Glass Trinity, Chapter 8: Far, Far Away
Disclaimer: I don't own Naruto.
Everyone is afraid of something.
Most fear death in all its incarnations—insensitive, impartial, and always lonely. The unknown. More than the pain, perhaps, most people fear the loneliness at the end of this life. Dying with comrades in battle makes no difference; the darkness is yours alone, and everyone's looks different.
Mito had been alone all her life. Solitude did not frighten her.
Pain was a shinobi's currency. Those with more tended to live better than others, not because pain was a measure of wealth, but a measure of the soul and its resilience. Pain did not frighten Mito, either.
But loneliness and pain together...
She had never given much thought to how she would die, or when. Uzumaki lived longer than all others. Solitude was in their bones, doomed to outlive those they loved.
Best not to love.
Hatred was pain and solitude given a blade with which to cut. It meant to rip others to shreds and leave its wielder the last man standing. Blood and silence. The echo of a scream long extinguished.
Death by fire.
Fire was intangible, an ancient element, the stuff of magic older than the blood feud between Uchiha and Senju. It could rejuvenate, extinguish darkness and warm frozen fingers. The legendary phoenix was reborn of fire and ash, given life where only death awaited all others. But fire could also kill, evaporate and incinerate until nothing but tarnish remained. What of a fire that emitted no light and was so hot even that bird of lore could not stand its heat?
Mito had never died in a dream, but in this one she died over and over again. Death by fire, ghost fire, fire that boiled her blood and bones. Sometimes it started at her feet, the way it had overtaken Tajitsu. Other times it began deep inside and burst out. Sometimes she saw Mara's wide, brown eyes, with little flecks of gold in them, bright with tears and terror and seeing only Mito as she fell to the ground, gone before she hit. And Mito would fall upon her, wailing, as though the dead could hear, as though the dead could care for the troubles of the living. And she would see herself in those glassy eyes, eyes that reflected her and nothing else.
Eyes that turned red with blood and hatred and spun, spun until Mito was dizzy, hypnotized, those red, red eyes. Eyes that called the fires of hell, hotter than any fire known to man, maybe hot enough to burn a hole in the future to fill it with the past. But once lit, there was no stopping the devil's fire, not hatred and not love.
Only Mito.
Only in the dream she couldn't stop it, no matter how many seals she carved into her flesh, no matter how much blood and chakra she spilled.
"Madara, stop!"
Only he didn't stop. Not for her, not for anyone. He cried red tears, so thick and hot they blinded him to all but the blood. And he laughed, drunk on power, drunk on hatred.
"Burn."
And she burned.
Waking up was an ordeal all its own. It was the sensation of knowing she was asleep and being trapped in her own body, unable to open her eyes or speak. Barely even breathe. Too long without breath and she was suffocating, her fingers turning blue, clawing at invisible demons weighing her down, threatening to send her back to the dream of fire and blood. But she wouldn't go, not back there.
With a gasping breath, Mito shook awake. The world moved on rickety, wooden wheels and jostled her. Each dip sent lancing pain through her midsection, and she hissed. The sun was high in the sky, burning her eyes and making her sweat. Voices murmured around her, but they were far away, muted. The sky passed her by overhead.
It took only a moment or two to realize she must be in a wagon of some kind. How much time had passed since she'd been out? The last thing she could remember was Madara and the ruinous black fire he'd unleashed upon the battlefield. A surge of panic prompted Mito to jerk her arms and fumble about, searching. The scroll was lying just to her right, and a sigh of relief escaped her as she felt its steady heat in her palm.
There was something else to her right, but the sun was making it hard to see much of anything. She blinked hard, willing away the spots in her vision to get a better look.
"Haruka?"
The older woman still wore her Uchiha armor, emblazoned with the clan's traditional fan on the shoulder. Blood coated her hands and leaked from small puncture holes in her armor, dry. She was breathing. Mito's breaths were shallow, and any exertion could induce a cough that would feel like breaking every rib in her body all over again, but she just had to reach for Haruka. Transferring the scroll to her other side, Mito used her free hand to feel for Haruka's. When she made contact, Haruka jerked.
"Haruka," Mito rasped.
"Who's there?"
Her throat was sandpaper, and every breath was a death rattle that would not end in death. Wherever the caravan was headed, Mito could only hope their destination was nearby.
"It's Mito. Are you okay?"
"Mito?"
Clouds passed over the sun and shielded some of the light, mercifully. Mito blinked again, and her vision began to adjust. She could make out Haruka's head, turned away from her. There was a bandage wrapped around her head, and Mito worried she was injured badly.
"I'm here," Mito said.
Haruka shifted and slowly turned to face her companion. Mito didn't comprehend what she was seeing right away, like it came in pieces, only coming together after several seconds, several breaths after which there was no mistaking it. She could only stare in shock at the horror that had befallen Haruka, a woman she admired and respected and considered a precious kindred spirit.
The bandage covered Haruka's eyes, and it was soaked through with blood. Red rivers ran down her cheeks like tears over the ends of jagged rips in the skin, the rest of which were hidden beneath the bandages. Against her will, Mito began to cry for whatever it was she was seeing, whatever Haruka wasn't seeing. She choked on a sob and gritted her teeth in pain as her chest flared in protest.
"I'm here," Mito repeated, grabbing Haruka's hand in hers. "I'm here."
She couldn't remember passing out again, her tears continuing to fall even in her sleep.
Kenshin employed no medical ninja, and the few mixed in with the Uchiha and Uzumaki forces were exhausted. But civilian medics were competent enough to patch up even the worst wounds, at least until the injured could get shinobi treatment. Mito's entire middle was wrapped tightly with bandages and sticky with ointment underneath for the pain. She had to marvel at the civilian medics' knowledge and abilities. Like this, she could make the journey to Uzushiogakure and possibly stay conscious for the trip.
She hadn't seen Madara since passing out on the battlefield, but memories of what had transpired reawakened in her, however unwilling. She wept for him in private, the thought of losing his father vicariously painful. For she could not imagine losing her own father, especially not by her own unwilling hand, and she'd seen how close Madara and his adoptive parent had been. But that wasn't all of it. Haruka was blind, having gouged out her own eyes under the influence of an insidious genjutsu. And to make matters worse, Tajitsu was revealed to have been working with the enemy, a traitor who had sold out his own family. The Uchiha clan was in mourning, and they kept to themselves even more than before. Mito dared not approach any of them, even to ask after Madara.
Her heart went out to them. To have lost their leader, discovered a traitor in their ranks, and suffered Haruka's loss of the Sharingan was a devastating blow. And it was her sympathy that made up her mind about what to do next.
"Are you sure, my lady?" Satto said as they spoke in private in Mito's temporary chambers.
"I've never been more certain. This was our campaign, and we are partly responsible for Lord Kenshin's decision to recruit the Uchiha for assistance," Mito said.
"It isn't that I have a problem with it, you know, but your lord father may not be as thrilled."
"I will deal with my father if I must. In any case, I think it prudent to maintain a positive relationship with the Uchiha. My father wishes to avoid the conflicts of the mainland. How can we accomplish that if we make an enemy out of the Uchiha?"
Satto put up his hands in defeat. "Very well, then. But I suggest you discuss it with the Uchiha first."
"I plan to."
A knock at the door admitted an armored samurai, one of Kenshin's. "Excuse the intrusion, Lady Mito. My lord requests an audience."
Mito nodded. "Thank you. I'll be right out."
The samurai excused himself, and Mito retrieved a green linen robe from her bed to wear over her clothes and bandages.
"I suggest we depart sooner rather than later," Satto said, holding the door open for Mito. "If we plan to bring home guests, they'll need treatment right away."
"I agree. I won't be long. Please assemble our party; I'd like to leave this afternoon."
Mito parted ways with the General and followed the samurai, who'd been waiting at the end of the hall to escort her. Their walk was short, and Mito cast subtle glances at the Uchiha and samurai warriors throughout the castle, on the floor, leaning against walls, all either wounded or treating the wounded. She said nothing, however, until the samurai admitted her to a room to the west of the great hall. Kenshin was there, and so were Madara and Izuna, to Mito's surprise.
"Ah, there she is," Kenshin said, acknowledging Mito.
Mito dipped her head out of respect. "Lord Kenshin, you wished to see me."
She tried to ignore Madara and Izuna, although it was easy enough when they barely seemed to notice her presence.
"Like I was telling the Uchiha here," Kenshin said, "your payment will be sent over the next week. I already sent a bird to Lord Ensui."
"That would be very agreeable."
"Listen, er, Lady Mito," Kenshin said. "I can't say I'm looking forward to the next time I call on the Uzumaki, but at least I know now you're worth the contract price. I guess my idiot brother had some sense in him, after all."
"My lord is kind."
Kenshin snorted. "I hate to say it, but I couldn't have done this without you shinobi. Now, I don't have any shinobi medics here. I suggest you get moving."
"I was thinking the same thing," Mito said. "We plan to depart this afternoon as soon as we're ready."
"Good." Kenshin left to attend to his business, but before exiting he added, "You tell your lord father the next time he wants to send his daughter to do his job for him, I insist."
Mito bit back a smile at Kenshin's small praise. It faded, however, as soon as she realized she was alone with Madara and Izuna. They were making to leave.
"Wait!" she called, grabbing Madara's wrist.
He didn't turn to look at her, but Izuna did.
"My brother's busy. We have a lot to do," Izuna said.
A million thoughts raced through Mito's mind. She wanted to apologize for their loss. She wanted to ask about the shift in leadership in the Uchiha clan, and how it would all pan out. She wanted to know about Haruka, if she was okay, if Madara was okay, and if she could do anything. But the one thing she thought might get through to Madara now beat out all the others.
"Come back to Uzushiogakure, please," she pleaded. "We have many trained medical ninja who can treat your wounded. You'll be welcome there."
Madara spared Mito a glance, and she shivered at the emptiness in his gray eyes. He looked like he hadn't slept in days. Dark circles rimmed his eyes, and his skin was pallid and drawn, like he was anemic. But he said nothing.
"We have many wounded," Izuna spoke for his brother.
Mito shook her head. "Please, I beg you. I know the Uchiha don't train many medical ninja, so use our resources. You'll find a safe haven in Uzushiogakure for as long as you need. You have my word."
Madara averted his gaze, but he didn't pull away.
"Brother," Izuna said.
"Fine," Madara said. "I'll make sure we're ready to leave this afternoon."
Mito released him, sensing that was all she would get from him for now. Madara exited the room, and Izuna followed. The younger Uchiha spared Mito a glance just before leaving, and Mito's throat constricted. Izuna was gone before she could say anything further.
If there was any internal conflict over Uchiha leadership, Mito could not tell. Once the Uchiha and Uzumaki were on the road, the prospect of effective medical treatment and a safe place to rest seemed to be everyone's shared motivation to move forward. But she had to wonder how long unity would last. With their leader dead and no trueborn male heir to succeed him, time would eventually reap the seeds of upheaval unless and until Madara could establish his legitimate claim. It wasn't her business, but she worried for Madara and Izuna. She worried for Haruka, whom no one had been allowed to see once the group set out.
Satto had sent a bird ahead to Uzushiogakure, informing Ensui about the entourage he should expect in three days' time. Kenshin had been generous enough to offer the shinobi caravans and wagons in which to transport those too weak to walk on their own. Uzumaki and Uchiha lay mixed together, though they did not complain in their injured states. Mito proceeded on foot, insisting it was her ribs that were mutilated, not her legs. She only hoped the treatment she'd received at Kenshin's stronghold would stave off the pain until she could get home.
Progress was made largely in silence, even at night when the group stopped to rest and make camp. It was so different from the journey north, which had been filled with camaraderie, laughter, and an eagerness for battle. Now, they were an army of corpses marching south to their graves. Such was the mood of their troupe.
She looked for Madara, though it proved fruitless. She didn't want to ask any of the Uchiha soldiers about him, either, not knowing the general sentiment towards him as acting leader. Soon, all she could do was give up and turn in for the night. In a constant state of physical and mental debilitation, they were the longest three days of her life.
The last night of the trip, Satto received a message from Ensui, which he immediately brought to Mito's attention.
"The Senju are currently your father's guests. Not all of them, but a small garrison. Their leader, Hashirama, is among them," Satto whispered over an oil lamp in Mito's tent.
Mito read her father's letter slowly, absorbing the meaning of his flowing cursive and trying hard not to let emotions overrule logic.
"It's too late for us to turn back. I gave Madara my word, besides."
"Aye, I'm not suggesting it. But this is a problem, regardless."
"Tell my lord father we'll be arriving tomorrow afternoon by boat. It's not a lot of time, but he should be able to make arrangements to separate the Senju from the Uchiha."
"I'll do that, but this is a delicate situation," Satto reminded her. "The Uchiha just lost their leader. There's no telling what'll happen."
Mito was silent for a moment. She thought of Madara, how silent and empty he'd been when they last spoke. The last thing he needed now was a possible confrontation with the Senju. It was a disaster waiting to happen if the Uzumaki didn't handle it the right way.
"I'll speak with Madara now. This is too important to leave until morning. We must handle the situation with care."
Satto nodded. "I'll send a response to Uzushiogakure as soon as we've had a word with the Uchiha."
"No, I can go alone. Please send the response now."
"Are you sure?"
"I'm sure. I don't want this to seem like a political talk. Politics are the last thing we need after everything that's happened."
"Very well. Good night, my lady."
Satto left and Mito followed. They parted ways outside, and Mito looked around. A few tents were set up, but most of the Uchiha and Uzumaki soldiers slept under the stars. The crackle of campfires was the only sound, save for a few whispers. The lack of energy was enough to make the night feel darker despite the waxing gibbous moon overhead. Mito pulled her robe tighter around her shoulders, ignoring the ache, and walked toward the Uchiha side of camp.
A young soldier stopped her. "Lady Mito," he said, brown bangs obscuring one eye. "You shouldn't be here."
"I have urgent business with Madara. It can't wait until morning."
The soldier straightened, increasing his height a couple inches, and peered down at Mito over his nose. She held her ground, recognizing that tactic.
"Hikaku, let her pass," Madara said from within the tent.
The soldier, Hikaku Uchiha, scowled. "You can't be serious."
"I'm about to get serious."
Mito peered behind Hikaku, but the shadows of the tent hid Madara from sight. Hikaku grumbled something under his breath but stepped aside.
"Don't try anything," he said as she passed.
Mito paused and turned to regard Hikaku. She said nothing, but she didn't have to. He met her gaze and blinked, pursed his lips, and she did not waver in her icy perusal. He looked away first, and it was all Mito needed to see. She let herself inside the tent.
Izuna was on the ground eating a plate of shredded chicken and bread with broth. He nodded to Mito when she entered. Madara stood at the opposite side of the tent, arms crossed and eyes glowing red with the Sharingan. She remembered the last time she'd seen red in his eyes, tears of blood fueling a fire not of this world. Something in him was different, and she had the sense to tread lightly.
It was just a dream, she reminded herself when images of him burning not Tajitsu, but her, resurfaced. He's not like that.
"I'm sorry to disturb you at such a late hour," Mito said. "I've just received some urgent news from my lord father that you should know."
"What is it?" Izuna asked after swallowing a mouthful of food. "Something wrong?"
Mito wished she could breathe deep, shake the nerves from her body, but even shallow breathing was uncomfortable. "That depends."
"Tell me," Madara said.
"It's...the Senju clan." Mito paused, searching his eyes for some kind of reaction. "They're currently guests in Uzushiogakure under my father's protection."
Madara let his arms fall to his sides, and he approached Mito. He stopped about a foot away, and it took all her strength not to avert her gaze.
"The Senju are in Uzushiogakure," Madara repeated, low and guttural.
"A small garrison," Mito clarified. "This changes nothing. You will still be welcome and receive the best medical treatment we can afford. I've already sent word to my father. You'll be housed far from the Senju and have no contact with them—"
"I know you don't believe that," Madara interrupted. "You're talking about hosting both the Uchiha and the Senju under one roof. We've just fought in a difficult battle and lost our leader. I can't believe you're even suggesting something so asinine."
"The asinine thing to do would be to refuse your wounded adequate medical treatment when they're less than a day from it," Mito said, her tone clipped. "I understand that Uchiha and Senju have their differences—"
"No, you don't understand." Madara shot a hand out to grip her shoulder to make his point.
The flash of pain was enough to crumble Mito's resolve, and she cried out in pain. She tried to stifle the noise with a hand over her mouth, but the damage was done. Madara's expression fell, and his eyes faded to black. He removed his hand and took a step back. Mito's breath came in ragged gasps as she waited for the burn to pass, eyes squeezed shut.
No one said a word until she recovered, and she searched for Madara's eyes once more. He was more composed, but gone was the freezing crevasse that had divided them only moments ago.
"No," Mito said. "I don't understand what it means to have a blood feud stretching back a millennium. But I do know that you need medical care and a safe place to recover. I'm offering that. Don't turn it down for something as petty as bad company."
Izuna stood up. "We won't. But you have to make sure the Senju stay away from us."
Mito nodded. "My father's already making the necessary arrangements. But I expect the Uchiha not to pick any fights, either."
She turned to excuse herself from the tent, but Madara's voice stopped her. "They won't. You have my word."
She had the urge to look back at him, but decided against it. As much as it pained her to leave, whatever he was going through was his to reconcile with Izuna and the rest of the Uchiha.
"I'm truly sorry for your losses," she said softly.
Mito clutched her aching side but remained as straight-backed as she could muster as she left. Madara had never been forthcoming about much of anything, and she could only imagine that an effort to get him to open up would end badly for everyone. Some things were better left to time.
She only hoped time would heal this wound instead of cause it to fester.
Madara watched her leave. His hand tingled, as though asleep. The hand he'd hurt her with. He didn't know, he reasoned. She hid her pain well, perfectly, even. Princesses trained all their lives to hide their pain.
But I should have known.
His was so obvious to her, and yet he'd been totally blind to her suffering.
"Hashirama will be there," Izuna said. "And Tobirama."
Madara turned to his younger brother. "I know."
"I don't like it."
"But you know we need those medics."
"I know. The Uchiha always come first."
Madara flexed his fingers, willing the tingle away, but it lingered.
"Madara," Izuna said. "About Haruka—"
"Not now."
Izuna hesitated, something he would never do in front of anyone else. "They're listening now, but I don't think it'll last."
Madara rubbed his eyes, wishing he could sleep but knowing it would never come. Perhaps never again. "I can't think about that now. She needs treatment. Then..."
"Then, you'll deal with the marriage," Izuna said. "Without it—"
"I'm aware."
A hand on Madara's shoulder was almost comforting. He let out a tired breath. "I'm aware, Izuna."
"Do you want me to tell the soldiers?"
"No. I'll do it first thing in the morning. Stay with Haruka. I don't want her to be without family."
Izuna nodded and left the tent.
Alone, Madara merely stood still and focused on breathing.
"Father, give me strength," he entreated the emptiness.
Give me the strength to keep my promises.
Sleep did not come easy these days. Every time Mito lay down for the night, she faced both physical and emotional agony. No position was comfortable with her insides ground to dust, and even if she did pass into the realm of slumber, only nightmares awaited her. She saw Mara dying, her neck snapping. She saw herself snapping Mara's neck instead of the monster that had done the deed. Mito became the monster, and Mara's screams were music, a symphony of violence only Mito could hear.
The one consolation was that they seemed not to last long, and she jerked awake in a cold sweat. The land of waking, however, awaited with fresh pain potent enough to stifle her whimpers. There was not much discerning the line between the two these past three days.
Now, as she returned from visiting Madara and Izuna, Mito extinguished the oil lamp and plunged her tent into darkness. Settling onto her sleeping mat was an ordeal fraught with stabs of pain, sharper than usual thanks to Madara's rough handling of her.
It was an accident, she chided herself.
The pain, however, was real enough. At least the night was warm and she wouldn't have to bear the extra discomfort of shivers. Her hair was in a messy bun, but she let it down for the night. Red locks fell about her shoulders, shielding her from the night in a protective cocoon. Used to the perpetual ache somewhat, Mito began to doze. But a noise brought her back to reality, saved her from the recurring nightmare that had visited her every night. On instinct, Mito grabbed the kunai at her bedside.
"Who's there?" she demanded.
The flap of her tent fluttered open and a person stepped inside. In the gloom, she could not make him or her out. Alarmed that she'd gotten no answer, Mito sat up straighter in bed, wincing at the pain but more concerned with her safety to care.
"Are you going to kill me with that?"
Madara's voice was so soft that Mito almost thought she'd imagined it. But when he didn't move, she relaxed and lowered her weapon.
"What are you doing here?"
Footsteps approached her bedside, and Madara crouched down next to her. This close, she could make out his face a little: the angle of his jaw, the line tracing his nose, and the demarcation between the whites of his eyes and the darkness at their centers. He remained silent, only his warm breath on her cheek a reminder that he was really here.
"Madara," Mito said.
Tentative, she raised the hand that had abandoned the kunai and touched his cheek. The skin was smooth and taut, a reminder of his youth and hers. She ran her thumb just under his left eye, where his blood had flowed like tears. He let her.
"What is it?" she asked as his skin hummed under her touch. "The Uchiha?"
Madara didn't answer right away, but the air around them grew heavy with pressure as he warred within himself over invisible demons. They haunted him, too.
"I don't know if I can..." he trailed off.
Mito's breath hitched in her throat. In the dark, she could barely see him, but she knew he could see her perfectly. Everything, his tragedy and his success, boiled down to those few simple words, words that had taken more effort for him to speak aloud than possibly any others ever had. Truth, doubt, fear, an entire lifetime in those six little words, and only Mito as his witness. If it were her, she wasn't sure if she could have admitted to it at all.
But it wasn't her; it as Madara.
"You can," Mito said, leaning in close so their foreheads touched and his scent was all she knew of this world. "You must."
His hand at her thigh, fisting the linen pants she wore. Anything to hold on to.
"I have faith in you," she said.
Fingers found the shoulder he'd abused earlier, light as a butterfly's wings. He said nothing, but he didn't have to. They traveled to her long, long hair, wrapping themselves in its crimson aegis, and for the first time in her life Mito thought the length wasn't so bad, after all. When he kissed her she saw stars, pain and pleasure, though he was careful not to make the same mistake twice. Madara never made the same mistake twice.
Gently, so as not to break her any more than the battle already had, he lowered her to the sleeping mat, angling her neck to rest over his arm. The combination of cushions and his body, caving to accommodate her, was enough to ease the ache just a little.
"Please stay," Mito whispered.
He said nothing for the longest time, but it was fine with Mito. In his arms, she fancied the thought of evading the nightmares for just a few precious hours.
"Just for a while," he said against the shell of her ear.
Whether dream or reality, Mito could not say. Sleep pulled her under, and she let it. Welcomed it. The last thing she could remember was the feel of his fingers tugging at her hair, gentle and lulling, like ocean waves.
"You have got to be kidding me," Tobirama hissed as he paced back and forth in one of the palace gardens just outside the rooms Ensui had marked off for the visiting Senju clan.
"I wouldn't kid about this," Hashirama said. He sat on a stone bench, and his eyes followed his little brother's pacing to and fro, to and fro. He grew dizzy.
"Well, the joke's still on us, Hashi. The goddamned Uchiha and us under the same roof? You are crazy."
"Ensui was very clear that he would be cordoning them off from us," Tōka said. She sat on the ground watching a fat bumble bee attempt to suck the nectar from an exotic looking yellow flower, though it was having poor luck.
"Like boundaries mean anything." Tobirama pinched the bridge of his nose. "I don't like this. It smells like shit and you both know it."
"Hey, calm down, Tobi. It'll be fine so long as everyone heeds my request not to go near them or antagonize them, you know?" Hashirama spared his brother a smile.
Tobirama scowled. "It's them I'm worried about, not us."
"Is it true Tajima was killed in battle?" Tōka asked.
Hashirama sighed. "According to the correspondence Ensui got, yeah."
"Which means Madara's in charge now. Fantastic." Tobirama threw up his arms. "As if this day couldn't get any worse."
"Tajitsu betrayed the Uchiha," Hashirama went on, his eyes downcast. "He tricked Madara into killing Tajima."
Tobirama paused in his pacing. "How'd he do that?"
"Genjutsu."
Tobirama sighed and plopped down on the ground. "That's dirty, even for an Uchiha."
"Apparently, Tajitsu sold the Uchiha out to the feudal lord Yukimura Sanada," Hashirama said. "You know what that means."
"Saizō Kirigakure."
The Senju cousins turned to the new voice that had joined them. Sasuke stood at the entrance of the small garden, his face impassive but hard. Hashirama rose.
"He got away, Sasuke."
"Good. I'm the one who's gonna kill that son of a bitch," Sasuke spat.
"Do you have any idea why Saizō wanted to attack Kenshin's territory?" Tōka asked. "I don't believe he had irredentist motivations for a second."
"I dunno," Sasuke said. "But I'll try to remember to ask him next time I see him. Before I rip his fucking throat out."
Tobirama remained silent, and Hashirama cast him a curious glance. The younger Senju brother seemed deep in thought.
"Tobi?"
Tobirama shook his head. "Whatever it was, it didn't succeed. Which means Saizō might try again."
The silence between the garden's four occupants was redolent with unsaid words, perhaps better left unspoken.
"It's irrelevant so long as we don't know what he was after," Tōka said. "In any case, if Sanada's forces lost the battle, they'll be recovering. There should be no immediate threat for the time being."
"I agree," Hashirama said. "For now, let's focus on getting ready to leave at the end of the week."
"What about your treaty negotiation?" Sasuke asked. "No dice?"
"No. Ensui doesn't want to forfeit the peace he's created here. Can't say I blame him."
"It's a sham," Tobirama said. "He's got to know that. Sooner or later, the fighting'll spill over to this side of the continent. It always does."
"I know that, but peace is tough to bet against when it's done the Uzumaki well for so many years. They're not involved in our feud."
"They will be," Tōka said, standing up and crossing her arms across her armored chest. "It's only a matter of time. Better that they join us instead of the Uchiha."
"Ensui's not a stupid man," Sasuke said. "He has to know you're right."
Hashirama shook his head. "The time isn't right. I can't do anything unless we force an alliance, but that would defeat the purpose entirely."
"Maybe we should force it," Tobirama said. "It's for their own good."
"No, it'll never work. They have to believe in our cause. Whether it's the Uzumaki or anyone else, they have to believe in the dream to make it come true. You can't coerce the heart; you have to let it draw its own conclusions."
Hashirama's words hung in the air as thick as the scent of flower nectar all around them. The truth in them was hard even for him to accept. In the three years since his father's death, Hashirama had lived by those words, coming to learn their truth the hard way. He didn't mind, always patient enough to wait out storms, but even he was not immune to the frustrations of free will. Obstinacy. What good was a dream if the dreamers could not agree on how to make it a reality?
He thought of Madara, who'd just lost his father by his own unwilling hand and now shouldered the pride of the Uchiha clan on his shoulders. Hashirama knew that weight, the burden it imposed, having lived it himself. He could say nothing to Tobirama, but Hashirama wanted to meet Madara when he arrived. Talk to him, the way they used to. And who knew? Maybe Uzushiogakure, a place of peaceful neutrality, could be the very forum they needed to see eye to eye. Hashirama could only hope and believe in the memory of the friend he'd made on the banks of the Naka River so many years ago.
One thing was certain: he had to try.
"My lord."
A woman's gentle voice drew Hashirama from his thoughts.
"Lena," Sasuke said, smiling wide as though the previous conversation had never happened. "What brings you here?"
"I wanted to inform you all that the Uzumaki entourage has returned from the north. The Uchiha clan is with them. Lord Ensui is asking for you, Lord Hashirama."
"That was fast," Tobirama grumbled.
"I'll be right there, thank you," Hashirama said.
Sasuke approached the dark-skinned handmaiden and gestured toward the palace. "Let me walk you back inside. You'll be at the homecoming feast tonight, right?"
Lena smiled shyly. "Yes, of course, but not to partake of the festivities. M'lord knows this well."
"Just Sasuke, please. I'm no one's lord, never have been, never will be."
Tōka and Tobirama exchanged a knowing look, and Hashirama just smiled. "Excellent! I'm starving. I can't wait for this feast!"
Never one to wait for food, Hashirama marched past Lena and Sasuke to look for Ensui.
When Mito had awoken the next morning, Madara was gone. She hadn't even noticed his departure sometime in the night, but she had not slept so well in days. Smiling a little to herself, she didn't even bother pinning her hair up for the morning's boat ride to Uzushiogakure, content to let her wild, red tresses fly free in the sea breeze.
"My lady, perhaps you should rest," Satto said on deck as he joined Mito at the starboard bow to gaze out over the seascape.
"I'll have plenty of opportunity to rest when the medics get ahold of me, General. But thank you for your concern."
Behind them, the barge carrying the Uchiha clan followed at a distance. It was funny, Mito thought. Clan lines separated them, and yet together they had been able to overcome the army of one of the most powerful warlords on the continent. She supposed it was of little consequence, but the idea stuck. Like the night Madara had trained with her. To fight with a shinobi trained in areas she could never even touch was exhilarating. Thinking of Madara drew heat to her cheeks.
"Mito, are you well? You look feverish," Satto said.
Mito's heart skipped a beat. "I-I'm fine! Just looking forward to being home again."
Satto gave her a strange look, but he let it slide. They reached their destination in no time at all, it seemed to Mito. As soon as she disembarked, a team of medical ninja was on site to escort her and other wounded Uzumaki soldiers to the appropriate facilities.
"Please, the Uchiha need your skills more than we do," Mito pleaded with them. "One of them has lost her eyes and needs immediate surgery. Prioritize her first."
"Yes, my lady," the head medic said as he escorted Mito and other Uzumaki soldiers to the infirmary. "I'll oversee her surgery myself."
"Thank you."
She was able to watch the barge transporting the Uchiha dock and its passengers begin to disembark just before a medic put her under anesthesia to begin surgery on her mangled ribs. Dark heads filed off the barge to be greeted by medical ninja and Uzumaki officials. Mito wondered if her father would be among them, but having been rushed to treatment she didn't get the chance to see for herself. Three sets of hands, glowing green and blue and purple with medical ninjutsu and ancient seals made to bind bones and skin, roved over Mito's sleeping body, slowly reconstructing her. She felt none of it, remembered hardly any of it. And in the drug-induced sleep, the only dream that visited her was of the tide tugging at her hair, sweeping her out to sea where nightmares could not follow.
When Mito awoke the sun had disappeared from the sky, barely peeking over the horizon, though in her disorientation she could not tell east from west. Like coming back to life, Mito filled her lungs with air she could swear she had not breathed for a lifetime. It was too much at a time, though, and she ended up coughing.
To her relief, the pain in her chest was negligible. She poked at her ribs, which had been wrapped with fresh bandages for support, but was met with no excruciating spike of pain. She was back to normal. Sitting up in bed, Mito pulled back the curtain next to her bed and peered outside. Townspeople walked in the distance, though she couldn't make out their faces. Boats were departing from docks along the rocky coast to spend the day at sea, fishing.
Morning, then.
Eager to see her father and ensure that there had been no problems thus far with the Uchiha and the Senju, Mito slipped out of bed and walked to the door. The early morning staff were few, and sneaking past them was child's play. There was something about hospitals that did not sit well with Mito, and she could find no reason to linger. Not when there was so much to do. Wrapping the white linen robe someone had brought for her around her body and fastening the tie at her waist, she darted out the front door.
The trek to her family's estate was not long. She breathed deeply, having missed the smell of salt in the air. There were times in the battle that she thought she'd never breathe this air again, but instead of lifting her spirits, the thought only dampened them. Mara would never walk along Uzushiogakure's beaches again, never taste the air. Even though Mito had not been the one to snap Mara's neck (as her nightmares were wont to impress upon her), she was still responsible for the woman's death. The gifted Uzumaki medical ninjas could heal her broken body, but they could do nothing for her ailing heart.
Mito's feet carried her to a side entrance in her father's estate, and it was only a matter of minutes before she made it to her room. To her surprise, Lena was there going through her wardrobe.
"Lena," Mito said approaching the older woman.
Startled, Lena had no warning before Mito all but tackled her in a fierce hug. The moment passed and Lena returned the ardent embrace, smoothing Mito's long, loose hair down her back.
"Mito! I was just going to see you at the infirmary and bring you fresh clothing." She pulled back and took Mito's face in her hands, searching for any sign of illness. "My goodness."
"I'm fine," Mito said. "Nothing the medics couldn't fix."
Lena shook her head. "No, it's not that." She smiled. "You left here a child, but now I see a woman who's learned something of the world outside these walls. What happened out there?"
An image of Mara's shy smile flashed in her mind's eye, but Mito forced a smile. "Much. We won the campaign."
"I heard." Lena leaned in closer and whispered, "And you brought the Uchiha clan back with you."
"Yes, I wanted to speak with my father about that, make sure everything is going according to plan."
"So far there have been no incidents. Your lord father has cordoned off the southern wing for the Senju clan's exclusive use. The Uchiha will be in the north. Tents have been erected for their soldiers. There are so many of them!"
"Not as many as there were," Mito said, averting her gaze.
Lena watched her young mistress, thoughtful. After a moment, she released Mito. "Well, I'll draw a bath for you. It's still early for breakfast, and your lord father hasn't emerged from his chambers yet."
"Thank you, Lena."
"It's good to have you back, m'lady. You were sorely missed."
Lena left to prepare the bath and Mito walked to her bed, where Lena had laid out an outfit for her to wear. It was a silver and navy yukata, but Mito frowned at the clothing.
"Mito? The bath is ready for you!" Lena called from the attached bathroom.
"All right!"
Casting one last look at the fine clothes on her bed, Mito retreated to the bathroom to get cleaned up. About a half hour later, she was feeling refreshed and famished. Instead of the entire yukata ensemble, she dressed in pants and a light shirt, tying it all together with a thick, leather belt. She wore the yukata's coat over it.
"Are you planning to fight again so soon?" Lena asked, eyeing Mito's choice in clothing.
"With the company we're keeping, anything's possible."
Lena combed Mito's hair and used a towel to catch the excess water from the ends. "You'll have to let it dry before I can put it up."
"That's okay. I don't mind it down."
Lena gave Mito a curious look. "Perhaps you've changed more than I thought."
Mito shrugged. "I'm starving. I'll go speak with my father now."
"Good, I'll walk you."
The two women left Mito's private chambers and headed for the Sunroom, where Ensui preferred to take his breakfast. Official business was forbidden in that room, which was open and overlooking a hanging garden, beyond which lay the ocean. When Mito arrived, Ensui was having breakfast alone. Lena bowed and excused herself to give the family some privacy.
Ensui rose at the sight of his only daughter and smiled. Abandoning formality, he pulled her into a warm embrace, and Mito let herself take comfort in his strong arms.
"Father, I've missed you."
"Not as much as I've missed you." He pulled back and surveyed her appearance. "It seems battle has made a few changes in you."
Mito lowered her head. "More than a few."
"I trust you did your duty and didn't burden General Satto or the Uchiha?"
"Of course, Father. Though, the battle was difficult for everyone."
Ensui frowned, and she knew he was not pleased about her fighting, not that he'd expected otherwise. "Let's just not make this a habit. And no more outbursts in front of guests, am I understood?"
"Yes, Father." Mito bit back the retort that sat upon her tongue. This was not the time.
"Good. Tell me, how was Kenshin?"
Mito sat opposite her father and began to recount the tale of her journey to him over breakfast. She told him everything, although she left out her personal association with Madara. When she got to the part about how they'd beaten back Sanada's forces, Ensui's expression became somber.
"I'm pleased the campaign was a success, but what you're saying is worrisome. What do you mean by black flames? I've never seen such a thing."
"I hardly know myself. Something in Madara changed when Tajima died. Whatever it was, it saved us all."
"I want you to be careful around the Uchiha, Mito. You know they're a proud clan, but with the death of their leader and no legitimate heir to assume the position, there's no telling what they'll do. It would be in our best interests to send them on their way once they're well enough to make the journey."
Mito fought to keep her emotions in check. "With all due respect, Madara can control the Uchiha. I know the situation is unique, but..."
"But what?"
She held her father's gaze. "But he can do it. It doesn't matter that he isn't Tajima's trueborn son. He's the only one who can lead the Uchiha now."
"Whether or not that's true is beside the point. We'll send them on their way as soon as we can. Their internal affairs are their own, and I don't plan on getting involved. I'll need your help to keep them separated from our other guests. I don't want any accidents."
"I'll do whatever I can."
A knock at the door admitted General Satto, who wore none of his usual armor. "Ah, apologies. I didn't mean to interrupt."
"Not at all, General," Ensui said, rising. "Please, sit and have breakfast. I have business to attend to, but after I'll need your assistance in managing our guests."
Satto nodded. "Yes, sir."
Ensui excused himself from the Sunroom and left Mito with Satto, who lingered.
"General, is something the matter?" Mito asked.
"No, my lady, I just heard you were back here and wanted to make sure you were all right."
Mito smiled. "Thank you, but I'm just fine. The medics did an excellent job."
Satto approached. "But something's bothering you. It has been since the campaign. I never got a chance to ask."
Mito's gaze fell. He knew her so well. "It's Mara."
Satto put a hand on Mito's shoulder. "I had a feeling. This was your first battle. Loss is new to you."
Mito pulled away and stood at the edge of the porch, where the gardens began. "It's my fault she's dead. If I'd just been smarter, I could have killed that monster sooner."
Satto did not join her at the edge of the porch, but she could sense his hesitation.
"There was nothing you could've done. What matters is that you're alive."
Mito frowned and turned to him. "What matters is that I could have prevented it. I wasn't strong enough."
Satto shook his head. "Mara was a true soldier, pledged to defend you in that campaign to her death. It wouldn't have mattered if it'd been her or another to intervene on your behalf. She was just following orders."
Understanding dawned like another punch to the middle that shattered Mito's ribs all over again. "Are you saying you ordered her to give up her life for me if the need arose?"
"Mara died doing her duty. Her death was honorable, and she'll be remembered."
Mito was beside herself with fury. "How dare you." Clenching her fists, the pressure in her chest burst. "How dare you!"
"Your life had to be preserved at all costs. Mito, you're the princess of the Uzumaki clan—"
"My title does not make my life better than anyone else's! My title is not worth the life of a soldier—"
"It's worth the lives of a hundred soldiers!" Satto shouted.
Mito was shocked into silence. He had never raised his voice to her for as long as she'd known him.
"Your life, I mean. Not your title," Satto said in a more subdued tone. "My lady, you don't understand the depths of your potential. You can do great things for this clan, for the shinobi world, even. I'd gladly give my life to see it through."
The shock had devolved to a subtle bitterness that reverberated through Mito's body, a tingle somewhere between a sting and an itch. What did he know about potential? He was no soothsayer, no teller of fortune.
"You're a foolish old man," she said before she could stop herself. "You don't even know what you're saying."
It was Satto's turn to be shocked, but he kept his emotions at bay. "Aye, I'm an old man. Far too old perhaps to be your charge. But my age has opened my eyes to things I never would've noticed at your age. I'll be damned if I let you squander your chance at the life you were meant for."
Mito could not listen anymore. She retreated to the garden so she would not have to walk past him.
"Mito—"
"I don't want to see you anymore," Mito said without turning back. She disappeared into the gardens and broke into a jog.
Satto watched her go, unable to stop her.
He's wrong.
Mito repeated the mantra in her head as she ran among brambles and flowerbeds, under hanging ivy and lilac bushes. She ran until the roar of the ocean drowned out that bitter voice in her head. Atop Uzushiogakure's rocky shores, she came to an abrupt halt at the edge of the sea. Unshed tears stung her eyes, but they didn't fall. Sea spray kissed her reddened cheeks and wove its airy fingers through her loose, long hair.
Satto could not be right. Her father had raised her to believe that no one life was to held in higher regard than another, lest Mito become arrogant. She could understand the desire to keep her alive given her position, but it was no excuse to order a soldier to trade her life for Mito's. As if she didn't hate herself enough for what had happened.
And yet, a small part of her regretted her attitude with Satto. They had always gotten along well, and she respected him as much as she did her own father. He had trained her to be the warrior she was today, now proven in battle. She believed him when he said she had potential, having always had a flair for her clan's fūinjutsu beyond that of other shinobi her age. Most of all, she regretted her harsh words.
But he'd stepped out of line.
"He's wrong," she said aloud, as though hearing it would make it true.
"We men usually are."
The unfamiliar voice startled Mito, and she whirled to face her unannounced companion. A young man with olive skin, dark hair tied back at his shoulders, and kind eyes stood a short distance behind her. He offered her a lazy smile, like it was so natural for him that he didn't have to think about it. He wore no sigils or armor, nothing to denote his identity or rank, though she did not recognize him.
"Who are you?" she demanded. "Were you spying on me?"
His smile faltered and he put up his hands in a placating gesture. "What? No, never! I was just walking and, well, I happened to see you almost launch into the sea. I didn't know you could swim here with the whirlpools so close and all."
Mito frowned. "I wasn't going to jump in. That would be suicide. These rocks extend into the sea for about twenty feet from here."
He put a hand behind his head to scratch an imaginary itch. "Right, of course you weren't. My mistake, haha!"
They watched each other a moment longer. Mito tucked her billowing hair behind an ear, but it was futile with the breeze disturbing it.
"So...who's wrong?" he asked.
Mito's thoughts went back to Satto, and she averted her gaze toward the seascape, her previous ire returning. "It's not your concern."
"Well, maybe he doesn't know he's wrong. You could try talking to him?"
Mito sighed, exasperated. "We don't agree on the problem. It's not even a problem for him, actually, and that's just the problem." She paused. "Why am I even telling you this? Who are you? What are you doing all the way out here?"
"Wait, the problem is that there's no problem at all?"
"Oh, never mind."
Mito hopped off the rock she was standing on, arriving on level ground with him. He was quite tall, now that she had a chance to see him on equal footing. He also didn't press her for details and offered that lazy smile he'd worn when he'd first arrived.
"Okay, well, I hope you figure out the, uh, not problem," he said.
Thinking he might leave just like that, Mito said, "Hey, you still haven't even told me who you are. This is the third time I'm asking."
"Oh! I'm sorry, that was rude." He bowed low, and his ponytail slipped over his right shoulder. "I'm Hashirama, leader of the Senju clan."
Mito gaped at him. Humiliation stung the back of her throat. She'd just complained like a child in front of the Hashirama Senju, world-renowned shinobi and her father's honored guest. A part of her wished she could seal herself into one the sea shells littering the shore, just to disappear and be alone with this new ignominy.
When she didn't respond, Hashirama chanced a look up from his bowed position, which made him wrinkle his forehead and hang open his mouth to see her right. Mito's flush of embarrassment soon turned to confusion, then something closer to mystified curiosity. Like a child waiting to be pardoned, and she the scolding mother.
Hashirama's eyes began to cross as he tried to look up at her while bent over. "Um... Is that okay with you?"
It was so ridiculous that she could not help but laugh. And still he continued to look up at her from that awkward angle, like he'd forgotten how to stand up properly. Mito covered her mouth with a hand to stifle the giggles.
The Hashirama Senju, looking like a nervous fish out of water. Her transient embarrassment was a thing of the past.
"Oh my god, just please stand up," Mito said as she fought to calm down.
Hashirama stood, and he continued to stare openly at her, like he'd never dreamed a person like her was capable of laughter.
"I'm sorry," Mito said, still fighting back a grin. "That was uncalled for."
"No, never," Hashirama said a little too quickly, his expression relaxing, almost dream-like. "It's not a problem." He paused. "I mean, it's not a problem that there's no problem."
Her smile was proving difficult to shake, but she just shook her head.
"It's not a problem at all," she said.
"Good." He gestured toward her. "And what's your name?"
Mito dipped into a bow but made sure not to hold it long. "Mito Uzumaki."
When she rose he was looking at her like she'd just told him he smelled of horse manure.
"You're Mito?"
Mito gave him an odd look. "I am," she said tentatively, almost not believing it herself. "Is that okay?"
"Yeah, it's just...wow." He looked her up and down. "Your father's just so, and you're so..."
Mito was growing annoyed at not knowing what his complaint was. "So what?"
"So beautiful."
As natural as his smile, his candor was so fluid that Mito would never have doubted it. It was all over his face, the way his gaze lingered but didn't pierce, the way he was tempted to smile, like he was truly pleased. Men had called Mito beautiful before, many out of courtesy, some out of genuine feeling, and always because they thought it was what she wanted to hear. What woman didn't want to know she was coveted? But never had the confession made her feel quite like this, like she'd embarrassed herself all over again and once more wished to shrink and disappear. And yet, the smile he'd unwittingly drawn out of her earlier refused to depart without a last word.
She bit the inside of her cheek. "Are you calling my father ugly?"
Hashirama's air of relaxed admiration turned to abject horror at her words. "Whoa, wait, that's not really what I meant."
Mito watched him expectantly, but it only served to make him more apologetic.
"Hey, you're not gonna tell him, right? I didn't mean it that way..."
How is this man one of the most feared shinobi on the continent?
Appearances, however, could be very deceiving. Mito regretted the thought as soon as she had it. She of all people should have known better.
"It'll be our little secret," she said.
"Oh man, great. You're a lifesaver."
Mito spared him a smile and walked past him.
"Hey, wait!" Hashirama fell into step with her. "Where're you going?"
Mito shrugged. "Somewhere to get my mind off that problem I was telling you about."
"Oh, I see." He furrowed his brow and nodded to himself. "I better go with you, then."
"And why is that?"
"Well, how else will you get your mind off it?"
Mito shook her head. "That's nice of you, but I'm perfectly capable of..."
She trailed off as he held a hand out to her, palm up. In its center, a single red rose grew, sprouting thorns and bursting from bud to full bloom, all in the span of a few seconds. Mito watched, entranced, at the life Hashirama held in the palm of his hand. He closed his fingers around it and handed it to her. She accepted it without a word, touching the flower's fleshy petals with her fingers and marveling at its thick fragrance, almost heady.
"Capable of what?" he asked.
"Hm?"
She realized her slip too late, but Hashirama only grinned.
"See? Your mind's already far away," he said.
Perhaps if he were anyone else, she would find him a little cheesy. But everything about him, his smile, the look in his eyes, the way he spoke, was so sincere that she couldn't imagine not taking him seriously.
It occurred to her that the Uchiha, that Madara, must hate this man. But even in just the few minutes they'd spent together, Mito was sure she never could.
"I guess it is," she said. "All right. I wouldn't mind some company."
"Excellent! This is a perfect opportunity to tell you about the time my brother and I had to take on the fearsome Fat Louie and his underlings..."
Mito twirled his rose between her fingers, content to listen to him take her far, far away from here if only for a little while.