"Are you not going to watch the duel?" Mego asked, while Madara tried his best to pretend he was invested in the scroll he was reading. A frown deepened its way between his brows. He'd much rather fight the man himself. Standing around, watching, while his father fought because of his mistake he deemed pathetic, and had no intention of doing it.
Closing his eyes for a moment, he reminded himself that he needs to tell Mego what the duel was about in the first place, but he kept postponing it. Shamefully, he was trying to think of a way to hide it from her completely. She respected him so much, he didn't want to compromise that. Especially not now.
"Do you know—"
"I know. Father in law told me." He looked at her, looking to find any trace of anger or judgment, but her face was blank. A lonely widow like herself had more reason than anyone to judge him, yet she didn't. Or she simply held back from showing it.
"I'm sorry you had to hear it from him... or at all." He lowered his gaze, waiting for a response. Mego said nothing, but from her shadow on the floorboards he saw she was nodding. She must think I'm a debauchee now. Unexpectedly, he started to wonder if she worried he would be like that once they're married? But, then again, they weren't planning on being romantically involved, so would she even care?
"I'll go watch awhile. Toya is waiting for me." Finally, she mumbled out, and her feet turned around, her slim shadow dancing on the boards as she made way for the door. Fine. The wise thing to do would be to remain patient and act as if nothing ever happened. Mego seemed to be doing just that. In time, he would also forgive himself and stop pondering on it so much, and they might return to being a normal damn household once more.
Before he could decide against it, however, he was already standing, easily catching up to her with a few long steps, and his hand gently found its way to her arm. Gentle, but decided. He remained stupidly mute for a couple of long moments, looking back at her blankly, before he managed to gather his thoughts.
"I'm sorry you had to learn of this side of me…" He sighed. "I know how well you thought of—"
"I always thought you were great, brother in—" She paused briefly, realizing what she had called him again. Clearing her throat, she continued, "Great. Not perfect." Her lips formed a tiny, encouraging smile – or a pitying one, depending on your perception. "People have done worse things for love."
"Ha." He had to let out a dismissive sound, almost tempted to laugh at her sweet ideas. "Or lust."
"That too." She blinked, swallowing her saliva. Her eyes suddenly drifted away from his.
"You seem to know what you're talking about."
The bright laughter she responded with came as a surprise. "Have you forgotten I'm a romance specialist?"
A small snicker escaped him as well, at the memory of those inappropriate novels she had kept secret. The memory that seemed like it happened a decade ago.
"Right. Forgive me."
As he turned to go back to his seat, he heard her clear her throat once more.
"Are you sure you don't want to watch?"
He inhaled heavily. Yes. He was very sure he didn't want to watch. Still…
"Do you think I should?"
She shrugged shoulders.
"It is about you…"
Making an irritated sound, he went through the door first, letting her follow along, making his way to their training area. Of course he knew he should watch, that much was obvious. He puts his father into such a shitty position and then doesn't even show him respect by witnessing the whole thing.
Still, even that seemed better than having to endure the sight of someone taking his place in a duel over such a shameful thing. He was probably the only shinobi ever to be reprimanded for his strength, of all things, in the first place, anyway.
…..
If anyone expected the two men to hold back, they would be heavily wrong. Up until the actual duel started, they were talking, and right before, shook hands, patting one another on the shoulder. Madara didn't doubt his father's strength in the slightest. Yushiro was an admirable warrior, but Tajima was their leader for a reason, he thought.
He settled for standing behind Mego and her handmaiden, leaning on the wall as if wanting to merge with it and disappear. The fight went on, and on. For a while, it consisted only of the two men blocking each other's attacks and neither of them seemed to be able to get the upper hand. Once they seemed to have warmed up properly, they started moving so fast that he activated his Sharingan to be able to comfortably follow, taking notice of Mego's struggle to keep up with them.
To an untrained eye it probably looked as if they barely made contact before scattering to different sides of the fighting space, the only indicator of their clash being the tinging of swords. Balance was finally broken when Tajima landed badly while blocking a particularly fierce attack, and was sent staggering backwards.
Gasping, Mego turned to look at him, her face panicked and surprised. Madara gave her a reassuring nod.
"He'll be fine." He said, trying to maintain his own nonchalant expression. Yes, Tajima was their leader, but Yushiro was their most sought out shinobi for a reason, too. And to the point where he had to request to be sent on fewer missions, despite being specifically asked for. Sudden wave of worry came over Madara, as he realized he really didn't know much about Yushiro's current abilities. He last sparred with the man when he was still a teenager. And in all those years, he had evidently gotten even better.
Once more, Tajima struggled to evade a very powerful attack, trying to make enough space between them to be able to properly strike back. Looking up at the sky, Madara tried determining how long had they already been fighting for. From the position of the sun, no less than twenty minutes, he concluded.
Finally, he sighed in relief as Tajima got a chance to advance, and had managed to make a bad gash on Yushiro's forearm. He heard the man curse under his breath, retreating to gain himself some time. Dark blood trickled from the cut, staining the sleeve, as Madara's Sharingan closely watched it through the hole in the fabric. Good. He subtly nodded to himself. It was deep. It would at the very least force Yushiro to go slow and easy on that arm. It wasn't his dominant side, but that didn't matter.
"Huh." The sound escaped him, causing Mego and Toya to look back at him briefly. Tajima made another successful strike when he managed to reach Yushiro's unprotected torso with the very tip of his blade, ripping his shirt again, and leaving a long, curved red line across the man's chest.
And he actually meant to fight Madara with this? He would already have died at least five times. As shitty as it was, he couldn't help the condescending pride that grew inside him. Gods, how he wished he was the one fighting.
The excitement faded quickly when he caught Tajima's gaze. As expected, his father wasn't looking victorious, nor excited. Tired, maybe. Tired, and sad. Madara had to look away.
He had to snap out of his self-loathing, when Mego grabbed his wrist, covering her mouth with her other hand. He searched for Tajima frantically, ready to think the very worst, and found him standing on his side of the marked fighting ground. He was standing, that was good. His Sharingan caught the cut across the left side of Tajima's face, right above his lip and all the way to his ear. It bled badly, filling him with concern. Just a bit deeper and it would have opened his face.
He sighed, wrapping his arm around Mego's shoulder to calm himself down. He needed the consolation, and had none to spare, if he would be honest. The muscles on his face tensed as he continued to closely watch the fight, wondering if it would ever stop? He had to internally repeat to himself that everything would be just fine; Tajima would win and—And Hisa would be doomed to live as a widow with her children, most likely despised by the clan for her contribution to Yushiro's death. Leaning back into the wall again, he suppressed the lump in his throat.
What had he gotten them all into? Why does he always manage to ruin everyone who gets near him? Instinctively, he stepped away from Mego, frowning when her hand found his anyway, and squeezed it with surprising strength, as she continued to anxiously watch the duel.
His father was slowly growing tired, his skin flushed and glistened with sweat, and as displeased as it made him, Madara had to note that Yushiro endured their fight much better. It might have to do with him being a few years Tajima's junior. Still, Madara didn't expect him to do that well, especially not against Tajima, of all people.
He sighed in relief when his father managed to evade then block another powerful attack and send Yushiro a few steps backwards. The drop in his speed was subtle, but Sharingan picked it up. As long as he would keep looking at them, he would be able to pretty much predict all of their movements, and yet, he wasn't allowed to warn anyone or aid either side in any way. And so, even in the situation where he could do some good, he had to helplessly stay put.
"Can father in law really prevail?" Mego whispered her question, now that it was getting even clearer that his father was having a harder and harder time keeping up. Who knew? A single moment of carelessness could get either of them killed, so he really didn't know the answer. Nevertheless, he nodded, gently squeezing her shoulder to reassure her, and looked over to face her.
"Yeah—Uh—"
A slicing sound got him to snap his head around to look at the two men again, breathlessly searching for his father. He gulped, letting his arm fall limply to his side when Mego quickly rushed over to them, reaching in time to help catch Tajima just as he was falling. Yushiro held him from the other side, fingers still grasping the hilt of his sword that was buried in Tajima's gut.
Focusing on him, Madara noted that he was frowning, his glassy eyes barely holding back tears. He wasn't victorious, either. If he was, maybe Madara would have gone to attack him despite the rules, and him obviously winning a proper duel, but seeing him like this… He rather felt as if he owed the man an apology.
They were likely waiting for him to make a move and go over to help, so while he stood frozen, the handmaiden jogged over, taking over so that Yushiro could let go. His fingers slowly unclasped from his sword and he backed away a few steps, now able to face his rival.
Madara's Sharingan traced a slow tear that rolled down the side of Yushiro's face as Tajima offered him a weak smile. He almost jolted in spot when the man's eyes moved to him, as if he wished to say it was all his fault. He didn't linger for long. A few seconds later he was already turning away, leaving through their gate.
"M-Madara?" Only upon hearing Mego unsurely call his name did he snap out of his thoughts. Finally noticing how the two women struggled to hold Tajima upright, he rushed over to them and took over from Toya's side, gently lying him down.
"Toya, go get Shime—" Mego began, when Tajima raised one weak arm to say there was no need. As if on cue, she let out a sob and covered her mouth, then distanced herself from them, in an attempt to hide her tears.
Madara didn't argue. The wound was clearly beyond healing. All he could do at this point was try to make Tajima as comfortable as you could a dying person. He got down on his knees, gently helping his father's head onto his lap. Only then he noticed his hands shaking, and a completely unexpected cry escaped his throat as he rushed to wipe breaching stream of tears from his face so they wouldn't drip down on Tajima.
He heard the man let out something closest to a chuckle that the cut across his cheek and the sword piercing him allowed. A slow arm reached up and Madara felt his father's hand in his hair, making him bend down a bit closer.
"Father…" His tightened throat barely let him speak, as he gazed down into Tajima's tired, glassy eyes.
"Be good, Madara…" He spoke weakly, his grip on Madara's hair, albeit gentle, tightened. "Stay with Mego and listen to her—" He had to pause as a cough broke his sentence, and he let go of Madara, who kept quietly nodding, sniffing and still failing to keep his tears from falling.
They looked at each other for a brief few seconds, before Tajima closed his eyes. "Take it out."
Carefully, Madara got out from under him, standing up and trying to find the right position from which pulling out the blade would be least painful.
"Go inside." Looking over his shoulder, he motioned for Mego and her handmaiden not to look. They nodded, heeding his words, but all the while looking back as they returned into the house.
Facing his father again, Madara continued to hopelessly try blinking away the tears, as he spotted the man smiling. He kneeled back down, getting in the position from which he could cleanly pull out the sword, clasping his fingers around the hilt.
"You were always my favorite child, you know that?" Tajima whispered.
Madara bit his lip, hardening his grip on the weapon in hopes of hiding the way his hands shook.
"I thought that was Izuna." He faked a small grin.
"He was your mother's." Tajima sighed. "I don't know if it's because you're firstborn—or because you gave me most trouble." Quiet, grunting laughter erupted from him, quickly turning into a wet cough as his happy expression turned painful. "Take it out."
Shutting his eyes, Madara felt himself tense before performing a single swift motion that pulled the weapon out of Tajima's body, it producing the same ugly sound it made when it penetrated his flesh. Laying the bloody blade down, he observed as final traces of life disappeared from Tajima's expression, not even bothering to stop his persistent tears anymore. Allowing himself one deep sigh, he slowly stood up.
And so, he had to arrange yet another funeral.
