These drabbles have been inspired by the recent events of the manga (though they do not include any spoilers). I will try my best to keep canon in order and since so little information has been revealed about these characters, it gives me a lot to work with. Read and enjoy, my dears :)
•••
Uzumaki Mito is born the year of the tiger, in an era that will later only be regarded as disrupted, and miserable. It does not seem so to Mito then, when she is a child that is, for her mornings are filled with the songs of the sea, and her nights with children's tales. Uzugakure is fortunate to be an island with much sand and little gold. Lords bear no interest for a land full of fish, trees, and what looks like a large handful of priests, with their long robes and their devoutness to daubing virgin scrolls with crabbed symbols.
Mito watches her mother's wrist twist and arch, watches the strength of her finger's clasp on the brush oscillate, and can almost feel the patterns of ink her mother draws on the scrolls as if they are anointed on her own skin. Mito tries to mimic the designs single-handedly, using a thin stick for a brush and the wet sand of the seashore for paper, as her mother does not allow her to practice yet with the regulative tools in fear she will break them.
One day though, Mito sneaks in her grandfather's study and proceeds to pick up one of the scrolls from the higher shelves, one of those ones she knows she will not get the opportunity to gaze upon in many years from then, if ever. She has been taught good matters, and over all; patience. Yet patience is not something that can be learned through words, but through experience, and six year old Mito does not understand why her mother and grandfather get to look at those pretty drawings while Mito cannot.
It is an innocent misdeed, and Mito does not foresee the consequences of her eagerness, just as she does not see the inkpot when she accidentally crashes her elbow against it, black ink splattering all over the table like a cataract. The rustling of papers and her squeaks of alarm catch her mother's attention, who barges into the room and stares at Mito with a slight frown. Mito is too busy trying to save the scrolls from being completely ruined to notice her. It is not until her grandfather steps into the study, asking what in the name of the Sennin is going on that she realizes she has been discovered. By then, the table wood has turned a deep chocolate color, and several scrolls have been tossed aside, landing on the floor. Mito bows and is about to apologize, but her mother is one step ahead and quickly starts to scold her before she is even given the chance to excuse herself.
Her mother stands next to Mito, glancing from her to the soaked scrolls, and sighs.
"There is so much water in you, Mito. But does it have to end up spread over every corner?"
Mito is not sure if what she sees in her mother's eyes is pity, or shame. What she is sure of though, is that she does not understand what her mother means.
•••
When Madara is asked how his first kill was, he answers it was precise. What he does not say, is that the soul he sent to the afterlife belonged to a six year old boy who happened to be in the wrong place at the wrong time. He never reveals the details of his first encounter with death, but he is aware that somehow, Izuna knows it did not go down the way it should have, because the first thing his youngest brother tells him when he returns to the camp is you did what you had to do. Madara nods and clasps his hand over his brother's grip, acknowledging the grave look in his eyes, so unlike the child he is supposed to be. But he will forever wonder if Izuna's words are true.
Unlike so many others, the Uchiha do not deem their men adults after murder, for it is not through blood that they gain praise, but through fire. So when Madara stands tall in front of the Kagatsuchi shrine, ready to set on fire the pyre of his ancestors, it is not because of the bodies he has maimed or the mother's that will ever weep for their sons, but because he has mastered nature's deadliest element, and he can now burn hope to ashes.
The elders chant their prayers, words full of ancient knowledge and dormant strength, but Madara does not listen. Instead, he whispers a prayer of his own, one for every boy he has killed until his throat is dry and he has lost track of numbers. He is not aware of his father's nearby presence until he places one hand on his shoulder. For a second, Madara thinks he has been heard, but then Tajima leans closer to him, his grip even tighter, and Madara listens.
"You are a man now, son. Be proud."
The prayers have quieted, and Madara stares absently at the dry pyre. He is proud to have had a good harvest the past spring and proud to still be able to call someone brother – maybe even proud of having gotten better at throwing that damn stone across the river – but he is not sure he should be proud of being considered a man at eight.
Madara performs the hand signs so fast that Izuna can't help but widen his eyes a bit at his brother's speed. Madara revels in the feeling of fresh air filling his lungs and then everything turns bright. Bright and hot and suffocating. There is this old saying among the Uchiha, one of those everybody will say his father's father was told by his father even though no one knows who said it first or why. It reads "there is fire in every man, but not every man can wield it." Madara hears it for the first time from his eldest brother's lips on a cold winter night, a night when his baby brother is yet too small to stand guard with them and his father is out on a mission. But the saying stands; it does because it is written on each of their temples, and because it holds an uncanny truth.
However, Madara does not pay attention to the fire running up his lungs, the bonfire he lights nor the stares of his kinsmen, expectant at his every move. He watches the smoke dance over the flames, feels the warm breeze on his skin, and squints at Izuna, who is standing a few feet behind their father, glaring at the bonfire with extreme fascination. Only it is not Izuna who he sees, but the ghost of the six year old he murdered, staring back at him in fear.
Madara is not sure he should be considered a man, be it at eight or ever, because men should not have to kill little boys for any clan, and as he finally stares at the huge bonfire rising before him, he wishes he could be a little more like wind; free and careless; and a little less like the fire he is to be.
•••
"What the hell are you doing?"
Hashirama jumps and despite just having been snuck up on – once again – laughs open heartedly.
"Tobirama! I told you not to do that!"
Tobirama crosses his arms over his chest – a gesture so like their father – and raises one eyebrow at his brother's manners.
"Do not blame me for your lack of sensing skills, brother", Tobirama retorts, "And what were you doing anyway?"
Hashirama grins nervously, his eyes darting from one side to another.
"I'm working on this new… ahm… jutsu?"
Tobirama tilts his chin in a demanding way Hashirama has learned to recognize so well.
"Well, it's kind of non-conventional. I mean, I'm still not sure what I'll be able to do with it, but it's looking good!" Hashirama crouches and lays one hand on the ground as he closes his eyes.
"Is that so?" Tobirama steps closer and watches his brother absorbed in deep concentration, a rare state for Hashirama to be found in. Tobirama watches him closely, heedful to any hand seals he might perform, but he never does. However, after a short while Tobirama notices what seems like a small sprout struggling to grow right in front of Hashirama. Soon, he watches the sprout grow into a tiny tree trunk, and just when he thinks he's about to witness his brother perform a miracle; Hashirama falls back with a grunt. In a blink, Tobirama is on his knees with a hand on his brother's back.
"You okay?"
Hashirama hisses and brings his hand down to his lower back.
"Yeah, yeah", he waves his other hand and smiles sheepishly at his brother, "my bad, got to work on chakra control."
Tobirama glances at the small trunk, which stands pretty twisted. He is aware – probably more than anyone – that Hashirama has the potential to become someone worthy of greatness; he knows because he can feel it through every pore of his skin every time he fixates his senses on his brother's chakra flow. Yet his brother has always been much more interested in crops and tales of ancient civilizations, which their mother made sure to indulge him with while she was still among them.
"At risk of sounding repetitive, what the hell were you trying to do, Hashirama?"
This time Hashirama sighs exasperated.
"I wanted to grow a tree, maybe a forest someday."
Tobirama glares at him with such astonishment that Hashirama shrugs and looks away.
"A tree. You wanted to grow a tree", Tobirama rolls the words off his tongue as if there are completely foreign to him.
Hashirama stands up abruptly and though he tries, never sounds truly offended to Tobirama.
"So it sounds strange, but listen, I wanted to do it because–"
"Growing trees will not aid you in battle, brother, nor will it aid you in your taijutsu training for the matter unless you are planning on using them as your personal dummies, which is highly un–"
"Tobirama…" Hashirama whines.
"Father will not be happy to know you are wasting your spare time on growing trees."
Hashirama tenses. Their father has been brought up in the subject and it is something Tobirama knows he must not do; it is a silent agreement between all of the brothers.
"What I am trying to say is that–"
"It is not a game to me, Tobirama."
Tobirama looks at him with expectation and Hashirama glances at the grove standing behind them.
"I don't exactly understand how or why I am able to do this, but I do know what I want to use it for."
Tobirama cannot see the look on his brother's face, but his voice beams with determination. When Hashirama turns back and glares at his brother, Tobirama can't help but acknowledge how different his older brother is from their brothers, their father and himself, with all that untamed strength and those inviting looks. Hashirama graces him with a smile – their mother's smile – and Tobirama thinks Hashirama may be a fool, but a respectable one.
"I will grow what the Uchiha burn."
•••
I'll probably post a couple more chapters following this same style. My idea is to slowly develop these characters by showing different moments of their lives. Anyway, liked it? The more feedback I get, the more motivated I'll get to write for this, so if you've enjoyed it, please do us both a favor and review ;)!
