A/N - Reposting Root oneshots to reassure readers that I still exist. On account of a recent request, there should be a new Izuna oneshot showing up in a little while, Camp Nano and life willing.

As you all ought to know, headcanon tells us that Izuna was Danzo's sensei for a couple of years before he died/disappeared/who knows what. Respect the headcanon.


Disclaimer - I don't own 'em, I just love 'em.


Cheat the system

The creation of a thousand forests is in one acorn.

- Ralph Waldo Emerson

Disbanded was the whisper that ran through the most secret underground places of the Leaf, children with large eyes wondering what this would mean for the life they had always known, an extra note of tension entering the voices of the nurse-mothers as they spoke to their charges, the faces of the men and women who were marked with the dark seal hardening into planes of grimness.

His voice is even harder, more lifeless than usual when he confirms it, his gaze running out over the rows of bent heads, and they remain kneeling there after he finishes speaking for a long time, just long enough for them to realize that treason tastes like duty. There is silence, and the cracks that will someday topple their world to pieces are already growing around them, and for all that his back is still ramrod straight and his grip firm, the man before them is old and tired.

Sometimes, the simple act of living feels like a race against time.

They beg him with their silence not to ask them, to allow them to prove that he has never needed to ask, and the relaxation from tension is almost audible, all through the long room, when he finally begins to speak and his words are nothing more than the orders for the next day.


A long time before, in the final days of the First War - if a single name could be assigned to the series of messy and devastating conflicts that had stretched on for so long - a young man with dark hair and eyes hollowed from sleeplessness sat at his desk, the impatience written across his face clearly at odds with the careful, deliberate motions of his brush.

Sealers learn early and well to control their hands and the lines of ink or blood they lay down, no matter what turmoil is passing through their minds. The young man's hands did not shake now, though he'd been living on tea and caffeine for the past forty-eight hours, as he slowly sketched out a single word, an idea that had laid dormant for a long time, and now was finally taking form.

Root.


"It was a stunning argument, Tobi. You should have heard it. It was, 'well, the leaves do all the work of gathering sunlight'."

Uchiha Izuna's voice, lightly accented from his time spent in Iga-ryu, was unmistakable, but the small boy flattened against a tree behind him had double surety. Nobody else called Hashirama's younger brother 'Tobi'.

"Not entirely fair," Tobirama objected after a moment. "After all, the roots do just as much work, if not more, gathering nutrients and water and such. Idiot probably just doesn't believe they mean anything because he can't see 'em."

"In fact, if our Konohagakure is a tree, one might almost say that the roots are the best description of shinobi such as we," Izuna said thoughtfully. "Out of sight and hidden - and yet without them the whole tree would fall. Wouldn't you agree, Tobi?"

"Mmm." Tobirama said absentmindedly. "There's a small spy behind that oak tree just to your right. Mind the rock."

"What, again?"

The boy behind the tree gave a startled, silent gasp, and dove to the ground just in time to avoid the cane which came swinging around the trunk with a sharp thwack. From his new position on the ground, he stared up wide-eyed at the two shinobi standing over him. "Uh."

"As you've gone to such pains to overhear that conversation," Izuna said severely, "I expect you to remember it word for word. Repeat it for me."

Tobirama lounged back against the oak tree with an entertained smile.

"Yes, sensei," Danzo said meekly.


I know that I started writing this with a more serious mindset, but then the end just turned into fluff. Yea, beware the Founding days, for they shall encourage you to write fluff while you can, before everybody dies or goes crazy.

Reviews will be loved.