When he had heard a serving girl and a footman gossiping about some noble lady shooting at the wilting tree used as a target by many in one of the lesser courtyards, he’d thought nothing of it. He had assumed that it was just that – gossip.

As he passed through the many corridors of the palace, he reasoned; even the most eager knights had been deterred from practicing by the torrents of rain that pelted everything it its path. Pages and squires were relieved of their outdoor punishments for one day, their masters too busy to assign indoor ones and not quite cruel enough to subject them to such hostile weather (though he did wonder whether or not it actually was a question of cruelty – pampered noble brats belonging to influential parents could often make disciplining unruly pages difficult). So why would a noble lady – a high-born one if what he’d heard was true – be outside in the freezing rain practicing archery of all things?

As he ventured further into the winding maze that was the palace, he noted how rare it was for him to have a moment to himself; to be able to idle about.
At first he didn’t even notice the soft ‘thunk’ of an arrowhead burying into wood, breaking the steady thrum of the rain.
A particularly strong gust of wind awoke him from his stupor and the next ‘thunk’ was not left unheard.
He would never admit to such a thing aloud, but he was curious of its source despite himself. As his head turned, his brows rose slightly at the sight that he saw.

A woman who looked to be of a similar age to his own, knocked an arrow to her bow and loosed it in one fell motion. It splintered a branch and landed in a puddle. She didn’t seem to notice.
Her cotton gown stuck to her form and the ends of her dark dripping hair curled slightly, as ice cold water continued to attack her from above.
Despite knowing of the chilled gusts that battered her petite, soaked body, it surprised him that her skin was even paler than his own.

He leaned against a pillar observing her peculiar behaviour, unconsciously fascinated.
Her hand flew fluidly to the rapidly emptying quiver upon her back and she drew another arrow, loosing it deftly. It was followed by another. And another.

The thought that accompanied the slightly bemused expression that adorned his features was this:
What on earth had possessed her?

x X x

It. Just. Wasn’t. Fair.
She loosed one arrow for each word in quick succession, not really seeing where each landed through eyes clouded by frustration.
Most people would have thought that being the heiress of one of the mist influential fiefs in the realm would get whatever she wanted without having to ask for them. Indeed she had never really had to ask anything of her father, though this did not necessarily mean that she would receive things anyway…
She shook her head. No, this wasn’t the problem at hand; at any rate she had never really wanted anything enough to ask for it.

Until now, that is.

Just what was so wrong with wanting to be able to defend her Queen and her home?

When her father had heard that not only had she applied for a place in the Royal Ladies without consulting him, she had already been to two of the interviewing stages, he had been furious.
After summoning her to his chambers to ask if this was true (she was never quite sure how he found out these things; she had never taken the rumour of the ‘all seeing’ Hyuuga eyes seriously) she had replied honestly.
He had dismissed her, and hadn’t said a word to her since save a cold “I will not allow it.”

She could still hear his detached words echoing in her mind as she drew another arrow from her quiver and tried to steady her shaking fingers. If she trembled it was from suppressed rage (a foreign emotion to her) and not from the harsh weather that continued to batter her.

“You know, no matter how much you mutilate the tree, nothing will happen to the one who has angered you.”

She jumped, startled, and turned to face her one man audience. Vaguely aware of the small droplets of rain that fell of her dark lashes, her eyes widened slightly as she recognised her observer, her once knuckle-white grip becoming slack in her surprise.
“Sir Sasuke,” she greeted, wobbling into a slight curtsey. After holding one stance for so long in the cold rain, her muscles protested at the sudden movement. Hands reached out to steady her and she looked up in surprise; unreadable eyes surveyed her as she scrambled to right herself, embarrassed at her stumble despite her earlier anger.

Sir Sasuke nodded back at her in acknowledgement as though it had never happened.

She gazed at him curiously; known throughout the court for his ‘brooding good looks’ (according to Lady Sakura anyway) and brave acts for the crown, Sir Sasuke was also notorious for keeping a wide berth of the female population and his overall antisocial attitude. Seeing him here at all begged the question: what was he doing here?

She was not given the opportunity to ask.

“Who would have thought that the ‘delicate’ Lady Hinata was capable of such damage,” the young knight remarked, his tone dry. Hinata flushed, again in embarrassment, but also in annoyance as she remembered the reason for her being outside in such conditions in the first place.
She watched numbly as he approached the tree and inspected the cluster of arrows that had buried themselves into the wood. “With a steadier hand, you’d be a good shot.”
Her brows rose and her lips parted slightly. Sir Sasuke, who avoided speaking to those he was acquainted with, was conversing with her – of his own violation.

He must have seen the question in her pearly orbs. He smirked a little.
“I heard that you did not like to be the centre of attention. I must have heard wrong.” Hinata’s face contorted with confusion. His smirk grew a little wider, “When I heard talk of a high born lady shooting arrows in the midst of a tempest I thought it was a lie. I have to wonder what has made someone so… quiet so…” He could not seem to find the right word, but she could see how hearing such a thing could cause curiosity.

She trudged over to his side and began to collect the fallen arrows around the poor tree, sliding them carefully into the quiver, debating whether or not she should say anything. It was a family matter after all.

“I-I don’t think I can say…” Her voice sounded like crisp autumn leaves as her parched throat cracked a little from remaining silent for so long. She swallowed and added, “I thank you for your concern.”

He did not reply. Hinata heard the faint rustle of wet clothing as he began pulling arrows out of the bark. It had only occurred to her now that he too was in the rain.
They worked in silence for a while and Hinata’s thoughts drifted back to her father’s reaction.

“I will not allow it.”

She clenched her teeth. What would she do?

“Have you tried taking matters into your own hands?”

His voice broke her out of her reverie.
“I-I couldn’t possibly…” Of course she had not: what could she do if her father had expressly forbidden her from doing that which she desired most?

Her cousin, Sir Neji, who had not been on good terms with her for a number of years until recently had tried to fight her case for her. She could remember hearing the conversation clearly from the other side of closed doors, unable to say anything herself and grateful that she had someone who was willing to do so in her place.

“Why should she be unable to defend her country? Had she been your son she would have become a knight of the realm and you would not have had a second thought-”
“The Royal Ladies are not a frivolous show of ladies in waiting any longer; they must fight in combat. She is too weak. I will not hear another word of this nonsense and I will not let my daughter die needlessly.”

And then it hit her.

“Matters into my own hands?”
He slid the arrows he had gathered into her quiver. His face was devoid of emotion and she couldn’t even begin to guess what he was thinking. His dark eyes surveyed her, waiting for her to come to a decision.

“B-but that would be…”
She stopped. It would be disobeying father. But she would not let this go, and would achieve this dream alone.
Although the rain continued its constant assault, the tempest that had swirled within her mind and what she must do became clear.

Cold fingers tilted her head up. “Keep your chin up.”

As he walked away she wondered why he had deigned to advise her.

As he walked to shelter he wondered the same.