A/N: IMPORTANT! Before we begin: I used to be a regular contributor here on . I left and tore down all of my stories because I was pissed that one of mine was removed. There are FIFTY-ONE works and counting on my Archive of Our Own profile, and 49 of them are for Naruto. If you like this, please look me up there.

BESIDES (ALSO IMPORTANT): There's a good chance some douche canoe is going to report this story and have it ripped down as well, so if you like it, you'll want to know where to find it so you can keep reading. The Archive does not censor stories, and my work is in no danger there.

ALSO important: This story is ALSO posted on Archive of Our Own, where it is SEVERAL CHAPTERS AHEAD. Like what you see? Want more? Find me on the Archive. My Pen name is the same (BlackMajjicDuchess)

Chapter One: Bloodline

Madara was standing around a map, both hands pressed to the paper, when Izuna burst into the tent. "Madara-nii-san, look at what Mura has figured out!" he exclaimed excitedly, barging in on the war conference without a thought as to what he might be interrupting.

Madara looked up from the map, annoyance tinged with fondness. Izuna should have been at the war council from the beginning, but no one had been able to find him. Apparently, he'd been 'playing' with his friend Mura this whole time. But Mura was a precocious genius, and Madara had to admit that he was curious to find out what Mura had discovered now. The young boy's toys had included all kinds of sharp weapons and gruesome traps. Whether or not Mura understood what he was inventing mattered not; ten-year-old Mura was giving the Uchiha the edge in the wars that never ended.

One glance at their father sobered Madara, though. Tajima's arms were crossed, his expression severe. "Izuna!" he bellowed, drawing himself up to his full height. Izuna's face fell and he froze, staring up at his angered father and dropping his hands. In them was a carefully smoothed scrap of paper, now forgotten. Tajima paused, giving Izuna just enough time to feel like a fool, before he continued. "You live in times of war, and this is a war council. Who are you?" he demanded. It was a question that he often asked his two remaining sons.

Izuna's eyes fell to the floor of the tent as a dozen other pairs of eyes stared at him. "Uchiha Izuna, of the Uchiha clan," he mumbled, embarrassed.

"Louder, so we can hear you!" Tajima growled. "And look me in the eyes, boy!"

Izuna's eyes snapped to his father's filled with the undiluted fire of Uchiha genetics. "Uchiha Izuna, of the Uchiha clan!" he repeated, his voice aging years, a reversed echo of the powerful man he would become. There were nods of approval from the elders, observing the posture, tone, and pride of Madara's little brother.

Tajima's face softened only a fraction. Just once, Madara wished that his father would indulge his youngest son, even if he understood why the man did not. They were embroiled in a war, after all. Always had been, it seemed.

Always would be, it seemed.

Madara sighed with affection and held out his hand to Izuna. "Nii-san," he beckoned softly. "Better late than never. Let's see what Mura-san has come up with."

Izuna's face brightened with purpose as the elders parted, leaving a gap for the boy to fill. Izuna deposited the small sheet of paper into his elder brother's palm. Madara brought it closer to his face, stroked the kanji with a fingertip, and peered closely at it. Unconvinced, he raised an eyebrow at his little brother. "It's just a piece of paper," he noted dubiously. He held it up for all to see, and there were murmurs of disgruntlement.

Tajima sighed with exasperation even as Izuna's smile brightened even further, as if laughing at some private joke. "Late to a war council for drawing lessons," Tajima grumbled, depositing his forehead into his palm.

"It's not a drawing lesson," Izuna retorted, waving one hand wildly towards the gingerly held paper in Madara's fingers. "It's an explosive tag."

Madara blinked. "A what?"

"An explosive tag," he repeated. He formed the sign for Snake. "Watch, I'll show you."

Before he could, Madara thrust the paper into Izuna's hands, forcing him to abandon the hand sign, suddenly wary. "If it's going to explode, nii-san, we'd better do it outside," he insisted. With a warning glance at his father, he ushered Izuna outside the tent.

Tajima frowned, but said nothing. He and his son butted heads often; Madara was the eldest, and destined to one day lead their clan. Though it certainly irked his father, Madara suspected that Tajima's suffering of his son's attitude was endured with pride, too. Madara had no doubts about his own abilities. Madara would surpass his father, and soon.

But Madara also had no doubts about Izuna's. His little brother wasn't so little anymore, and he was intelligent, too. Izuna had fixated on Mura, and Mura was creating weapons. Izuna had been fighting in the wars, too, but his younger, weaker body was his handicap. He and Mura were doing their utmost to come up with ways to lessen the death toll, and Madara knew innately that Izuna was trying his best not to die. Strength and experience would come with time, but there were years in between now and then, and he truly did not wish to die.

Madara suppressed his smile as Izuna affixed the paper tag to a stone some distance away. He hurried back to where the others were standing, an intensity born of the strong desire to survive. One glance between the two brothers told Madara, too, that Izuna was hoping that the explosive tags would protect his family, as well.

He focused his attention on the targeted stone and formed the hand sign. Instantly, the tag detonated in a ball of light and fire. There was a deafening boom and a crack as the stone was split asunder. Bits of jagged rock blasted everywhere, and Madara had to cover his eyes as pieces soared into the soft skin of his hands. When the dust cleared, the stone was no longer there, and Izuna was grinning like an idiot. Madara's ears were ringing, but he was smirking nonetheless. It had been… impressive.

Izuna looked at Madara, waiting. Madara looked at Tajima. Tajima looked at Izuna. There was a moment of sustained silence as everyone else looked at Tajima, their leader and general. He was the man who held their lives in his hands, and ultimately, the decision was his. Tajima clapped a hand on the boy's shoulders and smiled suddenly. "Excellent discovery, Izuna," he commended, drawing him toward the opening to the tent. "Let's discuss this at the war council."

The lot of them returned to their map. Upon the map were stone effigies of soldiers. They had been painted different colors to represent different clans. There were numerous statues littered across the map. Red represented the Uchiha. Madara guessed it was some cheeky lord's idea of a joke, red for 'fire,' their signature ability. The Senju were green; again, probably a humorous representation of their homeland, for they were called the "Senju of the Forest."

Hashirama's people, he thought with concern. Once upon a time, the two had been friends. They had guessed that they were from opposite clans, but Madara had never had a friend before, and neither had the other boy. For a while, they pretended that no one would ever find out, right up until the moment that someone did. Still, he did warn me of that attack, Madara remembered. He had done the same for Hashirama, each of them trying to silently protect the sons of the enemy as their families clashed.

We were just boys, he reflected. Boys who hadn't fully understood what it meant to be men. They had seen their brothers die in battle, and had stood next to their fathers as the men strove to claim the lives of the other. They had seen so much blood and death in their meager lifetimes that peace was nothing but a dream, and yet… all they had wanted was a true friend, and they'd have done anything to preserve that fragile fantasy.

And now? he thought, looking upon the age worn map, and all those green soldiers. Hashirama's father is dead. He's the leader of the Senju now, and his armies would destroy us…

…wouldn't they?

He thought of the young boy's mischievous grin as they skipped stones, trying to outdo the other in their childish quest for dominance. He remembered Hashirama's impassioned dreams of how they two would build a village, and all of their people would be friends and allies. And children won't have to die, and our brothers wouldn't either.

They had dreamed of foolish notions like friends forever and world peace. Now, his 'friend' led a fearsome force against his people, and his brother. Family members had been lost on both sides since Hashirama had become their lord, and yet… when their blades clashed, Madara knew he was holding back. He felt it in the strain of steel, saw it in the pained corners of Hashirama's eyes, believed it with every fiber of being. Hashirama didn't want to kill him, even though he probably could, any more than Madara wished to see him dead, but they still had no way to get out of this war.

Madara flickered a glance at his father as the older man began to move pieces on the map. He loved his father as any son loved a father, but Uchiha Tajima had lost too much to the Senju. He refused to accept that the Senju had suffered anything as ludicrous as 'equal losses.' As long as Tajima was their lord and leader, the Uchiha would seek to eradicate the Senju, that much was that.

Izuna, standing between Madara and their father, had a grim set to his mouth. A moment ago, he'd been pleased, but his face held no more of that happiness now. Madara had a good idea why. Izuna disliked killing as much as any of his brothers had. With the same motivation that he used to discover and implement new weapons, he also fervently wished for the day they were no longer needed. Madara often wondered if his little brother were wiser than he; after all, how old did a soul need to be to understand that, despite not wanting to kill anyone at all, that in their current predicament, others would have to die so that he might live? At thirteen, Izuna understood the battlefield motto of 'kill or be killed.'

If he and his friend built that village, Izuna would be smiling.

"…we can change our strategy, now, with this," one of the lords was saying, brushing stubby, dirty fingers over the lines on the map. "If we set up a trap of explosion tags here, hidden in the ground…" he stabbed a finger on the map. "We can break and retreat, make them follow us, turn and fight them…"

Tajima grinned, a frightening, toothy smile in the candlelight. "We can detonate, and wipe out their entire army." The other lord smiled in return and nodded slowly.

Two devils, playing with the lives of men in a brutal game, competing for the most deaths, Madara reflected bitterly. And yet, this was his world, his life now. Any day, his father could die in battle, and these greedy, bloodlusty warlords would be his counsel. He could see it now, lecturing them on tenants of peace and trying to discuss terms of surrender while their calloused hands stabbed holes in a bloody map. How sick it all made him.

"What do you think, Madara?" his father asked him, trying to hide his smile so that his son could offer a supposedly unbiased opinion. He had been doing this more, lately, wanting Madara to chime in or give him the illusion that he was in charge. The other lords accepted it patiently; he was well respected among his people, even if he did feel out of place.

Madara crossed his arms and searched the faces of the other generals. If there was anything he had learned about leadership, it was that no one wanted his opinion. They wanted to hear their opinions come out of his mouth. "Yeah, set up a line of tags, hedge them in there and blow them up," he replied flippantly. In his mind, he was counting up the death toll, imagining chunks of people and watching Hashirama lose his mind over his broken, dead brother. It was a scene he didn't want, a strategy he didn't like. He peeked at Izuna; his little brother was mouthing the words "I'm sorry" and trying to look it. It wasn't his fault; both of them walked a fine line between what they wanted and what the clan demanded of them.

"Madara," his father warned, sensing one of his famous moods.

Madara iced over and shot his father his best death glare. His patience snapped. "What do you want from me, otou-san? Surely these new explosive tags will kill a large number of Shinobi, if we can get our own troops out in time. It's brilliant." And cowardly, he reflected. But fair fights cost lives.

"Then why are you so unhappy?" his father asked suspiciously.

Madara sighed and opened his mouth to answer. It was Izuna's voice that spoke, however. "A massive loss of life should not make a man happy," his little brother opined. "This war cannot be helped," he countered smoothly before his father could object, "but that we have to resort to brutal tactics is a tragedy in its own way."

Thank you, he mouthed to his brother. Izuna had saved him an entire fight with their father. Being the younger sibling had some slight advantages. Izuna didn't have as many expectations settled upon his shoulders, so he got away with a tiny bit more. Izuna's nearly imperceptible smile gladdened his heart. At least he had one true ally among his bloodthirsty family.

"The strategy is sound," Madara reiterated. "I agree with this plan."

Father and son stared at each other, daring argument. They were of a height now, and Madara's muscles at eighteen were filling out his frame. They were more or less equals, though no one dared say so in Tajima's hearing. It would be best to leave it here where both sides agreed. If their argument turned physical, someone would get hurt. "We will do that then," he said to his counsel, returning his attention to the map. "We'll station our men here…"

"You keep poking at him," Izuna was complaining as he dipped his brush. "Why do you keep poking at him?"

"He's wrong," Madara said tiredly. "I think if the war ended tomorrow, Uchiha Tajima would commit seppuku on principle alone."

Izuna smiled and raised an eyebrow. "His whole life has been about this war," Izuna reminded him, though he hardly needed it. He peered over as Madara's brush copied the strokes. He needn't have worried; the Sharingan assured that he got the strokes right every time.

"So has mine," he complained, "but you don't see me singing its praises."

"You're still going to build that village, aren't you? The one you talked about with—"

"Shh," Madara shushed him abruptly. "Don't say that here. If anyone thought we were still friends…"

"You're not still friends?" he asked with mock suspicion, knowing the answer.

"No," Madara said with exaggerated severity. "We are not friends."

"Might be nice to have friends," Izuna mused as he stacked another tag on the pile. "Promise me that if you do make that village—"

"Stop talking as if you're going to die," Madara chastised. "I won't let that happen."

"I'm not as strong as you," Izuna said sadly. "The chances of my survival are slim."

Madara finished his tag and stacked it, then stood. "Come on," he commanded, holding out his hand.

"What? We're still drawing tags," Izuna observed, gesturing at the stack of papers and the bottles of ink.

"I don't care, just get up and come on."

Sighing, Izuna set down his brush and stood, grasping the proffered hand. "Where are we going this time?"

They fell into stride, side by side. Madara's disdain for war morphed into something that he could work with, at least. Izuna must not die. He had lost all of his other brothers but this one, his best brother. He couldn't fight a war whose purpose was to kill another clan for no other reason than that it was the other clan.

He could fight a war to save Izuna.

"We're going to start training. Today. Tomorrow. Every day, from this day until the end of days. I'll teach you everything I know, tell you everything I learn. We will fight, and you will grow stronger. We will be the same." They had been playing and training together since they were children, but the stakes were so much higher now; it was time that they took their practice more seriously as well.

Izuna frowned, uncertain. "Surely your time will be better spent with Father and—"

"No," Madara interrupted. "Father will be dead soon, and hopefully those other fools will, too." He stopped, gripping his younger brother's shoulders in both of his hands. "You will not die, Izuna, you hear me? There is no better use for my time than to make sure of it."