Apologies this is so late~! I've been on a writing binge with several stories vying for my attention. I'm not going to say much as I'm currently exhausted and just want this chapter out of my hair. It's been dragging for a few weeks now and I have other endeavours I'd like to pursue.
Hmm, I don't think there's much a warning needed for this chapter as it's pretty mild and fluffy. But I hope you can enjoy the interactions between Madara and Indra (Sasuke). :)
偃月二: The Midnight Stratos
"Remember, little Indra," Aya hummed as she ran a brush through silken black strands before nimbly snipping some of the boy's messier bangs into a more manageable order. "Uchiha shinobi only cut their hair when they lose a battle." Gathering unique chin-length locks on either side of the boy's head, the old eta carefully secured twin, chin-length, parts with a fold of white ribbon in the centre of each.
"The length of one's hair is used to gauge strength and prowess on the battlefield." The more manageable style she told her audience to maintain, was adapted from warriors refining their skill in Uchiha taijutsu and ninjutsu. It was designed to keep the feral spikes from intervening in battle until such a time they were strong enough to leave it wild and untied down their backs like Madara.
Indra didn't particularly mind listening to stories of Clan lore, nodding along cautiously as he swayed tiny legs over the edge of the main-house engawa. The early morning air was surprisingly brisk that day, the long bell sleeves of his Uchiha tunic thankfully warm and long enough conceal curious fingertips from sight.
Coloured a surprising unpigmented white; the traditional uchiwa fan emblazoned on his back was embroidered in delicate arctic-carmine thread. The newest member of the Clan stood out amongst the rich blues and blacks worn by his kin, the traditional high collar of his uniform partially secreting away a sorrowful expression turning down pale lips.
Curious black eyes were obsessively scanning the back garden for his ⍺lpha protector, a moue of discontent quivered his bottom lip as the older man's encompassing scent was nowhere near close enough to detect. The air may have been fragrant with the blossoming cherry trees, flowering wisteria and white spider lilies. Yet, there was no fiery mahogany-ash, blood and petrichor to soothe the discomfort weighing down his limbs.
Indra didn't particularly like others touching him, even if Aya never hurt him. It simply wasn't Madara and if it wasn't Madara, Indra didn't find any joy in it. If what she said was right however, it meant the Patriarch was the strongest shinobi in all the land. The ⍺lpha's hair was certainly the longest and wildest Indra had ever seen, the strands, surprisingly soft and pliable in his hands, often times settled in his grasp the moment he was pulled in a warm embrace or picked up by the older man to soothe his fears.
Even since wakening from that terrible nightmare, Indra felt like he was seeing the world through the reverse-side of a mirror. The sensation of Uchiha and Clan was familiar, the sound of family was familiar. Yet, everything was fundamentally different inside, distorted and broken, almost as if he was experiencing things entirely new to him superimposed on the old. The powerful Patriarch that found him was never far from his side however, always willing to shield him or soothe his pain when terrible visions made him scream himself hoarse at night.
The seven-year-old had gotten used to Madara's presence constantly by his side, refusing to be in anyone else's proximity unless the raven-haired shinobi was there to assure him they wouldn't hurt him. Or a large palm caressed the top of his head to calm his nerves. As such; the twenty-four-year-old become the only stability to appease the little one's confusion blossoming in fits and starts during the day.
Sometimes Indra dreamed of being called by another name, living among other Uchiha with kind and gentle smiles. Other times, he envisioned the lands they were currently standing on desecrated by death and destruction, rivers of blood staining white complex walls and a dark crow freezing his soul with the eyes of their clan—.
"Nnngh!" Whimpering anxiously at his own thoughts, Indra pulled knobby knees close to his chest as he wondered why his valiant Madara decided to leave him today. He was curling away from the old eta ruffling messy stratos-black curls at the back of his head, pressing his forehead against the skin of his thighs to calm the uncomfortable seize of his heart in his chest.
Indra had long ago decided he didn't need much to be happy. He was a good boy; he wasn't selfish or caused trouble or played pranks on the staff like Kagami did. Nor did he cry if he could help it. He wanted to be fearless and strong like his protector. The seven-year-old just didn't want to be alone right now, the Patriarch's name curling mournfully on the tip of his tongue as he flinched away the moment Aya tried to rub comforting circles on his back.
"It'll be alright, Indra." The woman chuckled. "The irritable little Lord is merely attending to Clan business today. He'll be by in a few hours to collect his precious Prince."
Furrowing dark brows in confusion at the woman's words, dull onyx orbs lifted momentarily to scan the towering tree line to disprove her ridiculous theory. Uchiha Madara would never leave him that long, he was just—.
"Don't fret, boy. Uchiha Madara is the Lord of this Clan, there are many things he has to take care of away from prying eyes. Most of those things are not suitable young boys to see. It's just his way of protecting you from danger."
Madara always protected him danger, Indra thought. But what if Madara was the one that needed protecting? Worrying a luscious lip between tugging teeth, the little Ωmega uncurled himself from the anxious ball he rolled himself in before leaping away from the dark haired kunoichi. He was headed toward the garden instead, stopping to trail curious fingertips through dancing silvergrass leaves and laughing softly at their tickling touch against pale skin.
The fabric of his shorts was soft and pliable as he knelt, hidden fingers picking at creeping phlox flowers dotting the ground before moving on to the brilliant lime hydrangea still awaiting their summery swatch of blue paint. He was smart enough to know adults tended to lose interest when children kept themselves busy, sandaled feet leading him to the edge of the large koi pond before he crouched curiously on the traditional carmine bridge.
It didn't take long for his minder to disappear into the house with a warning to stay out of trouble, blank black eyes gazing at the rippling water to follow jumping fish scales glint vividly in the morning sun. Even with his underdeveloped senses and pounding pulsebeat, Indra spooled enough courage around his little heart to slip away from Aya-san and steel his resolve to explore the inner Uchiha district.
The seven-year-old may not have been experienced in tracking other shinobi or sensing chakra quite as well as his protector did, but he was determined to find his favourite ⍺lpha before Aya-san came looking. There had always been a strange, transcendent, connection tying him to Madara the moment they met, a curious young nose able to discern the clarion dark scent rising among a sea of acrid dullness and nauseating earthen Clan blood.
Not only that, but Indra could feel the lap of his Patriarch's fiery chakra whenever he concentrated hard enough. Following that unique, spicy, trail now, he winced internally at the sharp pain the sensation bubbled anxiously through his veins. That blistering indigo-darkness was swirling up into the sky like a beacon, calling the child forth to soothe his fears in its encompassing embrace.
Even though an unusually high number of unknown scents flooded what was known as clan-only territory, Indra continued to place one sandaled foot in front of the other. In his mind, it wouldn't do to leave Madara all by himself. He would protect the older shinobi with everything he had, even if a slow-peaking terror pricked the back of his neck the moment a stoic guardsman spotted his masked approach.
"Wait a moment, kid! You're not supposed—!" Startled by the unknown hand reaching to catch his shoulder, Indra instinctively darted ahead with a starlight agility rarely seen outside the main family line. He didn't want to get caught just yet; it had barely been an hour since he escaped Aya-san's strict gaze.
If she found him, she would be so angry!
He shot straight into the centre of a considerable ball of tension, Clan houses and shops carefully sealed and boarded with the woman and children safely inside as only the elite warriors seemed to spill into the towering meeting place at the centre of the family enclave.
"M-Madara?" He called softly, frowning in frustration when his voice was nothing more than a pin drop in the centre of screaming dissonance. There were so many shinobi spread on the grounds before him, a strange division marking the dark blues and blacks of his Clan on the right and another, in white, to the left.
"On this day, let it be witnessed that the Uchiha stand to extend our prestige and honour into the roots of Konohagakura no Sato, to—." Tuning out the call of the elder's voice, Indra frowned at the strange symbol engraved on the fluttering white jirushi2 displayed next to their black war banner. He fancied the uchiwa fan looked prouder and more elegant than its reluctant, black-forked, counterpart—.
"Ah! M-Madara! Madara!" All thought flew from Indra's head as he spotted his regal ⍺lpha in the centre of spiralling pandemonium. The little Uchiha didn't think to stop, ducking away from Kagami's wide eyed gaze the moment the teen noticed his presence at the back of the crowd. Even as his short stature weaved an excitable path through the black part of the crowd, he refused to stop.
It was difficult not to get overwhelmed in the sea of agitated ⍺lpha/ eta pheromones saturating the air; Indra refusing to look back until small fingers wound in Madara's white obi. He was happily pressing his forehead against the older man's waist, shivering slightly at the sharp spike of anxiety assailing his companion's usually soothing scent.
Surprised onyx orbs were glancing over the Patriarch's shoulder to collide with his own, a brief flash of fear creasing the premature lines of age drawn beneath the Prime ⍺lpha's gaze before a gloved hand subtly pushed the boy more fully behind his back. There was a terrifying frown creasing the older man's brows, the Uchiha Patriarch stilling in the process of a diplomatic handshake as he shivered at the sweet face peering up at him from his hip.
"Indra, why—."
"M-Madara-ji3?" The boy inquired softly, unaware of his surroundings beyond the presence of his protector as the older Uchiha subtly shifted his posture to stand more possessively in front of the tiny Ωmega. He didn't want the Senju to realize who or what he was, the oily scent gland on his wrist coming up to drench the little boy's still developing secretor at the base of his neck in his own ⍺lpha scent.
"Why did you leave?" Unable to contain the instinctive flare of primal protectiveness flooding the depths of his veins at the appearance of his greatest treasure in the centre of what would have been hostile territory, Madara ground sharpening fangs on his tongue until the taste of nickel and iron assaulted his senses.
He didn't know how to answer the seven-year-old's unspoken question, nor did he have much patience to explain the intricate Clan politics currently in play in the background of this entire event.
Fuck! The ink on the treaty was barely dry and he already felt himself regretting his choice, narrowing a deadly glare at Hashirama the moment the man's curious brown eyes flitted over the boy fearfully but bravely peeking out from behind the Uchiha Patriarch's thigh.
"Is that…" He trailed off, a sting of guilt bowing the man's head in brief submission when he traced a startling resemblance to Madara's dead brother. The Patriarch's gloved hand instantly dropped his companion's in reply, a subvocal growl resounding near deafeningly in the back of his throat as a sharp, astringent, aggressiveness flooded the dark-haired Uchiha's previous calm civility.
"Does it matter, Senju? He's dead." At their backs, the Uchiha stiffened in response to their Prime's roiling upset, forcing Hashirama to play peacemaker by lowering his gaze to the ground and raising his hands in a placating gesture.
He could only watch with growing dread as a possessive palm came to rest against the back of the little child's neck to appease the sudden scorched-almond curl of distress radiating from the boy's tiny body.
With nothing else to impart, the Uchiha Patriarch waved his hand in dismissive anger.
"Your treaty has been signed. You may join us for the outdoor tea ceremony hosted by the elders later this evening or leave. Your choice." With that, Madara surprised the circle of warriors surrounding him by gathering the beautiful child in his arms and vanishing in a flare of indigo-chakra and swirling leaves.
The shunshin he executed, so quick, it appeared no one was there a mere millisecond before. Barely a trace of his powerful mahogany-ash and petrichor scent was left before it too vanished with the crowd's murmured dread.
. . .
"Are you alright, Indra?" Contrite onyx eyes collided with the Patriarch's distressed Sharingan-red, small palms coming up to cup the older man's cheeks as a furrow creased dark brows. They had stopped in a flowering meadow not far from the Naka riverbank, a soft exhalation of wintersweet and wisteria scent fanning across the twenty-four-year-old's senses before a small forehead came to rest endearingly against the side of his neck.
"Hn." The young Uchiha responded softly, the previously aching verdant-abandonment in his Ωmega fragrance settling down to a quieter minty-contentment as the ⍺lpha's encompassing presence finally surrounded him the way he wanted since he woke that morning.
Madara guided them to sit on a grassy outcrop in the middle of the silent Clan enclave, the towering beryl-grass stems swaying softly in the breeze as a surprised laugh tumbled from pale lips the instant his charge breathed a typical Uchiha response. It was something Aya told him the boy learned from him, an endearing grumpiness and noncommittal answer that made it exceedingly difficult to communicate.
Indra didn't seem to be much of a talker, however. Whether it was in response to the trauma he experienced, an inherent shyness suffusing young limbs or because he was a deeply insecure child, the Patriarch couldn't be sure. All he knew was that it didn't play much into the inherent innocence clinging to the little one's frame or the joy he drew from every, tiny, sound spilling from those petal soft peony-lips.
"Mind telling me why you left Aya-san when I specifically told her to look after you?" The Uchiha enquired, watching curiously as a head of raven-blue hair pulled away from his chest to meet a slowly cycling Sharingan.
A single raised brow had the Ωmega frowning with a vicious scowl.
"If you left to protect me, I left to p-protect y-you." Indra decided, too ashamed to say the real reason he got himself in trouble. He was desperately afraid without Madara-ji by his side; anxious, terrified, convinced he'd find his nightmares following him into the real world. That for every natural blink of his eye, he'd be back inside that cruor carmine world with his family massacred at his feet—.
Madara needed only one look at his charge for his anger to evaporate. The terrifying fear flickering, clear as day, in the little one's falsely brave eyes or the guilty flush of his cheeks; creased the corner of the elder's brow. Relaxing previously intimidating features into a more open expression, the Uchiha Patriarch nonchalantly leaned his elbows back on the grass as he propped up an absent knee.
A deep breath was tumbling from pale lips instead, the dark blue of his Clan uniform intimating a vivid contrast to the white of the little Ωmega's. Those innocent onyx orbs, even whilst knowing the bloody agony of their family dōjutsu, refused to leave Madara's intimidating presence. The flimmering spark of affection he found reflected so sincerely in their depths was decidedly warm, bringing a contented calm to stoic features.
"I see," Madara hummed, gloved fingertips tilting the boy's submissively bowed head as a small body laid anxiously against his side. The brief intimacy of the moment lasting only as long the ⍺lpha's exasperated sigh, a scowl of discontent carving itself more firmly onto darkly apathetic features.
"I thank you for thinking of me, little one. But next time, don't defy me. It's Aya and Kagami's duty to protect you when I'm not there." Even though the seven-year-old nodded his reluctant understanding at the order, Madara wasn't naïve enough to believe his little Uchiha would actually obey him.
No, the boy held far too much honour and pride to bend to the rules. Indra would, after all, defy any rule to stay by Madara's side a little longer just as much as the elder would do the same. Even if it meant getting scolded or facing the odds against impossible battlefields—.
"Hn." The older male approved, knowing instinctively what was going through the little Ωmega's mind merely by observing the furrow of his brow.
"Silly child." Catching hold of a delicate coil of white ribbon in the boy's lengthy left bang, gloved fingertips stroked the tie as he used his free hand to do the same to the bang on the right. It had been a long time since he last saw this hairstyle in his Clan, he mused. A soft smile kissing the stoic curve of his lips as Indra practically clambered over his lap to bring their foreheads together in an affectionate caress.
If nothing else, the boy was an affectionate child. Strange though, that he seemed to shy away from every other touch except the Patriarch's. It should have brought forth disturbing implications, yet the ⍺lpha was nothing if not inordinately pleased by the little one's sole reliance on him. It soothed the darker more primal howl of his soul that still mourned the loss of his little brother…that needed to be able to protect his Clan and preserve something more beautiful than war—.
"You changed your hair." Madara noted, swiftly pulling his mind away from the spiralling downturn his thoughts had taken as he curled his arms around a small frame to bring them closer. A curious nose had lifted to find the mating gland on the side of the older man's neck, sending a wrong-not-yet tingle down the demon's spine as Indra unknowingly perfumed the Patriarch's contended summer-wind aroma with an immature milky Ωmega claim.
Many a civilian would read the act as innocent affection between family members or prospective mates. Yet, the mere thought of it set something forbidden afire in Madara's blood. He was not used to such regard from others, especially since he was born into the stricter of the main Uchiha lines and the heir of the Clan.
It brought his mind spiralling back to reality, the tenseness winding his frame relaxing a few seconds later as curious fingertips wound themselves in the thigh-length spikes of his hair. It reminded the twenty-four-year-old just how young and insecure Indra was, desperately clinging to his Patriarch's frame and every, small, acknowledgement the Uchiha deigned him worthy of.
"You like my hair, don't you?" The elder mused, Uchiha black eyes closing with a tiny smile as the raven-haired Ωmega nodded shyly against the side of his neck. "Why?" He poked Indra's side to draw a squeal of surprise from soft lips, a brush of heated air kissing Madara's skin before a quiet giggle lit up the air around them.
Laying them on the ground, side-by-side, with their foreheads pressed together in an intimate caress; the former fears and concerns Madara held in meeting the Senju abruptly drained from his limbs. He was openly basking in the contented little purr drifting from the back of Indra's throat, never before having had the pleasure of hearing an Ωmega's true contentedness. It satisfied something terrifyingly dark and primal in the depths of the older Uchiha's lungs, prematurely age-lined eyes drooping in exhaustion before he automatically titled his head into curious fingers carding through midnight black coils.
"It marks you as strongest." Indra wisely imparted. "Aya said Uchiha warriors never cut their hair, only when they lose a battle. I-I like yours, it's long and smells nice…longer than any I've ever seen—." Suddenly shy about the implication of his confession, Indra burrowed himself against an ankle-length tunic as he gathered as much as the lush strands to hide himself behind.
His protector merely chuckled in response, his own fingers carding through the curls at the back of Indra's head before tugging lightly on the long, bound, bangs hanging like chin-length curtains against the side of his face.
"Hn." The Patriarch smiled. "I see you too have decided to become a shinobi." Madara inquired with a smirk, watching with hidden delight when a flutter of shy lashes coloured a faint dusting of pink across pale cheeks. Indra was nodding in affirmative, feeling too tired to move as they observed downy-white clouds drifting by.
"Good. I look forward to teaching you. You never know, maybe your hair will outgrow mine." The twenty-four-year-old mused, thinking back to the overwhelming power he encountered on the night of the boy's arrival. He was still trying to figure out where the Uchiha treasure had come from, a faint inkling in the back of his mind far too aware that the genjutsu the boy was trapped in felt far too real to be considered anything but based in reality.
Either way, he was not in the mood to ponder the implications behind such a bloody scene. Well, at least not right now. Madara was exhausted enough dealing with Hashirama and keeping the man's prejudiced brother off Uchiha lands. They may have made peace but Madara was not going to allow that demon eta an opportunity to get close to his little Indra.
No, not until Madara was sure the seven-year-old was strong and ruthless enough to kill any who posed a threat when he was not there to protect him. Indra wouldn't be raised as a weak Ωmega meant to become the Clan's possession. He'd be raised as a warrior far more beautiful and deadly and constantly by Madara's side than anyone had ever seen.
They were remaking the future of shinobi, after all. There was no need to cling to outdated customs and suppressions simply because of preconceived ideals. The Uchiha Patriarch had always been a forward thinker, something he was not inclined to lose now.
Especially not when the first Ωmega to be born into their Clan in millennia graced their ranks with the promise of a better future.
. . .
He woke, beholden to the vast six-pointed, ebon-sanguine moon carved inside the depths mind. Sasuke sobbed softly, cringing internally as he scented the abrupt and violent rage igniting Madara-ji's scorching indigo chakra. Dazed red eyes were tracing a familiar face sitting quietly beside his bed, the curly haired boy reaching out momentarily to grasp his hand in comfort as Shisui hummed a quiet, soothing, appeasement.
"It'll be alright, Indra. Madara-sama is just a bit upset." Frowning softly in confusion at the impossibility of those words, Sasuke tilted his head dazedly to the side as he latched himself onto the older teen. He thought his cousin was dead, drowned not too long ago in the Naka River. He could even remember watching his quietly content world unravelling itself over the edge of Nii-san's shoulder the moment Tekka and Inabi accused—.
A strange sense of duality followed Sasuke into hazed wakefulness, a quiet whimper of distress souring the previously calm of his scent as his vision blanked. A violently chocked sob quickly pushed aside the flickering image of Tou-sama and Kaa-chan reaching to him in death, an achingly familiar figure stepping forward to—.
"S-Shisui-nii!" Sasuke cried, jagged nails digging into kunai calloused palms as the older boy sighed and pulled his cowering form from beneath mahogany-ash scented sheets. Sasuke didn't want to leave his safe space right now, the nest Madara helped him build was a comforting reminder that at least one person would always be with him.
But he also didn't want to be alone right now.
Shisui remained warm against his side, a frustrated fist coming up to rub shamefully at the flood of tears spilling down childlike cheeks. Tou-sama always said he was weak, not good enough. Not like—. Angry at the feeblemindedness he displayed, Sasuke tried not to flinch at the raised voices travelling down the length of the mainhouse hallway several moments later.
His Madara sounded absolutely furious, the man's low rumbling baritone bearing an icy-cold hatred so violent the seven-year-old felt himself freezing momentarily in fear. Though, instinctively, he knew the older man would never hurt him intentionally. The closer they drew to the isolated war room however, the more impatient Shisui became.
A clear huff of irritation parted pale lips as the curly-haired boy dragged an irritable palm through his locks. He didn't even bother announcing their arrival, simply throwing open the fusuma doors with a violent clack before inserting himself fearlessly in the centre of pandemonium.
The sealed room flickered in the light of several oil candles, a group of Uchiha elders staring at them incredulously from behind a low oak table before attempting to regain the wavering attention of their Clan Lord before he truly lost his temper.
"Madara! How dare you allow—." Holding up hand in command for silence, the Uchiha Patriarch shifted to the side concernedly as he scented the salty-warmth of tears and apprehension spiralling from the skin of his little Indra. He was standing defiantly across the Council of Elders, arms crossed irritably over his chest as the previous anger he displayed simmered to a low, deadly, rumble in his chest.
Holding out a hand for Indra to come to his side, the Patriarch found himself momentarily panicked when the child took several long moments before finally lifting his head away from Kagami's hip. The terrified sorrow reflected in his eyes drawing a surprised gasp from the Madara's lips.
"Go on." Shisui murmured in Sasuke's ear, a gentle smile and calloused palm propelling him towards the most angered ⍺lpha in the room. Madara was emitting a bitter-acridness, his rage attuned and directed implicitly at the group of elders occupying the other side of the room. In the centre of the table that separated them was a scroll the ⍺lpha refused to look at, the unparalleled fury in his eyes almost enough to melt the thing through the table.
"Indra had a nightmare." Sasuke refused to feel intimidated by the kin of his Clan. They smelled weak and submissive right now, too watery and weary to stand up to the might of Lord Madara's spiralling mahogany-ash scent. Resting an aching forehead against his protector's side, the seven-year-old said nothing as he was pulled into strong arms and settled on the man's hip.
His fingers instantly twined in thigh-length black locks, a sigh spilling from his lips before a trickle of happiness slowly drained the former sorrow and tension from his limbs. Madara was asking him softly if he was alright, a dazed but aching shake of his head superimposing a new duality over his mind as Indra whined negatively.
He wasn't alright, he didn't like this room…the atmosphere. Confused and split in the middle with two sets of memories, Indra settled only when a calming kiss tickled the corner of his brow.
Being by the Madara's side swiftly settled the confusion he found upon waking that night. Closing the weak flicker of his Sharingan orbs, Indra melted in Madara's arms when a ungloved palm came to cup the back of his neck. A low shushing sound easing the upset winding and twisting down the bow of his spine. It was—.
"You cannot be serious, Lord Madara. This child—."
"Silence." The Uchiha Patriarch rumbled; gruff voice layered with a subvocal growl of warning as he turned his back on the elders dismissively. "I've already made up my mind. I also warned you before."
"Tajima may have allowed you leeway in the running this Clan but I am not him. If you believe you are here to make decisions for me, you are very, very, wrong." A deadly silence seemed to descend upon the four corners of the room, Kagami holding the door open for his older cousin as Madara glared over his shoulder for one last parting shot.
"The next time one of you attempt to force me into a marriage behind my back, you'll find yourself scattered among the ashes of the dead."
"You cannot continue without an Heir, you stupid boy!" Haru hissed in return, wrinkled features scowling at the impudence of the boy bold enough to interrupt their meeting. "You—."
"I already have an Heir." Madara returned calmly, motioning to the large generational scroll, tied in gold tassel, propped against the far wall. He had made that notation the first night he discovered his treasure, it was not a privilege he would ever visit upon anyone else.
"Uchiha Indra." The way his palm lingered on the back of his companion's neck spoke volumes, a quiet kiss caressing the top of the boy's head before he left. Disappearing deeper into the Uchiha stronghold, Madara quietly interrogated Kagami about the little Ωmega's state of being and what lead to it. A sleepy forehead was lolling lazily against his shoulder, contented puffs of air caressing the side of his neck before the little one curled as close as the twenty-four-year-old would allow.
Madara had had enough of dealing with fucking underhanded politics today, the meeting with the Senju earlier that day having been more than enough to shatter what little control he had on his legendary temper. Never mind coming home from an excruciating outdoor tea ceremony to find the Clan Elders had been conspiring to get him married behind his back.
Fuck! They didn't even seem to care that Izuna wasn't even dead for a traditional mourning period yet. They merely wanted to gain foothold in politics again now that the Uchiha were establishing themselves as founders of an important alliance—.
"Madara-ji? Bed?" Indra murmured quietly, drawing a chuckle from the ⍺lpha's lips as he nodded. Definitely. He had more than enough of one day. Tomorrow would open a new hell too, especially since he noted Kagami relaying the news of a Hyuuga contingent circling the border between Uchiha and Senju land.
"Right. Bed, little one." He sighed, scrubbing a palm across exhausted features as he tumbled the seven-year-old back onto the rumpled sheets and pillows of his nest. The Patriarch didn't even flinch when tiny hands pulled him down too, not caring for the expensive dark blue yukata still dressing the elder's frame or Kagami chuckling in amusement behind their backs.
Madara, too tired to protest, allowed onyx eyes to flutter behind pale lids before he curled a possessive arm around the squirming Ωmega to calm him into a more restive state. As things stood, he'd merely rest his eyes for a few hours…a few moments of reprieve before the cycle of madness started in the morning again.
1 Naka-no-Kawa (南賀ノ川)– The Naka river at the edge of Uchiha territory.
2 Jirushi (印) – War Insignia Banner
3 Oji (叔父) – Uncle, term of endearment from Sasuke when he thinks he's in trouble.
Thanks for reading loves!~ I really appreciate it! If I can beg for a tiny review or query I'd be eternally grateful to you! Also, just a note, in the last part of the chapter, Indra referred to himself as Sasuke. It's not a mistake in my writing, it's done deliberately.
The reasoning behind that will eventually be explained but for now, thank you so much stopping by! I'll see you guys soon for another story or chapter.