My collection of fairytale covers continue... With a little shout-out to the 90s anthology series by Terri Windling and Ellen Datlow, dedicated to "fairytales for adults" - rewrites of traditional folk tales allying "the fantasy and the horror" in an homage to the "pre-Disney" fairytales.
Elements: A serial killer, deception and honesty, Someone gets Eaten
Inspiration: The VERY Messed Up Origins of Little Red Riding Hood | Fables Explainedhttps://www.youtube.com/watch?v=o3-XJSwWTLk
Music to Listen to While Reading:Brian Reitzell and Alex Heffes - Wolf attack (Red Riding Hood)https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=ew5T4iayAmw&list=PL596FDB32F122DE52&index=8
----
This wasn't the first time he'd traveled to visit the Oracle. Most of the time it was with a small squad of adults but since he'd come of age, Tobirama was intent to take the path alone. His brother warned him though,
"Don't stray from the path." The young man rolled his eyes and pulled the dark red cloak on, grabbing the basket of offerings.
"I'm not a child, Hashirama." But his words fell on deaf ears, as all the elder boy could do was watch with worry and anticipation as his snowy haired fourteen year old brother left before dawn, the darkness falling over his shoulders like an ominous drapery that neither could escape. It was winter solstice and dawn would be with them soon, but the light only lasted so long in the heart of winter. He paced, watching the darkness of the forest envelop the red cloak and the lantern. And he felt despair.
Ignoring the rising uncertainty in his heart, the young man pressed forward in the darkness. Tobirama had been walking this path since he was eight, taking the burden of the Oracle's offerings from his brother who took it from his father. It was his turn yet again, and it would be until Kawarama turned eight in one more year. Sure steps became shorter in the darkness, as the path trailed it's way from left to right, around trees and through the ravine he remembered well. What he didn't, in the early light of morning as it splashed across dead and sleeping trees, was the rock slide that wasn't there weeks ago when he'd made his last trip. He stopped, raising the lantern to see better in the just barely there morning glow. He frowned. What ever had happened up on the mountain side, this was the effect.
"Problems?" A deep voice rumbled from off the trail.
"None that concern you, Spirit." Tobirama quipped, not excited at all that he'd been watched this whole time.
"Guess it doesn't." It huffed, a low growl and Tobirama straightened, making no quick movements. This was no spirit. This was a wolf. "Then I guess you won't need help getting over it... or... around..." It teased. The red eyed boy turned slowly, looking to the sides for a way around, the rocks only piled higher on the right and on the left... a drop off to the forest floor below.
"Tch." The sunlight was slowly creeping over the hillside, through the trees and Tobirama needed to think fast. "And what? You know a way around?"
"As a matter of fact-"
"No."
"Hey I wasn't finished!" The wolf padded out as Tobirama started to climb the rocks in an attempt to get over, only realizing afterwards how hard it'd be with the offerings. He clung to the side. "You're gonna fall."
"No I won't. I am sticking to the path." He could almost hear the wolf roll his eyes.
The wolf watched him struggle for a good half hour with the rocks only to slide or almost fall.
"You could just let me carry your basket. You've almost broken the damn thing just trying to get over this rock."
"Tch." Tobirama was only getting madder by the moment, having to listen to the goading wolf, no doubt waiting for him to fall or fail, tired and miserable so he could tear into him like the beast-
"Ugh you're so annoying." The wolf bounded up and around, grabbing at the cloak tied securely around Tobirama and tugging. The boy began to fight.
"Stop! I will skin you!" The wolf let out an annoyed huff, dragging him the rest of the way up the hill without remorse only to drop him at the top and sit back on his hind legs. The damn thing had the audacity to look smug. Tobirama grunted, moving slow and getting up, watching in the morning light. "Suppose you want a thank you." The boy spat, watching the black wolf and his unusual red eyes.
"A kiss would be nice.. yes?" The wolf barked the moment the rock hit him in the face. "I deserved that." A huff from the snowy teen under the red hood. "You're an asshole." It huffed right back. “I'm only trying to help you. This path is dangerous. You need to take another route."
"I won't." Tobirama denied it, unsure what the wolf's intentions were, but ignoring him for the rest of the morning as he struggled to get down the other side of the rocks without damaging the offerings or breaking a leg.
Halfway through the day and most of the way down the trail, Tobirama realized the wolf was either really patient or really bored. Neither would bode well. He gripped the dagger inside his cloak tightly, on edge and wondering when-"You know you should really watch where youre-"
"Ah!"
"Going." The wolf stood at the edge of the small drop off Tobirama managed to not see and fall right into.
"Fuck you!" He shouted from the bottom of the ravine.
"That... would be nice however-"
"Disgusting asshole!" A groan escaped the wolf and he almost looked human the way he brought a paw to his face.
"I'm coming down there. Don't stab me with that pig sticker!"
"Don't you dare-"
The dark wolf bounded down, paws crunching in the snow and twigs and Tobirama stiffened until-"Get on." The wolf bent down, a dark contrast in the snow. Tobirama fought the idea for a moment before he realized he wasn't going to shake the wolf like this.
"Fine. But no funny business."
"Wouldn't dream of it." Pale hands gripped dark fur as the young boy climbed onto the wolf's back and held the basket close. And off they went, bounding around the snow and rocky drop offs, through the sleeping trees and in the warm sunlight. The wolf didn't try to steer to far from the path, though they could not reach it from where they were below.
"What's your name?"
"I wish I could remember." Came the reply.
"Most wolves do not speak."
"How clever of you to have figured that out." Tobirama looked up at the sky, feeling the warmth of the fur beneath his legs and in his hand.
--
Hashirama nearly wailed when his father forbid him from going after Tobirama. "It's his duty. You will not interfere or the Oracle may see it as a threat."
"He should have been there an hour ago! And the crystals haven't glowed!" He watched Butsuma's face twist. He knew it too. Hell they all did. But this was Tobirama's first time alone and he was determined that nothing should go awry.
"Fine. But you're not to approach the Oracle in anyway!"Not needing another word, Hashirama snatched his axe and cloak and bolted out the door. Butsuma grumbled. "Those Uchiha better not have gotten in the way. They know how sacred this is. Kawarama!"
"Yes Father?" The boy of seven came running from the other room.
"Fetch your cousin, Touka. I need to send a missive."
--
"What are you doing?"
"Taking you around. Would you rather die in another ditch?"
"Don't be an asshole." The wolf carefully jumped down further away from the elevated trail and onto rocks, going further down.
"Besides I think you'd like this. To-bi-ra-ma." The boy rolled his eyes until they rounded the corner and his ruby eyes widened. He'd never seen a frozen waterfall before. His grip tightened in the fur. "See? We should stop for a moment."
"We should not." But his words were breathy.
"Come on. It won't get you killed." The wolf padded closer and bent down for the boy to get off. "If anything it might save your life." He grumbled.
"How?" Tobirama quipped.
"Knowing where water is, is always a good idea." The wolf backtracked quickly, not realizing at first how impressive Tobirama's hearing was. The boy played with the idea for a moment but his curiosity got the best of him and he bounded off, crunching through the snow to get a better look. It was the most beautiful thing he'd ever seen, glistening in the sunlight like giant crystals of clarity.
Time slipped away from him and before he knew it, Tobirama was watching the sun grow golden and his heartbeat sped up. "You! You tricked me!"
"I did no such thing." The wolf lazily cleaned his paw, finishing his tiny rabbit meal. Tobirama lost his cool, stomping up to the big wolf and kicked the carcass and snow in his face.
"You kept me here!"
"You wanted to stay. 'Explore the cavern' you said. It's not my fault you took all afternoon!" He huffed, right in the boy's face.
"Take me to the Oracle! Right! Now!" The snowy boy demanded, an accusatory finger at the wolf. Who for a moment, looked like he was debating something, hesitating. "Right now!"
"You really don't wanna go."
"Why not?!"
"She's not like you think-" The indignant sounds the boy made only aggravated him, "Look kid, you need to be more careful, you donno what you're walking into!"
"I know just fine." The boy pulled his dagger and the wolf rolled his eyes.
"You're just a kid, you don't know anything!" He pawed the thing right from his hand, and huffed, leaning close. "I'm trying to help you." The boy's face twisted for a moment, seeing no way out.
"Take. Me. To. The. Oracle."
"No. I'm not going anywhere near that witch. You can go if you're so dead set on it. But it's not my fault if you wind up dead." He huffed, almost disappointed and for a moment, Tobirama missed the warmth of the wolf's fur.
"Fine." He turned on his heel and crunched across the snow heading North where he could find another trail.
The wolf settled down in the snow, watching the red cloak disappear in the white and black forest, angry at himself and the boy.
--
"Grandmother!" Tobirama called from outside the cozy little shack surrounded by twisted trees and curling bushes. Silence was his answer and he began to worry. "Grandmother! It's Tobirama! I am here with the offerings!" He crunched in the darkness of the snow, lantern high, and inwardly cursing the wolf that kept him away for so long. A flicker of light caught his eye and he moved closer, realizing the door was open. Wonder and worry shot through him and he quickly opened the door, pulling back the red hood. "Grandmother!"
"In here, little one." Came the slightly unfamiliar growl of her voice.
Tobirama paused, remembering the wolf's words and wondering for the first time that day what it meant and why a wolf would tell him such things. He was no fool. His grandmother was a witch and a vindictive woman. He had no idea how old she was really or if she was even his father's mother.
"Coming." He slowly set the basket on the small table, littered with her ingredients... that were covered in dust. He hesitated, then pushed the door to her bedroom open to darkness.
"The path was blocked today, Grandmother."
"Of course it was, my dear. Come, it's been weeks. Let me look at you.." Tobirama inched closer, eyes already bad enough with poor vision, trying to adjust to the darkness.
"Are you sick? Your voice is deeper than I remember."
"All the better for you to hear me, my dear." She beckoned him closer and he moved very slow, fingers on the edge of her bed sheets.
"Your eyes.. they glow, Grandmother.”
"All the better to see you with." She continued, and he felt the panic began to rise in his chest, drawing closer to see the fur poking out from her long gown sleeve.
"What big hands you have now..." He was no fool, but any sudden movement would likely set her off. He had no idea what'd become of her.
"All the better to hold you with my dear."
"And your teeth? They're so sharp and long." Hoping she'd drop whatever illusion this may be, because the old hag was truly starting to unnerve him, Tobirama pressed on.
"All the better to," She jerked forward, grabbing him by the arm and startling him, "eat you with, my dear."
Tobirama scrambled in her grip, somewhere between human and wolf, reaching for his dagger when- He remembered the dark wolf had batted it away in the snow. Within seconds, he was thrown across the room, clattering into other objects and slipping as he scrambled for the window only for the wolf to slam it shut, snarling in front of it, ripping the gown as it grew to full wolf frame. He scrambled backwards, bolting for the bedroom door instead, and coming face to face with the red eyed wolf from earlier. A paw reached out and shoved him to the ground.
"DOWN!" He roared, then snarled, squaring off with the old woman turned wolf between the bedroom door and her tiny room. Tobirama felt the brush of fur as the male pounced forward, and heard the crash of everything breaking, two giant wolves battling in the small bedroom. He gathered his courage and scrambled for the door, pausing just before exiting. In a moment of clarity, he snatched the offerings basket and made his way back out into the snow.
--
It lasted maybe thirty seconds, but the fight was brutal. Two massive wolves, clawing the inside of a damaged bedroom, tangled in its many fabrics and intricacies when the dark wolf heard the final growl and whimper of the old woman, her throat hanging from his jowls. He panted, dropped the flesh and limped back, making sure she was dead when he heard Tobirama's voice from outside the cabin.
"Don't! It's not what you think!" The panic alone made him worry when his nose caught wind of the small party that'd shown up, namely a boy that smelled awfully familiar and the scent of steel. His fur raised. He couldn't take them all. And all he could do was run. He leaned up and when he heard the front door burst open, bolted through the window crashing through the glass and wood, landing in the snow.
"The wolf!" One of the boys cried and Tobirama let out a strangled sound of protest. The wolf looked over and then bolted for his life. Hunters.
Without a second thought, the boys ran after the wolf, crying and screaming about the dead oracle, Hashirama in the lead. There was no way for Tobirama to catch up, no way for him to track down the wolf. He sank into the snow, feeling the cold of the night seeping through his clothes and his torn cloak and fought the urge to weep.
When the yelling had slowed, the darkness too much for the hunting party, he dragged himself from the snow and back into the cabin. He couldn't make heads or tails of the bedroom, so he shut the door and sat down at the table in the main room. Where did he go wrong? What happened to his Grandmother Oracle? Why did- He paused, realizing what he was looking at and reached across the table to pick up the jar.
"A human heart?" He turned the jar, watching the organ float in the liquid and took a look around. The wolf knew about her. Wanted to warn him that she was not who she appeared to be. Was she killing humans? The boy set the jar down and threw open all the cabinetry doors, the pantry, and stepped back, horrified at the human remains stuffed in jars. That's when he wondered. How long had he been visiting her? How long had she kept this hidden, fed him and his brother! His father! Fed these people to them?! Tobirama turned sharply, vomiting into an empty pot and shaking.
"Brother!" Hashirama's voice cut through the fog of disbelief, and the young man must have not realized what the room held because he lurched for Tobirama first, grabbing him and looking him over. "You're alright. Thank god you're alright! That wolf he- he ravaged the Oracle!"
"No."
"What?"
"She... He was trying to protect me." The dumbfounded look on the darker boy's face made Tobirama angry but he only snatched his chin and made him look around, telling him to pay attention.
--
"Tobirama?"
"What?" The boy finished stitching his cloak back together, his brothers and father watching him with worry as he grabbed the offering basket, now three days later, with fresh meat and bread instead of odd jars of things the old woman wanted. He grabbed a bottle of wine and secured it all.
"You can't be serious."
"I am serious!" He whirled on Hashirama. "And I've never been more serious in all my life. You saw that cabin! Every man in the village saw was was inside! And he's a wolf! He can talk! I'm going to find out why he knew!"
"He may not even be alive. We ran him down the mountain."
"He has a name! That means he was human once like her. I just have to find his name."
"You really believe that old tale?" Butsuma was skeptical, watching the young man tie the red cloak.
"I do. I have to." And with that, he was off to the bottom of the mountain, towards the other side in haste.
He had to find him, and he needed to find his name. He walked for hours, calling out to the wolf, trying to remember where he'd found him before, while on his way towards the Uchihas. Unsuccessful at finding the wolf before dusk, he moved as fast as his legs would carry him towards the encampment he'd been told his whole life to stay away from. For good reason too.
Tobirama cautiously approached the gate, hunters watching him with red eyes, arrows trained on him. Pale hands went up.
"Please! I need to speak with your leader!"
"State your business!" He bit his lip, knowing he was going to sound just as crazy but upon seeing their red eyes and dark hair, he was more sure.
"I have reason to believe one of your own has been turned into a wolf!" Whispers and murmurings. He continued, "He speaks! Says he doesn't remember his name and-"
"That's crazy! Get out of here kid!"
"No please-"
"Let me see him." A deep voice cut through and the hunters looked surprised as an older man opened the small door in the gate, walking through. "A son of Senju. I received a letter about you..." He eyed the red cloak. "Speak quickly, boy." As quickly as Tobirama could, he recounted his tale of the wolf and the oracle, what he'd heard and seen as darkness fell upon them. "That's... a wild tale. Our people go missing from time to time on hunting trips. I'd like to see this cabin."
"Not until we find the wolf. We need to know his name."
"He could be anybody." Tobirama frowned, insistent on his case. "But, we do have a list of missing. Perhaps calling their names may... bring this wolf close. It is dark. You'll perish out there. Come."
Slowly, Tobirama followed the man inside the camp, on edge and unsure, but hoping for the best.
--
The next morning, as the snow fell, Tobirama left the encampment with twenty Uchiha men, each carrying meat, armed with bows and swords, each calling a different name. "This one is yours." The man handed him the paper to memorize.
"Won't you call a name?" He simply shook his head, looked onward as if pain had hit him too hard."Ma-da-ra." Tobirama breathed, wondering about the oddness of the name on his tongue. The man took a deep breath and the boy wondered if 'Madara' must have been his son. Tobirama instantly remembered the warmth of the Uchiha home the night before, the four boys taking care of each other, their mother worn and tired.
Slowly, as they moved into the forest, spread out and shouting names, waving the meat in the air, wolves crept forward. Tobirama shook his head at each one, and meat was thrown to keep them at bay, the group circling around to find more. One or two wolves fell victim to their greed, only to be downed by four hunters at a time, and then hauled up for their fur and meat, back to the encampment. The rest seemed to be smarter than those, only circling the group as they moved.
"This is becoming more dangerous."
"Please we have to keep trying and you wanted to see the cabin. I can show you where it is." The older man huffed, wary of the whole situation, but nodded and they continued. Rounding a rocky slope and moving North, Tobirama picked up speed, crunching through the new snow and calling out loudly."Ma-da-ra!" He moved up the embankment, seeing the frozen waterfall and wondered, calling again. "Ma-da-ra!"
"You're so loud!" A huff came from inside the cavern behind the ice and the boy's heart leapt. The man froze in his tracks, halting the hunting party.
"Wolf! You're here!" A grunt, the sound of sliding and a soft bark of pain before the wolf emerged from the cavern, limping.
"Yeah- What's the idea, kid?" It froze in it's tracks, seeing the hunter party and the wolves.
"We were trying to find you."
"That's obivious." He snarled.
"Madara." The old man breathed and the wolf's head jerked to look at him. The man nearly cried. "Madara."
"Ma-da-ra." The wolf repeated, slowly moving to the pair, wondering why it sounded so familiar. Tobirama's eyes widened, seeing the change in the fur first, and tugging on the old man's sleeve.
"Keep saying it!"
"Madara, come home." He reached for the wolf and the closer he got, the fur began to fall away, his face contorting back to humanoid, paw reaching and slowly turning human. The old man grabbed the clawed hand and pulled him into his arms, kneeling in the snow, holding a now human teen wracked with scars.
"My son." He cried, "Tell me you remember me."
"I.. I think I do." The young man croaked, unsure of his limbs and wary of whats around him. Tobirama quickly pulled his cloak off to cover the naked boy. "The woman.. she... took me and I escaped...so.. I think she cursed me. I could never... go home." He seemed lost in his own memories but the old man only held him tighter, wiping is face and looking him over.
"You're okay now. You can come home." With a grim realization, Tobirama followed them back.
A Princess and the Pea Story - Madatobi Fairytale #2
Elements:
Young Men Seeking Refuge, Shinobi deceiving each other, Tobirama accidentally infiltrates the Uchiha Main House, oops
Inspiration:
The Messed Up Origins of Princess and the Pea | Fables Explained - Jon Solo
https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=OH9bmjpr-Nw
Music to listen to while reading:
月下情人(월하정인) (Two Lovers Under Moonlight)
https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=7Ah2K1Er0ik
He was a good heir. He really was. Got up early every morning. Tended to his little brothers' needs, followed around his older brother as his partner to help him in his duties. That was until Kou fell in battle. Madara mourned him like any good Uchiha would, and watched darkly as his younger brothers cried themselves to sleep that night. The memory still haunted him to this day. He sighed, rising from his bed in the dead of the night, the winter chill seeping through the walls of the wooden house. A storm raged outside. He frowned, listening to the wind roar. At this rate, the storm would not pass for many days, delaying their missions and causing them more financial grief.
He was sure to hear about this from Tajima.
"You must marry soon."
"You need to find new blood worthy of this clan."
"Preferably with money.”
He scoffed, throwing an extra blanket around himself and padding towards the main room for more warmth. He knew he needed to marry. The clan needed the morale boost, they needed the money. But he needed to feel loved and since news of Hashirama's engagement to the Uzumaki princess, Madara had to admit to himself that he felt a tad left out. Even if they were enemies. The problem was, Madara didn't want just any woman. He didn't want just any civilian with money or shinobi of class. He wanted love. And as any good Uchiha knew, love was the foundation for who they are. Even Tajima could not deny Madara the chance at the one thing that held the entire clan together. A loveless marriage was bound to tear everything apart from the inside out.
It was then in his thoughts that a knock on the door startled him. Madara cursed himself. He should have been more aware but with the storm raging- Again a polite yet timid knock on the door caught his curiosity. Surely Tajima would be awake by now. He rose to his feet and answered the door despite the wintry blizzard raging outside.
"I.. hate to bother y-you, but could y-you spare a few moments of y-your heat?" As white as the snow blasting around him, bright red eyes like Sharingan, and not at all dressed for the weather, the tall young man shivered where he stood. Madara, against all his shinobi training, stepped aside without a word and held an arm open for the man to enter the house.
His sharingan whirled to life, taking in the frostbite nipping at the man's fingers, the ice stuck to his skin and frosted lashes, the brilliant red markings on his face stark like blood. If he hadn't been trembling so hard, hunched over in the winter storm, Madara might have mistook him for a ghost or a winter god. The man bowed further. "T-thank you, I apologize f-for any in-inconvenience." His teeth chattered, trying to be polite. It was Tajima's voice that startled Madara to close the door.
"Madara, who is this?"
"A refugee, father." One look from Tajima and Madara remembered why taking in others was a bad thing.
"A word, son." He turned on his heel padding back down the hallway. Madara motioned for the man to sit by the fire. The pale one nodded, solemnly and bowed again in silence before curling up next to the heat on the floor. Madara steeled himself for his father's annoyances.
"Sir?"
"You just let anyone into our home?! He could be a shinobi!"
"Father look at him. No one of his coloring would be shinobi. They are too pale. Too sensitive. Did you even see his eyes?"
"His what?"
"His eyes, father. They're red. Like the sharingan." That put an abrupt stop to Tajima's rant. "Now. Yes we're at war father, but I'm not going to let someone freeze to death outside."
"I don't trust it."
"Then don't. I'll stay up with him."
"He's a shinobi, I know it."
With a loud groan, Madara blew him off and brushed past, returning with his own futon and another. "What? I'm not putting him out." Madara frowned as Tajima huffed with indignation. He ignored the older Uchiha and flopped the two futons onto the floor by the fire. "Here you may sleep here until the storm subsides.
Wide red eyes looked up at him, the man now somewhat defrosted, looked rather pink in the firelight, his features somewhere between soft and sharp and Madara felt himself pulled in by the strangeness of it.
"I.." The man paused, listening to the roaring storm outside. "... would like to politely decline as I am not accustomed to help from strangers but it is-"
"Are you shinobi?" Tajima ruined the explanation, voice like shattered glass, face pulled taut in a frown. The man blinked.
"No. Just got separated from my band." Tajima didn't seem to buy it, but Madara rolled his eyes. Adjusting the futons and blankets, he rose to his feet and nearly pulled at the man.
"Let's make tea. It should warm you." He followed Madara without resistance, face a soft reflection of partial innocence. Perhaps he was civilian.
Tajima frowned. There was one way to find out.
--
When Tobirama awoke the next morning, the storm still howling outside, he frowned. He'd intended to get warm, find shelter and then head out quickly back to the Senju compound. That was not what had happened. He slowly sat up, his back aching from trying to outrun a storm he knew he couldn't. Madara's voice brought him back to reality, the Uchiha stoking the fire. Tobirama had never seen Madara up close. That had always been his brother's privilege. But here, in the dead of winter storm, lit by firelight, Madara looked strangely domestic and enchanting. Not at all like the absolute beast of a brute he was on the battlefield. Tobirama cursed himself for stopping at the first compound he came across on his way back.
"Slept well, friend?"
"Ah.. as well as can be expected." He sensed Tajima in the hallway, still. No doubt listening.
"You were snoring." Madara chuckled, a strangely homey sound and Tobirama flushed.
"I apologize. I've been on the road so long, I haven't felt the fires of my home in a while. It was warm here." He stopped himself, wondering, feeling the small object under his futon. "My back hurts a bit. Perhaps I slept wrong." Madara looked up at the comment and frowned.
"My apologies, I thought I swept the floor well enough."
"Ah I'm sure it's just my imagination." Tobirama lied his way through, ensuring his demeanor remained soft. His hand ran over the futon again. Yes. Of course. Tajima was testing him. No shinobi worth his salt would complain about something so trival after receiving such aid. But a civilian would. Especially a high valued one. "Although I miss my own." Quickly seeing Madara's face fall, more of a disappointed look than anything else, he regrouped. "I am extremely grateful for your hospitality...friend. I can ensure you are compensated when I return home."
"Compensated?"
"Yes.. we are a large family." Not entirely a lie. "We have funds and I'm sure my brother would be so happy to give you payment for assisting me." Also not really a lie.
"We need no payment." Madara scoffed softly, his pride showing through. Slowly, Tobirama was starting to see why Hashirama liked Madara so much. He had to say, he couldn't blame him.
"Then I would ask if you let me stay until the storm subsides completely... I am not accustomed to the weather like this."
--
Madara fought with Tajima for the next two nights. Pleading with him to stop his conspiracies and his tactics, noting every morning the pale man awoke, another mattress, another object until finally there were three mattresses atop a small object. Madara rolled his eyes. Surely this was overkill and somehow he had to make it seem like they weren't testing him.
The man took it all with grace, a beautiful smile and pinked cheeks. Madara watched as his guest curled up for the third night atop three futons and smiled back at him.
"I would think you are a charmer, if not for the dying of the storm, I might be tempted to stay, Madara-san." Red eyes glimmered at him and the Uchiha flushed.
"I have made no attempt to charm you, Tobira-san." Madara shifted on his own futon. "We simply wish to ensure you're returned to your family without injury. Although I have swept this floor five times before laying your bed down."
The two of them snickered in the firelight like young teens. Madara watched as his pale friend laid on his back and looked at the ceiling.
"You miss your family." It was more of a statement than a question, although Tobira answered honestly,
"Yes." He turned his head to look at Madara, and the Uchiha felt the air leave his lungs. "I will not forget your kindness, Madara-san."
"I will not forget your companionship, Tobira."
The two stared at each other for a long moment, before red eyes slowly closed, and his breathing evened out. He fell asleep so easy in a strangers' house. There was no way he was shinobi. Madara sighed, sharingan whirling to life yet again, imprinting the image of the sleeping man into his mind. He was gorgeous and kind. Polite, a civilian, with money. Perhaps... Madara shook it from his head. No. That would be taking advantage of the situation.. he shouldn't.. One more look at his friend, and Madara wondered... should he?
--
Tobirama woke slowly, ensuring to keep his chakra under control, sleeping in Madara Uchiha's front room by the fire next to him for three days had been stressful enough, piled up with keeping the rouse that he was civilian with Tajima pressing him each day for intel, testing his every move.
Tobirama counted five times he'd purposefully hurt himself to show he was 'clumsy' like a civilian. Two times spilling tea on the man, carrying it and slipping on the floor. Six times he'd flirted openly with Madara in front of Tajima just to mess with the man. His ears picked up the sound of the wind calmer, snow fall on the house gentle and calm.
He rose, not really aching at all, but playing the part as Madara only laughed. "You sure are sensitive, Tobira-san."
"I am. My disposition makes it even more so."
"You refer to your condition or your status?"
"Both I suppose." Tobirama offered a sly grin, pulling out his charm as best as he could, softening his edges. Madara flushed in the morning light and looked out the window.
"It seems the storm is passed. We can send you safely on your way today." Tobirama nodded, and rose to get ready.
It didn't take the man long at all, a shower, some breakfast, hot tea and he was ready to continue his journey. Tobirama counted his blessings, he had successfully, albeit accidentally infiltrated the Uchiha main house and slept there for three whole days without being caught. Now if only he could-
"Tobira-san." Turning, his gaze widened.
"Madara-san." The Uchiha held out a large dark coat, Uchiha symbol on the back. "It is not much, but will provide you with more warmth on your journey."
Tobirama's heart pounded. If he refused, the rouse would be blown.
"Thank-"
"It is not all." Madara helped him into the coat, then bent to wrap his feet in socks and cloth before sliding boots on that were a bit too small for him. At last Madara stood back and handed him a kunai. "We wish you safety on your journey home. The coat you wear may bring you bad fortune... we are.. not liked in many parts. I would not want you injured on account of my sake."
Three days with Madara Uchiha had changed Tobirama's perspective of everything he thought of Uchiha. What would his brother say when he arrived home, dressed in their symbol?
"Tobira-san. If I may be forward."
"Of course. I am grateful for your hospitality." He took the kunai gently, as if a civilian would but Madara did not let it go. Dark eyes looked up into his. "For repayment, I would.. I would like something special." Shifting uneasy, Tobirama waited.
Madara looked away for a moment then took a deep breath before raising his eyes to meet the red crystals he'd grown attached to. "I would like to see you again." Tobirama's heart thumped. Oh. This.. this was unexpected. But not entirely a bad idea..
"I would like to see you again as well." This time, not on a battle field or from a storm. Tobirama wondered to himself. "Thank you, Madara." He bowed, letting his eyes linger too long on the Uchiha, causing him to flush yet again before departing.
--
"MADARA!" The heir groaned inwardly as the frost melted under the spring sun and turned from his chore of feeding the falcons.
"Father?"
"The Senju are at the gates!" That spurred Madara's blood and immediately, the compound was on edge, those darting in different directions to bolster defenses.
But when Madara touched down on the opposite side of the gate, none the Senju moved an inch. In fact, they didn't even look dressed for battle and Hashirama-
"Madara, my brother!"
"What the hell are you on about, you oaf?!" Madara hissed. "Be quiet!"
"I will not! It's a glorious day! We have come seeking peace-"
"We have gone over this, Hashirama. There will be no peace-"
"Are you certain?" The familiar voice stunned Madara just as Tajima landed next to him in a fury of growls. Madara had been so so very wrong about Tobira.
"Tobira?"
"Tobira?" Hashirama gave his brother a questioning look.The pale man pushed his way through the crowd of Senju, ignoring his brother, smiling at Madara.
"Madara." The edge of his voice had dropped, softness creeping in and lacing every syllable with fondness. The said Uchiha instantly blushed. Before Tajima could object, the pale shinobi stepped forward. "I am only fulfilling your request. I am here to see you again." If he didn't think he could get any redder, Madara was also dead wrong about that.
The silence that followed from the Uchiha whole was stifling. Madara cleared his throat. In absence of what to say, Tobirama cut off Tajima again.
"Do you not still feel the same? Perhaps, we can arrange an agreement?" His eyes wandering over the tattered clothing of the Uchiha, the patched roofs, the rotting gates. "I am from a well off family after all."
"Absolutely not-"
"Yes." Tajima choked on his own words as Madara spoke. "Yes an agreement would be.. preferable." With the charming smile he'd used so many times on Madara before, Tobirama softened his face and beamed.
"Let us make haste, before our families decide death and war is better than coexisting in warmth and safety."
Elements:
Runaway children, Failed attempts at pedophilia, Uchihas are not dwarves (but they are), Someone gets roasted
Inspiration:
The Messed Up Origins of Snow White | Disney Explained - Jon Solohttps://youtu.be/JRFDbYK1yKY
Music to Listen to While Reading:
Snow White And The Huntsman [Soundtrack] Playlisthttps://www.youtube.com/watch?v=a5Mx14ETtC8&list=PLF3FD00884F83D6E2
Heart pounding harder than it ever had in any of the battle's he'd been in, feet bloody and bruised and blistered from the sheer amount of force and distance he'd put on them. Tobirama bounded far beyond his homeland's wilderness, high into the mountains in the winter moonlight. He pressed forward even as his body tired and prayed to the gods above that no one would follow. Because, come morning, she would know.
And he had not been wrong.
--
"He is not here." Madara's voice drawled through the summer afternoon, bristling with agitation at the second time this 'huntsman' had graced their doorstep in four years. Tobirama could see the way the others gathered around Madara, Kou, Togakushi, Kuro, and Izuna from between the cracks in the bedroom door. His older brother had come looking for him after he'd fled his mother's clan. From her twisted grip on him.
--
“Oh my beautiful son, come..." He hadn't wanted to. Hadn't loved her like that. Hadn't given in to her wishes, despite his confusion. Mothers weren't supposed to love their children that way. Weren't supposed to bed them. "Your beauty will be mine!"
For five years, he'd managed to stay out on missions, avoid her, seek refuge with his bothers who would hide him, but at fourteen, she had finally cornered him. Claiming sickness, he'd bounded for his room, Hashirama running after him before his mother could lay hands on his skin.
"Tobirama, you have to leave..."
"I will kill her before I am cowardice enough to leave!"
"Shhh baby brother, don't be so loud." Hashirama hissed, knowing their mother was not easily fooled. "Please. Take your weapon, your armor and run. Please leave!"
--
And he had that night. And now, for the second time in four years, Hashirama was at the Uchiha's door, playing his part as the dutiful son, hunting the snow white boy only three years his younger.
"My brother is on this mountain! I know it!"
"He is not here." Madara hissed again. Would his Uchiha be able to turn Hashirama away again this time? How did Hashirama know of Tobirama? The tall tan warrior pushed past Madara and the brothers, a strange aura about him that Tobirama had never before seen.
"You will hand him over! He must come home!"
"He. Is. Not. Here." Madara stomped impatiently, looking as bored as possible hands in the air defeated like. But Tobirama knew better. Knew how Madara's hair stood on edge the closer Hashirama got to the bedroom door. How his stance stiffened, fingers twitching around a hidden blade in his sleeve. Knew the gleam in Madara's eyes. He'd gotten so used to Madara in the past four years of his refuge, the man before him could not deceive Tobirama at all.
--
"Whoa! Hold on there!" Seventeen and still wiry, Madara stopped Tobirama's movements easily, gentle hands pressing against the fourteen year old's chest. "What's got you spooked, kid?" The pines waved in the snowy breeze.
"Move! I must-"
"Hey calm down! I can help!"
"Madara? What's going on?" Kuro called from inside the small shack on the side of the mountain, hidden in pines. Madara turned his head but not his gaze, dark eyes trained on the snow beauty before him, flushed pink from exhertion, eyes red from both tears and his born disposition. "Just ran into a bit of a snag bringing in the wood! Be there in a sec!"
"Dinner's ready, man!" Tobirama had not stopped in his adrenaline rushed flight for hours. It wasn't until he'd stumbled into Madara near this encampment village, that his body began to react.
"Hey. Hey look at me." Red eyes slowly looked up, terror still inside them, chest heaving. "Hey. Yeah. That's it. It's okay. Whatever you're runnin' from, it can't get you here." Tobirama swallowed, eyes locked on the face of a young man that shouldn't look that tired. Shouldn't look that worn. Shouldn't be so kind. The adrenaline began to give out on him, heart still pounding, legs shaky. His armor clanked in the snow. "You.. hungry..? Cold..? Wanna rest for a bit? We're kinda tight in the cabin with five... but we can take you in."
--
And they had. Tobirama had found peace inside the small cabin of boys like him, although, not quite like him. Dark haired, dark eyed boys like the rest of their people of the mountains. Shorter than his own people but sturdy and hardy folks. He'd grown to love them all as his own brothers. But Madara.. He was something else.
"Hashirama. Leave. You're keeping me from my chores."
"Madara," Hashirama sounded so exhausted and for the first time in years, Tobirama got a decent look at him. Tall and handsome, broad shouldered and stout. A warrior indeed. A marvelous Senju huntsman he grew up to be.
"I must have my brother back. I miss him!"
"Then you should look for him elsewhere! I've told you a thousand times, he's not here!"
A thousand times? Had Hashirama come to Madara more than those two times he knew about? Tobirama felt his heart grow inside his chest. Truly Madara did love him as his own. The pale young man shook his head. No, Madara would never love him like he loves Madara.
"I know-" Hashirama stomped around, still looking before slipping and falling against the already worse-for-wear door. Tobirama scrambled out of the way as it shattered into a billion pieces. When he rose, large brown eyes looked stunned, tears leaking from each of them as the stunned Uchiha band stood behind him.
"Brother." Tobirama breathed, coming to his feet slowly in the small room that housed them all at night. As he straightened, Hashirama inhaled,
"You're..." It seemed he could not find the words for Tobirama's height, for his soft skin like fresh powder, lined with red marks. For his baby face all but gone, hidden by sharp features that an ice queen would kill for. Quite literally.
"I am." Tobirama managed to speak, ducking his head for the lower ceilings he'd grown accustomed to. "And I intend to be." He stepped back away from his brother's sword as Hashirama's eyes widened, a spark of something unfamiliar in them.
"Hashirama, I plead with you!" Madara was between them in a moment, startling both. His dark mane flared. "Take this back to your mother." His hands held out forward to Hashirama a sack, dripping with blood. The confused look on the man's face spurred more explanation. "Tell her Tobirama has been killed. This is a heart from my hunt this morning. Do not kill your brother!"
Brown eyes looked at Tobirama before him and then back down to the dripping sack. "I was not intending to kill him, Madara. Simply to bring him home."
"If you bring him back to that witch, you will kill his soul." That seemed to shake something loose within Hashirama's mind and the tanned warrior's eyes cleared. He took the sack without hesitation and nodded to Madara.
"Take care of him, friend. Goodbye... brother." Before the pale young man could speak, his brother was gone, out the door and down the mountain.
"We have to move him." Togakushi spoke first, breaking the silence that'd fallen over their home. Madara looked up at them, still standing with his back towards Tobirama."Yes. I agree. Pack the wagon. We leave tonight."
"Madara, where will we go?" Tobirama asked, his savior turning around to look up at him.
"Anywhere that is safe. I promised you that she could not get you here. I have failed that promise but I won't fail you."
"None of us will." Izuna piped up as the others began to pack their belongings for the trip.
"I cannot ask more of you like this." Tobirama's heart was breaking. He didn't want to go back. Didn't want to be alone to be running for his life for the rest of it. Didn't want to be separated from Madara and his new brothers, but something had to give. "Please, forget me, I will leave-"
The words pierced Madara, reflected in betrayal that flashed across his face. "No!" He stopped, stunned by the terrified look on the young man's face. Three years his senior, and yet sometimes, he forgot how young Tobirama really was. "No. We stick together. We're family."
"Family." Tobirama echoed, Madara nodding placing a hand on his shoulder. "Family.. I..." Twisted into a state of confusion and desperation, Tobirama fought back tears. "Yes we are but family does not feel this way about another."
"What are you on about?"
"I'm in love with you, Madara."
The house seemed to go silent. Tobirama's heart crashed to the bottom of his very existence. Family should not feel this way about one another. "I know. I am wrong in these feelings, I must leave. I don't want to be like her."
"Excuse you?" Tobirama stopped, just as his gaze hit the floor and he began to move to the door. "No. You don't get to drop that on me and leave. This isn't some fairytale, Tobirama." The boy winced, glancing sideways at the door. "You're not like her. We're not related. It's not the same."
"But you took me in-"
"Yes."
"And made me family-"
"And I would make you family another way if I could." Red eyes snapped up to Madara's defiant face, the four others standing incredibly still around the main room. "I would.. if you would accept."
"Madara..."
"Pack! Lets hurry. Nightfall will be soon. And I intend to keep my entire family safe." Dark eyes landed on Tobirama. "All of them."
--
"Madara!" The oldest turned on his heel, looking at Izuna from across the inn's bar. "Come quick!" Startled, he followed the youngest up the stairs, and sunk to his knees when the door slid open, window curtain flowing in the breeze.
"No..." He crawled across the floor, gloved hands pulling Tobirama's body into his arms, smoothing out silvery locks and tracing red marks on his snowy skin. "No... Tobirama..."
"Poison.. they made him drink it." Togakushi breathed, crawling from the nearby room, battered and bruised, his leg injured. "They sent.. assassins."
"She knows Hashirama deceived her." Kuro coughed, rising from his own injuries and leaning on the window sill. They hadn't come to kill his brothers. Just to incapacitate Tobirama..
"His heart still beats." Madara breathed, his cheek to Tobirama's throat. "There is time!"
"Time for what?! Where will we take him?" Kou looked over Izuna at the wrecked room.
"There must be a way. Water... I need.. The river!" Madara lifted Tobirama into his arms in a surge of adrenaline, and exited clumsily through the window, his four brothers behind him.
Quickly, Madara came upon the flowing water, feeling the hair stand on his neck as he did so. There was more to this than meets the eye. He pulled his shirt off and tossed it aside, pulling Tobirama into the river with him cradling him in his arms.
"You'll hand him over now." The icy tone shot through the summer air and they all turned.
"Not a chance." Madara snarled at the Senju witch, light hair flowing in the wind around her. He drew Tobirama closer to himself in the small brook. Hashirama was no where in sight, but it didn't matter in the slightest. Madara dunked himself and Tobirama under the water as his brothers launched an assault at the Senju assassins.
You have to drink the water, Tobirama. I am sorry.. Madara held him down as air escaped Tobirama's lungs, bubbling into the water. The Uchiha's heart began to break, holding tightly to the Senju until the boy began to struggle against him in the water on instinct, effectively waking him and drowning him.
Yes! Yes! Just a little longer, come on... Wide red eyes looked into Madara's dark, terrified, the water swirling all around them until finally Tobirama looked about ready to pass out. He snatched the boy from the water to the other side of the river, and watched him cough and vomit the liquid onto the river bank as the Senju woman screeched like an unholy terror from the other side.
Kou launched another attack, burning the ground between the Uchiha and the Senju, effectively creating a wall of fire between them.
"Run!" He shouted, as the other brothers darted across the water and by Madara's side. Tobirama coughed, hacked, and vomited water and poison from his stomach until he had nothing left, soothed only by Madara's heavy hand as they dragged him away from the river and further into the woods, running for their lives.
When he awoke, his eyes trained on the older male.
"M..a..dara..?"
"Tobirama. How stupid are you to drink poison when someone offers it?" The Uchiha huffed in the darkness, looking at Tobirama.
"They... said they would kill you if I did not."
A pause. "An idiot decision really." Tobirama would have laughed if not for the situation. "Rest."
"No." Tobirama groaned, sitting up, running a pale hand through his hair. "This has gone on long enough. I've endangered you... our brothers enough." Worried looks popped up from the four younger brother and Madara's eyes narrowed.
"You promised. You said you would. And now you're going to throw your promise to me away?"
"Never." Tobirama breathed, his heart on display for Madara to see. The Uchiha softened.
"What then? What would we do?"
"Bring me home. I will fight her."
--
"This is a bad idea."
"Yeah. A really bad idea."
"Horrible idea."
"The absolute worst-"
"YES I KNOW." Madara nearly howled at his younger brothers, all dressed for battle best they could with what they had. Tobirama gave him a soft glance before turning to straighten Madara's collar.
"I trust you."
"I know." Madara grumbled. "And I know you can do this, I just wish she'd left you alone."
"And she will.. when this is over." Tobirama leaned forward, pressing his lips to Madara's for the first time in four years and was greeted with warmth and gentle desperation. His eyes locked with dark ones under the moonlight, and he breathed against Madara's lips. "And then I will marry you."
Without another word, the Senju turned, rising slowly from the brush outside the Senju compound, his five Uchiha behind him and rushed the gates, knocking out two shinobi standing guard before making a beeline for the main hall where she was surely waiting.
Kou shot through a group at the entrance, sword gleaming with blood and breathing fire to disperse more arriving at the sound of screams. Izuna set fire to the ground, another barrier between them and the gathering forces outside the great hall. Tobirama took one look at Madara before he burst through the doors, alarming all the shinobi in the room. With lightning speed he was upon his mother's table before her, towering over her, a warrior in dark robes, face as white a snow. Eyes and markings as red as the blood he was about to spill.
The hall went eerily quiet.
"Hello, Mother."
Ram. Monkey. Boar. Horse. Tiger. And she went up in flames.
Elements:
Teens in love, Sappy garbage, Child abuse, Someone gets their eyes poked out.
Inspiration:
The Messed Up Origins of Cinderella | Disney Explained - Jon Solohttps://www.youtube.com/watch?v=v6Q43yhccHM
Music to listen to while reading:
Patrick Doyle - Ella Suite (Cinderella)https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=g46nRrINbqQ
It all started with just a dream. A wish. A tired, tired young man in search of peace. All he wanted was a night away from his duties as eldest boy. What he got instead was this.
Madara's heart pounded as ruby eyes met his and all his breath was stolen from him in an instant. The Senju young lord, second in line for clan head was enchanting in his own right, draped in silver and midnight blue cloth, sparkling in the bonfires of the festival. Madara swallowed hard, trying to remember his station. Eldest son of the main line of Uchiha family tree, a clan of gypsies. A clan of tradesmen and warriors. Not of warlords, kings, and princes. Oh but the prince before him shone like the moon that hung high in the sky.
It wasn't until the young man turned from him, ending a conversation with whomever he was talking, that Madara had been brought back to the reality of his situation. Tajima didn't need to know he was here. In fact, if he found out, Madara was sure 'sparring' wouldn't be the only punishment waiting for him. His dark eyes drifted through the crowd, thinking about how his brothers would be sleeping now. The ones not currently on missions anyway. Wearing the best robe he could find in his family heirlooms and stealing away from the darkened home in the dead of night to attend a festival his father found 'trivial' and 'childish', Madara found himself entranced by the fire, the music, the dancing, and the smell of food he'd never and would never have the chance to taste.
"Excuse me." The deep rumble of a voice pulled Madara from his thoughts and he turned, fingers playing with the edge of the dark purple embroidered sleeves of the heirloom. Again his breath was taken as he came face to face with the young heir himself, more glorious up close than he'd ever thought possible. A curt bow and Madara froze watching frosty locks sway in the movement.
"Tobirama, Second Heir of Senju. Might I ask your name?"
"Madara." It tumbled from his lips without his permission and immediately he scowled. For all he knew, Uchiha weren't welcome at this festival. Peasants weren't allowed in and Tobirama was here to-
"Marvelous."
"What?" Madara blinked wide at the pale face inches taller than his own. Unless it was his imagination, the heir turned pink in the firelight, looking away for a moment.
"Your eyes. They are... dark as the midnight sky, rich like the earth bed of a stream. Marvelous."
The young Uchiha couldn't find the words. Hell, he couldn't find the action to take at such an obvious pass. Did the second heir of a prominent clan so openly prefer-"Dance with me?" Without a word, Madara's hand took the out stretched one before him and the heir whisked him away towards the fire, pulling him in close and twirling him with expertness that Madara had never experienced. He'd danced before, with his brothers, with his clan in honor of their patron Goddess but never for fun, never like this. Pulled so close that the scent of the young man before him permeated his lungs, filled him with excitement and made his entire body gasp for air. Spun around as if he were something precious and sparkling and Tobirama had to get a look from all sides. Held by his hands and pulled, pushed and twirled as if no one else existed.
And in that moment, no one else did.
But as all moments do, this one ended. Tobirama pulled him in, their chests touching, his pale arms wrapping around Madara loosely, the two of them breathy from the dance that lasted longer than both of them noticed. The sky began to lighten and Madara jolted. "Show me where you come from, Madara. I must know you." The young Uchiha turned, hair a wild mess and eyes wide. "Let me walk you home-"
And Madara's heart dropped into his stomach. No. Tobirama could never know. He couldn't be a part of Madara's world and Madara couldn't be a part of his. It would never work. Madara would be disowned by his father, his clan. Never see his brothers and- in his panic, Madara said nothing, turning and bolting before the young heir could do much more than blink. His feet carried him quickly through the trees, bounding at full speed back home, racing the rising sun to escape his father's wrath. The branch movement behind him startled Madara and he rolled, slipping and catching himself last minute as the moon-child he'd danced with raced after him.
His heart pounded. The heir was faster than anyone he'd ever run from. He could catch him, could follow him easily. Madara darted a different path and zigzagged his way through before slipping into the Uchiha compound.
Tobirama slid to a stop just inside the treeline, watching the wild mane of hair leap over the wall and disappear on the other side. His heart ached in the morning light peeking over the mountains, closing his eyes and doing his best to remember the scent of the young man who'd captured his heart.
--
"Madara! Again!" Exhausted from the night prior, Madara slowly dragged himself out of the dirt in the evening sun, blood and sweat pouring from his body. Tajima frowned, kicking the scythe back at Madara. The young man grabbed it and groaned, peeling himself up and into a readying stance. "You are the clan heir! Act like it!" The young Uchiha launched at his father again, sparring harder than before and wrecking himself to prove a point.
The evening passed quickly. Madara stopped by his mother's marker to pray, a young willow, planted in her honor, and then returned home, starting dinner for them all.
"Maddy!" Izuna ran out of the bedroom jumping with joy at the new kunai he'd been gifted by Kou. Madara smiled, stirring the soup for dinner over the open flame and ruffled the youngest's hair.
"Did you use it today?" Nodding profusely, the bubbly boy decided to show off by throwing it, nailing a passing by fly and lodging the knife into the wall. Madara tried not to groan. He'd have to fix that later.
"See Aniki! I did good!"
"You did. It stuck well, Izu."
"I'm hungry!"
"It's almost finished. Go. Clean up for dinner."
"Okay.." The young boy bounded out of the house, kunai forgotten.
Tajima fussed about the kunai damage to the wall. He fussed about the plain soup and Madara's horrible skill at cooking. He fussed about Madara's performance during training. He nearly made Madara want to punch him in the face. Grumbling, Madara laid down on his futon, groaning from lack of sleep and tossed and turned as moon rose. Every time he closed his eyes, the Uchiha couldn't see anything past the fire lit face of the moon kissed Senju heir. The way his name rolled off of pale lips, the way ruby eyes sparkled at him as if he were the only person alive worth anything at all. Madara sighed, listening to his brothers mumble and snore in their sleep next to him. His dark eyes opened, looking at the setting moon and wondering if he should return before the festival ended for the night.
Rising, he donned pants and a shirt to visit his mother's marker. With thoughts of Tobirama still swirling in his head, he was surprised to see a glimmering red cloak hanging from one of the branches of the young willow, weighing it down in the moonlight. Perhaps.. He thought to himself. One more night. Whatever this sign might have been, Madara didn't know, but the draw to the Senju second heir was too much and his heart longed for adventure. For more than what he'd been destined to do here in this small compound. Without another thought, he snatched the red robe and headed for the festival.
--
Tobirama's heart yearned for the wild haired teen he'd met only last night. Bored, he watched as others danced, remembering only the way Madara felt in his arms, the way they were perfectly complimented. The entire day seemed to drag on for him, and tonight he found no joy no solace in the things he might have a night or two ago.
"Otouto!" Hashirama beamed, dressed in emerald greens and clearly drunk off wine. Their father must have thought it a good idea to give the overgrown tree the alcohol. For what, Tobirama couldn't fathom.
"Anija." Cool and collected, bored and uninterested in the festival any longer, he was doomed to spend the rest of his time here with his bubbly older brother, watching his younger siblings woo their way through the many girls so desperate for their attention. His gaze lifted to the moon, wishing for one more night with his Madara.
As if the Goddess heard him, Tobirama spotted Madara in the firelight, this time drenched in deep scarlet robe, hair wilder still, dark eyes glimmering in the heat of the flame. Without a word, he pushed away from his brother and followed Madara through the crowd, closing in on him quickly, lithe fingers wrapping around Madara's darker wrist.
"Madara." He breathed, pulling the young Uchiha close in the crowd, swallowing hard at the fluttering in his chest. "You came back.." He lifted his hand slowly, knuckles gently dragging across the shorter man's cheek before burying themselves in his inky hair.
"I-" It seemed to be fate that he recognized the lightening of the sky behind Tobirama's head. Madara's brow furrowed. He should have never come.
Tearing himself from Tobirama's grip yet again, he set off into the woods, repeating the prior night's chase with energy he didn't know he had. The Senju watched as his mysterious love bounded over the wall yet again and pondered going in after him. But for the Senju Heir to be so bold as to infiltrate another clan's settlement without warning... would surely mean war even if unintended.
--
Tajima slammed Madara into the ground, bruising his face, busting his lip and growling all the same. "Lazy good for nothing! You think you can just sleep in?! Who will do the chores?! Take care of the boys?! You selfish boy!" The young man groaned, taking it in stride as he had a thousand times before. But Madara's mind was elsewhere. Tajima had hit a spot today deep in his heart and the sounds vibrated off the walls of his soul. When the sun fell, Madara would steal away again, back to the festival and never return.
Tobirama looked majestic in white and silver, eyes blown wide at Madara's sudden reappearance and boldness. The Uchiha took the Senju's hand in his and bolted to the opposite side of the festival, dragging the second heir with him. In retrospect, wasn't quite such a good idea, as his guards seemed to follow them everywhere Madara could think of in his frantic movements to give them some peace. The chuckling behind him gave way to hitched breath when his companion twirled him around and pinned him against a nearby pop-up stall wall and closed the space between them.
"Don't run this time. I implore you.."
"I have to run."
"I'm afraid I don't understand." Tobirama's eyes darted to Madara's busted lip as he spoke and the Uchiha blushed, pressing a hand into the sturdy chest before him, mostly to help himself breathe in such intoxicating closeness. "You run. You return. You run again. You return to me again. What would make you stay-"
"I cannot!" The outburst startled the albino who looked confused.
"You.. reject me then?"
"Never!" The shorter man groaned in frustration. How could he reject such a companion that's graced his every thought for three nights, his every waking moment of two whole days.
"Then stay, Madara. Let me know you." A soft plea in the darkness as guards slowly closed in on them, giving them little privacy to discuss. The raven haired young man bit his lip trying to think of how to tell this gorgeous man what he must.
"No more questions, Tobirama. I will give you tonight, as long as you have no more questions." Conflicted, the Senju gently pulled away, giving him space but not letting him go. Fire light flickered on all attendees, and cast shadows across the ground. "I only have tonight to give." Madara sighed, thinking he could not leave his brothers. No matter how much abuse he would endure by Tajima.
Seemingly able to read the melancholy in Madara's blood, Tobirama nodded and quietly took his hand in his, placing a tender kiss on the back of it.
"Dance with me?" Dark eyes slowly looked up, twinkling in the light.
"Yes."
Again, they danced until the night faded into twilight of morning, twirling and spinning, tangled up and let loose. Madara turned, noting the light beginning to cross the sky and Tobirama felt his heart drop. But he had no intentions of letting Madara go this time, even if he had agreed to the terms in the beginning of the evening.
As Madara disappeared into the woods, Tobirama followed him quickly, quietly, and far enough back that Madara would believe he wasn't being chased.
Closing in at the last moment, Tobirama darted out, fingers touching Madara's long trailing hair as he sped ahead, combing through them and gasping at the softness of it's wild texture. Madara turned, feeling the strands move on his scalp and his dark eyes widened, breath lost at seeing Tobirama so close to him.
He stumbled, landing the jump awkwardly onto a sappy tree limb and nearly broke his ankle jumping again, losing his sandal in the process.
Panicked, Madara sped forward without thinking and dove behind the wall yet again, only to meet Tajima waiting for him on the other side.
Tobirama carefully peeled the sandal from the sticky trap he'd laid earlier in the day. Finally. He had something he could take into the compound. Something to find the love of his life with. To make him stay.
--
He returned the very next evening in his armor, white fur around his neck his brother at his side. A few guards around them shifted and Tobirama ran his hand over, the sandal in a side pouch at his hip."We come in peace!" Hashirama shouted at the closed gates, the guards leering down suspiciously at them. "We are looking for a young man of your clan that attended the festival near Naga River! As heir to the Senju Clan I bless my brother- second heir's wishes to wed the young man who's captured his heart. And to form an alliance with your people!"
That seemed to do the trick as murmuring increased and a few guards slipped out of sight, no doubt to find the clan head and discuss the potential alliance.
"You are certain we can't just use his name?"
"No, Anija. It could have very well been a fake name.. I will know him.. when I see him." Hashirama only looked back at the gate, waiting for it to open. And surely it did, Senju alliances held power. No clan would turn that away, especially if this one was to be forged by both love and arranged marriage.
"I am Tajima Uchiha. Who is this young man you speak of?" His dark eyes fell upon Tobirama and the albino was struck as the Uchiha guards poured out around him.
"I know not his name." He lied, taking in the situation that just got more complicated. Hashirama leaned in close, whispering,
"Are you sure? They all look very very similar.."
"Hush, Anija." Tobirama hissed, ears pinking in embarrassment. It was night, and the firelight plays tricks on ones eyes. He frowned, looking over some of the guards. This would not bode well. Shifting, causing the satchel to adjust. His mind lightened. "I know not his name, but I have this." He pulled the sandal from his satchel, holding it up and noting the imprints of the foot itself. A well worn sandal. Only the true owner's foot would settle into the divots the right way.
Tajima raised a brow, knowing it was Madara who the sandal belonged to, catching him early that morning from returning from the festival. But no heir of his would be wed to another man. Much less that of another clan. "Very well. Try it on any of the young men you find here. If the owner is Uchiha, we may make an alliance.” Hashirama beamed with excitement and Tobirama ordered a guard to assist in the task.
Several Uchiha refused to even try the sandal on, knowing it was not theirs and telling the second Senju heir this. The day dragged on as each would try the sandal and yet none would fit it correctly. Hashirama sighed in exhaustion with the situation, embarrassing Tobirama further.
"Uchiha-sama, do you not have sons? Would they not be around Tobirama's age?"
"I do." Tajima folded his arms, seeing no way out of the situation without losing face. "Kou! Toga!" Two young men emerged, younger than Tobirama and bowed. "Let them try it." Toga looked at Kou for a moment before trying the sandal on, curling his toes so they would not fit in the slots. It mattered not, Tobirama knew the boy was not his Madara. Kou however, attempted to flatten his foot, to fill the slots and nearly did, causing Tobirama great discomfort, knowing Madara's hair was far too long to be short like Kou's.
"There. You've found your match." Tajima raised his chin, rather sacrificing Kou than Madara.
"I suppose I have." Tobirama breathed out not wanting to make a scene, coming chest to chest with the young man who met his gaze head on. "May I..?" He lifted his hand to Kou's face, fingertips near his hair.
Kou swallowed, knowing he was not the match, and gritting his teeth.
"Yes." Pale fingers gently brushed into his hair, cupping his head and instantly Tobirama knew.
"It is not him." He pulled his hand back and stood straighter. Kou both tensed and breathed a sigh of relief simultaneously. "Have you no other sons?"
The look that flashed across Tajima's face told Tobirama all he needed to know. Perhaps he'd been wrong before. Maybe Madara was the young man's name. He quickly took the sandal from Kou and stepped past him towards the main house at the protest of both Senju and Uchiha, yelling,
"Madara!" Pausing, looking around, he ignored their frantic skittering and murmurs. "Madara! I have come for you!" Moving closer to the house, he was stopped by Tajima, who narrowed his eyes.
"I have no other sons."
"You are a liar. I will have him." Tobirama growled, Hashirama pulling them apart quickly.
"Forgive my brother, Uchiha-sama, he is in love-"
"Love!" The Head cackled. "He claims he loves a boy he's only just met?! He's only seen him thrice in the firelight! How can he possibly-"
"Tobirama." A deep drawl, surprised gasp from the side of the house brought all their attention to the main house porch. Madara stood barefoot, dirty from head to toe in holy pants and shirt, and carrying a wash bin full of clothes.
"Madara." Tobirama breathed out, pushing past Tajima and rushing the steps. "I have found you." The bin dropped to the porch and they met at the top of the stairs, seeing eye to eye.
"Why would you come here?" Madara hissed, looking into ruby eyes and blinding white hair in the sunlight.
"Because I could not bear to be without you." Gentle fingers reached up, touching Madara's black eye and swollen face. "This was not there last night.. who has hurt you?" A sharp inhale by the Uchiha. "I see. I will take care of it." Handing Madara back his sandal, Tobirama slid his hand into wild inky locks and cupped Madara's head, tilting him for a deep kiss.
The squawk Tajima let out was nearly drowned out by the cheering behind them of the two clans. Parting for air, Tobirama whispered,"Come with me. Let me know you."
"I cannot." Madara breathed, heart breaking. Tobirama turned to see Madara looking at his four brothers and fuming father.
"Then I will stay."
"No heir of mine will be wed to another clan's second!" Tajima stated flatly.
"Then he will not be heir." An elder piped up, watching Tajima shuffle back from the crowd in disbelief. "He will be Head."
"Nonsense-"
"This abuse has gone on long enough."
Tobirama straightened at the word. "Madara, how long has he done this to you?" The Uchiha heir felt his heart ache, looking away without a word. "No matter. He will never touch you again, I promise." With a fist to his chest and a curt bow, the Senju second heir honored Madara startling him. Tobirama rose and turned,
"I would marry your Madara, make him my own."
"Then you would become ours?" The elder croaked as Tajima protested.
"I would and Senju and Uchiha would be allied for all eternity." A dark looked crossed the elder's face as he turned to the others.
"Take Tajima's eyes that he may not look upon his sons ever again."
Startled, the Senju retreated quietly from the compound, all save Tobirama who watched with a bit of morbid satisfaction as Madara became Uchiha Clan head, and his abusive father faced the wrath of crossed elders and children's guardians.
I do, no fear, have a few femslash feb stories up my sleeve, but I’ve also made a bit of a promise to work on original fiction this year, and this is the princess story of mine that will neither leave me alone nor shape itself into something publishable. I’ve had versions of this in my head for over two years, and I’m fond it in its current unusable shape, so I polished it and gave it an ending that made me smile, just to share here.
@startledgazette, you may remember this. Thank you for all the effort you put into untangling early sentences.
The Prince's Sister
1921 – Es war einmal…
My brother found a princess in a cellar. Now the whole house is crying.
“Have you seen her, Miss Ziska?”
We only have two downstairs maids. One of them fainted half an hour ago. Linden is made of sterner stuff, but stares at me with tears in her eyes.
“She’s not right,” Linden whispers. “The way she screams at things—and the way her face moves. Ziska, it’s all wrong. My brother’s cousin’s wife’s sister’s boy got dropped on his head, you know, and he sounded just—”
“—Hush.”
I lay a hand on the girl’s shoulder. She’s only twelve, and she opened the door this morning to my brother with a body in his arms.
He had carried her in high style, shielding her from the household and ignoring the stuttering Linden.
“Ziska!” he had said, not waiting for a bow or a nod or any of the usual courtesies bastards must give their brothers
“Open our best room, our finest.”
And so I did, running ahead of my brother and his burden, keys rattling at my waist. I opened our blue room with its silver trim and its wide window, Linden whispering prayers at my heels.
The screaming started when he closed the door.
“Magic!”
We both heard my brother's words.
“A curse!” The gardener’s boy was sent into the blue room with a hammer.
“I’ve seen as much as you have, Linden,” I tell her now, raising my voice above the noise. “I’m sure she’ll be—”
“—Linden, you’re bothering Ziska.”
My stepmother walks into the hall.
She is a tall woman, and gave my brother his grey eyes. Her hair matches the wood-grain of our floors, polished and warm and fine. The king’s nurse before she was his wife or his widow, she hides lye-scarred hands in neat grey gloves. She smiles like sunshine through glass.
No one is smiling now.
“Linden wasn’t bothering me, ma’am,” I say. Bastard daughters are not worth much in a royal household, but good housekeepers are priceless. I have been trained for it since I was old enough to hold a bunch of keys.
“Take a message to the rest of the staff, Linden,” my stepmother says. “While the prince’s guest is in residence, I will oversee the household. Ziska will see to our sleeping princess.”
Her lip twitches in half a smile as she takes my house away. Linden stares. A scream coils around us through the heavy door.
“Ma’am,” I manage, “I’m not a nurse! I don’t—”
“—You will do your best,” my stepmother says, blinding me as her half-smile unfurls. “Keep her calm and quiet. I have seen the like before. Kriegsneurose. Shell shock.”
She shapes those words, German and English both, with a faint edge of disdain.
“My son does not know what he has woken,” she continues.“For now, she should be kept out of the way.”
“And me with her.”
Cool fingers lift my chin. “We have always understood each other,” she says. “I would hate for that to stop.”
My brother found her in a cellar.
He found her below a cellar, in the dirt that air raid shelters leave behind when they fail. A sleeper amongst plastic and piping and rough splinters of glass, while other bodies were half sloughed away. There were yellow roses in her hair that crumbled away as he carried her up, and up, out into new, brighter air.
Well. I don’t know about the bodies. No one talks to me about those, as if we had not all felt the War together, even in our small city. I know my brother. He explores the edges of things, places where stray bombs found us and people died.
People pretend their daughters are bodiless. Even bastard ones. But everyone, no matter their place, talks about the roses. Everyone talks about how queer she was, and the look in my brother’s eyes at the still and sleeping sight of her. She was draped in white and gold, and when the fabric caught the light it started to rot and unravel, until it stuck to its own gold thread like spider silk. Her rings tarnished, they said. She wore many rings, which fell from her thin fingers as she lay in his arms. She was warm and alive and as impossible as the end of the Great War. It was 1921.
He kissed her, and when her eyes opened they a clear, lovely brown.
My brother found her in a cellar. We keep her in the blue room.
Our new guest cries. There are groans in it. Grunts and tearing noises, frustrated-strange. The sound makes my teeth ache, but I remember by brother crying about devils, the fear on Linden’s face and my stepmother’s disgust, and I lift my chin.
I open the door.
The shutters are down. No, not that. The windows are blacked out, the room thick with dark.
Kriegnuerose, my stepmother said. Something shameful, best kept out of the way.
If I squint, there is a shape on the bed. I hear creaks and rustling from the other side of the door, and I imagine this room swallowing her up, with a whole house moving blithely around her.
I scowl. Ziska will see to her, my stepmother said. Well. As she wishes. I’ll see to light, and common courtesy.
I trace my hand along the wall, searching for the gaslight. I twist. Strike the match. Blue and orange light flares.
The girl on the bed groans.
“Hello,” I manage, “What’s your name?”
She sits, after a fashion. Pillows bolster her, and one hand is tied to the bed. My stepmother’s work? She looks younger than me, but not by much, her face pinched and ashen where it isn’t flushed from tears. Her head lolls.
It’s an easy cruelty to undo, my fingers working the knots and chafing her wrist as it slides free. Her hand shakes, a constant mess of twitches that travel up her arms, over her face. Her hair is snarled tighter than the rope.
“Do you have a name?” Nothing. “What do I call you?”
A skinny leg jerks beneath the coverlet. Her throat works, tongue flicking over chapped lips. Sounds. Not words.
“My name is Ziska,” I say at last. The gaslight stains everything a warm, rose yellow. The gossips said there were roses in her hair.
“Rose,” I say, shaking my head as I let the strangeness in all of this ease under my skin. The English word sits oddly in my mouth. “I think I should call you that.”
She pulls her hand away. One sharp, solid, determined movement that pushes me back, nerves spilling up and out of my throat in laughter.
As I watch, the princess stares at her own, palsied hand, and then she meets my eyes.
“I’m sorry, Rose,” I say. “I’ll try to help you here.”
The next few days are a blur of headaches and overturned soup. I pry the blackout boards from the windows, splinters and flecks of paint sticking fast under my nails.
Rose fights. She fights to sit. She fights to speak, sounds coming thicker and stronger until I can imagine words locked up in her throat, stuck there fully formed.
I brush her hair and help her eat. After a week, she lets me take her hands in mine.
“What happened to you?” I ask, though I know she can’t answer. It’s the same question my brother has for me every night.
“How did you end up in an air raid shelter? You can’t have slept. No one could.”
Rose looks at me. She is getting better at that. The struggle to hold her head can be seen in every straining muscle in her neck and jaw, but her eyes are clear.
I smile. “Everyone says my brother woke you with a kiss.”
Rose’s expression darkens. Her head drops forward.
“Rose?”
She groans. It makes me wince. The sound and my stupidity mixing together as I imagine what it might be like, waking up in the dark to the pressure of lips on mine, and someone like my brother staring avidly while splinters press into—no.
No, I cannot. My mind skitters away from the images. Rose’s hands fist inside my own.
“I’m sorry,” I say, “I talk too much. Especially when you can’t answer back.”
“…Words!”
Rose’s voice is hoarse and slurred, dark eyes clenched shut with the effort of turning sound into shape, but I hear her. I wait.
“All—your words—are wrong.”
She falls back onto the bed, hands sliding from mine, drenched in sweat.
“You just used some of them well enough,” I manage. “Our words, I mean.”
She opens her eyes, and I catch a tiny smile.
“Fairy gift,” she whispers. “Tell you—m-more, if you know the year.”
“1921,” I say, “The year. It’s 1921.”
Her face crumples, and she is crying again. There are words in it.
I sit at the foot of her bed, on the covers I stitched myself, and listen as she weeps over a mother, cat, and a world. She curses, long and loud. By storms and poisons, blood and spite.
“...Never even saw a spindle,” she says.
I stand. “I don’t know what you’re talking about,” I say, “But I have things to—”
“—Do you want to?”
I pause. “Excuse me?”
“Do you want to know the story?” she asks. Each word is heavily spaced. Distinct. “Someone — probably should.”
“Is she well, Ziska?” My brother snatches at my hands as I set his wine glass down at dinner. His eyes are wide and rain-wash grey, and his grip presses splinters deeper into my skin. “Is my lady well?”
My fingers feel like they've been jointed with hot wire. I gasp, spilled wine sharp at the back of my throat.
She spoke today. That is what he wants to hear.
The words don't come out.
“She’s not—” I swallow. “Some things take a long time, I think.”
The prince scowls. “I want to see her,” he says. “I found her, remember. I want—”
“—She’s been ill!”
My breath comes fast as I remember the fear on Rose’s unsteady face.
“Very, very ill,” I say, “So I really don’t—”
“—You’re hurting Ziska, Liebling.”
My stepmother rises from her place at table. She is smiling, but my brother drops my hands immediately, mumbling apologies.
When I turn to thank her, she is staring at my hands.
“I asked you to keep her quiet, Ziska,” she says.
“Well?” My voice is a harsh surprise. “You expect her to live in the dark?”
Silence.
“I expect,” my stepmother says, “That you will do as I say.”
My brother flinches when she glares at him. “There are too many strays in this house,” she says. “Your father’s indulgence was bad enough, and now you bring home a cripple.”
“She was asleep,” he says, as if that explains everything. “Asleep, and waiting for me.”
“Your stepmother,” Rose says as she manages a slow, dragging circuit around the room, “She is a witch, no?”
“No!”
I am perched on the end of her bed, household accounts in hand, and smudge my way through a month’s worth of reckoning as I stare at her.
The room is littered with the prince’s gifts. Rose runs an obstacle course of lace and pearls as she re-learns how to walk. She treats each present with amused disdain, though she does wear an old yellow muslin of mine that I let out to fit.
I don’t know why this makes me happy, but many odd things do now, as if my old dread transformed into something bright and fine while Rose shares more of her magic, nonsensical self.
“We don’t have witches,” I say.
Rose often comes out with things like this. Stories of witches and a world one century dead. Her words come clearer as the weeks pass. She still shakes, new bruises growing with every fall, but her smile is a wicked flash of crooked teeth, warming the whole room.
“All the witches in the world died in the last century, then?” she demands, sitting next to me and wincing as I brace her.
“I think not,” she mutters. “Why else does she keep me locked up in here? Your stepmother is a witch. Your brother is a beast.”
I blush. “I…I don’t know,” I say, “But it’s probably manners. Not witchcraft.”
“A manner of witchcraft?”
“No, just manners.” I shake my head. “You were hysterical, and you’re still—”
“—Altered?” She drawls the word, lip curling, splaying her hands wide and holding them up, watching them twitch until she cannot hold the posture.
I swallow. “People…talk. About princes carrying home pretty girls.”
Rose tilts her head, letting her hands curl into quiet fists in her lap. “You think I’m pretty.”
“Well,” I say, laughing. “Yes. You are.”
Rose smirks. “And if I said that eleven fairies each gave a year of their lives to make me so?”
“I’d say you were full of rubbish,” I say, prompt. “And… also very pretty.”
She is still smirking. I let my hands cover my face. They are nearly healed, only a little swollen around the nails.
“Look here,” I say through my fingers, “If my stepmother was a witch, what does that make me? Aschenputtel?”
“Who?”
“You don’t know the story?”
The smirk settles into a smile, and she leans her head on my shoulder. Two strays together.
“Well, then,” I say, letting story cadences lift my voice into something serious and strong, and marvelling at the soft, contented look on Rose’s face.
“There was once a man who died. He had a daughter. And a second wife.”
“I hear you, you know.”
My brother likes to wait for me outside Rose’s door. Now, he grips my shoulders.
“I hear you talking,” he says. “Talking and laughing. Don’t tell me she’s sick, Ziska.”
I swallow. There is a lost look on his face that I do not understand, but his hold is too tight, and Rose is terrified of him. “Your mother wants me to—”
“—My mother,” he says, “Does not get everything she wants. If she did, you’d have been on the streets before I was born.”
I stare at him. We are not close, but he has never been cruel.
He shakes his head. “Have you told her anything about me?” he asks,
“Have you given her my gifts?”
A pause. Another shake. “Or,” he whispers,
“Are you keeping them for yourself?”
“No! No, she has them.” I’m babbling. He doesn’t seem to notice, his eyes locked on the door behind me instead of my face.
“She’s mine, you understand,” he says, and it comes out oddly distracted. “I found her.”
Found her. I twist, managing to break his hold, though all I do with this new freedom is press myself flat against the door.
“What, Ziska?” He’s looking at me now, lower lip caught between his teeth.”
“Why are you looking at me like that?”
“She’s not a doll,” I whisper. “She’s scared. And she’s hurt. And—”
And my brother slaps me so hard my lip splits on my teeth.
“There is something wrong with you,” I mumble. Madness. But my mouth is full of blood, and all I can hear is Rose’s angry mutter that my stepmother is a witch and my brother, faced with something he wants and locked door between them, is a beast.
He slaps me again. And there is a new voice, loud and slurred and angry.
“My name,” says the princess on the other side of the door, “Is Rose. Leave my friend alone.”
The prince pushes me aside, and presses against the door. “My lady,” he says, breathing hard. “What a lovely voice you have.”
“Liar.” Rose is laughing. A hard, raucous thing that distorts her speech even more than usual. “You locked me up, prince. And then you ran from me.”
“I…” he blushes. “I was overcome.”
“Should I be flattered?”
I look away from him, and swallow a scream that tastes of blood and spit.
“Come down for dinner,” my brother says.
“Never.”
The prince sighs. “What if,” he asks, one hand now pressed to Rose’s door, “I lock Ziska up in her rooms until you do? It feels only fair.”
The prince and his princess had their dinner. I’ve heard that much, from gossip by my doorway. There is a gap by the floor. The noise of the house curls in like steam. I strain for it. The clock in the hallway strikes midnight.
I’m crying. Hot, small sobs that I wish were loud enough to scare anyone who heard them.
Bastards, even royal ones, grow up expecting hurt. But it was always an inchoate thing, before. A mix of small pinches and slights, the feeling that my place was not solid, my future unset.
Now, I keep seeing my brother pressed against Rose’s door, the changes in her face at the thought of an unwanted kiss. I feel the bruises left on my upper arms; the pulsing ache of my missing tooth every time I breathe or swallow.
A key turns in the lock. As I swallow, tears turning cold on my face.
“Well,” says Rose, breathing heavily, “This makes a change.”
The dull, brass key to my room falls from her fingers. She is leaning on one of my brother’s large hunting rifles, her stance lopsided under the weight of a pack.
“Don’t worry,” she adds, shifting the gun. “This isn’t loaded. I didn’t know how.”
“I…” I have to blink. Hard. “What are you doing?”
Rose sighs. “Rescuing you,” she says. “I thought that was obvious.”
“It’s—”
“—Your stepmother,” Rose says, moving into the room and dropping the pack at my feet with a relieved groan, “Really does not like you. Nor me. This is, she told me, the perfect time to get rid of us both. And she is a witch, so we must do as she says.”
“Rose, stop.”
She pauses, scowling at me.
“My stepmother is not a witch,” I manage. “And my brother—”
“—A witch, or a very clever woman. It hardly matters,” Rose says, reaching out to touch my bruised jaw. “She drugged her son. Your servants are all...elsewhere. She wants me gone, and we have his gifts to sell. When he wakes, she will tell him a story.”
She grins. “I’m rescuing you now, sweet,” she says, “But I need some help. And we would miss each other.”
“You seem very confident of that,” I say, surprised at the laughter in my own voice.
Rose takes my hands in hers. She turns the left one over, and presses a kiss to my palm, her hair falling forward over her face. It is hard to breathe.
“An uncanny ability to read people,” she says, words thick. “Along with a gift for languages. And…prettiness.”
I can feel her smirk against my wrist, and I shudder.
“More fairy gifts?”
“Of course.”
“I still don’t believe you,” I say. “But I want—”
“—What do you want, Ziska?”
The question feels bigger than the two of us. I feel caught and cradled by Rose’s words and the idea of a world outside my brother’s house.
“This was my place,” I say, and I’m crying again, sore and small. “It wasn’t much, but it was mine. Years of work, and now you and stepmother expect—”
“—She expects,” Rose says, “I…ask.”
I close my eyes.
“I’ll go with you,” I say. “Just let me find my coat.”
Many years and borders later, Rose’s rifle sold for a proper walking stick and our keys kept safely by our wrought iron door, I imagine the story my stepmother told the prince when he woke.
I do not think it ended as happily as us.
The prince's sister by hornkerling is licensed under a Creative Commons Attribution-NonCommercial-NoDerivatives 4.0 International License
It's two minutes past noon when Rory Beauchene and her daughter Hazel step through the front door of the manor.
A week earlier, an aging butler had come by Rory's place of work to speak with her. His master was interested in her services as a housekeeper, he'd said, and could she come by at half past noon next Wednesday? Well, she's a bit early, but it is Wednesday and she is here and swiftly coming to regret that decision.
She's seen grand manors like this before, but from safely afar where she couldn't break anything or dirty the floors or any number of things that seem entirely possible at the moment.
"Don't touch anything, Zelly. Or really look at anything if you can help it."
She's still debating on leaving and pretending that all of this never happened (and maybe selling her Inner City passport, people will pay out the nose for those things) when the elderly butler turns the corner of the massive staircase and notices her. Ah, there they are; he was worried that they had decided to not come, he says as though any Outer City rat with a passport wouldn't use it. She knows people that died for a glimpse of the Inside.
"The Master is busy at the moment, so I hope that you'll understand my having to handle your interview, Miss."
She nods and flashes a smile at...his retreating back as he heads back up the stairs. She purses her lips and holds Hazel's shoulders as she directs her along after the butler up the stairs and to the right, down a very long, very dark hallway that, personally, Rory thinks could use a good dusting and a lamp or two. The butler fires questions in her direction over his shoulder that she tries to answer as best as she can; it's the strangest interview she's ever had, and it ends with the Beauchenes being left in one of the manor's many drawing rooms while the butler (Mr. Penney, he said his name is) handles business elsewhere.
She holds Hazel against her side as she looks around the room. It's dusty and dark too; dusting and some sunlight is what it needs, she decides. If she gets this job, that'll be the first thing she has the staff do. Dust the whole house and open the windows.
She doesn't notice the piano at first. It's pushed into the corner and covered in enough dust to choke one of those monstrous birds that's she's seen brief glimpses of before pilots shoot them out of the sky, and she probably wouldn't have ever seen it at all if she hadn't noticed an incongruity in the shadows at the room's perimeters, a hulking shape just a shade darker than what was around it.
"Stay here, Zel."
Rory leaves Hazel standing in the middle of the room when she goes to get a better look at the piano. Her attempt to wipe away some of the dust is ultimately a failure; she mentally files away this observation for later as she lifts the protective casing away from the keys to get a better look. After a quick check on the keys themselves (ivory keys! goodness!), she cautiously presses down on one.
This is, of course, the moment that Mr. Penney returns; she barely has time to move her hands before he slams down the lid.
"The piano is rather old, I'm sure you've noticed. If you like to play, I could direct you to the music room," he suggests. "There's a much grander piano there."
"Oh. No. It's fine."
He smiles and nods, and they move on without so much as another mention of the piano. A few hours later, Rory and Hazel leave the manor with the butler's promise that he'll be contacting them via phone the next day about the particulars of Rory's new job and when she starts.
She looks down at the new passport that she's been issued as the gates to the Inner City close behind them later, wondering how exactly Mr. Penney is going to call if there are no phoneboxes on the Inside.
So for some reason, seeing the first clip of Aurora and Philip in Once Upon a Time had me remembering this Sleeping Beauty rewrite I did for Halloween at my Writer's Workshop years ago and since it was Halloween, I made it a tragic horror sort of thing...
The witch was actually a vampire who was out for revenge against the "prince" and let's just say that ghosts get involved.
Would any of you guys be interested in my rewriting it and posting it up here? Just so I can get a consensus.
