| Chapter 8 |
Hashirama placed the scroll in his hand down and looked at Toka. "You are certain of this information? I do not want to get his hopes up, only to crush them."
"I heard them with my own ears; I am certain, Hashirama-sama."
Nodding absent-mindedly, Hashirama dismissed Toka and watched her bow and retreat from his office, leaving him to his thoughts. Hopefully, if what Toka had informed him of was true, then Satomi's safety and rescue was guaranteed. If not, then he had to prepare Tobirama for another loss. But if it came to that, Hashirama had no idea how Tobirama would cope ...
What would change the council's mind so abruptly, though?
Sighing quietly, Hashirama rubbed his temples. Maybe he should have declined becoming clan leader – the job always gave him a headache.
The door slid open and Tobirama suddenly stepped in. He was wearing a grave expression. "I have just received word from the northern border. It seems like the Haruno clan were hired to invade again; more of them have been killed in the raid, but we lost ten of our own as well." Tobirama came to a halt in the middle of the room. "What is wrong?"
Hashirama didn't greet him with his usual exuberant welcome; no smile, no cheering, nothing. "You might want to sit down."
At once Tobirama became rigid with understanding. "Nothing has happened ... right?"
"I do not believe so," Hashirama stated plainly, his face showing his sympathy, "Satomi is safe at the moment. It is another matter, almost, I wish to discuss." Tobirama kneeled down to his brother's level and waited, sitting as motionless as a statue. Hashirama licked his bottom lip and then rubbed both of them together, fidgeting under Tobirama's intense gaze. "Firstly – can you stop that, please?"
"Stop what?"
"Staring at me like that. It makes me feel uncomfortable. You are staring at me as though you would rather eat me than talk to me."
Tobirama gave him a deadpan look. "So you are nervous, then. This does not look like this is going to be a good discussion." Hashirama hated it when Tobirama pointed out everything – just like he did then.
"Anyway," huffed Hashirama, now biting the inside of his lip. He shifted on the cushion he was sitting on. "How do I put this? Erm – well – Toka has informed me of a conversation the Elders were having – not that she was eavesdropping!" he added hurriedly, noticing Tobirama's face transform into a look of exasperation. "No, it was purely accidental! Anyway, moving on – she reported it back to me and I wanted to tell you before you heard it from anyone else. Erm ..."
Tobirama sighed. "What it is, Hashirama?" he muttered unenthusiastically, rubbing his forehead with his index and middle fingers.
"The Elders are considering bargaining with the Uchiha for Satomi's return," Hashirama blurted out before clapping a hand over his mouth. He stared at Tobirama, readying himself for reproachful remarks and criticism from his last surviving brother. None came.
"I know," was all Tobirama said.
Hashirama blinked a couple of times, unsure of whether he had heard correctly. "Err – pardon me? You know?"
Tobirama didn't even bat an eyelash at him. "Of course I would, I persuaded them to see sense." When Hashirama continued staring at him, he added on, "I promised them several things. The first is that our marriage will immediate, as soon as she is retrieved."
"And what about the second condition?"
"It does not matter now," Tobirama replied curtly, sidestepping the subject, "I know, and I have convinced them to bargain with the Uchiha clan."
Hashirama remained sceptical but said nothing. Eyes never straying from his brother, Hashirama nodded absent-mindedly and pulled out a blank scroll. Dipping his brush in the inkwell, Hashirama swept excess ink off and began writing, his focus now on the scroll.
Tobirama paused, watching his brother's hand. "May I ask you what you are doing? Have you now discovered a liking for Haiku?"
"You are being ludicrous," scoffed Hashirama lightly, not looking up from the roll of parchment. "I am sending a letter to Mito. It would be a shame if my younger brother married before me!"
Rolling his eyes, Tobirama sighed, leant back and crossed his arms, watching Hashirama concentrate on wording his letter right the first time. After all, Hashirama's flamboyancy often caught him making even the most standard of grammatical errors when he was in one of those moods.
Depositing Satomi unceremoniously on the ground yet again, Madara suppressed a sigh that was bubbling up in his throat. He had—for once in his life, and only once—been wrong.
Senju Satomi had no hidden skills.
She had very little knowledge outside of taijutsu (which was very basic knowledge) and kenjutsu. The single most exciting thing that had happened throughout their exercise was that Madara had pushed her to showing him her full speed, which was not particularly bad – but it was nothing outstanding in comparison to his usual opponents, like Hashirama for example. She was nothing in regards to him. So what did Tobirama see in her? It would only be logical that he would see an unyielding quality in her, something that stood out amongst the many women that seemed to overfill the Senju clan – they had women on the battlefield, for crying out loud!
He blocked yet another attack from her, punching her to one side where she fell in a heap of tangled limbs and cloths.
Alas, nothing.
Apparently, he was going to have to explain to the Elders why he had chosen to batter the Senju captive despite the no-harm policy that had been implemented upon her. Not that he was looking forward to that. It would be gruelling; anything that involved the Elders was gruelling.
Perhaps he should take up writing in his free time. Oh wait, he never had any. That was the Elders' purpose of living too – to annoy the Hell of the leader in order to shape him to their liking.
"Tch," Madara studied Satomi as she panted, hands grasping her knees, doubled-over, and squinting at him with just one eye open. "Are you done yet?"
Damn Uchiha.
"An honourable Shinobi never gives up!" declared Satomi, attempting to straighten up, but only managing to hunch over slightly.
"Yet a sensible one knows when they are defeated," derided Madara, exhaling tiredly as she charged at him unthinkingly again. One kick and she was flat on her back, coughing. "I will ask you again – are you done yet?" He peered down at her arrogantly. "Or are you a masochist, Senju-chan?"
Satomi flushed; from the lack of breath or his words, Madara wasn't sure. But she flushed nevertheless. Blush painted on her cheeks like that made her look younger, almost child-like. Even when he first met her, he did not think of her as a woman – wrapped by in navy silk and a red obi, she looked nothing like the typical buxom Senju women. Very vaguely, he pondered on the chances of her only being half-Senju. Her hair may not be red, but the colouring wasn't natural to the Senju clan and was closer to the Uzumaki.
"Are you a full bred Senju?"
The question caught her off-guard and she stared at him, bug-eyed, forgetting to breathe. "I – err – would not know for definite. My mother ..." She didn't need an ending; both of them understood what she meant without the words. Death occurred in all forms, even when giving the gift of Life.
The room felt strangely empty that night. She could not place a finger upon why.
Chilly winds were waving in from the east, signalling winter's soon reappearance. Snow would follow suit. Only Satomi detested the winter and all its cold bitterness that resembled the dying nature of the world. Winter was Death; it eradicated the flowers of summer, defiled the colours of autumn, but would give way to spring. Flowers would grow, reenergised and thriving better than before; trees and shrubs would no longer stand naked against the bitter winds. Satomi could not wait for winter to pass and for the spring to come again. Back home, at the Senju stronghold, magnolia trees swayed outside her boudoir window and a variety of plants dominated the garden, catered to by Hashirama normally.
Exhaling a sigh, Satomi slinked away from the window and crawled under her bedcovers. The sheets were cold and she shivered slightly. Nestling her body amongst the thick and heavy quilts, Satomi closed her eyes and prepared for sleep to consume her.
Madara opened the door a crack and peered into the room. Lying on her bed was the woman who he had stolen from Senju Tobirama, his own brother's rival. Her strange-coloured hair spiralling around her head like an enchanting halo, glimmering like fine silk in the moonlight.
His hand curled into a fist at his side as the urge once again emerged. How fragile she looked, tranquil and as though Life could not be sweeter. Were the Senju really that blessed with ignorance? Was the younger brother, even? Is this how the elder brother felt at the betrayal of his father when he handed everything over to the younger son, after the eldest had worked hardest and the longest? Ever since the younger son got what his elder brother deserved, the Uchiha had fought against the Senju and the Senju against the Uchiha – an age-old struggle. Could it not be solved now?
The Elders hardly ever gave an order – and never had they ordered the leader of the clan. But today, at the meeting this evening, had been the first time. If he followed through, he would appear weak and docile to the Elders. But if not, and they were right, the curse could be broken and the brothers could be square, even if it was centuries down the line.
But could he do it?
Throughout his life, he had been named many things. Murderer, life-miser, monster, demon ... he had even called himself such things. But he would always avoid killing the innocent if he could. He never condoned rape or the murder of infants and mothers who had nothing to do with war. He would not start for the sake of the Elders either. He could be a monster and a demon, a murderer and a life-miser, but he was neither a rapist nor a child-killer.
After the deaths of his mother, father and three younger brothers, he knew the fine lines between a true monster and a Shinobi doing his job. He could be classed as neither honourable nor a monster—and he knew that—but he also knew no other Shinobi could be classed as 'honourable' when they have the blood of children on their hands. Who even was honourable in this world plagued with war and hatred?
At times, he swore several clans revelled in this constant fighting, and the Uchiha was one of them. From their natural battle prowess to their blazing Sharingan, it was widely known that the Uchiha clan was built for war. War was in the blood of the Uchiha as well as the Senju.
After carefully opening the door, he crept into the room. The curtains were undrawn, like he always found them in the morning. He had wondered whether there was a reason for her leaving the curtains open and her body, tucked away under mere thin sheets, exposed to the night. Could she be imagining that she still in the Senju stronghold and so greeted sleep without unrest? Or was there another reason, some innate urging which convinced her to bathe in the moonlight in her slumber? Did she feel a connection with the moon, the Jubi itself, subconsciously? He had read in one of the decrepit scrolls in the ancient archives of such occurrences, there mere citizens who could call upon the demons without binding, by just sheer will alone.
In the pooling moonlight, her skin had a dim quality that resembled age-worn opals, while her eyelashes looked more prominent against the pink-tinged whiteness and orange-gold curls. If spotted in a fleeting glance, the spotter may have assumed she was dead; her chest barely rose under the quilts and her body did not move in the slightest bit.
Fingers skimming over her skin lightly, Madara mused about fulfilling the order. It would be the epitome of dishonourable, scandalous even – but not him.
No, the mission would not be completed.
After all, he did not pick unripe fruit from the tree.
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