Hashirama/Madara. Legend.
Only you can become my legend.
There is only the sound of water running over bare rock, a rushing strong and primordial, when Madara, hidden in the dark shadows of the glade, the watery dawn light quenched far above him, first saw Hashirama. He was kneeling one the riverbanks where the sands were gray as ash and the air misty with cold. Madara was born of war and hunting, of measuring the worth of others with a glance, of planning; he decides then, watching the older man draw up the silvery water in thin streams, his movements long-fingered and exact, this will be the man who will not only exist in his universe but whose name will ascend equal to his own, with whom he'll make history with, his.
He will find out only later that it was Senju Hashirama he saw, whom he will face time and time again in battle while enmity stretches out between them like a torn decree, with whom he will prop up the bones of a village with upon a lush wild plain, who will be skilled at walking away and letting his silences speak for him, who will love Madara only because Madara will allow it, as all illusions must eventually be allowed to seep into reality for them to sustain. It is only fitting that Madara had already marked him out from the beginning.
Before the Valley of the End, Hashirama would say how remarkable it is that their lives should coincide, pivot around each other, like moons caught in each other's gravity, dovetailing. Madara will blink, and then he will laugh. It is not unremarkable, he would think, when none of their meetings, save the first, had ever been accidental.