An Archive of Our Own, a project of the Organization for Transformative Works
Finally, the long promised and announced Madara-request! :D I think I try to get out a chapter every month, in order to get EML and this little fic under control. I apologize for the long waiting time in between. -.-
This fic was requested by @theintellectualweeb for my 200 Follower Raffle:
Soooooo, for your raffle... normally I'd ask for Kakashi, but you write a lot for him already. My main squeeze is Madara so I'd like to request some angst or mutual pining, with a fluffy end (my poor heart is too fragile for sad endings)? If you aren't feeling Mada, I've been feeling Hashirama lately too, so I wouldn't mind him instead. I'm not really particular if it's an AU or not, so creative liberties on that for you.
I think I definitely delivered on the ‘creative liberties’ part ;)
~ X ~
Senju and Uchiha always hated each other. It always had been that way and nothing would ever change that. You knew that, everyone knew that, and thus, war between the two clans was inevitable. The battles were gruesome, but this was the life of a shinobi, after all. Another unchanging truth.
However, when Madara Uchiha himself comes to ask for help, Hashirama is more than willing to help out his old friend, for the sake of his dream of a world in peace. And you? You are caught in the middle, unwilling to help and yet forced by the order of your clan leader.
~ X ~
As a girl, you had to fight from the very day you were born. You didn’t realize at first why the same mentors who taught your cousins wouldn’t allow you to join their spars. You didn’t realize why your father shook his head every time you tried to convince him to let you learn and train. You didn’t realize why your mother was so adamant in putting you in colorful silk gowns and kimonos, hard to move in and even harder to get out of.
You just wanted to fight. You wanted to help, knowing Hashirama and Tobirama would protect the clan when they were ready. You wanted to be like them. The infamous genius children of the clan head, strong and rumored to bring the victory in the ever-waging battles with the damn Uchiha and their traitorous allies.
You grew older, and with every passing day, you realized more and more why you weren’t allowed to do all the things they were allowed to do. Why you had to learn about the other allies of the Senju-Clan, why you had to learn the finesse of the tea ceremony, why you had to know how to flirt and seduce with a mere lowering of your incarnate fan.
That left you with only one choice. In the depths of the night, when you were sure your dear mother and father were sleeping, you snuck out into the training compounds and tried to recreate the same movements you had studied out of the corners of your vision of Hashirama and Tobirama.
It was hard, being awake half of the night, trained until you dropped into your futon at the crack of dawn, only to be woken up by your mother to the boring and mindless lectures about manners, rules and the ridiculously complicated politics of the clans. Your shenanigans worked out for a month, before one night, a hand clamped down on your shoulder.
Frozen in fear of punishment, you didn’t dare to look up from the training post and your bruised hands, and a flare took a hold of your gangly body when your father spoke up in his typical, hoarse voice. You expected punishment and a silent warning to never do something as ridiculous as this again, but instead, he praised your efforts. He praised your efforts, praised your stance, only to belittle the way you were molding your chakra at the same time.
When your father turned you around and kneeled down to speak face to face with you, you subconsciously held your breath. His honest, dark eyes bore into yours, before he leaned his forehead against your smaller one.
“We should’ve known the Uzumaki-blood will be strong in you,” he whispered and you remembered that Father talked a lot about his clan close by the sea, “We really should’ve known it isn’t wise to tame you with clothing and politics. Nobody is able to tame the ocean itself if she doesn’t want to be tamed. Tomorrow, I will ask your mother to drop the lessons and start your training. You show promise.”
It took a week for your father to convince your mother to actually do so. Fights ensued, porcelain was destroyed, all the while your father persistently tried to convince your stubborn mother to see the truth in his words. You waited with bated breath, the blanket of your futon drawn all the way up to your nose, listening to the angry, yet shushed voices without even daring to look at the window, which you would use to sneak out for training.
In the end, your mother caved in. She wasn’t happy about this and only agreed to a compromise: You were allowed to pick up training, if you would also continue the lectures and lessons she prepared for you. Needless to say, you were overjoyed and went with an uncharacteristically enthusiasm into your formal training to be a proper representation for the Senju-Clan, only to sprint out of the room as soon as you were able to strip off the too tight and too restricting kimono. Finally, you could train when the sun was shining, run to your heart's content and try the same things Hashirama and Tobirama tried out all the time.
It was hard. Your muscles would burn, your bones would feel like breaking and the instructions from the teacher were sometimes so confusing that you had no idea what he was talking about. But slowly, you grew to become friends to the happy and always chatty Hashirama, who would become gloomy as soon only one word of doubt fell from his brother’s snarky mouth. These two grew to become your friends and training partners, a bond not to be broken and as close as a faraway cousin could be to the two sons of the clan head, while the two even younger brothers Itama and Kawarama would watch with wide eyes how you three would banter while fighting.
Years passed. Years of training, of learning, of growing and noticing the looks you would sometimes receive from some older teenagers of the clan, years of friendship with the two older brothers and some kind of distant relationship with the younger ones, before you were sent onto your first mission. You were given old, worn-out armor from your instructor, seeing the disdain and some kind of unwilling sympathy for you in his eyes, while your father and mother tried their best to prepare you for the upcoming bloodshed. You were given the only heirloom your father had taken with him when he left the Uzumaki-Clan behind to be married to your mother: a wonderfully crafted, perfectly balanced knife. The blade itself was formed like a wave itself, a thin drain line running across the blade to the very tip, not longer than your forearm.
“This blade,” your father told you as he handed you the sheath enveloping the knife, “killed lots of enemies of the Uzumaki. It is said that the souls of the most vicious enemy of my clan are entrapped in this blade and their rage and strength will guide and protect the wielder of the blade. Be assured, it’s hungering for the blood of your enemies. I can hear its call, still, after all the years I haven’t touched it. It is on you now, to sate this thirst. Be safe, my daughter.”
That night, your father showed you how to properly wield your new weapon and as attentive as ever when it came to battle and weapons, you listened.
The next morning, you joined Hashirama and Tobirama. They were clothed in brand-new and fitted armory, their wealth and status radiating from them, while you could only meekly lower your head with your badly mended chest plate and a pair of little too big sandals. The only new thing on you was your father’s blade, and also the only thing which attracted the attention of your friends.
“New blade?” Tobirama asked sharply as you joined them, in the middle of the night at the gates of the clan compound. His red eyes instantly zoomed into the handle peeking over your shoulder and out of instinct, your fingertips graced over the sheath, like a little charm.
“More like an old one, in new clothes,” you joked and nodded at the other two, visibly nervous shinobi a few feet away, “They’re nervous.”
“Of course. A scouting, so close to the territory of the Uchiha? Any sane man would be nervous.”
“What am I then? Insane?”
“No man.”
Tobirama. Always straight to the point. By now, you were used to it, so you just chuckled lowly and shuffled around to keep your body warm. Minutes later, the telltale not-so-secret steps of the heir of the Senju announced his incoming.
“Sorry,” Hashirama laughed, while his younger brother glared at him, “I was caught up in something and didn’t notice how the time passed.”
Tobirama scowled. “You’re not taking this seriously! Straighten yourself out and act more like the leader of this mission than the forgotten afterthought of a replacement!”
“Sheesh, Tobirama-san,” you shrugged, “you’re pretty tense today.”
If looks could kill, then you would’ve had dropped dead years ago. But they couldn’t (at least not Tobirama’s), thus, you countered his death-glare with a light, easy smile; barely a curl of the corners of your mouth.
“Of course, I’m tense,” he snapped, “We’re getting pretty close to the Uchiha-borders today! And we would be already halfway there if not for the tardiness of my dear brother!”
You bowed your head at his righteous words. “I’m sorry, Tobirama-san. Forgive me for my dismissive words.”
You may be friends behind the scenes, but first and foremost, he was a higher ranked member of the Senju-Clan. The son of the clan leader, your leader, and thus, you had to pay your respects to both Hashirama and Tobirama, no matter how ridiculous and arrogant they acted.
It wasn’t your place to argue with them.
Hashirama quickly took his destined place at the head of the small troop, his glaring and still angry brother behind him, while you would follow them on their heels. The two others were more bodyguards than real members of the scouting mission. You knew it, the two boys knew it. The bodyguards knew it.
The eldest son looked back over his shoulder, first nodded at his brother, then at you, then at the last two shinobi, before sprinting off into the darkness of the night. Like ducklings following their mother, the small troop stealthily ran right behind him, not to be averted or to alert their countless enemies.
In silence, the troop made its way through the forest. Deeper and deeper into the dark of the trees, the light of the stars their only light and guidance, while not a single sound was made as they zipped through the trees. After all these years of training, adrenaline flooded through your veins at the mere thought of being on your first mission. Your first mission! You were excited, anxious, scared, eager to see and feel and fight and kill.
The Uchiha. Maybe you would see one. Maybe you could even fight with one! A small smile tugged at your mouth. Oh yes, fighting with an Uchiha sounded incredible! Maybe, if you were even able to kill one, the clan leader would show you a few more jutsu, for example the one with the water bullets he showed Tobirama last week! You wanted-!
Hashirama raised his hand, balled into a fist.
Everyone stopped. You even held your breath, all of your senses sharpened. An enemy. Someone was near!
You had travelled close enough to the Uchiha-border to make a patrol not unusual, but still far enough away from the official line on the map to also make an encounter terribly unlucky. If someone was close enough for Tobirama to have sensed them, they were either far away, at the bare edges of his sensory radar, or - !
A kunai zipped right past your left cheek. Not one sound escaped you, even though your heart stopped for a second. The enemy. A glance at Tobirama, and you whirled around, a kunai of your own in hand.
New shuriken came out of the darkness, but this time, you were prepared. The metal in your hand trembled slightly with every new impact as you defended yourself. Sparks flew, short lights in the dark. You were discovered.
Without a sign needed, your troop broke up. The bodyguards stayed with the future of the clan, while you sprinted away from them. Through the trees, leaves crashing into your face, hitting cheeks, nose, mouth, neck. Branches scratched over your skin, the armor rattled traitorously loud. Your breath echoed in your own ears, harsh, unforgiving. Legs burning, hands outstretched to keep your balance, you ran. Ran faster than you ever had run before. Ran faster than in any training, faster than you had run away when you stole one of the cookies off your mother's tray, ran faster than in any of the races with the Senju brothers. New shuriken flashed through the night. Again, you blocked them, metal clinking over metal and breaking through the darkness.
This has to end.
You dropped through the branches. For a terrible moment, you thought you misjudged the distance, but you caught yourself at a branch, slowing your fall. A low grunt escaped your mouth, then you continued. The enemies were close enough now that you could hear them. Heavy breaths; one, two, three people.
You swallowed the blob of panic. Three people were too much. Two, you could have managed. You did it before, fought with Hashirama and Tobirama at the same time. But three? You never did that! It was impossible, impossible for you to sustain yourself long enough to guarantee that Hashirama and Tobirama would escape!
I have to try, though. It’s my duty.
It was time. You reached into the bag at your waist. Thin strings, connected to kunai, was what you needed. A thick branch below your feet caught your attention, meters down, fifteen, ten odd meters or so perhaps? You weren't sure. Biting onto your lower lip, steeling your resolve, you twisted your lithe body around at the waist. A quick turn, a decisive, split-second observation. With a flick of your right wrist, quick enough to hurt your hands, you threw the wired kunai at two fitting trees, barely a few feet apart as you wildly threw out another kunai with your left to mask your original intention, praying that the shadows of the tree's crown was enough, enough to hide the gleaming wire. You barely caught sight of your wild throw missing the man's head even by an unlucky few inches as you turned back to the front, lurching off the thick branch you saw before, hastening in your escape.
One of them didn’t see the trap coming. A cut-off gurgle, the telltale sound of blood spurting onto the ground told you enough. Two. Two, you could handle.
With a scream, you turned on your heels. The first shadow in your back evaded your wild swing, jumped aside while his dark, long hair fluttering behind him. Hate spread in your limbs, made you strong and fast, wild and unstoppable. Rolling through the air, you charged at the second shadow. He wasn’t as fast, not as lucky as you slammed the Uzumaki knife into his chest. Blood, warm and alive spluttered over your hands as you sank it deeper and deeper into the body. Ribs cracked, you fell over, on top of the dead man, and ripped the weapon out after a brief moment. It felt like the knife was vibrating in your hand, and only when you sheathed the knife, the motions seemed to stop.
“Now, it’s only you and me.” You said loudly.
No answer. Only a low growl rumbled through the air, like a hound had been released from its leash. Goosebumps peppered your arms as you turned around, glaring into the darkness and at the first shadow. He was the real danger here. The others had been stupid; easy enemies, easy kills. This one would be a challenge.
“What’s your name?”
You shuddered, and it wasn’t the coldness shaking your bones. No, the dark, demanding voice. You knew that tone. Knew the expectance of obedience, knew the stance of absolute confidence in his own position, knew who was standing right in front of you and wanted to know the name of the murderer who killed his squad.
Madara Uchiha. Ice rained down your back, froze your stomach, slowed down your heart. Madara Uchiha, the heir of the Uchiha Clan. Tales were told about his strength, agility and fierceness in battle. Of anyone to meet on your first mission, you had to meet him. Of course. Swallowing the dread curling on your tongue, you stood up, even though your knees felt strangely weak when these intimidating eyes seemed to pierce straight through your soul.
“My name is (Y/N) Senju.” You raised your chin in a silent challenge, even though everything you wanted was to hide underneath the next best rock. “You don’t need to tell me your name. I already know who I fight.”
“Good. It was never my intention to give you my name.”
Arrogant bastard.
“Why do you want mine, then?”
The man — no, the teenager, barely the age of Hashirama and surely only a bit older than you — smirked, the white of his teeth reflecting some of the weak starlight. “That I know what to write onto the stone which will mark your grave.”
“So kind of you.”
You had to be careful. One look into his eyes and you could possibly be in a gen-jutsu you couldn't break. Still, you couldn’t keep yourself from glancing at his lower face, the even darker shadows of his jaw and neck, the way the blood-red armor hugged his torso…
Damn hormones. You hissed through your teeth when your eyes wanted nothing more but to dart upwards again, to the dangerous promise of his very dangerous Uchiha-eyes. If you would just react like this to a nice boy of the Senju or Uzumaki Clan, but no! It had to be the Uchiha-heir which made your heart beat a little bit faster and your stomach flutter as you laid your hand again onto the handle of your heirloom.
“Fuck off, Uchiha,” you inched closer, merely an inch, and you didn’t believe he noticed in the darkness, “We will see who gets buried today.”
His smile grew into a full smirk, disgustingly confident in himself and his own strength. “You can try,” he said, as his hands folded itself into the Tora-seal, “Try and see how big the difference between us is.”
Fire lit up the forest, a ball of hungry flames. But you anticipated the attack. Quickly, you dodged to the left, ducking beneath some branches, forming a jutsu on your own. Earth rose up and speared at the other teen. You sneaked up a nearby tree, heart racing and praying your distraction would work. From above, you watched how Uchiha dodged your half-hearted attack with the grace of a falcon, whirling himself through the air and landing in a low crouch. Even from a distance, you could almost feel how his Sharingan searched for you, searched for your chakra.
New kunai zipped through the air, directly at you. Cursing under your breath, you changed position, always chased by the intense stare from the bloody eyes. Your pulse was skyrocketing, but at the same time, you weren’t scared at all. You loved the feeling of adrenaline pumping through your veins, loved to plan your next steps ahead and loved, absolutely loved to finally be useful for your clan. To show off what you had learned over the last few years, to know you were strong and capable.
To prove you were strong.
More kunai came your way, and again, you jumped through the trees. Slowly, you circled into the middle of the big round you had run. And the Uchiha was right there, sitting on his ass and throwing his knives-!
“Running me around won’t work.”
Directly behind you. With a wordless scream, you swirled around, the short sword in your small hand and lashing out. The very tip caught some strands of his ridiculously long hair. Strands fluttered to the ground, and you followed, dropping like a stone and landing like a feather. Your body stretched in a quick flip backwards, bringing some distance between you and the other teen.
“Did you really think,” the damned Uchiha moved out of his crouch, slow and menacing, “You could keep me occupied with such cheap trickery? My eyes see everything you plan, Senju.”
“Are your eyes so big that they press onto your brain?” The sword in your hand seemed to vibrate again. With your free hand, you started to go through the signs your father taught you, seal for seal, while you stared at the enemy with hateful eyes. “And I always thought the Uchiha are only pricks. Now I know they are also arrogant and that their confidence shines out of their asses like goddamn sunlight!”
“And Senju know best how to run their mouths off about things they have no plan about!”
“Still better than being part of your rat-ass clan!”
The starlight was just enough to see how blood rose into his face, and you smirked at the knowledge you were able to rile him up that much with a few childish insults. “Well,” he breathed in, obviously trying to find another retort, “You’re… You’re stupid!”
“Can’t you think of anything else? I heard better insults from the babies in their cribs.”
Controlling the tide of the battle. That was what you were able to do like no one else. Not like Tobirama with his tactics and sharp intellect, or like Hashirama with his strength and strange Kekkei Genkai. You could psychological unnerve the enemy like no one else, creep under their skin and exploit their little weaknesses. It worked wonders on the easily swayable, like Hashirama, and only sometimes on Tobirama. You would’ve never thought that the Madara Uchiha was one of the easily manipulated, though, also you wouldn’t have believed that he would deflate that quickly due to a few well-placed insults.
There were just a few meters between them. Sneakily, you gripped the handle of your knife tighter. Sweat ran over your body, assembled in the wrong places and was quickly soaked up by the worn-out undergarments. This was a chance. A small chance, but still a chance. If you could confuse and overwhelm Madara even further with comebacks and retorts, maybe you could get a little nick with your blade in.
And a single nick would be enough.
“Hey, Uchiha!”
His head flew up from his dark muttering into his imaginative beard, the red, bloody eyes immediately bearing right into your soul. You didn’t look directly into them, but you could feel their impact. Goosebumps peppered your arms and you were so close to turn around and flee from the promised, terrible death the teen was able to give, but there was no backing out. Not now.
You tightened the grip around your sword. “We’re laughing about the Uchiha all day long, you know that? Especially after that disaster of a defense at the Hanahaki-River! How disgraceful, to think the pyramid-formation would actually work!”
Like you had touched a particular sensitive topic, even the Uchiha’s black hair seemed to bristle like an enraged cat would bristle her fur. “The pyramid formation for the troops was totally sensible and the only logical choice at the time with the limited resources and time we had against the damn attacks you damn Senju led!”
“Just admit it, we were better than you! We are always better than you!”
“Then why do you lose your territory that easily if you always win, stupid?”
“To give you a false sense of security!” you spat, now also pretty heated. Sure, the confrontations with the Uchiha Clan weren’t as one-sided as you would like to believe, but some of the Uchiha were nasty fighters, that much could you admit. Besides, they had their stupid eyes and their stupid Sharingan, which was basically cheating anyway! “Otherwise, the tears of the Uchiha would drown the land from losing so much and having to retreat to their puny, little shithole they crawled out of!”
You knew you hit too hard home when the air around you heated up and a low growl echoed through the air.
“Take that back!” the Uchiha barked, “Take that back, damn Senju, or I will-!”
Even though he looked straight at you, even though he was watching every move of yours, you knew he wasn’t at all defending himself anymore. He dropped all of his defenses, while trying to fight with words where jutsu and knives were needed.
A grave mistake.
Chakra pumped through your veins and body. Muscles contracted as you charged at Uchiha, legs burning in the haste of sheer knowledge you would hit him. Your sword was raised, the handle again vibrating in your hand like a living being. Seconds ticked by like minutes, fingers cracking into one-handed seals. Just a few more steps. Just a few-!
There. Perfect distance. Uchiha bared his teeth, knowing he wouldn’t make it. Still, he tried to raise his arm in slow motion. With all your might, you slashed down, aiming at the bare patch of skin you could see. Right between the forearm protector and elbow. Time seemed to slow down even more and you could only watch and cheer in silent victory that you would indeed injure the Uchiha.
That was enough. A small wound would be enough for your heirloom to suck his soul out of his body and leave the Uchiha as a dumb bucket, not good but for decoration purposes in a nice, shiny armor.
Just like a pot plant.
But before that could happen, before you could take the soul of the Uchiha heir and possibly end the goddamn war between the clans, a thick branch protected the teen. Your knife slammed so hard into the hard wood that the impact sent shockwaves right into your arm. That badly that you had to let go, your wrist hurting and arm shaking.
“What the-!” You whirled around, searching for the source of the branch, but you already knew which dumbass would look at you with big, pleading eyes. There was only one fucking idiot who could grow a damn forest out of his ass if he wanted.
And sure enough, at the other end of the branch, arms reaching out to you, and at least with the fucking decency to look guilty, was Hashirama.
“What the fuck, Hashirama!?” you yelled. Your voice echoed through the forest as you accused your future clan head. “I was about to end this! We could’ve won the war, right here, right now!”
Slowly, he shook his head. “No. I couldn’t let you do that.”
“Why?” Pointing at the Uchiha, you continued to yell, your voice rising and lowering like the tide of the ocean. “Why couldn’t you let me do the right thing? He’s the enemy! He’s the goddamn enemy, we are supposed to kill them, they are supposed to kill us, so why, Hashirama, shouldn’t I kill him when I have the goddamn chance!?”
Then, he said probably the last thing you expected.
“Madara is my friend, (Y/N). Of course, I can’t allow you to kill my friend.”
You thought you blacked out for a second. Hashirama… and Madara… The heirs of their respective, warring, clans… Were friends? How? What? How?
“Why are you friends with him?” Gritting your teeth, you spat out the words. “With an Uchiha!? They are the worst! Where is your loyalty to the Senju? Where is your loyalty to the clan, to your father, to your brothers, to your many fallen brethren?”
You wanted to continue to spit poison and ugly truth, but Hashirama interrupted you, just as much with his soft voice as with his begging, brown eyes, which bore into yours intently. “But the Uchiha feel the same way, (Y/N). They are also losing their friends and families to us, they are just as much suffering. Both sides are in pain because of the never-ending war.”
“And?” But the more Hashirama spoke, the more you felt uncomfortable truth behind his words. True, the blood shed happened on both sides. Death was cruel and also reaped its sow in either clan, but that was no reason to suddenly be buddy-buddy with the Uchiha!
The Uchiha grumped lowly, what caught your attention. “Let her be. She doesn’t understand it, just like I thought. Peace is after all still impossible between our clans.”
You didn’t believe you would ever agree on one topic with one of these Sharingan-creeps, but apparently, today everything was possible.
“No, she’s just… She doesn’t see it like we do yet.” Hashirama said and shook his head. His brown hair whipped through the air, hit his well-fitted armor. “But I can explain it to her. We can it explain it, our dream.”
“It’s a foolish dream. It will never happen.”
“And still, you like to talk about it to no ends.”
They talked over your head. Growling lowly, you bend over and grabbed your sword. While sheathing it, you gave both of these stupid idiots a death glare. They didn’t even notice, just started talking and debating, discussing and dreaming. A snort escaped you, before you jumped up and into the trees, not caring about Hashirama and his desperate “Hey!” when he finally noticed you weren’t waiting for him and his new Uchiha buddy to come to a conclusion.
Fucking Uchiha. Was that their new strategy? Pretending to be nice and seeking peace, only to rope the happy-go-lucky heir of the Senju into a trap? It was to be expected of these lying, damned-!
Flying steps behind and the rustling of leaves. You weren’t surprised to find your clan brother beside you, only stared with an iron will ahead and ignored the pleading puppy-eyes which were thrown at you.
“(Y/N)… Please don’t tell anyone.” Hashirama mumbled. “If my father would know, then he would-!
“Anything he would do,” you interrupted him harshly, “would be the right thing. Ever thought he could be a bait for a trap? That he could just alert his clan to capture or kill you on the spot? I don’t know which one would be worse.”
“The first one, actually. With me as a bargain advantage, they could make some serious threats to my father and my clan.”
So, this dumb braindead idiot actually thought about the possibility. And then he was still talking with the Uchiha?
Before you could berate him further, Hashirama nodded. “Yes, I’m aware meeting with him is not very wise. I’m aware our clans are both too stubborn to see past their own hatred. But there has to be something better than this. All the war, all the fights, all the training. We’re living in fear and cower instead of living our life to the fullest. You know it’s true, (Y/N). You know that we could’ve died today. We’re barely old enough to bear children or get married. Now, what are Itama and Kawarama going to do? Also join the fight? Are they going to die, just like that?”
Your heart sunk. Even though your connection to the younger brothers of Hashirama and Tobirama was a shallow one, seeing them playing around while their older brothers trained hard let you grew fond of them. Unwanted, the picture of them both laying lifeless flashed through your mind.
No, that wasn’t fair. It also wasn’t fair to expect them to fight and die, just like that. Without the chance of living a life without being impacted by the war.
“That’s our life,” you said, totally indifferent to your inner thought process, “there’s nothing we can change about…”
It dawned upon you what exactly Hashirama planned. Alone, without the reassurance someone else of the Uchiha wanted peace just as much as he did, there was no way to realize that crazy, ridiculous, wonderful plan, but with Madara…
They were both the heirs of their respective clans. When their fathers would die, they held the fate and the tide of war in their hands. Hashirama and Madara both could actually change the fate of their clans, the fate of their war-torn lands, the fate of their small shinobi-world.
“Now, you understand.” Hashirama nodded, deeply in thought. “It was a happy coincidence which led me towards Madara. It is also lucky he feels the same way as I do, that we have to work together to make this fighting stop. But you are wrong in two things, (Y/N)…”
Suddenly, he stopped on a thick branch, which forced you to also abruptly stop, just a few branches ahead to catch his words. And if you wanted or not, your mind was already captured by the sheer possibility of peace, of freedom, of hope for a better time.
“You are wrong in two things, (Y/N).” he repeated. “Madara was always full of doubt we would be able to realize our dreams, so he pulled back and cut our friendship out of his life. And two…”
Hashirama looked over, back into the thick bushes of trees, certainly right into the direction of the other lost dreamer running back into the safety of the clan compounds, which were also a cage for the incoming death and destruction they would wage against each other. “I have not given up on our idea. I won’t, ever. We all deserve to experience peace, and now that I know the other side wants it too… I will never give up.”
And for a second, a mere blink of an eye, you believed him. Believed him wholeheartedly, with every fiber of your very being. Your muscles slacked and tears waited right behind your eyelids as you looked at the future of the Senju Clan. A bright and warm future, but then, the reality crashed back into you. Even if Hashirama one day would be the clan leader, it would be a long, stony and hard way to be able to convince the Uchiha to agree to a peace treaty. Also, the Senju’s wouldn’t sit still when their leader would try to go that route. Too many lives had been lost to the other side, too much blood had spilled. Hatred had grown on both sides like weed, and just like the weed, the roots sat deeply underneath the surface and would probably never fade completely.
“Good luck with that.” You turned around, away from Hashirama and the impossible reality he tried to show you. “You will need it.”
~ X ~
Since that incident, three years had passed, but you hadn’t forgotten a single second of that night. The fight with Madara and the unfinished business you had with him. Hashirama’s vision of the future and how he would try to turn the fate of their clans around. The first kills of your life, and they hadn’t been the last ones, either. Fueled by the new determination to be better, be stronger and be faster than before to maybe one day, one day beat Madara yourself before he could get his hands on Hashirama (the dumb wood-brain he was, he would probably not dare to kill the Uchiha even if he had the chance). You couldn’t take the risk of your brother-in-arms dying just because of his perceived blindness to the evil in the world.
So, you trained. Trained until your hands bled from holding your heirloom the whole day and night. Trained until you fell into bed and your eyes closed before your head even touched the pillow. Trained and trained and trained until you found yourself able to buy custom-made armor, clothes and delicious food for your family. In the Senju Clan, you weren’t anymore the small girl who went against the will of your mother. Now, you were a proud kunoichi. Strong, fast, knowledgeable, intelligent. A real threat, not only fodder for the frontlines and to throw yourself into an enemy attack to protect someone more important than you.
Now, you were the person which was to be protected.
You tried not to allow that, but sometimes, in the quickly changing tides of a battle, you didn’t notice everything. Then, a younger man or woman would suddenly be in your back, smile at you with blood rolling from their lips when their eyes rolled upwards, in their stomachs still the blade which was meant for you. Every time, their death would weigh heavily on your mind. Another life wasted in this endless torture of an existence.
But then, the next day of blood spill and fight would come and you had to forget about the dead ones to concentrate on staying alive. Going further than your chakra allowed, overcoming foe for foe, pressing forward and winning fights you were not supposed to win. Alongside Hashirama and Tobirama, you made a name for yourself. You were feared by your enemies and respected by your clan.
Your father was proud for your success, and your mother… Well, she came around to like it. Not necessarily wholeheartedly, but enough to make sure your now fitting armor was properly adjusted and your weapons were always stocked and sharp.
Not that she didn’t try to set you up anymore. As a war-hardened kunoichi, who was able to fight at the side of the Senju future clan head and his brother, both known for being true monsters on the battlefield, you received all kinds of attention. Being a strong kunoichi meant you were sought-after. Many other shinobi wanted to get to know you on a more intimate level, some even went as far as to consider marriage and children, but you declined and rejected all advances. There was simply no time for something like romance, love and funding a family.
Sometimes, you would remember Hashirama’s vision. Sometimes, you would also long for this promise of being able to safely love, without worrying about losing your lover tomorrow, next week or next month. But the next fight with the Uchiha was never far off and didn’t leave any time to mull for long over impossible hopes and dreams.
Until, one late evening, you were training all alone in a nearby forest, you could feel Hashirama’s chakra brushing through the trees nearby. You paused and wiped away at the sweat which had collected on your forehead, chest heaving and limbs slightly shaking from the exhaustion.
What was he doing? He seemed to search for something, for someone, you realized, when his route suddenly changed towards you and your little spot to train. There was barely any time to catch your breath, before Hashirama landed right in front of you, the long hair loose and adorned by leaves and little branches.
“There you are!” he exclaimed and beamed at you. “I was searching for you for a whole while now! Follow me,” he lowered his voice like someone else could listen to him, “Madara wants to see you.”
You blinked slowly. “Madara wants to see me?”
“Yeah! Something important, apparently. About his little brother!”
“I don’t know his brother at all!” you hissed through your teeth. “What the fuck, Hashirama! Madara is our enemy and you know my opinion about him!”
“Please, (Y/N)… It’s very important to him!”
“Why should I care what is important for an Uchiha?”
Hashirama shook his head. “Please. He said when you come and talk to him, he would also start planning again with me. Planning for our dream.”
A dark growl escaped you. “The village.”
He ignored your grim tone. “Yes, the village. Our peaceful future, just think about it!”
“What does that have to do with me?!”
“It has everything to do with you since Madara made you part of the deal!” Hashirama used his big puppy-dog-eyes. Someone should’ve told them they only worked on children, not on lanky teenagers with hardening, sharpening faces and the power to utterly obliterate an entire town on his own. His big, brown eyes bore into yours, his bottom lip started to wobble slightly and the eyebrows rose higher than you had ever witnessed on the man. “Please,” he asked again, “Please, (Y/N). Please. If you can’t do it for Madara, please. Do it for me. Talk to him and listen to what he wants for me, and nothing else.”
Dammit. Sure, you were pretty much immune against his ridiculous puppy-eyes. But you weren’t safe from the damn demands he made. First of all, Hashirama was still your superior. One could easily forget that little fact watching you two interact, watching Hashirama interact with other people. His position as the future clan head demanded respect, demanded obedience, demanded obeying to orders or demands he made, if now or in the upcoming months and years. In comparison, you were definitely of a lower rank, despite your fast ascendance through the hierarchy of the Senju Clan. To be exact, you would never be of the same standing as Hashirama or Tobirama, just because you weren’t born as a boy to the current clan head.
And, to be fair, it wasn’t like he demanded you to make immediate peace with Madara. Hashirama was very aware you didn’t like the Uchiha and everything he stood for, and he was probably also aware that Madara saw you in the same, if not in a worse light.
Just a talk. Just a nice little talk with Madara, the worst of all Uchiha. Nice.
“You’re staying with me?” you asked. “You’re making sure he’s not going to attack me suddenly?”
“He would never do that!”
It took all of your control to not hiss at the overly trusting man. “I would do that, Hashirama. If I get the chance to kill the next head of the Uchiha to cut this war between us short, if I get to kill the same man who killed dozens of our kin, if I am strong enough to do exactly that, then I would do that. This is not some vague theory, not some kind of cloud castle. If it means I would be able to single-handedly end this feud in favor of my clan, then I would kill Madara without a second thought. So, why should he feel any different when it comes to my person, when I killed also lots of his clansmen and have not the protection of a valuable, yet brittle hope into a hopeless dream?”
Hashirama could only stare at you with wide eyes. It was as clear as day that he never even considered that, totally believing in the goodness of Madara’s heart. With a low huff, you rolled your own towards the sky, mumbled a quick “Whatever,” before gesturing at the other. “Just lead the way, would you?”
Surprisingly, the way wasn’t too long. Only a few minutes of following Hashirama through the trees, avoiding branches and cobwebs like it was your second nature, then, he jumped down to the proximity of the river running through some unclaimed property. You could hear the water whispering and also, strangely enough, the sound of a stone ditching over the slowly running river.
Cutting through a few more bushes, you were able to finally spot Madara. Immediately, your whole body tensed up, ready to fight and defend yourself if the Uchiha decided to abandon his strange friendship with Hashirama and attack. The other man had turned his back to you, weighing another flat stone in his hands and measuring the water in front of him with watchful eyes. Black clothes hung from the muscular figure, the long black hair hanging over his back and swaying with his movements as Madara seized the stone in his hands. Throwing it up, catching it again, flipping the stone over, rubbing his thumb over the smooth surface.
He was the same age as Hashirama. Ditching stones was a child’s game, innocent and ambitious at the same time, and in that moment, as you watched the Uchiha trying to decide where to place his feet to properly ditch the stone he finally selected, made him all the more human.
I don’t want to see him as a “human”. He’s the enemy and never shouldn’t be anything more than that.
Scowling, you hid yourself behind Hashirama, who didn’t even make the effort to conceal his arrival. Like a wild boar, not caring for the destruction it caused in its path, he plopped down onto the earth, already greeting Madara like a long-lost childhood friend (what probably was truer than you wanted to imagine). “Hey, great to see you! And, did you manage to skip the stone over the entire riverbed now?”
To be fair, Madara not even attempted to answer the stupid lightweight attempt at a strained conversation. Instantly, the man dropped the stone and swiveled around, the black, intense eyes zeroing in on your figure, which caused you to only hide yourself even more behind Hashirama.
“There you are,” he growled and stalked forward, “you and your damn butter knife!”
Butter knife!?
“Damn Uchiha!” you cursed. “It’s not a butter knife, it’s my family heirloom!”
“It doesn’t matter to me what the fuck you call it! This damn cursed knife,” he spat the word in front of your feet, “made my brother a living corpse! He’s breathing, he’s blinking, but apart from that, he’s as good as a rotten vegetable!”
Oh. According to the spies of the Senju, there was indeed some kind of negative commotion going on in the Uchiha territory. But to believe you accidentally seemed to have nicked the brother of Madara Uchiha with your “butter knife”…
A smile tugged at the corners of your lips. “What a coincidence. But it shouldn’t be that much of a difference to before. All Uchiha’s are-!”
“I don’t care! Return him to normal!”
You didn’t need Hashirama’s warning glare or the sharp elbow pressing into your side. You didn’t need those things to see that Madara was at the edge of falling apart. When you looked closer; really close for the first time, you noticed the dark bags beneath his dark eyes, the new lines of worry and anger carved into his face, the wary and stressed expression in his eyes. He was suffering, suffering by the fate of his brother, suffering by your hand and your jutsu, suffering by the feelings of an older brother who hadn’t been able to protect his younger sibling.
You didn’t want to notice these things, but you did, nearly had no other choice but to notice. Madara was defenseless, open and raw like an unprotected nerve. A state you had never seen on the other teen and never expected to see. Was it really because of his brother? Was he really that much like… That much like…?
Hashirama stared at you, then at your heirloom, back into your face and then right back to your knife. “Can you do that?” he whisper-yelled in his usual booming tone. “And if you can, did you do it to Izuna?”
“Is that his name?” Your nose curled automatically in a disgusted snarl. “And it pretty much sounds like I stole his soul. Not on purpose, I have no idea how he looks like, but he could’ve gotten nicked in a fight. It was a pretty wild battle and I reaped a lot of souls that day.”
“That’s not the point!” The brunet threw a worried glance at Madara, who was very close to just lose his barely controlled demeanor and growl and shout at everyone and everything which he happened to set his sights on. Hastily, he continued, obviously more worried to experience the wrath of his friend than yours. “Please. Tell me if you can reverse it.”
“Are you fucking serious?”
“Yes, it actually is!”
“We have no reason to do anything for them.”
“But I ask you to. Please, (Y/N). Do it for me.”
You snorted. “The fuck I will. Sorry Hashirama, but I have to stand firm. I’m not going to risk my life by going into the Uchiha-compound.”
“He can carry him out of there!”
“I don’t give a singly flying fuck. I’m not going to do it.” You answered. That was it, your last word. You crossed your arms over your chest, glared at Hashirama, then at Madara, stubbornness and stoic acceptance of what was about to come running through your body.
Surprisingly though, it wasn’t Madara berating you. No, the following sentence came from Hashirama, in an unusually serious, dangerously low voice, which was usually reserved for his enemies who hurt his comrades beyond human comprehension. “(Y/N). I didn’t think I had to resort to this, but now, for the sake of a future without deaths, I will use my position as the future clan head and order you to right what is wrong. Return Izuna’s soul, no matter what it takes. Is that understood?”
For a second, you dared to keep your mouth shut.
Hashirama’s death glare intensified. “Do I make myself clear?” he asked once more, even lower, even stronger, the syllables rumbling through your bones and the wood around you slightly groaning and rustling. One could easily forget that he was one of the strongest shinobi alive, and you had indeed forgotten that. It was almost too easy, seeing him doting on his younger brothers and listening to his speeches about peace and living together in one big village.
For a few more moments, you dared to defy your superior. Dared and persisted, but eventually, you had to give up. With hesitant defeat in your heart, you had to lower your head.
“Yes, Hashirama-sama,” you pronounced the title as clear as possible, “your wish is my command.”
“Good.” He wasn’t happy to resort to command you, but in the end, his will would be yours. He was after all the future clan head and your cell leader, and never before you had questioned his commands. Until now. “You will go with Madara to the Uchiha and do everything in your power to return Izuna’s soul. Do I make myself clear?”
“Yes. Very clear.”
“Thus,” what, he isn’t finished yet, “you will follow every order of Madara, as long as its compliant to complete the mission as fast as possible.”
No matter what, that you couldn’t let slide. “What?” You gawked full of indignant rage at Hashirama. “What the actual fuck!?”
“(Y/N)…”
“You can’t expect me to listen to him,” you gestured towards Madara, who watched the show with an overly smug expression on his face which pissed you off even further, “when I’m on enemy territory! You’re sending me to die in their territory only to chase after your soap bubble dreams-!”
“Enough!”
One bark from the man and the forest around shook its branches. Wood groaned loudly as the plants and trees reacted to Hashirama, reacted to his frustration and anger; anger at you. His dark eyes were nearly glowing when they were again fixated on you, burning with the emotions he never suppressed. “You will follow his orders. I trust him to not hurt you in any way, nor to willingly lead you to your demise. Madara, do whatever needs to be done, in reasonable limitations.”
“For once, we’re of the same opinion.” The older teen grumbled, but on his face stood the same kind of mirth a mischievous devil would spot at spotting his next victim. His long, black hair fell over his shoulder as he nodded into your direction, words still directed at Hashirama. “Anything? To make sure she’s protected on our territory?”
“Not anything - !”
“Yes.” Hashirama interrupted. “Anything which secures her safety and security.”
“You’re aware of our traditions?”
“Which-? Aaaah.”
“Yes, that one.”
One concerned look at you. “She won’t like it. At all.”
Now, Madara joined Hashirama, but his eyes were creased in the little grin tugging at the corners of his mouth. “Really? Makes the show even better.”
Out of instinct, your shoulders drew upwards. “Show?” you asked, “What kind of show?”
~ X ~
“You’re not serious!”
“I am. The most serious I have ever been.”
“I haven’t agreed to this!”
“Listen,” suddenly, you found yourself face-first shoved into the dirt by Madara, swallowing earth and grass like you were a damn horse, “if you keep shouting like that, the damn guards will hear us and attack you! Now, shut the fuck up and let me carry you as my bride!”
A ridiculous plan, based on the stupid traditions of the wayward, superstitious Uchiha. Stealing potential brides from other clans, the brides chosen and carefully selected by their strength, speed and beauty. You heard of this tradition; heard of it and judged it as possibly a good idea to weaken the enemies and maybe as a tiny little bit romantic, but to realize you were now stuck between a rock and a hard place let you rethink your earlier opinion.
“I can't fucking believe Hashirama agreed to this,” you hissed and scrambled again into a kneeling position, “I can’t fucking believe he pushed me so far down.”
Playing a struggling bride for an Uchiha. Your mouth curled into a disgusted snarl. Unbelievable. And the worst was: he would carry you. Carry you around like a prize he had rightfully won and claimed as his own. The entire clan would believe you belonged to Madara, according to their rules and traditions. That you belonged to him like a slave belonged to its master, without its own will and without any voice.
That it was only for appearance reasons, to protect you on the ground of the Uchiha didn’t matter. For a short while, it would be your reality. Other people would judge you for it, for not being strong enough to resist Madara’s kidnapping, for letting yourself getting whisked away. Not to talk about that Hashirama basically abandoned you, just to maybe realize his dream of a peaceful future. It wasn’t set in stone that you could even help Izuna, at least, you had no idea how you should be able to. The heirloom didn’t have exactly a manual with it when your father gave it to you.
Suddenly, you were heaved into the air. Arms flailing and legs kicking out, you were so close to scream into the night. Only for a shoulder to hit your stomach, which turned the scream on your tongue into a low wheeze. Mortified, you looked round, tried to make sense of the situation. You were hanging upside down, stomach pressed into a strong shoulder, a steel-like arm slung around your waist, arms hanging down and brushing against a broad back. Your ass was raised into the air and it still took you several seconds to actually realize what Madara had done.
Immediately, you started to hit him. “Let! Me! DOWN! You imbecile, rude, fucking - !”
Madara had the audacity to chuckle. “Yes, just like that. Struggle a bit more, if you want. If you can.”
This damn arrogant dickhead! Wordlessly growling, you struggled, wiggled, kicked and flailed out like a wild cat, desperate to escape this additional humiliation.
Being carried like this, being, being shamed like this! I hate Madara and I hate you for making me endure this, Hashirama!
Tears burned in your eyes as Madara started to walk, the ground swaying and every step shaking your whole body. Blood slowly started to rush into your head as you heard the first (and probably not the last) surprised “Madara-sama!” of the night, you wanted to hide yourself in the dark mane of your kidnapper.
(He smells nice, though.)
Madara’s voice rumbled through his chest, deep and used to command people around. “A good night today, isn’t it, Ryuuto-san?”
“Is that what I think it is?”
“Oh, that?” The shoulder beneath you twitched, what caused you to hiss lowly at the Uchiha. “Yeah, I thought it was time to claim my bride before someone else could do so. Plus, now my father won’t bother me anymore about new heirs for the clan.”
“Who is it?”
“Ask her yourself.” Madara whipped around. You met the curious eyes of the poor guard with malice and hate, who stumbled backwards when his eyes finally made sense of your face.
“This is (Y/N) Senju!” he whispered. “Praise the gods, Madara-sama… You really chose her as your bride?”
Another shrug and again, you were whirled around as Madara turned to face his subordinate. “Her strength and beauty are without question. Plus, it will weaken the Senju noticeably in numbers and blood.”
“But your father - !”
“My father has no say in our old traditions.” In the midst of struggling, you froze at the cold tone of the teen. His hand clamped down on your waist, stronger and harder than you felt comfortable with. “I chose who I will marry and my choice is her. She’s fitting, no one can deny that, and her blood will make us stronger, without a doubt. I also don’t really understand why I have to explain myself to you. Was there a change in clan heads during the hours I was gone?”
“N-no, of course not, Madara-sama…”
“I thought you would say that.” You growled when he hoisted you further up his shoulder, hand tightening on instinct around your waist, “and when the next time my actions are questioned, ask yourself if it’s in your range of rights to question my decisions in any way.”
He almost stated it like it was the law to obey him. A cold shudder wandered down your back. It couldn’t be… Did the old Uchiha step back and made the position of the clan head already available to his son? Did that happen?
It can’t be. The old Uchiha is the epitome of the infamous stubbornness of their clan. He would’ve never given up his position!
But if he did…? Then…
Your struggling started anew. Flailing arms, limbs, feet, screeching and screaming at Madara in your fit of absolute indignant rage. “I can walk on my own! Fucking let me down, you asshole, you arrogant idiot, damn thickheaded, narcissistic fucker - !”
Madara only chuckled at your antics, like a father watching his child throwing a meaningless tantrum as he strode forward. “I must say, your performance is outstanding. No one would suspect you being with me here willingly.”
“That’s because I’m not!”
“If you scream a little bit louder,” his head moved, brushed against your hip, “the next guard will totally hear us.”
“I don’t give a fuck!”
“So, you favor dying over getting out of here alive?”
You were very close to just shout out a demonstrative “yes”, but then reconsidered quickly. Death really wasn’t worth it, especially considering that it was not you who would be in trouble if the Senju found out where and by whose hands you died, but possibly your parents and Hashirama. If your corpse was found in the territory of the Uchiha, a possible new wave of resentment and fighting would ensue. And despite your loyalty to the Senju, despite your hate for the Uchiha, despite your earlier discussion with Hashirama. Being the reason for new death and new sorrow wasn’t your goal.
Even though your entire body fought against your mind, you forced yourself to relax. Like a wet bag of noodles, you hung over Madara’s shoulder, ass up and his arm around your waist loosening the tiniest bit, you bore the following gasps and shouts of terrified surprise with the dignity of a travelling hooker.
No way around it, so hold your chin up high and keep going.
It took at least half an hour more until Madara stopped and almost gently dropped you on your own two feet again. On wobbly feet, you tried to stumble backwards, but Madara quickly caught you. His iron hand laid around your wrist, not letting go and not letting you run free.
You glared at your kidnapper. “Hands off,” you hissed, “I don’t need your filthy Uchiha hands on me.”
“Trust me,” there it was again, that damn cocky smirk, “you need my hands on you if you want to live. You have two choices here, Senju. Either, you stop being such a little stuck up wench and accept that for now, I’m your best bet at surviving, or you rat us out. In that case, I have to kill you with my own two hands and believe me, to show my clan I still can be trusted despite my poor choice in a bride, I would make it a slow death.”
You doubted his dedication not for a second. With a last, menacing growl of a wolf stuck in a cage, you gave in, slackened your muscles and followed Madara into the deeper parts of the Uchiha territory.
No one from the Senju ever had been able to go that far inside the territory of the enemy. No one had ever seen the compound of the Uchiha clan, like no Uchiha ever had seen the compound of the Senju had lived to tell the tale. You would be the first one and, in your mind, you were already standing in front of the clan elders, drawing them a perfect plan of the layout.
This wasn’t forever. Get in, cure the fucking Uchiha brother, get out. Easy. Begrudgingly, you trudged after Madara as he passed a few thick bushes and trees, only to step suddenly into a wide, artificially created open space. The only point of connection was your joined hands. His fingers closed around your wrist; your hand balled up into a tight fist. So tight your knuckles had turned white.
Quickly, your eyes flashed around, taking everything in you could and trying to memorize any details which could be lifesavers in the future. The U-shape formation of the huts, made to be defended easily. The wall of trees was a natural defense, but the additional, second wall made out of stones, wood and fire-hardened clay would be hard to overcome, but not impossible with the usage of a few well-coordinated earth-jutsu. A few watchtowers interrupted the manmade wall, adorned with guards which were immediately on guard when the two of you stepped into the light of their torches, before they relaxed when they recognized Madara.
He was greeted with enthusiastic whistles and happy shouts.
“Madara-sama is back!”
“He’s back! Open the gates, open the gates!”
And, maybe even more importantly…
“He has a bride!”
You closed your eyes. Now, the news would spread through the clan like wildfire. If Madara really was the new clan leader, if his father really stepped down, then being the kidnapped bride of the new clan head of the Uchiha would attract all the attention of a clan in war times.
There were only a few good news to be happy about, after all.
Still dragged by Madara, you passed the gates, hastily opened for the young and cocky Uchiha. He dared to wave at them with his free hand, showed off his skill and talent by bringing home such a good little wife. You bared your teeth, bared your teeth at him, at the guards, at the surrounding people. Men, women, children. You weren’t a trophy to be shown off, to be paraded around. A proud kunoichi, wandering through the shadows and fighting with her life on the line. Strong and dependable, that was what you were.
At least, some of them backed off. A few men automatically reached for their kunai, one or two women pulled their sleeves up, and a small child of not even six years showed off its own small, pearly white teeth, hate in his eyes and anger written all over his small face. Grim satisfaction welled in your chest and your hateful grimace grew into a terrible grin, all teeth and sharp edges.
Yeah. Never forget who I am and what I have done.
Madara led you onward, so you couldn’t keep up the eye contact with the kid. One last hateful exchange, and you were dragged further. Into the middle of the round, right in front of the biggest building of the formation. Without a doubt, the house of the clan head and its family.
You swallowed the big gulp of panic lodged in your throat. Your house, for the time being.
Again, a big, fat glob was stuck in your throat. Panic, icy and simple. Fear, terrible and running deep. Knowing you were deep in the shits was one thing, but being basically thrown to the Uchiha’s, presented as Madara’s wife-to-be… You couldn’t think of something even worse than that.
The clan built a small street for Madara and you to go through, only to close the passed empty space immediately. Even if you could’ve managed to rip yourself away from the relentless grip of the dickhead, you couldn’t have escaped. And, to be completely honest, the mere attempt to escape wasn’t wise. Counting the angry faces in the crowd was easy enough.
Their hate in your back, and the only “friend” you had was only using you.
Abruptly, Madara turned around to his people. With his hand still gripping your wrist, he also swirled you around and forced you to face the crowd, when all you wanted to do was hide yourself with the ridiculously long mane of his.
“My clan,” his voice carried easily over their heads and into every little nook and cranny, “it was time to follow one of our oldest traditions. As my father stepped down and allowed me to take his place, it was my time to go and find a suitable bride.”
More eyes glanced into your direction. Some curious, more distrusting and not only a few seemed to plan your timely demise.
“I know what you’re thinking,” Madara said, “I can read it in your hearts. Why (Y/N) Senju? Why her, one of the biggest threats we had to face over the recent years? Well, we all can’t deny she’s strong. A good addition to our clan. Her blood is mixed, her face an Uzumaki from the sea, her mother a Senju. And absolutely no one can deny her beauty, inside nor outside of battle.”
You blinked. Once, twice. Then, you turned to the Uchiha. Beautiful? Did he mean that? Wait, didn't he say that before?
His fingers dug a tiny bit deeper into your wrist. “Still, some of you may ask, why a Senju? Why (Y/N), the stealer of souls, the menace we had to fear for so long? Well, I have her word she will try to cure my brother. She will try to bring him back, to us, to his family!”
Oh, you really wished he hadn’t said that. With growing horror, you watched how the crowd broke almost into a unison cheer, obviously happy they would see Madara’s brother again on his own two feet, while Madara slightly leaned over to you to whisper a few well-chosen words into your ear.
“Like this, you should have no problems inside the compound anymore.”
This fool! My problems just now increased tenfold because of your promise that I would cure him!
Because if not… All these cheering people would turn on you quicker than a storm could turn onto the ones who sowed wind.
