A/N: The response has been staggering. Over 150 follows and favorites based on the prologue alone. It's safe to say that this gives me more than the required incentive to continue this story. I will indeed continue this. So please don't worry.

Why did an update take so long? Well, I joined my postgraduate program for journalism. I'm doing everything from radio to TV to new media to traditional print. Very practical course, meaning I'm running around most of the time. But now I have a fairly regular schedule established, so expect regular updates from now on.


He sensed it all from a distance. The surge of pain, rage and hopelessness that had been almost overwhelming. He knew she was awake even before the strangled scream of raw emotion echoed around the farm, causing Sigerich to rush towards the house, where they had tended to the elf woman.

He ran a hand through his hair, frowning deeply as he tried to come to terms with the situation. It was not the first time he had sensed such pain, of course. In a battlefield where dozens could die with a single move and lovers could be torn apart by the silent flash of a kunai, he had sensed all this and more. He had felt it himself when his brothers had died, slaughtered as part of the meaningless war that had raged between the clans.

And that was exactly why he could not bring himself to assist Sigerich in tending to the woman. He had hoped never to feel such raw anguish again.

This land does not belong to men alone. Elves, Dwarves, Urgals and Dragons are merely a few of the species that share this land.

That was the only explanation Sigerich had been able to provide before hastening to assist his wife in tending to the elf woman. The concept of other species possessing intelligence was not new to him, of course. There had been the summon clans, and many of them had possessed more intelligence than the average human. What shocked him was the sheer amount of alienness that surrounded him, renewing his questions of what this land truly was.

He grimaced as another wave of anguish washed over him, making him close his eyes. He could not cease to maintain the sensory net he had cast out. With so much he did not know about the races that walked this land and their abilities, he could not be sure that his return to the farm had not been tracked, though he had taken great care to avoid leaving such signs. But precautions taken against enemies of unknown abilities were not precautions he could count upon. And thus he would stand watch.

He returned to the labor he had immersed himself in even as he kept watch - crafting a crude form of ink that he would need to use. Slowly he mixed finely powdered charcoal and water in a clean stone basin, using small wooden stem to stir the mixture together. Mito's lessons called for a much finer preparation of ink - or chakra or blood, as the case called for it - but his need was urgent. He could not keep breaking attacks to his mind by flaring his chakra. A more permanent solution was needed.

"She's heartbroken," Leola's voice reached him quietly from behind as the girl drew close to him, her normal cheer nowhere to be found in her demeanor. He bowed his head slightly in response.

"She is. Her comrades were no doubt very dear to her. She watched them die before her eyes."

"I...I can't imagine how that feels. To have someone dear to you taken away from you like that."

"And I hope the day never comes when you truly know how it feels," Hashirama responded, his eyes fixed on the ink, "The strain can break you from within."

Leola sat next to him, her gaze moving to the swirling black liquid that he was tending to. The rhythm of the liquid was almost hypnotic, and he felt himself sinking deeper and deeper into that rhythm in a bid to lessen the emotions he himself was feeling.

"But you know how it feels," she spoke quietly after a few moments. It was not a question, rather, a statement of fact. He nodded once, sharply. He had not told the family the details of his life, but they knew enough to have some idea of the life he had lived.

"Will you help her?"

That question dragged his mind out of the numbing trance it had been sinking into as he turned to Leola with a startled look. She had asked the question with a faint note of pleading in her voice. Already panic was beginning to set in. In the past he had consoled so many people in the same situation. But then he had spoken from idealism. He had spoken of the Will of Fire. As one who had lived the life of a ninja, he had helped other shinobi through their time of loss and grief. Now, he knew not what he would say.

The woman was a complete stranger. He knew not how her race - or she herself - handled grief. Was she like the warriors he had known before? Would his words rings hollow with her, or truly help her? He knew better than most just how much half-hearted words of consolation meant - Almost nothing. And even should he find a way to help her, what reason would she have to trust him, to accept that help just yet?

"I… I am not the right person to help her," he replied hesitantly, unsure of what else he could say that Leola would understand. That powerful desire to help people - It was what had enabled him to become one of the most renowned medics of his time. He had used those skills, time and again, often helping even those who saw him as an enemy.

But I can't do it. Not anymore. Healing her physical injuries was easy enough, but how can I heal another's mind without any conviction in my own?

"Are you not the person who could best understand what she must be going through?" Leola asked, sounding confused by his apparent reluctance to help.

"I healed what assailed her body. But only one who has her trust can aid with the torment of her mind."

"An elf," Leola mused, "The bards sing of them when they pass us by. I never thought I would meet one in my life."

"Why?" he asked, curiosity creeping into his tone, "You say you share the land with these races. Why would you not meet them?"

Leola looked at him with some exasperation, "I often forget that you know almost nothing of this land. Aye, this land has dwarves, elves and other beings. But they have not ventured outside their borders for decades now."

"Why?"

"...The Black King," she whispered, almost silently. It was a name spoken with fear. Not respect. His eyes narrowed. To hear of people spoken with such a tone - He had heard it far too often.

"King Galbatorix," Leola continued in a louder voice, "He has ruled this land for many years now. He is the last dragon rider. He killed every other rider after a bloody struggle, sparing only those who followed him. Then he forcibly took the human throne. The elves and dwarves were defeated and withdrew to their own strongholds. Not even the storytellers may speak of this."

"Then how do you know?" he asked her curiously.

"My father told me when I came of age. He asked me never to speak of it to anyone."

"Sigerich seems to be a very mysterious man," he thought aloud, "For it does not seem like any farmer would know of this."

"Father never speaks of his early days. And I know not to insist that he does."

Hashirama nodded. Sigerich was an easygoing person most of the time, but also held a strong will when it came to the things that mattered to him. Leola stood up from where she sat, stretching lightly before turning away.

"I must see if mother needs any help tending to our guest."

Hashirama turned away as Leola began to walk back to the house. Was there truly nothing he could do? No, her comrades had been beyond the point of saving by the time he had crashed into the fight. Her sword he had recovered when he had brought her back, and it was now resting next to its master. What remained were only the disfigured corpses of her comrades and the Urgals (as he now knew the strange beings to be).

He stood abruptly, an idea entering his mind. Perhaps there was something he could do. Something that would allow her to say farewell to her comrades in a manner of her own choosing.

He looked down at the small pool of ink that he had been mixing. If he was to proceed with his idea, he would need a lot more of it.


"Thank you for all that you have done," Arya spoke melodiously, dipping her head in gratitude, "I shall never forget the aid I was given here - sé onr líf waíse ilia."

The elven woman stood before the house, fully clothed in her gear once more. Eyes that once conveyed waves of pain now held back emotion strongly as the woman did her best to keep her face impassive. Now, however, a measure of gratitude was visible on her face as she lifted her head once more, hair rippling gently in the wind. One hand hovered protectively over the sword that hung by her hip, as it no doubt would for a while. The attack and its consequences still weighed heavily on her.

Only a day had passed since Leola had spoken to Hashirama, and much had happened in the midst of it. Arya, as the woman had introduced herself, was almost incoherent for the better part of an evening, leaving Francesca and Leola to tend to her, soothing her as best as they could. She had at first spoken in a language none of them had been able to comprehend, though she had later spoken to them in their own tongue.

It intrigued Hashirama that each word she had spoken in the first tongue sent the smallest of ripples through his sensory web. Ripples so minute that he was at first tempted to think of them as aberrations in his net. But no, every sound she had uttered was like a drop of water falling into an ocean. A minute presence, but a presence nonetheless. What made it even more curious was that the woman had not emanated the signs of consciously kneading chakra whilst speaking.

Sigerich dipped his head in return, as a gesture of mutual respect, "May the winds be at your back, and may you return home safely."

"I am certain you will," Francesca added, her eyes twinkling mischievously as she studied the person standing next to Arya, "After all, you have a very reliable guardian."

Hashirama Senju, God of Shinobi, Creator of Konoha, Wielder of Mokuton, Tamer of the Tailed Beasts was at present exercising years of lessons in politics to accomplish one simple task - To not pout like a child.

It did not seem to be working, however, for Leola seemed to be regarding him with an annoyingly knowing look. For one who had only known him for a few weeks, he found that she could read him surprisingly well. He had never developed what one would call a guarded face. Emotions he had worn on his sleeve freely, much to Tobirama's perturbation. His little brother's efforts to drill lessons of diplomacy into his head had not met with much success.

"Oh don't look so unhappy Hashi," Leola chirped cheerfully, almost enjoying the half hearted glare he sent her. He was still trying to process how things had managed to turn out like this.

It had begun as a simple gesture. The bodies of her comrades would still be at the scene of the battle, and carrion would begin to pick them apart until they were a mangled mess of bones. Travellers passing by would simply see it as a sign of how troubled times were, and the remains would be left to rot in anonymity. Hashirama wanted to recover the bodies, to give Arya the chance to honor her friends in whatever manner she saw fit. That much was within his power to do.

The bodies he retrieved easily enough, keeping them some distance away from the house so the scent of death would not disturb the farm animals or the family. It was then that he went to face the woman for the first time since she had lost consciousness. He felt a twinge of guilt for threatening to end her the very first time they had spoken. But what she had attempted was something he disliked intensely.

He shook his head, returning to the present as Arya glanced at him, her almond shaped emerald eyes regarding him not with distrust or fright, but with something akin to gratitude. Though elves had no one way of sending off their dead, Arya had buried her comrades near the farm, planting a single sapling over each grave. The scene had been so emotionally charged that even he felt his emotions stirring. Then she had starting singing. A hauntingly beautiful song had echoed around the farm, each note moulding chakra around the plant. His eyes had widened with amazement as the saplings responded to Arya, twisting, growing and unfurling in shades of green until they appeared to be several weeks old

The Mokuton. She's singing the Mokuton into existence he had thought in awe. It was on a minute level compared to what he was capable of, but this was the first time he had seen another living soul wield a similar power.

"Are you certain you will not stay a while longer?" Francesca asked worriedly, "Hashirama might have healed you, but a few days of recovery would not go amiss."

"My Queen has asked me to return at once. I cannot disobey her command," Arya replied simply, but Hashirama sensed something deeper in her tone and manner when she spoke of the queen, "Furthermore, every moment I am here heightens the danger around you. My enemies are not easily thwarted. They will never cease to hunt for me. The Mad King has far worse at his command than human soldiers."

Privately, Hashirama agreed with her assessment. If what Arya carried truly was of such value - and she had not spoken of it yet - then it was unlikely that they would stop searching for it. He would prefer for her to leave before any harm was brought to bear on the family. And if the price for that was his accompaniment, then so be it. Nothing but empty time stretched before him. Perhaps he would travel further after accompanying Arya and learn more of Alagaesia.

"Are you certain you will be able to follow?" Arya asked, addressing him directly as they turned away from the family, a faint note of condescension in her eyes, "Elves can run faster than any human. Perhaps it would be wise for you to acquire a steed."

Hashirama merely smiled at the family one last time before looking at Leola.

"Remember the amulet Leola. Keep it with you always."

Leola nodded silently, her eyes beginning to tear up. He looked away quickly, having no desire to prolong the farewell. These people had quickly grown on him in the short time he had known them. He would return some day, of that he was certain.

He then turned to face Arya, the ghost of a smile on his face.

"I believe I will be able to cope somehow. Please, lead the way."

The elf flicked her raven black hair out of her face, skepticism radiating from her eyes as she turned away and began to run across the farm, her legs carrying her at a surprisingly fast speed as she was already halfway across the farm. Her form was graceful, controlled, with no wasted movements. Hashirama nodded in approval almost unconsciously. It seemed the elves were held in respect for good reasons. No doubt Arya thought he was merely being prideful, and would acknowledge his weakness soon.

He would hate to disappoint her.


Now she remembered. The course of the battle that had so far been a hazy memory in her mind, despite her best efforts to remember it. She had only been able to recall vague blurs as the Urgals had fallen, one by one. She had seen Hashirama walk towards her, stepping through a river of blood and bone. The weak mental assault she had been able to muster was repelled viciously, and she had fully expected to join Faolin and Glenwing in death.

But now. Now irritation bubbled and festered in her mind, her customary stoicism lost to what she was experiencing. How was this even possible?

She saw him in the distance once more, sitting on a rock and staring idly at the sky as if he had all the time in the world. He looked at her with amusement in his eyes as she sprinted past him, now driving her body to run as fast as she could. He made no attempt to follow her, choosing merely to remain where he was.

Just as he had done a few leagues ago. And a few leagues before that. And a few leagues before that.

When he had assured her that he could keep up with her speed, she had assumed it was mere pride from a human male. She had run slowly, fully expecting him to break down and purchase for himself a steed at the next village. And she had felt victorious when, after a few leagues, he was nowhere to be seen. It was simply a matter of fact. No human could match an elf in speed. Or so she had thought.

Arya's eyes narrowed as she forced her mind back to the present. This man possessed speeds no elf could match. And he was not even perspiring or out of breath! Everything about him was an enigma. But one thing was clear - He held great power. Perhaps he could be persuaded to join the elves and the Varden against Galbatorix. Against the Mad King, they needed every advantage they could find.

Now she passed by him once more. This time, he looked to be deep asleep as she ran past him.

Well, whether or not his power aided the Varden would be dependent on if she could restrain herself from killing him for the duration of the journey. It had been long since an elf's self control had slipped so far.


"Keep searching you fucking dogs," growled the captain as he shifted gingerly on his saddle, "Or would you scoff at a command from the King himself?"

He was angry. This was a position that had been gifted to him on account of his rather influential family. Not influential enough to work with the nobility, but the post of captain suited him perfectly. Commoners bowed to him in the street. He took what he wished, be it food, ale or women. Who would dare raise their hand against an agent of the Black King himself? Not the foolish rebels. They were too far away, he had made certain of that when deciding which city he wanted to serve in. Not the beast-like non-humans. Unnatural abominations. Their reckoning was nigh.

And yet, never have our orders been so forceful. So...frightened.

His men looked haggard and drawn, the long days in the saddle taking its toll on them. They were greenhorns, with very few having seen more than the occasional street riot. Their armor shone brightly, but their swords were rusted.

He stopped to pat himself on the back, immensely pleased with what he had just thought of. So many days in the saddle, and yet he coined poetry that would rival the Imperial poets themselves. Perhaps he would use this to inspire his men when he next addressed them.

Oh, he dwelt very little on the very purpose of his mission - the reason why he was riding through the wastelands and not idling away in his mansion. His orders were simple - Be on the lookout for an elven woman and a foreign-looking dark haired man. Apprehend immediately and bring them to the dungeons of Dras-Leona.

The king's personal hunters were far away on another mission, and it fell to soldiers like him to take upon their place. But the ground he would have to cover was vast, and there were countless other patrols hunting through the lands where the duo had last been seen. It was far more likely that one of those patrols would be the one to find them. He would simply stay out for a few days, perhaps stop a wagon or two and rightly appropriate some of its contents for himself.

But really. Taking those rutting horned beasts at their word. I would trust them to swing an axe and nothing else. And even then, I would not trust them to swing solely at the enemy he snorted to king intended them as cannon fodder of course. That was something he agreed with heartily. Why place humans in harm's way when you could simply use mindless beasts instead?

"Sir," rasped his Sergeant's voice from his left side, "I see traces of smoke ahead. Could be a campfire of some sort. Your orders?"

He pondered the question for a moment. Perhaps it was a merchant's convoy, halting for the night in a secluded spot.

Now that I think on it, this is the time when the wine merchants peddle their best wares. I do believe my cellar needs a little replenishing.

He gestured for his men to pick up the pace. The cold night would be far more bearable with some mead in his belly. After all, what were the chances that he would run into the fugitives here of all places?


"Will you perhaps now deign to tell me why you felt compelled to outright attract an Imperial patrol to our location?" Hashirama heard Arya ask coolly. While her tone was perfectly controlled, the emotions he sensed from her, while faint, were anything but controlled. He chuckled internally. After the day he had put her through, that was not very surprising. If anything, he was impressed by the grasp she had over her emotions. It had been a while since he had allowed himself to indulge in some childish behavior. Now, however, it was time to move on to more serious matter.

He had sensed the Imperial patrol quite some time ago, and instead of trying to move away from them, he had asked Arya to set up camp exactly where they were. He had then gone out of his way to lay a few trails, not so conspicuous as to make the patrol suspicious, but enough to draw their attention at the very least.

"There are certain things I require from them," he answered in a pleasant tone, "Fret not. Your safety will not be compromised. No one will notice that a patrol is missing for quite a while, and by then we should be within this Du Weldenvarden place you speak of."

"It is not my safety I am concerned about," Arya replied, and this time her tone was even colder. Hashirama shrugged, and turned back to face the direction the patrol was approaching them from. His eyes steadily widened in disbelief as he realized that these soldiers were making no attempt to spread out and try to surround the camp. Even the children of his time knew this was the basic way to contain people within a space. The idiot who was leading this squad had just rendered the advantage of numbers useless.

Well, in all fairness, surely they would have been unsuccessful even with the right strategy? whispered a voice in his head.

That is not the point Hashirama reprimanded the voice within his own head It is the principle of the matter.

Now Arya was able to sense the patrol as well, and she tensed. Once again he felt within her that odd energy. Not quite reminiscent of chakra, and yet not completely different. He sensed Nature strong within that energy as it emitted waves of peace to his senses. The shadow of a smile crossed his face. It was always a joy when he sensed chakra such as that, instead of the corruptive chakra that he had so often encountered.

"Well then," Hashirama said, cracking his shoulders slightly, "I'll be going ahead."

He vanished in a burst of speed, using a moderately powered shunshin to land silently on top of a tree that the patrol was passing under. Immediately some of the horses reared nervously, no doubt catching his scent. Hashirama felt like slapping his forehead when the soldiers merely chose to ignore the horses, a few of them even striking the beasts to silence them. Were these truly what passed muster for soldiers in this land? These people did not even deserve a head-on fight.

"Wind Release: Great Breakthrough!"

A torrential blast of wind hit the patrol's rear flank, blowing away man and beast alike with a ferocious violence. Sounds of fear and alarm filled the air as some of the soldiers died immediately, crushed by the weight of horses falling atop them. He vanished in a burst of speed and appeared in front of the main body, even as every single soldier still standing turned to face the carnage behind them.

In one smooth motion he snapped the neck of the nearest soldier before grabbing his broadsword and decapitating four more with quick, clean strokes. He disappeared even as blood spurted into the air in a frenzied shower, the metallic smell driving the horses to even further madness. They threw off their riders and bolted into the night, leaving a few sorry-looking remnants to stumble to their feet and look around wildly.

"Thrysta!" a female voice shouted, and Hashirama watched with detached interest as two soldiers' necks broke cleanly and they fell to the ground like puppets whose strings had been cut. Not as flashy as most jutsu, but clearly very effective. Now only three soldiers remained, and Arya weaved around them delicately, almost as if she was in a dance. Her thin sword flashed in and out of sight, each flash signalled by the death of a soldier.

Within seconds, they stood surrounded by corpses. Hashirama smirked as he sensed the captain fleeing the perimeter as fast as he could. He was moving with the grace of a one-legged pig trying to pirouette, and his armor clanked loudly, the sound magnified by the otherwise silent surroundings.

"Seeing as you made a point of not attacking him, I presume you wish to keep him alive?" Arya asked as she flicked her blade to the side, throwing off the blood that clung to it.

"Yes. I'll just go fetch him, shall I?" Hashirama asked before disappearing with a body flicker, reappearing only a few moments later while holding the captain by the scruff of his neck. He dropped the captain on the floor, where the fat man immediately curled into a foetal position, blubbering as he tried to shield himself.

"M-Monsters. S-stay away!"

Hashirama looked up at Arya, "This man is certain to hold information on the measures taken to capture us. Will you delve into his mind and find what is required?"

There was something disturbingly familiar about this routine. The Yamanaka clan had quickly become an important part of Konoha's strategy after all. Tobirama in particular had considered them one of the most important assets of the village. Arya already seemed to be delving into the captain's mind, her face betraying no visible trace of what she was doing, except perhaps a slightly distant look in her eyes.

"I have what we need," she announced a few minutes later and immediately Hashirama snapped the man's neck cleanly, cutting off the torrential stream of begging, threatening and cajoling. He then slipped the captain's knife out of its sheath before rummaging around the soldiers, trying to find an undamaged piece of good-quality leather. He would need it to fortify his greatest weakness at the moment - his mind. One soldier wore some sort of leather jerkin underneath his armor - exactly what Hashirama needed. He used the knife to cut out a clean square of leather, wincing as he realized just how badly the fat captain had maintained his weapons.

He looked up, only to see plain disdain on Arya's face as she surveyed him. He suddenly realized how it looked. Ninja were used to foraging for supplies. He never had cause to do it beyond his childhood years. The Senju clan had been quite prosperous due to their strength, and he had never wanted for supplies. But here was someone who probably never had cause to relieve the dead of their possessions. Nevertheless, she turned away silently, walking back to the camp they had set up. He had no illusions as to the esteem she now held him in, however. Well, it did not truly matter. He would need a while to work on the leather, and the campsite was as good a place as any.

Inscribe a seal array on the leather designed to use his chakra to protect him from mental attacks. Fold it in the shape of a talisman. Power the talisman with chakra-infused blood. Mito had come up with this idea as a safeguard, and it had proved to be useful, to say the least. For so long as he had chakra, the talisman would draw from it to keep his mind protected.

Entering the land of these elves without some protection would be foolish. From what Sigerich said, all elves possess the ability to use this "magic". As a race, it's very likely they are the most dangerous.


"Magnificent," Hashirama breathed, awe filling his entire being as he allowed the presence of the forest to envelop him. It had been quite a few hours since they had entered Du Weldenvarden, and as the trees grew older, he found his amazement growing in intensity. It was so heart wrenchingly nostalgic - nature energy cling so thickly to the air. He had only experienced it in a few places, such as the forest he had created next to Konoha. He could never fathom why the others had taken to calling it the Forest of Death after a while. Sure, a few of the plants there were poisonous. And sure, it became the home of quite a few high-level beast- No, he could understand why.

But he himself had never felt that way. His forest would always welcome him warmly, the trees creaking as if they almost wanted to move, to welcome him with branches and roots. But his forest had been like a toddler compared to the forest he was now in. The life forces were ancient, and most of the trees eclipsed his entire lifespan by a considerable margin. The forest didn't greet him wholeheartedly, but his own chakra was resonating with the energy surrounding the forest, and it greeted him cautiously, but with joy.

"Never would I have thought to see such an expression from you," Arya's voice commented softly beside him. Even she was visibly relaxed now that they were deep within the forest. She wasn't as able to commune with the forest's energy as he was, but he guessed she could sense the lives around her. It was a curious exercise that he couldn't help but relate to yin energy and negative emotions sensing. Theory had never appealed to him. He had intuited everything he knew about chakra and its usage. Of course, without his "ridiculous healing ability" as Tobirama referred to it, he might have had a harder time surviving some of his more outlandish schemes.

"I no longer harbor any regrets for making this journey," he answered in a rare moment of sincerity, "This forest is breathtaking. I could bask within it for years and still not lose the sense of wonderment I now feel."

"Indeed?" Arya asked, sounding mildly bemused, "Most races are threatened by this forest. For good reason, of course. Those who enter it with hostile intentions do not usually leave unscathed, if at all."

Hashirama shrugged, "If anything has revealed itself over the last few days, it is that I am not most beings."

"You certainly are confusing," Arya agreed in her musical tone, "You defy any attempt I have made to understand you."

Hashirama's smiled turned bitter, something that did not escape the raven-haired elf's attention.

"If it lessens your confusion, even I do not know who I am anymore. I don't think I've known for a very long time now."

"Almost anything that is lost can be regained once more," Arya spoke softly, "Who is to say you will not find what you lost?"

I think this is the closest we've ever come to a friendly discussion so far. Perhaps her distrust of me has lessened now that we have entered her land he mused to himself. Then again, the fact that he hadn't annoyed her beyond the first day could have been an important contributor as well.

Hashirama frowned and halted as a new life force entered his field of vision, blazing brightly. What worried him was that the signature was very, very close by. How had it evaded his sensory net for so long? And if it had, did it mean it now chose to reveal itself?

No he realized as he studied the signature with an almost frightening intensity The life force is so at one with the forest that it is hard to tell one from the other. It is so much like my own signature when I use Sage mode. Who is this person?

"I sense someone," he told Arya in response to her enquiring look, "Very close to us. I assume it is one of your people?"

He readied himself even as he asked the question. The line between cautiousness and paranoia had blurred a long time ago for him. Arya wore a startled look on her face before her expression suddenly cleared. It appeared as if she knew who this presence was, or at least had a very good guess.

"Gilderien-elda," she spoke reverently. Even as she spoke, Hashirama's eyes widened as he beheld an ancient elf dressed in the purest of whites, a silver circlet on his head. The elf seemed to appear out of nowhere, as if he were a wraith. His eyes looked old, old beyond measure. For the first time in decades, Hashirama felt like a child standing in front of an old man. Oh, he knew Arya nearly matched him in age, but this was different. This man radiated wisdom in a way he had never seen before.

Arya bowed her head immediately, making Gilderien smile slightly at her. He then turned to face Hashirama, a quizzical look on his face. Curiosity shone from the elf's eyes even as Hashirama felt a considerable amount of his chakra being drained by the talisman.

"My mind is my own," he spoke sharply, making Arya look at him with an utterly scandalized expression. The pull receded immediately however, and Gilderien merely tilted his head, continuing to observe him silently.

"None may pass without his approval," hissed Arya, "Forfeit your mind for but a moment or turn back now."

"Then I shall turn back," Hashirama replied coldly. The forest, magnificent as it was, would not find him within it much longer if it meant giving up his mind. Arya looked openly conflicted at this. On the one hand, he was the man who rescued her, and thereby deserved the hospitality of the elves. On the other, Gilderien had guarded their hallowed lands since the time of the war against the dragons.

Gilderien held up a hand, a serene expression on his face. Hashirama looked at him, puzzled at what he wanted. The elf then adopted an expression of expectation, as if waiting for Hashirama to do something.

"What is his purpose here?" he asked Arya in a low tone.

"Gilderien-elda has guarded this forest for countless years. He seeks to ensure that you mean us no harm. Only then may you pass," Arya replied stiffly, clearly disapproving of his stubbornness.

Proof of good will Hashirama pondered. It was not an unreasonable stance to take by any means. Reading minds certainly removed the possibility of falsehood. And yet, he could not bring himself to surrender his mind. This Gilderien seemed to be waiting for something else, however. What else could he do to convince this guardian? Suddenly, Hashirama's eyes widened.

Could he have sensed…?

Hashirama raised his head silently, allowing the literal flood of natural energy surrounding him to enter his body. The forest stilled suddenly - the trees groaning and rustling as they almost bent perceptibly towards him. The familiar red markings appeared around his eyes as well as his forehead. Gilderien merely smiled, as if he had expected this to happen. Arya looked shocked at the dense amount of energy he was emitting. A feeling of serenity enveloped the entirety of his being.

"Mokuton: Kaika no Sakura"

A beautiful sakura tree sprouted from the ground, Hashirama weaving his wood release skillfully to allow it to grow even in the dense forest. The blossoms glowed with a pale, ethereal beauty even as the nostalgic smell filled the air. He had loved creating sakura trees within the Senju clan's compound. It was amidst those gardens that he and Mito truly learned about each other. It was where he had carried his granddaughter on his shoulders in those rare moments of peace he'd found.

Mokuton was truly the perfect power to complement the ideals I held he thought nostalgically. From what Arya had told him and what he had sensed, elves shared a sacred bond with nature. Perhaps exhibiting his own unique connection with nature would be enough to earn the trust required to let him pass further. He opened his eyes, allowing the red marks to fade away as he stopped maintaing sage mode. He didn't need to use Sage Mode for Mokuton of course. But taking in the natural energy surrounding him allowed him to create life that would be compatible with the life around it. It would feel more familiar.

Gilderien smiled, the soft white light within him growing until it shone with an almost painful intensity. Even as the light began to fade away, Hashirama's sensory net failed to detect the aged elf. He sighed in frustration. That ability could give him a lot of trouble if many elves could use it. The only saving grace was that when he was in sage mode, he had been able to sense Gilderien quite easily.

"Never has anyone spoken to Gilderien-elda in that manner," Arya spoke faintly, trying to bolster her tone with sternness.

"That it hasn't happened before is no reason for why it shouldn't happen now," Hashirama quipped immediately. That sentence summed up many of his ambitions. Creating a power unique to him. Creating Konoha out of the warring tribes. Taming the bijuu. Every time people had told him it was impossible, that no one had ever accomplished such a task.

Although I would like to meet this guardian once more. His presence was like nothing I'd ever felt before.

Arya sighed and closed her eyes for a few moments. He stood patiently by the tree that he had created, snickering internally at the irritation she was feeling. Oh, it made him feel young again, being around people who were well over a hundred years old, and yet were considered young.

"Let us proceed. Gilderien-elda has given us passage, and none will harm you, though many may see you as hostile," Arya finally decided, stalking ahead without waiting for him to follow. Hashirama slowly pushed himself off the tree trunk he had been leaning against, the ghost of a playful smile on his face.

"I don't believe I'll get tired of pulling her leg any time soon."


"My king, the Ra'zac have departed Dras Leona as per your orders," Alesan's voice trembled, his young frame shivering as he knelt on the cold floor. The sound of a quill scratching against parchment continued as his king didn't even incline his head at the news. But he knew not to be deceived by how the king appeared.

Ever since Lord Durza had gone missing, the Palace had been shrouded in fear as the king's rage washed over them silently. Already two sentinels had been killed for no apparent reason. The maids who tended to the king's personal chambers often had to be calmed down with herbs, so their hands would not shake too much and break something.

"Good. Any news you are given about this must reach me immediately, no matter the hour," replied a deep, rich voice, the quill finally laid aside as the king stood and walked towards a large square of parchment that clung to a wall, no doubt with the aid of magic. The or else was now implied. He no longer had to be reminded of what would happen in the event of his failure.

"Not all of my subordinates are as unworthy as that bumbling fool Durza, thankfully," Galbatorix spoke, still using that same deceptively calm tone, "My other project proceeds as planned. How proceeds the study of the Hadarac ruins?"

"Well, your majesty. Their magician talks to ours regularly. Nothing goes amiss."

"Those idiot nomads no longer attack them?"

"No, my king. Now they merely keep watch, drawing no closer.'

"Good. Those worms will burrow back into the sand soon enough."

The king snapped his fingers, prompting Alesan to almost trip over himself as he hastened to the door, relief flooding every fiber of his being. But even as the heavy wooden door swung shut behind him, he heard the king speak a little more.

"Soon. The secrets of those ruins will be mine, just as the Name will be mine."


A/N: As always, review. Review. Then review some more. It's the fuel that runs my engine. Until next time! Oh, and check out my other stories, see if you find something you like.

ShoredKakfa.