Chapter 12

Once they had drawn closer to the stronghold, Satomi could no longer suppress a shudder she had been holding in. Her abdomen ached due to the awkward position she was being held in by Madara, his armour stabbing her stomach.

Unlike what she had expected, they didn't enter through the main gate, but rather through a series of dark and dismal tunnels that run throughout the hill the Uchiha village was built upon. At first Satomi tried to memorise the route they were taking, but after so many turns she soon forgot. She groaned slightly when Madara bristled abruptly, coming to a halt.

"What are you doing down here, Izuna?"

Inwardly Satomi groaned, yet outwardly she tensed. Uchiha Izuna, the man who continuously keeps threatening to kill but does not succeed only because his brother prevents him. She shuddered. Imagine if it was him who followed her – she would be dead without a doubt.

"I was waiting for you. You were not in your chambers so I assumed something had happened … obviously, it did." Contempt scorched his voice as a searing accusation was directed towards Madara. The anger scrawled across Izuna's features revealed what he assumed to have happened: Madara had finally given in to the Elders' demands and taken Tobirama's woman. "To think you touched something so filthy …"

"She ran away, Izuna, so silence!" snapped Madara, shrugging her off his shoulder. She yelped and fell in a heap on to the floor. "Take her to her room – and do not kill her!"

Izuna scoffed and said nothing. He crossed his arms, sneered down at Satomi as she picked herself up and then began traipsing back down the tunnel without waiting for her to catch up. Madara watched them go before sweeping down another tunnel, heading in the direction of the shrine.

Meanwhile, with Satomi and Izuna, silence invaded the space between them. Both of them welcomed the lack of words, of course, seeing as Satomi was terrified of what he might do and Izuna was struggling with the urge to slit her throat. If he could hold out until they reached her chamber, he might just be able to cope with the bloodlust. Not that he was a warmonger or anything of the like! He simply could not stand her for her blood – the blood of the Senju, his father's murderers and the murderers of nearly his entire family. The Senju clan and every one of its members were filth. They were nowhere near the Uchiha. Comparing the two clans always angered Izuna, and he often found himself being sent out of meetings with potential 'buyers' by his brother because of it.

"Izuna-sama," she started.

Izuna gritted his teeth, tensed his shoulders and squeezed his eyes shut. His knuckles began to become prominent against the stark whiteness of his skin.

"I—"

"Shut up!" His voice was so venomous, filled with such hatred, that Satomi inhaled sharply and shivered at the same time. It was the first time she had ever been spoken to like that.

Izuna sucked in a shaky breath through his nose, eyelids glued together. He began walking with deliberate steps, steady, long and powerful. Satomi hesitated about how far she should keep her distance from him, predicting that he might lash out at any moment. She tried swallowing her fear of this volatile man in front of her, but when she heard his knuckles crick, that fear built itself up even more intensely. Izuna suddenly came to a stop. Satomi stopped immediately, several metres behind him.

There was no warning, not like when Madara had sparred against her. There was no subtle indication of his intentions, there was nothing like that time in the field with Madara. It was over in a flash of black.

A half-formed scream gurgled in her throat and died without being completed. She fell to the ground, shaking.

Three piercing, black tomoes haunted her …

She was six and running towards her father … his face was lit up with a smile, eyes crinkling in the corners and his laughter hitting her ears like stormy torrents colliding with jagged rocks … then his face twisted into Masayuki's blood-stained mask – the mask he was always wore in battle – and she was holding it, weeping … he had died … she was witnessing his death again …

Tobirama's hand touched her shoulder, but when she turned around it was Madara. She screamed and fell into darkness … falling, falling … there seemed to be no end … wind gushed past her sides, something red catching on her hands and starting to dribbled from her fingers up her arms and towards her shoulders … blood … blood!

She screamed and tried to scrub the blood off her body, writhing as though in physical agony … the blood wouldn't move anywhere but towards her … it was heading towards her face! Her nails dug into her cheeks, her temples, her chin as she tried to scratch it off – it started to force its way into her eyes, stinging, making tears streak down her cheeks …

Blood … someone's blood was forcing its way into her body … she couldn't stop it … it was hopeless …

She was helpless …

And then she was being shaken. Dragging her eyes open to meet painfully bright light, she expected to be mocked with the sight of Izuna standing over her, his bleak onyx tomoes glowing at her in triumph. But that wasn't the case.

"What happened?" he demanded.

His face was as wrinkled as an old leather boot, dull pink scars scratched into his skin—the most obvious starting from his right temple down to the corner of his jaw on the same side of his face—and dull brown spots speckled across his neck. He leant against a thick wooden cane, his eyes hallow.

"Answer me."

There was authority in his voice. Satomi took time registering what he had said. "Pardon, sir?"

He scoffed, looking flatly unimpressed. "You are the betrothed of Senju Tobirama, captive of Madara-sama and the undoubted annoyance of Izuna-sama. In the tunnels two nights ago, what happened? Izuna-sama claims you attacked him."

"Attacked?" Satomi's eyes glazed over, unfocused and incapable of distinguishing colours and shades. "By who?"

"Hmm," the elderly muttered, to himself and not her. "Those eyes are strong."

"Eyes?"

He didn't reply and turned away from her, muttering to someone outside of her visual range. Satomi closed her eyes again, her mind drifting. A loud, disturbing snap! brought her back to the present. She couldn't see what had happened or who was there, but the old man's cane had been broken by someone.

"M-Mad—?"

"Out. I did not authorize this interrogation. Immediately leave or challenge me for leadership, Takehiko; you are not interviewing the Senju today. Later, but not now."

"I wanted to see if—"

"Do not test my patience, Takehiko. I will not overlook any more failings of your son if you continue opposing me!" roared a man whose voice sounded so similar yet strangely foreign to Satomi. Her brain still felt groggy, almost clogged up with dust, and wouldn't work properly. There was muttering and a rush of footsteps, the door shut and then all was quiet. The only sound in the room was her breathing. Her eyelids fluttered shut and her lips cracked open, reveling in the tranquility. From his position in the shadows, Madara studied her profile: a serene expression, unfocused eyes, jagged breaths … the Mangekyou Sharingan was truly the greatest weapon the Sage had bestowed on the elder son.

However, there was one thing the Sage never taught the eldest son: love.

Madara's posture slackened and his eyes became moist, although not from tears but rather from a kind of reluctant remorse. It was an emotion he was unused to experiencing, but whenever he looked at her, he was reminded of the one thing his kinsmen—and he himself—lacked. The ability to love and to grieve. For generations the Uchiha had been cursed to love so wholly, so unrelentingly, that all sanity could become lost with just one death. The Senju woman reminded him of that, as the embodiment of a man's love for a woman and her loyalty to his love. She did not grieve his absence nor wallow in self-pity for being unable to see him; instead she believed in him and her faith never wavered. Her love for him never wavered.

And that was what Madara hated the most. The Senju, blessed with a sane love, while the Uchiha are driven to the point where all sense of self and compassion dies. The most obvious and most crucial injustice the Sage bequeathed to his eldest son, his rightful heir.

With his eyes, Madara could change that, though. A few more years and the Senju would be driven into the dirt and the Uchiha the established successor to leading the world into a new age. He would lead everyone into the world that he'd envisioned, a place of love and domination. A place where the Uchiha would no longer be cursed but blessed like the descendants of the younger son.

Satomi stirred, having fallen asleep as Madara thought silently to himself.

He paused and directed all of his attention onto her. Her hair had billowed out around her face, contrasting with her pale skin like the time in the moonlight. Madara fought down the urge to edge closer, knowing that she could awake at any moment.

She murmured something, her hand twitched and then became immobile again. For several moments he did nothing but stand there and watched her as she slept. When her hand subconsciously moved towards her womb, he felt a burst of some sort of horrid, twisted sensation flare through his body. Unaccustomed to whatever this emotion was, he tried to ignore it but found his head filling with images of her and Tobirama together, smiling, laughing, in gardens, in bed …

Quaking slightly, he moved away from his spot and ventured closer, wearing a dark glower. Satomi was still asleep, unaware of his dangerous looks; her hand remained over her womb almost like a shield, fingers splayed almost as though to conceal the child growing inside of her. That was right, he finally realized. She was taken, not by him but by a Senju.

She was never taken by him.

The moon glowed softly against the dully-lit stars the following night. Clouds gathered in flocks and passed over the sleeping heads of the Senju clan, all asleep but two.

Tobirama poised himself by the window, steadily watching the night sky. "It seems bleak tonight," he commented to his brother. "It's as though the Gods have recognised our troubles." He fell silent and thought about her again. She was probably shaken but still putting up a brave face, like always, making out that she was fine. But soon her brave face wouldn't be an act; she would be home, safe with him and their clan again. When that day finally came, as they were inching closer to it now, he would make sure Madara paid the price of stealing his fiancée.

From his spot at the low table, Hashirama sighed. "You know the Elders have been talking, am I right? And you still have not told me the second condition of your arrangement with them."

"If I am honest, I doubt the second condition will ever need to be brought about." Tobirama muttered lowly, "I, also, have every reason not to see it through. After all, I have you and you have me – nothing else is needed."

"For the time being, anyway," added on Hashirama. He chuckled as Tobirama sent his a scornful look. "I am not immortal, Tobirama, and neither are you. Something—or even, someone—else will be needed eventually and it may be during our lifetime."

"There you go again."

Hashirama gave him a quizzical look, which made Tobirama's features soften. "You're too modest, brother. No one has led the clan like you have and I doubt anyone else ever will."

"Is that the second condition?"

Tobirama remained quiet and returned to watching the stars.

My GOD, it's been ages since I wrote anything! Thanks for sticking with me, everyone, I am so sorry I haven't updated for so long! The story is now drawing to a close. :') As is Learning to Fall, actually. So anything you want to ask, feel free.

Comment, criticise (constructively, please), come again. :)

~ S.L.