-Letters-

It took two further years until I was to be married and begin a new life with my husband. During that time, I decided to meditate with Shirai, Ashina-sama's wife. She taught me much, and I will forever be grateful for her friendship, her words of wisdom and her lessons.

And at such, a month after the disastrous first meeting, I had decided to stop wallowing in misery at my fate and do something about it. If my future husband was not to my liking, then I will make him so, or so I thought.

That is when the letters started. I have to give it to my dear Hashirama, he was not that much better in writing as he was in person.

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"Mito-sama, a message arrived." Said one of the house servants with a bow.

Intrigued, Mito grabbed the scroll, looking it over. She had just returned from a meditation session with Shirai-san and was on her way to her sealing class. Among the high ranks of Uzushio, Mito was the most gifted at the clan's ancient art of sealing. She had begun creating her own seals when she was merely eleven years of age, and four years later, she was a master in her own right and had taken to teaching the younger generations about it. Even now, she was continually gathering chakra in a seal of her own making, storing it in a point on her forehead. Soon she will have it ready.

She dismissed the servant girl and stepped inside her chambers, her kimono shuffling as she glided over the floor. She had recognized the seal on the scroll immediately. It was the Senju family crest. With piqued interest, Mito opened the scroll and scanned its contents.

Scanned and cringed.

My dearest betrothed,

I miss you more with each passing second, and I see your face everywhere. The blood of my enemies reminds me of your crimson hair, the grey of the ashes, making me think of your eyes. And… and… and the song of the rooster that woke me up this morning reminds me of your beautiful voice!

Her eyebrow twitched. Did he just compare her with a chicken? How dare he? Who did this guy think he was, and who wrote things like that? Comparing her hair with blood and… and… And that terrible handwriting! Was he holding the brush with his feet?

It was sufficient to say that she had worked quite the fury at the first lines gracing the scroll. What she also noticed with dread was that the letter went on and on and on for what could only be two meters! What did this man have to say so much?

As it turned out, Hashirama had quite a lot to say. He spoke in detail about his brother, his conflicts with Madara, their latest battles (with quick annotations of swoosh and swoop for sound effects). And he spoke of his dream, his and Madara's, the vision to build a village unlike any before it, where clans would gather and share knowledge. Where the leader would be chosen based on strength and not blood, where all had a chance to be something.

When she finally finished, Mito had a small smile on her face. It was a good dream, a grand dream that they had. Yet it was just a dream. There had never been a shinobi village composing of more than one clan. It was not done, as interests were bound to clash with one another. And no one wanted to share information about their family or clan. Knowledge was power in their world, and often knowledge of an enemy's secrets would be more effective than the strongest of jutsu. And yet if they were to succeed in their dream, they would be the first to do so. An adventure as she had only read of, a challenge.

So with a smile and a shake of her head, Mito pulled up a scroll and began writing, her calligraphy impeccable, as all other things she did.

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"Madara!" Hashirama ran toward his friend with a smile that threatened to swallow his entire face. "She wrote to me! She wrote back!"

With a sigh, Madara finished cleaning the last drops of blood and bits of entrails from his sword and took a seat next to a nearby tent. They had been battling a rather stubborn and ridiculously large clan for the last couple of weeks. Once the peace between the Senju and the Uchiha was ensured, came the 'not as easy as Hashirama thought' task of making their village dream real. As it turned out, the surrounding clans had no interest in joining up in their village, share their secrets and sing around the camp-fire. So here they were, caught in battle after battle to reign in what they hoped to be future loyal citizens of Konoha.

Hashirama took a seat next to him, and after he rubbed his face clean with a conspicuous-looking rag, he took out two cups from Kami knows where followed by a bottle of shochu. After he gave a cup to Madara, he downed one himself and looked once more at the sealed scroll.

Madara took a sip of his beverage, somehow enjoying the burn of it as it passed down his throat. It was piss-poor quality, but in times like these, it was rather hard to find anything of quality; besides weapons, of course. Still, it dulled the sting of wounds and helped them find the hope that tomorrow, this whole senseless fighting will stop. "Are you going to stare at it the entire day?"

"What if she writes to me to say that she won't marry me anymore?"

"She would be smart to say that." He smirked as he saw Hashirama turn blue in terror. It certainly was entertaining to torture him. Much too easy, yet entertaining nonetheless. "Get a grip on yourself. You sealed an agreement with the Uzukage. Even if she were to want to get away from you, she can't."

At that, Hashirama calmed down and finally open the scroll. At first, his eyes shone with happiness, and yet the longer he read, the more his face fell. Finally, he shoved the scroll in Madara's face, a look so bleak that Madara could swear there were storm clouds above his head.

"She hates me."

Unconvinced, Madara took the scroll and scanned it. Her writing was sublime; each stroke put on paper with purpose and elegance. Yet as smooth and as beautiful as her calligraphy was, her words were like finely pointed daggers. The terms illiterate and subpar were mentioned a couple of times, as well as quotes from Hashirama's letter, indicating to never call her that again. This time he could not help the chuckle that rose deep in his belly. "You really compared her voice with the song of a rooster? No wonder the girl hates you!"

"B-but I love the way it sings! It reminds me that there is a new day, filled with hope for a new battle and a new future!"

"Are you stupid? This is a high born you are talking to, not some fisher's daughter. And even the fisher's daughter would be offended to be compared to a bird that only annoys everyone in the morning and sounds like a high pitched broken record."

Hashirama looked like he wanted to defend his position once more, but then he lowered his head, the gloom returning full force. "As I said, she hates me."

As usual, Madara took pity on him in such moments. Really, he looked like a kicked puppy, and those wet brown eyes did not help his image; or his respect for that matter. If someone were to see him now, they would never guess the power-bank that his friend was. Hashirama, the undefeated they called him. Well, next time their enemies should bring a pretty girl along and make sure that she threw a couple of insults his way. "Come now, she says some nice things… like see here: You are a visionary and a brave man. That's positive. And she wants you to write back, so it's not that bad."

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The next couple of months would be like that. Hashirama would send her a long and detailed letter that she would cringe over, and she would write back with corrections and some sparse details of her life in Uzushio.

To Mito, it seemed that Hashirama was the type to learn by doing and repeating what he did a few times before he got it. So it came as no surprise that it took him around three more letters to understand that comparing her with various farm animals was not wise.

But then the day came when a letter arrived, and it was written in another's hand. She knew Hashirama could not have learned such calligraphy in the past month since he last wrote! The strokes were clearly put on paper by a masculine hand, the style precise, and angled with sharp edges. With piqued interest, she began reading it.

Esteemed Lady Mito,

I fear that your betrothed is indisposed and will be as such for some time. Fear not, he will live, and in the future, he will know to not eat every berry that he sees.

It has, however, come to my attention that Hashirama regularly sends a letter at this time of the month with the late happenings. I felt that the absence of such a message might cause you grief, and wished to alienate any fear you might have.

Mito smiled, knowing immediately who it was that wrote those lines. Uchiha Madara. He had been well-spoken and polite during their short visit, so it came as no surprise that he would be the same in his letters. Though there was something else she saw in-between the neat brush strokes and cultured words... Was it playfulness, sarcasm maybe? She could only imagine how the interactions between two such different individuals were; undoubtedly interesting.

With a smile on her lips, she turned to look at the rest of the disappointingly short letter. Maybe Hashirama had spoiled her with his long and detailed tales?

I will not bore you with details of our latest battles, as I am sure there are other things on your mind than which clan has decided to stand up to us this time. However, I can say that we seem to make a breakthrough. The founding of Konoha seems now closer than ever. We will push forward, we will persevere. And maybe when the time comes for you to join us, you will have more to see than a muddy field filled with tents.

Yours respectfully,

Uchiha Madara.

With disappointment in her eyes, Mito looked if maybe there was another scroll if there was more. But that was all, barely one page of spiked, angled strokes. A pitty. She enjoyed his writing, enjoyed the way he put the words on paper. It felt natural to read it like she had to make no effort to understand the words among ink stains and scribbled lines.

Well, she will have to remedy this situation!

With purpose in her eyes, Mito pulled out a small blank scroll and dipped her brush in ink.

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The scroll was delivered to him personally, and as Madara looked at the Uzumaki seal, his eyebrows went up in surprise. Should he give it to Hashirama to read? It was most likely for him… But Hashirama was out with a fever, his body still working to filter out the effects of that half a kilo of poison berries that he stuffed his face with.

And on the other hand, curiosity was scratching on his mind. What did she think of his letter? She was usually pretty vicious with Hashirama, so when he wrote to her, he unconsciously dug up old calligraphy hours from his memory and did his best to make every stroke smooth. And yet… why did he care? When did he care what others thought of him? If the prissy girl wanted to criticize him, then she could do it all she wanted, he would not care!

Finally, curiosity won and Madara retired to his tent to open the letter.

Dear Sir,

I fear that the abbreviated version of the past month's happenings will not do. If you wish to write in Hashirama's stead, then you must rise to the expectations.

Of course, without the mistakes.

I eagerly await your response.

Mito

PS: Make him drink Plantain tea, and he will get better in a few days.

Madara smirked. The girl had guts; he had to give her that! He wondered if she would be so daring in person, the image of her small frame trying to look intimidating, making him chuckle.

Fine, she wanted a story, he will play along. Hashirama had always spoken of great victories and glided everything with a screen of polished gold. He will give her the truth, and hopefully, it will cure her of the nonsense idea that war was glorious.

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The scroll came a few days later, and it took Mito by surprise. It was not only much larger than the one before but this time, it bore the bold Uchiha seal on it.

She felt giddy, excited that her little petulant ruse had worked! So with quick motions, she opened it and began absorbing that angled spiked script.

It took her almost half an hour to go through it all, and when she finished, she dropped the scroll on the floor by her feet. She had been such a fool, she felt like she could slap herself. She had believed all of Hashirama's stories because he looked so innocent and seemed so honest. She thought they were winning the war and that the ninja of that region began understanding each other. She believed that in spite of everything she knew, because she wanted it to be true.

But it was not.

If what Madara said was right, then they were losing as many men as the other side, and the clans did not seem to find it in their hearts to ally with neither the Uchiha nor the Senju. They seemed to break through lately, but at this rate, it will only be a capitulation of the weaker clans, not really an alliance. At this rate, they were going to build a village filled with people that were waiting for the best time to murder them in their sleep. They were taking them by force, and it was bound to fire back at them.

She read the scroll once more, looking for some clue, something that could be done. After reading it a second time, Mito brightened up. There, he was saying something about a strange beat creature plaguing the lands and killing shinobi from both sides. If this beast were to be removed as a service done by the Uchiha and Senju clan, then maybe the other shinobi clans will see them as something more than conquerors!

She quickly pulled out a scroll and wrote back, the ideas already forming inside her head. If they agreed to this, she could go ask Ashina-sama if she could make the sealing herself!

Little did she know that her heroic escapade wound be the cornerstone that sealed her fate, …and that of another.