traps, of course, but the risk of going into a spider's den to harvest silk was far greater before shinobi. Silkworms would have been far less difficult to manage.”
“I should have considered that. I'll contact Silk Province. The governor in the north has been after a trade deal with us.”
“Then I'm sure he'll be thrilled by this.”
Gaara made his way down the winding staircase, and the tapestry's restored silver and gold threads caught the light bleeding in from the sunroof as he approached. The tapestry—which was longer than the room was wide—had been carefully laid out so the top end could be worked on first. The Keepers—all expert weavers and spinners—accompanied by weavers from the Artisans' District worked with deft fingers, filling in patches of frayed silk with care, backing the weak edges of the tapestry with heavy linen, or cleaning dirt from the ancient fabric with a delicate hand. The tapestry's color had begun to return at the top and its cobalt sky was beginning to glimmer with stars.
“Kazekage-sama,” Shinshokki, Suna's greatest weaver, greeted as she handed him a pair of gloves.
“Have you figured out what we can do about the missing sections?” Gaara asked, gesturing to the first missing portion a quarter of the way down the tapestry.
“We're searching for references to the tapestry here and in the other libraries around the village, but right now we can only guess at what was meant to be there.”
The tapestry was dingy and faded, and the missing sections in question were singed around the edges, ruining any chance at piecing together the missing parts of the story. The damage was so thorough, it was only through luck the tapestry hadn't been torn in three. It was hard to guess at how the tapestry had come to be so damaged, but it was clear Iwagakure had not taken care of it—strange given their motivation to use the tapestry to learn Suna's secrets.
What remained of the tapestry was an incomplete story: the cosmos, littered with planets and stars, began the tale, and as the tapestry unfolded the scene changed: the sky glowed with light as more heavenly bodies appeared. The first divine figure sat in the center of the planets and stars, surrounded by other figures. From the central figure, a golden orb fell from the sky, transforming with its fall until it took shape and a body descended from the heavens. But the charred edges of a giant hole interrupted the tale, blotting out a whole chunk of Suna's history and leaving them with no clue as to the next part of the story. The middle section of the tapestry was still in tact, but the battle it depicted was cut off by yet more damage. A hole even larger than the first had destroyed nearly all of the bottom half of the tapestry, leaving only the very end—where Suna had been rendered in threads—whole.
It was the beginning and end of a tale, but what good would that do them?
“We think it's a love story,” Kigen said, coming up behind Gaara.
“A love story?” Gaara's eyes trailed down the length of the tapestry until he reached the first missing section.
“There are words here,” Shinshokki explained, pointing to the fraying edges of the tapestry. “Kigen recognized the word 'love', but we're still working on restoring the rest.”
“And you're sure it's 'love'?” Gaara asked.
Kigen smiled. “Isn't it always love?”
____________________________
The main road was decorated in honor of Suna's new arrivals. The color of every nation had been painted along the roadside wall and within stairwells, so the main thoroughfare had become a rainbow. Great care had been taken to fashion every villages' symbol from the finest filigree before placing them in glass spheres and hanging them above every road, so they caught the sun alongside windcatchers and sun-collectors. Newly made tapestries hung from balconies and windows, stamped with the Ningo word for 'unity' or 'friendship', and feathers from the white peacock—Wind Country's national symbol—had been dyed various colors and turned into fans to hang in windows and doorways, as though a great wedding were on the horizon.
All the beauty of Suna's culture was on display and she was finally ready to welcome her guests.
“Don't you look handsome?” Temari teased from the doorway of Gaara's bedroom.
Gaara turned to see his sister dressed in the finery of the Kazekage family. Temari's dress was a traditional ensemble made of some of the most expensive silk money could buy. Her dress was as silver as moonlight, the fitted sleeves of it dipped in dye the same shade of blue as the chaitya—the Kazekage family color—and embroidered with fine details and covered in jewels. A sheer wrap was draped around her shoulders, speckled with shimmering stars and a crescent moon. Her jewelry was silver to match and her hair had been threaded with blue ribbons. Shikamaru would likely wear the dress' twin, a jama with the same blue sleeves, leaving Kankurō to wear the gold jama with the blue skirt.
They rarely ever bothered with such formal attire within Suna, but the purpose of the exchange program was to learn about the traditions and peoples of each village, not just the histories shinobi had allowed to be preserved.
“I feel foolish,” he admitted, holding his arms up to show off the incredible embroidery of his kaftan. The Kazekage kaftan had been a wedding gift for the Shodai Kazekage from his wife, who had commissioned it from one of Wind's greatest seamstresses, a woman from Silk Province. “I think these sleeves are even bigger than my robe of office.”
“You do look as though you're about to take off through the window.”
“At least it's not feathered.” The kaftan might have been heavy with metallic embroidery and ostentatious jewels, but Gaara drew the line at feathered.
“Not unless you're planning on getting married today.”
“You didn't have feathers when you got married.”
“I had that fan made,” she reminded him. "I figured that was enough. But if I were Kazekage, we'd have suffered through all the ostentatious traditions.”
“I can't imagine Shikamaru going along with that.”
Temari grinned, a secretive glint in her eyes. “You'd be surprised what my husband is willing to do for me. Come on, let's go before we're too late.”
She looped her arm through his, walking with him downstairs, where the sound of cooing echoed from the entrance hall.
“That's my girl,” Shikamaru praised quietly.
“She's gonna steal the show,” Kankurō drawled.
“Doesn't she always,” Temari said as they arrived. Ruri's dark eyes lit up at the sight of her mother, and she squealed and stretched her arms out, babbling inanely. “Does Ruri-chan want mama?”
“Doesn't she always?” Shikamaru asked, passing Ruri to her as she repeated, "Mama mama mama."
“You're secretly her favorite,” Temari promised. “That's why you're the one wearing the sling.”
“We ready?” Kankurō asked, fiddling with the hem of one of his sleeves.
“Are we running late?” Temari asked with a sly smile.
“Yes,” Kankurō said, giving Gaara a pointed look.
“Then we're ready.”
“I'm not always late,” Gaara argued, just to be contrary.
“Yes, you are," his family said in unison.
The heart of the village was teeming with bodies when they arrived an hour later, having had to take the Kazedō tram for the sake of Ruri and their fancy clothes. Music echoed from the chaitya's halls as the devotees stood outside with silks of various colors fluttering from their hands. The smell of oud, roses, and fresh food—goat and lamb and chicken, cactus and onions and garlic, the fruit of various cacti, and coffee and tea—blanketed the village's center in comforting fumes. Laughter and jubilant shouts sounded with the music, followed by the pounding of feet as dances began in the streets. Colors flashed from every direction as tapestries fluttered, as colorful glass caught sunlight, and as silks twirled through the streets.
“Kazekage-sama!” a chorus of voices shouted over laughter and music as he and his family exited the Kazedō station nearest the chaitya.
“That's him?” someone whispered nearby in the smooth accent of Lightning Country.
A whisper rose up, following Gaara and his family as they made their way to Kaze Dome, where a podium had been erected and Suna's council was waiting. Kigen and Baki stood shoulder-to-shoulder, matching looks of fond exasperation on their faces.
“On time as ever, Kazekage,” Kigen greeted.
“I'd hate to keep everyone waiting.”
Gaara stepped onto the platform and a hush stole over the gathered masses, rolling backwards like a wave. Every road leading to the heart of the village was so crowded Gaara couldn't see the streets of his village at all, yet he had no trouble achieving silence.
“For those who've passed through Suna's gates for the first time: Welcome!” His voice boomed across the village, echoing from speakers all around Suna Center. “For those returning to Suna: We welcome you back! Today marks the start of a new age for shinobi: an age of understanding and compassion. It is my hope that as we share with each other our cultures, our languages, our stories and histories, we will also learn to appreciate and value our differences and our sameness! None of us here today have lived peaceful lives. We have all fought to survive, for ourselves and our villages, but it is time to set down our weapons and extend our hands to one another, not in battle, but in friendship.
“Today, we wash the blood off each others hands, so future generations never need wash it from theirs. I have been Kazekage for eleven years—many say I have done great things in that time—it is true, there is much I can be proud of. But this moment is what I want my legacy to be: a legacy of peace. I hope everyone who has come to Sunagakure learns to love this village and her people as much as I do. May the Desert show you Her everlasting grace, may the Wind forever guide you, and may the Sun always keep you warm.”
A resonant cheer went up, the sound so loud and full the very walls of the valley shook. Gaara smiled to himself, his heart filled at the sight of his village so full, and stepped from the podium to rejoin his family and join in the revelry of welcoming Suna's new arrivals.
____________________________
“I was surprised to see you'd applied for this,” Gaara intoned, standing on his toes directly behind Rock Lee.
“Kazekage-sama!” Lee whirled around, throwing his arms around Gaara and pulling him into a rib-crushing hug. He stopped short, dropping Gaara back to his feet. “Forgive me! I should have asked first.”
“Think nothing of it,” Gaara said, gently massaging his side where he was sure he'd heard a rib crack. At least he was always prepared with a thin layer of sand for just such encounters. “We are friends, after all.”
“Of course!” Lee's smile widened, his teeth shining like the precious pearls they imported from Gyokukakushin. “I just thought—what with the exchange program and all these new people—well, I was not sure it would be appropriate, given my position.”
“Your position as my long-time friend? I don't see anything inappropriate about that.”
Lee laughed, warm like the coffee in Gaara's hand and just as sweet. “You are being intentionally obtuse.”
“I like being contrary,” Gaara reminded him, sipping his coffee delicately. “How are you enjoying the celebration?”
“It is wonderful!” Lee wouldn't have thought otherwise, but if he had he wouldn't have complained. “Suna has never looked so beautiful.”
“Until now, I'd say you've hardly seen enough of her to know.”
“I have offended you,” Lee said, his smile dropping slightly.
“Hardly,” Gaara assured. “But you'll have plenty of time to get to know this village now. You'll be here the whole year, I assume.”
“I will! I was so excited when I heard about the program! I could not wait for the chance to learn new forms of taijutsu—”
“This isn't just about becoming a stronger shinobi,” Gaara reminded him.
Lee held his hands up, shaking his head so quickly his hair flew about his face. “No, no, of course not! I am interested in learning all I can, but that was the first thought I had!”
“I saw you applied to work with the weapons' smiths. Was that not motivated by your profession?”
“It was, but it is also because of Tenten! Her grandmother passed recently and she has taken over as the matriarch of her clan, but her family is so small these days, I thought by learning how to forge weapons I might help her!”
“So you'll take Suna's secrets with you for your friend's family business?” Gaara teased, raising bare brows in query. Lee's reaction was a predictable flush. His large eyes widened in alarm and he stumbled to form an apology making Gaara chuckle.
“You are teasing me again.” Lee's face was still red, but he subsided, pouting like a petulant child.
“It is far too easy.”
“So you say.”
“By the way, Temari will expect you to come by for dinner before the week is out. You haven't met Ruri yet.”
Lee squealed his delight, leaning into Gaara's personal space, the smell of spices on his tongue. “I had completely forgotten! I have seen so many photographs, I had forgotten I had not met her properly yet! How old is she now?”
“Nine months.”
“Nine—oh my goodness! I have missed so much already! Is she talking yet?”
“A few words—'mama', 'papa', and a few other simple words. Temari's convinced she's able to say 'uncle', but I have my doubts. Other than that, just incoherent babbling, but I think Shikamaru's hoping she'll be stringing together full sentenses by her first birthday.”
“Of course, he is," Lee said with a chuckle. "Are they only teaching her Ningo?”
“Hardly. Shikamaru's already fluent in Sunago and Kazego, so we alternate. Mostly between Sunago and Ningo, though she still hears some Kazego.”
“No Higo, I take it?”
“Shikamaru said there wasn't much point. Higo and Ningo are hardly that different.”
“That is very true,” Lee said thoughtfully. “I could never tell the difference between them, but I always assumed it was because language was not my forte.”
“You're a man of action, Rock Lee,” Gaara intoned, narrowing his eyes in amusement.
Lee flushed under Gaara's scrutiny, grinning with pride. “I do enjoy a good book every now and then.”
“Then you should visit Suna's main library. I could show you around.”
“I would like that,” Lee said, his voice suddenly quiet, almost intimately so.
Gaara leaned closer, under the pretense of hearing Lee better. The noise around them was constant, but even speaing softly, Lee's voice carried. “Tomorrow? And you'll come by for dinner after.”
“That sounds lovely.”
At the center of the crowd, a loud cheer went up, followed by the deep notes of an old song. The crowd began to move, spreading out as a dance circle formed, jostling Gaara and Lee. From the center of the circle, the heavy beat of drums and the high notes of the song began.
“It looks as though we're already sharing our culture,” Gaara told Lee. “Shall we?”
Lee followed him through the crowd, moving through the sea of people as though he were on a mission. He was quick and agile, so light on his feet it was almost as though he was already dancing. He didn't bump into a single person, despite the closeness of the crowd, nor step on a single foot.
At the center of the gathered mass, a song echoed, humming and crooning as though the wind itself had voice. Glass wind instruments shown in the hands of a few older locals and a group of drums had been placed at the center of the circle where people danced around the players. There was a loud cry as the song reached a crescendo and then the warbling notes changed as another song began and more players arrived with string instruments in hand.
“This is incredible,” Lee said, his voice directly in Gaara's ear.
“It is,” Gaara agreed, mesmerized. He drank in every detail of the crowd around him as though it was his first festival: the swirling colors of the locals' clothing, the ribbons and feather-fans being tossed in the air; the jangling and glittering jewelry; the way the dancers moved together, like sharing secrets. Having always been on the outskirts of social life within the village as a child and for many years after, Gaara never tired of festivals. Every song, every dance, every ritual he partook in breathed new life into him, filling his lungs like song filled the air; expanding like the circle of dancers; vibrating through him like each beat on the skin of a drum.
“Do you know how this dance goes?” Lee asked. Gaara looked up to find Lee's eyes darting back and forth, tracking the movements of the dancers.
“I've never danced before.”
“It does not look so hard.”
Gaara disagreed, but his skills had never been of the body. He was not physical the way Lee was. Gaara controlled the world with a flick of his wrist or the careful bend of a finger; Rock Lee had never been so contained. He didn't control the world, he pushed against it—against its gravity and its force. He made the world bend to him, so he didn't have to bend to it, and he did so with muscle and heart.
A local woman twirled away from the dancers, making her way towards Gaara, her eyes lit like stars in a black sky. She bowed to him and then her eyes, warm with mirth, caught Lee, who was buzzing like electricity beside Gaara.
“Would you dance with me?” she asked Lee, holding out her hand. She held a feather-fan in her other hand, dyed the color of the daytime sky with streaks of sunshine woven through in metallic threads. The fan indicated she was unwed and of marrying age.
“I would love to!” Lee took her hand, allowing himself to be pulled into the circle of dancers. He turned to wave at Gaara, grinning as he joined her in celebration.
Immediately, he fell into step with the woman who'd invited him to dance. Though he'd only watched for a handful of minutes, Lee danced like the music lived within him, like he'd been forged from the beat of the drums and the warbling notes of the ektara being plucked. He moved as though he'd always known the steps, as though he'd been born in Suna and not lived the life of a shinobi. His first dance partner lost him to another, who lost him to another, and on it went, with more and more women vying to steal him for a dance as the music swelled.
Gaara's heart beat with the music as he watched Lee. He smiled and blushed at every request to dance, never declining a single offer. When the dance changed, he picked up the new steps just as quickly as he'd learned the first. He earned favors of silk ribbons from his various partners and several women blew him kisses as they lost him to another. As the cirlce grew more crowded, with more foreigners trying to follow Lee's example and join in, Lee became more popular.
"He dances better than my son," a local woman muttered in Sunago to her friend. She laughed, adding, "I should find my daughter and see if he'd marry her."
"You'll have to fight me," her friend said with a giggle. "Think he'd go for an older woman?"
Gaara kept his amusement to himself, watching as Lee accepted yet another length of silk from his latest dance partner.
"Are we sure that one's foreign?" a man behind Gaara grumbled, the hint of jealousy in his voice.
"I saw his emblem," a woman said. "He's from Konoha."
"Konoha?" several people repeated.
"Not the way he moves."
"He's got Suna in his blood," another person said, making Gaara smile.
Though Rock Lee's forest green suit and orange leg warmers marked him as a foreigner, the rest of him praised Suna as his home.
It was his home. At least for now.
____________________________
Lee stared up at the library with his mouth hanging open and his eyes shining with wonder.
“I never realized this was a library,” he said in awe. He'd traded in his jumpsuit for a plain brown Sunese long-tunic and trousers, less formal than the kaftans and jama worn the night before. He'd also donned a shemagh, dyed a pale blue and patterned with dots of white thread.
“What did you think it was?”
Lee grinned, lopsided and cheeky, finally tearing his gaze from the massive building to look at Gaara. “The first time I saw it, I thought you lived here.”
“You're joking.”
“Honest! I had never been to Suna before and you had just become Kazekage. I thought, 'That building is so impressive, it must be where the Kazekage lives', because nothing else made sense to me.”
“It made sense to you that I'd live here?” Gaara asked. “How? What would I possibly need this much room for?”
“In hindsight, it does seem a bit... extravagant. But your house is not exactly small either.”
“'A bit',” Gaara repeated. “Rock Lee, when have you ever known me to be extravagant?”
“You were last night,” Lee said, voice almost light and that cheeky grin back on his face.
“It was a special occasion.”
“I liked what you were wearing,” Lee said, almost like a secret. He quickly added, a flush rising in his cheeks, “But I could never wear something like that. I would be afraid to get it dirty or to rip it!”
“We could find you something in spider's silk. It's strong,” Gaara said, flicking his wrist so the heavy library doors dragged open, revealing the glittering entrance hall. Sand skittered back to Gaara as the doors came to a stop, waiting for Lee and Gaara to enter.
But Lee was rooted to the spot once again, staring into the hall as though he'd never seen a beautiful thing in all his life. His eyes filled with glistening tears, catching the colorful lights within the hall.
“Are you all right?” Gaara asked, concerned by the tears hanging on Lee's lashes.
“It is... so beautiful,” he said, his voice constricting as though at any moment he would start to sob.
“The design of the walls is called Āina-kāri—it comes from the Arash Region in the west. The sea-glass in the floor is from Jade Valley Province along the coast south-east of here, but the windows were made here.”
“I—I have never—it is extraordinary.”
“Suna is an extraordinary place. All of Wind is.”
Lee followed Gaara in silent reverence, as though he were afraid to speak and disturb the beauty around them. He walked in circles, twirling this way and that, his eyes jumping from wall to wall, from floor to ceiling to window, and back around again. Gaara watched him from the doors leading into the library, leaning against their solid wood with his arms crossed over his chest. He could watch Lee's wonder all day—they had plenty of time for Lee to bask in the beauty of the hall and for Gaara to enjoy his awe, but Temari still expected them by five to help with dinner preparations.
“I fear the rest of the library may underwhelm you after this,” Gaara said, finally breaking the silence.
Lee jumped, turning to stare at Gaara from the center of the hall, his face awash with the colors from the glass in the windows and his eyes reflecting like the mirrors in the walls. He looked both out of place and as though he belonged, like he were a missing piece of glass from a window pane, but one that no longer fit for years of being somewhere else.
“I doubt that,” Lee said, almost breathless as he stared across the hall at Gaara. He made his way back to Gaara's side, light rippling across him with every step.
Gaara pushed the doors open with his back, keeping his eyes rooted to Lee's face. The colorful lights playing across the black of Lee's eyes like a borialis captivated Gaara more than the entrance hall ever had and Lee seemed equally unable to look away from Gaara. The smell of old books and scrolls gusted through the now open door and a gentle breeze ruffled the ends of Gaara's hair. As the door fell open, Lee's gaze flicked past Gaara to peer into the hall, bringing him up short as the awe of his expression melted to one of deep confusion.
“The rest of the library isn't like this. It would be distracting and the light would damage the books. Unlike the smaller libraries in the village, this one's main function is preservation and academic study, so beyond this room, the only windows are in the halls and the Oratory—”
“What is that?”
“It's where our oral traditions are preserved. Alongside written text, Suna's indigenous people had a strong culture of storytelling, but when shinobi came some of it was lost. The Oratory is how we've held on to as much as we have. The Weavers tell stories to those who wish to listen and share those stories outside of these halls, and they train the next generation of Weavers. When I was a child, my only friend was a Weaver named Kōizo. I met him not long after my uncle's death.”
“I did not know that,” Lee said quietly as they made their way down the hall.
“I wouldn't expect you to. I don't talk about my childhood much—none of us like to talk about that time.” He and his siblings had come a long way, but there were some things they all preferred to leave in the past.
“I understand.” Something in Lee's voice shifted, a sadness Gaara didn't hope to entertain for long. There would be plenty of time for sad stories between them, but now was not it.
“Kōizo was old and blind when I met him, and he was my friend for only a few short weeks before his death, but he was the reason I kept coming here. It was something of a sanctuary for me.”
“This seems an odd place for a child,” Lee muttered, looking around the dim hall.
“I was hardly a normal child.” Gaara avoided words like 'monster' and 'demon' in Lee's presence. When he referred to himself in such a manner, Lee always took it personally, as though the words were offensive to him. Gaara often wondered—worried, even—it was because it reminded Lee of their match and how Gaara had nearly cost him everything. Lee had never given Gaara reason to doubt their friendship, but it was easier to fall victim to his guilt after long periods apart.
“Did you read a lot of books then?”
“As many as I could. I thought one day I'd read everything in here.” Gaara shook his head, a wry smile hiding in the corner of his mouth. “It was a childish fancy, but I did read more than your average child.”
“I did not read much as a child. I always had a hard time with it and no one was particularly interested in helping me. The matron at the orphanage always told me I was too stupid for her to waste her time on.”
Gaara's anger rose, quick and unexpected, like a viper hiding beneath a rock. His sand rattled in its gourd for a brief, tense second. “She sounds horrible.”
“She was,” Lee confirmed. “I was glad to finally get my own apartment after I became a Genin, but I never did learn to love reading. I do read—obviously—and there are some books I like, but I still find it difficult.”
“I could help you.” Gaara hardly had the time to spare, but he would gladly find whatever excuse he could to spend time with Lee while he was in Suna. He turned down another corridor, guiding Lee towards the first hall of books.
“I would hate to impose.”
“I've offered, it's not an imposition.”
“But—” A flush rose up the back of Lee's neck, working its way up into his face until his cheeks were rosy.
“What?”
“It is just... I am almost thirty. It is—well, it is embarrassing.”
“It's not shameful and it sounds as though you had little to no help as a child.” Gaara stopped before an empty doorway, the molding of the arch inlaid with polished stones in intricate patterns. Inside the room, the walls were covered with books, reaching up to the high ceiling.
“If you are sure,” Lee said, hesitantly. He followed Gaara inside, his jaw dropping as he took in the room.
“If you find a book in here you'd like to read, tell me. No one is allowed to remove anything from this library except my family.”
“Why not?”
“As I said, this is a library for preserving knowledge. The things housed here live here. There are far too many pieces of history within these walls, and if we let people borrow from here we'd likely lose precious relics of Suna's and Wind's past.”
“But as Kazekage, you can take what you like?”
“Within reason. There are things even I can't take and wouldn't wish to do so—things so delicate they're kept in glass cases and need to be handled with gloves. But this room doesn't house anything so fragile. If you see something you like, I'll tell Kigen.”
“Kigen?”
“She's the library's overseer. She runs the library and has for, I believe, its entire history.”
“She would not be upset with you for letting me borrow a book?”
“I trust you. That will be enough for her.”
Lee ducked his head, hiding a smile unlike any Gaara had ever seen on his face before. It was soft the way rose petals were, yet intense like the tears he so readily cried. It held something secret in its grasp, something that simultaneously begged to be known, yet shied away from being discovered. Gaara wanted Lee to look at him head on so he could decipher that smile, but when Lee looked at him next, it was gone. It had morphed into his usual joy, which needed no dissecting.
“What sort of books are in here?” Lee asked, approaching a shelf.
“All sorts. Histories, poetry, art, language. I've read just about everything in this room, if memory serves.”
“You cannot be serious! There is no way!” Lee's voice echoed around the silent room, bouncing off the stone like pebbles on a pond.
“I had no friends and far too much free time as a child. After Yashamaru, my father stopped training me and I had no tutor at home, so I came here. Kōizo started teaching me where Yashamaru had left off and when he died I just... kept going.”
“What was your favorite book?” Lee asked, eagerly.
Gaara thought for a long moment, looking around the massive chamber. His eyes scanned the shelves, mentally filing through his memory. His gaze alighted on a familiar binding and he nodded his head, sending his sand slithering towards the shelf where a book bound in a deep blue leather rested.
“This was the first book I read after Kōizo died.” His sand dropped the book into Lee's waiting hands.
“You read this?” Lee asked, voice rising with suppressed shock.
“Why? Is something wrong?”
“It is just—” Lee stared at the book, opening and closing his mouth. “It is so large.”
“Like I said, I had a lot of free time.”
Lee straightened, pressing his mouth into a determined line. “I will do my best to read this, Kazekage-sama. Even if it takes me the whole year!”
“This isn't a mission, Rock Lee.”
Lee looked down at the book's face, touching his fingertips to its faded title. “Yes, it is.”
“What?” Gaara asked, stepping closer.
“Nothing! So, what other rooms are there?”
____________________________
They spent the entire day in the library and were late returning to the estate.
“I should have known I couldn't trust you to be on time,” Temari muttered, looking up from Ruri, who was busy suckling at her breast. “I hope this doesn't bother you, Lee.”
“Nonsense!” Lee said, though he was red in the face and doing his best to avoid looking at Temari's exposed breast. “It is—it is perfectly natural! And—and a beautiful expression of the bond between a mother and her child! You should not worry about me! Please!”
Temari snorted, rolling her eyes skyward. “Thanks for that.”
“Are the others outside?”
“Shikamaru was just starting to warm the coals. We thought we'd eat outside since we've got a guest.”
“Where's Kankurō?”
“In the pantry.”
“Told sis you were gonna be late,” Kankurō said, announcing his arrival into the kitchen.
“Well, excuse me for thinking Lee would instill a little punctuality in our brother.”
“Yeah, right,” Kankurō said with a laugh. “Nothin's ever gonna do that.”
“I'm not hopeless,” Gaara said.
“You are,” Temari and Kankurō said simultaneously.
“I am sorry I was not able to be more punctual, Temari-san. I was quite overwhelmed by the library and completely lost track of the time!”
“I can't blame you, Lee. It's not like you've ever had the chance to go before. You're usually in and out of Suna so fast we barely have time for dinners with you.”
“Not anymore!” Lee said happily. “You will have the pleasure of my company for a whole year—I mean, if you would like. I do not want to impose—”
“Impose my ass, Bowl Cut. By the end of the year, you'll be family.”
Lee's eyes filled with tears, not for the second or third time that day, and he smiled at Kankurō. “Thank you! That is very kind of you to say!”
“Don't start blubberin' on me, Bowl Cut. None of us is about to start crying over you, not even Temari.”
“Excuse me,” Temari snapped.
“What? You were the one who was crying over nothin' just last week.”
“I'm hormonal, you jackass. I just had a baby!”
“That was months ago!”
Ruri made a fussy little sound and Temari's nipple popped from her mouth. “Great, now look what you did.”
“She's just being sensitive,” Kankurō said, but he reached for Ruri, taking her from Temari so she could redress herself.
“She's a baby,” Temari said, only half exasperated. This was a common enough affair Gaara barely batted an eye, but Lee was watching on tenterhooks, looking for all the world as though he was trying to decide if he should jump in to defend Temari or not.
Ruri gave a little cough, prompting Kankurō to adjust her against his shoulder, bouncing her as he patted her back, before continuing on as if nothing had happened. “Yeah, well, she'll have to toughen up if she's gonna be Kazekage someday. Ain't that right, lil' girl?”
Ruri burped directly into Kankurō's face, then gave a pleased giggle and began babbling in response.
“That's my girl,” Kankurō said with a laugh.
“Lee, do you want to meet Ruri now that she's done eating?”
“I would love to!” Lee said so quickly it was clear he'd been eager for the faux-argument to end. He approached Kankurō cautiously, as though he were greeting an aggressive dog. “Um... I—how do I hold her?”
“Here,” Kankurō said gruffly, placing Ruri right into Lee's arms. “Just like that. She's big enough you don't gotta be careful of her head—I mean, you still gotta be careful with her, but she's strong enough to sit up on her own and stuff.”
Ruri stared into Lee's face, her black eyes shining with curiosity, almost as wide as Lee's.
“Hello, Ruri-chan,” Lee said quietly, voice dropping at least ten decibels. He didn't move a muscle as he held her, keeping so still he might have stopped breathing. “My name is Rock Lee.”
Ruri gave a delighted little squeal, reached up, and ripped the shemagh right from Lee's head before stuffing it into her mouth. She babbled delightedly around the fabric, staring at Lee with a smile on her face.
“Oh, well, then you can keep that,” Lee said, blinking at her in surprise. “Although, you should probably not put that in your mouth—”
“Don't worry. She's had worse in there,” Temari said, offhandedly. She rose from her seat, reaching out to prise the fabric from her daughter's hands. “Who's the strongest little girl I know? Is that you, Ruri?”
Ruri giggled and clapped her hands, babbling in response to her mother's questions.
“She is so precious,” Lee whispered. “She looks a lot like you, Temari-san.”
Temari smiled, touching her daughter's full head of hair. “Yeah, but she's got her dad's eyes and hair.”
“Shikamaru-kun must be very proud of her. He is always sending us photos back home. I have a whole album of just of Ruri-chan.”
“Shikamaru's a sap,” Kankurō said as he made his way towards the backdoor. “You shoulda seen him the night Ruri was born.”
“Like you were anymore put together.”
“I think of the four of us, Temari was the most put together,” Gaara intoned. “I'll go check to see if Shikamaru needs anything.”
Gaara followed Kankurō out into their private garden, where Shikamaru was busy with several tagine already filled with cooking meats and vegetables. The sandpit was already in use, several brass pots steaming and the scent of coffee on the air.
“You don't look like you need much help,” Gaara noted, coming up to the cooking station.
“Like I'd let you help if I did,” Shikamaru said. “Unless you wanna cut some fruit.”
Gaara rolled his eyes, grabbing a knife. “What am I cutting?”
“Prickly pears and mangoes.”
“We have mangoes? I thought we were out.”
“Picked some up from the market today. Figured with Lee here, we might as well do something special. Plus, that new batch of mangoes from the islands just came in and they're perfect.”
“I'll have to remember that,” Gaara said, making a mental note.
“That a new supplier?” Kankurō asked, fiddling with the coffee over the sandpit.
“Yes. Our agreement with our northern supplier expired and I'd wanted to distance Suna from the Daimyo's courts.”
“These mangoes are better, too,” Shikamaru added. “The ones from the north aren't as sweet.”
Gaara grabbed the fruits from their bowels, listening to the idle chatter of his brothers, his mind drifting back to the kitchen as he began to cut the fruit.
“How was the library?” Shikamaru asked.
“It was nice, but I think the entrance hall was his favorite part.”
“The entrance hall is everyone's favorite part,” Kankurō chimed in.
“Lee's not exactly a bookworm,” Shikamaru added.
“He said as much,” Gaara said vaguely, the curl of offense in the pit of his stomach.
“Can't say that's a surprise,” Kankurō put in, rising to his feet. “Coffee's good. I'll go grab the others.”
“He's not stupid,” Gaara called after his brother.
“Never said he was,” Kankurō returned, before disappearing inside.
“So did he like anything else about the library?”
“He enjoyed it,” Gaara said, returning to his attention to the fruit. “I let him borrow a book, which he's determined to read.”
“What book?”
“It's an old poetry anthology I read as child.”
“Really? What about?”
“Various things, but mostly... love.”
____________________________
Gaara stared down at the notes from the library's Weavers, his eyes catching, over and over on the word 'love', written in looping letters no one used anymore. Suna's forgotten language was only a vague entity in Gaara's mind, soundless and foreign, but he knew the word love by sight. He'd always known the word 'love'.
Everything was love in the chaitya. The one and only time he'd stepped foot in it as a child, he'd seen the word carved into a stone monument at the back and traced its curling letters with fingers so tiny they'd fit into the grooves. It had been the only time he'd fit perfectly into love.
He couldn't say the word—not then and not now—but he'd known without question what it had meant.
“Love,” he whispered to himself, letting the sound fall from him like a prayer. He whispered it again, this time in Sunago. Then again in Kazego. Then again in Indigosi, the language of Dusk Country and the Nadba region just north of Suna. He knew how to say the word in so many languages—it was always the first word (and all its forms and uses) he learned when he studied a new language—but he'd never know how to say it in the original language of his people.
He wondered if it would ever be possible to recreate the language of Suna's past. He filed that concern away for another day, returning his attention to the notes on the tapestry's steady restoration.
'The missing sections leave us with little idea of the main body of the story, only the beginning, a partial middle, and the end, but based on the evidence it is highly likely the tapestry depicts an ancient love story, possibly even Suna's first love story, which has been lost to Suna for nearly three centuries.
In order to recreate the missing section, more research is needed.'
The end of the notes were signed off by Kigen with an additional note for Gaara, hastily written in the end margin: I have reason to believe the missing sections were not burned from the tapestry, but cut.