IMPORTANT NOTE: You will not understand this if you haven't read "Era's" (MadaNaru)  Which is another book of mine. And I highly suggest not reading this until you do, because there are MAJOR spoilers in this. 

Oh yes, and I did publish this within Era's  and Mourning 

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The flowers blossomed with radiance this spring, they near shone underneath the gleaming moonlight. He took notice with the whisper of a smile glinting his expression, memories clouding at his vision with the dimmest of light. Knowing of, yet forgetting something sweet hidden within himself. It was in plucking a carnation from amongst the chrysanthemums, a gentle breeze stirred at his thoughts; warming as it passed, gracing him with the calming fragrance of carnations. He knew not what drove him to the melancholy sensation, but tears came to his eyes at the thought of the delicate flower, it drifted through him as a passing grace and he stared at the bloom in his hand.

"Jiraiya?" Flustered, he near tripped over his yukata into the bush beside him, instead merely onto the ground in slightly less humiliation. To find the fondly laughing face of Tsunade in greeting above him, her delicate yukata was a brightened fern green and painted with images of swaying trees, her obi drew his eye being a lightened pink -a colour which she always claimed to dislike. She giggled at his stumble, careful not to touch at her painted lips as her hand covered her mouth. Jiraiya noted, in a mild surprise, it was the first time he had seen her wear face-paint since Dan had been among them. She aided in his inelegant ascension to his feet, and he carefully took a delicate notice of her beauty in the night.

"You look, lovely tonight." Her snort in response was what he expected and a grin befell him then. Again, as they walked, he breathed in deeply the sweeping scent of fresh carnations. The red bridge was peaceful, and no one had taken their lover in escort to the calming scenery.

"What are you doing in the village anyway? I have never seen you here at the anniversary, actually, I distinctly remember you telling me that you hated the celebration festival." A sly warm hazel glance targeted him, and he swept his cold eyes away to the burning lanterns nearby warming the surrounding stone beneath it with a fragile glow, while the falling leaves caught the light in a reflection; it lit Tsunade's elegant hair to a mellow orange while her hazel eyes melted into a fire-likened brown. He found himself smiling, but in nothing to resemble joy, a remembrance had come to him with the homely glow of the lantern nearby and the breeze of carnations.

"I do hate it." His voice shook in response, and any laughter or happiness that might've been, he could no longer hear in himself. The light around him, the laughter about with the smiling glee he could see on the faces of all those celebrating, he sighed. "It just brings back bad memories." His fingers twined in his brightly alit hair, and the colour mocked at him under the moons shine. A frown crossed him in opposition to his normal grin. Looking up, he could see, very discreetly, the stone mountain above and the outline of the faces therein.

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He remembered watching. Hidden behind a fallen log, secretive, and happily unnoticed.

He had snuck away in the most careful run he could master, discreetly avoiding the brown searching gaze of his concerned Godmother. And he remembered well, his own eyes had been affixed to the entrancing image of his parents. They had been in a kindred walk under the cherry trees, talking quietly to each other in opposing voices of sweet and deep. The blossoms had been in bloom, and the petals had fallen on his father's strong shoulders and darkened hair juxtaposing greatly to the man he was. Jiraiya recalled giggling slightly and having to hold his breath to stop himself, it had been such a strange sight; his warrior father wearing delicate flowers in a loving pink. Few had fallen unto his mother though, and while he had known his mother could fight as any of his proud family the image of sweetened petals only seem to enlighten his hair and add a glimmer to the sky blue of his eyes.

Faint though it was, he did remember the light of his mother's voice speaking then, he had been in the midst of laughing, and even so, Jiraiya could recall that his mother often spoke oddly. "Mada, you have something beautiful in your hair." He could clearly remember how short his mother stood in comparison to his father, theirs was a great height difference, as his mother 'Naru' only reached to his father's pectorals, and even so, just barely. Yet, it was still beautiful to watch as his delicate tan hand reached up to pluck at the petals, as it smoothly traced the pale cheek of his father. He knew he had been far away from the scene at his log, still, Jiraiya could recall the warmth he saw in his dad's expression as he bent to kiss his hanayome.

As a fond childhood memory, he knew he had admired his parent's love for each other, it had appeared so impassioned, and he knew at the time; he hadn't understood it.

The sky had no clouds that day, he knew, because the sun had always been bright and gleaming ontop of them. He remembered being swept up into strong arms away from his own little perch and taken into a tough grasp wherein he could not squirm himself away. In looking to his parents he had seen only his mother's radiant grin, with hands firmly perched on his hips, and had looked above to see the soft smile of his father above.

"Well, well, if it isn't the infamous little shinobi Jiraiya himself!" His mother laughed loudly, and his shining sunshine hair whisped behind him as a beaming ray of golden sun itself as he grasped onto both of them in a warm embrace. Jiraiya could easily smile at the remembrance of his father's arms holding them both and the hesitant grin he gave, beaming in a gladness he so rarely portrayed.

"To sneak upon us, did you flee Hashirama?" There had been no anger, but an amusement deep within the stern-set visage of his father's expression, a glow to the coal of his irises, the simper he gave, a large laugh bellowed from his mother.

A tan hand plucked a tender pink petal from his hair and with a suncast smile it was blown into his face."Just like me dattebayo~" He could remember his father faintly laughing from the rise of his chest against his cheek, and could vaguely recall the kiss to his forehead from the overwhelming scent of carnations his mother always possessed. Clearly though, Jiraiya felt a safety as his father kissed his cheek and cuddled him closer. The swimming fog coming along to obscure the memory.

"Hashi! Do not worry, we found him! Sneaky little prankster: Jiraiya, you won't have to get their attention as I had don't you worry...~" Came the soft drowned words of his mother. Before the blurred image overtook the scenery from his vision.

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On a bright day, he could remember the birds actually flew around him they had been crows, and mother had run out of the uncompleted Hokage building with a skipping gay he had yet to see upon him previously. A grin had painted wide on his expression, and his eyes had alit when spotting him and father coming from the Academy and had begun a sprint towards them. He could remember holding hands with the tall man, and how small his own were in the hold, -they were always small in comparison to his father's, soft too- he often giggled at his father's bend down just to grasp at his hand.

It had been within a mere moment, and he still could not be certain; as his memory was always flickering between a dulling fog and a shining clarity. But he could remember very faintly his mother losing footing, and falling hard onto his front- though he still saw the bright red hair of Mito behind attempting to catch him, yet just missing.

A scream had somewhat followed, along with a distinctive coughing-gag.

His father had lifted him up before he could move and Jiraiya remembered just being held close to his father as he helped their mother up. Mother had been panicking running his hands all along his chest in a frantic jittered movement. Mito-san had disappeared, and his auntie Hashirama had come out with a deep-set worry painting his mouth into a firm frown. He could remember very vaguely his father attempting to pet his mother's golden hair, and making soothing whispers of affection, calmly kissing his head as his godmother came forward and ran green-tinted hands over his mother's abdomen.

Jiraiya sat on his father's hip, playing with the dark navy-black hair of his dad, and marvelling at his own while soft breathing came as a soothing sound around him. Finally, upon his own confusion, Jiraiya watched as his Hashirama shook his head with a saddened expression, and then watched as his mother pult his fists together, a scowl on his face as tears ran down the scars there.

They ate a large dinner that day, he could remember mother quietly sobbing as he made it, and father's silence as he drank tea at the table.

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Okaa-san had taken him to one of the warm springs near the village. He had never been before, and it was a cooling evening so the warm mist around him felt strange, yet soothing. There were other people of their clan already in the water and mother was already helping him peel away his small yutaka. He remembered not being aware everyone was nude until his mother began to take off his own clothing. Then he launched him straight into the water with no hesitation or consideration of the other Omega's around.

"Naru-sama!" Came an amused, irate chuckle from behind him, the voice of Waki-san -Baru's wife- while beside her, was a distinct giggle from the woman he knew to be Sakura -Naka's wife.- He had always liked the two, they had been close friends, and both their husbands, he remembered, had been fierce warriors, he could also remember that they had all of them had died in the Second Shinobi War.

They had both reprimanded mother, who had just laughed at them both while cuddling him. Jiraiya knew that he couldn't have been older then three within the memory, because his mum had died near his fourth, so while he knew he had swum slightly, he also doubted he could swim perfectly at such an age.

"Oh come on, Jiraiya-chan isn't old enough to remember anything he may or may not see! Do not fret so much!" The memory had always stuck upon him for a reason he could still never name.

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The riverside had been glowing on the day he remembered most with his father. He could remember clearly, getting his feet wet in the water of the shore, he could recall his Tou-san skipping rocks across the shore. Mostly however, stuck the memory of large hands intertwining with his own, callouses and scars against his small fingers, and the rumble of his father's baritone in his ear as he showed him how to skip a rock. Their hair had brushed together, more then the simplicity of the memory: he could remember distinctively, clearly, managing to get a stone to the other side and turning to his father in happiness for his victory.

Still, he did not know how, but something had taken away the balance his father had possessed and it knocked them both into the river. It hadn't been an enemy shinobi, he knew, or the wind, but they had both been soaked, and he had been underneath his father's rather large -muscled- arm. The cold water poured down his face from his hair, and he had to part it away from his face. The cascade of black almost frightening to his tender near toddler mind. But when he turnt, he saw his father had the same problem, and it made him laugh loudly just to see his dad with wet hair having to part it like a curtain.

Then, his dad had grinned at him, his eyes had turned up lines had shown on his face. And he laughed too.

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The clouds were how he remembered it most. A darkened shadow unto them all. He had been trapped within the village, but he had heard fighting, crashing, uproarious sounds. There was little Jiraiya could recall from the night, but he had a distinct memory of Naori and the clan around him, they had been all standing still with their heads downturned. A bolt of lightning crashed above them all, yet no one moved, rain fell and none of the Uchiha came to move. A forceful roar sounded over the village, and so did the crash of rock falling.

When silence came unimpeded for prolonged minutes that everyone counted, Jiraiya remembered nothing more then his own loud sobbing carrying amongst the entire district.

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"Jiraiya?" A fragile voice came from beside him, quiet, near whispering, and concerned eyes peered up at him. He blinked feeling a new set of tears fall away from his lashes. Only just noticing the sight of Tsunade beside him. "You started crying, I um, was a little worried, you don't usually... cry." Quickly, he managed to wipe away all evidence of his breakdown, a small faked smile gracing his lips as he backed away from the concerned Omega near him.

"Nothing to worry about, just uh-- Memories you know how those are, so I'll see you later, I'm gonna head.. Out." He jumped away, didn't walk or sprint, jumped into the trees and fled as a shinobi. As a man of cowardice.

His eyes traced his hands as he ran, and he wondered if they were the same size as his father's; though he doubted such a fact. His journey ended when his feet meet dirt, and the water flowed softly beside him, two proud statues standing afore his gaze. The drifting breeze granting him the tender scent of carnations somehow, though he knew there were none about him presently. At the top of the monuments, there were, there was an assortment of beautiful carnations around Madara's visage and chrysanthemums too, Jiraiya always imagined that his Godmother had planted them in a representation of his grief before his own death.

In the usage of his sharp Uchiha eyes, he could spot the outline of someone sat upon his father's statue, away from the festival of celebration for a reason only they could fathom. Though he could not recognize the form of the person, they appeared to be curled in upon themselves. The moonlight did nothing to show him clearly whom they could be, but he caught the coloured sight of what he believed to be a crimson kimono under the luminance of the stars and moon, bright blonde hair too for all appearance he could see.

Around them, was what he found to be odd, for there were scattered many, in bloom, chrysanthemums. One held betwixt their hands.

Perhaps it had been a coincidence, a pure chance. But as he turned away from the sight, the breeze rushed around him, and he found two flowers near the shore. One a bright red chrysanthemum, the other a white carnation, both intertwined at the stems, touching them both was a beautiful stock of Lilies of the Valley: they were his own flower of distinction from his clan.

He grasped all the flowers gently, trying to remember their meanings:

True love,

Sweet & Lovely Innocence -from what he could recall-

And his own meant; Return to happiness.

Another strong breeze of carnations graced by him from the top of the valley.