Mostly canon-compliant. Beware of some dark themes, although there isn't much actual gore or anything. Also... all aboard the angst train, I guess...?
This is basically my take on the red string of fate theme.
Sparkling red, shining in the moonlight and taunting fools to follow it aimlessly – so was the red string of fate.
It mattered very little that only a handful of people in each generation saw this phenomenon with their own eyes. It was a mystery, a romantic one too, because surely what else would tie two people together like that if not the fact that they are each other's perfect other halves?
'I wish I had a string myself,' a woman said dreamily as she strolled down the streets of Konoha.
'You're married,' her friend reminded her quickly, 'what would your husband say?'
She sighed, throwing her long brown hair back with a flick.
'But it's about love, Yuriko! Love!'
The two of them kept walking towards the market, enjoying a lighthearted banter about something they could never have. For the red string of fate never materialized on anyone once they were older than fifteen.
It was something unique, something longed after by many people who wished for a great adventure, for true love to find them. They wanted the perfect partner to finally arrive in their lives, their other half made for them by the gods, the one they deserved.
Well, the one they thought they deserved.
Because sugar-coated tales scribbled on scrolls and romantic novels brimming on the shelves of bookstores did little to portray the ugly truth – how you didn't always find what you wanted at the end of your string.
Very few tales, if any, were shared about the men and women leaving their families and entire lives behind them in chase of their intended, only to find that the person on the other end was someone they deserved, rather than someone they actually wished for.
Truly 'magical' connections were rare and mostly amplified when they turned into tales passed on by flighty words. Sometimes the lucky souls who chased their end of the string during the one night of the year when it was visible, managed to find someone they truly liked. Sometimes they found a short-lived love, a flame that burned out shortly after getting to know their supposed other halves. Some found terrible people that were more like a nightmare than a dream come true and others… followed the red trail up to a cold, hard grave with nothing but the name of their intended to let them know who they could have met if only they arrived earlier.
Was it such a wonder that some people didn't have the slightest intentions to find out who was at the other end of their string?
Some folks who were more rational and managed to tear the facts from the sickeningly sweet fiction came to the conclusion that they were better off on their own, without letting faith throw some stranger in their path. A few of them decided not to seek out their other half because they were afraid of who they might find while others simply refused to let faith control them in any shape or form.
Uchiha Madara was one of those lucky (or so they were called) people who saw a thin red string attached to their little finger. It was something he easily ignored for most of his life, especially as he rose within the ranks of his own clan. Getting stronger to protect his family from all threats was the most important thing in his life, making everything else secondary. Getting a reminder of the fact that someone special was out there on the longest night of each year was exactly that – a reminder.
Uchiha Madara had neither the sentiment, nor the time to spare for such foolishness.
When the Uchiha and the Senju moved in together, they made an agreement not to bring their dead with them – and it wasn't just in the literary sense. While it was a fundamental part of Konoha's founding that the grudges had to be laid to rest (to some extent anyway), it was also clear that none of the two clans could dig up their graves and carry them into the new village. They needed a fresh start and that would have hardly been the way to go. Therefore the graves were left intact in the former Uchiha and Senju lands.
As expected though, Senju and Uchiha fighting others rather than each other didn't put an end to their people dying. Both clans still lost members, only this time around those whose bodies were brought back (sometimes in pieces) fought side by side before meeting their ends. The graveyard filled quickly, much quicker than any of the founders would have liked.
It was uncommon for Madara to visit. As a man of action, he rather honored the memories of lost ones with the steel of his blade cutting through the enemy or loudly arguing with the rest of the council for changes that would lead to a (hopefully) brighter future. However even he paid the dead a visit every now and then.
That night he walked straight up to the large, nameless stone in the cover of an oak tree. It belonged to no one and everyone at the same time. At first he considered the idea outrageous and plain stupid but gradually, like many of his clansmen, Madara learned to appreciate the sentiment behind it.
While bringing their dead in the literal sense was not an option, the stone was there to serve as a silent memorial for those who had fallen before the village was founded. Anyone could go there and pay respect to their dead family members whenever they wanted, be it Senju or Uchiha.
Madara placed incense on the flattest area on the top of it, setting it alight and remembering four of his brothers. Four Uchiha were born and raised in the same house as him, four fine shinobi with a future ahead of them, yet robbed of it. Four Uchiha who were strong, brave and dear for Madara – all of whom met their ends by the swords of the very same clan he founded a village with.
With fists clenched so hard his nails drew blood, Madara glared into the smoke and remembered each and every one of those coffins let down into the ground, each with a brother so dear to him, people he could never get back…!
'Why…? Why did you have to go?' he found himself whispering in raspy voice.
It was times like that when his faith in the village and its ideal of peace started to shake. Because even though he liked dreaming about a place where he could watch over Izuna like a good older brother would… where was he now? Where was Izuna when there was finally a place for them to be? Where were the rest of his brothers? Underground, that's where, in a place where Madara could do nothing for them anymore. It was maddening, and no matter how many years passed since each of their deaths, it still kept him up at night sometimes.
Just like that night when he forsake the idea of sleep in favor of visiting the closest thing he had to a shrine.
Blinded by his grief, it was perhaps not a surprise that Madara failed to see the thin red line hanging from his little finger. In spite of not caring one bit about the whole 'finding my other half' deal, even Madara overheard some of the tales about the unfortunate folks finding their match already dead.
How fucking ironic that would be, he thought to himself as he snorted, looking at the string that got tangled up somewhere between the tombstones.
It was really just a whim that made him follow it for the very first time in his life.
On any other day Uchiha Madara would have ignored the very existence of it. That night he blinked his tears away and thought humor me as he traced the line through the graveyard. Show me what you've got, the taunting little voice said in his head. He had lost everyone already that mattered, what difference would a dead soulmate mean?
Well.
Once he found where the string ended, he genuinely wished that it was a dead man instead.
Because at the end of the graveyard, standing silently and with an unreadable expression (if that face was even capable of any) was the very murderer of Izuna. The one whose blade cut through his brother mercilessly, the reason Izuna's proud smiles were replaced by an ashen white face covered by a lid and-
If Madara was the forgiving and kind man Hashirama hoped him to be, he would have accepted that it was war. That all of his brothers died because of an unnecessary conflict that finally came to an end when he accepted Hashirama's offer of peace. If he used logic, (something Tobirama often told him he couldn't), Madara would have reasoned that the dead on both sides were casualties of war rather than mere personal grudges and that they finally reached an era where they had a chance to shape a brighter future.
Madara, however, had never been a forgiving man. Not a kind one either, although he loved deeper than any Senju ever could, and consequently hated those who hurt his loved ones with a burning passion that some tended to call insanity.
It was fine. He didn't need to be kind, he didn't need to be forgiving. Not when Izuna's dying breath was a warning for him to use the power of his eyes to defeat their greatest enemy. Not when his clan was slowly losing faith in his abilities to lead. Not when it came glaringly obvious that the Senju standing right in front of him was going to be the next leader of Konoha and Madara would never get a chance, even if he was a better man.
He didn't know what Tobirama saw when looking into his eyes, but Madara took some pride in how the younger man stepped backwards. It reminded him of a trapped animal, prey fearing the approach of the predator.
That night Madara left the graveyard without a single word. A few weeks later he left the village altogether.
It was truly the irony of fate that when the moon shone down on the battlefield and only a few dared to be anywhere close to his resurrected form, the string was still there. It stretched through the battlefield, all the way to the mangled fake body of Senju Tobirama.
'In a way,' he told the shadow of a man who once used to be the biggest thorn in his side, 'the string wasn't wrong.'
Even thought he made damn sure that the Senju couldn't speak, those eyes still reacted to that claim, showing disbelief clearer than any words would have.
'It ties people together who share something, doesn't it? Well,' he said as he took another rod in hand, ready to stab one more into the unmoving body below his feet, 'I don't care one bit what you think of me… but I have never hated anyone more than I hate you.'