Glass Trinity, Chapter 5: The Princess
Disclaimer: I don't own Naruto.

Lying low and blending in was Saizō Kirigakure's specialty. He had almost limitless patience so long as there was a clear objective in sight, content to wait for the perfect moment to strike his prey with the assurance of victory. Four years was not that long in the grand scheme of things, but he wasn't getting any younger. Sasuke was still alive and working with the Senju, no less. Figures.

Saizō ran a slender finger over the item in his hands, large enough to fill his palm. Purple and beige swirled under his touch as though sentient, the way sand leaves trails in the the wind. While it was not yet dusk, the Land of Water was known for the mists that came in with the tide, hiding the light and blanketing the world in grey. A light breeze rustled the curtains on a nearby window—cool, but not unpleasant. Saizō liked this place. It suited him to be surrounded by shadows. Grey eyes flickered up to his partner.

"Anayama," he said, tapping the object in his hand. "Where did you find this?"

Kosuke Anayama was a very large man, nearly twice Saizō's size and broader across the shoulders than any man ought to be. He was the kind of man who was so thick-skinned that he was all but impervious to things like taste and feeling, content to wear his beaten breastplate and only enough boiled leather to cover his midsection at all times, snow or shine. The layer of furry hair that coated nearly all of him was insulation enough. But size was no indication of strength, as Saizō knew better than most. Still, Kosuke was loyal and dependable. Without him, the siege of Osaka Castle would have been messier than it was.

"S'pose I found it with my men on our way back east from Wind Country. Kinda funny, actually. One o' the kids picked it up just lyin' there in the sand, said it was shinin' like glass. But I reckon that's no glass, nor some ordinary sand."

Saizō turned the object over in his hand, marveling at how the purple designs shifted as though trapped in an hourglass. "No, I would wager it's something much more complex. Please send for Lord Sanada. He'll want to see this."

Kosuke nodded and ducked out of the room. The castle was nothing to write home about (certainly not as grand as Osaka Castle had been), but like Saizō himself, it was not the small stature that gave it a reputation for impregnability. This was the stronghold of Yukimura Sanada, a feudal lord of the eastern islands collectively known as Water Country. Due to the many irredentist campaigns he was engrossed in, Sanada usually moved between the conquered islands and the mainland to more strategically command the diverse groups of samurai and shinobi under his authority. Saizō, of course, was one of his highest ranking generals and a trusted adviser. After having proven his loyalty at the battle for Osaka Castle, it was a natural step.

Saizō had always preferred to let others handle the politics of power. He cared little for red tape and formalities. His place was on the battlefield, like most shinobi. Perhaps more of Sasuke had rubbed off on him than he cared to admit. Still, when something like this came along, Saizō could not help but churn up the political waters a bit just to see when they would run.

The door opened to reveal a short man (too short, some might say, though only if they had a death wish) clad in blues and greens. Candlelight made his bald head shine in contrast to the wiry, black beard reaching down to his collarbone. Saizō had to wonder about men who could grow such formidable facial hair and not manage to keep any of it on their head. Perhaps any hair was better than none.

"My lord," Saizō said, rising and bowing.

Sanada grunted his own greeting. "Saizō, you have something for me? It better be worth me making the trip here."

Sanada wasn't one for traditional formalities as long as the job got done, but even formalities were a form of communication. Dispose with them entirely and there would be no difference between the foot soldiers and the generals commanding them. It was important to maintain a balance.

"Forgive me, my lord. I thought it best not to leave here with the item lest I draw suspicion."

"You? Please. You're trickier than the damn fog."

Saizō smiled, but he said nothing of the slight disguised as a compliment. "This is what I thought you should see."

He handed the mysterious object to his leader, who turned it over in his meaty hands. After a moment he said, "And what the hell am I looking at? I don't care about trophies, you know that."

"This trophy is one I think you'll be interested to hear more about." Saizō moved to a nearby table and poured them some tea, which Sanada accepted with a frown.

"All right. What do you know?"

Grey eyes fell upon the shimmering object in Sanada's hands, following the swirling purples like snakes scurrying from the light of day. Saizō's senses had never let him down before, and they weren't about to start now. "That's a scale."

"Must have been a pretty big fish for a scale like this."

"Not a fish...a tanuki."

Sanada set his tea down and beckoned for Saizō to retake his seat. "What are you getting at? You know I hate your damn riddles."

How boring.

"That scale belongs to a monster of myth and legend known as Shukaku. Do you know the tale?"

"...You mean one of those giant beasts you hear about in children's fairy tales. There were a few of them."

"Nine, to be exact, and each with a corresponding number of tails. They're known as the Bijuu. Legend has it that a man known as the Sage of Six Paths created them from one colossal beast. The Shukaku is a sand demon that takes the form of a giant tanuki and preys on people's dreams."

"Sounds like wet nurse drivel to me."

Saizō smiled. "Indeed, that's been the thinking for many hundreds of years. The stories we hear today are old wives' tales. But you know what they say about rumors—they begin with a grain of truth." He swiped a finger across the scale, and the surface swirled like so many grains of sand under a gentle breeze.

Sanada watched him with beady hawk eyes. "Let's just assume for a minute that you're not blowing smoke up my ass. Why this? Why now?"

Saizō leaned back in this chair and steepled his hands, thinking. "I've been wondering the same thing myself, and I'm afraid I don't have much of an answer."

"Much?"

There is a reason he's never lost a battle, I suppose.

"More of a hunch than anything concrete."

"I don't have all day."

"Strife." The word rolled off Saizo's tongue like butter, so rich and warm. It gave him chills. "The area where this scale was retrieved was the sight of a mass slaughter. It's why I sent a team to investigate in the first place. A small village in the Wind Country had reported a spike in aggravated crimes. Assault, rape, murder, the usual. But here's the interesting part—"

"Oh please, I'm on the edge of my seat," Sanada said rudely.

If he were anyone else, Saizō would have let him know just how much he appreciated being interrupted. But this was his benefactor, his leader, the one person in whose shadow he could carry out an agenda of his choosing. Speak softly.

"Of course. Some villagers took it upon themselves to hunt down the perpetrators of such heinous crimes, according to the reports. What was supposed to be a clandestine search and destroy mission turned into a manhunt. A bloody one."

Sanada sighed and made to rise from his chair. "I don't have time for this. I have better things to do than listen to gossip. Don't you dare summon me like this again."

"Trouble is, even after the suspected perpetrators were apprehended and the mob went home, the blood continued to spill," Saizō went on. "The next morning, everyone in the village was dead in their beds. They'd died in their sleep."

Sanada paused. "People die."

"In their sleep? Certainly not children or healthy men and women. And the fear in their eyes as they slept wide awake... I'm told it was quite shocking even for some of my most seasoned men."

Sanada looked intrigued. "They all died in their sleep? That's impossible."

"They were bleeding from multiple orifices, but there were no discernible injuries. It was almost as though whatever had killed them had attacked from the inside out."

Sanada frowned deeply as he turned this over in his sharp mind. "Like a disease of some sort."

"Or a nightmare."

"What are you getting at?"

"If the old wives' tales are anything to go by, the Bijuu are forces of nature that draw their powers from the earth and those living on it. Even the mist outside is one such source of natural energy. Dreams are another."

"You think this Shukaku beast somehow killed all those people in their dreams?"

Saizō smiled. "When I was a child, I would have the most vivid nightmares. Night terrors, my beloved mother used to call them. I'd feel myself dying every night, the pain was so real. And I'd wake in a cold sweat, screaming. Sometimes I could still feel the pain even after I awoke." Saizō moved a hand to his abdomen as though to cover an old wound. "There is power in dreams." He reached for the shimmering scale Sanada still held. "And sometimes, the worst of them can cross over into the real world."

A chill swept over Saizō just then—night had settled in. He rose to close the window, thick mist obscuring everything from sight but the faint glow of lanterns in nearby shop windows. Like red eyes watching him through the shadows.

"How do you even know this scale is from Shukaku? It could be a hoax. Could be that those villagers were all poisoned as part of some pathetic scheme for revenge. Wouldn't be the first time something like that has happened."

"No, it wouldn't, but I'm quite sure." Saizō returned to his seat and held up the scale. "The chakra coming from this thing is unlike any I've ever felt before. It's dark and potent, and it feels nothing like a normal shinobi's. It's not something man could have created."

Sanada was a cruel man when he wanted to be. Saizō had always been drawn to the cruelty in others, and right now he felt like pouring himself another cup of tea as he watched the wheels turning in his leader's head, plotting and planning.

"Saizō," Sanada said slowly. "Do you still have those night terrors? I can't imagine a man as twisted as you being afraid of anything natural."

"I do," Saizō said, taking a sip of his tea. "But I've learned how to control my nightmares. The trick is to seek them out, not run from them."

Sanada stood up again, this time with a dark, simmering set to his gaze. "Then what are we waiting for?"

"Your hair's gotten so long, my lady."

"Yes, quite the hassle, isn't it?"

"Nonsense! I think it's lovely."

Mito watched her reflection in the mirror as her handmaiden combed out the long, red tresses that now reached down to her lower back. It had been at her father's request that she agreed to grow it out, not wanting to argue with him on the practicality of physical beauty—Mito had better things to spend her time thinking about, so she simply agreed without a fuss. But times like this always reignited that old spark of regret at having caved without a fight. Long hair was more trouble than it was worth, in her mind.

At sixteen, more than just Mito's hair had grown. Gone was the awkward little girl still learning how to walk on stick legs (mostly). Most of it was of course due to the natural aging process that had smoothed out most of her angles for gentle curves. But beneath the soft skin lay practiced muscles gained from the extensive training she'd put herself through growing up despite her father's silent disapproval. As long as she never fell behind in her lessons and duties, he could not find a reason to keep her from honing her skills. With Satto as her biggest defender, Mito found enough time to focus on that which she considered truly important.

And then there were nights like this one.

"Is something the matter? You look a little down," the handmaiden said as she wove Mito's hair around an ivory comb inlaid with gold.

"Lena, you're too perceptive for your own good, you know that?"

Lena had been Mito's personal handmaiden for a couple years now. Unlike Mito, Lena had the option to keep her black hair short and tied back at all times. Possessed of a quiet strength only the most helpless looking women could grasp, Mito had learned to see the indomitable spirit hidden behind glowing olive skin and brown doe eyes. Native islanders may not have looked imposing, but they knew how to adapt and survive in this harsh land better than anyone.

Since the founding of Uzushiogakure four years prior, native inhabitants had trickled in from around the Whirlpool Islands seeking protection from the feudal lord's samurai soldiers in return for labor. It was no secret that the feudal lord let his soldiers go about their lecherous business while turning a blind eye so long as they served him well. It was deplorable, in Mito's mind, and she'd made her concerns clear to her father time and again. Always eager to have more hands working to build this new village into something great, Ensui welcomed most of them and employed them. They were hard working and rarely complained, as any workers with a fair and just boss are wont to behave.

Lena, about five years Mito's senior, knew everything there was to know about being a lady despite her common birth. It was her passion to excel in the home, and she'd saved Mito a world of embarrassment when she fell behind in her lessons on more than one occasion. Lena was the perfect ally to have in her situation.

"One of us has to make sure you at least look the part of a demure princess," Lena said with a grin.

Mito's true passions and interests were no secret to Lena, as was her distaste for all things related to the formalities of court. Politics were dirty, and yet the nobles insisted on primping and perfuming it with lavish dinners, beautiful kimono, and enough wine to drown in. It was despicable, but it was the way things were. Mito had learned to don her mask well over the years.

"It's not the worst thing that could happen, I suppose," Mito said as Lena beckoned her to stand for dressing. Tonight's attire would be a deep blue silk with a white obi. Wave patterns cascaded down the right breast all the way to the floor, looping into whirlpools with black eyes at the centers. Mito traced one with a finger, marveling at how realistic it looked. But like the whirlpools themselves, there was no seeing to the bottom of these painted cousins.

"Tonight your lord father is hosting the Uchiha clan, is that right? I remember you telling me they're a family of strong shinobi," Lena said to take her mind off the primping.

Mito's thoughts drifted to a time long past. There was no way Madara would be here tonight—it was a dinner for the leaders of the clan only. She hadn't forgotten his promise to become something great, a leader, but having lived the life of a noble herself, Mito wasn't holding out hope that change would come so quickly. Simply wanting something to be did not guarantee that it would come true. And so, she resigned herself to an evening of stale conversation with men more concerned about how deeply they could cut than how much they could do to change the unjust ways of the world. The Uchiha thrived on blood, if their reputation was anything to go by. Mito was not looking forward to tonight.

"I wish I could be like you," Mito said, watching her reflection in the mirror. "You have no cares in the world aside from your job, which you chose for yourself. It must be nice to be who you want to be."

Lena tightened Mito's obi with a little more force than was necessary. "My lady, you don't know what you're saying. You have been born into a life of privilege—"

"Yes, and it's exactly that that I can't stand," Mito said, taking Lena's wrists in her hands. "What good are beautiful kimono and all the jewels I could want when I live in gilded cage? My father holds to key, but one day a husband will inherit it from him. I don't have the freedom you have. I never will."

Lena suddenly frosted over, all good humor gone from her expression. "Lady Mito," she said. "You're not like me. You have a chance to make a difference because people will listen to you. You speak of cages, but I see only a platform that lets you stand higher than I ever will. If anyone can change the wrongs of this world, you can. Don't you see that?"

Oh, Lena. If only she could understand. "I'm trapped. My father wants me to marry. I'm sixteen, a woman grown, and it's all he thinks about now. That's all I'm good for."

Lena shook her head. "You have so much power. I only wish you could learn how to use it properly. And I don't mean those tea ceremonies your father wants you to do every morning, as lovely as they are."

Frustration gave way to laughter. It was relaxing to vent to Lena like this sometimes. At least she had someone to talk to. Still, talking never did much for anyone. No matter how powerful Mito became, her destiny would not change. It was her curse.

"I should be going soon," Mito said. "Father will be expecting me."

Lena nodded. "Yes, my lady." She opened a small container of makeup and dabbed a bit with a brush, spreading it upon Mito's lips. "There, beautiful as always."

Mito thanked her politely. She exited her room with somber finality, bracing herself for another dinner rife with superfluous formalities and leers from men older than her father. It was the way things were, the rules of the game. The trick was to see past them to what truly mattered. Tonight, the Uchiha were here to discuss an upcoming campaign for which the feudal lord had recruited them. It would be prudent for Mito, a seemingly harmless female with no knowledge of the real world, to discern any potential causes for worry or compromise. The Uzumaki were a neutral party, but the Uchiha were a different beast entirely. The feudal lord wanted no complications. Delicacy was of the essence.

Making her way down the winding corridors of the main house, Mito kept her eyes steadfastly ahead as Lena followed her. They did not speak. Torches lit the stone hallways, shadows dancing around her as she made her way forward. She reached the dining hall shortly, its high ceilings and warm lighting meant to relax, though Mito felt anything but. The walk across the room to the front where she would be seated among the other nobles felt like a trek. Unescorted, she kept her head held high and dared not look into the crowd of lesser men gathered round lest she catch a salacious eye and lose her composure.

Ensui took her hand when she reached the head of the room, and she smiled. "Father."

"Mito, over here, please," he said, indicating the seat to his right.

It was the seat traditionally reserved for trusted counsel, and Mito had occupied it for some time now. Ensui's daughter would be wed to a powerful man one day, and it was his duty to make sure she was ready to navigate whatever uneven waters awaited her. He trusted her judgment as much as any adviser these days. Lena took her own place at the table behind to keep watch should Mito require assistance at any time. Satto was seated at Ensui's left.

"Lord Tajima, please allow me to introduce my daughter, Mito."

Ensui gestured to the infamous Uchiha clan leader across the table. He was attractive in a patrician sort of way for an older man. Silver streaked his jet black hair and brought out the veins of grey in his dark eyes. The scars on his face gave him character and spoke of his skill—both with the sword and with sense, seeing as he had lived to show them this long. She wondered how many people he'd killed in his lifetime. None of this showed on her face, however, as she held out a delicate hand for him to take, her kimono sleeve barely revealing the flesh of her wrist.

"At your service, my lady," Tajima said politely.

Mito dipped her head in a show of respect as he kissed her hand. "My lord, I trust your journey here was a pleasant one?"

Tajima smirked and the small scar bisecting the left side of his mouth crinkled. Yes, in his youth, she imagined he must have been wolfishly dashing. "It was, my lady. And allow me to introduce the rest of my party. My eldest daughter, Haruka."

He indicated a young woman several years Mito's senior, pretty but severe in demeanor if her cold expression was anything to go by. Mito maintained her warm smile nonetheless.

"My son, Tajitsu."

A young man grinned with a little too much enthusiasm for Mito's tastes. He was tall and resembled his father only enough to confirm the blood relation, but he had none of the battle-worn exterior or aristocratic good looks his parent possessed. H was too baby-faced to have seen much action, and where Tajima was chiseled and strong, Tajitsu was soft and sallow.

"And my heir, Madara," Tajima finished.

Mito turned to the young man seated next to Tajima, and the perfect mask cracked a little. He'd grown considerably. His hair was longer but still wild, the grey in his eyes more subdued, smoldering. And the rounded face of his early childhood had lost its softness, replaced with an angular, almost jagged appearance that made him look older for his age in the best way possible. Mito found that she'd lost her train of thought briefly as she stared into those depthless eyes she could only remember in some dreams.

"Princess," he said, dipping his head respectfully by way of greeting.

Unlike Tajitsu, Madara's very aura spoke of a hard life. Mito wondered if she leaned in close, would she be able to smell the blood of his enemies absorbed into his very skin? Madara did nothing to indicate he recognized her, but the way his eyes lingered suggested he did. She composed herself with all the grace learned from years of etiquette lessons.

"My lord," she said softly, watching him carefully through painted lashes.

A tick of the lips, barely there, but she caught it. So he did remember her. As they were seated, she looked around for his brother, Izuna, if she remembered correctly, but he was absent. As the serving maids poured wine for everyone and Madara settled in, back straight, she had to wonder—where had the lowly soldier in borrowed armor gone? How on earth had he managed to rise this far in so short a time? The curiosity burned so intensely that she had to pinch her thigh under the table to keep herself grounded and level-headed.

"Lord Tajima, I wasn't aware you had another son," Ensui said lightly as he gestured for the serving maid not to pour him too much wine.

He doesn't, Mito thought to herself. Her father knew it, too. Tajima Uchiha had several children, all but one female. His only trueborn son, the one seated two spots down from Mito, was a known lecher and drunk. Indeed, he seemed all too happy to encourage the serving maid to fill his wine cup to the brim.

"Adoptive son," Tajima said. "I took Madara and his brother in when they were young. Very promising talent, the both of them. I can't think of anyone better suited to lead my warriors one day."

Ensui smiled good-naturedly, but Mito had to bite her cheek to keep her own smile at bay.

"One day, I'll lead the Uchiha clan. Together, Izuna and I will reinvent them."

Looking at Madara now, she felt a strange pride well up inside as she remembered his promise all those years ago. He'd done it, just like he said he would. She had no idea how (it was unheard of for a lowborn soldier to be elevated to the top like this), but even back then she could tell. There was something about him that made others turn their heads and look.

"A toast, then. To the next generation," Ensui said, raising his glass. "We old men won't live forever. It's comforting to know our children will carry on our legacies with grace and dignity."

Tajima hesitated for a moment, and suddenly Mito wondered what his trueborn son thought about all this. To be passed over for someone who wasn't even blood related was a terrible slight. Tajitsu, whatever his opinion on the matter, seemed rather blasé about it for the time being as he stole sips of his wine while waiting for the toast to finish.

Strange...

"Yes," Tajima agreed. "To the next generation."

Mito smiled again, just like her instructors had taught her. The perfect mask for the perfect lady, always. When she took a sip of her wine, she found Madara watching her over the rim of his own cup, and they locked eyes. In the muted candlelight she thought she detected a flash of red in those dark depths, but she couldn't be sure. Ensui's voice drew her gaze. Now was a time to play her part, not drift away with her silly daydreams.

The meal was splendid. Ensui was not one to waste anything, but for such an important guest as the leader of one of the most powerful shinobi clans on the continent, not a single detail was left overlooked. Seven courses of soups, grilled vegetables, and all manner of nautical game were served on plates of hand-painted porcelain. Salted swordfish with lemon; whole roasted snapper; raw-cut tuna, octopus, and scallops; and roasted potatoes with rosemary and hot peppers. Uzushiogakure was an island nation, after all. The wine, of course, flowed in a steady stream.

"The campaign shouldn't be anything too difficult," Tajima said after a bite of scallop. "We're to quell an insurgency in the eastern Fire Country. My men know the land well."

Ensui nodded. "Very good, very good. Lord Kenshin will be pleased with a swift reconciliation, I'm sure. You'll have my elite guard under your command led by General Satto Uzumaki." Ensui indicated Satto seated to his left.

"I look forward to working with you, my lord," Satto said.

The feudal lord with control over both Whirlpool and most of the Fire Country, Kenshin Uesugi, had called upon the Uzumaki to quell an insurgency on the mainland. As part of the deal to serve the feudal lord in return for the land to settle Uzushiogakure, the Uzumaki were obliged to cooperate. However, hand-to-hand combat was not their specialty. As such, Kenshin decided to call in the services of soldiers more familiar with traditional warfare.

"I'm curious, though," Satto said. "Lord Kenshin, that is, when we last spoke with him, seemed unclear about the cause of the conflict."

Tajima took a sip of his wine, the scar on his lip crinkling again as he smirked. "Does it matter? They're digging their own grave, whoever they are."

Mito listened intently even as she refilled the glasses of the men around her. It seemed the Uchiha made no secret of their battle lust. It didn't escape her notice that Haruka was content to not be attentive to the others despite the expectations of their gender. She looked like she would rather be anywhere but here, but made no effort to conceal it like Mito did. A part of Mito envied her that, but she said nothing.

When Mito raised the wine bottle to Madara's cup, he touched her hand to stay it.

"None for me," he said.

His touch was cold, but they stayed that way, suspended, for a few moments.

"Of course," Mito said softly.

"I'll take some more," Tajitsu said jovially.

Mito immediately pulled away from Madara and obliged his adoptive brother. She didn't notice how Tajitsu's eyes lingered on Madara instead of the drink he was so fond of.

"Your daughter is lovely," Tajima said. "Is she promised?"

Mito reclaimed her seat and tried to ignore the spike of anger at being talked about as though she were not present. Why did men insist upon ignoring women when they disdained the same behavior directed at them?

"Not currently, but there's time," Ensui said, the pride in his voice not lost on his dinner guests. "She's barely sixteen, and I mean to make a good match for her."

"She's an age with Madara, then," Tajima said. "If he wasn't betrothed to Haruka, I might be tempted to make you an offer."

"Father, please," Haruka said, her smile tight-lipped.

It was meant as a compliment and Mito had no trouble blushing, but not out of feminine modesty. "My lord is kind," she said, remembering her manners despite the tickle of resentment.

"Yes," Ensui agreed. "I would consider myself a lucky man to marry Mito to a lad as gifted as your son."

"Well, perhaps after the campaign we could work something out. My other son, Tajitsu, isn't promised to anyone yet."

Ensui smiled and thanked Tajima for his consideration of their small clan, but Mito felt a little queasy at the talk of her future without a single word of consideration for her own feelings.

Silly girl. Get your head out of the clouds.

This was one game she'd known she would lose from the beginning no matter how well she played her cards.

"Princess," Madara said suddenly, drawing Mito out of her thoughts. "Will you be joining us on the campaign?"

The abrupt change of topic was a welcome one for Mito, even if she knew her father would not approve.

"You flatter us," Ensui spoke up. "But my daughter could not possibly—"

"It would benefit me greatly to have her join us. My lady's expertise in our clan's sealing techniques is prodigious for her age," Satto interrupted.

Ensui was never one to lose his temper in public or so much as raise his voice, but Mito knew where to look. He was not pleased by this rather gross breach of rank and station. Still, she was both thrilled and a little shocked that Satto would make the case public. They'd spoken about it in private and she was of course eager to join the campaign, but she wasn't holding out hope. Ensui would prefer to see her safe at home pouring wine and entertaining guests. She didn't blame him, but it didn't make her any less upset.

"General, we'll discuss this later," Ensui said.

"The perfect lady and a soldier, too," Haruka said, leaning forward on her elbows and watching Mito with dark eyes that seemed to glitter with unspoken thoughts. "You're quite the full package."

Mito didn't know why, but she didn't think that was a compliment. "I wouldn't say full package, but I've been blessed with very good teachers, if that's what you mean."

Haruka smiled, and Mito wondered if she'd done something right. This woman was hard to get a read on.

"Ladies, ladies, no need to start the fight early," Tajitsu said, biting off a piece of bread.

"You won't even be fighting," Haruka said. "Why do you think Father passed you over for Madara as his heir?"

A short silence ensued, and Mito thought Madara would resent that comment from the woman to whom he was supposedly engaged to be married. He gave no indication of his feelings on the matter, however.

Maybe he's learned the rules of this game, too.

"Father," she said. "You'll be remaining here in the village to oversee our domestic affairs, will you not?"

Ensui blinked in surprise at the sudden query. "Yes, of course," he said, suspicious.

Mito continued without pause before he might get more than a word in edgewise. "General Satto is a brilliant military strategist and fighter, but with all due respect, he is not in a position to represent Uzushiogakure's political interests. Allow me to participate in the campaign. I'll be your liaison with Lord Kenshin and give you a full report of the activities. Isn't that why you've been including me in your political agenda thus far?"

Ensui would be having a talk with her later about speaking so freely before outsiders, but Mito knew which buttons to push with him to get what she wanted. The fact that she'd done it in front of their guests only added to the pressure.

"Lady Mito, I daresay you would be more effective at a negotiation table than some of my advisers," Tajima said, chuckling.

Ensui did not look pleased despite the praise to his only daughter. Still, he had no other option. If he backed down now, he would appear to be standing in the way of the campaign's success. "Very well. I'll allow you participate in the campaign. You'll be under General Satto's direct supervision at all times."

But even with a chaperone in Satto, it was a victory she had not thought to win at the start of this dinner. Mito dipped her head respectfully, trying to hide the smile that threatened to bloom. "Yes, Father. Thank you."

"Still, the battlefield is a dangerous place for men and women alike," Tajima said, expression unreadable. "Accidents do happen."

Mito fixed him with a hard look. She'd gotten the same reaction a thousand times before. "Then I'll count myself lucky and honored to have the very best of the noble Uchiha clan there to ensure they don't happen this time."

Tajima studied her for a moment before smirking and raising his glass. "To the next generation, indeed. I look forward to working with you and yours, Lord Ensui."

Everyone raised their glasses, and Mito caught Satto's eye as he winked at her. She bit back the urge to laugh happily, settling instead for her usual peaceful smile, superficially pleasing in appearance. Conversation continued informally with talk of such things as past accomplishments, upcoming marriage and birth activities, and other polite dinner conversation.

Across the table, Madara caught Mito's eye and held her gaze, but he said nothing. Now that she thought about it, he barely said anything at all, preferring to remain the silent observer. All except for his one comment about her joining the campaign. Mito would have thought little of it, but she found it hard to ignore him even in his silence. Towards the end of the night, he rose to leave early, excusing himself.

"I'd like to speak with Izuna," he explained to Tajima.

Mito watched as Madara's adoptive father put a hand on his shoulder, a noted sign of affection. Something about it seemed strange to her, but she couldn't place what that was.

"I'll see you early tomorrow morning. I have some items to go over with you," Tajima said.

Madara bowed, and a young servant gestured for him to follow to the room he'd been assigned. Madara had to walk around the table past Mito, and when he did he let his hand brush the edge of the table. It was fast enough to go unnoticed, but Mito stared at the object he'd left there for her.

A seashell, one all too familiar even after all these years.

She turned to watch him go, but he did not so much as spare her a glance. Quickly, before someone else could see, she pocketed the tiny shell within the heavy folds of her kimono. It was another ten minutes before she was able to excuse herself, claiming to be tired. No one questioned her early retirement, but her father reminded her that they would have a talk later. She agreed and bade the table goodnight, following Lena out of the dining hall and back to her own chambers.

It wasn't the first time Mito had snuck out of her room. Even in the soft sleeping yukata Lena had dressed her in for bed, she was able to climb out the window without a sound, making sure to take Madara's seashell with her. Outside the air was heavy with a thin fog that had rolled in with the evening tide, crisp and fresh. The yellow paper lanterns strung up along the paved paths through the inner village were blurry through the mist, lending a magical, almost otherworldly filter to the scene. Mito tied up her too-long hair in a messy bun, wishing yet again that it was short like it used to be when she was a child and things like men's opinions of her physical appeal mattered little.

She had no idea where she would find Madara, but she knew he would be waiting for her somewhere. What else could the seashell mean? He remembered her, just as she remembered him. And somehow, that thought filled her with an effervescent confidence. She never would have spoken so forcefully to her father like she had tonight if not for Madara's questioning. Why? She didn't even know him. And yet, here she was stealing through the shadows of her family's vast garden villa in search of a boy she'd met as a child. She could have laughed at how stupid it all sounded.

A fork in the road caused her to slow. Either she could go left through a series of red Torii to the sea, or she could go right through a natural Ginkgo tree tunnel lined with red paper lanterns. If she looked up, she could make out a few hard-working stars that managed to shine through the thick, golden branches. Mito decided to take the tunnel.

Walking slowly, she played with the seashell in her pocket. How to find him? He was here somewhere, he had to be. The distant sound of waves crashing against the rocky shores of her island country made Mito pause, a light breeze pulling wisps of red from the bun in her hair. She walked over the fallen Ginkgo leaves to a narrow opening between the tree trunks, eyes searching for the water.

"Mito Uzumaki," a voice said from somewhere behind her.

Mito froze but didn't turn. Under the quiet cover of a lantern-lit night, his voice was softer, more rich than deep as it had sounded in the dining hall. She gripped the seashell harder and turned to face him.

"Madara Uchiha," she said, breathless.

He stood before her in casual night wear, as though he, too, had snuck out to be here. It was a ludicrous thought. Madara was an adult male perfectly capable of handling himself, she assumed. There would be no handmaidens keeping watch over his door. Or his window, if he'd chosen a similar path here as her. Mito took the opportunity to study the changes she'd previously noted only in passing at dinner. He was taller than her now, but of average height for a man of sixteen years. The mane of black hair reached just past his shoulders, definitely longer than it had been when they were twelve. Aside from the obvious growth that had cut away all the cherubic softness of childhood, he was nothing too out of the ordinary, neither strikingly handsome nor forgettably plain. Except for the eyes. They glowed with the same red glare as the lanterns above, and they seemed to devour what little starlight seeped bravely through the Ginkgo tree canopy.

Remembering herself, Mito produced the seashell he'd given her and held it out. She tapped it with a manicured finger, initiating a quick transfer of chakra, and suddenly a series of sentient, black runes poured from the mouth of the shell. In a matter of seconds, the tantō she'd sealed within the shell four years ago had materialized in her free hand. "I told you I'd give it back," she said, holding out the tantō for him to take.

Madara approached, his eyes never leaving hers until they were only a foot apart. It took all her willpower not to fidget under the intensity of the ruby stare, like being seeing for the first time by another living creature. He took the tantō from her by the hilt and turned it over, examining it for imperfections or other corruption. Perhaps he found none because he slipped it up the sleeve of his yukata. Mito still held the shell, and he gently closed her fingers around it with his own.

"Keep it," he said. "Every sword needs a scabbard to shield it."

It had been so long and she barely knew him and here they were. She'd wondered if this moment would ever come, if he would ever achieve the dream he'd confided in her that day on the beach so many years ago. Mito smiled.

"Congratulations...my lord." She added the formality just to see his reaction.

He blinked, and the Sharingan faded. Gone was the eerie glow of a man who'd grown up without her. They were back on the beach and twelve years old again.

"I've worked hard for this," Madara said finally. "I'm not all there yet."

Mito shook her head. "I knew you would do it."

There was so much to say that she didn't know quite where to start. Luckily, Madara chose for her.

"That trick with the shell won't do much good on the battlefield, you know. I hope you're as good with a sword as you are with your words."

Mito felt a little embarrassed by the teasing. "I shouldn't have spoken to my father that way. Not very becoming of a lady, I guess."

"At least you looked the part this time."

Mito covered her smile to stop the laugh that wanted to spill. "Those kimono are so cumbersome. If you knew what it was like, how much time it takes just to get it all on, you'd find it pretty ridiculous, too."

"I don't doubt it." He smiled just a little.

Footsteps approached from the direction Mito had come. She tensed, and Madara peered through the gloom. It was too soon, too early to say goodnight. They'd only just gotten here! Mito wasn't ready to let him go without satisfying her burning curiosity about all he'd accomplished in the last four years. Without hesitating, she took Madara's hand in hers and dragged him deeper down the Ginkgo tree tunnel at a jog.

"Come on!" she whispered.

He followed without a thought, and they passed by lantern after lantern as they neared the end of the tunnel. Once through, Mito veered down a narrow path to the left that led to the surrounding hills overlooking Uzushiogakure. Aside from the sea, it was a place where she sought reprieve from the life of a lady and her duties at court. She released him when they'd gone far enough.

"No one comes out here at this time of night," she said, facing the village.

Above, thousands upon thousands of stars twinkled brightly enough to bathe the grassy hills in pale light despite the meager crescent moon. Uzushiogakure glowed below, soft orange lights in the windows of children as their mothers sang them to sleep, or looking in on friends having a last drink before bed. She smiled, panting a little from the flight.

"I love this place," she said, a little breathless.

The sea breeze was stronger here without the cover of the village, and it blew her hair gently. It was then that she realized it was loose and long. The tie holding her bun in must have fallen out during their flight, and rivers of red fell about her shoulders and back. She didn't have another tie, so she would have to suffer for now.

"Your hair's longer than it used to be," Madara said, sitting down on the grassy earth and eyeing the long tresses.

"So is yours," she fired back, hesitating a moment before taking a seat next to him. "A lot's changed, actually."

He was silent, and Mito felt the urge to fill the space between them. She withdrew the seashell that had previously concealed Madara's dagger and played with it. Perhaps the best place to start would be the beginning.

"He called you his son," she said, eyes still gazing out over her village. She left the question unspoken for him to answer or leave alone, should he so choose.

"He didn't have one before Izuna and me."

"...What about Tajitsu?"

Madara chuckled, but there was nothing humorous about it. "I'm sure you can see how he's no fit son for an Uchiha."

Having spoken only a few words to Tajitsu, she couldn't say she knew him well. But he was an easy hand to read. No good leader would ever love his drink more than his people, and given Haruka's commentary at dinner, Mito suspected the lack of scars on his face wasn't due to his unparalleled skills on the battlefield. A part of her was almost surprised Tajima had brought him along, the older son he'd clearly disinherited in favor of a lowborn soldier, but tradition was like ripe bamboo—damn near impossible to bend and growing like wildfire, impossible to stop.

"How," Mito began, unsure if this was a direction he would be comfortable going in. "...How did you do it?"

"Hard work and a lot of blood. Tajima needed an heir, and I needed an in."

It didn't add up. From what Mito knew of the Uchiha clan, they were rigid and old-fashioned on their best days. How could Madara, born without so much as the right to the family name, have risen to the throne in just four years? She was missing something important.

"I suppose marrying Haruka will be the icing on the cake once Tajima passes," she said.

Madara turned to look at her, eyes hard. "My father isn't about to roll over and die."

Ah.

"You consider him family, don't you?" Mito held up a hand to keep him from misunderstanding. "I think that's wonderful. When I met you and Izuna, you looked like you only had each other in the world. And now, well, it's not just the two of you anymore, is it? I'm happy for you."

Whatever anger Madara was feeling abated after a moment, and he backed down. They returned to watching the village lights, and Mito felt a little lighter.

"A lot's changed," he said, echoing her words from earlier.

Mito's eyes fell upon the small, pink seashell in her hand that he'd kept with him all these years. "Change is good."

"Things will keep changing, too. One day, this will all look different."

"What do you mean?"

Madara was silent for a moment, and she wondered what he could be thinking. "This world is ours for the taking. We can reinvent it any way we want. Make it better, turn dreams into reality. The possibilities are endless."

Mito had the feeling he was trying to tell her something, but she couldn't quite figure out what it was. He'd revealed quite a bit already, and she didn't want to push her luck. "We... Are you including me in this dream world of yours, then?" she said with a smile.

When he looked at her again, his eyes were depthless and unreadable. She had the most uncanny urge to reach for him, but she held back. It wouldn't be appropriate.

"Do you want to be?"

Sea breeze tickled Mito's cheeks and the back of her neck, eliciting goosebumps, as she stared back at Madara with wide eyes. It was the same feeling she'd gotten during their first meeting, like he truly saw her beyond all the beautiful silks and satins to the girl underneath. He called her a princess, but he had never once treated her like one.

"I'd like to see it one day," she said. "More than anything."

He rose and offered her his hand, which she took. Under the soft starlight, she almost felt like they were the only two people in the world. The thought made her heart beat a little faster.

"You should sleep. We have an early morning tomorrow," he said at length.

Irritation flared at his words. She was no child. "So should you. I bet you're grumpy in the mornings."

Madara laughed a little but said nothing. Mito didn't protest as he pulled her back toward the village, his hand in hers.