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Chapter Text

Prologue: The Politics of Trade

19th Kazanshogun since the beginning of the Era of the Warring Clans, Kita Hekima, current living will of the volcano kami paces worriedly across the wooden floor of her office. She spares a moment to mourn the texture beneath her socked feet (alas that it was custom to floor tatami only in rooms where guests were to be received and sleeping quarters), but more pressing matters soon overtake her attention.

Reluctantly, she strides back to her desk and reads the report there for what seems like the tenth time. To her tired resignation, the words do not change.

She has a growing headache from this entire situation, and her advisers are certainly not helping matters.

"--is potentially a declaration of war!" Kazumi, her chief economic adviser shouted. "Hi no Kuni has many able troops at its dispoable, even disregarding the Fire Daimyo's samurai reserves. There are still the fire monks to contend with, and I do not think the neutral shinobi clans within that nation will just stand by and let our interference in what they will see as their own internal matters go peaceably."

Shunsuke, her military strategist snarls. "And what do you suppose we do about the declining iron shipments then? The Land of Fire is our only current source of it! We need that iron for our weapons, my lord, or would you throw our samurai to the wolves of Tetsu no Kuni?"

"While the Land of Iron does pose a credible threat, I do not think--"

"Yes, you do not think! That is the crux of our problem!"

Kazumi bares his blade at the insult.

"You dare--"

"Enough!"

Kazanshogun slams her hand against her table.

"Do not forget, gentlemen," she growls, "that we have enemies without much better suited for the edges of your blades."

Kazumi glowers, but slides his blade back in its sheath.

"My liege Kazanshogun," Shunsuke begins, "you know it is not only the samurai who would face difficulties. The farmers cannot get through the volcanic soil without quality steel tools. If the trade continues to decline or, I fear, cease altogether, we would not be able to feed our people."

That was a dire thought indeed, and exactly what Hekima had been trying to find a solution to.

"My liege," Kazumi cuts into her thoughts, "if we could set up a trade route with the Senju instead, then it would not matter that the Hagoromo clan are losing. Our reports indicate that the Senju's client clans holds the other largest reserves of iron ore, and--"

"--and abandon our trade partners?" Shunsuke asks incredulously. "Have you forgotten that Hagoromo clan head Takahiro sent his own mother here as a goodwill hostage? What of our honor as samurai?"

Hekima holds up a hand for silence.

"Do not forget to look deeper into that matter," she reminds her military adviser. "The Hagoromo are no fools. Takahiro would keep his mother safe, either through leveraging her to gain our military support in this matter or to send his mother to our far off nation such that the Senju will never go after her."

"But our honor--"

"Practical considerations come before honor," she reminds Shunsuke. "In that, I am in agreement with Kazumi. But," she adds, before her economic adviser can preen in his success, "it has yet to be seen whether abstaining is the most practical solution. The iron reserves are vital to our nation's security, and it would be shortsighted to overlook them for mere unwillingness to draw our blades."

Kazumi looks down, chastised by her statement.

"Could we not send envoys to the Senju?" he asks.

Hekima shakes her head.

"This was before your time, but we tried that once. Senju Butsuma and his elders are paranoid prejudiced idiots who will not trust our word because we are samurai. They would not even receive our envoys."

Her economic adviser falls into silence. It is to the man's credit that he did not suggest persuing the nearer option for iron: Tetsu no Kuni. Hekima would take his head for such a suggestion.

Both of her advisers fall into silence, and Hekima uses the brief reprieve to think.

It is true that their only option is securing the iron shipments from the Hagoromo's client clan. And it is true that the Senju currently threaten the security of that clan. While she does not particularly care for the Hagoromo, they are her only current trade partners for iron and forgoing that trade would mean starvation for her people and possibly invasion by Tetsu no Kuni's overambitious shogun.

A pity that her Kazan no Kuni is so poor in natural iron deposits and their rival Tetsu no Kuni seems to be swimming in the stuff. A pity that Tetsu no Kuni's shogun is so greedy in his ambition and that entire family line is still slighted by Hekima's great-grandfather's actions 70 years prior.

A pity that the Hagoromo, though allied to the Uchiha, are seemingly no match for the Senju. They seem not to compare either to their Senju enemies nor their Uchiha allies.

Hekima rubs a hand against her brow tiredly.

She is experienced, in both age and warfare and governance. If she can only successfully safeguard her people for the rest of her time as Kazanshogun, if she can only guarantee their access to food and the weapons they need to defend themselves...

But such is the responsibility of any shogun and any leader, samurai or not.

"Can we set up trade with the Ino-Shika-Cho alliance?" Kazumi wonders aloud. "They seemed to be fairly reasonable and trade-minded the last time we sent missives to them."

Hekima considers it, but reluctantly shakes her head.

"If only that would solve our issues," she sighs. "The iron deposits of Hi no Kuni seem to be concentrated in mainly two locations...and those two locations are directly in the territories of client clans of the Hagoromo and client clans of the Senju. The Ino-Shika-Cho, while they have some access, would only be able to slow our iron losses. They are not capable of supplanting the Hagoromo and their clan clients in this regard."

"Then we must send troops to aid the Hagoromo immediately," Shunsuke jumps at his chance. "If we begin the process now, we can march across the Land of Earth in several months time and--"

Hekima laughs.

"A few months from now, the Hagoromo will not exist. Or do you not see the difference between the goodwill hostage they sent this time and the one they sent 50 years ago?"

Shunsuke looks confused. "While the mother of the clan head is fairly important, a son is--"

"Second son," Hekima corrects. "Merely a second son at that time with far fewer and much less desperate pleas. The mother of the current clan head is far above in rank and importance."

"No," she muses, "the Hagoromo must be in dire straits indeed."

Once again, she curses Senju Butsuma and his idiot council of elders' stubbornness.

How is she going to secure those iron shipments from the Hagoromo's client clan?

"A land march will not work," she continues.

"As you've said, it would take several months to cross, and that is assuming that all goes well--and you know full well the Daimyo of Earth will not be happy at so many troops crossing his borders," she reminds her advisers.

"But," a sudden idea takes her, "to the north of us, we have the Hoppo Sea. Next to the Hoppo Sea is the Ishi-ka Bay, which connects to the great Naka River."

"And the Naka River leads straight into Hi no Kuni and is mostly in Uchiha territory," her advisers finish for her.

They briefly look at each other in chagrin at having come to the same thought at the same time.

Hekima hides a small smile. They are a well-matched pair, though they would never admit it.

"How long would it take by ship?" she asks Shunsuke.

He briefly thinks on this. "A couple of weeks or so, no more."

She turns to Kazumi. "And we have solid trade relations of luxury goods with the other continental nations along the banks of the Naka river, no?"

Kazumi nods. "I believe I can negotiate safe passage for our troops along those smaller countries as long as we supply them with enough rations such that they won't pillage the villages by the great river."

Shunsuke bristles at the statement, but a sharp look from her quells him.

Kazumi is right after all. An army that is not well supplied will turn to pillaging and banditry to survive.

"I can send 100 samurai to the Hagoromo, in three ships," Shunsuke says. "Then with 10 tons of swords and armor..."

"100 to the Hagoromo and 100 to the Uchiha," Hekima states.

Both Shunsuke and Kazumi blink.

"The Uchiha? While they are allies of the Hagoromo, we do not have formal relations with them--"

"The Uchiha," she reminds them, "has control of the Naka river within Hi no Kuni. We will need their cooperation for our troops and ships to be well received. And the Uchiha are no fools. They will not want to receive our samurai for only the Hagoromo's sake, alliance or no."

"No, gentlemen," she continues. "We will need to sweeten the deal. We must send an envoy to the Uchiha immediately. We will offer support of 100 of our samurai and both 2 tons of swords, 2 tons of the tiny daggers that the shinobi no mono seem to favor--"

"Kunai," Kazumi mutters.

She ignores him.

"--and 400 leaves of explosive seals. We will send another 100 of our samurai to the Hagoromo and a further 6 tons of mixed swords, kunai and armor. We will send enough supplies to tide our warriors through the sea journey and the river beyond. Once they are in Hi no Kuni, they will be able to forage off that very fertile land."

"And the Fire Daimyo," Kazumi questions.

She hesitates for one moment.

"If we pull this off correctly, it will be one big strike. At most two. This is why we need to send more forces, not less. With the Senju wiped out, it will be finished. We can then send envoys to the Fire Daimyo and pacify him. He is a man who appreciates luxury. We can give him some exclusive trade for the precious gems that only our miners have access to."

Kazumi nods at her words.

"And so," she looks around, "one of you get me the seal-master. We will need to salt- and water-proof everything first. And get that envoy to the Uchiha!"

Chapter Text

One Survives

The rain blankets the ground in a haze of grey. They are slowly putting out the embers eating through the wood of what was once Senju Hashirama's bedroom...but it is all for naught.

The Uchiha have already invaded.

Senju Butsuma is the first to fall, mortally wounded by Uchiha Tajima's blade and only prevented from meting out his revenge in turn by one of the samurai. Senju Touka, wielding her naginata desperately in an attempt to keep three of the samurai off Hashirama's back, is captured moments later. And without Touka to run interference, Hashirama, depleted of chakra from heavy use of his Mokuton, and tired from hours of fighting, hours of defending his home from the sudden combined Uchiha and samurai attack, is soon confronted by an Uchiha Madara flanked by two of his Uchiha clansmen and five samurai.

Only Senju Tobirama still remains free, his blade lethal. He manages to bring down two of the samurai and one of the Uchiha surrounding him, using his tremendous speed to his advantage. But as he spies his elder brother's capture, he falters for one brief, crucial moment.

That instant is enough for Uchiha Izuna to sweep the sword from his hand as the two Uchiha clansmen by his side pin him to the ground.

It is over.

The Uchiha and their samurai allies have won.

Some of the Senju break off suddenly and head for the forest, where they hope the shelter of the trees will throw off their pursuers long enough so that they can escape to their allied clans. The remainder are captured and rounded up along with their commanders.

Hashirama finds himself summarily bound with iron-laced rope and chakra seals.

If it weren't for his current situation, he would have snorted. There was no need to seal someone with no chakra left to fight with.

He is dragged forward by an Uchiha shinobi and forced to kneel on the blood sodden ground next to Tobirama and Touka, already bound and chakra-sealed in the middle of what was once the Senju main house courtyard. A wall of Uchiha shinobi and foreign samurai surround them, and Hashirama briefly wonders if the three of them are to die here and now.

The moment passes, and the human wall parts. Three Uchiha shinobi--Tajima and his two sons, Hashirama barely makes out through the blood in his eyes--step forward.

The Uchiha clan head's eyes are hard chips of obsidian, and he sneers down at the three captive Senju. With one forceful move, he stalks up to Hashirama, grabs him by his long hair and spits into his face.

"Here is the pride of the wretched Senju. Here is what became of their avaricious ambition, trampled into the dirt like the worms they are."

He snarls when Hashirama merely looks him evenly in the eye.

"Have you nothing to say to me, child?"

Hashirama smiles coldly at him. "A tree may sway in the wind, but it need not reply to it. I see nothing but the decay of an old withered bush, oblivious to the new green growth underneath its roots--" he cannot help a furtive glance at the two young men standing behind their father, especially Madara (and there his heart still twinges painfully for lost dreams and lost friendships), "--and who is oblivious to the dangerous embers surrounding it." He looks pointedly at the large samurai force among the Uchiha shinobi.

Tajima releases his hair and laughs.

"See how, even now, these impudent pups remain defiant to the last?" He grins mirthlessly.

Madara steps forward.

"Father, we should--"

The Uchiha clan head holds up a hand, quieting the younger man.

"The rest of them," he gestures to another section of the courtyard where Hashirama can just make out his more distant captured Senju relatives, "can be sold to pay back the cost of lives, weapons and food. But all who share the blood of the main line are too dangerous. They must be cut down lest the Senju who escaped and their allies find a cause to rally behind."

Hashirama sees Madara lower his eyes, but the young man nods solemnly.

"Father," and here Izuna steps forward, "would you have me cut off their heads?"

He, too, looks grave and solemn, and Hashirama notes that he is staring straight at Tobirama.

"No," Uchiha Tajima says curtly. "I will do the deed myself. Only the clan head can make this sacrifice to the ancestral kami, and I will soon offer them the Senju's blood in payment for our victory this day."

Hashirama sighs.

He did not truly have any hope that they would survive, but...

He turns his head as best he can, bound as he is, and gives Tobirama and Touka a brief smile of comfort.

His last remaining brother, his dearest Tobirama, and their closest cousin...they will all be reunited in the Pure Lands soon.

And maybe...maybe they will soon see their little brothers Itama and Kawarama...and their mother Senju Chie and Touka's parents Senju Akira and Senju Aiko...and even their father, Butsuma, only just gone from them.

Hashirama has no deep love for the man, but he supposes that death will cure all resentments.

But ah, if only it hadn't come to this. If only that old, old dream of peace and that old friend who he was forced to part from--

He turns back and tries to catch Madara's eyes, but the young man refuses to look at him.

Hashirama slowly lowers his eyes in turn. That friendship is long dead and gone, and even now, even at the end, it seems nothing can heal the breach between them. Those impossible dreams, that impossible village where no more children would be sacrificed to the ravenous maws of war...they will remain impossible, and he supposes none of it matters anymore.

He can hear one of the distant cousins sobbing off in the distance. He is not quite sure who it is, perhaps young Eiji, only born six summers ago and who loved the orange-reds of the autumn trees and adored Tobirama so much he would trail behind him... He spares a thought for their cruel fate.

Please, he begs the ancestral kami silently in his head, please ease the hurdles of their future and lighten the weight they will be forced to bear.

For he well knew that they were doomed to a worse fate than he.

Death is preferable to slavery.

Uchiha Tajima steps forward and grips his kunai.

The sobbing from the distant Senju grows in volume, ending in a wail as the Uchiha clan head grabs Senju Touka's hair and, with one quick strike, slashes through her throat.

Hashirama closes his eyes in pain. Close to him, he can hear Tobirama gasp as a fine tremor overtakes the younger man's body.

He swallows.

Touka was loved by many, but by Tobirama the most.

He hopes his younger brother's pain will be short-lived.

He hears Uchiha Tajima grab his brother and he...he...

He keeps his eyes closed. He cannot witness Tobirama being killed in front of him. He cannot witness his little brother being slaughtered.

Make it quick, he begs. He doesn't want Tobirama to suffer anymore. He doesn't want to suffer anymore.

His ears wait for the sound of steel across flesh, waits for another wail from their distant relatives...

But it never comes.

Despite himself, he opens his eyes and looks at the scene next to him in confusion.

The rain has stopped, and the sun is peeking out from behind the clouds. The Uchiha clan head grips the downy white strands of his brother's hair, exposing his vulnerable throat. His kunai is gripped in the other hand, poised to strike at the pale flesh, but he is hesitating. His eyes are wide, as if surprised, and an indecipherable look is upon his face.

Not the hatred or anger that Hashirama was expecting, that he had seen before, but something else...something darker.

A frisson of unease shoots up Hashirama's spine.

Slowly, Tajima lowers his kunai. The Uchiha murmur around him, and both Madara and Izuna look on, as confused as their clansmen.

To Hashirama's alarm, Tajima caresses his brothers cheeks with the tip of his kunai, the gesture terrifyingly gentle.

Tajima laughs then.

"Red eyes," he murmurs. "I did not notice before in the rain, in the heat of battle, but close up, now..."

Hashirama suddenly cannot breathe. He can't mean, he can't...

He remembers a day, a distant day long ago along the banks of the Naka river, before he knew who Madara was and before Madara knew him, when they had been just two friends mourning the deaths of their little brothers.

"We like people with red eyes," the young Madara had said offhandedly. "The elders say they're pretty and the ancestral kami made them for us."

"Pretty?" Hashirama had wrinkled his nose, still too young for the concept.

Madara snorted. "Well, that's what the elders say! Not that it's important. I don't think I've ever seen someone with red eyes, and my uncle says they are very rare. Like...once in fifty generations rare or something like that."

Hashirama suddenly starts struggling, forced from his earlier resignation.

"No," he cries. "No, you can't. You--"

One of the Uchiha rushes forth and slaps him to the ground with the back of his sword. He struggles still, but the man kicks his head. Darkness swirls before his eyes, and he fights to clear the blur in front of his vision, fights to focus, only to come back to--

"--will serve me in a personal capacity. We will use him to break the spirits of those Senju dogs remaining. They and their allies shall hear of his service in my household and in my bed, and they shall lose their will to fight."

Hashirama groans, struggling to push himself back up, struggling to do anything to prevent his little brother, his dear Tobirama from becoming, from becoming...

He sees Tobirama struggling as two Uchiha shinobi walk over and begin to drag him away. He sees the disquet on the faces of the foreign samurai, and he sees the shocked paleness of Madara and Izuna's faces. He hears renewed sobbing and sounds of a scuffle from where their other Senju relatives are being held.

He tries calling his Mokuton, but he can't reach his chakra through the blasted seals. And the iron woven into the rope is too strong. He can't get loose, and his brother is being dragged away from him. He can't get loose, and now, and now...
Tajima looks over at his struggling form, and sneering, pulls him up by the hair. With one sharp motion, he slices clean through Hashirama's throat.

The blade is sharp, and for a single moment, Hashirama thinks that it's missed. He thinks that there may still be chance to get to Tobirama. To save him. But then the blood begins to spurt, and Hashirama is dropped, choking, gasping, dying on the blood-soaked ground.

His vision darkens, and his last sight is of his brother being dragged away through the fire scorched arches of the Senju courtyard...

He knows that they will not meet in the Pure Lands.

Chapter Text

To the Victor Goes the...

Uchiha Tajima kneels respectfully in front of his clan elders, seiza, of course, as is proper on the tatami that the reception room floor is covered in. He does not particularly like the position, but it could not be helped. He is not on the wooden floor of his personal rooms and cannot sit with one knee up as he prefers.

Given that they have won the war against the Senju only days prior, he supposes he can suffer sitting seiza for a while...at least until Elder Toshiro and the others finish their discussion.

“--will have to decide what to do with the captives,” Elder Kata, Tajima's maternal great-aunt, muses, her pale eyes staring past Tajima.

Elder Toshiro, Tajima's paternal great-uncle hums.

“I see here,” the wizened old man indicates the report in front of him, “that the most volatile have been executed. Are there any left that may cause...difficulties?”

“There were only five left after we took the second son into our possession. The others that were captured and capable of mounting resistance were struck down at the time. Their bodies were left for the crows to peck at,” he adds blandly.

He bows his head and smirks. It seems that even the Senju could be goaded by threats to their family. He had long thought them too cold for such proper emotions.

“And the five?”

Tajima recognizes the voice as Elder Tomiichi, not directly related to his line but well versed in the mercantile considerations of the clan.

“Also executed,” he states curtly.

Elder Tomiichi sneers, but Tajima is not bothered. The man never saw a battlefield and only concerns himself with increasing their coffers.

“Our contacts in Kaminari no Kuni have been looking for more slaves for their quarries.” The elder plays with the large golden ring his hand, his finger so portly he can barely twist it. A miniature Hotei, Tajima notes. As if the man hadn't accumulated enough wealth.

“How many able-bodied captives are left?” Elder Toshiro inquires of him.

Tajima thinks for a bit. “Only 150 that we managed to capture alive.”

It was a mark against him that so many escaped during that last battle. Tajima will need to send spies to the Sarutobi and Hatake. Perhaps even the Uzumaki, though he doubts they would have made it that far.

Elder Tomiichi does not look pleased. “We could use some of the older child captives then...”

Elder Isao slams his fist on his knee. He looks incensed.

“Children,” he hisses. “They would die quickly in those conditions--”

“That's the point,” Elder Tomiichi mutters.

Elder Isao bares his teeth at Elder Tomiichi. Tajima is not surprised. He is the only one on the council with neither son nor daughter to call his own. His entire family perished in the wars. He spends his days looking upon the children of the clan in silent grief, his dark eyes shadowed by his fall of still-dark hair.

“Are we barbarians to send children to hard labor and eventual death?”

Elder Tomiichi looks away, chastised. “I said only the older children. The young ones wouldn't be of much use in the quarries at any rate.”

Elder Toshiro turns an inquiring gaze upon Elder Tomiichi. “Are the quarries of the Land of Lightning in such dire need of slaves that they would accept children, even older ones?”

It is a reasonable question. Children are not particularly optimal to work the quarries.

Elder Tomiichi purses his lips, “The quarry owners have agreed to double our shipments if we can send them 300.”

Elder Toshiro shakes his head. “I do not think they would accept even the older children, Tomiichi. Best to send only the able-bodied.”

“And you're sure that they won't be able to cause trouble for us in the future?”

Ah...great-aunt Kata. Always cautious. She may be blind, but she still often sees what others do not.

Elder Tomiichi chuckles at that. “Minor shinobi, if that,” he condescends. “Kaminari no Kuni is practiced in dealing with ninja of little consequence, and, being so far away, they will be able to make little trouble for us.”

Elder Kata frowns in his direction.

“Take care that you do not find yourself among enemies without materials, uninterrupted time to plan and prepare, privacy, food to survive and enough sleep to keep your wits about you, Tomiichi, lest you come to understand exactly the difference between a ninja of consequence and one you declare of little value.”

Tajima only just manages to turn his snort into a cough.

Elder Kata's distaste for Elder Tomiichi has not subsided at all. She will never forgive the slight he paid her, when she was freed from the Sarutobi's captivity all those years ago in her youth. And she will never forget that she was once a talented skilled shinobi...and he was never one.

Elder Toshiro clears his throat. “Thank you,” he says pointedly, “for your insights into the matter, Tomiichi, Kata.”

“I think,” he continues, “that we may send all 150 of the able-bodied to the quarries. If,” he stresses, looking straight at Elder Tomiichi, “the quarry owners agree to increase shipments by 50%.”

Tomiichi thinks for a moment (probably calculating the portions he can skim off, Tajima thinks uncharitably), before nodding. “Kaminari no Kuni is reasonable,” is all he says.

“And what of the children?” Elder Isao again.

“Sadly,” Elder Toshiro lays a consoling hand upon Elder Isao's arm, “Tomiichi is correct and the elder ones can't be spared.”

Elder Isao shakes off the hand. “So--”

“--so we will ship them off to the gold mines of Tsuchi no Kuni.”

Ah, the gold mines of the Land of Earth are always in need of small bodies to scale the crevices where grown men and women are too big to fit through. They will pay well for the 80 adolescents tied up in the rain outside. They will likely not live long either, and the ones who perish earliest will be the lucky ones.

Elder Isao swallows. “And the young ones?”

Elder Toshiro hesitates at that, perhaps sensing that Elder Isao will not budge on those.

“We can sell them to households in need of domestic servants.”

Elder Isao stares at him with eyes like flint. “And allies who lack children.”

Elder Toshiro purses his lips, but ultimately agrees. “And allies who lack children, provided they are young enough to be trained out of remembering that they were ever Senju.”

“How young is young?” Elder Kata questions.

“Ten.” “Three.”

Elders Isao and Tomiichi glare at each other.

“Are you out of your mind?” Elder Tomiichi sputters. “A ten year old is well old enough to remember their past and their dead family! Old enough to participate on the battlefield! Do you want our clan to be murdered once they grow old enough to revenge themselves on us?”

“And you would have four year olds sent to the mines!” Elder Isao rages back. “Four, a babe still learning sentences!”

Elder Saburo, quiet until now, looks from one to the other incredulously.

“Are we temple nuns to give such consideration to the spawn of our enemies? Have you forgotten they are Senju? Send them all to the mines! Let them die out early, so the snakes do not grow up to strike at us.”

Tajima almost sighs. Overzealous as always. Elder Saburo did not speak often, but when he did, it was always in defense of tradition, especially their tradition of killing Senju.

Elder Kata shakes her head disapprovingly. “We are not barbarians, Saburo. They are literal babes. The mines are extreme--”

“--so use them for kunai practice.”

Elder Isao looks as if he would leap out of his seat any minute and slay Elder Saburo where he sat.

“Saburo,” Elder Toshiro rebukes.

Elder Saburo turns his head away in disgust, his white hair shielding his face, but he does not contest the point further.

“This isn't two centuries ago,” Tajima mutters to himself. The Senju are not foreigners and noble besides. The Daimyo and the other great shinobi clans would be in an uproar if it got out that the Uchiha clan used noble babies of Hi no Kuni as target practice.

Elder Saburo apparently heard him.

“And your captive is just for decoration, I suppose?” he asks pointedly, turning cold brown eyes on Tajima.

Tajima thinks to the boy, drugged, bound, chakra-sealed and locked in the most secure room they have and blushes. He knows he was overhasty in his actions concerning that boy. But...

He knew it when he saw those eyes. Eyes red as the split-peach of a tayuu. The eyes of Butsuma's pride and most favored son.

He thinks of Butsuma in the afterlife, railing at him. Desperate. Begging. He smiles.

“We should kill him,” great-aunt Kata proclaims. “He is of the main line and, thus, too dangerous to live.”

“Yes,” Elder Saburo agrees.

Tajima clenches his hands upon his thighs. Of all the times for those two to agree on anything...

“You know the Senju who escaped will try to free him and rally around him.”

Tajima sneers. Elder Isao was greatly discomfited when Tajima insisted on being present while they stripped the armor off the boy. He really is too soft-hearted.

“A pity he's too dangerous to sell. He would be perfect for the quarries,” Elder Tomiichi mutters.

Tajima bites his lip. He cannot allow these considerations to go on any longer.

Butsuma's son...

On that, he is not willing to budge.

“I--” he begins.

“We must keep him alive.”

They are all startled at the proclamation, and Tajima looks to great-uncle Toshiro questioningly.

The elder strokes his graying beard thoughtfully. “He is in our grasp, under our power, and so, through him, we control the Senju properties and businesses. Do not forget that there are Senju-relations in the Hatake and Uzumaki who also have claims.”

Tajima nods. “Weaker claims that will become much stronger if the main line is completely wiped out.”

“The Daimyo will order him turned over to the capital, you know he will,” Elder Kata points out. “We cannot repel the Daimyo's samurai and the fire monks. And with him as a banner, do you truly think the Senju allies would not rally to free him?”

“Why would the Daimyo wish to restart this war?” Elder Tomiichi, of course. For all his skill at politics, the man seems to have a blind spot where it concerns the Daimyo. He thinks too much in literal trade and not enough in the trade of influence and power.

“He would not want our clan to grow too powerful,” Elder Saburo answers. “The Senju had 20 client clans and controlled one tenth of the land of Hi no Kuni. And you know of their trade relations with Water, Whirlpool and Sand clans. If you add that to our holdings and our various allies, we would be a credible threat to the Daimyo's power.”

“If we kill the Senju heir, their allies will rally around the Hatake girl or potentially even the Uzumaki boy. We will lose control over the Senju holdings and be beset with war on all sides with nothing to show for it! The Daimyo will most certainly back the Hatake claim,” Elder Toshiro argues.

“And if we do not,” Elder Isao argues back, “we will be beset on all sides with war as they seek to remove him from our control. Either way, we lose the Senju holdings.”

Elder Toshiro slams a fist on his thigh. “Then what did we fight for, Isao? What did we bleed and sacrifice our children for, if not to gain the Senju holdings and avenge our ancestors?”

“And which sacrifice is that, Toshiro? Where you sacrificed my son in that decoy mission 10 years ago? Or where you ordered that no retrieval mission be sent for my daughter? Your sons and daughter, I note, are alive and well.”

Tajima looks at Elder Isao, alarmed. The man is going too far to speak of such matters. If he persists...

There is a reason Elder Toshiro is the most venerated on the council, even compared to his predecessors.

“Are you accusing me of something, Isao?”

Elder Isao visibly wrestles with himself and then, undue emotions firmly held in check as they ought to be, shakes his head. “No, I am merely reminded of my losses. The past is in the past.”

“See that it stays that way.”

Elder Kata clears her throat, cutting through the tense air. “What can we do to not be beset by war on all sides then?”

“Kill him,” Elder Saburo says coldly. “Kill him and send assassins after the Hatake girl and the Uzumaki boy.”

“We cannot kill every single Senju relative in all the minor clans,” Elder Kata begins.

“Yes, we can.”

“The Daimyo--”

“Let that old windbag rot.”

“Now you're just being petty--”

“He has red eyes,” Tajima declares suddenly.

All the elders stop, astonished.

“Red eyes,” murmurs Elder Saburo.

Elder Kata groans. “This superstition again...”

Elder Saburo growls at her. “Red eyes bring fortune to our clan. You know that! The ancestral kami--”

“He is a Senju, Saburo. Weren't you just saying we should kill him?”

Elder Saburo swallows, clearly torn.

“We have a duty to keep close ones born of red eyes. The ancestral kami will increase our blessings. And curse us if we do not.”

Tajima smiles. Always the traditionalist, Elder Saburo.

He had him.

“That doesn't solve our most immediate, practical issue, of how to keep the Daimyo from gathering his samurai, the fire monks, the Senju allied shinobi clans and marching against us. And have you forgotten our promise to the Kazanshogun? We were to wipe out the Senju clan so that there would be no reprisals against their trade routes.”

Elder Saburo scoffs. “What are promises to foreigners? We owe them no such honor.”

Elder Kata snorts. “Do you want to go outside and tell the contingent of samurai that are encamped nearby that?”

“Our religious duties are clear--”

“Our religious duties,” Elder Toshiro says softly, “will be our salvation.”

Tajima looks at him, startled. He didn't think Elder Toshiro was all that pious, but perhaps he was mistaken?

“I don't follow, Toshiro,” Elder Kata states bluntly.

Elder Toshiro smiles. “The key is that the Daimyo is aware of our religious duties. He does not truly want more bloodshed so soon. He would only march against us, if he could cow us with his superior force. But we Uchiha are devout in our faith, and the Senju heir is now an article of that faith. If the Daimyo thought that we would fight to the death to retain our grasp on the boy...”

A sharp intake of breath. Elder Kata.

“But would he not try more clandestine means of stealing the Senju heir?” Elder Isao speaks again.

Tajima smirks.

“Are we not shinobi no mono?”

And to that, the elders all acquiesce.

Tajima notes that Elder Isao still looks at him balefully as he exits through the door.

Once outside, his face twists into a grimace. The elder's misplaced sympathy for the young may prove itself to be inconvenient yet. For the second son of Butsuma is a mere 15 summers himself, with gangly long limbs and muscles that had not yet finished growing. A full grown ninja, of course, but who knew how ridiculous Elder Isao's notions of children would stretch? The man had wanted a softer sentence for 10 year olds!

Tajima is diverted from his musings as his sons approach him, somewhat wet from the only recently stopped rain.

“Ah, Madara. Izuna.”

He smiles at the sight of them.

His beloved sons. Fine, strong, grown ninja that they are.

“Father,” Madara greets him respectfully.

“Father,” Izuna follows suit.

He motions that they should walk with him.

“What news have you to bring to me?”

Madara hesitates, then, seeming to shrink into his long hair. “Why aren't we killing Senju Tobirama?”

Tajima stops.

“He has red eyes, my son. And you know the significance of red eyes...”

Madara brushes at the air impatiently, as if he is brushing away Tajima's words themselves. “But you always taught us that that was a silly old superstition. That red-eyed people are just unfairly pretty.”

Tajima bites his lip and begs the ancestral kami for patience. He has perhaps been reckless in the earlier tutelage of his son.

Perhaps he should have been more cautious in that regard.

“I'm sure you misunderstood,” he says carefully.

“No, father,” Izuna pipes up, bright eyed as usual. “I remember it too. Though I don't understand how anyone could think that...that...that Senju pretty. He looks like a blind rabbit.”

Izuna's face scrunches up in distaste, and Tajima can see Madara rolling his eyes (though discretely).

Clearly he has been remiss in his teachings.

“Madara, Izuna,” he states firmly.

At his tone, both of his sons stop.

“Yes father?”

“You are never to mention those opinions to anyone." He looks them each in the eye gravely, impressing them with the seriousness of his words. "We devoutly believe that red-eyes are sent to bring us luck, and we preserve red eyes under the protection of our clan as directed by our ancestral kami.”

Madara pales, and Izuna takes a step back.

“Father, I--”

“No one, you understand?” Harshly. But he cannot afford gentleness in this.

Wide-eyed, his sons nod.

“Good.”

“Do...”

Tajima stiffens for he knows that Madara can be as stubborn as his name...

“Do you mean to move him to your rooms?”

...and relaxes.

Ah. That.

Tajima considers the question for a moment.

Perhaps, in the future. But the boy was dangerous, and...

And there was no reason he could not access him easily enough in his current accommodations.

Deep in his thoughts, he misses the uneasy way his eldest son shifts.

“You should rest,” he tells his sons, dismissing them.

“Yes father.”

Once his sons have gone, he abruptly makes a turn for the quartermaster's office.

There are things he needs. Tools.

Chakra-seal ropes. Chains. Dried poppy resin. (But not too much. Just a little. Just enough.) Oil.

He considers sound-proofing seals, but decides against them. The boy's...current accommodations...are far from his sons' quarters. They will not be disturbed.

And as for the rest...he is clan head. It is his right.

As he passes by the captured Senju, he amends his previous thought.

They can listen.

And perhaps through them...Butsuma will be listening.

Chapter Text

Honorable Enemies

A couple of weeks later, Izuna is kicking at the dirt in the Uchiha courtyard aimlessly. He always does this when he's uneasy, when there's something that he feels is eluding him.

The Senju captives are gone—

(Sold, the elders say when he asked and, despite himself, he can't help a little shudder at the thought, at the thought of belonging to someone neither kin nor clan, at being forced to work for, to serve, to die for a stranger.)

—and there is no more noise to wake him up in the middle of the night—

(The little Senju children would sob and sob and sob until exhaustion bore them off into troubled miserable sleep, and a man, perhaps one of the children's fathers, perhaps only distantly related, would beg to be killed while a woman would desperately try to bribe the guards. And if any of the guards would have accepted the bribe, Izuna would have gone out and reprimanded them, but he heard only the thud of a boot on flesh, and he felt, he felt...)

—and no more eyesore of giant cages of chained Senju to stare at as he goes about his daily routine.

It is good now. They are gone. The Senju are gone.

So why does he feel still feel all uneasy and twisted up inside?

Was it the captives?

They have had captives in the past. They have had captured shinobi chained up exactly as the Senju were, ready to be sold for the right price and the right influence. Just...

It's the children. It must be the children.

He knows he's a little too fond of children.

“Izuna,” Madara would always growl, “stop playing with little Akira! I know you like bouncing him on your knee, but I need help with transcribing the notes from the last trade negotiations.”

Or,

“Izuna,” his father would reproach, “Atsuko is not closely related to our line. You should focus your attentions elsewhere.”

The Uchiha have never wholesale taken another clan before, and certainly not one as big as the Senju. They have never had little bodies in the cages before.

The cages look different with crying babies in them. More...disquieting.

And isn't that wrong, to think that way? They use those cages for the enemy, to contain captives who fought against them.

And the captives are Senju this time. Senju! They are the enemy. They killed Uchiha! They hunted Uchiha children!

And one of the little ones in that cage looked so much like Akira, dark eyes wet with tears as he sobbed and sobbed. Akira, murdered by the child-killing squads just four moons ago that...

Izuna forces himself to look at the trees that surround the courtyard instead. Perhaps he should think about something else.

He is...just surprised. He hadn't expected the children to be like Uchiha children. He had thought they would be different. Somehow.

Not as sweet. Not as innocent.

He's being ridiculous. He knows he is. He just...

Really, he's not sure what he expected.

And he really, really ought to think about something else--

His eyes fall on the guards standing before an archway, and the gnawing feeling in the pit of his belly jumps a notch.

--like his father's strange request about their red-eyed “guest.”

And wasn't that a strange request?

“Never to mention those opinions to anyone.”

“We devoutly believe that red eyes are sent to bring us luck.”

“We preserve red eyes under the protection of our clan as directed by our ancestral kami.”

So Izuna is to believe that...that their ancestral kami had brought Senju Tobirama to this world to serve the Uchiha? That Senju Tobirama being alive brings the Uchiha clan fortune? That Senju Tobirama was specifically born for them?

What kind of idiocy is that?

The other shinobi no mono has personally killed more Uchiha ninja than any other Senju Izuna has ever seen with the sole exception of the Senju's own brother and perhaps the departed kubikajiri of the Senju as well! (Though, there, Izuna could likely make the argument that they are about even.)

Even at 15 (the same age as Izuna!), there are stories circulating about him, about his prowess on the battlefield, about the speed of his sword and about the even faster movement of his feet. And Izuna can personally attest that the stories do not exaggerate (he has always learned to watch the movements of Senju's feet)!

There is a reason Izuna's clan members were so careful not to give themselves away, to dampen their chakra while making the silent march to the Senju compound. There is a reason they used all their obscenely expensive chakra muffling seals on top of the dampening.

(Izuna shudders at the thought of those seals. They could have fed the entirety of the clan for a full year.)

Senju Tobirama is known as a particularly strong sensor, and they needed to make sure they were not discovered until they were ready if he should happen to be actively casting his chakra-enhanced senses out so far.

Luckily, either Tobirama had not been actively sensing at the time or the combination of chakra dampening and chakra muffling seals had worked. They had been successful in masking their presence until only two kilometers away from the compound...and everyone knows it is too late to evacuate a compound of that size at that stage.

No, Senju Tobirama is dangerous to anyone with the clan name of Uchiha and now they're supposed to...now they're supposed to...

Izuna just can't wrap his mind around it.

His father has always been practical.

“Superstition is for the weak. Exploit it,” Tajima had intoned since Izuna was 12 years old.

“If you must retreat, retreat. Better to live to fight another day.”

“If you fight against the Inuzuka, use pepper as a weapon.” Both Izuna and Madara had laughed at that one, Tajima grinning alongside them.

“If you pin a Hyuuga, put a kunai through their eyes, but pretend it was an accident. If you do not—”

“—Elder Saburo will protest,” Izuna used to finish with a grin.

“If you drop your kunai and your sword, kick the Senju bastard in the balls.”

And yet now he says to believe in the old superstitions. He says they are right.

Izuna...

Izuna needs time to think.

Their ancestral kami is just and right, of course, and must be properly respected with the right offerings, but the stuff about the red eyes...

If it's about Senju Tobirama, then it has to be nonsense.

Has to be.

There is no way that that particular Senju is the bringer of fortune for them.

Izuna absolutely refuses to believe that.

No, the laughter of the children of the clan is their fortune. The welcome in the faces of his aunts, uncles and cousins is their fortune. Even the cautious aid of their allies is their fortune. Not fucking Senju Tobirama.

Never that Senju.

And even the righteousness of their clan's eternal struggle against them...

He stops kicking at the dirt and glances furtively at the archway again before looking away. That gnawing feeling in his belly increases.

He supposes the eternal struggle isn't eternal anymore.

Oh, he's not a dreamer like his brother. He knows there are still remnants of their once-proud enemies (and they'll just have to hunt them down, one by one), but they are broken and not the force they used to be. They will never again threaten the people he loves.

How strange it is to think that. How strange to know that he will never face a Senju again on the battlefield. That he will never face Tobirama again on the other side of a blade.

He's not sure what he thinks about that.

Tobirama is...

Tobirama was...

They were rivals.

Izuna would spend countless hours practicing...to face Tobirama.

Izuna would spend endless hours honing his techniques...in case Tobirama pulled something tricky.

Izuna would spend days running until he's exhausted...to match Tobirama's speed.

And now Tobirama is nothing.

No, not nothing.

Now Tobirama is...the clan's fortune.

It feels strange, to try to think like that.

It feels like Izuna is missing something.

And he doesn't like it.

Perhaps, if he could just ask father...

But he has not seen much of his father these couple of weeks. First, it was organizing the cages and segregating the Senju captives by where each was to be sold—

(don't think of the crying children)

—and then it was allied clan negotiations.

Madara, who, at 17, is finally allowed to fully participate instead of just transcribe notes, says that the Hagoromo are being very difficult. He says that their allied clan want to claim a greater portion of the spoils because it was their trade partnership with the samurai that finally tipped the scales in their favor.

“They are being ridiculous,” his brother had scoffed. “They should be satisfied with what they gained during the earlier skirmish. It was OUR troops that ended the Senju menace, OUR blood that flowed during the last battle!”

Ah, but even then, Izuna's brother had looked nervously out the window.

The samurai on loan from the Kazanshogun are still camped not more than a few kilometers away, by the banks of the Naka river.

Izuna knows and Madara definitely knows that while bravado is for the home, caution is for the world.

But, Izuna thinks suddenly, the clan negotiations are on hold today, else Madara would not be off in the woods working on his katas.

(And that's something else amiss. Madara has not gone off to the woods to practice katas since the incident with Senju Hashirama all those years ago. Izuna should tell their father, but he has no heart to. He knows his brother mourns for the old friend he has finally lost for good.)

That means his father should be free to give Izuna some more insight as to just why they need to treat Senju Tobirama like some gift from the kami!

He is an obedient son and has always done his filial duty, he thinks as he turns on his heels to head to his father's office. He knows he is. He just needs more information right now.

A short time later, he looks around the empty office in dismay.

He could have sworn...

Asking the older shinobi no mono passing by his father's door also yields no results.

“Ah, Clan Head Tajima is occupied.”

Izuna blinks in confusion.

“Occupied how?”

For some reason, the man blushes. “Just occupied. Now I have to be going. Excuse me.”

And he beat a hasty retreat leaving Izuna to stare at him in wonder.

Curious.

It isn't until Izuna overhears snippets of conversation while he's checking the storehouse (in case their father is doing inventory) when he learns something of use.

“--Tajima with that Senju boy.”

Izuna inhales in surprise.

Tobirama.

Of course.

Their father must be interrogating the Senju for information on the Senju allies.

That is the next logical course of action. The Senju allies are still dangerous, and even though they all hope that the Senju's defeat will have lessened their enthusiasm for war, will have hurried the war-exhaustion that is ever inevitable in these affairs, the Uchiha cannot count on it.

Until the Sarutobi and the Hatake petition the Daimyo for official negotiations, until the Daimyo is called forth to arbitrate a peace settlement, they are still technically at war.

And even though Senju Tobirama is their—honored guest—Izuna has no doubt that his father, pragmatic as he normally is, will be taking every opportunity to extract as much information as possible.

Which means, as a faithful and obedient son, Izuna should be helping him.

With that thought, Izuna turns towards the archway under guard.

...only to be turned away.

“It is against my express orders.”

Izuna frowns.

“And my father gave you those orders?” he asks, disbelieving.

“Yes.”

“I am not untrained,” he rebuts. “I know how to handle myself around prisoners. He won't escape because of me.”

The man looks uncomfortable. “That is not the reason I cannot allow you to pass, young lord.”

“Then what is that reason?”

“--I cannot reveal that either.”

It makes no sense.

Does Izuna's father not trust him? Does he think Izuna incompetent? Or does he think the information to be gleaned from Tobirama too sensitive, too dangerous to fall to him?

He's not sure if he hopes it's the former or the latter.

Seeing the expression on his face, one of the guards seems to have pity.

“Look, I can tell you this much at least...it's got nothing to do with you. The reason Lord Tajima doesn't want you or Madara to go there right now is--”

“Hito, you're not going to disobey Lord Tajima's orders?!”

“Oh hush, Junichi, I'm not saying anything dangerous.”

But before the grizzled old guard could turn back to Izuna, another, very familiar, voice speaks up.

“I should hope not. That would be grounds for punishment.”

“Father!” Izuna exclaims.

Uchiha Tajima looks coldly at the two guards.

“Junichi, fetch the replacement. Hito, report yourself to my office for discipline.”

Hito falls to his knees.

“My lord—“

“See to it.”

“Yes, my lord.”

Bowing, the man climbs to his feet and hurries off.

“Father, I have a question--”

But his father holds up a hand for silence.

“I am very sorry, my son,” his father says, not unkindly. “My duties call to me. Perhaps we can speak after the evening meal tonight?”

Puzzled, but an obedient son as always, Izuna bows his head. In so doing, he notices that his father's haori is askew, as if he threw it on in a hurry, and that his hakama is slightly rumpled, as if...

Izuna's eyes widen in shock, and the apprehension he had been feeling since they brought Senju Tobirama back to the compound, alive, creeps back in full force.

He remembers his father's words from that last battle, but surely he could not mean...surely...

“They and their allies shall hear of his service in my household and in my bed, and they shall lose their will to fight.

That must have been just to dishearten the remaining Senju and to break their spirits. Izuna's father couldn't think of Izuna's rival like that. That is just...

Izuna forces himself to take a breath. And then, when he sees that his father has passed, he makes a decision.

He needs to see for himself.

He will prove to himself that his suspicions are ridiculous, that he is wrong to doubt his father in this way.

With that thought, Izuna darts into the archway, creeping in its shadows, making sure to stay in the twists and turns that reduce visibility. At the next pair of guards, he gives a muttered invocation to the ancestral kami for luck, and then uses his chakra to shroud himself in darkness.

Luckily, none of the clan sensors seem to be scanning at this moment (a breach in security that Izuna would otherwise be concerned about and make a note to correct in the future), and he slips past all four additional pairs of guards.

At the door to the—guest chambers—Izuna hesitates. He needs to time this just right.

If any of the guards should see the door opening...

This is treasonous behavior, he knows.

But Izuna has never been able to handle not knowing. And he is a filial son. He loves his father. He will prove himself wrong.

His eyes narrow as the guards begin rotating.

Now!

Quickly, deftly (he's not as fast as Senju Tobirama, but he's only a hair slower) and silently, he quickly slides open the door and slips in, just as the rotating guards fall back into position.

Good.

And now...

He turns and stops short, eyes widening at the sight in front of him, just beyond the iron bars that belied the room's true nature.

A glimpse of pale skin...

No.

The blooming of purple bruises on slender hips...

No.

The gleam of a familiar white smear between shaking thighs...

NO.

As Izuna looks into barely conscious, drug-glazed crimson eyes, his uneasiness expands to swallow him whole, and he is left shaking in its path as a leaf in a storm.

Chapter Text

He Who Was Once a Friend

Madara works his practice sword furiously. He knows he is expected back before the sun sets, and that he has a few hours at most. It's a rare day that he has off the negotiations...but he can't return just yet. His enemy taunts him even as he thrusts and strikes against it. Blunt sword slashes at the firm flesh, and he adds another mark, and then another, and another, until his enemy is completely scored with the signs of his vicious attack.

Still he does not stop. Still, his opponent will not yield.

Two hours later, Madara lays gasping at the foot of the old, scarred tree. It is scored from the numerous gouges he has laid upon its base. And, although it will heal from his abuse, it will likely carry such marks for the rest of its existence, just like all the other nearby trees Madara has attacked in such a manner over the past several weeks.

Madara drops his practice sword and falls against the tree in a boneless sprawl. He slides around to to lay on his back, fatigue running through his body like his own blood, the bone-tiredness that comes after a good workout soaking into his belly, his calves and his toes...Even his very hair, usually so lively and bristling like the spines of a hedgehog, plasters against his face as limp and listlessly as a wet blanket.

By all rights, he should be enjoying post-training fatigue. He should be enjoying the sweet ache of muscle and the rush of adrenaline fading away to be replaced with comforting warmth.

He feels none of those things.

Rather , there's a pool of—something—that prevents him from truly relaxing. His muscles are still coiled and tense, as tense as the unease inside of his chest.

Madara curls a fist against his closed eyelids.

He's tired. He's tired from the fruitless exercise; he's tired from whacking at a tree endlessly. His muscles burn with strain and if a real enemy were to attack now, he would succumb without even being able to put up a fight.

And yet...

And yet he still somehow feels like he hasn't worked everything out of him. He still feels like yelling and leaping into the air to strike at something--anything. He is full of restlessness, and he doesn't know why.

It's been there since the last battle against the Senju. It's been there since Hashirama--

(His old friend, his mind whispers, and wasn't the other boy so unlucky to have a friend like Madara.)

--died.

No, not died, as if Madara and his clan didn't have a hand in it. He is not some child needing to be coddled, even in the privacy of his own mind, and he will hold himself to the unyielding truth.

Hashirama was cut down, and it is Madara's father who held the kunai, and it is Madara who watched.

And now it is Madara who spends his days laying waste to trees when he can.

He doesn't understand why he's so unsettled.

The outcome was expected, Madara knows. And Hashirama would've been a fool to not consider the possibility (though he often was a fool—foolish and idealistic and impossibly naive...just like Madara himself). They were at war. They were enemies. Of course one of them was going to fall at the other's blade. Of course.

Just...he hadn't thought it would be so soon. He thought it would be in the future. In the far future. Hashirama had seemed so strong. The Senju clan were their enemy and was even stronger than they were (just slightly, just enough). He could never have foreseen the situation with the Kazanshogun, of all people, who the Uchiha don't even have a real relationship with!

Madara swallows.

His fist drops against his head and splays out. He stares up unseeing at the scarred trunk of the tree.

Perhaps he had not wholly put those impossible dreams from his mind. Perhaps he is...weak.

Just, he hadn't thought it would be his own father. And he certainly never expected what would come afterwards to his friend's little brother.

The unease bubbles up in him sharply like a katon overwhelming a suiton, and he cannot help but feel ill.

It's wrong to think so, he knows. Tajima is his father. And he owes him the proper respect, as the man's eldest son. It is his duty.

“Remember son,” he recalls his father intoning. “You are an Uchiha, the greatest clan in Hi no Kuni. And you are our heir. You will always have the clan with you, while you live.”

“The Senju are tricky and treacherous, and I am proud of you for being strong in the face of it! You awoke your Sharingan today, and, one day, you will lead this clan to glory after me.”

“You and Izuna are my pride. Never forget that. And that is why we must fight the Senju. They would seek to tear down the two of you, and I will not let that happen. We fight for the sake of those before us and for the sake of those after us.”

“Your mother would cry tears of joy to see the warriors the two of you have become. Come, let us lead the Uchiha to victory! We will ensure the survival of our clan and our children!”

And he loves his father.

But...

Senju Tobirama had been fast gaining a reputation as a veritable Oni of the Senju clan, Madara rationalizes. He is deadly and has killed many of Madara's clansmen. He is a full-grown shinobi of their enemy clan, and he owes no tenderness to any of them. Indeed, it would be treason to look upon him with any sort of softness or consideration.

But...

And, anyways, the Senju serves the clan as the red-eyed gift bestowed upon them by their ancestral kami. His father is simply making sure that the Senju fulfills that duty adequately.

But the nausea does not dissipate, and Madara knows it's wrong, but he can't help the horror that courses through him. The red-eyed Senju is younger than Madara is. He's the same age as Izuna. He's...Hashirama's little brother.

That's the core of the matter, isn't it, he asks himself. Despite his declarations over the years, despite his resolve, he still thinks of his old friend. He still misses Hashirama.

They shared a dream, he remembers, an impossible wish.

“This will be the headquarters for our village!”

“It'll be a place where kids will never have to kill each other again!”

“No kid will ever have to experience the horrors of the battlefield ever again!”

They were so idealistic back then. Just two boys, tired of losing their little brothers, making a wish by an ancient river. An impossible wish, for peace, for a stop to sacrificing their youngest for the sake of their oldest, for the ability to protect their little brothers.

It's now a dream that can no longer come true.

It is dead, dead, dead!

Hashirama is dead. And Madara has put that dream out of his mind. He has! Even if his traitorous heart keeps remembering it.

But...he can still see that child with the awful bowl-cut hair, his big smile unwavering, full of optimism and naivete. He can still see the grown shinobi that boy would become trying to meet Madara's eyes on the battlefield even as they fought on opposite sides.

And he can still see his friend screaming as Madara's clan dragged his little brother away. He had screamed until Madara's father ended his life with his kunai.

His father. His battle-hardened, brilliant, proud father. Proud of Madara, proud of Izuna, proud of the Uchiha clan!

His friend. His tender-hearted, rambunctious friend with the tremulous smile, who dreamed of protecting little brothers and who died at Madara's father's hand!

With sudden energy, Madara leaps to his feet, grabs his practice sword and begins hacking at the tree again.

They are Uchiha. Hashirama was Senju. There could be no other outcome!

He puts another deep gouge in the bark.

Hashirama had screamed for his little brother, Madara's father had ripped open his throat with his kunai, and Madara had watched silently, neither ideal friend nor ideal son!

Another gash on the already marred surface.

Hashirama had seen what would happen and struggled until the kunai bit deep into his jugular. And even then he struggled, gurgling, choking on his own blood, and Madara...Madara didn't know what to do. He didn't know what he should do.

His sword swings wild on the next twack, and his knuckles graze the roughened bark. He drops his sword to the ground, and he's shaking, staring at the raw skin on his hand with wild eyes.

Hashirama's scream. Hashirama's death. Hashirama's little brother.

His father's pride, his father's approval, his father's love.

He thinks to that old dream, to that river where they once skipped stones and talked of protecting little brothers and...

He thinks to his father teaching him how to wield a blade, his father putting Madara and Izuna and the clan before all else, his father fighting the Senju for Madara and Izuna and...

He...he can't. He just can't.

“I'm sorry, Hashirama,” he whispers to the tree. “I'm sorry that I'm not the friend you thought I was. I'm sorry that--”

--that Tobirama is now theirs. To serve as his father and the elders saw fit.

And he's sorry that he chooses his family and will always choose his family.

It's right, he tells himself. It's the right thing to do.

The old scriptures would agree, but he doesn't know if he's managed to convince himself.

Later as dusk is setting in and as he's returning to the compound, he sees his father leaving the secure tunnel. He sees his father adjusting his haori with a satisfied air about him, and he sees the wrinkles on his father's hakama.

His stomach turns.

Remember your duty, he tells himself. Remember who you owe allegiance to. Remember who you chose! Old friendships are dead and gone, and you are a proud member of the Uchiha clan and a proud son of your father!

But he doesn't feel proud. He feels--dirty.

“Father,” he says, trying to keep the nausea from his face.

“Madara,” his father says warmly. As if he weren't disheveled. As if he didn't stink with the heavy scent of sex. As if he hadn't just been visiting his—attentions--on their captive. As if he hadn't just been—using—a shinobi no mono the same age as Izuna.

As Izuna!

No, he reminds himself. It is not Izuna. It is Tobirama, and you owe him nothing.

And he owes his father everything.

“You train yourself too much these days, my son,” his father says once he spies the scrapes on Madara's hand.

With a gentle but firm hand, Tajima takes Madara's wounded hand and dabs at it with a handkerchief.

“You should go get that properly treated before the evening meal.”

“Of course, father,” Madara says.

He watches his father's careful ministrations and...he doesn't know if he should pull away.

“Izuna has said he has some questions he wants to ask afterwards. I'm sorry, my son, but I won't be able to join you until much later to discuss the situation with the Hagoromo.”

The Hagoromo. What Madara should be focusing on.

Not these...these semi-treasonous thoughts.

“I understand father.”

His father puts away the handkerchief and lets go of his hand.

“I know these negotiations has been difficult for you, my son. But bear with it for just a little bit longer. You've done well, and I am going to suggest that you take leadership of one of our war troops from now on.”

What?

“Father, I couldn't,” Madara says. He must look as shocked as he feels for his father snorts in amusement.

“It hasn't escaped anyone, your efforts in the negotiation and your prowess on the battlefield. It is time, now, to prove your strategy as well. And you can only do that without me to direct you.”

He has never faced a battlefield without his father besides him. Without his father directing the strategy.

“Father I can't possibly be ready.”

His father smiles.

“Do not sell your abilities short. You have proven your worth many times, particularly this last battle with the Senju. And it is time that you progress.”

Madara shakes at the mention of the Senju. His emotions swirl in confusion inside of his chest.

Hashirama...

“You are my son, my eldest son. You survived where others did not, and you do your mother and I proud. I trust you to continue to make us proud.”

The emotions coalesce, and he feels clarity for the first time in weeks.

He will make his father proud.

He'll be the perfect son. The perfect Uchiha heir.

He'll put these thoughts from his mind. Just like he put that long-ago, out-of-reach dream from his mind.

He chooses his family, and he always will.

Chapter Text

Dreams of Escape

Tobirama drifts in a sea of muted sensations, the press of a kunai-roughened hand upon his thighs, the cold slide of syrupy bitterness in his mouth, thick smoke wafting into his nostrils, stiff metal gripping his wrists and the brief glimpse of malevolent spinning red eyes before his head falls back, too heavy for him to lift.

Why is his head so heavy? Why is he staring up at the chains holding his wrists up? Why--?

Cold on his inner thighs, a hard fingernail scraping along the edge of his muscle, following the line down, down, down.

Down to his...down underneath his...

Pressure, and he gasps, arching away from it, pressing into the unyielding stone wall behind him.

No! He mustn't. He mustn't...

Why? What mustn't he do? Who is 'he?'

The pressure builds, and he can faintly register—fingers? Yes, fingers, and they are cold. Coated in...coated in...something.

Something smooth and slick and cold and...

A sharp pain, but it mutes away before he can grasp it, before he can examine it with any scrutiny, and he's left drifting again, the wet slide of callus-covered fingers within him.

He tries to think on it, tries to understand what is happening and why the wooden rafters above him are blurring like water and why there is a warm wet slide of a raindrop down his cheekbones, but he can't hold the thought.

His mind is spinning, whirling, floating. He is aimless and wandering.

Large palms press his legs further apart, and he has a moment to register their warmth on the goosebumps along his skin before something large, something hard, something blunt pushes into him. He cries out, the pain bringing him one brief, one glorious, one horrifying moment of clarity, before he's pulled back under, helpless to do anything but watch the chains shake above him.

A smooth glide, and he's opened, opened and so, so full and...

A thought occurs to him. Why are the chains clinking rhythmically above him? What is this...this pressure within him? Why are the rafters blurring as more rain slides down his face?

His mouth is dry. His mouth is dry, and he wants some water, just some water to, to...

It's no good. The thought slides away like water he's parched for.

He'll just have to watch the dust flying as the world moves around him, a powerful push and pull, the fragile raft he's on swaying as powerful waves rock against him, shaking him in tune to guttural grunts and gasps and...

And it's gone again.

He can't, he can't focus. He's floating, and he's rocking, and the pressure is building within him, and there's dark chuckles and grunts and moans in his ear, but he can't...

He's never been so confused, so helpless in his life. He should be terrified. He should be fighting. But the moment he tries, his thoughts scatter like the dust motes in the air, like the filthy words falling around him as blood on a battlefield.

The pressure builds in him like a crescendo, and he can't, he can't control it. It wrenches out of his body like a tidal wave and even though he is a master of Suiton, it slips from him, all the control he had worked so hard for all his life, slipping like water through a sieve and out of the grasp of his reaching fingers and...

A warmth blooms within him, and the world stops shaking. The chains still in their clinking, and the pressure withdraws. He's left empty and cold. Roughened fingers caress his lips, a rough tongue licks his cheek, and a dark chuckle brushes against his ear.

He...he should kick out. He, he should...should...

It falls away from him again, and his head lolls forward as he's pulled up.

He's so dizzy, the world is spinning, spinning, spinning, even though he can no longer see the blurred rafters or the dull metal of the chains.

W—why is there a bare shoulder beneath his nose? Why is there a callused hand stroking his bare back? Why is there a dark voice in his ear?

“--so very pliant, pretty Senju.”

Senju. Yes, he is Senju. He is...he is...

“I wonder, can Butsuma see me doing this to you? Can he see me taking his pretty sweet son for my own?”

A bolt of anger strikes through his body, chasing the lethargy, the fogginess in his mind just long enough for him to--

“Shit!”

A sharp pain flowers across his cheek, and he's pushed away.

“Heh, still conscious enough to bite. I shall be more careful in the future.”

He's left to float on the drifting sea, the hated warm pool slowly draining out of him.

He hopes he will sink.

-~&~-

His mind slowly returns after weeks of being fed the sweet-bitter drug. He's not sure how many weeks it takes for his body to become acclimated, for the dose to be no longer enough to keep him weak and pliant, but however many it is, it is too long.

Too long for him to have been subject to Uchiha Tajima's demands upon his body. Too long for him to be helpless, mind wandering and body yielding as the murderer of his father, brother and cousin took...as that murderer forced him to...

His hands clench into fists, his long nails digging into the soft flesh of his palm. The rage rises within him, chasing away the last remaining remnants still clouding his mind.

He remembers everything, and hot tears spill down his cheek as he thinks about...about...

How dare they?!

How dare he?!

Those hands that held the kunai that slashed through his beloved brother's throat...those hands that wielded the ninjato that stabbed his father's heart...those hands that carelessly sliced through his cousin's neck as if she were a pig at the slaughter...

Those same hands had pushed into his body! Those same hands had been the first to know him, to open his body to use, to--!

The hate nearly overwhelms him, and he could scream with the thick revulsion roiling through his body. If he didn't have the seals locking away his chakra etched into his shackles and his chains and inked into his very skin, he would have pulled every bit of moisture out of the air and created a veritable tsunami with it.

To have to service his enemies! To have Uchiha Tajima take his pleasure from his body. He cannot bear it. He cannot bear the thought of—the thought of satisfying that monster in any way. He cannot bear the thought of the same hands that are stained with the blood of his kin on him.

He wants to scream and tear down each and every Uchiha he comes across and drown them in a tidal wave of despair until they suffocate as he's suffocating. Until they choke on their own blood, and all he can hear from them are wet, dying gurgles. He wants to rip out Tajima's heart and feed it to the dogs while the man is still alive. He wants to open his belly, slowly, one excruciating centimeter by excruciating centimeter, until the man begs him for mercy. And he'll pull his intestines out and wind it about the trees and leave him to die slowly as the carrion birds feed on him.

But no. He can't.

Control, he wills himself, control.

He's still trapped, and if they realize he's lucid, if they see him aware, they'll increase the dose of whatever it is they're drugging him with, or change it so that he has no resistance to it. And he'll again be a passive, docile doll for them to use and slake their lusts on.

The thought is unbearable.

He must endure. He must endure until they make a mistake...and then he'll escape.

And then he'll revenge himself upon them.

-~&~-

The opportunity comes sooner than he would have anticipated. Two of the Uchiha guards wander into his cage and look down on his carefully slack face with contempt.

(Stare at the wall. Stare at the wall as if he's still drugged, still helpless and absolutely incapable of paying attention to them.)

“Seems such a pity that Tajima keeps exclusive use of him. I have a mind to pay the Senju back for killing Aya.”

“Are you crazy? If Tajima finds out--”

“--he won't. We'll just clean up the evidence.”

“The ancestral kami won't be happy.”

“The ancestral kami assigned him for use by the Uchiha clan. Aren't we also of the clan? Why shouldn't we use him? Why does only the clan head get to partake?”

“This is a bad idea. Remember what happened to--”

“--I'm not stupid enough to leave marks. I'll be careful. And you can have him right after--”

“--no! I'm not going to get drawn into this. You do what you want, but I'm going back to my post.”

One of them leaves (good, easier to overwhelm just the one remaining), and Tobirama hears the other unlocking the cage doors and stepping inside.

For a moment, nothing happens, and Tobirama wonders if the man's lost his nerve, if he's lost his chance.

Then his deep voice fills the little room. “You really are something to look at, aren't you, Senju scum?”

Large hands cup his chin, and a blunt finger rubs against his lips and pushes into his mouth.

The taste is vile, and he wants to bite off the invading finger, but...

Patience, he councils himself. It's not the time. He needs the man to be closer. He'll only get one shot at it, and he needs to make it count.

“So docile. Tajima must have really enjoyed himself to visit you as often as he does.”

Don't react, he tells himself. Don't react. Not yet.

“Hm...those red eyes are something. They remind me of a doll's eyes, glassy and pretty. I bet you don't have a single thought in your head now, do you? Just a thing for clan head to sink his cock into.”

A pause.

Then, “are you really meant to serve our clan and bring us fortune?”

The man draws close, his long dark hair falling forward and brushing Tobirama's face. His hands trail down his neck, skim over his chest, come to rest on his legs. He leans over as he draws Tobirama's legs apart and--

Now!

A sharp kick to the crotch, and the pain is enough that his assailant can't even scream out, bending forward harshly in a choked gasp...which puts the man's head right in reach. Quickly, Tobirama yanks his hands forward as much as the chains will allow (just enough, just what he needs) to dig into hateful eyes and rip out the hated black eyes. And as the man opens his mouth to scream, he slices his long nails across that taut throat, digging his fingers into tendon and flesh and rips it all out.

Blood erupts and sprays all over his face, and the Uchiha falls forward, gurgling, twitching, choking, dying.

Good.

Now to get the key off the man's belt.

Carefully, Tobirama raises one bare leg up against the man, maneuvering so that he can just slide the cool metal between his big and second toes. Slowly, ever so slowly, he brings his legs up, mentally thanking Megumi-san for having drilled into him the importance of flexibility. It's an awkward angle, but, with patience and ignoring the pain in his joints, he can just almost slide his foot over his chained hands.

Almost...so close...and...

There!

He nearly cries from joy as he grasps the key in his hand.

Quickly, he slots the key into one cuff, and then the other, rubbing his wrists to help with the circulation after being chained up for so long.

He's so close to freedom, he can almost taste it.

But it isn't here yet. He needs to learn to walk again after weeks of inactivity, needs to rework his muscles if he wants to truly escape.

He breathes a prayer to his ancestral kami. With luck, that bastard Tajima won't come to check in on him for a while. With luck...he'll locate some weapons and some clothes. With luck, the other guard will just think his dead companion is enjoying Tobirama's body and won't come to check in on him.

So much can go wrong, but he has no choice.

Please, he prays, please let this succeed.

Chapter Text

Too Valuable to Give Up

In the opposite corner of the Uchiha compound, Madara reads over the terms laid out in front of him for what seems like the thousandth time. With a snarl, he hurls the scroll against the wall, watching it bounce off and roll underneath the desk with narrowed eyes.

“Despicable eaters of fetid putrid carrion!”

Two months of reading through the Hagoromo's terms, two months of trying to work out a resolution that would be acceptable to both their allies and themselves...and still the obstinate fools refuse to budge. Proceeds from working the farmlands and rights to over half the mines? Demands to a third of the contracts with the skilled labor client clans—and isn't that galling, that they have the nerve to demand it of Madara's clan as if the Hagoromo were the senior, more prestigious clan in the partnership instead of the Uchiha. And a polite request for guardianship over Senju Tobirama.

They might as well ask the Uchiha to roll over, belly up, and offering their throats to the ravenous swords of their so-called allies!

He lets his head fall to his still raised hand and rakes it through his hair, clenching midway when he thinks of just why they must negotiate in the first place: the samurai. The samurai on loan from the Kazanshogun is still encamped not far from their compound, and while they have reassurances of peace, Madara has transcribed enough negotiations to know that if they end up embroiled in a conflict with the Hagoromo, those 'friendly' samurai would suddenly turn very, very hostile.

It's the damn iron, it's always about the damn iron.

And that's exactly why they can't give in to their erstwhile allies' 'requests.' The farmlands are important—more food is never a bad thing and the surplus can be used for trade with Kaze—but the Hagoromo's current iron deposits are why the Kazanshogun tipped the war to the Uchiha-Hagoromo alliance to begin with. If they also ended up controlling the majority of the Senju mines...it wouldn't be a monopoly, but it would be close.

Too much power in the hands of the Hagoromo, and if they ever choose to turn on the Uchiha...

A hand tugs at his sleeve, and Madara half-turns his face to see the worried gaze of Izuna.

His younger brother sets the plate of onigiri he had brought at Madara's elbow.

“Aniki? Are the negotiations truly so impossible?” Slender hands reach up to his neck and begin to massage down, through to his shoulders.

Madara groans. He hadn't realized just how cramped he felt, sitting there reading and rereading that scroll for hours. He reaches up with his right hand and lays it on Izuna's on his shoulder. He closes his eyes and leans his head back to better enjoy the pressure smoothing out the sore knots.

“They are as difficult as always and seek to gain all the advantage they can,” he admits ruefully.

“They still ask for the iron mines?”

Madara chuckles. Clearly he has ranted about that enough times for Izuna to have memorized it. “And Senju Tobirama, of course.”

As relaxed as he is under Izuna's ministrations, he doesn't notice the clever hands stilling.

“A-aniki...”

“Hm?”

“Would it not help the negotiations if we agree to one of their terms? Perhaps giving up the Senju...”

His eyes snap open. He searches his brother's face carefully, noting the clouded expression, the downcast eyes refusing to meet his own.

“Izuna...” He licks his lips. “What's this about? You know we can't give up Senju Tobirama. He's important to our clan.”

His brother worries his lip. “Is he, though, Aniki? He's an enemy, he's killed many of us before. We should wash our hands of him before he visits misfortune on us.”

“Izuna!” he exclaims in shock. “He has red eyes! You know what father said.”

Eyes as dark as his own slide away to stare at the far wall, and Madara purses his lips. He can't let this continue. Who knows what kind of trouble Izuna would get in if anyone were to hear him. He must correct this, as a good Aniki.

He reaches up and turns that fine face towards his own. “Look at me, Izuna,” he commands. “I want to know what this is really about. You weren't so displeased about it all when we first brought him back, just after the first couple of weeks. What happened?”

And when his brother just stares at him silently, he says, “I've seen you getting more and more uncomfortable, Izuna. What's going on?”

His brother hesitates, then wets his lips nervously. “I know that father is u-using him,” he admits. “S-sexually.”

Madara stiffens.

Oh.

“I-it...he's...he's my rival.”

“Was,” Madara corrects absently.

Izuna growls. “But that's just it! It's one thing if my rival were killed in combat or executed afterwards, but to do this...”

He shudders, and Madara can't help but remember just how young Izuna is. The same age as Senju Tobirama, in fact. And the queasiness that had been banked in him rises at the thought. Tajima, his father, and...a boy the same age as Izuna.

No, he clears those thoughts from his mind forcefully. He can't spend time dwelling on them, and he can't let Izuna do so either.

“Listen to me, Izuna,” he says sternly. “You're right that he's an enemy...and that's why we must keep him close. He's important to our clan, but not just because of the ancestral kami. Izuna...”

He hesitates—how to explain this to a boy who's still thinking about strategy as simply what must be done in a single battle, whose conception of strategy is the currently the same as his conception of tactics? Izuna is a short-term genius, but he hasn't had the same training that Madara had, sat in on all those meetings with clan heads, allies and even enemies, dutifully transcribing everything down and learning of motivations through it all.

“...think about what would happen if we lose him. Yes, father would be removed from his influence, and we might feel a little better about it all, but think how that would affect the clan! Think of why the Hagoromo want him in the first place!”

To his credit, Izuna does as he asks, his brow furrowing in thought.

“Senju is the...last of the main line,” he begins hesitantly. “And that means that...that if he's alive, he inherits the lands and properties that the Daimyo granted to the Senju.”

“And businesses,” Madara adds.

“And businesses...but why can't we just kill him then? If he's not alive...”

Madara shakes his head. “There are other claimants, among the Hatake, among the Uzumaki and probably even beyond that we know nothing about.”

He stands then and grasps Izuna's shoulders earnestly. “It isn't just that, however. Why do the Hagoromo want him? What was that other thing that they want?”

Izuna's eyes fly wide as comprehension enters them. “Wait...the iron mines are part of those businesses aren't they?”

Madara smiles. They'll make a strategist out of Izuna yet—or at least teach him to recognize the political moves of others. “Exactly. This is all to get a hold of the iron mines. And before you ask why we can't just offload your former rival to someone else, think about this...how much danger would we be in if the samurai from Kazan chose to attack?”

Izuna gulps. “A lot,” he whispers.

Madara nods. “They are a formidable force, and the only reason they came here was to secure the iron trade with the Hagoromo. But since we hold Senju Tobirama and the Senju iron mines right now...”

Izuna gets it. “We have room to negotiate with Kazan ourselves! They'll likely try to negotiate with both of us and won't be likely to attack! They want access to the iron mines!”

“Not quite access,” Madara corrects again, “but access to the fruits of the labor. They're too far geographically to want to sustain mining operations themselves. All they care about is having relations with the clan that holds that iron supply. Before, the Senju mines were the largest, then the Hagoromo, with only 5% left to the Nara-Shika-Cho alliance. But now that Senju Tobirama and the Senju mines are in our grasp, we're likely to be the biggest.”

“And giving Senju up means that the Hagoromo will control most of the iron eventually, even if not now, which means that if our alliance dissolves, we'll be at a sharp disadvantage once our weapons need to be repaired and replaced,” Izuna finishes unhappily.

Madara sighs. “Izuna, I know this is unpalatable...and I feel the same way. But I don't see that we have another choice. For the good of the clan. For our father.”

Izuna grimaces.

“And who knows,” Madara continues. “It just might be that the old myths are true as well. Perhaps the Senju really will bring us luck and fortune.”

Izuna's still frowning. “I'm not happy about it. I'm not happy at all.”

“Neither am I,” Madara admits, and forces himself not to think of Hashirama. He's resolved that. He has. His loyalty is to his clan and his father, now and forever.

-~&~-

Hours later, he's still working on the wording of the negotiations, trying to find something for the Hagoromo so that they would stop requesting the iron mines and Senju Tobirama. What else could they want? Or perhaps...should he recommend they dissolve the alliance? If they can send a missive to the Kazanshogun and let her know that it is the Uchiha that hold most of the iron, she may prefer to diversify her relationships and withdraw the samurai.

Or she may order an attack.

He rubs his eyes tiredly, sapped of all strength. He doesn't want to make a mistake here. A mistake could be costly, and this is the biggest responsibility his father has given to him thus far. A stepping stone to leading the troops all by himself. Elder Toshiro had insisted on it.

His father had been so proud he'd been given this duty.

“It's a real chance to prove yourself in a way you've never done before. This means Elder Toshiro has real confidence in you and wants to raise you higher and convey even more responsibilities in the future!”

“But what if I make the wrong decision?”

“You won't. I know you, my son, and you have a good head on your shoulders. You've observed and learned all these years, and it's finally your turn to play a larger role, not just as a warrior, but as a commander, as a leader. You won't make a mistake. I have faith in you, my son.”

He couldn't let his father down...but if only it weren't so tiresome!

No.

Patience!

His father is doing the same himself, working on preemptively addressing Hi no Kuni's Daimyo and heading off the request for turning over Senju Tobirama and the Senju lands and businesses that they all expect any day now.

Madara doesn't get it.

How does his father continue doing it all these years? Negotiations and politicking, dealing not just with one measly clan like Madara is, but with all their enemies, their allies and their feudal lord as well. Just the Hagoromo is giving him a migraine...how much worse must his father have it?

As preoccupied as he is with his thoughts and the scroll, he does not notice the presence behind him until it is much too late.

As he pushes his chair back, intent on taking a short break and finally try those onigiri his little brother had so thoughtfully left him, he feels alien hands on him. Before he can look for his blade to protect him—shit, shit, shit...he left his weapons on the other table!—before he can even turn, his hair is violently yanked bank, exposing his the vulnerable line of his throat. And even as he opens his mouth to yell, to cry, to scream, he feels the prick of the sharp edge of a kunai against his throat.

He stills, understanding the threat at once.

A firm body wedges itself behind his chair, thin but powerful arms locking his own in, trapping him between chair and blade.

“Don't make a sound, Uchiha. Don't make any move to escape, or I will slit your throat like the dogs you are.”

That voice. He knows that voice. It's...

His eyes fly open, and he stares up in shock into the blazing, furious eyes of Senju Tobirama, as blood-red as the Sharingan and just as vicious.

Chapter Text

The Captor Becomes the Captured

Tobirama clutches his chains and forces his arms to hold on as he painfully drags himself to his feet, grimacing at the shaking of his legs, the burn in his calves and the way his knees just want to buckle inwards and leave him in a useless lump on the ground. Every tiny, baby step feels like controlling a water dragon for the first time.

It's a struggle to do the simplest of things and Chichi-ue isn't here to nod approvingly, Anija isn't around to encourage him and heal his injuries, and Touka Ane-ue can't goad him on.

He's alone as he's never been before.

It's terrifying, the immense weight of it. Clan is protection and support, a group of people to be surrounded by and to trust one's back to. Comrades to cheer the victories and regroup with after defeats. Companions and family and the closest bonds that people of his world will ever know.

The pressure of this knowledge makes every fall he takes as he tries to force his legs under him all the more heavy. It makes the shaking in his legs more unbearable. It triples the awful fatigue in him.

And every attempt to rise again, he wonders if he should just give up, just give in. A lone wolf does not survive.

But every single time, he remembers his father being run through with Tajima's sword, Hashirama's throat being slit almost to the bone, Touka being tossed aside as so much trash...and his enemy inside of him, grunting in his ear, enjoying him.

No.

He can't give up, he won't give up.

To stay here and not even make an attempt at revenge? To stay here and let Uchiha Tajima have him?

He may be a lone wolf now...but he will at least bring them down, all of them, or die trying. A lone wolf can still do enough damage.

And so he forces his feet under him, he forces his stuff limbs to move, forces his trembling legs to hold and bear his weight.

It still takes hours. After being held captive and drugged insensate for however many weeks he's been in here, he must fight for every step, for every few minutes he stays upright without clutching at the chains and the wall, for the ability move as he used to. It takes hours...but he manages it. He remembers how to move properly, and then even more hours later, he remembers something of his old efficiency of motion.

It's not quite the grace he had, it's not the speed he's used to, it's not the skill that he had spent years training and honing—and he could kill the Uchiha for that alone, for the lost muscle memory—but it's something...more than what he had hours prior and definitely more than what he had when he couldn't tell up from down, left from right or what was happening to him.

His hands clench into a fist at the memory, and he makes a promise to himself that, one day, he'll rip out Tajima's cock and feed it to him.

But for now...

He tests a silent kata with the slain guard's ninjato.

He's still not quite there yet, but it will have to do. He's already tarried long enough and, sooner or later, the Uchiha will come looking for their missing guard. He's been lucky so far that they haven't already come. Best not to push it.

After all...the kami have not been favoring him or his family lately.

-~&~-

It's luck that the guards are changing their shifts just as he's trying to exit the tunnel, making it relatively easy for him to knock them out—dying gurgles make too much noise and so he can't slit their throats no matter how much he wants to. It's luck that it's already late dusk, and even Tobirama's normally bad eyesight is on par with anyone who might be his enemy...for why would the Uchiha have their sharingan on in the safety of their own compound?

...And it's luck that his rival walks past the tunnel muttering about his Aniki just before Tobirama exits it.

He sees Izuna and immediately flattens himself against the side of the corridor wall.

“The treaties can wait...Aniki can't keep working himself like this...he'll get sick...”

The Uchiha is off-guard, focused only on thoughts of Madara, and it would be so easy to follow him. To follow and end his life and...And then Izuna's words catches up to his brain.

Madara. He must have just come here after visiting the Uchiha clan heir. Madara is working himself hard on a treaty, which means he won't be paying attention to his surroundings and...

Tobirama swallows.

He's torn.

He's torn between following Izuna and crushing him—

(He'd thought better of his rival. He'd thought Izuna was honorable at the least, had some modicum of decency. He'd thought the Uchiha would have at least killed him cleanly instead of...)

—and heading right to where Izuna had obviously come from and revenging himself on the man's more valuable older brother.

(It would be justice for Anija. Anija, who always insisted that Madara wasn't so bad, that he wanted peace and would deal with his clan honestly and that he was trustworthy...! Justice for Anija who trusted the bastard and kept looking to him even when the Uchiha had attacked...and Madara did nothing to help his old friend. He let Tobirama's Anija die like an animal being slaughtered.)

Izuna or Madara? The younger brother or the older?

He's torn.

-~&~-

In the end, his choice is made for him.

“...and the Daimyo will make a move soon. The Sarutobi are already petitioning him on behalf of the Senju boy...”

“The Sarutobi? They are neutral. Why would they...?”

“Their neutrality is exactly why the Daimyo would consider it! It's a power grab! They want to foster him until he comes of age, and he might allow it because they won't use him against us in revenge, like the Hatake would!”

“And the Hatake have already put in a petition for him. But this thing with the Sarutobi must be new...or I would have heard of it before now.”

“It is. The news just arrived...I was with Tajima-sama when he received the news from our spies in the capital.”

“This is bad...The Sarutobi are fairly strong. We've only just recovering from the war and...”

Tobirama withdraws further into his hiding spot and stews over the exchange between the two enemy shinobi no mono.

So...he has more options than he thought.

If he can escape the compound fully...and make his way to the Hatake or even the Sarutobi...

He'll have more resources with either of them, particularly the stronger Sarutobi. And if they are willing to back his claim... Why choose between Izuna or Madara when he can bring his wrath to bear upon their entire clan?

And to escape the compound, he needs...

-~&~-

...Madara holds deathly still, wary of the kunai held firmly against his throat.

“Why haven't you killed me already?” he asks, voice low. He mustn't startle the Senju. Go with his instructions for now and, if there's an opportunity, break free.

Don't do anything rash, he reminds himself. The Senju has been in captivity until now...he's out of practice and will make a mistake at some point.

The blade slides just a little, enough so that a thin trickle of blood seeps out. Enough to sting. Not enough to actually slit his throat.

A warning then.

“You're going to remove the seals on me.”

“No.”

“Wrong answer.”

The blade slides a little more.

“Wait,” Madara calls out, frantically.

The blade stills.

“I mean I can't. I don't know how.”

“I will instruct you.”

Madara makes a frustrated noise. Stall, he needs to stall. Someone will come to check on him soon, if not his father, then Izuna. If he unseals Senju Tobirama and the Senju is let loose upon his unsuspecting clan...

It would be a bloodbath.

“Even then, I couldn't. The materials are all with my father.”

Silence as the Senju clearly considers this.

“Then you will tell me about the security you have in the compound...and you will direct me out. And to make sure you don't try to trick me, I will be bringing you along.” As if to underscore his point, he draws the blade deeper into Madara's throat, the sharp metal biting into his throat and adding to the thin trickle of blood.

“Alright,” he agrees.

It's...not ideal, but Madara's faced worse. He'll figure something out. And he can only do that if he's alive. If he's dead...

He can't make his father proud if he's dead. He can't protect his little brother.

“I'll help you out.”

For now.

-~&~-

Senju Tobirama is frighteningly competent, even though he's been kept helpless and non-active for months now. And Madara...Madara can only be grateful that it was the Uchiha who proved victorious in their final battle. Imagining his little brother facing a more grown up version of this...

Izuna would probably lose at some point. His little brother is good, but there's something about the Senju's intensity and focus and sheer determination...and the way he's caught all of Madara's attempts to get free of him.

“Try that again, and you won't have a hand.”

Yeah, this is definitely someone whose matured version he doesn't want his little brother to face.

“I wasn't trying anything,” Madara protests, surreptitiously testing the bonds.

How embarrassing. Bound by his own rope, fingers held apart and prevented from using seals by his own finger binds, his own high quality ninjato digging into the curve of his back, the extra short-term chakra seals his father had given him stuck on his back...!

He should've had an opportunity to escape his captor's hold by now. He would've...if only Senju Tobirama hadn't anticipated every single one of his moves. It's like the Senju can read his mind.

If only he can get the paper seals off. If he could get them off and face his captor and then use his sharingan on him...

“I can hear you plotting. Stop it or we'll see how well you plot when I turn you into a vegetable with your own sword.”

Madara gulps. Perhaps the Senju really is reading his mind. For someone who is no older than Izuna, he's certainly intimidating enough.

“You're not much like your own brother, are you?” he says abruptly, without thinking.

It raises his captor's hackles immediately.

“And what would you know of my brother?” the Senju hisses. You call yourself his friend and yet you betrayed him. You were never worth his time.”

Madara shifts uncomfortably. “You know very well that we are enemies,” he says, almost regretfully. “Hashirama may have been my friend in the past, but he knew my loyalty is to my clan. And I knew his was to his clan as well. I'm sure he's long since forgotten me—”

His captor snarls. “He never forgot you. Even to the last, he wanted that blasted peace with you...and you killed him for it, you and those animals you call a clan, you—you—”

Senju Tobirama is sputtering, his rage too deep to allow him the words. The Senju presses the ninjato more firmly into Madara's back and, not for the first time, Madara wonders if he'll die here and now.

If he does die...he'll regret not having fulfilled his father's expectations, that he's proven to not be as worthy as his father had thought him. And that he won't be able to protect Izuna anymore. And that an enraged Senju Tobirama will be loosed upon his unprepared clan.

But perhaps...perhaps...

(Perhaps Hashirama will finally forgive him, for standing by and allowing him to die, for allowing his little brother to be taken.)

“Move,” the Senju finally commands. “Direct me out of here—no tricks!—and I just might allow you to live.”

Chapter Text

Mercy

To Madara's dismay, the compound is unusually deserted (they must have finally have received word from the capital), and they manage to sneak out of the Uchiha compound with little difficulty. As they slip through one of the gates at the outer wall—guard rotation is a mistake, and if Madara gets out of this alive, he'll make sure they have overlapping shifts in the future—Madara wonders if he'll be soon killed.

(It's what he would do if he were Senju. He's outlived his usefulness now, now that they've exited the compound. He would only be a liability for the young man.)

He turns to face his captor. If he's to be killed, then he would prefer to face it head on, rather than cut down from behind like a coward.

Crimson red eyes glare at him. “Move,” their owner says, and, oh...so he's not to be killed immediately. How strange.

He stalls for a moment, worrying his lip between his teeth. He doesn't want to leave. The odds that he'll be rescued will drop so much more if he leaves, but if he doesn't...

He looks again at the ninjato threatening him, looks at the steadiness of the hand that holds it—a part of him marvels at the Senju's ability to still wield a weapon after weeks of stagnation—and, yeah...this is not a battle he should take. The blade leaves no question as to what Senju would do to him if he refused to obey Senju's orders.

(It's not much of a choice, but almost guaranteed death is still better than guaranteed death. If everyone is truly discussing the news from the capital, then his father will surely send someone to fetch him. And once they find that he's not where he's supposed to be...)

(There's still a chance he'll be rescued. A slim one, but one all the same.)

Reluctantly, he forces his legs to move. Perhaps if he obeys really, really slowly and buys time for everyone to notice his absence...

“Stall any more, and your life ends here.”

Another look at the sharp blade and the focused eyes, and he decides against it.

Senju wants him to move? He'll fucking move.

As they creep along in the shadows, Senju's hand on his leash at all times, Madara casts one last look at his home before he's roughly shoved along.

He has no doubt that, unless his kin somehow locates his position in the wilderness, he'll be dead once they reach whatever hidey hole Senju is going towards.

Kami-sama, at least let Senju keep his body whole if he decides to kill him. He won't be able to properly have his funerary rites if he's cut up into little pieces...

-~&~-

Madara slumps onto the floor of the cave, all his strength having left him the moment Senju pushed him into the cave and went to secure the opening.

He may not be dead yet...but he has no doubt Senju will momentarily return to complete the deed.

Bitter disappointment rises in his throat. His clan hasn't found him. Otousan has not rescued him. Only the kami can intervene now.

He manages to push himself upright, even with bound arms and murmurs a soft prayer.

...If his ancestral kami intervenes...if any kami hears and intervenes...

At barely 18, he's not ready to die yet. But if he should die, he would at least like to die on his feet, a blade in his hand rather than have his throat slit like pigs at the slaughter.

So focused is he on his prayers, he nearly falls over at the dry voice behind him. “They won't save you, you know. Your fate is up to me to decide.”

Madara grits his teeth, willing himself to display a calm he doesn't feel, willing himself to look up at the Senju with impassive unaffected eyes.

If I'm to die, I will not grovel or shame my clan in any way, he thinks to himself.

The last little bit of defiance. The last bit of his pride as an Uchiha.

Senju takes one look at him and snarls. “Do you think you can pretend to be so above me? You and your ilk, who have wronged me in every manner?! Do you think you have any right to dignity now?”

He clenches his hand, as if he would like nothing else than to strangle Madara right then and there.

Strangulation. Useful. He'll need to get close to do that. Close enough that Madara could possibly overpower him, a knee to the groin, rolling his heavier bulk on top of Senju's, all valid options.

Madara licks his lips, molding his face into the perfect mask of superior arrogance, hoping to goad the Senju into attacking—it's a chance, just give him a chance. But, to his disappointment, Senju instead spits on his face, and then turns from him.

“Anija was foolish to hold you in such high regard. You are all honourless curs, undeserving of even his boot upon your face.”

That stings Madara into speech.

“How dare you?” he hisses. “We have only done what any other enemy would have done—what you yourselves would have done.”

To call his clan honourless—he will not have it. He will not have them insulted, even if it gets him cut down.

Senju Tobirama whirls around again to face him, hatred like red fire in his eyes, his face twisted in a rictus of pain. “None of our other enemies used to be Anija's best friend! None of our enemies were ever held in such esteem. None of our other enemies betrayed Anija and didn't even let him get the dignity of death in combat.”

His lips draw back from his teeth in a snarl. “Your father slaughtered him like he was an animal. Your father slaughtered Touka too, and the others. And you murdered even our youngest children, you vile cur.”

Madara swallows, seeing the shadow of his best friend in that rage. Hashirama had always cared about the children, about little brothers lost to war. That was his reason, his impetus for the dreams about the village in the first place.

His best friend...

Madara breathes heavily, all the anger having rushed out of him. It is true he served him most miserably. His throat had been slit so deeply...and he hadn't done a thing to stop it.

No, his loyalties belong to his father and his clan. Not to the Senju. Not to Hashirama.

He's already decided. He is a loyal Uchiha. He is a filial son.

...He knows this, but it doesn't stop him from wishing he could have given his friend a kinder death. A death where he did not have to watch his brother torn from him while the bones of his throat were brutally exposed to the cold air.

On that front, Madara deserves every one of his enemy's barbs.

But on the other front...

Murdered their youngest children? After Otousan had detailed just how difficult Elder Isao had been...

Suddenly he realizes.

How could he have forgotten? Senju had been kept drugged, insensate the entire time he'd been held captive. The first time he would have had a chance to see what had happened would have been during his escape. And by that time, all the captives had been long sold off, not even the dried blood of the ones who resisted remaining to stain the ground where the cages had been.

He wouldn't know that the youngest, most vulnerable children had been sold to kinder fates.

“Do not pretend to be better than or even equal to any of our other enemies, Uchiha. They are not so low as you!”

In this then, he may defend himself and his clan. In this, he may claw back some of their honour.

“The children are not yet dead,” he blurts out.

Red eyes widen and then narrow in disbelief. “Explain,” comes the curt command, his captor's voice suddenly as cold and emotionless as ice.

Madara shivers. Senju Tobirama wasn't very much like his brother at all.

“We sold them—”

Furious fire engulfs those eyes, and Madara almost shrinks away from him.

Almost. He is still a shinobi no mono, he reminds himself. A proud ninja of the Uchiha clan.

“One of our elders has a soft spot for young children,” he admits. “He argued in favor of them, and we sold them off to become domestic servants...gentle work. And some to childless allies who cannot have children of their own.”

He sees the incredulity in those red eyes, and he is not surprised. He can scarce believe it himself.

“You must think me a gullible fool, to believe such a story.”

No, Madara doesn't. After all...Hashirama is already dead.

(And his heart aches at thinking of his old friend that way.)

“Believe it or don't. It matters little to a dead man, doesn't it? But I could not go without at least trying to credit my clan.”

“Dead man—ah.” The tension suddenly dissipates, and Senju sheathes his blade. “I'm not going to kill you.”

Wait, what?

“What,” Madara echoes his thoughts. “Why in the world not?”

Immediately, he kicks himself mentally. Fool, as if he needed to encourage Senju Tobirama to kill him. Clearly, since it looks like he's not going to die, he's going to have to train himself to develop a better filter between brain and mouth.

-~&~-

Indeed, Tobirama thinks to himself, ignoring Madara's chagrined expression. Why not?

He had been intending to. Once they were out of view of the Uchiha compound, and it became unlikely that the Uchiha would become notified if they happened to stumble across Madara's body, he had been intending on meteing his vengeance upon the older boy.

A part of him still urges him to do so now.

He thinks of his clansmen. He thinks of Chichi-ue and Touka Ane-ue. He thinks of the children taken, of the families no doubt ripped apart. He thinks of what he endured.

And he thinks of Anija.

Anija...

Anija would probably cry to see him like this, to see them like this. His former best friend and his little brother, all the pretenses of their youth ripped away.

...Perhaps he doesn't want to kill him because his Anija would be disappointed in him. And he doesn't want to disappoint his brother in the Pure Lands the way he's disappointed him in life.

What else does he have at this point?

And Madara is still useful. Still can be useful.

If what he says about the young children is true...if they still live...

He's not strong enough, right now, to rescue them. He won't be strong enough for a long time. But if he manages to stay free of the Uchiha...if he can get to the Hatake or the Sarutobi...

“Your clan keeps records of these sales, do they not,” he asks Madara.

The other man looks discomfited by the change in topic.

“Yes,” he says after a brief moment in thought. “We do. Our treasurer is fairly meticulous.”

Then, if he becomes strong enough, no, when he becomes strong enough...

There's a chance to rescue them. The Senju clan isn't dead.

“I should kill you,” he says. “But your news has stayed my hand. Your life in return for the lives of our youngest.”

He's gratified to see Madara's eyes widen in shock. It isn't much, but he'll get his enjoyment from somewhere, even something so inconsequential as surprising his enemy.

-~&~-

Madara feels his eyes widen and...

Oh. He didn't expect that at all.

Unbidden, a thought comes to him then, nonsensical in its timing. He's really not that different from Hashirama, is he? Outwardly different, an air of coldness where Hashirama exuded warmth, but inside...they beat with the same heart.

And it's discomfiting, to know that Hashirama's little brother is similar to him after all. The Oni of the Senju. Young, but with already a bloodthirsty name for himself...

Ah, but didn't Hashirama have the same reputation by mere dent of his strength? Facing someone so strong is terrifying no matter the temperament, and so men make stories about their fearsome opponents. Except Tobirama, while strong, wasn't quite as strong as Hashirama...so he made himself ruthless on the battlefield where Hashirama could allow more leniency and mercy.

But through it all, both brothers had the same blood and almost the same convictions, didn't they? Just like he and Izuna...

The same heart as his elder brother, Madara's best friend in the past, and they had used him most dishonorably.

Chapter Text

Revenge is the Will to Live

His chakra is still bound by the seals etched into his skin—please don't be permanent—and so he must rely on his poor sight (but excellent hearing) to see if they've discovered him. His skin prickles from the dark gaze he can almost feel burning into the back of his neck, following him about as he makes the rounds. And while it would be normal—indeed, expected—of any prisoner, this gaze is neither hostile nor fearful.

No, Madara seems to have gotten beyond the fear Tobirama could almost taste on him and instead seemed to have settled into some kind of...morose observation.

It makes no sense, but he'd caught the young man's gaze once before he could look away—and how pathetic was it that he still instinctively wanted to flinch away from an Uchiha's gaze even when said Uchiha was sealed and bound?—and he thought he saw a kind of wonderment in them. A curiosity, perhaps. A softness even, of all things. Certainly not anything that was expected or normal.

Tobirama doesn't know exactly what he said that he didn't already say when he first took Madara hostage but...

Great. Apparently the Uchiha he took as a captive is daft and possibly broken.

“I should have gone for the other one,” he mutters to himself.

Madara shifts and watches him curiously. “The other what?”

Tobirama stares at him until he begins to fidget uncomfortably. It's petty, he knows, but with what's happened to his clan and family at the Uchiha's hands...

Kami-sama can forgive a little pettiness. And his particular ancestral kami would.

“The other Uchiha, of course. Your brother. The sane one.”

He takes an odd sort of satisfaction from the snarl that suddenly twists that elegant face.

“Don't you dare,” Madara growls. “If you lay a single finger on him...”

He snarls back in return. “As if you Uchiha have any moral high ground in that area! You murdered my brother, my father, my cousin, scores of my clan—”

“I told you, we didn't kill the young children!”

“And is that the only decency you can claim? Only that out of everything you did do?” He scoffs at the Uchiha. “Oh, I am made utterly speechless by your show of honor and decency! Truly, a clan to be lauded and applauded!”

And if Madara looks away suddenly, the guilt in his eyes and posture almost palpable, well...that is just, isn't it? That is only an inkling, a tiny sliver of the misery that Tobirama has endured over several weeks. Ten thousand years of such guilt, such discomfort would not be enough to pay Tobirama and his clan back. Ten thousand years of payment wouldn't bring back Anija...or Chichi-ue...or Ane-ue.

Or any of the undoubtedly hundreds of clansmen that did die.

The skilled ones capable of fighting back were undoubtedly killed, but what of the rest? What of the sizable population that weren't so skilled, or were still learning? Were they all killed, save the young children? Or were they sold off into servitude? Or, and he swallows, almost sick to his stomach as he thinks this, were they used in the same manner as he? Bedslaves to be made sport of, except while his station reserved him for the clan head's use, they would have been distributed among the rank and file?

If so, he vows to return and slaughter every single Uchiha who touched one of them.

“What happened to the rest?” He suddenly asks into the uneasy silence.

Madara jerks up in surprise, his eyes wide in confusion.

“The rest?”

He makes an impatient gesture towards himself. “The rest of my clan. What happened to all of them, besides the young children sold to be groomed as domestic servants?” And he will uncover the records of where they were sent and save them as well. If the households that had bought them treated them well, they will be spared. If not...they will see his blade as well.

“Oh. Well, some were sent to a few neighboring countries and some—”

Neighboring countries. Not executed then. Not bedslaves.

He relaxes somewhat. “Which neighboring countries and in what capacity were they sent?”

Madara shrugs as much as he is able to with his hands still bound and spread behind his back. “Well, the quarries of...” His voice trails of as he realizes what it is that he just said.

Tobirama can feel himself tense again.

Quarries. He had a mission once to Tsuchi no Kuni to eliminate a quickly growing competitor of one of the major exporting families. He's seen the conditions of the slaves there firsthand.

(Men crushed by giant slabs of stone, their voices piteous and wailing if the stone had not fully crushed them to death upon impact. Men fallen off the side of the large cliffs, their misery and suffering even greater if they only suffered multiple fractures and a broken spine rather than being killed outright. Men falling into the water and dashed against the rocks. Men being whipped until their backs were a raw bloody mess for dropping their pulling rope out of exhaustion...)

The stone masons were treated fairly well, but then the end goal was to retain their skill, their use and their value. Private slaves had it far worse, and if they were owned by the state government itself, the situation was worse still. They were the criminals, the political prisoners...the men captured from neighboring countries' wars who were bought cheaply in the understanding that they would all be eliminated. They were there only for their brute strength and that strength would be used until they had none left to give.

He digs his nails into the palm of his hands.

“So you went them off to certain death,” he says softly, “and benefited financially from their pain and suffering while doing so.”

Madara says nothing, and the silence grows between them once again.

-~&~-

Madara can't say he spent so much time thinking about what it meant that they sold off their captives in such ways. In the past, they've always been part of clans he didn't spend too much time thinking about, except to help strategize on how to defeat them. But now...

This is Hashirama's clan. Hashirama's people. Hashirama's family.

And Hashirama's little brother staring at him with those accusing red eyes.

He doesn't know what to say to that last statement. Deny it, possibly, except that he knows it is probably true. No, he thinks...it must be true. Why else would all the elders have agreed to it otherwise? The Senju are too dangerous to be allowed alive. The children are a different matter, being so young they will not even remember this incident. And Tobirama himself is a special case. But the grown men and women and the older children? Potential revenge attacks.

It's not so much that he regrets it...there is no way his clan could have ever let them live out the rest of their lives in peace, not unless they wanted to doom his own clan and cause trouble for them in the future, but he does regret that it is Hashirama's clan. He does regret that it isn't a clean death, the way he would hope for if it were his clan in this position.

(There is a reason so many clan heads and high ranking members and even warriors commit suicide rather than surrender. The shame of it all...the uncertainty of what would happen past that initial moment...surely it must be worse than a clean death.)

Still, saying that to the last Senju alive of the main family seems...inadvisable. And so Madara says nothing, stewing as the oppressive silence grows and grows.

“And are the quarries of Tsuchi no Kuni the only destination?” the gruff voice interrupts his thoughts.

He wets his lip and thinks about the best way to respond...the way that will least likely end in himself being decapitated by his own ninjato. “No,” he says with a wince. “The ones past puberty were...”

Red eyes flash, and Madara swears he sees a flash of steel before it disappears back into its sheath. “What was done to them?!”

He gulps. “The mines,” he says, proud of himself for how he kept his voice even. “They were sold to the mines.”

Full pink lips thin and pull back from his teeth. “So. They are sold into certain death as well. And yet you count yourself as a clan with honor.”

There's really nothing Madara can say to rebut any of this. A clan with honor would have killed them all cleanly, when they were first captured, save the non-combatants.

“Make no mistake, Uchiha. Only the thought of the children stays my hand. Only them. You would be dead if not for them.”

And Madara bows his head, accepting the rebuke for what it is...except that it doesn't seem right somehow. “You already know what happened to them, and you already know that I don't know where they were sent. Why are you keeping me alive?”

Some part of himself kicks himself for effectively making the argument that his enemy should kill him right then and there, but the larger part is staring as those blood-red eyes widen suddenly and...

Oh. He's seen this before.

“Hashirama!” “Hashirama, why didn't you kill him? You could have so easily killed him and—”

“Because there is no need to. The damage is already done, and killing him won't undo it. And it would have made you sad. I know how much you value clan...”

“You didn't take an opportunity to kill an enemy just because it would make me sad?”

“I didn't take an opportunity to take needless revenge that would accomplish nothing AND make you sad. If it could have changed things, made things better, then I absolutely would have. But for something so needless...well, I'm not that kind of person!”

“...You're a terrible shinobi no mono, you know that?”

“Hey!”

Madara swallows and watches Tobirama's face carefully. “It's to do with your brother, isn't it? The damage is already done, and you don't want to make your brother sad...and there is perhaps the faintest chance that you could use me as a hostage, even though you know the odds of getting out of here with a valuable bargaining chip is still quite low.”

The boy scoffs and turns away. “Don't be ridiculous,” is his gruff reply, but just before he fully turns away, Madara can see the glint of tears in those intriguing jeweled eyes.

Hashirama's little brother stares at the dirt and exposed stone of the cave wall, his back turned towards him, and Madara...Madara is mortified to feel something uncurl within his breast. Something he really doesn't want to feel for his enemy.

“He wouldn't be sad, you know,” he says, and then bites his lip immediately. What is he doing?

Stupid, stupid, stupid.

But it seems like his mouth has run away with him, because he can't stop the words from escaping.

“You're his beloved little brother, and he truly loved you, adored you beyond all others. The friendship he had with me is—”

A thing of the past. A thing that should never have happened. A thing that ultimately brought grief for all involved.

“Don't toy with me, Uchiha. Don't give me your false sympathies. I am in mood to entertain them.”

That stings.

“They aren't false!”

The Senju whirls back around, his tears fully dried now, one feathery white brow lifted in disbelief. “Am I to believe them sincere? Do you truly think me so naive and gullible and stupid?”

Kami save him from overly distrustful Senju. (He forcefully ignores the voice in his head that points out that Senju Tobirama has plenty of valid reasons to distrust he and his kin specifically.)

“No,” he growls. “I just think you're Hashirama's little brother! And I'm sorry...”

He chokes on his words—finally! His mouth has done enough damage.

Red eyes narrow. “You're sorry?”

He swallows and forces out the words caught in his throat. “I'm sorry that Hashirama's little brother suffered. And I'm sorry that we were the hand that crafted your suffering.” But, just in case the Senju gets the wrong idea... “I'm not sorry that we won...but I wish we could have been kinder to your brother. And yourself.”

Then he closes his eyes because...

Well, he doesn't want to look at the Senju when he really kills him this time.

Instead, the Senju spits out—“Sorry doesn't bring him back”—and spins around once more, eyes fixed on the cave wall.

And they sit in silence some more.

-~&~-

An hour passes, two, and somehow Madara falls asleep. Falls asleep and dreams of Hashirama reaching out to him, begging him to save his little brother, to let his little brother go and—

A shout. “I found them!”

Madara instantly comes awake, blinking the cobwebs of sleep from his mind, his back aching at the uncomfortable slouch he'd been forced to sleep in, still tied up on the dirt floor. He sees Senju Tobirama running to him from the entrance. Running towards him with blade in hand and a murderous (but still considering, still resigned) expression on his face, the blade raising up, up, up, and Madara prepares himself for the first stab of pain, for his own blade to slide through his ribs and find his heart and...

The Senju is tackled. Madara's ninjato flies from that outstretched hand, its aim thrown wide and to the side, skidding on the dirt floor and coming to a rest at the far side of the wall. Tobirama grapples with Hikaku, practically howling and snarling and spitting like a wild animal, getting in a few good kicks that makes Madara squirm in sympathy before more of his clansmen rush in and pin the Senju to the ground.

“Madara-sama!” He is promptly untied, his bonds slit with a kunai, the temporary seal ripped off of him, and Madara sighs as his chakra comes back, sighs as he's able to infuse his chakra and feel again. And the first thing he feels is Senju Tobirama's black grief and defeat and utter despair.

“Madara-sama, you are not hurt?”

Madara shakes his head, knowing that he's very lucky to still be alive. If it were anyone else but Senju Tobirama, Hashirama's little brother...

He turns to look at the young man, now restrained and bound even as he was, and he watches as Aoi, Hikaku's sister and named for the blue sheen in her hair, strikes him in retaliation for the blows he gave Hikaku. He quickly moves to intercede.

“Enough. He treated me well enough considering the circumstances. You should hold your anger. And you and Hikaku and the others should scout the perimeter, to make sure he's not clandestinely meeting with any of our enemies.”

Aoi sneers, but accepts his words and the two of them head back out the cave.

He turns back to Tobirama...whose red eyes are staring up at him with desperation. “Madara,” he gasps. “Madara, you said before that you felt sorry for what had happened. You felt that you couldn't have been kinder.”

He licks his lips. “You can be kinder now.”

Madara shakes his head, bemused. “I can't let you go. I'm sorry.”

A firm shake of the head. “No! I don't expect that either. But I'd rather die than go back to be Tajima's whore. Kill me now. Give me that clean death you had denied me. And promise me...promise me the children won't be mistreated.”

-~&~-

It's the only thing he can ask for. He's failed.

(A failure, always a failure. Never enough. Not smart enough. Not fast enough. Not powerful enough. His clan lay in ashes and so does his hopes of saving them. But in this, at least, there's a chance. He'll pay with his own blood and maybe the kami will smile upon him finally.)

Madara looks at him, his hand gripping the same ninjato Tobirama had taken off of him the previous day, the same ninjato that Tobirama had held him captive with, and Tobirama hopes once more. Just this once, let his hopes come true. Just this once...

But his hopes, as with all previous times, are dashed.

Madara shakes his head. “I will not kill you.”

And Tobirama slumps at the Uchiha heir's feet, all his strength having left him. “Then your apologies are for naught because you doom me nonetheless.”

Callus-covered hands grip his chin suddenly, forcing him to look up into black eyes filled with an emotion he can't name and...

“No. You want revenge? You want to save the children of your clan? Then live. Live and gain the strength to claw yourself back, if you can. Asking for death like that? That is the cowards way out, and you are no coward, Senju Tobirama. Live, if you can. And maybe the kami will grant your request.”

Chapter Text

The Planted Seeds

His days are a blur of pain and rage.

“Did you think to escape me so easily, Senju whore?”

He tried struggling at first, but Uchiha Tajima is bigger, stronger, unbound, unsealed and heavier than he is. The only thing he has that the other man doesn't is...

The flat of a hand strikes his face, the force of it belying the method, and he falls against the cell walls—the old guards had been replaced with more experienced ones, the one death he carried out deemed a just payment for trying to poach from the clan head to begin with (so much for Uchiha clan solidarity), the shackles strengthened and enforced and even more seals layered on top to drain his energy as well as his chakra.

“Do you bare your teeth at me, dog? Are you angry at me? Angry at yourself for failing to escape, for having my beloved son as a hostage and still managing to be defeated?”

Anger, yes. Uchiha Tajima may also be angry, but it is nothing compared to the sheer rage that boils in Tobirama's veins. It's the only thing keeping him somewhat upright, preventing him from collapsing altogether with the combined drain on his chakra and on his natural energy stores. It's the only thing preventing him from screaming when Tajima forces himself on top of him, forces himself into him. Anger...and dreams of ripping this man's cock out and stuffing it down his throat, forcing him to either eat it or choke on it—he's not sure which he prefers.

Because if he didn't feel anger, if he didn't dream about tearing Tajima apart with his bare hands, he would succumb to the overwhelming despair that, even now, seeks to drag him down into its hold. He would lie down and just...not eat. Not drink. Just sleep.

It's so, so tempting...He's tried fighting. He's even succeeded for a time. He tried to get away and to get revenge for everything that's been done to him and his, but—and here, a knot forms in his belly that he can't make go away no matter what he does—what use is it all? What is his reward? He's been caught again. He's been beaten for his attempt, whipped for his so-called temerity. He's been paraded about the compound, displayed to the jeers and taunts of his enemies gathered around—

(The always thinking, always on part of his brain notices the discomfort on Madara's face, the grim disgust on Izuna's, the narrowed eyes of the foreign samurai as they witnessed his humiliation, the shocked eyes of someone who was obviously only a messenger and not of the Uchiha at all. He's too tired, too humiliated, too downtrodden to use this now, but his mind files it away, just in case.)

—He's been forced upon again, without even the drugs that Tajima had been using to keep him pliant before, and his body aches and aches (but not as much as his chest, not as much as his heart), and he just wants to lay down and give up.

The kami are obviously not on his side. Why even struggle?

But even now...even on his back with that loathsome man grunting in his ear, filling him with his seed, even tied down and so very, very tired, something doesn't quite let him rest.

And that something is...

-~&~-

“Are you here to take your fill of me as well? Are you going to be as disgusting a creature as that wretch you call a father?”

The Uchiha heir says nothing but pushes a plate of grilled fish across to him.

He snorts. “If you're looking to drug me, you needn't waste such good food. I'm sure they'll be happy to force the—poppy milk, I'm guessing—down my throat with plain rice.”

“I'm not here to drug you or to rape you.”

“Ah, good to see that you're admitting exactly what it is that you and yours are doing. Am I now to presume you'll have a miraculous change of heart? Come to let me out?” He's mocking, but there's some part of him that hopes so very much that's the case.

Please...kami-sama. Let that miracle happen. Let his enemy be stupid and idiotic and let him out.

As always, his hopes are dashed. He can't say he's surprised. When has anything gone his way in the past several...months? A year? He doesn't even know how long he's been a prisoner.

“No. I'm not here to do that either. I'm sorry, and I know you don't believe me, but I really am sorry that this had to happen—”

“—and you are right. I don't believe you. You know why? Because it doesn't have to happen. You can still kill me now and spare me all of this. You know, be the honorable enemy Anija always claimed you were?”

He's bitter. He'll be the first to admit that, but locked away like this, bitterness is all he has. Bitterness and anger and rage, and he's not giving any of that up.

“And I told you...that's the coward's way out. You should live and fight.”

He laughs. “Live and fight? Do you hear yourself? Try living when a man your father's age, your enemy who murdered your entire clan is on top of you. Try fighting when you're tied down and forced to give succor to people you would much prefer to stab instead. Experience that...and we can talk.”

But Madara doesn't give up for some reason. He returns, day after day, and Tobirama...

Tobirama is tired. Tobirama is lonely. Tobirama just wants to see a face that's not here to brutalize him, not here to parade him about like spoils to his entire clan, not here to take even more from him than what's already been taken. But he doesn't know why the Uchiha heir always comes back. He doesn't know why he once brought his younger brother along too.

(And when he did, Tobirama can barely meet his eyes. It's one thing to be brought so low in front of Tajima and Madara, but Izuna was his rival, was his equal. To have fallen so far...the shame is almost overwhelming. It's the first and last time that Madara pulled Izuna in here to see him, and Tobirama is almost, almost thankful to him for it.)

“Why do you come here to deliver my food? Shouldn't they be using someone less important for that?”

“I volunteered.”

And this surprises him. “Oh? Come to gloat aout my situation then?”

Madara doesn't rise to the bait, unfortunately. (He never does.) “You know that's not true. No, the reason I volunteered is because I feel responsible.”

Responsible? Hah. “I know a way you can meet your responsibilities,” he says, encouraging.

The dark head shakes. “And you also know that I'm not going to kill you. Not only is that against our beliefs—”

“—and I've told you those beliefs that red-eyed people were born to serve you are stupid and ridiculous—”

“—and yet we hold them. Add to that the fact that I think your brother's spirit would come down here to murder me...”

It's this last that, perhaps, more than any other, stings Tobirama like nothing else.

“The brother whose trust and friendship you betrayed? The brother who you let be slaughtered like a pig?”

“I couldn't...I couldn't do anything else. I chose my clan all those years ago at the river. Just as your brother did.”

But that was the thing, wasn't it? Hashirama hadn't chosen them. He'd still kept his dreams alive, his dreams of building a village with this man. He'd gone easy on them in battles, hoping to keep open that door of reconciliation all the way to the very end...where this man's father slit his throat all the way to the bone.

He turns away from the dark pleading eyes, turns his back to the man and faces the wall instead. “You're nothing compared to Anija. He's worth more than ten thousand of you.”

The quiet voice behind him only says, “I know...but that's not going to stop me. This is my penance to him.”

He shifts and turns to regard the strange, strange man. “Delivering my food is penance?”

Madara slides over the plate—rice porridge with fish this time—and shakes his head. “No. I'm going to make sure you survive. I'm going to make sure you live and...”

He growls and throws the meal back at Madara. “I told you, I don't want to live! I have nothing left to live for! My brother is dead. My father is dead. My cousin is dead. Half my clan is dead and the other half are enslaved and in chains and slotted to die before the year is out! Even revenge is beyond my grasp. Tell me, Uchiha!”

He lunges at the man, only his shackles keeping him from grasping him through the bars.

“Tell me, Uchiha, what do I have to live for? What possible reason could I want to live?”

Uchiha Madara calmly stands, wipes off as much of the rice from his face and hair as possible and then turns to leave. Before he does, he looks over his shoulder and, “the children of your clan aren't quite out of your grasp, you know? If you settle in your position...if you accept what has happened and move on and be the valuable prisoner that you konw you are...father might allow you more freedoms. You might be able to bring your children home, at the least. Make sure they are well cared for. Make sure they have something of a future. It's been done before, in the past, where a valuable hostage eventually became an accepted and trusted part of a clan and worked hard to better the lives of his people in their new lives.”

He pauses, as if considering, before throwing open the door. His parting words—“I thought you cared what happened to the children. I thought you wanted to save them”—haunt Tobirama's days and nights. And no matter how much he wants to lie down and sleep and give up...

Those words won't let him.

Uchiha Madara, his enemy, is right. There is still something for him to struggle for.

-~&~-

It's no easier on him for knowing it, for knowing that he has options. It means he has to struggle, to tolerate the touches on his body, to tolerate the man who murdered his family taunting him, enjoying him, breaking him.

Or letting him think that he broke him.

“Please,” he cries out, pushing that ever present revulsion, the ever raging anger deep within his belly, letting none of it show on his face. He must do this, he must. He must convince the man or...

“Please,” he sobs and allows a tear, two tears, to roll down his cheeks.

The man stops mid-thrust, and a callused grasps his chin and forces him to look into suspicious black eyes.

The children, he thinks, and forces himself into a delicate shudder, as if too terrified and pained to do anything else.

“Have you seen the error of your ways, finally, my pet? After the beatings, the whippings and days of this...have you finally broken to my hand?”

He stifles a sob and nods, hiding his eyes under his lashes as if ashamed (don't pull away, if you pull away, he'll know). “I-I have learned.”

“Hmm...I cannot believe you without proof.” The organ buried inside him shifts, and he cries out again, piteously.

“W-what...what proof do you require? M-my lord,” he gasps out.

That hated face smiles awfully at him. “Exactly what we're doing right now. Fuck yourself on me...and I'll consider this the first proof that I need.”

His eyes flare open, and for a moment, the anger overwhelms him so much that he thinks he can snap the bindings on him, reach out and pluck those hated eyes from that head. To ask such a thing...to require such a thing...The hatred he feels for this man burns inside him as nothing has ever done so before.

“F-fuck myself...”

“Yes, little Senju.” The hands gripping his hips leave him, and the man leans back, suddenly boneless and relaxed, as if he hadn't a single care in the world. “Fuck yourself on me, and I'll consider going easier on you. And if you don't...well, that means you aren't quite broken, are you?”

Kami-sama damn this man to all the torments known to beast, man and spirit! He'll have his revenge, someday. He'll rescue the children.

...and he'll play this foul game to the end.

“As you wish. My lord.”

Chapter Text

A Sense of Unease

It's beyond obvious now to anyone with eyes just what is happening.

He knew.

He knew ever since he snuck in to see the other boy earlier, before his escape. But then he put it out from his mind because he could. Because it was his father, and his old rival, and he didn't want to think about it, didn't want to acknowledge it.

Because to think on it would be to think on the specifics of what is happening, of imagining his father—strong, loyal, honorable, loving—on top of someone his own age, someone he's known for almost half his life and who he's faced on the other side of a battlefield. The thought is revolting, and so he put it from his mind and focused on other things instead.

Other things like his Aniki, and the upcoming treaties and how hard his Aniki was working. Madara always worked too hard on such things, and if Izuna didn't take care of him, he'd forget to eat and waste away. And so he worked on his own jutsu and techniques, brought his brother food when he was nose deep in those dusty scrolls and made sure Aniki had everything he needed to make a successful first treaty.

(If the treaty is successful, then Aniki would be allowed to lead his own squad next, independent of their father. And he had been so excited about the possibility of proving himself, of proving his strength as an Uchiha, as a grown Uchiha.)

Izuna turned deaf ears and blind eyes to the situation on hand, and it led to their captive escaping, killing one of the guards—thief, the others whispered of him, thief who would steal from the clan head and taste the forbidden fruit himself—and taking his beloved Aniki captive.

It is mere fortuitous circumstance that Hikaku and Aoi found them, it is mere happenstance that the Senju still had his chakra sealed away and was unable to fight back against the pair of siblings. It is mere luck that Senju Tobirama didn't already kill Aniki by the time they were found.

(Aniki says that the Senju is kinder, is gentler than their clan thinks, that he is not unlike his own elder brother in that regard. Izuna thinks his brother has gone mad. Senju Tobirama has done what Senju Tobirama has always done—whatever is most expedient to get the result he wanted. That it did not pan out this time is not proof of his kind heart or whatever it is that Aniki babbles about.)

He should have said something back then, turned his father from their prisoner. If Senju Tobirama had been killed as was proper when they first caught him, Aniki would never have been put in danger (and Izuna would never need think about his rival and his father...together). If Senju Tobirama had been put to the sword even after Izuna had discovered what is his use is, then the near disaster would still have been averted. But instead, he turned his eyes from it and closed his ears. Because he was too cowardly, too timid, to say something to his father.

And now he is expected to do the same again. Only this time, there is no subterfuge, no pretense as to what the Senju is being kept for. And now...the consequences might be even worse.

He is not blind. He saw the messenger of the Daimyo arrive right as Izuna's father (was this really his father, this jeering man with his twisted mouth, was this really the man who used to watch over Izuna when he complained of night terrors and taught him ways to survive the battlefield intact?) put Izuna's rival in a cage, naked and on display, and paraded him about in the streets of the compound. He saw the man's face as the remaining Senju heir was shouted at, laughed by the crowd of Uchiha brethren, men and women mocking his use.

It's not good. Aniki says to be quiet, but how can he? The messenger left in such a hurry after that, dropping off his message and then practically running out of the compound, and Izuna has no doubt that the Daimyo will have a new message for them, a new demand that they may not dare to refuse.

The message sits in his father's office, crumpled where Tajima had read it and thrown it against the wall in a fit of anger. Aniki looks grim whenever Izuna asks, and so he doesn't, but the rumors are already going around, that the Daimyo demands Senju Tobirama's safe delivery to the capitol, so that the main Senju line can be preserved, as well as the return of the lands that were gotten with the aid of foreigners.

His clan won't agree. Senju Tobirama notwithstanding, the lands and the properties are one of the reasons they still fight to begin with. The value and power they can derive from holding them, from holding onto the profits from the mining activities, with sole access to the client farmer clans to provide food and the trapping clans to provide the necessary fur and leathers for their gear. Not to mention their sole tie with the samurai...

The samurai.

Another problem that this mess has caused. They are still encamped within a day's march, and a few members were in attendance that day that Senju Tobirama was paraded around.

Izuna bites his lip at the memory, a dread he cannot name forming deep in the pit of his belly.

They looked no happier than the messenger at what was going on with the last Senju heir. And if Izuna's clan doesn't keep a hold onto the Senju iron mines, then he has no doubt the samurai's proximity would soon become a liability they can't afford.

Aniki does not see it that way.

“I don't like them any better than you do, Izuna, but after the last missive from the Daimyo, they are our insurance. The Daimyo wants them gone, but if they leave, I have no doubt the Daimyo will gather the Fire Monks and the neutral clans—who are already chomping at the bit to eliminate us after we just gained such lands and power, let's not forget—and eliminate us unless we turn over the Senju lands, properties, businesses and Senju Tobirama besides. You know neither father nor the Elder Council are likely to turn over any of those, particularly not the properties and businesses. So, as much as it pains me to admit it, we need the samurai here, in close proximity.”

“But Aniki,” Izuna says, biting his lower lip in distress (a habit he's never quite broken from childhood). “If they should attack...”

But Madara only shakes his head at that. “As long as we hold the mines, they won't. They want that iron too badly, and they don't want to mine it themselves. They need us as much as we need them right now.”

It makes sense, in a way that Izuna really, really wishes it didn't. If the samurai had direct control over the mines, the Fire Daimyo would be obligated to take steps, to prevent such a valuable resource from falling into foreign hands. And so the Kaganshogun needs an intermediary, a local intermediary, to do the mining and sell the iron to them.

As long as they get iron, then what do they care?

Except that they do. Izuna can feel it.

He saw it on the faces of the samurai that day. The distaste. That look about as if wondering how honorable their allies were and if better alliances can be gotten elsewhere.

The samurai are honorable in a different way than shinobi no mono, and Izuna fears, no, is terrified that this strategic alliance will bankfire in his clan's face.

Which is why he's trying to convince his father to give into this one part of the Daimyo's demands and turn over Senju Tobirama (that or kill him, Izuna doesn't really care which).

Senju Tobirama is dangerous to their clan's security. Whether it's his father's growing obsession with the other boy or the precarious position his being alive and in their clan's hold puts them all in, he mustn't stay with them any longer!

(He doesn't know why he knows. He just does. And if some part of it is because he looks at Senju Tobirama and sees someone he respected, once upon a time, sees a fellow shinobi no mono he used to measure his worth against, well...no one needs to know that.)

His father won't listen.

“No.”

“Father, please...”

“I said no, Izuna.”

“But...!”

Strong hands grab onto his shoulders, forcing his body up from where he's prostrated himself and black eyes look into his own (was it his imagination or was there a flicker of suspicion deep in those dark depths, dark depths that had held nothing but love for him and for Aniki before?).

“Izuna, our beliefs, our rituals, our strategic position even!”

“Hang our beliefs! Father, you always said to be practical, to put practical concerns above superstition, even if that superstition is deeply held. Why has this changed? Senju Tobirama is dangerous. To you especially. Please turn him over...it would be politically expedient even!”

His father's voice goes still. “Politically expedient?”

Caught up in his fervor, Izuna does not notice. “Yes! I mean no disrespect, but giving the Daimyo this one thing would surely have the man back off on the rest? And the samurai look upon us with disgust with how we treat our prisoners of war. Surely this can only improve their opinion, make it less likely that they seek to stab us in the back?”

He swallows, wetting his suddenly dry lips. “You know how the samurai are, father. They put their misguided notions of honor above normal considerations. They did not seem pleased to see how we treat Senju Tobirama, and so surely washing our hands of him can only be to our benefit.”

Tajima continues looking at Izuna with those still eyes. “You seem to be overly concerned about Senju Tobirama's impact on our clan, but haven't thought about how reduced power should he leave our control and fall under another clan's control...or worse yet, the Daimyo himself.”

Izuna shakes his head. “I have. And that's why I think that, if we don't turn him over for those reasons, then killing him would be the best option. That way, he's removed as a danger to us and he won't be used against us either.”

His father sighs at that, all the coldness gone out of his body. “Killing him? I suppose that old rivalry is still clouding your thinking, even now.”

That stings.

“Father,” Izuna says again, grinding his teeth at the...the condescension he's been met with. If only his father would take him seriously. If only his father would listen. “It's not my old rivalry. If we kill him, no one else could use him, no one else would have an excuse to tear the Senju assets away from us, the samurai wouldn't be itching to drive a dagger in our backs anymore and—”

“—and the Daimyo would still demand the return of the lands and properties. That's what he's really after, my son. He wants those assets to be under feudal control, his control, not clan control. Senju Tobirama is merely an afterthought, an excuse to gather the neutral clans.”

Izuna wrings his hand in frustration. Why will his father not listen? “Then should we not remove that excuse? With Senju Tobirama gone—”

“—With Senju Tobirama gone, the claim would fall to one of his cousins, who we have no hope of getting control over. The lands would revert to them, which is even worse than the Daimyo having control of them. Remember that they are our direct rivals, whereas the Daimyo is our feudal lord.”

He can not fault that reasoning, damn him. But he has to try one more time. If turned a blind eye last time...and Aniki was put into danger, almost killed.

“Father...”

“No, Izuna. My word is final here. Senju Tobirama will stay with us, as my...guest. And I will send back my message to the Daimyo. Do not worry overmuch here...I will think of a way to placate him. Or make it so onerous to attack us, to take back the assets and the Senju heir by force that he will back down. Such is our way.”

Izuna sighs, defeated. There is no convincing his father. No showing him the error of this path. And that means...

“And Izuna?”

“Yes, father?”

“You are not to think on Senju Tobirama any further. His fate is our of your hands, and I want you to stay away from him. Spend the time with your brother, honing your own skills. I think, you too, will soon be old enough to play a more important role in clan negotiations. In time, I want you to lead your own battalion as well. Be your brother's lieutenant, as you were meant to be.”

He swallows. This...he never would have expected this.

But the danger...Senju Tobirama...

“You can do more good that way, help guide and support your brother. Protect the clan and make sure everyone is safe and gains in status and power.”

...yes.

Status and power.

Which will help rid his clan of Senju Tobirama.

(Defang him, render him useless and harmless. Have him either be killed off honorably as he should have from the very beginning or set free to live out the rest of his existence as a monk in penitence.)

His father won't believe him now, won't listen to his advice now...but will he listen once Izuna has gained more a foothold?

“It is time you grew up, my beloved son.”

Chapter Text

Planning

His pet is finally behaving properly, and every bit as delicious as he had first imagined. He still cries when Tajima sinks into him, still bites that plush lower lip and turn his head away in distress just like when he was still under the influence of the poppy-milk, but he opens his legs on command and arches his neck sweetly—Butsuma's youngest is so very sweet and succulent, and he hopes that Butsuma is watching from the Pure Lands, watching as his son willingly lets Tajima into him, as his tender lips form a soft “o” as Tajima takes him.

Kami-sama...the boy is so very vulnerable to Tajima's mouth and teeth. He gasps as he's breached, those slim still-boyish legs trembling for a just a moment, just a fraction of a thought of indecision before he forces himself to relax, to loosen the tight fists at his side and accept the length that slides smoothly into his body.

It's a bit of a strain, despite all these months of having him. He's still tight, and Tajima is hardly small, but he's careful about it. He holds himself back, and, drawing up a willpower he had not thought he had, forces himself to go slowly, smoothly and gently. Firmly, yes, to quell any potential resistance, but nothing harsh about it.

(Tajima is not a monster.)

The little Senju has accepted his place in his Tajima's bed, and he doesn't struggle anymore. And his tears...well. There's little more delicious than licking those salty drops off his face and hearing the boy mew as he slides just another centimeter forward.

(He hopes Butsuma is watching. He hopes that bastard is watching and raging and furious at how welcoming his son is.)

Oh, he can still see the embers of rebellion in those so lovely red eyes, can see that the boy does not want him and would much rather his head on a spike (he is no fool, to trust someone who was so recently an enemy just because he is good at warming Tajima's cock), but he will not abuse and mistreat the lovely Senju now that he is giving in.

That would be unkind indeed, to repay an earnest attempt with such backhandedness.

...And he can hardly train the boy to be eager for him if he's mistreating him all the time.

No, a gentle hand with well defined parameters of what is allowed and what isn't. Generosity in the bed and making sure that the little Senju enjoys himself as well, comes on Tajima's cock while he's buried deep within.

No matter the Senju's attempting to keep himself distanced from the act...he'll break soon enough. He'll soon come to crave the feeling of a man's cock inside of him, of Tajima's cock inside of him, and he'll give himself eagerly, even wantonly! He's just a boy after all. He can't possibly have the experience to resist such sensations when he hasn't even had the time to enjoy them yet.

And he never will. Tajima will brook no other to touch him. Senju Tobirama is his.

His eyes narrow even as he fully seats himself inside the warm channel of his captive.

The Daimyo demands his lovely captive be handed over. The Daimyo demands all the properties, the businesses and the assets handed over. The Daimyo demands the departure of the samurai troops from Kazan no Kuni.

The Daimyo can kiss his ass.

He may be the man's vassal, but he's not going to surrender all of his spoils and win nothing for the payment of Uchiha blood spilled. His people would revolt, for one thing. And he's certainly not going to chase off the samurai, not when the Daimyo is rallying the other shinobi no mono clans and the Fire monks, besides.

(He doesn't like them, but they are allies, for now, and a necessary shield. The Daimyo will not call an attack if the price is too costly, and the samurai raises the price tenfold.)

It's a tenuous situation. If he calls off the samurai (and he will need to promise the Hagoromo something for that), the Daimyo will undoubtedy increase his demands and possibly attack. So the samurai must stay for now, but he must do whatever is necessary to prevent the Daimyo from attempting to negotiate with the samurai themselves. (All they care about are the iron deposits. If Daimyo-sama agrees to export those to them at a reasonable price, then the samurai embarked nearby becomes an intolerable liability.)

There is danger all around, and he must tread carefully. But as is always the case, where there is danger, there is also opportunity. They've won so much: the lands, the assets, the businesses, the boy. They could do so much with it, gain so much prestige and power and security for their descendants! The main Senju line, forever yoked to his clan. The vast estates the Senju had previously directly controlled. The client clans that funneled high quality iron (what they could do with that iron, how much stronger could they make their weapons, and with less work than they currently use!). The vast amounts of tenant farmers working their fields!

A bigger swathe of land than the Daimyo himself. More riches and the capability to craft stronger weapons than anyone else in Hi no Kuni. And a lovely, lovely boy for Tajima's use and enjoyment.

(Perhaps he'll even take him as an official lover, if he continues to prove malleable and accepting.)

But it is no small step to rebel. It is no small step to find himself pitted so soon against the forces of the Daimyo. The other clans are likely to be uneasy at their gain in prominence and will most certainly rally if the Daimyo makes it sweet enough for them.

He will. Tajima knows he will. The man is too perceptive to allow the situation to stand as-is, with a vassal more powerful than he himself. It is as dangerous situation for the Daimyo as it is for the Uchiha.

So then, what can he do to prevent rebellion, but to ease the pressure on the Daimyo so he can back off? It is important to allow the man to save face, of course. The Daimyo must be seen as strong lest he lose control of all his forces and each clan starts breaking away. (That would be disastrous, for the Uchiha, for the Daimyo and for most of the strongest clans as well. Just the increased cost in security and decreased trade as banditry increased would be a severe blow.)

Compromise.

The word leaves a sour taste in his mouth, but that is all he can do. He'll give up whatever is necessary to tow the line between subservience and rebellion. Just in to the Daimyo's demands just enough so the man can keep his own peace and prevent a full-scale revolt by the rest of the shinobi no mono clans, but not enough so as to leave with nothing.

At least the Fire Monks care little for politics and will not move without the Daimyo's say-so. It is only the other shinobi no mono clans that Tajima needs to concern himself with.

And to placate the Daimyo somewhat...most of the tenant farmers and the majority of the estates. Possibly half the businesses as well. He'll retain just enough farmers to comfortably feed his clan, and just enough estates to award the lesser families who displayed above and beyond loyalty and sacrifice. The businesses are useful, but, except for the iron mining, are not so important.

He will not, under any circumstance, give up the iron or the Senju. One solidifies his legitimate claim, the other prevents the samurai from turning on him.

And as for the samurai...yes. It makes most sense to ask them to move further afield. To the very border. He'll gladly help them with relocation and provide the equipment, seeds and livestock they'll need to survive. Their increased distance will help placate the Daimyo (though not entirely, the man is not a fool), and he'll feel more at ease when they're further from the Uchiha compound.

And now that that's settled...

He turns his attention back on the Senju beginning to tremble around him, “still not used to me, my pet?” and begins moving.

Before long, he's wringing helpless cries from the pliant body beneath him.

So very sweet and delicious.

-~&~-

That bastard enters him, and it's all that Tobirama can do to stop himself from scratching his eyes out.

Patience, he councils himself. Endure, he mentally repeats.

It's necessary for him to gain this man's confidence, to ingratiate himself and become privy to key information, to gain enough influence to save the children and then complete his revenge.

Necessary...but no easier for it.

He wants to tear those gleeful black eyes out of their eyesockets. He wants to thrust his hand deep into the man's chest (as deep as the man has currently embedded himself within him) and pull out the man's heart, still pulsating, before horrified eyes. (Maybe he'll have the sharingan on. Maybe those pair of sharingan will become cursed and whoever uses them next will forever see their own hearts torn out.)

He cannot. Not right now.

It'll pay off in the end, he promises (he hopes). Because he's dirty, dirty, dirty with the feel of warm fluid gushing inside of him, nauseous from the wet lick of a tongue up his neck, trembling with rage at the fingers pinching at his nipples, and he would do anything to escape this, this, this wretch on top of him.

The children. Revenge.

It's a mantra he repeats over and over these days, and he only hopes he'll live to see it through.

-~&~-

He's about to announce his presence when his ears catch his father's roar, and he just...stops.

Ah, so Senju Tobirama is in there with his father. He should wait in that case.

The nausea creeps up his throat, and he should be above this, should be okay with this for now, even counseled the Senju to accept his situation so that he may soften the fate of his captive clansmen (a long shot, but possible for the youngest children), but still, it fills him with distaste. Senju Tobirama is so young, and Hashirama's little brother. It feels...uncomfortable...to think of him with his father. Especially since his father is now quite open about it all.

Oh, he's not as paranoid as Izuna has become recently. He doesn't think Senju Tobirama will herald their doom (he would have advocated execution if that were the case, even despite his newfound oath to his dead friend), but it's different, now that he knows how similar the younger Senju is to his elder brother. It's different now that he's seen the merciful side, seen the side that worries for the little children of his clan and hesitates to strike Madara down when he had every right and every chance.

(He really could have killed him in that cave. He didn't, and Madara does owe him for that.)

It's different, because he knows more about Senju Tobirama as a person, respects the maturing man he's becoming (and perhaps always was) and doesn't really want to think about his own father on top of him.

And especially does not want to hear it.

He understands his father's urges, now that he's spent time with the boy. Cleaned up, fed properly and dressed in fine robes, he is an absolute beauty, especially those riveting, large red eyes. The finest rubies cannot compare to those eyes, and Madara understands why his father is smitten.

But this display, this openness, that is unwise. They do not need to hear such noises. They did not need the earlier displays of the boy's nude form paraded about. And they certainly don't need the current spectacle of the boy, dolled up like a courtesan, reclined so submissively at Tajima's feet.

It's unbecoming and discomforting, to both he and his little brother.

He sighs. Perhaps he and Izuna are too sensitive. Tajima is their father, and of course it is strange to see him with some that's not their mother, someone as young as Izuna himself. Someone that's Hashirama's little brother.

And perhaps it's a good thing that the troops he's now in charge of will be sent for three years in the field.

His first campaign, to hunt down the Senju that escaped their assault, ferret out which clans they ran to and decrease the rising banditry in the region. The sign of the trust his father and the elders have in him.

He gulps.

He will not fail them.

He lifts his hand to announce his presence again. It is the last time he will see his father for a long while...and he must not be cowardly. His father will want to see him, even if Senju Tobirama is in his lap. And he wants to see his father, to receive his heartfelt wishes for his safety.

(And he wants to see Senju Tobirama.)

-~&~-

He approaches Elder Isao. Their father has complained about the man's compassionate tendencies, and the difficulty he's presented to them recently. And while Izuna would normally commiserate, there is an unexpected opportunity here. Elder Isao's sense of justice wants Senju Tobirama dead. And yes, his sense of justice also wants the youngest Senju children to be given a chance to lead good lives, but that is not so important to Izuna.

(He can still hear their cries when they were ripped away from their mothers, and he wonders, sometimes, if it wouldn't be better to have killed them. Or if Elder Isao didn't have a point about raising the children of their enemies to become loyal vassals and subordinates instead.)

He can't do anything to change the situation as he is right now. Politically, as only the spare heir, he has no power. And neither Madara nor father listened to him when he plead his case. But with Elder Isao's help, with Elder Isao to advocate for him and push to give him greater responsibilities in combat and negotations, he will gain enough of a foothold to do something.

Elder Isao has had no reason to think kindly of him, but since they are aligned in their goals now...

“Elder,” he greets graciously, bowing lower than even what manners would demand of him. “It is so good that you agreed to see me. I think I have a proposal that would be very interesting to you...”

Chapter Text

And the Ripples Continue Outward

Uchiha Haya runs along the forest floor. It's an easy messenger mission, just a quick stop to deliver instructions to their allies (though with the recent events, she wonders if they will be allies for much longer). The Hagoromo live on the other side of Hi no Kuni, however, and so it's necessary to send her, the fastest of their clan.

It's an easy mission, necessary work for her clan, but easy. And she is skilled enough to reach the Hagoromo in only half a day's travel. She accepted their curt hospitality of tea and a few mouthfuls of snacks before making her way back, and she anticipates she'll arrive at her clan compound before nightfall.

Despite it being an easy, simple mission, she is glad to carry it out for her clan. It is one of the few ways in which, someone like her, far from the main family and only notable for her speed, can make a significant contribution, and she is proud of her skills here.

Not to mention, it's so pretty. The leaves are turning a gold-red as autumn is hitting its stride, the forest floor just beginning to blanket with color...The air is fresh and crisp, not yet cold enough to require her to wear furs, but not the humidity of spring or the heat of summer either. The perfect weather, the perfect scenery, the perfect...

Her eyes catch glimpse of sunlight glinting off of metal, and she skids away just as shuriken embed themselves in the tree right where she had just passed. She whirls about, hand on her kunai, her sharingan spinning, and her thigh muscles bunched in preparation.

She's disconcerted when a man steps out of the cover of the leaves she had just been admiring. To leave his cover so quickly is highly unusual. He must be very confident in his abilities. She stays still, watching him warily, her sharingan trying to catch any hint of his future moves, any indication that he's ready to strike.

Instead...

With an oath, she throws herself sideways, a set of kunai grazing her side, her lips pulled back into a snarl. Her head snaps back to her side, and she sees the grinning woman, her hand still outstretched from her kunai throw.

Two people then.

She bites her lip. Not the best of odds, but she's not half-bad among her clan. Mid-ranked. She should be able to take them...

Her eyes widen as three more step out of the vegetation, all with the same rugged grim look on their faces, all with the same loathing in their eyes. This close, she sees more details, the near universal brown of their hair, the tanned skin, the same sharp angular bone structure on all of them (must be related then...some enemy clan perhaps) and the same half-starved, half-feral look of a wild animal.

She backs away slowly, step by step, attempting to keep an eye on them all. They're fanning out, like they really are a pack of wild beasts, but she's fast. She's the fastest the Uchiha have to offer, despite only coming from a distant cadet family. She can still make it, if she times this just right. Just the right moment. Just a little bit of distraction.

She eyes the squirrel scampering in the tree behind her enemies out of the corner of her eyes and just as the creature drops its walnut (as it must), she darts off like the hare she was once nicknamed.

Go, she tells herself.

Move, she wills her legs.

Faster and faster and faster. If she can just get out of their reach, if she can just make it to the edges of Uchiha lands...

There's a patrol coming in just half a turn of the hourglass, she knows. If she can make it to them, then she'll be safe. She'll be safe, and the message the Hagoromo sent along with her as well. And it's so close, that border-patrol. The perimeter is only a few kilometers away, and she only needs to reach it in that time, without her pursuers catching her, and then it'll all be okay.

Her heart beats wildly, a quick thump-thump-thump that's almost deafening in her ears. Her muscles begin to cry out with strain, the sourness from nearly a full day's journey catching up with her at the worst possible time.

Just a little further. Just a bit more.

If she strains her eyes, if she looks ahead, she thinks she can almost see it. That border. And the border patrol will be here soon. Just if only she holds on for a little bit—

Shuriken dig into her back, and kunai rip through the tendons of her heel and knees. She collapses in a scream, a scream that turns into a gurgle as the woman from earlier leaps onto her back, yanks her head up and slices right through her throat.

-~&~-

Senju Asuga straightens and holds out the scroll in her hand triumphantly. A brief read has her clenching her hands in anger. For the Uchiha to dare to do something like that, to treat something so dear so callously...

Her brothers and sister step up to her worriedly. “Aneko?” one of her brothers asks. “What does it say?”

She glares at the dead body at her feet, kicking at it with her sandals. “The pigs are going to split up our businesses and hand some to the Hagoromo to placate them. Apparently the Hagoromo agreed to that, but want more. They want Tobirama-sama as well, as their hostage.”

Her little sister gasps. “Tobirama-sama is still alive?!”

She nods grimly. “Alive, but captive of the Uchiha.”

“Then we must save him! Get him out of there right now, and he can reunite us again, and—”

She holds up a hand, silencing him. As much as she would like to make such an endeavor, they mustn't be hasty. The Senju that managed to escape that disastrous final battle have splintered, and she's mostly concerned with keeping her cell alive and well. Tobirama-sama will be well-guarded, and her group only numbers seven. They simply will not be able to rescue him as they are right now, and to throw away their attacks on any traveler affiliate with the Uchiha simply for an attempt destined for failure is not something she can allow.

I'm sorry, Tobirama-sama, she thinks. I'm sorry, but I cannot risk it.

“We continue our attacks. That's the best we can do to further our revenge, and we will stick by it.”

“Aneko!”

“I've given my orders!”

Her siblings grumble but obey. They string up the Uchiha woman, making sure she is in full view of the damnable patrol that will pass along soon and melt away into the trees, heading back to the cave they've staked out for themselves since that disaster a year ago.

And they don't make a rescue attempt. They don't make any plans to invade the Uchiha and rescue the last scion of the main family line. But Asuga has not wholly given up Tobirama.

No.

That night, she sends a ghostly summons flying through the air with the message she took off the dead Uchiha woman. She watches her summons wing through the air, the snowy white wings like mist against the dark of the night, and she prays that it finds safe passage.

-~&~-

Sarutobi Sasuke relaxing with some tea delivered by his new slave when an owl the color of snow lands at his window and pecks at the wooden frames. He startles, standing up, upsetting the cup and dousing his lap in the hot liquid.

There's a moment or two of jumping around, as he frantically channels water and ice chakra to the region and his slave dabs at the area, apologizing profusely. The moment passes, and he, not ungently, moves the boy aside with a hand and a curt command to “leave it.” The boy bows and, at the sharp jerk of his chin, quickly leaves.

As soon as he is gone, Sasuke rushes to the window, ushers the bird in and snatches the missive from its talons. He rolls it open, reads it and, and...

Can this be? Can this truly be believed? If what's in here is true then...

His eyes skim down to the bottom of the document, and he sees the Hagoromo seal, red and dark and solid and damning.

Well.

Well.

This does change matters greatly.

And not for the better.

If the Hagoromo accept the carving up of the Senju's old territory and assets, then they can't drive a wedge between the two allies, as he'd hoped for. And it seems like the Hagoromo are agreeable to the Uchiha's offers. Agreeable about most aspects of it, that is, except two points: the iron deposits and Senju Tobirama.

He must fan the flames of discontent between the two clans. He must. Daimyo-sama needs their alliance to break apart or the force will be too strong to attack. The Uchiha, the Hagoromo and the foreign samurai? Most certainly something to be feared, to be wary of.

And not something that either Daimyo-sama nor the Sarutobi can leave as they are. An alliance stronger than the central forces of the Daimyo? And what if that alliance turns their greedy eyes on the Sarutobi's lands and assets? Or any one of the other shinobi no mono clans? Surely they will soon tire of their victory over the Senju and march on all the others?

(What if they find out about his efforts to fund the dispossessed Senju remnants, and his campaign to buy up as many Senju slaves as he can find? He's already bought a number of them from the gold mines they were slated for—funny what those mine owners will do if offered enough of the deer hide they value so much over there in Kaze—and, with only a few more shipments, he'll have enough to begin training and arming them. It'll take a small while, but they'll soon be a bannerless group of fighters causing as much damage to Uchiha and Hagoromo as they can manage. Not enough to take them down, but enough to destabilize.)

He must break the alliance apart. He must put strain on it. But if the only way they'll disagree is over the iron and Senju Tobirama...then he'll have to leverage that. If he can get some way to get the Hagoromo to believe that the Senju are planning on stabbing them in the back...if there's some way where he can convince them that the Uchiha are planning on marrying Senju Tobirama to one of their own and laying full claim on all the Senju assets...

But the Hagoromo would never believe him. They know that, despite all his protestations of neutrality, he leans towards the Daimyo and, by default, against the Uchiha-Hagoromo alliance. They won't believe him, they don't believe him, and he has the captured spies to prove it.

The captured spy...

His eyes slide towards the door where his slave scampered. A younger Senju. Not so useful for the fighting, but very useful in other ways. Such as seeding information to his “guests” and allowing opportune “escapes”.

Yes, Kenji is very well-trained in that regards, a meek house-servant persona on top, and a very keen intellect and ability to slip in misdirection underneath, despite his tender years. Sasuke had immediately pulled him out of his guerilla training and into his specialized intel training.

And now...to put those skills to use again.

-~&~-

Hagoromo Tama knocks the child out and tears out of the Sarutobi compound. The idiots are so complacent, to have her food sent to her by a helpless slave child. It was child's play to knock him out once she learned some useful information and escape. Their security overall is laughable!

It's just too bad that their ability to ferret out spies is substantially better than their security. What she could have learned from them...what she could have discovered! Alas, she only has the most basic, gleaned from a poor slave asking for clarification from his cruel masters.

She almost feels sorry for him. She almost feels pity for the poor, wretched creature, shivering as he's struck for daring to ask about matters that don't concern him. (He must have been Senju-blooded, to ask for the fate of that clan. He must have had some relation to that fallen clan, to ask if the rumors about the Uchiha trying to marry Senju Tobirama into their family were true.) She even feels so sorry for him, she leaves him alive. Knocked out and unconscious and left in her cell, but alive.

(Let his master punish him for his carelessness if he will.)

In the meantime, she needs to get back to her clan. If the Uchiha are truly planning on wedding the last of the Senju main line into their own, then her clan head needs to know.

(She's so busy rushing to her freedom, that she misses both the keen eyes of the slave she's just supposedly knocked out and another scampering pair of feet running in the opposite direction.)

-~&~-

Hatake Kozue stands up in shock. “What?!”

The runner drops to one knees. “It is true, Lady Kozue. The Sarutobi confirmed it themselves. The Uchiha plan on marrying Tobirama-sama into their own line and taking the whole of the Senju inheritance that way...”

The men and women around her leap to her feet in anger. “Preposterous! To force Tobirama-sama into such a thing! This cannot be borne! Kozue-sama, you must do something!”

She holds up a hand, quieting them. “These things take time. We are a small clan. We've offered shelter for now, but we can't attack the Uchiha as we are!”

One man wails at that. “But the thought of Tobirama-sama in their hands! Hasn't he endured enough? My lady...he is your nephew. His mother your own younger sister. Will you not save her son?”

She grits her teeth. His alarm and distemper, she can understand, but questioning her honor and her integrity? That is beyond the pale. “I will remind you, sir, that you are free of the Uchiha, free of bondage and free of death at my will alone. That you and the rest of the Senju that I am sheltering are here by my grace, and that I am already doing all that I possibly can at this moment.”

She holds up a hand, forestalling more arguments. “You may rest assured that I will do everything in my power to get him out, but I pray you will have patience. Write to those you must to secure more resources for us, for our use. And I will work to free him. Even if he becomes shackled to them, you have my word that his shackles will not stay on him forever.”

One Senju woman steps forward. “And the rest of our kin? What of them?”

Kozue shakes her head. “Write to your well-pocketed friends and acquaintances. Expand our tools, our weapons, our forces and our food. You were, each of you, quite prominent when you were Senju and had a number of international connections. I would you make use of them now for our sake. Make use of them, so that I can track down more of the Senju slaves and rescue them out of their plight, just as I hope to rescue my nephew out of his.”

And she will. The Hatake sprang from one of the Senju client-clans, and the Hatake have intermarried with the Senju. And the Hatake will not abandon blood.

They will grow stronger with the resources the Senju will pull in. They will grow stronger as they add the remnants of the Senju's strength to their own. They will grow stronger once they rescue Tobirama.

(Perhaps he'll even marry one of their daughters and add to the Hatake blood in the Senju.)

-~&~-

Uzumaki Mito hates how long it takes for news to travel between Hi no Kuni and Uzu no Kuni. So long to wait for news to arrive about her distant cousins. So long to wait for news of her betrothed.

And how shocking to learn that the betrothal is no more.

For Hashirama is dead, Tobirama disappeared (either captured or dead), and the Senju all but wiped out, except for a few who have taken to banditry and a few of the more prominent survivors taking shelter with the Hatake.

She clenches her hand at that last bit of news. It is not wise for the Hatake to shelter them. They are but a small clan, not nearly the terrifying beasts that the Uchiha have proven themselves to be, and it is only because the Uchiha are distracted that the Hatake hasn't been visited retribution for their interference.

Distracted...but by what?

Doling out the spoils is her guess, but her gut instinct tells her there is more to it than that, and her gut has never led her astray.

Spoils is important, but for the Uchiha to be distracted for so long must mean it's something that threatens them. And given what the Uchiha has just gained, that must be one of potentially three different things. The first, impending breaking of the alliance with the Hagoromo and the Hagoromo's samurai dogs. The second, the Daimyo of Hi no Kuni making demands that they do not want to meet. And the third...

The third is what she hopes for. Because it means that Tobirama is alive.

And if he's alive, there's still hope.

If he's alive, if she can spirit him away and to Uzu in secrecy, perhaps even negotiate a political marriage to secure the line...

They can raise the Senju again. Ten years, twenty years down the line, they can regrow the Senju and take back what was lost. Only this time...this time, it will be under the direction and wisdom of the Uzumaki.

Chapter Text

Older, Not Wiser

Madara trudges up to the locked gates of his home, weary and tired and aching all the way down to his bones, but content. His men follow him behind.

“Who is it?” the gatekeeper asks, and Madara flares his chakra in response. He has one moment of amusement as the woman's eyes widen before she hurriedly works to open the heavy gates.

Three years.

Three grueling, exhausting years. And now Madara's returned. Three long, hard years in the field, rooting out the bandits preying on their messengers, on their client clans and on their lone shinobi no mono. Madara isn't surprised at all to find that the vast majority of them are the Senju remnants, made bloodthirsty by the destruction of their clan. It is what typically happens in such times when a once-mighty clan scatters and the voices of authority all are either killed or removed from their lofty positions.

He had thought at first that the Hatake, who are brazenly, openly sheltering the high-ranking Senju who fled, was behind the attacks, but his carefully embedded spies reported otherwise. The Hatake are plotting, but they have more leisure to deal with them. The current threat lies elsewhere, and they should not divert their attention into too many directions.

(A recipe for disaster if ever there was one. Splitting their precious resources and attention at a time like this, when they have gained so much and stand to fall further and harder than ever before. It has been the bane of many a great clan, and Madara will not allow his troops to make the same mistake.)

No, it seems that it is the lower-ranked Senju who escaped, directionless and consumed with fury and rage, that is behind the increased banditry in the region. People can do terrible things to survive, he knows. Terrible, awful things. Slaughtering helpless messengers in the name of black vengeance in the heart and stealing a poor man's last bit of millet to fill an empty stomach. Hit and strike attacks on their client clans and torching the fields of those client clans' peasants.

He would call them cowardly. He would name them nothing more than the most craven of beasts for their attacks. Surprising the workers of the land, killing as many as possible, razing the land and melting away before real resistance can be mounted, disappearing long before the client clans' shinobi no mono can be at the scene. He would except...

...except he knows full well that any one of his own clan would do exactly the same. If it's a choice between banditry and survival, if it's a choice between revenging for fallen loved ones, for fallen precious people and laying down and dying or being sold off into slavery...well, that's no choice at all, is it? So not craven. Not cowardly.

Simply men.

Madara forces a smile on his face as he passes through the finally opened front gates of the compound to the cheers of his clansmen and clanswomen. He's so, so glad to see them again. So, so glad to have made it and won the series of skirmishes with the bandits (shocking organized for bandits, but they are Senju remnants, so he's not too surprised). So, so glad to recognize the faces of people he knew and held dear.

There's little Shinta over there, now grown into early adolescence. When Madara left, he had been but a child. And there's Elder Toshiro strolling elegantly through the crowd, as dignified and unaffected as ever. He hasn't changed a bit. And then he catches sight of a very familiar, beloved face, tall and strapping and so very, very precious to him.

Izuna. His dearest little brother.

Madara's heart clenches at the sight of him, at Izuna, grown and fully a man now. He's taller now. Taller and broader than before. But still slim for all of that. Still shorter than Madara and slender. All grace in his walk, handsome in his bearing. A grown man. A grown, beautiful, strapping young man.

He's suddenly sad. He missed his brother's growth, missed the transformation of the small cheeky grin into that blazing, bright smile.

(Missed so much because he was sent out to deal with the bandits.)

“Izuna,” he calls.

“Aniki,” his brother calls back. “You're finally returned! How goes the hunt?”

“Well!” It's not wholly a lie. Though they've lost a number of their own, they have rooted out the majority of the bandits. If only they could figure out how the rest was successfully hiding from them, how they were getting the high-quality armor and weapons they were using. Who was bankrolling them. A dark suspicion resides in Madara's head, but he'll need to speak with his father first to see whether it has any real premise. But for now, he's content to set his concerns aside and embrace his little brother the way he's been looking forward to every single day of these three long years.

“You've grown,” he murmurs into Izuna's long silken dark hair. He clutches his Otouto closely to him, his bulkier, heavier frame encompassing the lean slender runners physique of his brother easily. He closes his eyes and rests his head against Izuna's, happy to at last see his precious person again.

His precious person swats at him playfully.

“So have you. I daresay you got even more strong while you were out there!”

Madara blushes. Yes. No taller perhaps, but definitely bulkier and heavier. What he lacks in height, he makes up for in breadth. He's inherited his father's build through-and-through. A direct contrast to his Otouto, who has clearly inherited their mother's.

“I missed you,” he whispers.

He feels more than sees Izuna's lips smirk near his ear. “I missed you too, Aniki.”

But then Izuna gently pushes him away with a single splayed hand on his chest. “Come, Aniki. There is much to discuss.”

Madara sighs. Clan affairs. Of course. It comes before all else. And they are, all of them, dutiful members of Clan Uchiha.

...and he really ought to be finding his father, shouldn't he? He needs to find Tajima and debrief, especially after such a long mission where he had the authority of a commander.

Izuna must see the indecision on his face because he leans, takes a hold of Madara's arm and tugs. “It's just for a short while. Father is otherwise...preoccupied...anyways. Just come for a little while. There's something important I need to speak with you about.”

Preoccupied? Now? When Madara's come back to fanfare and welcome from all of his clan except—his eyes scan the crowd—except his father? How odd. How highly unusual.

But Izuna's right. If his father isn't here for Madara to debrief to, then surely they have a bit of time before Madara should go looking for him. It can't hurt.

He turns to his troops and, with a single gesture, dismisses them. He watches for a moment as they eagerly run off to their homes, no doubt greatly yearning for their families, before Izuna is tugging at him again.

“Alright, alright,” he laughs. “You've gotten impatient.”

Izuna's eyes are serious though, no trace of a smile on his face. “Please, Aniki.”

It wipes the mirth right off of Madara's face. “Alright,” he says and follows his little brother through the throngs of the people of his clan.

-~&~-

An hour later, Madara stands before the door of his father's office once more, hand raised to knock, but every instinct telling him it would be a bad idea.

“Aah-aah-aah, mmh-mmh-mmh...!”

Each cry is interrupted, broken up by harsh wet slaps that increase in frequency and...

“AAAAAH!”

He licks his lips, wetting his suddenly dry mouth.

Kami-sama. He should not be here. He really should not be here. He'll just quietly escape and come back another time, another time when his father isn't otherwise busy.

He flinches away from the door as if it's burning hot, turning away to all but run away, and...

...and trips over small half bookshelf by the door.

The bookshelf tips over. Books go flying. Madara bangs his knee into the hard wooden edge of the shelf painfully and goes slamming into the wall.

Well. So much for a quiet escape.

Behind him he can hear the noises of clothes being hurriedly tossed on, followed by the sound of quick soft footsteps towards the door, and he closes his eyes in defeat. What a way to come home. What a way to see his father again.

But the hand that lightly touches his shoulder is not his father's, and Madara's eyes snap open in shock. He twists and around and looks up into perhaps the most beautiful face he's ever seen. It's made perhaps more beautiful by the flushed cheeks, a deep blush staining that alabaster skin, a rosy stain when compared to the jewel-like red eyes, framed by the whitest and most feathery long lashes Madara's ever seen.

“Senju,” he whispers, his jaw slack in disbelief.

The boy—no, man now, he's the same age as Izuna and is fully grown now as well—takes a step back, folds his hands to his belly and bows from the waist, lowly and deeply. He's as graceful as Madara's nin-neko and just as stunning elegant, even clad as he is in only a summer black and red kimono. His hair, grown long and braided into a long rope, trails over his shoulder and spills down his back.

He is absolutely stunning.

“Welcome back, Madara-sama. Tajima-sama is expecting you.”

Wait.

What?!

Madara jumps to his feet.

His father had just been, just been...with his...and he was expecting him?

“It seems like father is busy now,” Madara stammers, his gaze caught on the red bruises all along the pale slender neck. “I can come back later!”

“Nonsense.” His father, Uchiha Tajima himself, wanders out of the open door.

Madara watches incredulously as his father lays an affectionate hand on the still bowed back of his...of Senju Tobirama. The boy (man, now, man) immediately straightens and walks demurely to stand just a step behind Madara's father, those brilliant jewel eyes downcast, hidden under the veil of white lashes. He folds his hands together, submissively holding himself small and silent by Tajima's side.

His father immediately wraps an arm around the slender, lean waist, pulling up the smaller Senju (grown too, but just like Izuna, a runner's physique, lean and long and slender...and still shorter than Madara's father though likely just slightly taller than Madara himself) flush against him and kisses him forcefully.

Tobirama leans into the grip, his body visibly melting into Tajima as those lashes flutter shut, a small wounded noise leaving his throat as he grips Madara's father's arms helplessly.

Something deep inside Madara churns at the sight. Last time he had seen him, he was still strong-willed and mesmerizing. Still fighting them despite all the odds against him. And now...and now...

“Don't fall for him, Aniki,” his brother had warned earlier.

“Fall for who?”

“Him. Senju. You'll understand when you see him. He's...he's not what he seems, but father is blind to this. Too willing to see what he wants to see. Too willing to be taken in by a pretty face. He'll doom the clan.”

It's the utmost paranoia. Too incredible to believe.

Madara doesn't always agree with their father's positions, but the man has always put clan and family first. And he has always been practical, resourceful and ruthless. The last person to be taken in by merely a pretty face.

“I'm sure it's not as bad as you think it is—”

“Damnit, Aniki! I don't need this from you too!” Implying that he'd already brought his concerns to others and been dismissed. “The only one who sees the danger that he is right now is Elder Isao. But I know he's bad news, I know it.”

Madara had sighed then, suddenly tired. He had hoped that Izuna would have grown out of these paranoid fears in the three years that he was stationed out in the field, but it seems that time has only entrenched these wild beliefs.

“I'm not saying that we should just treat him as harmless, Izuna, but there's little he can do. He is still a prisoner of our clan. The seals we used on him when we first captured him are permanent. He'll never be able to be a shinobi no mono again. His ability to mold and use chakra is basically crippled.”

Izuna shook him. “Aniki! There is more than just brute force! And he's learned much since that time! Beware him, Aniki. Help me contain him before he destroys our clan! Before he destroys our father!”

...and now he seems completely submissive, completely subjugated by Madara's father's will. Not a single hint of the willful boy he was before.

Madara swallows, both aroused and disgusted.

If, if Izuna is right, then his father is indeed in grave danger. But...

He stares as the Senju begins to tremble, clearly hungering for oxygen as the kiss drags on and on. Finally, his father pulls away, leaving Tobirama to gasp weakly at his side, his cheeks stained even more red, the willowly form leaning softly into his father's side.

But he can't see it. Perhaps later. Perhaps some other time he can see what Izuna is worried about. As it is...as it is, he can only feel pity for the young man.

Senju Tobirama is clearly broken.

Chapter Text

A Proper Welcome

Tajima can admit he's excited. He has not seen Madara in three years as his oldest son wandered about Hi no Kuni, destroying the bandits that were causing trouble. And seeing him now, strong and strapping and broader than he was before, with new muscles in his arms and shoulders and calves, Tajima can only feel proud.

Madara's done so much. The reports he's sent over those years weren't all glowing of course (Tajima would be a fool to expect perfection, and he's no fool), but Madara did well for himself. He led his warriors admirably, scouted out each situation to the best of his ability, kept losses down and managed to scout out useful information.

The bandits aren't all destroyed, there are still pockets left, but they are diminished a great deal. And what they have learned.

An enemy clan funding them, given the quality of the weapons and armor Madara's forces found on the dead. An enemy clan they know nothing about. Shockingly not the Hatake—though now that the bandits are so reduced, perhaps they have the time to teach them a lesson for their temerity in sheltering the Senju remnants—but someone else. Tajima will have to send his spies out to more of the other clans and weed out them out.

An unknown enemy is the most dangerous of them all.

But he puts such matters out of his mind. For now, he should greet his eldest son and give him a proper welcome home.

“Madara!” He releases his lovely Senju and embraces his son warmly. “It is good to see you again. I have heard good news about your conduct during your operation. Elder Toshiro is quite impressed with you, and I do believe that you may yet receive more responsibilities.”

His son blushes and nods happily. And then his eyes skirt to the side, and he bites his lip like he hasn't done so since he was a child and, “may we speak in private, father?”

Tajima blinks, confused. “We are in private, son. None of the others are about at all and...” Abruptly, he realizes that Madara is referring to his Senju.

“Ah, yes.” He turns to the beauty next to him. “Go fetch us some tea from the kitchens.” But before the man can bow and hurry away, Tajima pulls him in for another deep kiss. Such a sweet, sweet Senju, with his petal-like soft lips and the hands that have long since lost their calluses.

Clever hands and a delectable mouth.

He turns back to Madara, releasing the Senju, and beckons Madara into his study.

“What did you want to speak of son?”

Madara hesitates for a moment, staring at a spot on Tajima's desk. He finds himself turning, looking to see what has his son's attention so raptly and...oh. It looks like he's left a stain somewhat from the amount of times he's taken his Senju on that desk.

Best to stand in front of it then, lest he discomfits his son too much. (He knows as well as anyone that sons don't particularly like to think about their father's in that way.)

“Madara?” he prompts.

“I think it's the Ino-Shika-Cho alliance.”

Tajima sucks in a sharp breath.

The Ino-Shika-Cho alliance. One of the strongest formal or informal alliances that existed in the entirety of the shinobi no mono world itself. To be up against them, even with what they've gained from the defeat of the Senju...even the Daimyo fears their might, or rather, the complicated web of trade agreements and mutual defense agreements they've crafted with numerous smaller clans and foreign clans.

If the alliance attacked, it would be one thing. Easier to defend on familiar territory than to attack on unfamiliar one. But if the Uchiha were to attack them...

The Hagoromo would refuse to get involved. Tajima knows them. They have connections with the alliance that the Uchiha simply do not (it was one of the reasons the Ino-Shika-Cho alliance never joined the Senju, given their connections to that exterminated clan as well). And if it really is the alliance, then it begs the bigger question of whether Tajima's clan can trust the Hagoromo to continue in their alliance. Now that the Senju are all but gone, and if the Ino-Shika-Cho alliance is really financing the bandits to focus specificially on Uchiha interests (he's not stupid, that's exactly what they're doing), then it could be an indication that the Hagoromo are breaking their alliance.

This is serious and very worrisome.

“Are you sure?”

His son shakes his head. “No, it is only speculation on my end.” His son bites his lip, looking down, ashamed.

Tajima sighs. He knows Madara expects perfection out of himself, but, “you know it is always better to make the attempt and learn from it, than be perfect from the very start and keep yourself from trying out of fear of failure, my son. I do not begrudge you mistakes, as long as you make them after careful consideration. Now come, tell me. What makes you suspect them?”

“It's something I saw during one of the battles. A pack of rations, left in their camp. Rations that the Akimichi specialize in making.”

Ah. A weak tie, but likely the only one that Madara has found.

Tajima has to grudgingly give the Senju remnants some measure of respect. Even reduced to banditry and outlaw behavior, they are still quick enough and ninja enough to properly hide incriminating evidence of their backers. Which bring the evidence into question.

“Could it be deliberate?” He wonders. “An enemy that wants us to think the alliance is involved and want us to make a critical mistake in accusing them? Or who, perhaps, want us to break our own accord with the Hagoromo?”

Madara nods. “It might be. Or it could be happenstance. It could be that whatever clan is truly backing the bandits have trade relations with the alliance and chose to fortify the bandits with those rations because those rations are well known to be one of the best in Hi no Kuni. These are reasons that I'm not sure.”

“But,” he continues, “but it is an awful big coincidence, if that's the case. Those rations are not cheap, and to waste them on the Senju who have turned to banditry and are now clanless and stateless to boot seems unlikely. And as for it being a deliberate ploy...I had not thought of that.” He looks down at his sandals, shamefaced.

Tajima reaches out a hand and pats his shoulder. “I am more experienced than you my son. It is only natural that some considerations will take longer to come to you than to me. Once you have accumulated more experience with the vipers nest that is clan politics, these things will come to you as well.”

He considers the potential revelation. “Best not to report this to the Elders just yet,” he muses. “We should gather more intel first. I had intended to assign more spies to the other clans, but now that you suspect the alliance, I shall prioritize them over the others. And if it turns out that the rations are just a coincidence, then it would still help us ferret out who that shadow clan may be, given that they most definitely trade with the alliance in order to have access to such.”

And if that's the case, it would be much better. They need the Hagoromo, just like the Hagoromo need them. The Daimyo only acquiesced to Tajima's placations and platitudes and allowed him to keep the mines and the Senju because the combined might of the Uchiha, Hagoromo and the (still-holding strong) temporary alliance with Tetsu no Kuni is daunting. After the bribe of so much of the farmlands, and the pelts and allowing an official to check in on the Senju's continued health every half year, it would just be too costly to mount a force effective enough to topple all three of them for the remainder, valuable though the mines and Senju Tobirama most certainly are.

If the Hagoromo renege...that price would suddenly not be as high, and the Uchiha may well be under attack before they know it.

Tajima has strengthened and rebuilt their forces by now. He's fortified the compound and surrounding lands in case of attack (or backstabbing, should a certain samurai lord get too greedy for her own good), and they are no longer so weak as they had been right after the victory. More secured, more confident, a brighter future...but not enough to withstand the full might of the Daimyo alone. Or even the Shika-Ino-Cho alliance. Best to hope that it is one of the more neutral clans who claim to be above it all (like the Hyuuga, court bootlickers that they are, the Aburame or the Inuzuka).

His Senju returns then, his arms laden with a tray and tea...and immediately, Madara looks away from him.

Tajima frowns.

He knows his son does not particularly care for the Senju (it was the older son that Madara had a connection to, not the younger), but he really ought not let the past influence his actions in the present or future. Not when his pretty pet has changed so much.

“And what variety did you bring us, my pretty?”

White hair lowers briefly as the man sets the tray on the desk and then executes a perfect bow (such beauty and graceful submission...it's a good thing that Tajima soon trained him out of his earlier disobedience). “Mugicha, for the summer heat.”

Ah perfect. Tajima does so love the taste of roasted barley at this time of year. He waits until his pet has poured some for both of them, serving Tajima first, then Madara in the proper order, before he pulls the man into his arms again. “And to think you were such a hellion when we first caught you. Now look at you, so demure and perfect. Not a hint of that wildness. Isn't this much better, my beauty? You fit so well in my arms, and with your looks, you were clearly made for your role now. Much better than fighting, do you not think so?”

Red eyes, gorgeously clear crystal eyes (like roses, Tajima thinks, or perhaps like freshly spilled blood) gaze up at him before lowering, hidden again from his view by feathery pale lashes. “I was a different person then, my lord. You have taught me better.”

Tajima smiles and takes his lips in another kiss. “So I have.”

And then he turns to Madara, prepared to ask his son to let the past lie just like his pet was doing, but...

A flush.

His beloved son's cheeks are flushed.

His eyes narrow.

A cold, perhaps? Had he not noticed...?

He thinks back to when Madara first entered.

Unlikely. Madara had seemed perfectly composed then. Perhaps his son is just embarrassed to see his father kissing someone, but...

But. Something tells Tajima that's not necessarily the case. Perhaps it's the way Madara seem mostly to be avoiding looking at Tobirama or perhaps—Madara's eyes flicker to Tajima's pet, a sheen of arousal clear within them—aha!

Not a cold then. Not embarrassment, not even leftover distaste for the Senju given their previous history.

Desire.

All good humor immediately flees Tajima's body, and he pulls himself up to his full height.

He loves his son. He's smart, capable, strong, and he has long since given up those hopeless adolescent fantasies. He's loyal to family and clan as the perfect filial son. Tajima can ask for no better. Even his beloved Izuna falls short, with his increasingly near-crazed ramblings against Tajima's pet (now there's someone who won't let the past lie), and the way he's gradually sided himself with Elder Isao of all people. Elder Isao! And against Tajima, his own father! So of course, Tajima prefers Madara, with him being his eldest and, as of this moment, most loyal and faithful.

But the Senju is his. No one else's. He's the only one that gets to taste the sweetness of Senju Tobirama's body, the only one to know the man's warmth and addicting kisses.

“Madara,” he says, forcing his voice to remain light.

“Yes father?”

He loves his son, he reminds himself. He loves his son.

“I will say this only once to you. Do not look upon what is mine covetously.”

Chapter Text

Behind a Docile Face

Madara is sent away soon after, but the exchange between father and son is not lost upon a limpid pair of red eyes, partially shielded by long white lashes. Their owner makes no sign of his attentiveness, instead delicately drawing his sleeve back to refill the tea, the very picture of silent obedience and placid beauty.

And if he knows very well that dark eyes are immediately drawn to the exposed looping swirls of the seals shackling his very wrists that highlight the unblemished white skin beneath, if he knows that the heart of the man who holds his fate quickens ever so slightly at that hint of tender flesh...well, then that is his craft now, isn't it?

He anticipates the arm that tightens around his waist. He winces as in preparation as a hand wounds itself around the heavy rope of his braid and pulls it into a fist. He gasps as the hungry mouth finds his again, and a tongue penetrates the coy barrier of his lips, tasting him as its owner had so recently tasted his body, drinking him as if he were the tea itself even as a thigh shoves between his legs, and he's tilted backwards towards the desk.

Relax, he tells himself. Melt into his embrace. Keep playing that role.

It's not easy.

Even now, even after nearly three years of constant practice, of holding himself back and willing himself, forcing himself, it doesn't come easily to him. He's not this lissome trained nymph whose every touch is soft and gentle, whose every movement is poised and graceful. He is not a heavenly tennyo tamed by the loss of his feather cloak and wedded to this man keeping him captive.

Ah, but what power has he left?

His chakra is gone, bound beneath layers of chakra seals that encircle him, glowing so prettily upon his wrists and ankles and sternum and hips. Permament, if Elder Toshiro of the Uchiha is to be believed. His physical strength is similarly depleted, the only musculature allowed him what is necessary for him to dance for his captor's amusement. And his mind...

Well, that, they cannot take away, but there is little he can do without the materials necessary to make use of it. No jutsu crafting is possible without access to chakra, chakra ink and chemicals. No experimentation possible without privacy, time, space and freedom, and he sorely lacks all of those.

No, he is not as before—

The mouth separates from his and lathe hungry kisses down his neck, sucking hard enough to bruise. “You grow more enticing every day, sweetness. More enticing and more temperate. I have half a mind to officially take you as a concubine.”

—but that doesn't mean he is helpless.

Uchiha Tajima wants a weak doll, wholly dependant upon him, fit for nothing more than to sink into his embrace and keep him occupied in bed. He wants to dominate the remnants of his family through him, wants to continue the feud with Tobirama's father through the use of his body, wants to shame his former enemies by ravaging their remaining son.
Well.

Let him. Let him taste and sample and drink of Tobirama and become so addicted to him that he forgets himself, that he elevates Tobirama so that he can have some power and achieve his own ends, that he wiles his day away in bed or in the tearoom instead of in the council chamber or on the battlefield.

The greatest generals are brought low because of base lust and lack of self-control.

Tobirama whimpers and arches helplessly beneath the hands slipping beneath his summer kimono, deftly untying the obi that holds the entire ensemble together and letting it slide loose in a puddle around Tobirama's feet. He cries out as strong covetous hands grab his thighs and yanks them around solid hips, a clothed groin pressing firmly against his own. He trembles when his back comes into contact with the smooth wood of the desk, and Uchiha Tajima is on top of him, his hardness an undeniable presence against his thigh.

“T-Tajima-sama!” He protests, even as tears—half real, half fake—spring into his eyes. “Tajima-sama, the Elder Council would never allow it. I am merely your captive, fit only for your use and—ah!”

No matter how many times it happens, no matter how prepared he is, it's always a shock when Tajima pushes into him.

And it takes a moment for him to catch his breath, for him to relax his sore muscles and allow the spend from their previous session to do its job.

He hates that he's somewhat thankful that Tajima takes him so often that he is almost always well-stretched for the man and wet enough to take him. He hates that his body is almost used to the thick presence inside of him, used to the heat and feeling of fullness, and that, beyond the initial penetration, it's almost routine.

He's careful to hide the clenching of his fists, careful not to let any trace of stiffness appear in his body, careful not to let his hatred show on his face.

Tajima wants the perfect yielding lover. He fantasizes over Tobirama's youth and finds his looks attractive and irresistible.

The Tobirama of old would have railed against this outcome, would have chosen death before such a fate and welcomed the blade with both arms.

That Tobirama is dead.

He thinks to the names he discovered in Tajima's desk, thinks to the mine locations he discovered, and the note passed to the newest slave tending him.

The son of a merchant, with some education, but sold to pay off the father's debts and then resold and resold again until he wound up with the Uchiha. Some small smattering talent of chakra in him, but nothing concrete and that might harm. A young lad of ten who is mostly fit for house chores.

Or at least, that's what Tajima believes. That's what the Uchiha believe.

He arches his neck and allows Tajima to attack it. He presses his hand against the broad chest on him, but only gently. A token resistance to further fan the flames, to whet the appetite. A distraction to hide the calculation in his red eyes, the clarity in them that had been nothing more than helpless pleasure only moments ago.

And his mind...his mind thinks to the young slave, and he almost smiles.

In fact, the young lad is none other than his very distant little cousin Kenji, far down one of the branch lines, bought by the Sarutobi and then later sold to the Uchiha. And while he would like Kenji away from all of this, while he doesn't completely trust the Sarutobi handlers, he'll use them for now. Trust in their greed for Senju-trained men and women to feed their army. Feed them the information on the adults and older children sold into the mines and quarries.

It makes him sick, to know that he has to sell his kin into servitude of this sort, but better to die on the battlefield, with a blade in their hand than to die crippled in a mine or crushed by a rock in a quarry. Better to have a chance to live and revenge their loved ones than to go quietly, a useless death noted only by the slave-master for a new body to replace.

Kami-sama forgive him, but there's no length he won't go to now. Everything is already taken away from him.

And if, along with the information on where to find his enslaved and sold-off kin, he sends other information...well, that's just him being a good agent, isn't it?

Except...it's not all true, what he sends.

Perhaps he just exaggerates the treasonous activities the Uchiha engage in. The Sarutobi, after all, are the Daimyo's most loyal vassals and probably the only clan utterly devoted to the man and his family. It is not common knowledge, but the Sarutobi were originally an offshoot of that man's family. A cadet clan, once samurai, who began to develop skills more akin to the shinobi no mono and gradually spun off into a ninja clan.

Surely they would be very interested to know that the lands the Uchiha offered to the Daimyo were some of the worst, and that they kept the most fertile for themselves? That must is true. And surely, they would be interested to know that the Uchiha retained hold on the farmers that work even the lands handed off to placate the Daimyo? And that they planted their own agents through those farmers into other lands directly controlled by the Daimyo to foment rebellion after the last drought and famine? That is not true, just happenstance that happens to favor the Uchiha by drawing lordly attention elsewhere, but the Sarutobi only need to believe it.

Believe it, and walk ever closer to war.

After all...Tobirama must play courtesan and whore to the Uchiha clan head, and all know that pillowtalk is an indisputable source of power.

It is his lot now, isn't it? To play the whore and spy. To spread his legs and arch his back just so, gasp as the hard length plows into him and play at falling for the man who murdered his entire family. To bring succor to that hard, hard man and soothe his worries, ease his concerns and make spending time with him more enjoyable, more relaxing, more rewarding than time spent with his war council or his Clan Elders.

Tajima is in earnest now, plunging relentlessly into him, jolting him uncomfortably back and forth against the hard surface beneath him, riddling his hips with bruises in the shape of the man's fingers. He comes with a shout, spilling that familiar warmth deep into Tobirama, setting off Tobirama's own release.

Tobirama endures it all with grace, with a sweet, trembling smile and tears upon his lashes. With wounded and yet hopelessly entranced eyes looking shyly up through feathery lashes. With soft, delicate gasps in his throat, his neck bared trustingly up at the Uchiha head.

He has to swallow at the wet heat.

He's dirty. So dirty. And he'll never be clean again, but that's the trade he'll make.

Madara was right, those three years ago. It is better to live and attain revenge, save what children he can, than waste his life in futile resistance. And he is shinobi no mono. He was always used to selling himself. What difference does his body make?

He would sell all.

All but...

A hand cards through his hair, undoing the braid and allowing the white strands to fan out about his face. Rough fingers stroke over the vulnerable skin of his wrist, caressing the blue veins before entwining with his own, a parody of a lover's clasp.

“I was really blessed that day, wasn't I? To have gotten myself such a lovely little thing like you, as lovely as a tennyo and so biddable.” The rough face buries itself into Tobirama's hair and inhales his scent. “Would you like to be my concubine? A reward for your good behavior. Legitimacy in the clan, an honorable position in my bed. I would deck you out in jade and gold kanzashi and embroidery. You would gleam like the fortune-bringer you are, a perfect servant of the clan.”

Tobirama almost smiles and ruins it all.

Years in the making, of being just the right amount of submissive and yielding, of bending not just to Tajima's will but to the Elder Council's as well, demonstrating his harmlessness and helplessness. Meekly playing the role of war prize and religious fortune-bringer, even tending to their wretched wounded when allowed out and praying at their misbegotten temples.

The vision of a perfect concubine, playful with her lord, obedient to all authority, pious and yielding to all Uchiha traditions. Elder Isao is suspicious of him, and Elder Toshiro he cannot read, but Elder Saburo...

Elder Saburo, who hated his clan. Elder Saburo, the traditionalist. Elder Saburo, who begins to suggest lifting him up as all other red-eyed “servants and fortune-bringers” of the clan have been done so in the past.

Doubtless it was Elder Saburo who broached the idea to Tajima and will champion this cause to the rest of the council.

He still needs to win more. Elder Toshiro, as the head of the council. Perhaps Elder Tomiichi as well, as he seems more likely to think about how Tobirama's fortunes will benefit his own. If he can manage that, then it will be enough. He will be raised to a concubine and that means...

He shifts slightly, deliberately jostling the member still buried deep inside of him, letting out a light whimper at the sensation, a whimper to match the pleased grunt of the man on top of him.

Concubinage. With an official rank. Enough authority to walk about the compound with no escort. Enough freedom to even walk the grounds outside, with an escort of course.

It opens up so much more.

An attack had been made on the Uchiha compound a year ago. No one was hurt, but security was increased, especially around Tobirama as he had been uncomfortably close to the target. The Uchiha never caught the intruder, but, the night after, Tobirama carefully burned a single strand of red hair in the flame of a candle.

He has another list of names. Another list of names and a list of households. The youngest of his kin sold off into captivity and the houses they now serve.

He doesn't trust the Sarutobi, but kin are a different matter.

Tobirama hums and turns his face up to have his lips claimed by the rough mouth. “I am not worthy to be your concubine, my lord. I am content as I am.”

He shivers as Tajima chuckles and begins to move once more within him. As the man pistons in and out, his eyes darkened with lust, he thinks to another pair of dark eyes looking upon him with something similar.

Perhaps there is another avenue he can use.

Chapter Text

An Unpleasant Proposal

He's rising in his clan, but it's not fast enough. He's rising in his clan, but it's too late. Because...

“Are you all out of your mind?!”

“Isao! Take a care how you speak. We aren't children to be scolded for failing in our responsibilities.”

Izuna shifts uncomfortably as the man next to him, as Elder Isao openly slams his fist on the table. While he respects the other man for being the only Elder to see the danger that his once-rival poses to the clan, he knows that this is not the way to win over the others.

“Are you not? You would seek to raise that man, an enemy, if I should remind you, to a place where he has actual power...?!”

Saburo snarls. “Have a care of how you speak of our red-eyed gift from the kami, Isao. The kami have spoken and—”

Isao laughs. “Spoken? Spoken? Am I speaking to grown men or women or naive children? You know the kami do not speak! They make their intent known in other ways, but to suggest that the only way to keep their favor—if we have ever had it—is to promote that viper is ludicrous. Even you know it, Elder Saburo, and I know for sure that you do, Elder Tomiichi. Surely, you do not agree with this, this travesty?”

But Elder Tomiichi just shrugs. “It can't hurt, Elder Isao, can it? He's been defanged years ago. And I do admit that he makes quite the pretty picture when he's performing one of his dances.”

Elder Kata glances up at the general direction where Tomiichi is sitting. “I would have you remember that he is to be Tajima's concubine. Some decorum, perhaps, is called for here. I'm sure it can't be completely beyond you.”

Tomiichi snorts, but relents. “Apologies, Elder Kata, Tajima. I mean no disrespect.”

Of course he did, that lecherous old man, but Izuna knows better than to bring it up. Rather, he's more concerned with how easily this motion is passing. He looks over the rotund elder, searching for any hint of why it's passing so easily. Saburo, he can understand given how tradition bound he is, but Tomiichi? Kata?

Toshiro?

It's not his turn to speak, but Izuna finds himself wetting his lips anyway. “Elders,” he begins. He sees his father purse his lips together in disapproval but ignores him.

Father has been too mesmerized by that viper to see clearly these days.

“Forgive me for my interruption,” he bows deeply, “but surely it is a bit much to have him become father's concubine? Senju Tobirama, as Elder Isao said, was one of our most fearsome enemies and has Uchiha blood on his hands.”

“And while Elder Saburo is correct that he is a gift from the kami—” it rankles to say such, but a gentle touch may yet accomplish what hardened opposition cannot “—surely we already gave him enough of a standing? He prays at the temples and performs for us. He helps with our wounded. These are all the tasks that the red eyed gifts have had in the past.”

Elder Saburo nods. “The young one speaks sense, for all that he is mentored by you, Elder Isao,” the man looks slyly to Isao. “But, young Izuna, you forget that the gift is also to bring comfort to the clan. He is to be a symbol of the favor of the kami. And this, he cannot do while he is completely hidden away, for only our eyes to view. The rest of the clan will want to see him performing his duties, as is custom.”

“Bah,” Elder Isao cuts in. “Custom, custom, custom. It is always custom with you. What of sense? Despite my reservations, and you all know I would prefer that he be killed and have it done—”

Kata grunts. “Surely you go too far, Elder? It seems dishonorable to kill him now, especially after he has proven himself useful and biddable. Perhaps when we first obtained him...”

“And you know that is of what I speak. In the beginning, I thought he should be killed. For his sake if nothing else. An older child on the cusp of adulthood? Better to have given him a clean death. But now...”

Elder Isao sighs, and Izuna thinks he's never seen him look so old.

“Now, it is better to allow him to perform his duties, but keep him from public view. And concubinage makes him highly visible!” The elder draws himself up, as if making a dignified, reasoned argument.

“I speak not of deposing him or doing harm upon him when he has already proven himself. Rather, have you forgotten he was once an enemy? He is a viper not in what he may do himself but the kind of attention he would naturally draw, especially as a concubine! It would be easy for our enemies to take hold of him, and with how much time you spend with him, Tajima, can you really say that you would not be swayed if he were held captive?”

Izuna sees his father's hand tighten into a fist upon his thigh before he relaxes it. “No indeed, Elder Isao. You are mistaken if you believe I would let sentiment sway me, particularly sentiment for someone who you've just reminded us is a former enemy.”

Lies. But, of course, that is the name of the game, here in this chamber of internecine affairs and politics so thick and dirty that Izuna often feels like he needs a bath afterwards.

For a brief moment, he longs for the days where he was relatively naive and trusting of his clan and its leaders, where he could believe the best of those who share his blood. But then he pushes the feeling aside roughly. He has no time for such trivialities. If he wants to attain his goals, if he wants to save his clan, than he needs to get his hands dirty. And he is no useless whiner.

“Since Elder Isao is concerned about Senju Tobirama being used against us, even if he proves true, and Elder Saburo wants him to take on more of his religious responsibilities as previous gifts have done, then, if I may be permitted to give a suggestion, perhaps it would be best to consign him to a temple? He could be more public within his role as gift to the clan in the capacity that he is meant to be, and the temple is well protected, at the center of the clan.”

And, Izuna thinks but does not say, it would separate his rival from his father. If Tobirama is stuck performing religious rites and proving his obedience to the clan, then there can only be fewer opportunity for Tajima to go near him and avail himself of the man.

Still some. Still more than what Izuna would prefer, but far fewer. Far, far fewer than having him instated as the clan head's concubine, as one of Izuna's mothers.

No. His entire being revolts at the notion.

Elder Saburo looks taken aback at the idea, then considering. “It would allow him to be a more obvious symbol,” he agrees, “and it would follow custom...”

Ugh. The man really doesn't think of anything but. Elder Isao is certainly correct about that.

“Is this wise?” Elder Tomiichi intercepts. “It seems a shame to shut him away in a temple and keep him to those duties when it could be so much lucrative utilizing his talents during negotations and dinners as the clan head's concubine. We did much better than normal when there was that scheduling conflict and he had to perform for Sai. Did you see the way he handled himself? He was made to host events and display himself.”

Izuna nearly sneers, but just manages to keep it off his face. Sai. That blasted man who owned the mines up in Tsuchi no Kuni. A rat bastard if Izuna ever saw one (and possibly just a tiny bit worse that Tomiichi). He hopes the Senju children Tomiichi had sold to him are all dead and in the Pure Lands. Better that they be at peace, for all that they were enemies.

Kata has no such compunction towards decorum. “Profit again, Elder? Is that all you think about? I'll remind you that concubinage is a respected position within the clan, and he is not a whore to be bandied about to help you make a bit more money by distracting your clients.”

The room erupts at that, with Tomiichi defending his position and Saburo yelling at him for profaning the holy. The raucous would have continued if Elder Toshiro had not slammed down his hands to draw attention.

“Elders!” He roars, for once raising his voice. “Elders,” he repeats again, once everyone is staring at him in shock. “Do not forget yourselves and do not forget your dignity. I am sure that Tomiichi did not mean to suggest that Tajima's beloved is a prostitute, just as I'm sure that Kata did not mean to suggest that Tomiichi is driven only by greed.”

Izuna's not sure about that, given that Elder Kata looks unrepentant, and Izuna's father looks like he wants to strangle Tomiichi, but it does work to calm them all down.

“Nevertheless,” Elder Toshiro continues. “I do believe that what Elder Saburo first suggested has merit. As a concubine, the young man will have a more official position within the clan and will be harder to rip away from us. While the Daimyo has agreed that the last Senju may stay within the protection of our clan—”

Izuna snorts. Protection. Bah. As if Senju Tobirama weren't still an enemy held by them.

“—there has been a few attempts on Tajima's life these past several years and some attempts to take the Senju, have there not, Tajima?”

Izuna's father nods. “That is correct, Elder Toshiro. And I do believe the attempts on my life to be connected with trying to steal Senju Tobirama from us. I'm not yet sure which clans are behind it, but Madara has some suspicions he's voiced to me.”

Madara? Has Izuan's Aniki seen something in the field then?

Izuna has his own suspicions, but if Madara has better intel...

“Then concubinage seems like the best option. It would tie him to us more securely.”

Izuna blinks.

Surely he can't be suggesting...surely that's not what Elder Toshiro means...

“Do you mean to imply,” Elder Isao asks incredulously, “that should Tajima fall to an assassin's blade, it would be better to have Senju Tobirama as his concubine because he can then be given away to his son?” The elder sounds utterly revolted, much as Izuna feels.

And, to his credit, much as Tajima looks.

“Elder,” Izuna's father begins, looking mildly queasy, “I do not think Madara would care for that—”

“Nonsense,” Toshiro interrupts. “Madara has proven himself very well these three years commanding our troops on his own. He's flushed out the vast majority of the Senju bandits, has he not? And demonstrated an aptitude for leadership and decision-making that well exceeds our expectations. I think such a bright young man would know to do his duty when so much is on the line.”

Then, when everyone else looks very disturbed at the notion of Madara inheriting Tobirama, for lack of a better word, the Elder stands, drawing himself up to his full authority. “Elders, it is imperative that we keep hold of just two things. The mines and the Senju. Everything else may be bartered, but not those two. And you all know why.”

They do. As much as Izuna does not want to admit it, they do.

But there's another way.

A way that won't involve infecting his clan with Senju Tobirama. A way that limits that viper's ability to influence his clan, that keeps his old rival away from his father.

A thing that he knows the old Senju Tobirama would welcome, even, because the Senju Tobirama that Izuna knew, the Senju Tobirama that Izuna respected, would never have brought himself so low. That Senju Tobirama would never have agreed to become a concubine, never agreed to...to...to sleep with Izuna's father.

Even now, the thought of them, Izuna's father and Senju Tobirama, it makes him want to scratch his own eyes out.

As much as the thought of Madara (his Aniki, his beloved Aniki that he hasn't seen in three years) with his rival.

No.

Even though the council will move forward and allow the engagement. Even though the council has apparently all lost their fucking minds (except Isao, but what can he do, that lone dissenter?), Izuna will not stand by and allow this travesty.

If he needs to continue building up his standing in the clan, continue making deals and fine-honing his spy network under Isao, then he will. Anything to gain what he needs to so that he can safely kill Tobirama, as he should have from the beginning.

He knows his rival. Knows who he was. Knows who he is. And he would never acquiesce as he has pretended to have done. He would never bow so meekly and submissively to Izuna's clan.

He's dooming them, dooming them all, and they are almost all too blind to see it.

I'm sorry, my old rival, he thinks. I'm sorry that I wasn't able to give you a clean, honorable death so long ago. But I will do so now.

Chapter Text

Planting the Seeds

It's unbearable.

He's gotten what he wanted, and he is to be wedded to the young man in just a few months time. Senju Tobirama, Butsuma's beautiful son as his concubine. The official sanctity of the kami and legal allowance of the clan for him to fully take the beauty as his own.

No more of these attempts to rip Tobirama away. No more of the Daimyo's seemingly endless reminders that Senju Tobirama's stay with the Uchiha is only temporary, and that in a few more years he seeks to reinstate the Senju clan, with their lands (greatly diminished) to be handed back to Tobirama to steward. No more waking up in the middle of the night, slipping into the young man's rooms to notice guards knocked out, ripping his Senju away from the man's masked assailants...

Once Tobirama is his concubine, there is little that the Daimyo can do. There is little that the enemy clans can do. The Senju lands that remain—that the Uchiha currently steward over—will belong to the Uchiha fully. The mines will be theirs. The Senju beauty will be Tajima's. Any kidnapping attempt will not lead to a future rebellion, will not have his concubine as a figurehead or a banner to rally enemies behind.

Tobirama will be fully his in a way he never was quite before. Not spoils anymore. Not a clandestine affair, but his. Openly. Willingly.

It's a thought that sends a shiver of pleasure up Tajima's spine, and he should be happy, is happy. The Elder Council is generally not so compliant, even if Elder Toshiro is usually on his side, but...

His hands clench and wrinkle the document he had been staring at for the last hour. Some trade agreement or such that would profit his clan. It's what he should be doing.

But...

But that stipulation at the end. That reminder.

In the event that Tajima passes, in the event that he is successfully assassinated within the walls of his own clan compound—for Tajima is aging out of the battlefield and spends most of his time directing general battlefield strategy from safety instead—in the event that he falls, it is his son that will obtain his beauty.

Madara.

Who has already shown interest in Tajima's beauty. Who has already looked upon Tobirama with covetous eyes.

He can still see it. That day when Madara returned from the field. That day where Tajima beheld his eldest for the first time in three years. He had been so excited, so relieved to see his dear son back, alive and triumphant, but then the younger man turned those wondering eyes to the white-haired beauty in Tajima's arms. He had openly gazed into those ruby eyes that Tajima treasured so, and his eyes seemed to caress Tajima's future concubine's slim form, trailing down that slim body, eyeing the firm buttocks and continuing on its path downwards until Tajima could not help but notice it.

It is infuriating.

Has Madara forgotten himself so much to desire someone his own father has known? To look upon someone that would be his mother in that way, to look upon Tajima's prize as if he is to be shared, as if Tajima would ever care to allow anyone those privileges...

No. No, he is being irrational.

Madara's not like that. He isn't.

He is a dutiful son. Always has been and always will be.

Tajima's pride and joy.

He knows that.

He knows that.

But...

He thinks about those dark eyes and can't help but notice how close in age his son is to his beauty. Madara's only slightly older than Tobirama, whereas Tajima is more than two decades older. He looks upon Madara and sees his youth, his beauty, his vitality, where Tajima knows he has none left. Old and withered and growing too frail for the battlefield.

Oh, his clan still call him hale and flatter him in that way, but he is not blind. Having never awakened the Mangekyou, he can still see clearly. And he knows he is unfit. Not the commanding presence he used to be. If it weren't for his contacts to the council, and the fact that he has a history as Clan Head—it was he who led the Uchiha to victory over their Senju rivals, he who changed the tide of war and wiped out that enemy clan—then he has no doubt there would be talk of replacing him with someone younger, someone with more energy and more life to give.

Madara, he knows. Especially now that Madara has that commanding experience.

He was so proud when Toshiro recommended Madara for the command. So proud of his son and all that he accomplished.

So proud...

He was a fool then, to not see this risk to himself. A fool to not realize that a younger man, a more capable man, a man liked by his compatriots for favorly leading them in battle, for doing all that he can to win them their lives and crush their enemies, who puts himself out in the field alongside those under his commands and is seen eating the same food, drinking the same water, wading into the same dangerous battles with as much risk to himself as those he commands is a threat to him.

Madara is a threat to him, to his position, to his power, to...

To his wedding to his beautiful Senju.

But...he can't help it.

Madara is his son. His precious, beloved son. He still loves him with all of his being. And he knows it is not Madara's fault at all. It is the nature of man, after all, to long after the hale, the young, the capable. It is not Madara's fault that his feats have turned heads, that the clan now dreams of the future where Madara will lead them, where they look towards a brighter horizon rather than look upon the boring old past.

It's not Madara's fault...except for the way he dared look upon what is Tajima's. That alone, is Madara's fault, and Tajima corrected him, as a good father would. Warned him against desiring what is not his to have.

Madara was dutiful. Madara apologized for his wandering eyes, promised to do better, and Tajima put it from his mind.

Except...

He thinks about his son's beauty and youth and can't help but imagine his beautiful concubine-to-be held in Madara's broad chest. He thinks about the way his son looked upon his beautiful Senju with awe, at the way his gaze sensuously caressed Tobirama and the thought sends envy and worry like curdled milk through his belly.

Madara, as Tajima's heir, will inherit Tajima's concubine after Tajima's death.

Madara, as Tajima's heir, will be able to satisfy that hunger for Tajima's Senju beauty, will be able to bury himself between creamy thighs and know the feeling of that weighty braid in his hand, will be able to layer sweet little kisses up the pale column of that fine neck and drink of the softness between those pink lips.

Unbearable.

Simply unbearable.

Tobirama is his. His, and he's not sharing. Not yet.

Not...

Not until he's dead.

Almost unbidden, the thought enters his mind, that Madara wouldn't have to wait so long if he dies quickly.

All these assassinations, all of these attempts on Tajima's life, all the times their enemies tried to tear his Senju away from him. What if...what if they worsen? What if they increase when, by all accounts, they should decrease? What if...?

No!

Tajima's just being paranoid. He knows it.

Madara wouldn't. He wouldn't. He's a good son. He and Izuna, even if his younger son has recently taken a leave of his senses and grown ten times more paranoid—must be his spy network, such things do things to a man, make them see shadows where there are none—are good. Obedient. Filial.

Sons any father can be proud of.

And he is proud of them.

He is.

Just...

He is tired. He must be tired. Tired and so very weary of these documents he should be focusing on. Yes, it's these documents fault. They're fatiguing him so much, he's having delusions.

As if Madara would ever be so treacherous!

Alas, he needs to get these done. Madara has already said he had suspicions as to the benefactor of the Senju bandits, and this trade agreement will help get to the bottom of it. Make it so that Izuna's agents have an avenue to explore. Investigate the Ino-Shika-Cho alliance as they deserve to be, without undue suspicion. And the extra goods won't hurt. The furs alone could help them get through the winter that will come in only a few more months.

Winter, when his wedding will be. When he'll finally be able to showcase his beautiful Senju like the prize he is, in full view of everyone.

As if summoned by his very thoughts, two slender hands wound themselves about his shoulders and press down, massaging away his stress and the pain in his head. Those clever hands reach his neck and begin to work their magic there as well as a firm chest leans into him from behind and a silky braid falls over his chest.

“My dear,” his Senju begins, “is it not time for you to rest? Surely the documents can wait until another day?”

He wishes. Tajima really, really wishes. But needs must come before wants.

“You should go to bed, my lovely one,” he says in return. “I will join you later, but I need to get this done as soon as possible. The sooner we can complete this, the sooner we have security for the coming winter.”

Slender hands leave his neck and trail around. Thin, but strong arms wound about his chest as Senju Tobirama rests his head against Tajima's shoulder.

“You work yourself too hard, my lord. If you get sick by working so much, then the entire clan suffers as a consequence. Would it not be better to set your work aside until you are stronger and more clear of mind in the morning? Surely a few hours, a single night, won't hurt anything.”

Those pink lips kiss his neck softly, almost shyly, and he leans into them, enjoying the feel of Senju Tobirama, his concubine-to-be, against him.

“You make a compeling case,” he murmurs against those lips, and then abruptly catches the slim body in his arms and whirls him around so that he has a lapful of Senju. “Perhaps a little break...but then I must get back to work.”

Sharp teeth nip at his lips before an agile tongue sooths over the light pricks. “A little break, my lord? And how may I, so lowly and useless, help with soething like that?”

The little vixen.

It's a good thing that Tajima likes himself a beautiful little vixen. “Oh, I don't know,” he sighs against that clever tongue. “I don't know. What would you suggest, my beauty?”

Those lips slant against his, and arms wrap around him more closely, drawing him firmly against the Senju in his lap. “I couldn't possibly say, my lord. It isn't my place...but if I were to hazard a guess, perhaps you would enjoy my company?”

“Oh?” He says, forcing his voice to stay light. “And what could you offer me, my little Senju?”

The elegant hands dip into his clothes, beneath his haori, run across his back.

“Everything, my lord.”

-~&~-

Tobirama waits until the man is asleep. He's careful to distract him from any true work, careful to always delay him until the next day. Because...

With practised ease, he slinks out of the man's embrace, pads softly on socked feet to the desk where the documents lay. Quickly—he needs to be quick, he was nearly caught before—he scans over the contents, committing the important details to memory.

Ah.

The Ino-Shika-Cho. Troubling, but the powerful alliance has actually no role in this convoluted mess that he finds himself in. However, this could lead to implications for his allies. He will warn the Sarutobi through Kenji.

For a moment, he's heavily tempted to alter the document. Just a quick stroke of the brush would change some of it, would neuter the spying missions, but he knows better. Too easy to get caught. And this way, the Sarutobi could seed some misinformation into the mission. Make it far less likely that they'll get caught. Possibly implicate enough neutral clans so that the Uchiha will gain more enemies.

He smiles.

And if not...

He thinks to the last “assailant” he had to fight off. Thinks to the previous night when he trembled within Tajima's embrace as he was nearly “kidnapped.”

He thinks to the upcoming marriage, just a few short months away. A winter wedding, because Tajima is apparently stupidly romantic and wants the white snow to match Tobirama's coloring.

He has other options, beyond the Sarutobi.

Chapter Text

Little Brothers Grown Up

It's a gamble to rely on spies not under his control, and Madara fights to keep back the unease in him. Something is wrong (he knows something is wrong), but he can't quite put his finger on it. Can't quite pinpoint just what is sending the trickling sensation of unease up his spine.

It's not even that the spies are poorly trained or inept. Izuna speaks highly of them—and there's a notion! Spymaster Izuna! Something Madara would have thought beneath his brother, not as honorable as clean warfare, but a necessary evil to garner the info they need to win battles and wars. The currency of information and misinformation, seeding the latter delicately, carefully at the times calculated to do the most harm. It's not something Izuna has ever showed interest in before, but Madara guesses that things change.

He's been away for three years and only back a single week. It's normal, expected even, that this place, his clan, his family, would feel almost like strangers.

He doesn't like it.

His bonds, his love and admiration of his father, his closeness with his last remaining brother, the trust he had in everyone in the clan, from the eldest, most wizened elder to the youngest babe: all that feels...wrong. Like a discondant piece of music played where one expects to hear something else. Like a patch of roughness on a well trodden path that ought to be smooth.

“Aniki!” his brother would slide in beside him and slide over a cup of tea. It is just like old times, Izuna watching over his meals and making sure he took care of himself and ate, except, “Aniki, don't you think the reports are almost too suspicious? Shipments to the Ino-Shika-Cho of large boxes, just the right size for weaponry, arriving in the dead of the night. Doesn't it seem like someone wants us to think that the alliance is working against us?”

That.

Exactly that.

All this politics that Izuna's mired in, his somewhat naive and innocent brother buried away somewhere beneath a mind constantly looking for deception. And while Madara knows he should applaud, knows he should look upon his little brother with joy that he's treading the path of a shinobi no mono so well, he can't.

Every time he sees him. Every meeting for tea, for socializing outside of the confines of structured family meals, the glimpses he gets of Izuna outside of the religious duties they are all beholden to...it's all been reduced down to this.

Ino-Shika-Cho. Misinformation. And—

“It's your own spies, Izuna. You tell me. Do you think that another clan is trying to force a war between us? Do you think we're getting pushed unwisely?”

Izuna shrugs. “It was your intel that opened the possibility in the first place, brother. Your having seen those rations that are exclusive to their trading magnates. I'm just noting that it's so very convenient, that what you saw points to them, that our spies are getting such clear intelligence that can only point to them.”

Madara leans back and downs the scalding tea in one fell swoop, ignoring the burn in his throat. He is Uchiha. He can handle a little burn.

“What are you saying, Izuna? Aren't you jumping at shadows here? If the Ino-Shika-Cho are complicit, then wouldn't we find items implicating them? Wouldn't we see the proof? Are we to disbelief what our own spies report?”

Izuna sighs and shakes his head, and Madara is disappointed in himself at the resignation on his little brother's face, as if his little brother had expected better of him. It burns, the knowledge, that Izuna, with less experience on the battlefield, is the better strategist. His brother, who had never been one for long-term strategy and the intricacies of spywork, now thinks exclusively of. That his brother, who had always looked up to him, may be more experienced than he in such matters.

(He's not used to being less knowledgeable about anything. He's not used to be more naive, weaker, softer.)

“Think about it, Aniki,” and Izuna lays a hand on his arm placatingly. “There is such a thing as the enemy sending us information through our own spies, but sending the wrong information to trick us. Normally, when we receive intel, it is mixed. There should always be elements that don't quite fit with this rest. This, however, this is too clean. Someone clearly wants us to think we have enemies in the Ino-Shika-Cho, presumably in the hopes of sending us into a war we just aren't ready for yet.”

Yet.

“We can never be ready, Izuna,” Madara lays his own hand on top of Izuna's. “Believe you me in this, but from what I've experienced on the field, no amount of preparation will guarantee anything. Things on the world often change swiftly, and while we both saw it as foot-soldiers, it is quite a different matter when you are responsible for the lives of a hundred warriors.”

(In this, Madara knows better. In this, he has far more experience now.)

Izuna frowns. “I don't mean to belittle your experience, Aniki—” meaning he is doubting it “—but we are less ready than we would be with a year's preparation. And with an enemy stationed right within our midst, how can we be sure that the intel we're receiving is not deliberately fabricated to make it merely look like we have a formidable enemy where we don't? If we attack them as I know you and father are planning, then we will have indeed have gained a dangerous enemy, even if we didn't have one prior.”

Madara struggles with him.

Ah. The third part of Izuna's obsession.

There's no helping it. “You really see him as a sly fox, don't you?” he murmurs. “He's the cause of every misfortune our clan has befallen, every plot can be theoretically traced back to him, he even brings droughts upon our lands...!”

“Must you put words into my mouth, dear Aniki?” Izuna responds, stun by his words. “I am not so ridiculous as that. But even you must admit that ensconced by father's side as he is, curled up to his breast like the little viper that he's become—”

“—wasn't he always a viper to you, Izuna? Didn't you always struggle against him? Isn't this just a continuation of your old bitter rivalry?”

Izuna's fingers digs into Madara's shoulder, and Madara's hand tightens on top of his. “Don't think that this is merely that. If I'm wrong, then there is no harm in extra caution. If I am right, then we would have given our true enemies another ally, and a dangerous one. The Ino-Shika-Cho alliance may not be known for their fighting force, but they have great defenders. Their commanders are wily and intelligent and not known for taking risks. And, most importantly, they are the most well-connected clan in the entire country, possibly within all our neighbors as well!”

Madara shakes off Izuna's hand. “We have our allies,” he protests. “The Hagoromo and the Kazanshogun—”

“The Kazanshogun has been quiet recently. Ever since we made the request for her troops to be withdrawn to the edge of the country, she's been sending fewer and fewer missives. I believe she's rethought her strategy of irritating the Daimyo of Hi no Kuni and is backing off. I would not be surprised if she were not sending out missives to locate alternative sources of iron in case she's forced to abandon us.”

That is dire news indeed. Part of their power comes from their alliance with their foreign samurai friend. Without that, they are significantly weaker. A clan sitting on too many resources, with not enough defenders and allies.

He purses his lips. “Do you think the Daimyo is making them an offer to get them to leave? If so...”

If so, they'll need to act and soon. Fully solidify their claim on those mines. Hurry his father's marriage to Senju Tobirama and tie the man to them completely. Perhaps have him sire a child on a noble Uchiha woman, so that the only Senju main line will be part of the Uchiha forever.

(It makes his skin crawl, to think of his father's pretty Senju taking on such duties. It makes his skin crawl, to think of the graceful beauty forced to share so many beds. If only...)

“Perhaps. Or they are reconsidering the cost of keeping troops stationed here. They absolutely do need the iron, but if they find alternative sources, then it would no longer make sense to expend so many resources this way. It is costly to feed an army on foreign soil, especially without irritating the locals.”

And that, Madara knows intimately. He thinks of the long nights disciplining his troops to not pillage small civilian villages, thinks of the times he's had to execute one of his own men for stealing rice from a farmer when they fell short on rations. He may not particularly care for the farmer's livelihood, but if the Uchiha become known as little more than upstart bandits, they would suffer. Not only would the Daimyo's patience with them (already thin) fray and break, the other clans would have an excuse to attack. And they could expect no more trade relations or neutral welcomes into those little rural villages, so necessary for shinobi no mono work.

“Then,” Madara decides, “it is all the more important that we take the initiative while we can. All the evidence points to the Ino-Shika-Cho. A surprise attack will gain us the upper hand and allow us to take them down before they have time to call for reinforcements. Once their reinforcements are up, you know they can be like a heavily defended fort.”

Izuna snorts. “Attacking a neutral clan? What of the political implications? Wouldn't that band the rest of the neutral clans against us?”

But Madara shakes his head. “Not necessarily. The Ino-Shika-Cho have enemies as well. They have rivals who would gladly take their place, and if we ally with them...”

“Weaker allies. Like the Aburame perhaps? While their kikaichu are fearsome, they are not as politically strong or connected in trade as the Ino-Shika-Cho.”

Madara sighs. “Then what do you suggest?”

Izuna hesitates, as if he'd never expected to get to this point.

Perhaps he hadn't. Madara well knows that their father is not inclined to listen to his brother's mutterings against the beautiful Senju Tobirama.

...and perhaps Izuna has a point about Senju Tobirama, but it is hardly the young man's fault! He is indeed, beautiful and, apparently, loving and much more pleasant to be around than other people these days. He can see why his father is so besotted.

“Feint,” Izuna says finally. “If we must attack the Ino-Shika-Cho, then we must. I know you and father and the Elders too well to know that any of you would heed my advice when you are united against me. But lie. Do not mention the attack, when it will take place or where it will take place to anyone but yourselves. Make father promise not to speak of it at night before he goes to bed, and do not put any of this down in writing.”

“Pretend that we seek to attack another clan instead. Perhaps...the Hatake is located nearby the Ino-Shika-Cho. Say that you are still considering the case against the Ino-Shika-Cho, but that the Hatake have been a thorn in our sides for too long, as they are known for openly sheltering the high ranking Senju that fled. Gather up an army and march against the Hatake...and only change course at the very last second for your true target.”

Izuna looks at him with steel in his eyes.

“That is what I advise.”

Madara nods, a shiver running up his spine. His little brother...has grown up.

He doesn't like it.

“I will do my best to persuade the Elders then.”

Chapter Text

On Terrible Fates

Izuna can tell that it is difficult to convince father, but for once, he has Madara on his side. For once, he has elders besides Elder Isao on his side. Not Elder Saburo, the greedy old lech is too worried about the potential repercussions on trade if they directly attack the Alliance (he will need to do something about Elder Tomiichi if the man continues to be a thorn), but the others understand subterfuge and are willing to play along.

Father is resistant. He seems truly and disgustingly besotted with his concubine-to-be—Izuna's rival, he was Izuna's rival once, he must never forget it—and it takes much work and persuasion before he (reluctantly) agrees to mention neither hide nor hair of it.

Izuna doesn't trust him. He doesn't trust in his father's strength of will against the wily fox that his rival's become. He can't trust in his father's resolve against that beguiling trickster kitsune. And it makes him want to scream, having to acknowledge the fact that he can't even trust his own family, that he must cast suspicious eyes everywhere. All because of the downcast pretty eyes of that fox...!

It's with difficulty that he holds himself back from running straight to his father's quarters. He can barely stop himself from running in there and finishing the job he should have done all those years ago. This is Tobirama's revenge, ripping apart Izuna's family and clan, turning father against son. This is Tobirama's vengeance for his family's death, for the dissolution of his clan. For Izuna not stopping the sale of those wretched, wretched children into horrible, fatal slavery.

He still hears their cries at night. Still remembers some of their faces, the ones he'd glimpsed while they were kept in the cage. And he should be beyond this. He knows that. He knows he's being unduly sentimental over something would happen with any clan. He shouldn't waste so much thought on them.

But...

But their cries were so pitiful, the young ones. And that little boy, the one who looked so much like his lost little cousin...

He's kept tabs on them.

Again, he knows he shouldn't. Elder Tomiichi (that filthy greedy pig) would be very put out by his actions. A sale is a sale in the man's books, and the amount of trade they earned in return for those bodies they sent over is well worth the price. He knows that. He knows it! They lowered what they would normally demand for, gave Izuna's clan the raw materials they so desperately needed for so much less. Their smiths work with cheaper and better quality iron now and their kunai, their ninjato, their wakizashi, katana and throwing stars have never been better! Their fine jewelers are able to meet the demand from the Daimyo for their intricate filigree work. And all it cost were a few miserable Senju children...

Children that are now mostly dead.

His spies have found a steadily decreasing amount of them in the mines. Even in the households they were sent to—Elder Isao keeps asking after them, keeps giving him that knowing look when he protests his innocence, declares that he knows nothing of them—they disappear. Overworked, unheeded little bodies left to rot in the mine they were inadvertently buried in, most likely. The ones in proper households given rough burials at the very least.

They are a religious lot, the people of Hi no Kuni. They would not tempt spirits to form with so many dead children denied even a proper funeral, no matter how rough.

The children are dead, and Izuna knows this when he shouldn't, when he shouldn't have spent even a small amount of time or thought on them. The children, who were absolutely not a threat, are dead, but Senju Tobirama, possibly the greatest threat that Izuna has ever faced, is alive and ensconced within the very heart of Izuna's clan.

How does any of this make sense?!

Trampling on the weak and vulnerable. Giving succor to the deadly serpent and holding it to one's breast...!

He knows that it is the way the world works. That's just the way things are. The strong trample on the weak lest they be trampled in turn, but the injustice of it all, the pervertedness burns at his chest and squeezes his heart. That his clan, his very own clan that he loves and respects and would die for is the hand that made it so!

And that clan is blind. Blind, blind, blind, blind, blind. Only Elder Isao, who grieves for the children even if he is careful to hide it, can see the fox, the serpent for what he is. Only Elder Isao truly sees in this matter.

For Senju Tobirama, the Senju Tobirama that Izuna knew, died that day along with his father and brother and cousin. He died, and this, this, this youkai came back in his shape.

Fox spirit, that's what he is. That's what he must have become, to beguile Izuna's father so. Treacherous spirit avenging the wrongs done to him by tearing them apart from the inside, sowing distrust and suspicion, jealousy and covetousness, hatred and death wherever he goes. That is what Senju Tobirama has become, because Izuna was not strong enough—too young, too naive, too sheltered by his clan—to spare the children their dark fate, because Izuna was not strong enough to end Tobirama before he could be forced into his father's bed.

It's wrong, these thoughts that he has. It's wrong, that he doubts his father in this way, that he doubts his clan in this way. It's unfilial to the extreme, and he knows he will suffer for it, for the unrighteousness of his thoughts, of the lacking of his filial piety and how he's plotting against his own father.

But...

He still hears their cries, when they were taken away in the cages. He still hears the screams of their mothers and fathers as they were all carted off in different directions, meant to serve different masters who would all work them to the death.

Just as he can still remember what Senju Tobirama looked like, drugged, chained up in that dingy little cell when Izuna first snuck in to see what was happening, his father's spend freshly painted on white thighs.

(It makes him want to puke. It makes him want to tear his eyes out, destroy his sharingan so that he stops seeing it, so it stops haunting him.)

And he reminds himself that his father is not in his right mind, that he has been bewitched by the fox spirit intent on destroying Izuna's clan and family. That he is doing this to preserve his father, preserve all that he holds dear.

Yes, that's it. That's what he's doing this for. All this backhandedness, convincing Madara to go against their father in an Elder Council meeting, winning over the Elders one by one, Elder Isao working on Elder Kata because Elder Saburo hates him and Elder Toshiro does not trust him, while Izuna smiles and coos up at Elder Toshiro (their family connection helps) and plays the pious, filial son for Elder Saburo. It's just enough, despite Elder Tomiichi and his father. It's enough to muzzle his father for now, to prevent sensitive documents from being passed along consciously.

But unconsciously...!

Ah, there lies the rub.

At least part of the plan has worked. His spies tell him that the Hatake have bulked up their defenses, clearly anticipating an attack. That first feint is then done. (And whoever is passing information from Tobirama has some contacts with the Hatake and saw fit to warn them then.) But his spies also report some activity amongst the Alliance. They are bulking up too, though more slowly.

Exactly why Izuna convinced Madara to change the date of the attack at the very last moment. The troops are ready and will make double time. And this way, even though that fox has spread the news to whoever it is on the outside that he's allied to, whoever it is that's their true enemy or one of their true enemies, the attack will still take the Alliance by surprise.

Izuna's not naive, not anymore. He's not stupid. Aniki...Aniki will be in danger unless it's truly a surprise attack. The Alliance, for all that they do not have the reputation of being fierce warriors, are truly formidable in defense. And too much is hinging on this.

And if there are more children sold to feed the Uchiha war machine, if there are more cries of babes in cages and screams of their mothers and fathers when they are all carted off in different directions, then...then Izuna will just have to live with it. Just as they will have to die with it.

Such is the world they live in, and at least it's not Izuna's clan, Izuna's family under the yoke.

-~&~-

There may be some reasoning behind Izuna's fears after all. Madara's scouts report increased activity amongst the Alliance, clearly anticipating for an attack...but then again, given Madara's activity in the field and the direction they're all marching in, surely that could just be happenstance. After all, it is known that the Alliance, however inadvertently, supplied the enemies Madara's been working on eliminating. And now they're marching, ostensibly to fight against the Hatake, but any clan with half a brain would be suspicious and take the necessary precautions.

It isn't as though the Alliance has significantly bulked up, just increased their defenses by a bit. A half-measure, nothing else.

Tobirama couldn't have leaked the information anyways, since he does not know it himself. Madara's father promised not to speak of it, promised not to put it in writing or anywhere in his private quarters. How else could the man have gotten the information? If there's a leak in the Uchiha, then it must lie elsewhere.

And it grates at him, to think of the sweet beauty in that way. He still remembers to the last time he spied him in his father's office, a tray of tea balanced so precariously in his hands that Madara leapt forward, grasped it to stabilize it...and looked into the most lovely red eyes he had ever beheld.

No.

He shouldn't think this. He shouldn't think in such a way about a man who will become one of his mothers. As concubine to Madara's father, Tobirama will hold a place of motherhood in relation to Madara. It is wrong to think of the beauty of his eyes, the sweet curve of his cheek, the trim waist and those dancer's muscles leading down to that firm, round...

“Oh, Madara-sama!” those sweet lips had gasped at that time, and for a moment, Madara had been tempted, so very tempted, to...to...

The man had then gracefully slid the tray over the table and dropped into an impeccable bow. Madara remembers marveling over it, marveling at the preciseness of it and the delicate, light way he had bent and, “you've grown since I last saw you.”

“Yes,” Madara had whispered back. “Yes, I've grown more into my form. You as well, you've become a man. A man worthy of—” his father “—the Uchiha clan.”

The man, the beauty, had blushed then, a light sprinkling of pink blooming across pale cheeks. “Tajima turned me thus. When he f-took me, that time. He...” The man, formerly Senju, had trailed off, the pink in his cheeks dying into ashen, those brilliant red eyes dimmed and downcast. Those lips had quivered ever so slightly, as if remembering old pain, before the man shakes himself, his long, ever-braided white hair whipping about. “Well, I belong to you now. To the Uchiha clan, and to your father in particular. My role, my purpose, is to serve you. And your father consecrated me that night. I shall be ever grateful to him.”

His words had been thus, but his eyes, those downcast, sad eyes (eyes Madara can't forget, can't get out of his head) spoke another story. And the way he had clasped himself, his arms raised into a self-hug, as if that's all the comfort he'd had, it tore at Madara. It made him wonder if his father was truly treating the lovely Senju right, if there couldn't be a better fate in store for him than to be his father's concubine. The Senju excused himself and left then, deftly plucking the tray back up from the desk and hurrying out to bring his father his tea, leaving Madara to gaze at him as he swept past, like some fairy, some tennyo whose cloak has been stolen away, hidden away and forced to wed her captor.

It still dwells with him, even now, even as he is preparing to attack the Alliance.

Focus, he commands himself.

He can think on Senju Tobirama's situation with his father at his leisure once he's returned from the field. Right now, he must take the Alliance to task and uncover whether or not they are truly behind the plot against his clan.

Chapter Text

Empty Fort

It's a disaster. They'd expected the Hatake to be attacked and warned the matriarch. And since the Alliance were geographically close, they bulked up as well, just in case. And when their mole updated the information that the real target was the Alliance...

Well, that was fine wasn't it? Since they were already preparing.

A little more preparation, a ramping up of their current efforts, and all would be fine.

All is not fine.

The adrenaline pounds through her body, the bite of fatigue straining her heart and nipping at her thigh muscles. She must push on though, she must warn them, warn them of the troops she's seen days early, of the enemies who arrived ahead of schedule, of the enemy who somehow fooled their spy.

She isn't alone. Not by a long stretch. But those with her are separated now, and the Alliance, who supplies her clan with the food and rations they need, who supply a lot of the day to day operations of the supply lines, are threatened, and one of them needs to make it, needs to successfully escape the enemy who has spotted them so that they can provide adequate warnings, so that the Alliance has at least some time to put the preparations into effect and be at least somewhat ready.

Because the alternative...

She shudders to think of them.

Without the Alliance and their ingenious inventions with food and transportation, who supplies the Sarutobi and most of the other neutral clans in a conflict? Without a secured supply chain, without a line delivering provisions and relief for fatigue and resources, then any battle that lasts longer than a few scant hours is lost.

For all that she is an expert shinobi no mono and not a tactician, for all that she is not the most detail-minded of the Sarutobi, she knows that wars are won on resource management. And the Ino-Shika-Cho Alliance is their bulwark in that area. If key elements of that Alliance are captured, if the Uchiha manage to neutralize them...

Then might her clan, the Sarutobi themselves, see danger? Might not they be the next to be targeted if the Uchiha realize who is truly working against them?

And without their resources, the Uchiha have a significant chance of winning. Not absolute, not with the Daimyo partial to her clan for that old family connection, but far greater than she is comfortable with. And if the Uchiha win...

The very idea nearly stalls her, nearly collapses her legs right there.

She knows what happened to the Senju children. The servitude they were sold into. The idea that the same could happen to the children of her own clan, the idea that Sarutobi children may be next, it horrifies her more than anything else could.

She wants to turn away from it, the knowledge that if she doesn't succeed, it may be her own nieces and nephews suffering, that the next Sarutobi generation could be the next to lay buried within the dusty, wretched confines of a mine or a quarry, literally used to death by cruel taskmasters.

Kami-sama.

The very notion is revolting.

...and too grim to ignore. She pushes herself on, despite all the muscles in her arms and legs crying out for her to stop, to rest.

No, she tells herself. Even if she pushes herself into death by exhaustion as the famous runners of the past, even if she collapses from this, never to rise again, she will do it. She won't stop.

Her life versus the safety and security of her clan's? Her life compared to that of her nieces and nephews and loved ones?

An easy trade.

She will prove the worth of a Sarutobi kunoichi this day and deliver the information if it's the last thing she ever does.

-~&~-

It's a shock to him when he realizes that he's been fooled, it's a shock to him to realize that he hasn't been good enough, that somehow, despite all his machinations, despite all the effort he put in, Tajima still suspects him.

Why else would the man keep from speaking of such things, even as he's on top of Tobirama? Why else would he go to such lengths to hide it?

He's furious, fuming behind the facade of a delicate teary face as the Uchiha paces in front of him, like a beast locked up in a cage.

(A beast locked away and still thinking of his son, still worrying over the dangers of battle.)

And what a travesty that this is the man he must bring comfort to, lest he find himself in the far less strategically useful position of being set aside for someone younger and prettier and more winsome. Although, if the Uchiha keep suspecting him, if they are so careful to keep this type of information from him, then what use is he anyways?

(He despises it. He despises him. He despises himself.)

“Your son is powerful, skilled. I am sure he will prove victorious against any of your enemies.”

Tajima whirls around, eyes spinning with the sharingan he inadvertently turned on in the tension of the moment. “What would you know?” the man snarls. “You're just a—”

Tobirama swallows, sets his hand delicately on a forearm, hard with coiled muscles.

Tread carefully.

“I know of his prowess on the battlefield,” he whispers, soft and cautious. “I know that he is the strongest in the clan behind your own self and—”

It seems an easy enough affair for the man to toss him off, if the casualness with the way he does it is any indication. Embarrassing really. But more embarrassing still is how much muscle tone he's lost, as an ornament allowed only the exercise needed for him to learn dancing, when the movement actually unbalances him, and he tumbles down in a swirl of crumpled silk.

Pathetic.

How utterly pathetic he's become.

And certainly he must seem so, because Tajima immediately softens and reaches down, all sudden gentleness as he's helped back up to his feet.

“Forgive me,” the Uchiha murmurs as he's pulled into a light kiss. “I fret for my son.”

He seethes inside, but lowers his eyelashes, seemingly abashed and melts softly into those hated arms around him. This pity is abhorrent, but he is no fool. No matter his feelings, he will use it.

Any tool to build the foundation of his revenge. Any weapon against this hated man, this hated family, this hated clan.

“It is understandable, my lord. But with the attack rushed to keep your enemies off balance, surely your son must have the upper hand?”

Tajima snarls. “I don't know what he was thinking! And without telling me as well! To take such risks and move the schedule up without consulting me or the elders...! He was all set to hold the original schedule until he met with Izuna...”

It's only with force of will that Tobirama stops himself from starting in realization.

Ah.

Izuna.

Now it is clear.

His enemy is revealed. Tajima and Madara are just tools in that enemy's hand then. The true power he struggles against, the reason this valuable information has been kept from him even during normal pillowtalk, is because his mark is not fully trusted himself.

It would have been Izuna who convinced Madara of the necessity of changing the plans, Izuna who always distrusts him. Izuna who never forgot the time they faced each other with naked steel between them.

It does not bode well for his plans. Tajima and Madara are the two strongest in the clan, then Izuna. If they are all united, then his vengeance will never have even a single chance at fruition.

...which means he'll need to do something about that. Drive a wedge somehow.

His memory sparks to a rushed farewell as he was bringing Tajima his tea, to the lingering gaze upon his body and the way dark eyes seem to follow him everywhere.

He knows just the thing.

-~&~-

But plans are one thing. Securing the safety of those he cares about is another. And while Tobirama is adept at being a leader, no matter his now lowered position in life, he has never been good at disabusing other people of their loyalty to him.

“No.”

He worries his lip and stares at the young child glaring up at him with firm eyes.

He remembers having such resolve at that tender young age too, but it was in the context of an ongoing war, with the knowledge that he was to be one of the key fighters in it. For Kenji to take that tone with him, to refuse him like this...

(Ah, but this is a war, too, isn't it? Just a different one than the ones he fought of old.)

“That was not a request. With me under suspicion...” he trails off, not daring to say more, but expecting the boy to understand anyways. He had been elated to find his kin, to learn that Kenji is the first sprung loose by the Sarutobi, that Kenji will be joining his efforts by his side and working to undermine the Uchiha. But now, his feelings are quite different. Now, he despairs at the boy's stubbornness.

“It is for your safety,” he says instead.

He will struggle against Izuna and attempt to pry the man's shells away from his hand, before he's able to place them on the goban, but there's no telling if he'll succeed. It's a dangerous, fraught endeavor that he's attempting, that will surely involve his gruesome torture and death if he's discovered. Tajima's leniency with him only extends so far, and others in his exact position have fared worse in the past.

He doesn't want Kenji in danger. He swore to himself that he would work with the Sarutobi and bargained with them his use as a spy and saboteur in return for their attempts to spring forth the people of his clan sold off into slavery, with the children as a priority. That a number of them now find sanctuary with his Hatake relations soothes his heart in a way that little else does these days, but that they were too late with the rest, that at least half have already perished still pains him.

Every day, he laments that he did not work fast enough to learn where each were sent. Every day, he curses himself for not being able to do more, for being so stubborn and prideful in the beginning of his captivity rather than succumbing with false docility from the very start.

How many more of his kin would still be alive? How many young clan members' lives were cut short by terrifying falling rocks, by being buried alive in soil, gravel and stone and suffocating as the air ran out? How many drowned when inept hands released a lake into the mining tunnel?

Too many. Even one is too many.

And he had wept and wept and wept when the Sarutobi traded that bittersweet news. Half of the children of his spirited out, saved. The younger ones squirreled away with old allies. The ones that are nearly of an age where they might have seen a battlefield in days gone past were trained for for espionage and as nearly unnoticed carriers of information.

Servitude again, but, like with Kenji, servitude under careful watchful eyes.

(He made sure of that. He has evidence of the Sarutobi's actions. If they trade too many of the lives of his young kin, if they betray him, then he will betray them in turn.)

“I won't. No. I refuse.”

If only he can get Kenji to leave, to flee in the dead of the night!

“I won't leave you here to suffer them alone, Tobirama-sama. What they make you do...how they treat you...how he treats you...! He hurt you again today!” Kenji's small hands clench in a feeling that Tobirama knows only too well. “I won't leave you to sacrifice for the clan alone, to face the danger alone.”

“I know I am not much, but I will stand beside you and help you make connections with the Sarutobi. I would have been old enough to fight in the past. I am old enough to fight and die now.”

“You won't change my mind.”

He sees the resolve in those brown eyes, sees the stubbornness etched on jaws that are still hardening, in the already grim lines on baby fat that hasn't completely disappeared yet.

“Then you must follow my word to the very character,” Tobirama murmurs, his voice low and soft and yet commanding. Commanding in a way that he can't afford to be these days.

“Do not take unnecessary risks. If you misstep, you endanger both you and myself.”

The boy, his distant cousin, nods. “I will obey, Tobirama-sama.”

-~&~-

They were not expecting the attack so soon, not really. At least, not for several days at least and, in truth, not at all.

The Sarutobi had warned them, but the Alliance has done nothing to create a grudge in the Uchiha. They keep strictly neutral in such situations, preferring to secure themselves in an interwoven web of trade, and surely it is suicide to willfully attack them without any just cause at all...!

Hatori narrows his eyes as the exhausted Sarutobi woman relays her information to him and then promptly collapses. With a wave, he has her carried off to recuperate from her ordeal, and he contemplates her words in silence.

Such a strong force against them. Three battalions strong, with over a thousand warriors. It would not be so mismatched if the Alliance had properly prepared, but they were not truly expecting to be attacked and only mustered up 200 trained forces for the initial guard, the remaining 800 to arrive the very next morning.

...and half of those had been sent away to investigate strange occurrences that they had discovered the previous night. A number of thieves, making off with some of their precious rations...

It's a bad situation, an almost impossible situation.

His warriors are battle-hardened and well-trained. But the Uchiha are known for their military strength in particular, and in any circumstance, 100 cannot stand against 1000, no matter their expertise in defensive tactics. It is simply too unequal. The Uchiha will arrive in merely a single turn of the hourglass. It is not enough time to find those forces sent away and most certainly not enough time for the surplus troops to arrive.

But Hatori is nothing if not resourceful. He remembers stories from his classical training. Stories of how another famous general from across the great ocean had found himself in similar straits and survived. No, not just survived.

Emerged victorious.

He grimaces.

It's a gamble, but such is all war. And in desperate, dire situations such as the one he finds himself in, he will try anything, do anything.

He knows what happened to the Senju that were successfully captured. It's a brutal incentive to not allow the same to happen to the members of the Alliance, his family.

He turns to his aide. “Dress up the civilians in light armor and weapons, but do not mask their chakra to make it appear as if they are not civilians. Do not guard the outer gates besides normal either and appear unconcerned about it. Weaken the seals and locks on the gates, make it look deliberate and have someone obviously inexperienced stationed near them.”

As that famous general across the great ocean bluffed with too obvious weakness and leveraged his own reputation, so would he. The Uchiha studied military strategy and tactics just as he. Let them see what they will do when faced with his “obvious trap.”

Chapter Text

Uncertainty

There's always a component of war that he hates, and that is the part where once all the preparations have been made, once all the plans have been tried and looked over and tested, where he and his squad commanders have gone over every single possibility that they can collectively think of, where he orders some of his squad commanders to play as the enemy, to think as the enemy and try to take them down in a simulation, and they stand at the ready, waiting for his signal whether or not the conditions are ripe to attack. That is the time where chance creeps in.

Chance, the enemy of logical thought and well-reasoned tactics. Chance, where everything can gone wrong despite having done their best and made the best decisions given the information that they are able to attain.

Everyone hopes for a quick decisive victory. Everyone hopes to brutally utilize tactics at their disposal to win, utilize the most brilliant and resourceful tactics, increase efficiency, claw themselves to the top with little loss.

Every military tactic can be defeated by dumb luck.

The weather conditions turning in the hour leading up to an attack, turning what might have been a swift, easy and clean route into a wet slog, both sides hampered to the point where all victories are pyrrhic and far more was lost than won. A chance wildfire taking away the grass upon which an army's horses forage, leading months of short supply and utterly wiping away what military advantage an army might have started out with. A heavy chakra-fog suddenly rolling in, reducing the visibility until naught is to be seen and friend is impossible to tell from foe.

And not knowing whether or not to call a bluff.

Madara stares at the heavily guarded compound with his sharingan, and he hesitates. He's trained in the traditional ways, read all the instructions, followed the relevant history closely, as a student of the war arts. There's only one of two ways this can go, and unfortunately, they are opposite solutions, directly conflicting with each other.

The first possibility, that the famous Hatori had sensed his arrival days ahead of time and had a reserve army on standby, enough warriors to turn back Madara's own troops, but that he is playing soft, laying himself as bait to Madara in until they are caught in a trap. It is a very likely possibility, utilized many, many times by strong, wily generals.

The second, that Madara has indeed caught the Shika-Ino-Cho alliance by surprise, and Hatori sensed them too late, rallying what troops he can while bluffing, pretending to have accomplished the first possibility while truly encompassing a far more disadvantageous situation. It is also a very likely possibility, utilized rarely, but utilized with great effect in the past.

The first will result in Madara's defeat if he is to go charging in, will result in the slaughter of his men. The second will result in Madara's defeat if he is not to go charging in, will cause him unnecessary delays until the forces Hatori needs to repel him have arrived. And that will likely also result in the slaughter of Madara's men.

The Sharingan, usually so important in the deciding of a battle by grabbing and filtering the most useful information, is useless here. Hatori's warriors do have their chakra signatures dampened, as if they are pretending weakness. And there certainly are fewer than would likely be able to repel Madara...which would be planned, if the goal is to lure Madara in with weakness. And yet, these are also the signs of truly being weak, while pretending that the weakness is a pretense in the first place.

He taps his chin with his finger, regarding those strong iron doors thoughtfully, his Sharingan spinning almost lazily.

He needs a third way then.

A way to turn this to his advantage without inviting the possibility of loss. A way to truly accurately test for which situation he is currently embodied in...without committing his actual ninja. There is not always a way, but a good field commander would consider all possibilities first.

After all, in haste, there is error.

And an error here would be beyond costly.

The lives of his warriors. His own life. His clan's safety. The family waiting for him back at home.

(A sweet red eyed Senju cradling a cup of tea.)

-~&~-

Hatori feels a bit of hope when the Uchiha seem to hesitate, when they stall from attacking. It is a sign that his gamble is working, and that Uchiha Madara has, indeed, fallen for his bluff.

He is careful not to celebrate too quickly, however. Madara, after all, has earned himself a reputation in the three years since he's taken command of first one of his clan's battalions and gradually the entirety of the Uchiha forces. It is one of the reasons there are rumors that the infamous alliance between the Kazanshogun and the Uchiha is fraying.

One wants one's allies to be powerful but not too powerful. The Kazan seeks to continue the low trade offers for the iron deposits and have been sending emissaries to negotiate an agreement so that the Daimyo can accept the Uchiha's past actions...while keeping Uchiha ambition in check. Should the Uchiha can gain even more power while rebelling against the Daimyo, should the Uchiha even supplant the Daimyo himself, then the Kazanshogun fears whether the current iron trade would still suit the Uchiha.

Hatori thinks this is all rubbish, but he would be the first to admit that he's not a politician, simply a soldier.

Ah, but a soldier who knows not to underestimate his enemy.

Uchiha Madara is a skilled tactician himself, and this wait may only be a brief one, may only be him considering whether Hatori is bluffing or not, and if he decides not, then Hatori will need to activate his backup immediately. If he does attack, then every moment is vital. And if he does attack, Hatori will be ready. Because there is only one point that makes sense and it's—

-~&~-

—a side portion of the wall.

Yes, Madara thinks.

The side portion of the wall makes the most sense, since it is the lowest point. The gate is too obvious, and they are all shinobi no mono besides. But the weak wall leads directly into the compound square. It is the softer flank of the heavily defended compound, made of wood besides, and his warriors specialize in Katon.

It would be easy to set it aflame and, with a bit of chakra, leap over and sow confusion. A few thrown seals, enough chaos created to significantly hamper what forces Hatori might have inside, even if it is indeed a trap.

It would be a trap that turns upon the hand that set it.

People, after all, panic when their home is burning. People panic when their civilians and soft vulnerable children are at risk. And while Madara doesn't usually like using these kind of underhanded tactics, he can see no other way of calling Hatori's bluff while ensuring the protection of his warriors.

If it's a trap to lure his warriors inside where they will be slaughtered, then the chaos their own people will sow will spring it back open. And if it is truly indeed Hatori being weak and only bluffing, then he would not have wasted time stalling and fretting endlessly, too weak to come to a decision.

No, this is the best option.

Move in, sow discord and—

-~&~-

—and spring the trap. Funnel the Katon that they will most assuredly throw—Hatori always thought it was ridiculous to become famous in a single school of jutsu, allowing every enemy to have a set routine in how to defeat you—into a container seal. Allow small sparks to escape and a controlled fire to blaze.

His people stand at the ready, the civilians having already been leaving via the secret sealed tunnel. They stand ready to make a raucous, those with their chakras sealed completely, ready to pretend to scream in panic.

And if the Uchiha, if Madara should choose to test him and attack in such a way (as Hatori would in his circumstance), then once they are drawn in, Hatori will turn their own stored Katon back at them.

Uchiha are famous for using Katon and starting them, after all. They are not known for any sort of skill with Suiton.

It is still a long-shot and very dangerous. Hatori would rather that they not attack at all, that Uchiha Madara has truly bought his bluff and has decided to wait. But he is no fool.

He knows the other man, if he would attack, would do so in this manner. It is the only manner that makes sense. The only path forward that effectively negates both possibilities and optimizes the outcome for the Uchiha.

That...

That, unfortunately, he cannot deny.

If Uchiha Madara attacks in this way, Hatori will have managed to do more damage to Uchiha Madara's troops than the man would care for. His men would be drawn in to a lesser trap, and the damage to that initial wave would be immense. But a man like Uchiha Madara would not commit all his warriors to that single wave, and he has simply too many for Hatori to hold off with his own small force.

A single day more, and the reserve will arrive.

A single day more and salvation will be had.

But even if that single day does not materialize, then Hatori knows he will have at least stalled long enough for most of the traders and other civilians of the Alliance to have escaped.

They have other strongholds, other securements, a deep web of networks. The Alliance will survive.

Even if he won't.

-~&~-

He may not survive.

The idea is not new to Madara. He's stewed over it many a time in front of the campfire, surrounded by his shinobi no mono and his kunoichi, laughing together and sharing what camaderie they can in the night before a planned attack.

He can day at any moment.

He's not immortal.

...and he's not cowardly enough not to put himself in the thick of his warriors, fighting by their side, at their back.

For all that he commands them, for all that they are bound by oath and by duty and by bonds of loyalty and kinship to obey him, he is still one of them. He will brook no one to risk their life if he cannot also do the same for his own.

And so he will be on the frontal attack.

His deputies try to talk him out of it. They plead with him to shield himself first and to hold himself in reserve, but he waves them off, refuses to listen.

Oh, he knows it is not advised. A general usually does not commit himself to the front lines until the situation is truly dire, until every sword, kunai, shuriken, seal and Katon is needed. Until the soil lies dampened with blood and there are bodies strewn in every direction, the very air itself filled with a cacophony of dying moans and cries and gurgled choking on one's own vomit.

But, he is no coward.

And perhaps more than that, he has a plan.

A plan within a plan, but one he dares not give any hint to, not even to his deputies.

He will not brook the sacrifice of his troops, of his people, any one of them. Their lives are as precious to him as his own. And so he will allay that cost, that initial steep cost.

Because he knows Hatori's reputation, knows the man has probably thought this all out and planned for this eventuality. And yet, he also knows that, in order to defuse this trap (either a true trap or the bluff of a one), he must walk this path, he must take this risk, the only middle road there is here. And so, he will walk it, but he will walk it with a surprise element in hand.

One that requires specifically him.

It has the potential to go very wrong, and if it does, he will likely be the first casualty, but if it goes right, then he will likely have spared his entire army.

For the one of the oldest and most well-known tactics of war is simply this: out-technology the enemy.

And despite Izuna's insinuations, Madara has not forgotten just who that beautiful Senju was before he had been tamed by Madara's father...nor what he invented and used in that single battle prior to their defeat.

Chapter Text

Spiraling Events

Izuna receives a letter, a thick notification from his eyes and ears, and he reads it, pursing his lips in distaste. With an imprecation hurled into the air, he crushes the scroll in his hand, unheeding of the fine silk it is formed of and tosses it to the floor. It bounces across the ground, looking like nothing more than a rumpled piece of silk upon smooth wooden, almost harmless but for what the damning kanji on it details. And Izuna stares at that kanji, his eyes hard and disbelieving before he suddenly leaps to his feet.

For the next few moments, he spends paces back and forth in his private chambers, looking like nothing less than a caged, restless tiger, a dark twist upon his lips and a brooding black temper about him.

So much wasted, so much lost! To have gambled it in this manner, to have sacrificed...

He clenches his teeth, wills the disbelief in his heart to go away.

Aniki.

Aniki.

It is such a blow to them all. Such a blow indeed.

And perhaps worse is knowing that he knew it, all along. That he knew it and did not protest enough, did not push far enough to have had the appropriate precautions taken.

(It is Izuna's fault, his fault for not doing better, for not protecting his family better. For not eliminating Senju Tobirama when he had the chance in the first place.)

He snarls.

The Senju had a hand in this, Izuna knows it. He must! He must have in order for things to have worked out this way, for it to be so convenient, the worst news they could have received.

Izuna's feet stalls. He runs a hand through his hair and then claws at his scalp. He clenches his other hand into a fist and punches his desk.

If he had anticipated this...if he hadn't compromised on what he truly wanted to do and simply turned the little youkai in when he could, convinced his Aniki of the necessity of it all...

Ah, but he knows now as well as he did then. No one would have listened. His father doesn't want to listen, having long since fallen for the wiles and charms of his admittedly beautiful rival. His brother, too, is too naive, too innocent to see what lays behind that lovely facade. And the Elders, though he has gained more influence from his intelligence activities, still resist bending to his requests the way he would like them to.

They resist, because they are, after all, human and weak.

But weakness is what brought this about. Weakness is what brought them to this pass and weakness is what endangers Izuna's clan and family.

He'll bring hell on earth before he allows either to be endangered. His clan, his family...they are his to protect, and no sly fox, no deceiving snake is going to get in his way.

Viper. Kitsune youkai. Or perhaps yuurei.

He was right all along, and to have this happen now...!

He'll rip out Senju Tobirama's influence and burn it all out. And he'll do it in a way that will force them to listen to him.

Something, anything to remove this curse, this blot upon his clan, upon his family, upon his very father.

Anything to remove the threat that lies against them all, whether or not anyone else acknowledges it.

But how?!

He swallows. His hand loosens and releases his hair. He watches impassively, almost unseeing, as a few strands fall to the desk.

Yes.

Yes, that will do. That's what he'll do.

This is not what what he wanted, not what he anticipated at all. And it pains him that things should work out this way, but...

If Izuna needs to hurt his family in order to save them, he'll do it.

-~&~-

Tajima receives another letter, another long document detailing the happenings, and he mutters an oath, leaps up to his feet and then stumbles back down.

He had thought he had planned for this eventuality. He had thought he'd done everything possible to avoid this, but it looms now, drawing over him like a pall, and to think that this is what happened, that this has been happening while he has been unaware...!

He staggers as if struck.

In reality...he probably had just been struck.

The wounds are not physical. There are no bleeding wounds, no obvious lacerations to be looked after, no flesh that needs to be knit back together again.

Simply this sharp disbelief in his heart, the unwillingness of his sharingan eyes to accept the damning evidence before his very eyes as they spin uselessly, beckoned into existence without his conscious control and will.

Because this...this hurts in a way that physical injuries cannot. Knowing that this is a possibility, having these particular words swim before him...

Madara...

His son. His firstborn, his eldest, his pride and joy.

With effort, he pushes himself back to his feet. Pushes himself to his feet and somehow manages to show himself to his desk, fumbling with the sheets and brushes on top of it. Clumsy the way that any other person his age might become, but he is still not, still would not be because he is Uchiha Tajima, one of the greatest of the Uchiha clan and current clan head...!

He picks up the brush, only to drop it, the shaking in his hand almost uncontrollable. He retrieves it, manages to grind the instick into the well of the inkstone, frothing it up in his haste. Stills. Stops. Starts again, impatiently waiting for the bubbles to die down, but then his hand jerks, his fingers slip on the inkstick. The well is knocked over, black flying into the air, splattering his desk with the oily dark substance almost like blood splatters...!

And he just wants to stop, to scream, to pound his fist against the table, he is so frustrated.

His son!

Madara!

His son!

It would be so easy to scream. To let loose the torrential tide inside of him, let loose the roaring fire and have it consume it all. So very, very easy.

(As easy to set his hand around his enemy's throats, to squeeze and watch the life fly out of them. Pay them back for the insult dealt to him and his.)

He doesn't though.

Control. He must be controlled. He is Uchiha Tajima, clan head of the powerful Uchiha Clan, head of the greatest shinobi no mono clan in all of Hi no Kuni. He will find a way to deal with this. Deal with this. Fix it. Move forward.

Nothing is solved by railing against fate, bad luck, destiny. Nothing is won by yelling at the heavens and cursing futilely.

Plans, however, they make a difference. Plans will gain him what he needs. Perhaps not fix the wrong that was already perpetrated, but prevent downward effects in the future.

He is still shinobi no mono, after all, and he will not allow such a wrong to continue uncontested. This endangers him, endangers his clan, endangers his family.

Their influence...their safety...

He breathes and forces his muscles to unlock, forces them to relax.

One breath. Two. Three. And he wills calm back into his core, reaches back for the brush and the inkstone and the inkstick and the water...and begins again.

For the sake of what he most holds dear, he will do what must be done, no matter the pain to himself.

He is Tajima of the Uchiha Clan and he will protect what is his. And take penance for wrongs done to him and those he holds dear.

-~&~-

Tobirama receives a letter too, only his words are not written down in kanji, his paper is not of silk or rice. No, for instead, he watches the smoke that rises high up above the trees, about a quarter of a kilometer away. The black smoke is long, wavy, interrupted with black spurts, big black blots that round and then narrow again right after, and while anyone else would think it a mere campfire, he knows differently.

He knows better.

He stills at the sight, the breath caught in his throat. His heartbeat quickens and his eyes widen as he recognizes just what he's seen, what this means...

Oh.

Oh, so then...so then they really...really...

A voice cuts through his thoughts, a voice that follows him constantly these days, ever his unwilling and undesired companion when he is not keeping Tajima company. Ostensibly for his own protection against those who would capture the clan head's concubine and use him against them.

He knows better though. He knows exactly who it is that assigned this particular man, this man that has proven more resistant to his wiles, this man who strives to keep as professional and distant and yet as observant as possible.

“Are you well, my lord's concubine?” The man—Masa, he thinks the man's name is—says. Black eyes flicker over his face, ever present, ever watchful.

Yes, most certainly Izuna's doing, to have this man watch him. Clearly one of Izuna's and trained well to boot. Wary of him, as any of Izuna's would be.

Tobirama is both annoyed and flattered at this. The former because it makes his task harder. The latter because he needs something to remember that he is not truly what he pretends to be. That he is so much more, that he used to be so much better.

Not just a pretty thing for Tajima to take whenever he feels like it. A commander of ninja, once.

“You should return to Tajima-sama's side.”

Tobirama gulps and stills. His hand, that had trembled and jerked in his astonishment, that had crumpled the silk of his sleeve, settles. With as much dignity as he can gather, he smoothes the rumpled material, willing a light blush to alight on his cheeks, wills his hand to cease its trembling and appear outwardly as nothing but the graceful concubine, all shyness and softness and vulnerability, the craftiness in his eyes hidden beneath lowered white lashes.

He knows his effect on Uchiha men now. Knows how he must look and knows what they think of him. And even these professional well-trained types...

Ah.

He listens closely and nearly smiles and gives his game away when he hears the slightly reluctant hitch in the man's breathing. He sees those eyes dart away from him briefly, only a brief moment of loss of composure before black eyes focus on him again, brought back from the unconscious discomfort of witnessing such vulnerability.

Yes, even against this consummate professional, he has weapons to utilize, and he knows he has succeeded in his intent. (It does not stop him from wishing that he could cast aside this pretense, if he could take back the mantle of what he used to be.)

“Y-yes,” he stutters deliberately, delicately, almost shamefully. “I just...just another moment, please? I know that my place now is where my husband wills it, but it is nice to be out here in the garden.”

Allow that plaintive tone to creep in. Allow genuine longing to color his gaze.

Genuine, because it is nice to be where Tajima is not. It is nice to be away from that man and his incessant touch upon Tobirama's body.

(If only his weapon were once again kunai and shuriken, not the couch and tea. If only the battleground were blood-soaked earth instead of silken bedding.)

His goal. Remember his goal.

Continued safety for the children. Revenge. Bringing down the Uchiha.

“And I wonder...I know that it is not my place anymore to think such things, but I do wonder at events outside of the compound. How...how Madara-sama must be faring.”

“You should not think of such things. Such things are beyond you now.”

He lowers his head, nods graciously.

“I know. I know it is and that I should not but—” He hesitates, looks down and then in a rare moment of truth, “I am still not very used to life in here. I still think about...”

The man frowns, but, to Tobirama's relief, does not press the matter.

Perhaps this professional, no matter his allegiance to Izuna, has some manner of decency about him. Or perhaps he understands, somewhat, just what Tobirama has been reduced to.

It takes long moments before he can calm the rapid beating of his heart the way he stilled the trembling of his hand. And longer still, before he feels ready to be taken back to the man he must call his husband.

Chapter Text

Not Quite a Hero's Welcome

What worth a son who returns triumphant? What is not worth such a son?!

They throw a feast for his return, for how he stomped out the Alliance's army. They throw a celebration for his heroics and wonder that he managed to come up with such an ingenious jutsu on his own—a solid bunshin! Who would have thought? Who could have known? And they wave away his apologies at having let the majority of the Alliance's civilian population escape. His show of contrition is seen as humility. How could he have known about those tunnels?

Tunnels, bah. Cowards, the lot of them.

Though the wiser among them bow their head at the enemy commander's foresight in having balanced the odds as well as he did. Using a risky move such as he did, but yet recognizing it for what it is and hiding underneath it his intent to smuggle out the vulnerable among the people under his protection...!

Truly, Hatori earned his fame and reputation.

The common low-ranked shinobi no mono amongst the Uchiha, however? The everyday man and woman, the distantly related and unrelated but still part of the workings of the clan? Far removed from power and far removed from knowledge?

Well, tonight, they celebrate. Their brilliant successor has achieved a great victory, after all!

And they turn deaf ears to his troubled reports, to the way his face flushes in shame as he tries to explain, tries to get them to see...

What is there to see? Victory! Nothing more, nothing less. Yes, it is troubling that the evidence seem now to point to the Sarutobi, who have very close relations to the Alliance, but that can be contemplated and thought about later.

Now...now is for celebration. For reveling in their heir's strength, in the prowess on the battlefield. On his wit and brilliance in coming up with such a jutsu and using it to devastating effect. On his nobleness in allowing the enemy commander an honorable death.

Elder Tomiichi is irritated at having lost new potential slaves, but they all mostly ignore his grumblings. Let the old greedy man grouse about the loss in profit, they have no such desire to give him their ears! And at least Elder Isao seems relieved, when he gets the news that there were not any children taken for captives. It is mostly goods that were left for their plunder, but goods are useful and can help them through winters! People cry and die and resist, and are far more trouble than they're worth really.

See how quickly the sold Senju children had disappeared! They must not have lasted even a single day. Surely their trade partners would much prefer solid, valuable Alliance rations, the best engineered food that the Akimichi themselves created!

This they tell themselves as they rejoice, even as their elders and betters look on with worried faces, and the newly returned, not-quite-so-triumphant Madara is led away to discuss what he has found...

-~&~-

“I'm sorry,” he repeats again, his head bowed, his forehead flat upon the ground.

“I'm sorry,” he repeats again and clenches his jaw. His fists tighten where they rest upon his upper thighs, the knuckles whitening.

“Sorry? Sorry does not seem enough. Your suspicions are what led to this course of action in the first place. Your theory is what led to this. And now the majority of the civilian power behind the Alliance, which, as I'll remind you, is where the connections and the resources and the strategic might of that conglomerate of clans comes from, have escaped. Escaped and are now irrevocably our—”

“—enemies,” Elder Kata finishes, sighing. She looks tired over at Elder Saburo. “We all know the consequences of his actions—”

“—his failure, you mean,” the old man grumbles, his mouth curving into a frown, “and you should not make light of it. You, of all people, should understand the disadvantage that this brought us. What should not have been an enemy, would not have been an enemy, is now almost certainly an enemy. An unprovoked attack like that...!”

“We agreed on it at the time,” Elder Tomiichi reminds him. “We voted and agreed upon that course of action, to flush out our enemies.”

Saburo flushes, his cheeks splotching with furious anger. “Yes, at the time! Under the agreement that the fallout would be contained! That Heir Madara would be competent enough to seize them as prisoners, so that they would not be a future liability! Instead, what has happened?! He let the majority of their power escape!”

“Far be it from me to agree with my pugnacious fellow Elder, but Saburo is right. We retained only some rations. A good deal, perhaps, but what we could have gained from the captives? Wealth! A stronger position at court as the role that the Alliance used to play needs to be filled by others! Opportunity! Allowing so many to escape is a serious oversight. I truly do think that we overestimated Madara's capabilities.”

Elder Isao snorts at this. “Tomiichi, that is truly all you can ever think about, isn't it? Wealth, wealth and more wealth. Is your mind filled with naught but jade and silk? Do you have a brain within your head or is there only salt in your mind?”

It's a balm to Madara, perhaps, for it causes Tomiichi to bristle like a much maligned cat and whirl about upon his fellow Elder. “Or perhaps you can only see weeping children! You are happy, Isao, and for what? For the detriment of our own clan! Are you friend or foe, loyal or traitor, that you can only see your own pet ideals before the safety and life of your own kin, your own blood, your own clan?!”

The room immediately descends into an uproar.

“You dare to accuse me of treachery?! You dare to accuse me of being unfaithful, of selling out my own kin for my own desires? You?!”

“Yes! Yes, I do! You think only of the poor Senju children or the poor Akimichi children or the poor Yamanaka children. Always, always not of our clan. Where is your consideration for our own? For our own fallen warriors, with the people who share rice with you?”

“You go too far, Tomiichi! Isao may have too much misplaced compassion, but he has always been mindful of his duties! He even trained young Izuna so well...”

“Ah, yes, well. Tell me then, Kata, how is it that he sees a hidden kunai everywhere and seem to think that someone as pitiful as Tajima's concubine could be a serious threat—”

“Now, be fair, Tomiichi. Second son Izuna seems to have a good head on his shoulders and a healthy respect for tradition. It is only that small matter of his paranoia that mars his character, and we can hardly blame him for that. Why, the boy was his own rival until only a few years ago. We can hardly expect him to look upon his old Senju rival in any rational or unbiased manner.”

“Saburo, this is hardly a small failing! It is Izuna's goading and Isao's hand behind it all that led us to this pass where we currently are. We need not have a mostly intact Alliance as our enemy but for Izuna's insinuations!”

The accusation stings Madara, and for all that his precious little brother is holed up elsewhere, working on a last minute emergency and cannot defend himself, Madara will do it for him. He will not kneel here and have his little brother maligned for something he had no hand in. “Elders! My otouto did not compel me into this mission. The idea was my own, and I accept the blame in equal measure. He only cautioned me to be careful in my approach, so as to preserve my life.”

They seem to hardly hear him, too busy shouting over each other to heed his soft words. But finally, a hand slams on the wooden table, and Elder Toshiro pushes to his feet. Old and worn the man is now, the Elder's bearing is still authoritative enough so that they all quell with one wave of his hand.

“Bickering children, you all are.” The Elder's brown eyes looks at each of them. The look is hard, unyielding, a sign of the warrior he used to be, an outward portrayal of the steel will and sharp mind that he still has. “What is done is done, and there's little use in looking backward, save to learn and apply to the future. Based on the information we had at that time, information that turned out to be false, we attacked a neutral confederation of clans. And it is true that Madara failed in his duty to capture them before they could escape. The military threat is appeased for now, but the true power of that Alliance is in their civilian populace.”

“However,” he intones. “However, it is also true that, should Madara have been proven right, that allowing such a threat to go unheeded, uninvestigated would have led to greater risk. This did not turn out as we'd hoped, but that does not mean that we didn't make the correct choice with the information we had at the time.”

“But...! This was all based on Madara's reasoning based off of evidence he found. Does that not mean that he should be demoted? Reduced in rank until he learns how to properly interpret evidence?”

Tomiichi.

Madara's mouth twists.

That wretch.

But Elder Toshiro shakes his head. “He did the best he could have done with what evidence he had. It only looks bad now that we know that evidence is false, likely planted. We should only punish him for making bad decisions. The outcomes...that's all a game of chance. And we could not have known what we do now.”

A wise reasoning. One of the reasons that, despite Tomiichi's wealth, despite the military prowess that Kata had back in the day, despite all of the other Elder's skills and power, they still look to Toshiro to lead them.

Toshiro has always been able to see farther, to understand better, than all the other Elders.

(But perhaps Madara is biased, here, as well.)

“We needn't have attacked, however. We could have investigated in some other manner.”

It is Kata, now, who shakes her head. “Actually, we could not have. Isao, weren't you the one to deliver Second Son Izuna's report? Whoever is working against us in the shadows made it so that we could not fully embed spies in the Alliance to test out the truth. And with mounting evidence that seemed to point to them, it seemed that a lightning war would be the best solution.”

“A lightning war that turned out not to be so lightning. Madara still needs some punishment.”

Toshiro fixes Tomiichi with a hard stare, until the other man begins to fidget. “Then,” the old man says, “Madara will spend a season to recuperate and perhaps trail after his brother in espionage. If his failing is in interpretation of evidence and in not being able to recognize planted evidence and misdirection, then perhaps he ought to spend some time with Isao and Izuna. Would that suffice?”

Tomiichi opens his mouth as if to refuse, but that same look from Toshiro quells him.

“Yes,” he says at last, sullen. “Yes, that would be acceptable. Take him off the field. I suppose that Madara—”

“—Heir Madara—”

“—is too important to the clan for anything else. He is talented as a commander, simply not as an intelligence officer. Having him learn from Izuna, provided he does not pick up the latter's paranoia, would be useful.”

Useful, true, but unnatural.

Madara swallows and considers it.

The older learning from the younger. Him subourned to his otouto's will.

Every bone in his body rebels against the notion. He is elder. He should have more control, be responsible for the protection, of his younger siblings. To have Izuna be elevated over him, even temporarily...!

But he can see that the Elders are all nodding.

Figures that this is the one thing they can agree on.

He bites his lip but slowly bows back down, his head hitting the floor again (and hiding the distaste in his eyes).

If it's just for a little bit, if it's just temporary, then...

“I submit myself to your will.”

Chapter Text

Discordant

It goes...well, in future days, Madara would claim that he entered the enterprise with pure intentions. That his goal was to subjugate himself to his brother's will, as commanded, and that he approached the matter with a cautious hope.

In the now, however...

“Can you fetch me—”

A sharp intake of breath.

“Wait, no, I didn't mean that. I'll go get it myself...”

It grates on his nerve. He honestly, truly means to swallow his pride and put himself under his little brother—sacrilege, the younger having authority over the elder, unnatural, the hierarchy turned upside down. And he's fully prepared to perform menial tasks like fetching the tea and pouring the drinks and seeing to Izuna's comfort—nononononono, it's the younger who should be lower than the elder, the male over the female, the daimyo over his people, the...! But it seems that Izuna is determined to upset Madara's punishment in every way possible.

“Izuna, otouto, just let me. It's my duty now, after all, isn't it?” And he tries to keep the bitterness from his voice, he really tries.

“You shouldn't pour your own tea. Such a menial task should be left to someone else. And right now, that someone else is me. I should—”

“The Elders assigned you to me so that you could learn more of spycraft, so that you can better weed out the false trails that our enemies plant.”

Madara flinches at that.

The disastrous Ino-Shika-Cho affair. Where they should never have attacked on such baseless evidence as what Madara had found. And given that they had attacked, they should never have let the main political forces escape alive and remain at large (the traders, the thinkers, the ones with connections to every major clan in this country and most of their neighbors, the courtiers in the Daimyo's court, the civilians). They should have made the matter clean and final, with no chance of repercussion.

His failure. It's his failure.

He took what he thought was the compromise that could allow him to come out on top no matter which military tactic Hatori used, but he failed to see underneath even that layer.

In Go, a truly skilled player will read 100 moves ahead for each of the possible scenarios that can be laid out and decide which one will give him or her the best shape. A slightly less skilled player will playing a few hands and then realize that his shape is not the most optimal, and must then hope that his opponent made a similar mistake.

Madara is that lesser skilled player, and Hatori the higher ranked player. Even with the handicap that Hatori started with, he was still able to spirit his people away to safety, leading Madara's troops to gorge only upon the warrior class trained to die for trading complex that is the true strength of the Ino-Shika-Cho and the scraps they left behind as bait.

It vexes him. That he did not read the situation correctly even when he thought he was being clever, that pricks his pride in a way that little else would.

...Except this situation.

Hatori-san was a fierce opponent and renowned for his solid tactics in military affairs, but Izuna is Madara's little brother. The gall of having to be subservient to Izuna, the gall of being lesser than, of being less than Izuna...

He knows, deep down, that Izuna is just as uncomfortable with this shift in hierarchies as he is. He knows, truly, that the unnaturalness of this situation scratches and itches at Izuna just as it does him. That Izuna's refusal to make use of him this way only proves that Izuna, that his otouto, is trying to make things better for him, is trying to soften the blow that being lesser has wrought in Madara.

“You should not waste yourself on menial tasks for my sake.” A hand on his, then, rubbing at him in patronizing comfort.

It makes things so much worse.

Because...he's the elder, isn't he? The elder is above, is more than because it is the elder's duty to protect, to lead, to shelter. And by trying to ease things for Madara, by not utilizing him as is his right right now...

It really hammers home the reversal in their positions.

The younger above the elder. The younger protecting the elder.

It grates on him.

He loves Izuna. He adores his bright, clever little brother and admires his ability to pick things up (especially the tricks he managed to copy off of their enemies). He can't even begrudge him his newfound authority in the clan. After all, Izuna was the most upfront about his misgivings regarding Madara's hunch, which proved to be so very wrong. And Izuna was the one who devised the strategy which, if Madara had executed correctly, would've resulted in the error in Madara's logic being apparent without letting the Ino-Shika-Cho stay a strong enough threat afterwards.

His little brother truly earned his increase in station, and Madara loves him for it. He loves him for his devious mind.

He really does.

Just...

Did it have to come at his expense?

Oh, he knows Izuna did not mean this particular outcome, and he knows that Izuna could not have foreseen Madara's blunder, Madara's inability to see 100 moves ahead and pick the best route to crush his opponent, but that doesn't change the fact that this? Where Madara is now?

(Below, below, below and being protected rather than the protector and having his punishment softened, as if Madara needs the soft touch, the gentle hand.)

It's a direct consequence of Izuna's scheming.

“Aniki, just concentrate on your studies, okay? I'll take care of things. I'll get the elders to forgive you, and all can be right again. You'll be back in no time. Otouto will take care of you for now.”

And as much as Madara loves his little brother, he doesn't think he can forgive him for that.

Later, maybe. Later.

Not right now.

-~&~-

It goes...

Not well.

Not well at all.

Izuna doesn't lie to himself, not like his entire clan seem bent upon doing. He's spymaster right now. Spent those three years eyebrow deep in intrigue—

Hah, so many of the clan always pitied Elder Isao for his losses, looked down upon him for his reluctance to sell young bodies and profit, held him in contempt for his willingness to put his ideals above the benefit of the clan, but they don't see, not like Izuna does, that mercy shown now can pay dividends, that youth hand-reared can be an asset in the shadows, that there is more currency than just goods, gold, salt, silk and indigo, that the greed that Tomiichi is the banner of but that they all share, no matter how much Kata denies it is shortsighted and will lead to longterm decline and ruin.

—and learning to see a thousand moves ahead of his opponents, two thousand. It is not the one year timespan that Izuna looks at, nor even the five year.

No.

For him, for all that would pay in secrets and knowledge, for all that would seek the longterm stability of the clan, the guarantee of their future, he looks further. A generation.

Two.

It is not just the struggle happening now, within the walls of what should have the safest and most sacrosanct place in the world for him and the ones he loves, no, it is the struggles that they will have to face as consequence of their relentless need to possess and own.

And that means he cannot lie to himself.

He cannot afford to.

To lie is to willfully blind himself, to remove his understanding of what will likely happen to them if they continue on.

Like the way his elder brother is stubbornly doing so.

Izuna rubs at his forehead and counts to ten. This now tired argument. This insanity that seems to surround every single person Izuna loves.

He's tired. Tired from tiptoeing about for days, worried that he'll take his authority over his brother too far and push Madara away. Worried that his brother, his beloved Aniki will come to resent him. Worried that his influence, the affection Madara has for him will fade from competitiveness instead, that this will succeed in driving that wedge between them that nothing else has ever accomplished.

He's so tired, he just wants to strangle Madara until the stupid lout will listen to Izuna's and Izuna's very reasonable suspicions and concerns!

“Really, Izuna, don't you think that's going too far? He's just father's concubine. He's watched every day, almost every moment of every day and guarded zealously—”

And it can't be Izuna's imagination that has him seeing that light flush on his Aniki's face. It isn't just a momentary lapse, a figment of auditory hallucination that he hears appreciation for that snake muttered by a much loved and once dependable voice.

Oh, he thinks, so that's that fox's ploy. That's what he's attempting to do. Well, not without a fight. Not without a struggle. Izuna will bring all he can bear upon him in order to save his beloved Aniki from his clutches...

“—he's can't be behind every single plot to undermine us. I don't think he's even responsible for one of them. You haven't really seen him, Izuna.”

He watches as a large battle-scarred hand reaches out, clasps his hand as if in supplication. “Can't you just give him a chance? He's our mother now.”

Izuna grits his teeth, wrenches his hand away. He has to take a moment to himself and calm the temper rising in him, lest he say something he will later regret.

He loves his brother, his Aniki, after all. And it's not truly Madara he's mad at. (But it is Madara he is frustrated towards, for not understanding that he's not the only one put ill at ease at their change in fortunes, that he isn't the only ones at odds with how their relationship has changed.)

“Lesser mother,” he snarls. “When Father takes a primary wife again, Tobirama will be lesser.”

His blood pressure spikes when Madara simply shrugs. “He only has just the one right now, wife or concubine. Tobirama is our only mother at the moment.”

Calm, he wills himself. Calm. People are not won over by harsh disagreements, by being told they're being stupid.

Diplomacy, he remembers Isao telling him.

“And shouldn't you show him more respect than that? We needn't obey him, of course, but he is now our mother...surely that deserves respect?”

Izuna snorts at this. The sheer hypocrisy nearly chokes him.

Of all people to not understand, of all people to not see the injustice of it, to see how, even if Tobirama isn't plotting against them, how Izuna simply cannot respect him in that way?

Age. Hierarchy. Class. Position. To each their place.

And who was Madara to spew about such matters when he won't even show the slightest amount of respect or appreciation for Izuna even though he holds higher authority now?

“That's a lark. Filial respect, now, from you? Since when are you a model of respect to the proper authority?”

He's incensed as he says it. He's pushed past the end of his rope, tired by all the care he must take around someone who should be so familiar to him. He beyond fatigued by the fact that he and his mentor are the only ones who see, that they are the only ones who fully appreciate the danger of a youkai fox.

...but he shouldn't have said it.

As soon as the words leave his mouth, Izuna knows he's blundered. Madara's eyes shutters in a way he's been so careful not to do in all these days since he's been put in charge of Madara. It wrecks what they have, this upturning of hierarchy, of the natural order of things. It makes concrete their change in status and authority, Izuna finally acknowledging the transgression out loud, Izuna acknowledging Madara's painfully obvious unwillingness to bear that change.

The younger brother having position over his elder brother. The younger with the responsibility and the authority. The younger above, the elder below. The elder doing his best to disobey the old and grey-haired.

He hasn't asked Madara to fetch his tea or do any of the menial tasks that he knows should be in Madara's purview now, now that Madara is under his authority, and while it is true that Madara has offered, Izuna can see plain as day that Madara resents him every time it comes up. That their relationship fractures and breaks like a delicate ice crystal when there is even the remotest chance that Madara might be asked to do such a thing.

And it vexes Izuna.

It vexes him that Madara can't see, won't see that he is trying, that he is doing his best to make this as light on Madara as possible. Stubborn mule that his brother is, he is simply refusing to see that Izuna is his ally in this and no enemy.

His brother looks at him, suddenly stiff and cold where he was cajoling and somewhat affectionately whiny before. More...like their father, when he is not besotted with that fox. (He should have killed him when he had the chance. If not when the Senju fell, then he should have assassinated him while he lay insensate in his cell. And if not then, then he should have defied his father and twisted his neck when he took Madara hostage.)

“I see. Forgive me for not performing my duties and seeing to your needs. I shall go fetch some tea for you.”

And before Izuna can stop him, Madara stomps off, leaving nothing but a churning, burning sensation deep within Izuna's gut. It's not quite unease. It's not quite anger. It's not quite frustration.

It's—

He loves Madara.

—he's been so careful. He's exhausted with how careful he's been, the concessions he's made for Madara's pride—

He loves his Aniki, mulish stubbornness or no.

—and he can't even get Madara to suspend his disbelief about someone Izuna would know best of all. He can't even get Madara to respect his fucking kami-damned opinion about an enemy Izuna has fought against for years—

He loves how loyal and warm and loving his Aniki is.

—

It's just...

He's tried so hard, and with a single jest, it all breaks into pieces. He's done all the work, been so careful, and can't even get basic respect for it, nevermind appreciation.

As much as Izuna loves his brother, he doesn't think he can forgive Madara for this.

Later, maybe.

Not right now.

-~&~-

The soldiers are uneasy, stirring as the first whirls of buzzing in a hornet's nest. A whisper of a conversation here, the hint of an accusation there. They are all of the same topic.

Why is Madara-sama being punished? Why were they all demoted for winning? For being victorious over the strong Ino-Shika-Cho and the renowned Hatori? What did they do wrong to deserve being taken off active duty and relegated to menial tasks for the dirty spies, set underneat the second son?

Second son above first son. The natural order of things overturned.

It's not right.

Something clearly isn't right with the leadership.

And the whispering continues.

Chapter Text

After the argument with Izuna, Madara distances himself from his brother.

He loves his brother.

He really, really does. And that's why they should, perhaps, spend less time around each other. Yes, the Elders had assigned him to Izuna so that he could correct his ability to spot subterfuge, but surely a few days away won't hurt? Just some time to cool tempers, to ease the burning anger in his heart, to soothe his pricked pride.

And if the Elders have anything to say against him for it, then they can go hang themselves.

(He's not going back. Not right now.)

And with him put on forced home-rest, with his troops ordered to stand down and take solo missions and help with Izuna's spies instead—how humiliating that must be for them...Madara will need to do something to make it up to them for his mistake—he finds he has a lot more time to spend at the compound.

And that means...

“Ah, Madara-dono. I was just going to prepare some tea for your father. Would you care for some as well?”

Jeweled red eyes. Hair like snow bound in a long loose braid. A simple thin cotton yukata of the deepest blue swathed around that lithe, slender body.

With a blush, Madara scrambles to his feet and looks anywhere but at the beauty before him.

“I would be glad to, honored mother.”

Tobirama laughs lightly, and Madara peeks up from underneath his eyelashes to see him gracefully brush aside the brilliant long trailing rope of his braid—what would it look like, that long, loose tumbling fall of the purest platinum? “So polite and respectful. If only...”

The white braid whips as Tobirama shakes his head, his eyes just a hint of red hidden beneath a veil of fluttery white lashes. “No, now is not...” He turns and looks towards the kitchens, taking a small step towards it before he seemingly trips, stumbling to his knees.

Or would have, if Madara hadn't immediately leapt to his feet to catch him.

He immediately stills, just frozen there. A moment passes by, two, with them both in that loose embrace, Madara staring empty-gazed at the pale slightly-flushing face so close to his, a slight, trembling body in his arms, in his hold.

He would have remained there if not for a breathy voice calling to him, “Madara-dono...”

A single breath later, he's loosened his hands, stepping back from that form.

“Apologies, honored mother. I should not have presumed—”

That pale head shakes again. “No, Madara-dono. I was clumsy. It is I who should apologize, for putting you into that sort of situation. I used to be fairly quick and light on my feet, but my new duties require that I become proficient in other areas instead.”

Madara swallows, knowing exactly what he's referring to. “That must have been quite a transition,” he says.

Bright red eyes look up at him. “It is no more than what should be expected of me, given my place in your father's household. I merely do my duty, as you do yourself. And unlike this humble creature, I have heard tell that Madara-dono has performed very well in his.”

The slight form drops into a perfect bow (how graceful! how light and pleasing). “The servants all whisper of your prowess, of how you brought your enemies to heel. You must be extremely proud in your victory, and in the skills of the ninja under your command, to have won over the famed Hatori of the Alliance.”

Madara swallows again, except this time, it is shame that trails up through his belly and sours his stomach. “Not so proud,” he admits. “I did not do as I should have, and therefore, the Elder council has seen fit to demote me.”

Demote him so that he's beneath his little brother's status, and he wants that feeling to go away, wants to be calm and accepting about it, but he just can't.

(If only he didn't have to be beneath his little brother. If only they only demoted him to just above. If only...)

So consumed is he in his thoughts that Madara nearly jumps when a cool touch lighted upon his forearm. He's blinking at the elegant hand on him, almost not recognizing it before he turns widened eyes upon the earnest face so close to his.

“Madara-dono is too hard on himself,” Tobirama whispers. “All the servants talk about is how devoted Madara-dono's warriors are to him, that the ones placed on solo missions also want to return to Madara-dono's service, and that the ones assigned to Izuna's people chafe under their new yoke. This they would not do for an inept and unloved and incompetent commander. Therefore, Madara-dono must have made the right decision he could have at the time.”

Madara shakes his head. “No, you don't understand. The merchant class got away. The ones we were after got away, and had I known—”

He stills when that hand (so elegant, so light) moves from his arm to his chest, stepping right above where his heart is.

“Did Madara-dono's information at the time hint that such a thing was possible?”

Well, no, “But...”

“Did Madara-dono calculate the best route possible given what he knew? And did he consider every angle that was feasible and known at the time?”

Well, yes, “But...”

“And did Madara-dono do everything in his power to reduce casualties on his own side while still taking on the enemy and winning over them?”

“Yes.”

Those pale pink lips turn up into a smile, and it almost dazzles him.

“Then Madara-dono acted as he should have. A commander may only take the best action open to him given the information and circumstances that he knows of at the time. It is the everyone else whose duty it is to prepare him up to that stage, principally the spymaster, so that the commander may have the best information and an accurate reading of the land and circumstances.”

Those brilliant, brilliant red eyes gaze softly into his own.

“And I heard that Madara-dono consulted with Izuna-dono prior to his leave. So you have done your due diligence as well to get you the best information you could have had in order to make what you thought was the best decision. If there was a failing, it is not you or yours. And it explains the loyalty of your people. They know, too, the way that the Elder council, as esteemed as they are, do not. Those with the luxury of hindsight should not critize those still facing those choices, lest they too find themselves cast in a critical view by those who know much more.”

The words are like a balm, soothing that part of him that he hadn't even realized was hurting. Because, isn't that the cause of this? From the very first, he is being punished because of his failure with the Alliance. But if he did everything he could given what he knew...if he did everything in his power to get good information, followed all procedure the correct way and performed to the utmost of anyone's capability and still failed...

Then he isn't the reason for the failure.

“Any great leader would have made the same choice, and potentially not as skillful as how you must have handled it, Madara-dono,” that silky voice continues. “If you deem it to be a failure, then it is obvious that the failure must be fate itself. Or perhaps in the quality of the information you were given.”

Madara breathes.

“Information?” he whispers, his voice shaking. Information would be from what his men gathered in the field and from...

The spies.

Izuna.

Who he's now under the power of.

A reverse in the natural order that is an utter abomination to his sensibilities.

The pale head nods, seemingly unaware of the tumult that has just started within Madara. “Yes. If you executed everything perfectly, and I have heard tell that you were especially creative and brilliant, then the fault must be in the information supplied to you.”

Madara swallows thickly. “Izuna's spymaster,” he mutters.

Large red eyes widen. “My lord! I do not mean to cast aspersions upon anyone else. If there is fault in the information, then surely it must be an innocent mistake by Izuna-dono or by his people.”

Yes. Yes, that must be it.

Madara loosens his hold on the pale form (and when had he grabbed him? when had he pulled him into an embrace?) and nods. “You speak truly. Izuna must simply have failed to get me good information, that is all.”

But the sour burning in his belly does not leave.

In an attempt to ignore it, Madara changes the subject. “You were going to get some tea for father, weren't you?”

To his delight, the younger man blushes, a delicate rose creeping up on the porcelain of smooth skin. “And for you, as well, Madara-dono. I was going to make some chrysanthemum tea. Your father complained of being too hot these days, and I have seen his lips start to blister and crack. I thought some chrysanthemum tea to rebalance his body...”

“How perfect,” Madara exclaims.

“Perfect?”

Madara nods. “I have not been feeling very well myself, these past few days. My belly is sour, and I feel very heated.”

True, it is more likely because of the situation he's been plunged into, but...

Those pink lips tilt up into another precious smile. “Then it is a good thing that chrysanthemum tea is what I was planning. If you'll wait right here, I'll go get my alert my guard that I wish to leave the main building for the kitchens and—”

Madara doesn't know what possessed him, but he catches that hand as it leaves him.

Red eyes blink up at him owlishly. “M-Madara-dono?”

He holds the hand gently in his own, loathe to let it leave him. “I will go with you. I have never quite grasped the temperature at which one should boil the water for chrysanthemum tea, and if I can watch you while you make it...”

Pale cheeks blush again.

“But Madara-dono is a great commander, and I am only the lowly concubine of your father. I should not allow Madara-dono to dirty his presence by—”

Madara won't have it. “I am not dirtied by being in the kitchens or being near you. You are my respected and honored mother now, and I am glad to accompany you.”

The red glow highlighting the arch of those smooth cheeks spreads and suffuses almost the entire half of the face. Madara watches, charmed by it.

“Besides,” he adds. “I am being punished by the Elders. This, now, is within the allowable scope of the tasks I'm to see to. It is only right that I go with you.”

And if his mood is darkened and soured by that thought then, well, at least being near Tobirama, even for this short amount of time, has done wonders for how he feels and lessened his load considerably.

Beauty and comfort and a willing ear and such wise and gentle words...is this what his father has to look forward to each night? Is this what his father avails himself to? If so, his father is very lucky, to have secured himself such a concubine.

“Madara-dono is too humble and too good. Very well. I shall fetch my guard and let him know. Perhaps, with Madara-dono accompanying me, he will not need to inconvenience himself with watching over me. I am thankful for his protection, but...”

The but goes unsaid, but neither does Madara need it voiced out loud.

“Do they still not trust you, then?” he asks sadly.

Once upon a time, he too, would have been distrustful, but considering that the man has been with them these past few years and there's not been one sign of treachery in all that time, considering that the man's chakra is forever bound, and seeing how amiable he is now, seeing how he seems to have fully accepted his role (but it should be higher, he should have more honors, he shouldn't be so lowly held, not this wondrous creature)...

The way that long braid swings from side to side as Tobirama shakes his head mesmerizes Madara, and he thinks he could never get tired of seeing it (elegance of motion, like the coils of an albino serpent). “Oh no, it is not that, Madara-dono. Your father fears for my safety and has me carefully guarded. I cannot deny him in this. He is my lord, and his will be must be my duty.”

But that little sigh that escapes those pink lips tells Madara all. Tobirama would like to be free of the guard. Would like more ability to move about on his own, especially since he cannot leave now anyways.

It's a stray thought that wanders into his mind, so light and quickly passing that Madara nearly doesn't even realize it's there himself.

If he were mine...

But as soon as it appears, he chases it away.

He is no betrayer of family values, and even if his relation with Izuna right now were strained, the same cannot be said of his ties with his father. He owes the man filial piety, and Madara has always been diligent about his duties.

But still...

How lucky his father is, to have Tobirama for a concubine.

Chapter Text

Cracks

Perhaps the most grating thing is...that Izuna can't even close his eyes as to exactly why his beloved Aniki (ungrateful, vexing, but still beloved for all of that) has fallen.

He's embarrassed to realize just how long it took him to confirm the information, and still more time to act on it. He's already on shaky ground with Aniki, he's already put into the uncomfortable position of having their ranks being turned upside down, of harvesting resentment the way an unwilling farmer harvests rice gone to rot. But, honestly, what else can he do? Uchiha Izuna treasures nothing so much as family, and having first his father be bewitched by that creature, and now his brother...

He can't abide it.

He really, really can't.

“They were sharing a pot of tea,” his agent says, and Izuna's fingers clench around the brush in his hand, nearly snapping it in his frustration.

“They were sharing the tea and...laughing.”

A pause, a moment of silence as Izuna's nails chip against the hard bamboo in his hand.

“The concubine is as placid and serene as he has always presented himself. But Madara-sama...”

The woman licks her lips, as if suddenly nervous. “I have seldom seen Madara-sama look as carefree as he looks now. His eyes light up, and he seems very well pleased to waste his time in that vixen's company.”

Izuna puts down his brush firmly at that and levels an even stare at the kunoichi. “Tobirama-dono, Megumi-san. You mustn't allow anyone to hear you speaking so disrespectfully. He is my father's concubine, and despite his suspected clandestine activities, he will be treated with the respect his position is due—”

—if not the trust.

But then again, Izuna has always prided himself on his practicality. He detests him, even as he, once upon a time, admired his prowess. Still does, he can admit to himself in the dark of the night in the privacy of his own thoughts. Neither is cause for such unprofessionalism spoken out loud.

Unprofessionalism is contemptuous. Unprofessionalism is beneath him and his people.

Unprofessionalism is dangerous, especially if their words make their way to his father.

...and now, most likely, his brother.

And he truly, truly hates that he can understand exactly why his brother is being so very stupid about it all. After all, Aniki has been humbled in a way that his pride will not lightly bear, and Izuna's old rival has shown himself to be quite adept at playing the helpless concubine.

What better way to ingratiate himself with Izuna's Aniki than to need him? Than to laugh at his (stupid) jokes and need comfort and saving? Because, that's what his father's concubine (that sly, sly fox) is to Aniki, isn't it? A pretty face, large pitiful eyes (those jewel eyes, those bewitching jewel eyes that seems to cast a spell on all of Izuna's family) and a figure that screams that it needs to be protected, that it is weak and helpless and yielding—and what a laugh that is, what a jest, for Senju Tobirama, the demon that Izuna once fought against to be seen in such a way.

What else could entice Aniki's ego, wounded as it is now? Why else would Madara blatantly avoid Izuna as he has been doing these past several days? Why else would he ignore Izuna's offers to take tea with him, Izuna's apologies (and how it irritates him, that he must apologize even when he is in the right, when it is Aniki who is ungrateful and utterly blind)?

Ah, kami-sama. He hates to think this about his own sex, but sometimes he curses exactly how stupid men can be, how stupid elder brothers can be!

He breathes deeply, seeking that calm, trying his hardest to wipe away the red, red rage clouding his eyes.

Breathe in. Breathe out.

He looks at his agent, sees her similar struggles, the anger written on her very face.

Good. His people, at least, are not so blind. His people, it seems, can see what is evident and right in front of them.

A snake. A vixen.

Both of these are true, even if they can never be said out loud.

“Remember what our roles are, Megumi-san. Remember the parts, we too, must play.”

Roles like watching and listening and interpreting and seeing.

And also acting.

Izuna's mouth dries, and he licks his lips, his mind suddenly whirling with a speed he never would have thought himself capable of before he began these responsibilities. (Thank you, Isao-sama.)

Elder brothers are stupid, yes, but it is still the duty of younger brothers to look after them. It is still the duty of the younger son to sacrifice for the welfare of the elder, to better the clan and better all their positions. And if the only action that will make a difference, that will save his clan will result in self-sacrifice, then...

He's mad at Madara. He's still furious that Madara would look upon him with such disdain, that his beloved Aniki would treat him in this way, would disregard all his advice, all his warnings about their father's concubine, would blame Izuna for a reversal in rank and position and authority that Izuna never asked for, never wanted and certainly had no hand in bringing it about!

(It's not his fault. It's not fair that Aniki is being so blind about this, that he's being so selfish. It's not fair to Izuna that this falls on him when he would not have advised this course of action at all, had the elders bothered to ask him.)

“Roles like waiting and watching and listening even as the walls are torn down around us, Izuna-sama?”

“No, Megumi-san. Our roles are to wait and watch and listen...but also to act, when the time is ripe.”

But, he's still Izuna's Aniki. Madara is still their hope for the future, the heir-presumptive of the clan, one of the strongest of them, and kami-be-damned, but Izuna still loves him.

He can't allow his brother to continue to be taken in by that man. He can't allow his brother to be a pawn in Tobirama's game.

“And just as in Go and field battles, one sometimes must sacrifice a piece, take a loss in order to win more territory in the long run. Give up some stones to gain more in the future.”

Megumi-san's sharp intake of breath tells Izuna everything he needs to know. She understands, even as he does, that there's really one move he can make now, only one act that needs to be performed.

Damn it all.

And damn Aniki.

-~&~-

Damn him.

Damn Izuna.

Madara is trying to give him space so that they would stop stepping on each other's toes. He knows that Izuna's not really at fault (even if he can't quite make his heart accept it, not right now), and the best way to resolve the issue between them is giving his otouto some space so that they can both calm down.

A cool level head, distancing these feelings of aggravation and anger. That's really what's needed right now. And his father's concubine is really such good company, who else should Madara spend the time with in the interim?

(It's almost unfair, really, that father can spend so much more time with the lovely man. What Madara wouldn't give to...)

He's doing Izuna a favor. He's doing them all a favor.

He knows how difficult Izuna must find it right now, and he knows he is being unreasonable in how angry he is at his beloved otouto (because it's not really Izuna's fault is it, that Madara's demoted, that he's beneath him now), and so he's doing everything he can so that he won't be so churlish when he sees Izuna again, so that things will be better.

And Tobirama-san agrees.

“Madara-dono, it is grievous for brothers to fight each other,” that lovely, lovely and wise man had said, even as Madara sipped from the tea that those (precious) graceful hands had brewed. “Izuna-dono does not mean you harm. Indeed, he holds you in great esteem. I am sure he does not mean to irritate you and simply cannot think of another way to meet the demands of your honorable Elders in a proper manner.”

Tobirama-san is right. And indeed, Madara is finding that he is usually right.

(How lucky they are to have won him. How lucky they are to have someone like him, so practical and calm. The perfect mix of obedience and wisdom. If he were a woman that could be married, if he could give them heirs of his own body, then...)

“He is a loyal younger brother, as I recall from my earlier days. He would not act against you, just as I could never act against my own.”

And Madara knows this, agrees with it, believes it except...

Except why is Izuna sending his people to spy on them?

Madara frowns over his cup of tea, for once blind to the radiant red eyes before him.

Oh, Izuna and his people may think they are being covert about it all, but Madara's not a fool. He may be a novice compared to his little brother when it comes to such matters, but he has come to recognize the tell-tale signs of his brother's spies.

He's been churlish. He's been irrational and perhaps bad-tempered, and his brother would be right to be irritated at him.

...but spying on Madara? Has he fallen so low in his brother's esteem that he is now suspect? Is nothing sacred to him?

“M-Madara-dono? You must be careful. If you use more force, the cup will—”

With a sharp crack, the ceramic in his hand shatters.

“Madara-dono! You're bleeding! Here...” Cool hands take his own and dabs at the blood delicately and tenderly.

Madara catches them in his own, heedless of the stinging in his hands.

“How can you speak so warmly and confidently of him?” he asks urgently. “You know he despises you, has done nothing but speak ill of you and try to get you thrown out—” because Madara doesn't understand. He's at odds with his own brother, over such a small thing, and yet Tobirama-san is...is...

The man before him stills, his jewel-red eyes suddenly solemn and sad. “Madara-dono will find me silly but...”

“No,” Madara says. “Never. I could never. You have been nothing but sweet to me.”

But Tobirama-san is shaking his head. “I am your mother now, am I not? Lowly concubine that I am, and of course will set myself aside when your father remarries—”

(He won't. He wouldn't. And throw over such a pearl?)

“—but you are a good son and are deserving of sweetness.”

Madara swallows then, suddenly overcome.

To have this man say something like that, to have someone so perfect say that about him...

“And as for Izuna-dono, I, too, was once a younger brother who adored my Anija. He does not like me, but I cannot help but respect his resolve, his love for his own brother. He was the one I used to face, once upon a time when I saw a battlefield. I understand his motivations and his love, the same way I understand my own. A younger brother's love for his brother can be nearly unsurpassed.”

Nearly.

Yes.

Yes, Madara understands that. And they are Uchiha. Of course Izuna must not mean to offend, must not mean to distrust Madara so that he would send spies after his own elder brother...

And Madara is the elder. He should display the same understanding and evenness of mind that Tobirama-san is showing, the same insight. Isn't he supposed to be wiser, even if he's currently demoted?

(Doesn't he deserve respect and trust from his own little brother? Doesn't he deserve love and understanding?)

“And I suppose that, as your father's lowly concubine, it is my duty to help keep the harmony in the family,” Tobirama-san continues. “I must submit myself to his will, to your will and to Izuna-dono's will. It is my place now.”

And...Madara suddenly doesn't know what to think, what to feel. This wondrous creature before him, the man who so easily soothes the hurt in his spirit, who calms the tumultuous anger that courses through him—he deserves better. Tobirama-san deserves better than to be below all of them.

But he is only Madara's father's lowly concubine, isn't he? And he can never be better, no unless he were to attain the position of a wife instead.

Something in him rebels at the thought, flinches away from it. Tobirama-san as his father's wife—it's a thought he doesn't want to think about.

(Not his father's wife. But someone's wife. He deserves a higher position, but...)

“You are wise, as much as you are beautiful,” Madara says, his voice suddenly thick with...something. (How strange he can be sometimes. He truly does not know himself.) “Father is very lucky to have you.”

That sparks that precious smile on those soft pink lips and, truly, has Madara ever come across anything quite so charming and enjoyable?

(It'd be more charming still if Tobirama-san, if he...)

“Madara-dono is very kind and a most deserving son. This humble one does not deserve Madara-dono's consideration.”

And perhaps for the first time since taking tea with Tobirama-san, Madara finds that he must disagree with him.

There is nothing that this wondrous man does not deserve.

-~&~-

Tajima sits there, alone in his study, spinning a brush round and round in his hand, staring sightlessly out the window. He's waiting, has been waiting for many minutes now, waiting for his concubine to return to him with tea...and he's torn.

Tobirama, his Tobirama has displayed no outward sign of rebellion, no hint that he's being unfaithful, but...

Izuna's spies have come by to visit, come by to insinuate improper relations between his concubine and his son—but Tajima never needed them to tell him in the first place.

He's not blind.

To either of his sons' disloyalty.

The paranoia of the younger, bordering on unfilial or the increasingly traitorous infatuation of the elder.

He snaps the brush with a single tightening of his brush.

To think that Madara, his eldest, his pride and joy would look at Tajima's own concubine, someone his son should have acknowledged as a mother with such eyes! Does his eldest think that Tajima is senile and stupid besides? Does his son mean to steal Tajima's own concubine from him in some kind of incestuous union?!

Just the thought of his son touching that which he touched, knowing the embrace that he's known...

It sits ill with him. The very notion is vile, an abomination of every moral virtue there could be.

So Izuna's spy had whispered, but she need not have spent the effort, though Tajima can see just as clearly through that front.

His younger, sowing discord between the family, pitting eldest son against his own father, inciting the divisions that would weaken them all!

His youngest's distrust and dislike of his concubine, Tajima can perhaps understand, given the history between them there, but this is going too far, too far indeed. Izuna should not turn his ambitions and his distrust against his own family.

...when did he lose control of his family? When did he lose the respect and obedience that he deserves?

Madara and Izuna...when did he lose his sons' love?

The thought is like poison to him.

No. No, he won't accept this. He won't allow his sons to go down this route, to tear them all asunder. He'll bring them to heel and restore order to his family, to his clan.

And that means the proper respect for each of their positions, making them know their place within their family and within their clan.

...like the proper relationship between a man and his father's concubine.

...like the proper respect and deference for his father and the man his father chooses to take as his concubine.

And key within that goal is Tobirama himself. Tajima will need to test his concubine, see if it isn't just Madara behaving inappropriately and Izuna being paranoid. And if his concubine truly is as craven as Izuna suggests, if the lovely once-Senju truly has been seducing Madara in turn...

Well, he too, will be reminded of his place, in Tajima's clan, in Tajima's family, in Tajima's bed.