ITAMA

In pace and weight both, Itama knows her brothers' steps well, and in turn, they know how she hates to be taken off guard. Listening as they step heavier down the halls, ensuring she's never surprised by their presence—though, Hashirama isn't one to move with much grace unless he has reason to begin with—always fills her with warmth. Tobirama often insists she'd be able to feel them if she tried, but it's a skill, she knows, that must be learned from childhood; she was never permitted to try and given how long it's been, sees no reason to start now. All of this only lends itself to greater surprise when Hashirama's voice sounds from her door and her heart leaps into her throat, she hadn't heard him approach.

"I'm sorry, I'm sorry, forgive your brother." He winces and holds his hands up as he whispers loudly enough that any discretion is promptly ruined. "I only wish to speak to you in secret!" With Hashirama, to stay angry is a greater task than to forgive, and admittedly, the intrigue makes it easier. It's been some time since the two of them have shared a secret.

"You'd best come in quickly, then," she whispers just as poorly, "brother Tobirama's ears are too sharp." Hashirama closes the door behind him while Itama stifles her mirth. If Hashirama truly has a secret to share, they'll speak quieter, but it's amusing to think how Tobirama must be rolling his eyes if he's truly near enough to hear them. When her brother sits next to her by the table where Itama has laid out her needlework, Hashirama pulls her into a too-tight embrace that always makes her laugh, even as she complains that she's too old for him to hold her the way he always did when they were children. Eventually, he relents, letting her free and settling half-facing her with crossed legs.

"I've come to talk to you about something, and please, Itama," Hashirama takes her hands in his and looks at her as he always does when he makes a promise he means to keep, she feels he's asking the same of her now, "answer honestly, you won't upset me." Itama bites her lip and Hashirama squeezes her hands. It's always humiliating when they see her so clearly, but she will try her best to do as he says.

"I will, brother. I promise." Hashirama nods, letting go of her hands and sitting back.

"We're likely to reach terms with the Uchiha within the week, has Tobirama told you?" Itama shakes her head and, as he's asked for honesty, does nothing to hide her surprise. Negotiations have gone on so long, she'd begun to wonder if they'd ever end. "I want to know how you feel about it." She isn't naive enough to think her brother would end negotiations if she said the thought frightens her, but then—fear is not a bad thing. Countless times since their father died, both Hashirama and Tobirama, and Mito, as of late, have tried to remind her of this. Intellectually, it's something she knows, but in her heart, it's more difficult to believe.

"If we'll be safer for it, that's what matters most." The ghost of Kawarama sits between them. Itama hates to be afraid, but grieving is worse. Hashirama nods, clear understanding between them, though her words haven't settled him as she hoped they might.

"I know already what Tobirama has told you about the Uchiha—" Itama baulks and looks away. This—she hates to argue, isn't prone to it, but this is one they've had several times.

"Hashirama, please, let's not—"

"Hear me out, sister. This conversation is so long overdue between us. If you will listen to what Tobirama has to say, will you not hear me also?" It's not untrue, and she's aware that owes Hashirama this much.

"Fine."

"You remember how father was after Kawarama died." He doesn't do her the discourtesy of making it a question. She remembers. They all remember. "Uchiha Tajima was not the same. When his children died, Izuna and Madara weren't expected to keep quiet."

"What did they do?" Itama remembers what she wanted, insomuch as she ever knew. To scream, to cry, to break something. To cause more damage than she's ever believed herself capable of outside of that moment. More than anything, though, she'd wanted her brother back, and in the furthest reaches of her mind, she's always wondered if she was driven by grief alone or the simple impossibility of wanting, with all one's heart, something that cannot be.

"Everything we didn't," Hashirama answers simply. A week after Kawarama's death, Itama had found Tobirama with bloody hands by the river's edge. He'd torn apart an old raft and smashed it to pieces, not stopping even as the splinters dug themselves into his palms and split the skin. When he'd finally collapsed, chest heaving and eyes beginning to see again, Itama had helped to clean and bandage his hands before their father could see what he'd done. Hashirama describes how the Uchiha mourn, with fire and ash and open anguish, and Itama wants to call it weak, but when she thinks of her brother's palms painted red and how impossible Kawarama's absence still feels, the word doesn't fit the shape of her feelings.

"Is death not a private thing to them?" Is what she asks instead.

"The Uchiha love openly, they mourn just the same. Does it sound so terrible?"

"Not terrible," Itama allows, "only—such open indulgence in the thing that drives them mad, in the end? It can't be wise." Hashirama sighs and Itama feels his tiredness in her own bones, it's here that their conversations tend to halt.

"Could mourning not look like madness when allowed to be seen?" A sharp, sick feeling churns in her gut. "Did you not feel mad, at times, after Kawarama passed? I did. Tobirama did, no matter how he appears. Our father certainly—"

"I understand, brother." Itama has no wish to think of their father in those days.

"Then you must see what I'm saying. I'm not asking that you change all that you believe about the Uchiha, but please, sister, know that even Tobirama is not without bias. We all see things as we want them to be." Itama struggles to recall whether she has ever known her own wants well enough to be swayed by them.

"Is the same not true for you?" she asks.

"It is, of course," he admits. "I'm sure the truth of things lies somewhere in the middle, but the Uchiha aren't monsters, Itama. That much, I can say with complete certainty."

"How can you be sure?"

"I love Madara as surely as I love Tobirama and you both. How could I love a monster?" Itama thinks her brother would see the good in anyone enough to love them, no matter the cost. "You know," he begins, tone the same as the one that always promised both mischief and trouble when they were children, "the Uchiha allow their women to train. Uchiha Izuna is but a year older than you and she sits at her brother's side as an advisor, just the same as Tobirama." It's a strange thought. To imagine herself at her brothers' side in such a situation feels ridiculous.

"Tobirama says that is why their clan politics are in such shambles."

"Tobirama has always been a sore loser, and Izuna has bested him more oft than he cares to admit," Hashirama whispers, this time for real. Itama can't help but smile. It's absurd to think that a girl her age should help to lead her clan, but Hashirama is not wrong about their brother. "I think he hoped she might be easier to argue with than she is to fight, but he's had little luck. She shares his mind for figures. When peace is settled, I think you'll find their quarrels quite entertaining."

"If they're really so fractious as you describe, I can't imagine they'll spend much time together." Hashirama wobbles his head from side to side, and Itama knows he's about to say something absurd.

"I rather thought Izuna might make a fine wife for our brother." At that, Itama's surprise gets the better of her; she flinches back, expecting some type of joke, but none comes.

"Hashirama, you cannot be serious. Tobirama cannot take an Uchiha wife!"

"Why not? Are we not all soon to be of the same village?"

"You are—he hates to be questioned, and—she trains!"

"She does. And it is precisely because he hates to be questioned that he must be, do you understand?"

"I really, truly do not." Itama is baffled at her brother's blind optimism. She cannot call herself worldly, she knows little of politics and less of war, but she knows her brothers. Tobirama could never abide such a woman.

"I know it sounds mad," Hashirama allows, "but you'll understand when you see them at the next meeting, I'd like you to come." At that, her bafflement turns to confusion.

"What use could I be at the negotiation table?"

"It's not about use, Itama, it's about experience. You're a part of our family too, you should be there." Itama wants to feel pleased, much of her brothers' lives remain a mystery to her, but she yearns to better understand those parts of them that are unknown. She yearns for the strength and knowledge to face what they face. Still, she knows Hashirama well, and her yearning is not enough to distract her from the subtle undercurrent to his voice nor the too-wide smile that covers his face. Itama does not speak. Instead, she waits for his honest answer and when it becomes clear the conversation will not continue until he gives one, he relents. When he straightens and takes her hands in his once more, imploring her to meet his eyes, she does her best not to feel nervous. "You understand that I would never do anything to jeopardize your safety, Itama. I would die before letting you come to harm."

"Of course," Itama agrees slowly. Not reassuring words, by any measure.

"Then when I say what I say next, please understand that the thought would never even have entered my mind if I felt it a dangerous one." Itama trusts him, but trust cannot quell the anxious rise in the rhythm of her heart nor the way her mind begins to pull itself in too many directions at once. "I've offered Uchiha Madara your hand." Immediately, Itama's hands go cold in his and she rips them away in shock.

"Hashirama, why?" Itama has never felt betrayal as she does now. "I cannot—I cannot marry a—he is said to be—" Words fail her. Hashirama invites her to the table not as family, not as a sister, but as a bride to be sold in favour of peace. Marriage is the purpose she was raised to, but this—Hashirama makes a mockery of it, of her. She cannot—

"Madara is just a man, Itama," Hashirama pleads, "the same as any other. He would treat you well, and in time, he would love you fiercely. He cannot help himself."

"I do not want to be loved by an Uchiha." Though she tries not to, her voice comes out petulant and she struggles not to weep for how it undermines the depth of her revulsion, throat going tight and knuckles white in her lap as she tries to hold herself together.

"You would be allowed to train," Hashirama tries, "you could travel, take up any trade that might catch your interest—" Hashirama continues to offer balm after balm, but none can soothe the grip fear has taken of her heart. Itama thinks only of the vision she's held in her mind of Kawarama's death since she was young. No one ever told her what happened to him, only that he was found alone. Night after night, for nearly a decade, she has imagined him found a thousand ways, each more painful than the last, the only constant being the Uchiha soldiers who surround him.

"I'm sorry," she chokes out, voice on the verge of breaking. It feels wrong—she cannot tell her brother no, it's not her place, but— "I'm sorry, I know I must do as you tell me, but please, Hashirama. The Uchiha—Kawarama—"

"I know." Hashirama's voice is pained as he leans forward, reaching for her hands once more and thinking better of it at the last moment. "They've taken from us as we have from them. I know it's of little comfort but—look at me." This time, he doesn't hold back, drawing her near into a hug that a part of her wants to resist. Unfortunately, the better part of her can't deny the comfort, and her tears begin to fall as her brother holds her tight. She looks at him through clouded vision.

"I will not force you, Itama," Hashirama promises. "But Kawarama did not die by Madara's hand. I would never ask this of you if he had, I swear it." His words fix little, but it is something, at least, to know she isn't being asked to marry the man who killed her brother.

Hashirama holds her until she's calm and when he leaves, she sleeps heavily and dreamlessly, waking only when she hears the rise of her brothers' voices. No part of her is curious enough to hear what they say that she'd like to listen to them argue, so she hides her head under the duvet to muffle the sounds and waits for sleep to return. When she wakes for the second time, the sky is still dark and a small bowl of rice and pork has been left at her bedside, she wonders which of them brought it to her. Once she's finished with it, she takes a moment to stretch before lighting her lantern and venturing into the hall with it in hand.

Upon reaching Tobirama's room, indecision grips her. Is it him she truly has questions for? What has he left to tell her? His voice startles her from her thoughts.

"Itama, what's the matter?" From the clarity of his words, he can't have been asleep, and knowing she hasn't woken him helps to ease her embarrassment at being caught as she meekly slips the door open to peek in.

"Nothing, brother, I only wanted to thank you for the food you left."

"It's no trouble, Hashirama said you felt poorly, is your head better, now?" There is no trace of further question in his voice nor his eyes. Itama knows her brother well enough to know he'd be unlikely to keep his thoughts to himself if Hashirama had already told him of their conversation.

"Nearly, I'm going to make some tea before returning to bed, did you want some?"

"No, thank you. Sleep well, sister."

"Sleep well."

Itama slips the door shut and continues down the hall. She prepares tea enough for three, knowing Tobirama will hear if she doesn't do as she said, and lingers outside of Hashirama's door with the tray, where the soft glow filtering through the silk tells her he and Mito are still up. Calling out softly, she waits for her brother's invitation to slip the door open with her foot. He greets her warmly from the table by the futon, she cannot see Mito and behind him, half the room remains dark. Itama feels terrible for having interrupted when she is already abed, but it's too late now to excuse herself without explanation. Joining Hashirama at the table, she's careful to set the tray down and dole out the tea as softly as she can manage.

"I thought you might like some tea to keep you through the night." Itama does her best to speak quietly. Hashirama's answering smile is filled with visible relief. In this, they are alike. A bridge left unmended leads only to sleepless nights.

"I would love some, thank you, Itama." It's clear to her that more words linger on the tip of his tongue, and Itama knows that she must speak quickly if she wants the conversation to go as she imagined.

"Is it alright if I ask you something?" she whispers.

"Of course, of course," Hashirama's voice is gracious and his posture open, "Mito sleeps early most nights and wakes in the evening for a tea before returning to bed. She'll be pleased to find you've saved her the trouble." Itama nods, fisting her hands in her yukata, grateful he cannot see.

"Then… Is it true what you mentioned earlier, when you said Uchiha Izuna has bested our brother?"

"It is."

"Do Uchiha women have to train? Is there no other choice?"

"I suppose," Hashirama begins, thoughtful, "some women are likely homemakers, some tradespeople. Just the same as the men."

"I see."

"But—" Hashirama stifles himself, clearly trying not to misstep. "If you don't mind me saying, Itama, Madara would make any allowance you need, I'd make sure of it." In a way, Itama knows Hashirama means to reassure her—she should feel reassured—but all she truly feels is useless. "Please understand, I meant what I said. I would never force you, nor would I suggest the match if I thought you would end up hurt or miserable."

"I know." While her feelings are still confused, Itama is sure of that much, at least. "I was only frightened."

"I did a poor job of posing the question," Hashirama chastises himself, head bowed in regret. "I'm sorry, Itama." Quiet lingers between them as Itama considers how she might've felt if he'd said it differently, would it have changed anything?

"If Uchiha Madara is not as they say he is, what kind of man is he?"

"Madara is a good man," Hashirama speaks of him with a smile that lends far too much sway to his words, "he's not soft spoken or gentle, or even particularly amenable, but he loves deeply and wants for nothing more than he does his family's happiness. He would challenge you, for certain, but you would be better for it." In truth, she's unsure what to make of that.

"Challenge me in what way?"

"Whatever way would see you grow best. It's something he has a knack for." Itama tries to think of the ways she might better herself, the ways a husband might like to see her advance. To raise children would certainly be a challenge, though while the prospect warms her, it's hardly a thrilling one. She cannot imagine that's what her brother means.

"What will—" A soft rustling and a low groan disrupt her question and Hashirama's face takes on a tenderness reserved only for his wife. Mito emerges from the futon and joins them in the soft light of the lantern, settling against Hashirama's side and greeting Itama with warmth. When they first met, Itama had thought her outwardly stern manner might see her better suited to Tobirama, but the softness between she and Hashirama is such that it fills the room, enveloping everyone within it in the haze of their affection for one another. Itama offers her tea and Mito accepts graciously, no trace of annoyance to be found at having woken to her presence.

"Did you know," she speaks as Itama pours, "my own family considered a match with Madara as well?" It doesn't come as a shock, but nor can she claim to have expected it.

"I had no idea." Mito smiles and turns to press a kiss to Hashirama's cheek.

"Why don't you visit the garden, my love?" Hashirama grins and Itama shares in the sentiment, though for entirely different reasons. It always delights her to feel as though there's a secret to be shared.

"Of course, some of the flowers bloom best at night." Her brother is magnanimous as always, pressing kisses into both of their hair before leaving. Once the door is shut behind him, Mito leans forward over the table and Itama finds herself doing the same.

"You must understand," she begins, "we knew not who would win the war, only that peace seemed an impossibility after so long spent fighting. The Uzumaki sought strength, not the opportunity to marry their daughter into a dying clan. It was vital that we meet with both the Uchiha and the Senju to understand the situation." It's strange—Itama has never heard an outsider's perspective of the war. To hear their years of suffering put so simply—

"What was he like?"

"Hmm," Mito ponders, "I can call him neither charming nor cold, though he has a temper, certainly." Anxiety begins to knot itself tight behind her ribs, Itama cups her tea before her hands can go cold. A man with a temper—there are few things Itama has ever sworn to herself, but to never again live under the roof of an angry man is one. "It never seems to make him cruel," Mito offers, Itama knows her apprehension must show. "And the rigours of war take their toll on us all."

"Nothing anyone tells me seems to settle my mind," Itama confesses. Mito sighs.

"Madara is unlike any Senju man I've ever met, it's not a failing, but your mind will not settle until given the chance to form your own impression of him," Mito cautions. "There's no shame in being frightened." Itama—Itama shouldn't be afraid. Cannot afford to be afraid, but even knowing so, the feeling does not fade. "I must confess, I was terrified to marry your brother." Itama cannot imagine Mito afraid.

"You say that to comfort me," Itama insists. Mito laughs.

"I appreciate that you believe me so unshakable, but it's the truth," she assures her. "I was young, only a few years older than you are now, and I'd never been away from my clan before. Yet, I was set to marry a man I'd only met once in passing, years before. Your brother is genial, but that did not erase what I knew of him or give insight to what I did not. Decades of warring, years of loss. I've seen for myself what that does to a man, and I was expected to trust an impression my mother formed over days—hours, really—and put myself in his hands with no family to fall back on for a thousand miles. It was more than slightly daunting."

"I've never thought of it in that way," Itama confesses, she's never imagined her brother to be frightening. They call him the strongest warrior ever to live, but in her eyes, he's always been gentle.

"We rarely do when not given a reason to."

"How long did it take for the fear to go away?" Mito sighs at the question, leans back and turns her eyes to the table for a moment.

"I don't know that it ever has," she answers honestly. "I no longer fear your brother nor the life we share, but when that faded, I feared losing him instead. I feared what it would do to him to lose me, or to win the war. Now, I fear for peace if it's not managed, and I will fear for the lives of my children for the rest of my days." As she speaks, Mito's hand traces the gentle curve of her stomach. "I don't think the fear ever does go away, but it becomes easier to understand its worth as you grow older."

"That sounds awful." Itama has been afraid all her life. Of her father, of death, of the unknown. "I don't think I can live as you have, Mito." Failure curdles sour on her tongue, Itama feels hollow, unable to meet the only true purpose she was raised to. She tries to draw back but Mito holds tight and catches her eyes.

"You don't have to, Itama. If you wanted to remain here and live the rest of your days under this roof, your brothers would allow it, they love you too much to say no." Mito pulls her closer still and the urgency conveyed by her grip makes it impossible not to listen closely. "Only know, Itama, that if you remain here, you will never be pushed. You will be allowed to stay and live comfortably, play with children who are not yours and keep a home you have no stake in. You won't be made to study, to train, to take up a trade or to travel." Though Mito no longer speaks of fear, this is the first time she truly hears it in her voice. "Do not let yourself wither because you are afraid, Itama. You need not marry Madara, but if you say no, you must find a reason, for your own sake."

"You speak as though I could not marry a Senju man." Itama tries not to sound as defensive as she feels.

"You could, of course. You could marry any one of Senju men here, most of whom took their lead from your father." The thought leaves her cold. "Madara, at least, will never be him."

"You did not know my father," Itama snaps, drawing back her hands more forcefully this time and loathing herself as she wipes her clouded eyes.

"I know your brother's scars," Mito still speaks gently and Itama hates her for it, "I'm sure he's not the only one of you to bear them."

TOBIRAMA

Faint voices whisper through the walls and Tobirama cannot make out what's being said, only who speaks and with what tone. To hear Itama so upset while speaking with Mito is unusual and he wonders if she's taken the news of her pregnancy poorly, though he cannot imagine why she would. Regardless, he has no wish to intrude on their privacy and waits until he's heard Itama shuffle back to her room before he slips out of his futon. It's rare that he manages to sleep once he's woken, there's little reason to waste his time now that he's up. Once he's washed and dressed, he goes in search of his brother, able to feel Hashirama's presence outside.

"You couldn't sleep?" Hashirama doesn't turn to face him and when he speaks, he speaks to the night sky from his place by the pond, legs half-swallowed by the water.

"Itama was upset."

"Did you speak to her?"

"No, should I have?" Hashirama laughs at that, but it's a tired thing.

"I'm not sure. I've not yet had a chance to ask Mito what they spoke about, though I think our sister may need some time alone with her thoughts."

"What's happened, Hashirama?"

"I asked you to stop telling her your awful conspiracies—" No effort is made to hide his brother's sincere irritation and it only serves to spur his own. He'd rather Hashirama be honest with him than not, but this argument between them is an endless one.

"Your insistence on ignoring what's in front of you doesn't mean our sister should be kept so naive—"

"You're a hypocrite, Tobirama!" Hashirama shouts as quietly as such a thing is possible. Rising to his feet, he steps closer so he can speak with force without being heard by his wife or their sister. "You are keeping her naive, making her too anxious over the Uchiha to even form her own opinion of them."

"I want her to be safe," Tobirama hisses.

"From what, brother?" Hashirama gestures broadly around them as he speaks. "The village will be at peace tomorrow and Itama is grown enough to make her life in it. Is this not what we've fought for?"

"I worry over her," he confesses.

"I know, Tobirama." Hashirama sighs and some of his fire seems to leave him. "You worry after her as if she was your own child." There is no subtlety at all in the practiced nonchalance of Hashirama's voice when he speaks next. "Perhaps it's time you had one of your own."

"You expect me to soften with romance, no doubt."

"Not at all," Hashirama laughs, "I can imagine few things less suited to my little brother than a soft romance, I rather thought you might like a challenge." At that, Tobirama knows with certainty that Hashirama has more to tell him, none of which will be pleasing.

"What've you done, Hashirama?"

"Don't sound so foreboding, and promise you'll keep an open mind!" Now, Tobirama fears Hashirama has done something truly regrettable. "When I was with Madara, I posed an offer of marriage between you and Izuna." Tobirama envisioned some horrible calamity or public embarrassment, this is far more outlandish and it's enough to shock a bark of laughter from him.

"You waste your breath."

"He swore to ask his sister!" Hashirama insists and Tobirama stares, unable to believe his brother's delusions extend quite so far.

"Uchiha Izuna would sooner wed my corpse, and I hers."

"Are you saying no?"

"I'm telling you it won't get so far that I'll need to. It's a wonder how you come up with these things."

"Humour me, brother," Hashirama pleads, "if Izuna were to lose her better senses and agree to the marriage, would you honour the proposal?"

"Would I honour the proposal made on my behalf without any semblance of warning?" Tobirama does not revel in being difficult, but at times, there's pleasure to be find in needling Hashirama with a taste of the difficulty Tobirama so often encounters during discussions like these—though, he cannot truly say any of their other discussions have felt quite so outlandish as this.

"Come now, Tobirama."

Despite himself, Tobirama considers the proposal as his brother has asked. Just as Hashirama says, Tobirama has never imagined a soft romance for himself, nor any true romance at all. In picturing his future, he has pictured sons and little else. There is always the unspoken assumption of a woman who keeps his home and rears his children, one he would treat with honour and kindness as is expected of any man who takes a wife into his care. Never has he held in his mind a clear picture of what this woman might look like or how she might behave, but nor has he ever entertained the idea of a woman so willing to argue with him. Tobirama knows little of how the Uchiha manage their brides, only that they are allowed to train and oft bear children far later than the Senju. Would Izuna learn the respect and deference befitting a wife of his clan, he wonders. Is she even capable? By all good sense, Tobirama should say no. On paper, the marriage might bring their clans together, but it's difficult to imagine they would serve as any real example of unity to anyone who might have the misfortune of witnessing them together.

Unfortunately, though he tries, Tobirama is not always a man ruled by good sense. He thinks not just of Izuna's temperament, but of her eyes. Sharp and eager, ready to catch the slightest of slips in step or speech when they face each other, regardless of arena. He thinks of her words, always chosen with care, too well balanced not to be infuriating. He thinks of how quick she moves, enough to keep him diligent, and how she always seems to slip like sand through his fingers just as he thinks he's gotten her where he wants her. He thinks of how the scent of her blood, trapped in the leathers of his armour and the beds of his nails, always keeps him up at night.

Uchiha Izuna is a girl, but she is not only that. She has become the spectre that haunts his dreams and nightmares alike and teaches him the worst parts of himself. To have her in his possession—Tobirama allows himself to want for little, but he wants for her in a way he can scarcely put to words. That alone is reason enough to say no, just as it is the sole reason he cannot.

"I would agree to the match should the Uchiha accept it, which they will not."

"I wouldn't be so sure, brother." Hashirama looks delighted, as if he and Izuna are due at the shrine tomorrow. "But I'm pleased to find you amenable. I always thought she seemed to draw your attention in a particular way."

"Hashirama," Tobirama cautions.

"Can we not speak freely of your fixation, even now?"

"There is no fixation. I only see her for what she is." Hashirama's face twists.

"A sweet sentiment if only I did not know you quite so well as I do." The words sink like stone between them, but Tobirama will not deny what his brother implies, allowing himself to sit in silence until the discomfort wanes. He should know better than to settle into any silence between them quite so easily, by now, and Hashirama shows him his error when he breaks it.

"I offered Madara Itama's hand." In an instant, Tobirama is robbed of any peace to be found on this night. Furious worry threatens to strangle him if he does not speak.

"So this is why our sister cries herself to sleep?" Tobirama bites, far too harshly. "Hashirama, you have taken this dream too far and at our sister's expense."

"Stop, Tobirama, don't you hear yourself? Itama is frightened because she's been sheltered—"

"From the very man you want to hand her over to—"

"Listen to yourself! You're speaking as if she's a hostage."

"This is little better." At that, Hashirama's face hardens, and Tobirama knows his brother's anger is becoming more sincere with every word.

"You are being ridiculous." The words are clipped. "All her life Itama has been raised to bed wed and you saw no issue with it, but now—"

"Now, you intend to wed her to a madman."

"Tobirama," Hashirama snaps. Tension runs through every muscle, wears at every joint and weighs down every step and Tobirama moves forward, keeping his voice low and firm as he speaks.

"I won't hold my tongue while you jeopardize our sister with your stubborn naivety."

"When have you ever held it?" Hashirama demands. "You've filled her head with lies and conspiracies and that is the reason she's afraid. This is on your shoulders, Tobirama." Steel runs through his brother's voice and Tobirama would hate it less if ever he'd heard him speak in such a way to the man he intends to sell their sister to.

"Nothing I've said to her is without precedent—"

"Of course not, you speak only with prejudice and fear, which is so preferable," Hashirama mocks. It takes too much for Tobirama to hold back from his worst instincts, spoken to in such a way.

"If I fear the Uchiha, Hashirama, it's only because there is something to fear."

"Could they not say the same of us?"

"All the more reason not to trust them, what reason would Madara have to treat Itama gently?"

"He doesn't need a reason, Tobirama." Hashirama gestures, doing his best to emphasize his words without raising his voice. "He has no desire to be cruel to her, and despite what you believe, he is not a needlessly cruel man. Do you truly think I would have offered her hand if I believed him capable of such a thing?" Hurt runs deep and sincere through Hashirama's words, but Tobirama will not be swayed.

"It's what you don't believe that I worry about," he reasons, "Itama has never been away from home—"

"Exactly! She would be forced to learn herself in a way she never will if she remains. Don't you want that for her? What use is a world of peace if she learns nothing of her place within it?" Desperation colours Hashirama's words and despite himself, Tobirama sees, to an extent, why he feels as he does. But still—

"What use is peace if she dies anyway?" His brother flinches and his expression shutters.

"That's enough." Hashirama's voice has lost all warmth. "I am tired of this argument. Madara is not the man you make him out to be, and if you truly believe I'm such a naive fool, Tobirama, take my place. Until then, this matter is settled."

Hashirama leaves and Tobirama is left to tear himself between guilt and frustration. His brother is not a man easily pushed into harsh words, nor one to wield his authority over family with ease as many men would, and it feels poorly done to push him to it. Still, he cannot sit idly by and let his brother be so blinded by the Uchiha that he'd put their sister in Madara's hands. Intending to sway her, he makes his way to her room, but Hashirama has predicted his actions and waits for him in the hall.

"Leave her be, Tobirama. You've had years to say your piece and I will not force her. She can make this decision on her own."

A/N:

You might have noticed Itama's section is way longer? That's mainly because her character is, y'know, basically made up, and requires a little elbow grease to establish. It won't always be the case.

Additionally, please enjoy my blatant and intense desire to see Mito all soft and sleepy ✌️✨