The name Madara Uchiha did more to bring awe, fear, and trepidation to the world then most armies combined. A myth, no, a legend in the making, the patriarch of the Uchiha Clan and the wielder of the Sharingan. And in some circles, a man who killed his brother to obtain the power of a demon.

Not often, was the man remembered for his mortality. So it can be forgotten that he was a man, and there were certain things that annoyed even him.

There were three things, as a matter of fact, that he loathed.

The first would be meandering, long trips. The type where nothing was accomplished, no intelligent mind in sight, and not a single battle worth his sweat.

If Hashirama Senju, and several Uchiha Elders, hadn't specifically begged him to peacefully impress the Fire Daimyo (the potential 'benefactor' of the new leaf village) and make several unnecessary promises, bad things would have occurred. Peaceful being the keyword there.

Madara didn't have the patience for fools. He would have gladly 'convinced' that rich old buzzard off a cliff, with the honor of his sword through his belly, had he not been so specifically entreated. The Lord was disrespectful, speaking in flowery language as most wealthy, 'privileged' men who used to control the land did, always trying to outwit and outmaneuver the (more than generous) proposed treaties offered.

Men like him were meant torn down by shinobi like Madara, the old lords who thought shinobi still bowed to them. Yet Hashirama was somehow convinced that peace was the answer.

And here he was.

The second thing that was unforgivable happened to be that very man who sent him off to this kami-forsaken mission.

It would be a lie to say Madara Uchiha didn't respect Hashirama Senju, but it was hard-won respect. It was thanks to the fact he could hardly stand Tobirama Senju that he didn't object. It would be held over his head forever if that brat thought he was nervous to leave the Uchiha Clan.

He fully trusted his clan. Or the three men he left in charge. There were many who wouldn't dare reject any of the Senju ideas. It was as if they couldn't think for themselves, or the clan.

Of course, when Izuna had been around, they didn't have too.

Spikes of pain filled him, as did the desire for him to just start a fight. The memory of his brother was a constant reminder in the back of his head. He hated when the voiced whispered failure, whispered his eventual doom, the destruction of the Uchiha. His anger was constantly below the surface, ready to bubble up at the slightest provocation.

A reckless soldier of the Daimyo's had gotten a bit cocky during the visit. SaburoUchiha assured him that he wouldn't be found.

The last thing that bothered him was when knowing full well he had just returned and was resting, a clan member dared to wake him.

Madara couldn't help go over these things as he slowly choked the life out of the man who infringed on number three.

If it hadn't specifically been Hayo Uchiha, who he vexingly remembered was the younger brother of Setsuna, and probably had permission to disturb him. Madara almost hoped it was an urgent situation, because who knows what kind of carnage could come upon the Uchiha compound that day from the Clan Leader?

Hayo did gasp in relief as Madara let go, his body going to the wood floor.

"This had better be an emergency." He drawled, voice coldly directed at the young man struggling for breath.

Madara sat on the wall at the back of his small bed, angrily looking down at his subordinate. With dismay, Hayo noticed that Madara's eyes were blood red, and not just from lack of sleep. Hayo Uchiha, like every Uchiha, was proud of his mastery over their Kekkei Genkai. But the Clan leader was on a whole different level.

Eternal red eyes, eyes removed from kin.

It made him squirm those cursed eyes stared him down. He looked away, scratching his dark head nervously. He decided on a bow.

"Forgive me, Lord Uchiha." He said as monotone as he could.

"Did I not tell you that you should report to Sestuna if you needed anything less than an emergency?"

"Yes, but Ashura said I sho-" Madara raised a hand, cutting him off. Typical. He arched a mocking eyebrow.

"Is Ashura Uchiha the head of this clan?"

"Of course not, Lord Madara." He said head down. But Hayo didn't leave. Brave, foolish boy.

"Get on with it!" Madara growled. He hardly moved as he kept his arms crossed, restraining himself from murder.

"Lord Madara, the Lord Hashirama and Tobirama Senju wish to speak with you as soon as morning comes. They wish to know-" Hayo looked up, cutting off cold from his report.

They called it the Mangekyo Sharingan, and Hayo had never had the opportunity to see it up close, the red eyes. His mouth went dry as he got caught into the pattern. The promise of menace behind that look that was exclusively Madara Uchiha's.

"Get out," Madara said, breaking the spell, "Or I will help you out."

In two seconds Hayo stumbled as fast as he could, pushing open the sliding door and going through, footsteps pattering down the wooden corridor. Madara jumped out of his bed and stalked towards the dresser.

He pushed it the rest of the way closed, realizing that Hayo had managed to slightly rip the screen in his rush to leave.

He inspected the damage on the silk fabric, the Uchiha embroidery stretched, knowing it was ruined.

Stupid child.

Anger surged through him, as it did a good deal of the time now. The little things his own clan did irritate his mind like sandpaper on the skin.

He gave the fabric a cynical look.

What to do? Assign Hayo a triple shift on the wall, or perhaps force him to scoop dung in the fields? None of the ideas abated his anger.

A good sign he was perhaps being irrational.

He usually could work his rage off with a good battle, and those stupid practice training sessions with the Senju managed to take off the edge. But he hadn't had the time in three months to cure the edge of insatiable bloodlust that often pressed at him.

And there was always his voice, in the back of his head.

Failure.

He was born to fight, not asked to go on ridiculous trips to talk to old men who couldn't even lift a sword while his clan pointlessly argued about which useless member would become his second-in-command.

He gritted his teeth, and his palm clenched the doorframe.

The wood snapped cleanly, and with a resounding crash, the entire timber frame fell to the ground. The dark blue fabric, emblazoned with the Uchiha crest, ripped unceremoniously in half amidst the debris. For a while, he gazed at the destruction he had caused, knowing the clan would be talking about this behind his back.

Is he okay? They whisper. Perhaps the Clan Leader is unwell?

Without Izuna, they thought they could whisper, talking behind his back and not be heard. It was a hard position. To directly confront those who would plot against him would compromise his position, his stability. Make it worse.

So he let them murmur about how he was unstable, wasn't thinking clearly. That grief had clouded his mind. That voice, Izuna's voice, didn't disagree. His mind endlessly turned over his pain, never showing it, but all the weaker for it.

Madara took a deep breath, the fabric of his shirt pulling tight across his broad chest. Old sweat mingled with new, and he whirled around angrily.

Loudly destroying his home may not have been the best idea, but no one would dare come knocking at his residence when he was in such a mood. The Uchiha's were well aware of their temperamental leader's recent moods.

To his face, the men respected him, knelt to him, and followed him in battle, and the women served and protected the home, and the daughters hoped to catch his eye. Many of the younger ones swooned over his tall frame, confidence, and standing. To marry one and produce an heir would solidify him, but he had no need to prove his strength.

He was the strongest of his clan who had ever been born. What's more, he showed strength to preserve his clan when he had no other choice. He bowed down to the truce to create The Village Hidden in the Leaves with the Senju, despite his entire being rebelling angrily.

The lumber cracked under his foot, but he didn't cause more damage. The door no doubt would be completely fixed by the time he got home, but there was little use in trying to resolve his frustrations here.

He narrowed his eyes, which slowly turned darker until the irises were black again.

Despite the clan seemed to humor him as a leader, he had to accept that this village was changing them all. The more time they spent with other clans, the more Uchiha traditions they let slip away. And when he voiced his concerns, they felt him out of touch. Despite barely being in his thirties they found him old and out of touch, not having trustworthy judgment. They doubted his ability to lead, and if he didn't figure out something he would turn into a figurehead, bereft of real power.

Even some of the men were beginning to think they knew better bothered him. Combined with that brat jumping in and telling him that the Senju brothers had oh-so-politely had asked him to report in as if he reported to them, and the fact someone had been in his room- the clan head's sacred space- made him long to create a meaningful new war.

He exhaled, fire running through him. His body screamed for sleep and using the Sharingan, even just to scare the life out of Hayo, was making him annoyingly tired. The mix of utter exhaustion and adrenaline was most displeasing. His darkening temper didn't bode well for the next day.

He must have been exhausted, as this made him think of his time with the older Senju embassy, that had accompanied him to the fire lord. Hashirama, that devil, probably did it on purpose, so Madara wouldn't kill the Daimyo accidentally. It, regrettably, had worked. Madara had been proud of his patience, and even he even believed he had managed to impress the old man Senju with his temperance.

The only time Madara let his own anger out was when he was asked to 'perform' his Sharingan. The sheer insult.

His rage had almost been unleashed, but to prove he was capable of keeping controlled when provoked.

That was the most successful moment of the entire mission, he estimated with a sneer, thinking of the writhing guards on the floor. They had still been in comas when he left. Leaving a healthy amount of fear in the Daimyo eyes, probably giving nightmares to that feeble son that supposedly was his successor.

Right after that, old man Senju had motioned him aside, waving his hand like a bat flaps its wings.

To his dismay, the old man had a long talk about self-control. It was the very end of the lecture that had caught Madara's attention and stayed in his memory. He had been reliving the fight when the old man was talking, but when he had looked Madara straight in the eye, he started listening. Madara had raised an eyebrow at the man's daring. Few men looked into an Uchiha's red eyes and lived.

The old man looked seriously at him, and sipped his tea, being careful not to spill on the table with his shaky hands. "Madara, my boy, I think you could probably release that sexual tension if you got a wife."

Madara had paused mid-sip, almost choking on the impertinence. The casual use of his name by a Senju was enough to startle, but the additional information?! With excellent self-control Madara merely lowered his teacup to the table, softly.

But the tea in his mouth got caught in his throat, and he unceremoniously started coughing. He had put his arm over his mouth, choking into it. The old man didn't pass a glance over the slight reaction, knowing full well he had Madara's attention now.

"Typical virgin reaction." He said callously, rubbing his sparse hair.

"Heh. Is that right?" He said, sarcastic words laced with murderous intent. He was warning the old man, while he still had time.

"I was the same way when I was your age, boy. Thought I had the world at my fingers. Mind, you do have the world at your fingers, but I think you'd be less stressed if you married a pretty little thing. Women are demanding creatures, but I think you'd find a way to make that benefit you."

Madara could hardly believe he had been pulled into such a conversation. He hadn't thought about women for a long time, and his eyebrows raised. There was never a woman worthy enough to even catch his lingering attention.

Sneering, he stood, leaving the old Senju (and still heavily considering sending him to his deceased wife) to his own opinion.

The memory made him feel slightly ashamed. The old man had caught him off his guard completely. If he stayed, who knows what would have happened? It would have been a bigger disaster than the embassy. The old man might have started talking about his wedding or, gods save him, his wedding night.

He sneered, the memory turning him even more weary of life.

He had managed to remove the armor before he fell into bed previously, his long dark shirt a wrinkled mess. His low slung pants had fared better but would need some washing. Those came off also, and he took a long robe out of the closet. He glared, knowing he left it folded on the chair before he left. He pulled the dark blue material onto his toned upper body and tied it at the waist, his lithe chest cutting a handsome figure.

His armor, bandage belt, sword, sickle, and Gunbai lay on or near the desk. Madara's personal room wasn't that large, but it was usually incredibly tidy. When his domain, he would control all he could. He noticed almost anything that was out of place in his room.

Madara went back to the bed and stretched himself over it. The only thing that the old man had been successful doing was it had made him think seriously of women and wives, maybe for the first time in years.

There were many eligible women in the Uchiha clan, ranging from seventeen to seventy-five, and several reasonable ones who would make wives and Clan mistresses of the highest eminent caliber. Many of them gave him longing looks, talked of him, and hoped he would notice them.

But even the most docile Uchiha wives could be a pain in the rear end because all those women had agendas. None he would consider his equal, and he didn't even bother to imagine growing to care about them. It was not appealing.

He closed his eyes, arms raised above his head, long legs stretched out to dwarf the bed. Maybe he would sleep far passed dawn just to annoy Hashirama. Perhaps it would be enough reason for Tobirama Senju to try and start another fight. Smirking at the thought, he relaxed his muscled body into sleep.

A war would be the only mistress he'd dreamt about.

-X-

Hashirama, on the other hand, wished he had asked Madara to come later in the day. At the time he thought that the Daimyo of the Land of Fire was a top priority, an all-important person who couldn't be underestimated.

If they managed to get his support they would have fewer troubles with financing in their village, luring merchants, and other things shinobi disliked thinking about. But the Lord continued playing coy, creating tasks for them to check, making almost impossible proposals. He had hoped Madara could convince him being, well, Madara.

Or alarm him.

Now he was beginning to realize that sleep was much more important than this petty matter of money and stubborn Lords. If one was awakened every single night, they tended to become unreasonable; Even he. While much more taciturn and mature over Madara, even he got a little grouchy over lost sleep.

The God of all Ninja sighed deeply as he turned the corner.

Hashirama turned the corner of the Senju compound to find Tobirama and Mito Uzumaki staring pointedly at a certain window. Mito smiled widely as she saw Hashirama, and she pulled her night kimono a little tighter around her. It was clear Hashirama and Mito had it for one another.

Tobirama stepped back, not bothering to smirk, letting the couple fall in step together.

Then all three turned to look at the man who was singing sonnets outside.

Another midnight caller for Sayuriama. The third one this night, as a matter of fact. EVERY SINGLE NIGHT since Sayuriama's presence became known, things like this had happened.

The morning was slowly getting closer, and the sky was brighter than before. The change in darkness was showing how long the minstrel had been there.

He had been a pretty singer but after two hours of being flat out ignored, his voice was starting to break. The trio watched him, feeling a bit pitiful. Hashirama had even managed to give Mito the cloak he had been wearing after she shivered slightly. Finally, after another ten minutes, the love-struck singer left in despair.

If the Senju brothers hadn't had excellent patience, they would have killed the intruder suitors. The first night they had been alarmed but laughed when they saw the first of what would be many singers to grace their sister's window. Mito, the only one truly aware of what was coming, sighed. The brothers would soon regret the lax manner they had treated the first few suitors.

Every single night. Tobirama was seriously considering using his Jutsu to start drowning the midnight visitors. The disappointed man jumped away, over the compound walls. Hashirama, after the third night, had made the wooden walls taller, but somehow they still got through.

Sayuriama didn't make it any easier. She never talked about the situation, like it had never bothered her, or she wasn't around to hear it. She did sleep in, proving some sort of awareness. She was quite clever.

Her brothers very quickly learned three things.

First, she must have known she was beautiful, but she refused to talk seriously about it with them. It's as if she only wanted to be beautiful when she could take advantage of the situation. Now, Tobirama could respect that sort of ingenuity, but she didn't lend her favors easily to her brother, especially when she had been told in no uncertain terms she was not to bother the patrolling ninja.

Ten years and nothing changes.

And next, because these (gullible) men were so easily charmed and so quickly fell in love, she was never quite impressed. Men even dared face Tobirama's ire to beg permission for a formal meeting. There was some talk about marriages that quickly was stopped when she threw a huge tantrum, accusing them of wanting to be rid of her.

Three, she was still a child. A Senju to her core, a snotty, childish, naive, kid determined to get her own way. She was more than worthy in the battle of tongues, and often time this was accompanied by someone becoming bright red as she proved her prowess in conversation.

They still loved her, Tobirama constantly reminded himself.

Hashirama had once joked to Tobirama about marrying her to the Lord of Fire's Son son, to convince him to create the alliance. He was giving the notion of serious thought, especially after another sleepless night.

The only thing good about these midnight affairs, for Hashirama, that a certain redhead woman in a night robe. He blushed mildly. It was the nightly caller's fault that he was having these forward thoughts. He was fortunate that Mito had been busy and not at the breakfast table when Sayuriama, overhearing the marriage jokes and gave him the one over. For someone completely uninterested in marriage, she seemed to have quite a bit of knowledge of what married people do. He rubbed his cheek in frustration, wondering how he had been outwitted by a silly sister.

Mito turned to Hashirama, smiling. He would never know how it was Mito's fault that Sayuriama had such expansive knowledge. Or the fact that both women were planning his marriage to Mito the moment they got to Konoha. Hashirama would probably never know how he got a wife, but he did know that it was women that controlled those relationships.

She smiled up at him, suggesting they walk back together; Tobirama tactfully left the opposite way, to check on Sayuriama. He watched the retreating figures.

As he turned to walk away, his thoughts pained him. It was wonderful to see his brother finding a potential wife after all these lonely years, but after Tobirama had lost his fiancée in battle he shied away from most relationships.

Tobirama had stiffer humor out of the two brothers, but he also had more time to spend with his sister. He often took her to the places he was working on, showing her his plans. In return, she was quite brilliant when it came to inventive solutions. Who else would have dared consider a mutual class for the young, combining the clans?

His good mood didn't last towards evening. But not when it came to the nightly disturbances. If it wasn't for Hashirama some love-struck songbirds would be much wetter and in a makeshift hospital.

He went down the wooden walkways, and across the lovely bridge that connected the lone annex, Sayuriama had chosen as her room.

They had moved Sayuriama's room closer after the warnings Mito had given to them. Men had a tendency to fall in lust with their younger sister when she was living in Uzushiogakure, and not much had changed. They made sure she was accompanied at all times, much to her mortification, and that it was by a trustworthy clan member who was female. In the daytime, it wasn't much of a problem, but at night it was flat out ridiculous. Tobirama silently decided that the Village was getting a new law.

Don't bother, she's not interested. If you are found on Senju ground, you will be sent to Madara Uchiha to experience his Mangekyo Sharingan, then sent to the front lines.

Tobirama smiled at the thought.

Threatening people with Madara Uchiha almost always worked like a charm, though he was against becoming too friendly with any Uchiha. But, pitting Sayuriama's beauty to Madara's scare factor would be interesting. Tobirama stretched his arms, then adjusted his night robe.

It was only half an hour until Madara was supposed to show, and there was really no point in trying to get some shut-eye. He would be damned if Sayuriama thought she was going to sleep in.

Tobirama yawned, stretching his arms while he crossed the stone path to Sayuriama's apartment in the compound.