canonverse, early konoha days
tent covers flapped around them, blown by the incessant wind ruling the great plain between the two countries. their shadow rulers sought refuge underneath, exchanging polite words while their guards stood tall behind.
"an interesting choice of color," the woman in red and white attire remarked. "picked by your ruler...?"
the man in white and green replied, "indeed, but had it not been his choice, i'd pick green still."
"why?"
"symbolizes our dream of a vast, lush garden instead of an endless sea of sand. or just cacti." he smiled, leaning on the chair. "so what about your color, hokage-sama?"
she raised an eyebrow.
"what does it symbolize?"
"fire, perhaps... ah, no, it's still our country symbol. blood, i guess?" she turned her head to look at her guard. "what do you think, madara?"
he merely shrugged. "either way works."
hours after they left the tent, the hokage brought up the subject again. "reto nicely defined his green as a dream. but i'm stuck at defining ours!"
"blood is nice, hashi," madara said, finished taking off his armor.
hashirama whined. "no! that sounds too... warmongering, don't you think?" her eyebrows furrowed. "red... autumn leaves? beautiful but dead... ugh, i'm not good at this thing..."
"easy answer right before you and you still don't know it?" madara chuckled. "unbelievable!"
she turned, slightly upset. "what ans—"
madara grinned, pushing his long bangs away. hashirama gaped at him.
of course. the sharingan.
his smile warmed as he embraced her. "it's easy when you don't think that hard." he lifted her hat to kiss her cheek.
"you could've just told me," hashirama mumbled to his shoulder, feeling the heat spreading on her cheeks.
madara pulled away. "and miss this gloriously reddish cheeks of yours? i don't think so."
"hngggh." she buried her face in his chest, stealing a glance at the mirror in their rented room.
fire. blood. sharingan.
he should've been chosen as the hokage.