Final chapter! Thanks for joining me on this very experimental journey!
This chapter contains both an original song and a paraphrased one.
Unchained
Izuna makes his entire week by producing a pair of bamboo shinai from her sleeve-seals after Kiso decides to spend the morning in the garden chasing insects.
"Really?" Tobirama asks eagerly, eyeing the two flexible practice swords. He's been keeping up his sword drills, but they're less than efficient when he doesn't have so much as a stick to hold; he did try with his umbrella once, but the balance was off. It's been so long…
"Yes, really," his wife agrees fondly. "I suspect Kiso-kun will come and watch after a bit and we will have to keep an eye out for him in case he tries to interrupt, but we should get a bit of fun in before then."
"Do I get chakra, or must I manage without?"
Izuna raises a teasing eyebrow. "I'm sure I could be persuaded to make things a little more interesting…" she trails off suggestively.
This afternoon he will be confronting the matter of Keigetsu, but it's not like Tobirama has any other commitments in his calendar, so: "Anything my wife desires that I can give her, within reason, on an afternoon while Kiso is out, if she gives me enough chakra during this morning's spar for me to reinforce my body and enhance my speed." Best to be specific enough to exercise a degree of control; selling his pride for kimono without first ensuring they would all have a masculine sleeve-cut was very educational as mistakes go.
His wife smirks at him. "I shall have to think of something fun. Very well then: I am persuaded."
Tobirama grins brightly at her then hurries off to change into working indigoes, blood already singing with anticipation. He's been diligently exercising every day and while wrestling with Izuna is fun, it's been so long since he's been allowed to spar, even with a flexible bamboo blade that will barely bruise his opponent.
Not that he wants to bruise Izuna –she's pregnant after all– but he does want to have a proper spar and find out how rusty he's got after two months of enforced idleness. His arm will doubtless be sore after this, but it will be a good soreness.
It's fun. It's so much fun to spar with Izuna with a shinai, darting around the garden with chakra running through his coils and revitalising his muscles, chasing and giving chase, speeding across the surface of the koi pond and bouncing lightly off the trees. Yes, Izuna's eyes are bright with sharingan throughout, but Tobirama can forgive that now he knows how her bloodline affects her memories; if using it while they play-fight lets her be confident enough in her physical safety to give him a shinai and a thread of chakra then he has no complaints.
Especially since she is granting him access to enough chakra to easily keep up with her; he was right, working on strengthening his muscles without chakra has done much for his stamina and base speed. He's still out of shape in terms of technique, but he's well-rested and well-fed and that makes a difference. Of course Izuna is equally well-rested and well fed and also far less rusty than he is, but there's no helping that.
Kiso has retreated to the engawa to watch them, dashing around the outer edge of the house to keep them in view as they dart this way and that, and Tobirama's aware that Madara was at the garden gate a while back but didn't come in; presumably dispatched to find out what was going on and reassure his kin.
None of that matters though. What matters is landing a hit on his laughingly elusive wife, who cheated by stealing a kiss just so as to smack him across the ribs with her shinai.
"Get back here and take a beating like a warrior!"
"Not a chance!" His wife laughs at him, spinning lightly so the blow aimed at her shoulder goes wide and striking upwards so he also has to dodge, "No true warrior stands still for their enemy to bludgeon!"
Tobirama lunges forwards again, but this blow Izuna parries, bending to deflect his lunge to one side and almost throwing him off-balance. "You are slandering my Anija again, aren't you?" He complains.
"Slander? I would never!" Her eyes laugh at him, red and spinning though they may be. "And not once did I speak your brother's name, which inclines me to believe–" Tobirama ducks a strike that would have landed across his neck if it had connected "–that you have noticed him doing that very thing!"
"And your older brother doesn't make a loud target of himself every time he steps onto the battlefield?" Because Madara very much does.
"Ever watched a group of hunters bring down a wild bull, Treasure?" His wife asks him seriously as she parries another blow and almost kicks his legs from under him; Tobirama rolls out of reach, bounces up and off a tree and aims a strike at the top of her head on his way down. Rather than parry and roll she sidesteps again and he has to spin to avoid the strike aimed at his back as he passes her.
"I have not; where are there wild bulls?"
"A few places west of Earth; feral bulls most likely rather than truly wild, but still very large and very dangerous." She pauses as they exchange a fierce flurry of blows, then both pull back to circle warily. "One hunter –either the bravest or the most foolhardy– makes an effort to hold the bull's attention as the others circle so as to strike it down from behind, increasingly the likelihood of a successful kill."
"Your clansmen have never tried to ambush Anija from behind," Tobirama points out, feigning, lunging and then retreating again when Izuna bats the blow away.
"Well no –he is irritatingly inclined to stab at will with his trees even when he's not looking– but the principle remains," Izuna insists. "Nii-san wants to keep your brother's attention firmly on him, because he is confident he will survive it."
"As I wished to keep your attention on me," Tobirama notes, using a helpfully-placed bush to guard his side as he attempts another charge; if this was a real fight Izuna would have tried to entangle him in wire by now, but it's a spar so they're both limited to swordsmanship. He's had to back off a few times because he tried to do a jutsu on reflex and his chakra failed to respond –and he's seen Izuna's fingers twitch in a way that says she was reaching for shuriken and wire she doesn't have on her– but he's honestly enjoying the challenge. He can think about how she's regulating his chakra through the seal on his back later; Izuna's promised to remove it once their clans have peace, so the prospect of the thought-exercise doesn't sting or make him feel claustrophobic.
He's determined to land a blow before they call it a morning though, no matter how sore or exhausted he might be later; endless hot water and a pool to soak his aching muscles in will remedy the former and a nap will deal with the latter.
His wife smirks at him, tattoo crinkling. "My beloved truly had no other motives for wishing to keep me all to himself?"
"Oh lay off, you tease," he advances with a flurry of feints and aborted blows, parries a hit that would have bruised his upper arm had it connected then pushes her back; Izuna bounces off a tree, almost kicks his sword out of his hand and slips past him with a laugh.
"Never! My heart's treasure must know how ardently I appreciated his partiality!" Izuna carols brightly, shifting her shinai into a reverse grip and sliding into a different sword-style. It's far from the first time she's done this, and at least this is a spar so he's not having to flee entangling razor-sharp wire at the same time.
He's thankfully never lost fingers –or even parts of fingers– but there have been various near-misses and he does have scars. Scars his wife now kisses when they are in bed together and taking the time to savour each-other's bodies.
There will be no new scars today; just sore muscles, a few bruises and much laughter. However that doesn't mean he's not going to do his utmost to get back at Izuna for her dirty opening trick.
"Then hold still so I can hit you!"
"How could you ever ask such a thing?"
Tobirama can't help the laughter that escapes between his teeth; oh he's missed this. Izuna isn't Tōka or any of his other occasional sparring partners, but he knows her fighting style very well and she's challenging.
If this becomes a regular event he certainly won't object in the slightest.
It's after a restful wash, eating lunch and seeing Kiso handed over to Naka-Scallion that Tobirama can no longer distract himself from the fact that his wife is going to fetch Keigetsu-chan now. Going to fetch the baby he abandoned to die –entirely unintentionally, but how many times has he scolded his brother that intentions don't change consequences– and who some day in the near future will be living with them.
A baby he will be called on to parent, as he is parenting Kiso.
It helps that Izuna evidently feels he can do this. That she equally clearly believes this will work somehow, rather than ending in tears and fury and rejection.
Tobirama takes himself into his bedroom and dresses in the mulberry-seed summer kimono with the crashing wave pattern, tying it with the half-width blue damask obi and then moving into his living room. Rather than picking up 'The Great Sage of Evil' again he idly browses the other volumes that now populate his new shelf, only half of them novels; the rest are historical essays plus a single hefty text titled 'Sight, Visualisation and the Subjectivity of Perception' that he is putting off largely because opening it is likely to steal his focus and interest for a solid week at the very least.
Unlike the fiction, all the non-fiction is by a range of Uchiha authors, although he will likely acquire a wider selection in time now he has informed his wife that he would appreciate more scientific texts. Right now however an essay will serve as a pleasant diversion; Tobirama selects the thin volume titled 'Mineral Dyes: the changing politics of colour' dated about a century ago and settles in to read.
It's a surprisingly engrossing read; he emerges from the other side to the realisation that his wife is playing the koto in the next room, quietly singing along to the mournful, slightly unsettling melody as she plays:
"…pale knife-edged claws, on nine velvet paws; nine wide whiskered jaws, lined with white needle teeth, nine-times-nine! Oh this lovely kitten of mine, nine and nine and nine!"
Tobirama isn't sure why a lullaby about a cat would involve nine paws, let alone nine mouths, and isn't sure he wants to ask.
"Nine ears twitching, so softly velvet-furred; nine pink tongues extended when from sleep my kitten bestirs; oh this lovely kitten of mine, nine and nine and nine!"
Tobirama tried to imagine a kitten with nine ears, nine paws, nine tails and nine mouths and very quickly gives up; the prospect does not appeal. He gets up and sets the essay back on his bookshelf as the song moves onwards to 'nine eyes gleaming under the moon; nine noses twitching for a meal ready soon; fine whiskers reaching, nine-times-nine!'
The melody is regrettably memorable; Tobirama suspects he may catch himself humming it. He opens the shōji to a rippling cascade of notes and a very different verse:
"Oh watch the cradle, watch the door; watch my kinsmen march to war; guard their souls until their time, nine and nine and nine!"
Izuna looks up as he enters but does not stop playing, kneeling at the koto with an infant strapped to her chest over her red-orange silk gauze kimono resist-printed with flowering bush clover. Tobirama forces his feet to carry him closer, sitting just behind his wife's left shoulder as she slides into another melody and leaning in to eye the sleeping baby.
The new melody is another of those irregular heartbeat rhythms, but Tobirama barely notices it. He's too busy staring at the round, pudgy face of the little girl lightly swaddled in a blanket clearly made from old kimono panels, random tiny patchwork stars in indigo on a cheerful floral-print background, and reeling from how very much her infant scent reminds him of when his mother first let him hold Kawarama.
Kiso's chakra reminds him of his littlest brother, as do the shape of his eyes. But little Kei-chan's scent makes him want to weep in how strongly he is dragged back to childhood, head barely reaching his mother's hip and eagerly scenting his new baby sibling.
"You said," he manages, voice cracking, "you said that you had Lightning blood. On your mother's side. Saburō–" he can't. Other children –Senju or Uchiha and he has met a number of both now– do not smell quite like this, as his younger brothers did; similar enough generally, but without the specific nuance that is damningly familiar here.
"Hn." Izuna's tone is light and gentle. "There is a very funny family story about how Uchiha Nozuka eloped with Hakusai of Blue Knife Village and was chased halfway to the border by her furious tiger-blooded mother-in-law and said lady's cackling tiger summoner of a little brother."
Tobirama hacks up a startled laugh in between his tears. "His name was cabbage?"
"His mother's precious napa cabbage, stolen by a sweet-talking rogue of an Uchiha warrior posing as a travelling musician," Izuna says solemnly as Tobirama presses his hand over his mouth and rests his forehead against the back of her shoulder, shaking helplessly and trying not to cackle so loudly he wakes the baby.
"Hakusai was the father of Umeno-baa, whom I should probably introduce you to," Izuna continues once Tobirama has manages to settle himself and wipe his eyes, "and Umeno-baa married Soematsu-jii and had five children, of whom my mother Hitomi-san was the youngest and Kiso and Kei-chan's grandfather Kenashi-ji was the oldest. Shige-chan who cooks for my father and brothers is the daughter of my late uncle Mashū-san, Umeno-baa's middle child."
"You have other cousins?" Tobirama winces and corrects himself: "Living cousins?"
"Mashū-ji was a warrior and died the same year Myōko was murdered," Izuna says, still playing the lilting melody, "and he and Asuka-ba only had Shige-chan. Karifuri-ji wasn't interested in romance and joined the Southern Sailing Circuit; he loves travelling more than anything or anyone else. Hiromi-ba is married to Yukito-ji from the Earth Circuit; I haven't seen either of them since last Tanabata, though letters were sent so they'd know about Kenashi-ji and his oldest daughters' deaths."
Deaths at Tobirama's hands. Knowing there are other close kin who will doubtless want to confront him is not reassuring.
"Kenashi-ji also had five children, but Cousin Kamueku died when I was twelve, Katsuma-nii is on the Iron Circuit now and Kitami-nee married into the Deep West Circuit five years back."
"So because they are all far away, you took charge of your little cousins, despite their having closer living relatives."
"Hn. Also I have more disposable income and fewer dependents; Katsuma-nii and Kitami-nee both have responsibilities of their own already."
There's a pause, filled by the tune that Izuna is playing through again.
"So your grandmother was half Hatake," Tobirama says quietly, "descended from the tiger-summoning branch." At least that's what he assumes 'tiger blooded' means, given she names her ancestor's brother as a tiger summoner.
"Hn. Kiso's parents were second cousins, so he's probably got more Hatake than most of the rest of us; well, mathematically it's more likely anyway."
"Kei-chan smells like my baby brother did," Tobirama confesses softly. Kiso does not, although there is something about his chakra that is certainly all too familiar; a budding Lightning affinity, perhaps?
Izuna rocks gently back against him, offering unobtrusive comfort. "Umeno-baa did always say Kenashi-ji behaved a lot like her father," she says quietly, "despite mostly looking Uchiha. Kayami-nee took after him very strongly; it makes sense that Kei-chan might have inherited that."
"I never met any Hatake, other than my mother and brothers," Tobirama goes on, eyes closed and forehead resting against her shoulder. "I don't know the clan-scent of my mother's kin. If I had, maybe–"
"No maybes," Izuna interrupts firmly; "no might-have-beens, Tobirama. They're not helpful. It is what it is, and it's terrible that it went this way but it's not just your fault. Your mother's kin had twenty years to make themselves known to you and they didn't; that is on them, not on you."
"I suppose." Tobirama's more inclined to blame his father, for breaking the treaty signed as part of his mother's marriage mere days after her death. His mother married out; why would her kin go looking for her children when their father was an Oathbreaker? Being shunned like that hurts to think about, but it is perfectly understandable; the Hatake have nowhere near the military might that the Senju do.
"Either way, everybody will be home for Tanabata and I can introduce you to some more of that side of the family," his wife continues, "so maybe you can work out Hatake-scent from that."
It's worth trying, at least. Straightening, Tobirama peers over Izuna's shoulder again to look at the baby.
She looks… healthy. Soft and pudgy as an infant should, with a rounded face, tiny nose and fine dark baby hair sticking up every-which-way from her scalp. Not at all like she was abandoned among the dead overnight at the depths of winter and almost died.
"Apparently the side of the family living in Blue Knife Village still calls our side 'the cabbage-thief cousins'," Izuna says idly, making Tobirama snort involuntarily. "Ishino-baa called Nozuka-baa 'the cabbage thief' every single visit, despite Nozuka-baa joining the Trading Branch so as to take her husband back for annual visits after her first two children were old enough to travel. It's a family joke now."
"My wife comes by her spouse-stealing tendencies from both sides of the family then," Tobirama teases, kissing her neck, "and her taste in husbands is much as her ancestors' was."
"Hn. Why pick between Senju and Hatake when I can have both, and a fine warrior besides," Izuna agrees laughingly. "Surely my grandmothers are proud of me."
Tobirama nuzzles her throat some more, breathing in her scent mingled with the possibly-Hatake scent of the four-month-old baby strapped to her chest and trying not to cry. "How is Kei-chan's name written?"
"With the kanji for katsura and for tsuki, like the story of the trees on the moon," Izuna tells him. "'Keigetsu' is also a mountain, and we agreed she needed a good strong name after her difficult start."
"I'm not familiar with a 'Mount Keigetsu'," Tobirama admits.
"It's in Iron Country," Izuna says easily; "not really very well-known at all compared to their infamous 'Three Wolves'."
She's still playing the same lilting tune; it's oddly restful.
"The song you were singing earlier," Tobirama ventures after a long pause.
"The kitten's lullaby?" Izuna says inquiringly. "It's a clan staple; it was written by the Outguard Head who first signed the clan onto the Cat Contract. He was very fond of the Cats, always adopting stray kittens he picked up on missions."
Tobirama opens his mouth to ask about the whole obsession with the number nine being applied to feline limbs, organs and appendages, then decides he doesn't want to know. At least he knows which family line the cats are associated with now; it does explain why they have claimed Izuna's firstborn in the womb. "And this tune?" He asks instead.
Izuna pauses, stilling the strings, then restarts the tune again.
"Come stop your crying and we'll be alright," she sings softly, "just take my hand, hold it tight; I will protect you from all around you; I will be here, don't you cry. For one so small, you seem so strong; my arms will hold you, keep you safe and warm; this bond between us can't be broken; I will be here, don't you cry: You'll be in my heart; yes you'll be in my heart; from this day on, now and for evermore. You'll be in my heart, no matter what they say; you'll be in my heart always."
She plays a little riff.
"Why can't they understand the way we feel; they just don't trust what they can't explain; I know we're different but, deep inside us, we're not that different at all. And you'll be in my heart; yes you'll be in my heart; from this day on, now and for evermore."
Tobirama finds his voice. "Another lullaby?"
Izuna nods, still playing. "I wrote this one for Saburō," she admits quietly, "but various cousins have very much taken to it."
"It's very good." Her kimono has the faint scent of cloves clinging to it; this shade of ruddy orange is probably red incense then, dyed with scented branches.
"Thank you, Treasure."
Tobirama swallows hard. "May I hold Kei-chan?" He wants to, even though he may have to give the infant back less than a minute later so as to run away and cry. She smells so much like Kawarama did and his heart hurts.
"Of course you may, beloved."
Tobirama spends the first half of the afternoon curled up around the sleeping baby, awed and aching and light-headed with relief. Izuna lets him be, getting out her writing desk and humming snatches of tune as she writes and paints; he's not really paying much attention. Time stretches and contracts as he cuddles the tiny miracle in his arms, breathing in her scent and lightly caressing her face and limbs. So small, so soft, so perfect.
So alive.
He only realises half the afternoon is gone when little Kei stirs and he is halfway to the toilet with her before it registers clearly to him that he somehow knows she needs to empty her bladder, and also that the sun has moved quite a long way since he was last paying attention.
Then after he's held her over the toilet and cleaned her over the sink she finally stirs, blinking at him as he straightens her little shirt and covers her in her blanket again, and then gifts him with a bright, wondering stare.
"Hello mushroom," Tobirama says softly, his heart melting helplessly in the face of her amazement, "such a lovely little tree you are, a vigorous little sapling. My sweet-scented katsura-baby." He lifts her up, gripping her under the armpits so he can nuzzle her face.
She squeals delightedly, arms waving and feet kicking, then as he tucks her against his chest she grabs at his hair, making him wince as she pulls some out of his topknot.
"Strong fingers you have there, mushroom," he says ruefully as she giggles, resigning himself to his wife's laughter; he will not be able to distract Kei-chan by himself. Hopefully Izuna will have a favourite toy or else be willing to offer up a game, so the infant loosens her grip on his curls. He may also have to see about reproducing his mother's flat braids, to better protect his scalp from clutching baby fingers.
If this is the reason behind those never-removed braids, he fully sympathises; he has never considered himself to be tender-headed but Kei-chan is surprisingly strong.
Almost as though in response to that thought she yanks on his hair again; Tobirama ducks forward, then sighs loudly –making her giggle– when she stuffs her fist –complete with his hair– into her mouth.
"You're a perfect little menace, aren't you mushroom?" He tells her fondly as he heads back indoors. "Going to be the death of my dignity, oh yes you are. Maybe I should sell it to my wife for something nice first, just so as to get something worthwhile out of the loss."
Kei-chan sucks comfortably on her fist, large black baby eyes staring at his face at close range. Tobirama smiles helplessly back at her; why had he been so opposed to meeting her? He can't remember anymore what his problem had been. Yes, he'd been afraid, but why?
"And the little moon-maiden claims another devoted slave," Izuna teases as he walks back into the front room, getting up from her desk.
"How could I possibly resist?" Tobirama jokes, smiling as Izuna beams at the infant, then covers her face with her hands and quickly removes them again. Kei-chan removes her fist from her mouth and squeals, beaming delightedly and waving both hands; Tobirama takes the opportunity to quickly extract his hair from her flailing fingers and tuck it behind his ear. It won't stay there for long, but it will do for now.
Izuna plays peek-a-boo for a while longer to exultant baby shrieking, then responds to some cue Tobirama misses and taken Kei-chan off him, casually loosening her collar and shrugging her kimono and nagajuban off one shoulder so the infant can snuggle against her bare skin. Kei-chan yawns, sticks her fist back in her mouth and slumps against the upper curve of Izuna's breast, rapidly succumbing back to sleep.
Tobirama swallows dryly at the picture they make, Izuna with her softly pinned hair and lowered eyes, smiling as she cradles the baby against her skin. This… he wants this. Wants Izuna, like this. He cannot avoid seeing her as beautiful now, but her unselfconscious joy in soothing Kei-chan, her warmth in catering to baby whims and needs… he doesn't think he could ever grow tired of watching this.
"Well, now that I am the one holding the baby," his wife says ruefully, "what would you like to do, Treasure?"
"I'd like to draw," Tobirama decides abruptly; "just with pencils for now." He wants to draw this moment, wants to have it to keep forever. "Earlier I was reading one of the historical essays you left me," he adds as he steps forwards to help her pack away her own work to make space for his.
"Oh? Which one?"
"The one on laboratory synthesised dyes and their effect on sumptuary laws."
"Did you enjoy it?"
"It was very interesting," Tobirama concedes as he settles as his wife's portable desk and she makes herself comfortable facing him, taking care to not dislodge the baby snuggled against her breast. "How the author breaks down the cost of certain dyes and the limited provenance of others in showing how those in power can control the entire supply chain, explaining the existence of certain sumptuary laws –ensuring they have exclusive access to the resulting colours and will not have to compete for them– and how others are to do with signalling and maintaining the status quo rather than anything inherent to the colours themselves –such as with the various shades which only specific daimyo's servants are permitted to wear– clarified a good number of things I'd noticed but not really considered systemically."
Izuna hums. "Yes, the history of why certain things have been proscribed says a great deal about the people involved in those decisions," she agrees, her free hand rising to stroke Kei-chan's silky hair. "Also much about their desires and goals; if only the Fire Daimyo's servants are permitted to wear silk dyed kihada yellow, then any person in the palace or city wearing that shade is a servant and can be freely addressed as such with no further regard to identity needed."
Her tone is light, yet there are so many layers in her words that Tobirama wishes to peel back and address; he picks up his pencil, sets out a fresh sheet of paper and begins outlining her form. "You don't much approve of the formal stratification of society, do you?"
"Everybody alive today has ancestors going back millennia, Tobirama," his wife says, rolling her eyes, "and I don't see why mine are better than anybody else's just because I know who they all are and some emperor most of a millennium ago wanted to buy off the only other serious contender for the Chrysanthemum Throne, so gave him a fancy title, a Ministry to run and the hand in marriage of his sister. Yes, Uchiwa no Indra's grandmother was an Imperial Concubine under the previous dynasty and did rule for a long time as Empress, nominally on her sons' behalf, but she also ran that dynasty into the ground and reading between the lines of the old documents, I'm pretty sure her children's father was some random minor royal rather than her imperial husband and that was a big factor in said emperor's oh-so-unfortunately-convenient death and his primary wife's disgrace shortly beforehand. Which is why Indra's father and uncle put someone else on the throne once they'd managed to re-instate something resembling order after her death; they knew their claim wasn't worth shit."
Truly there is nobody able to pour scorn on a system of precedent and titled nobility more effectively than somebody who has benefitted from it the most –in name at least– and knows all too well how hollow it is.
"So Uchiwa no Indra was supposedly dissuaded from claiming a throne he likely knew full well he had far less right to than his liege believed him to, by being given greater rights to said throne for his children?" Tobirama clarifies, not sure if he's amused or appalled.
"You see how ridiculous it is?" Izuna gestures extravagantly. "And look at us now, once again the most highly-ranked remnant of the old order. For all the good it does us; turns out you can't eat privilege, who knew."
Tobirama deduces from the faint bitterness in her tone that the Uchiha have experienced food shortages in her lifetime. She is correct though; fewer restrictions on what the Uchiha are permitted to wear and the titles and accolades they are afforded by others mean little when it's clear they have very few opportunities to make use of those privileges, never mind their meaninglessness when faced with the realities of keeping everybody fed.
And if your best clothing reflects privileges that no others are afforded, you can't even sell those garments to put food on the table in hard times.
"The bit about the rediscovery of synthetic blues was rather warming though," he says, changing the subject back to the essay, "and how they changed the fashions of the time by being accessible and less toxic that the pigments then in use. Although the part about Water Country enshrining into law the continued usage of cobalt in ceramics despite its toxicity was a touch annoying, given synthetic ultramarine is so much safer."
"Cobalt is mined, Treasure," Izuna says lightly; "the mine owners are noble and don't want to lose their income. But I agree that it's interesting to see how all those various blues have spread across the market to compete with natural indigo; I know there's a synthetic indigo out there as well, but merchants and printers are often actively obscuring who is using what, all the better to increase their profits." She smiles. "The strong blues are very fashionable still, particularly the darker ones."
"Hence my oh-so-fashionable pampas-grass print jōfu?" Tobirama asks playfully.
"You look very fine in it, Heart's Treasure."
"You," Tobirama says deliberately, "would also look very fine in it, Lord-Wife." The sketch taking shape under his hands is becoming increasingly life-like; he may actually be able to commit this one to ink later.
"For a range of reasons," his wife replies, tone carefully mild, "I am less than fond of wearing dark blues at home."
Tobirama deduces that wearing indigo on the battlefield has given various similar colours some less than positive connotations. "You do look very fine in orange."
"Thank you Treasure," she smiles at him.
"Can you explain why rice-sprout green is on the proscribed list as a base kimono colour for all court occasions though? The essay just said it was, not why."
"It's the colour that used to be worn by the emperor's servants, or in other words the jigeke kuge. Which wouldn't be an issue given the sinking of the capital and thus the emperor's household, except that the Aburame are jigeke kuge –imperial gardeners and farmers originally, I believe– so it's off-limits for everybody else. Not that the Aburame do much attending of formal events hosted by any daimyo, but the protocols matter to people."
Tobirama narrows his eyes, thinking hard. "Are the Aburame likely to consider the treaty between the Uchiha and the Senju as an event requiring formal dress? The actual peace treaty part, not the current negotiation for restitution you instigated."
"Hn?" Izuna looks thoughtful. "They might, I suppose; formally recognising the negotiations in such a way would certainly give the process rather more weight. My father might get out his deep blacks if they do that; that could be interesting." Her lips twitch. "I don't think your uncle would enjoy it very much though."
"The terrors of the nobility," Tobirama says, deadpan.
"I know, look at us stealing his kinsmen and marrying them without so much as a by-your-leave," Izuna agrees, shaking her head.
Tobirama snorts, glancing down at his drawing; actually yes, this has turned out well. Setting his pencil down, he reaches for the inkstick.
As Izuna takes Kei-chan back to the kinswoman who is wet-nursing the baby for her –Shirushi-san, her name is Shirushi-san– the day's exertions hit Tobirama all at once. He manages to yawn through dinner and nod along to Kiso's eager account of what he got up to this afternoon –mostly mischief and chicken harassment, apparently– then when the time comes to tuck the toddler up into bed, he offers quiet apologies to his wife and tucks himself in as well.
Sleep comes swiftly; it is however not particularly restful. On his third time jerking awake to dimness and formless anxieties he gives up and goes looking for his wife.
She is, of course, asleep in her own bed; sprawled on her front with her cheek pressed into her pillow. Tobirama lightly brushes a few strands of hair out of her mouth –the moon is still high and there is enough light to see by, even through the shōji– as he settles by her futon, pondering his options. He could simply join her, but that feels disrespectful.
He also does not particularly want to offer himself up for whatever his wife might be in the mood for later tonight or tomorrow morning.
Fingers tangle with his. "Shikii?"
Tobirama glances down; sleepy scarlet eyes blink back at him, ever-so-slightly luminous in the moonlight.
"Problem?" His wife asks, chakra sharpening by the second.
"I'm just sleeping badly, my heart," he assures her, half bemused and half warmed by her readiness to defend him.
"Hn." She subsides, chakra sliding away into laxity once more and eyes fading to black. "My bed or yours?"
How did he manage to fight Izuna on a weekly –and sometimes daily– basis for half his lifetime and never see her?
A foolish question; he never wanted to see her.
"My bed, if you don't mind Izuna," he says quietly. His wife groans and levers herself into a sitting position; Tobirama gets to his feet so he can give her a hand up to vertical. "And why 'shikii,' if you don't mind explaining?" It means 'threshold' and as nicknames go it's the oddest one he's ever had applied to him.
"Your name," she says unhelpfully, then lifts her hands side-by-side, twisting her wrists so her palms turn like a pair of temple doors, "tobira-ma."
Between the doors –well, between the doorposts– is the threshold. "I see."
"Place of change, transition, uncertainty," Izuna rambles on, seemingly without quite realising it, as they cross back into his bedroom; "symbolising potential and also governance over in-between states. Much power in thresholds; many who stand on death's doorstep pass over, but others are turned back."
"Your mind, beloved, is a very strange place." He likes it better than 'corridor' though, so it's an interpretation he will allow to stand.
"Those who stand on the threshold may go forward or go back," his wife says as she kneels and wriggles under the light blanket covering his futon; "choose, and choose again. Not a place you stay, but pass over a thousand and one times."
"I don't mind it," Tobirama tells her, climbing into bed after her and pressing his face to her neck to breathe in her scent.
"Good." There's a pause. "Talk before sex."
Tobirama smiles against his wife's skin. "Of course; it's not what I asked you here for."
"Hn." She's asleep seconds later, leaving him to trail after her into slumber. It is indeed far easier to slip into comfortable unconsciousness with his wife in his arms.
Tobirama stares at the crates that feel like Anija, were made by Anija. The crates full of his books –his books, his letters, his fuuinjutsu notes– stacked up outside the gate of the Amaterasu Residence, supervised by Madara as more crates –that one looks like it has his writing box and inkstone in it along with his kimono and winter coat– are carried over.
"The Senju have agreed to my sister's demanded restitution," Madara says, presumably in response to whatever is currently showing on Tobirama's face, "which they have requested a few months to put together, and my Lord-Father had granted. However they insisted on delivering your possessions and savings immediately; the money's going on the clan accounts in your name –you can draw it out whenever– but Father says policing your property is Izuna's problem, so here it is."
Here it is, indeed. Tobirama turns beseeching eyes on his wife, abruptly desperate to fill his rooms with all this property unexpectedly reclaimed.
She smiles at him, warm and fond and generous. "Of course you may, Treasure; they are your things, after all."
Tobirama lunges in for a fierce, grateful kiss then turns and picks up the nearest box, carrying it into the house as behind him his wonderful wife co-opts her older brother and the warriors doing the delivery into moving the rest of the crates into the house, or at least onto the engawa in front of his rooms.
So many things he'd resigned himself to never seeing again, all miraculously restored to him. When he next sees Anija he's going to hug him first for this.