Yearning for your love

Hurried footsteps echo through the otherwise silent dungeon halls, each step loud and purposeful against the oppressive quiet. Hana appears, her expression calm but curious, and she bows deeply before him.

“You called for me,” she says, her voice steady, though her sharp gaze flickers briefly to the unconscious figure in the cell.

Madara turns to face her, his crimson Sharingan still glowing faintly in the dim light. “I’ve been told that the Yamanaka can detect soulmate bonds.”

Hana straightens, folding her hands in front of her. “Only particularly strong ones,” she says quietly, a note of caution in her voice.

“If my information is correct, he has been sharing dreams with his soulmate for several months. Would that connection be strong enough?”

At this, Hana’s eyes widen. Her gaze snaps to Tobirama, her calm composure cracking into outright shock. The weight of what Madara just implied hits her instantly. She knows enough about soulmate bonds to understand the gravity of shared dreams.

“Shared dreams only occur when the omega is in severe distress,” she murmurs, her voice trembling slightly. “It’s a last resort. It means…” She swallows hard, her eyes full of pity as they linger on Tobirama. “It means they were fading, their soul reaching out to the one person they still trusted—their soulmate.”

Madara nods curtly, his jaw tightening. He has suspected as much, but hearing it confirmed stirs a fresh wave of anger in him. Anger at Hashirama, anger at the circumstances, and anger at himself for not realizing sooner.

Hana moves closer, her features steeled now with professional resolve. Forming a sequence of intricate hand signs, she channels her chakra, her hands glowing faintly as she focuses on Tobirama. The technique doesn’t take long. Her expression softens, but it carries a solemn weight when she speaks.

“He has an incomplete but strong soulmate bond,” she says, her voice quiet but firm. “With Izuna-sama.”

Madara exhales slowly, the air leaving his lungs like a hiss. His suspicions were correct.

“You don’t seem surprised,” Hana ventures hesitantly, her curiosity breaking through her usual deference.

Madara doesn’t answer her. Instead, he kneels and lifts Tobirama into his arms. The omega’s weight feels slight against him, but the bruises and pallor only sharpen Madara’s resolve.

“Come,” he orders simply, and Hana falls into step behind him as he strides out of the cell.

The guards stationed at the dungeon’s entrance glance at him as he approaches, their expressions shifting from confusion to alarm as Tobirama’s scent reaches them. Both stiffen visibly.

“Why were my orders regarding his treatment ignored?” Madara’s voice is low and cold, every syllable dripping with barely restrained fury. His Sharingan spins lazily, amplifying the pressure in the air around them.

“We—” Taka stammers, the color draining from his face. His inability to meet Madara’s gaze betrays his guilt.

“Kashio-sama ordered it,” Kaeru blurts, his voice more defensive than his trembling posture can support.

Madara narrows his eyes, his Sharingan flaring with sharp intensity as he scans for deception. He finds none. Kashio’s defiance of his orders is real.

“Arrest him,” Madara commands, his tone like ice. “He is to be given the same treatment as Tobirama.”

The guards’ eyes widen in shock. Taka opens his mouth as though to protest but quickly shuts it again under Madara’s glare. They bow hastily, murmuring their assent.

“Yes, sir.”

Madara turns his attention to Hana. “Find Hikaku and tell him to meet me in Izuna’s room. Once you’ve done that, you are free to go.”

Hana bows deeply, her expression unreadable, and hurries away without hesitation.

Madara carries the unconscious Senju through the Uchiha compound, his movements deliberate and unhurried despite the weight of his thoughts. The gazes of his clansmen trail after him, wide with shock and confusion, but none dare to stop him or question his actions. They know better than to interfere when their Clan Head is in a mood as dark as this.

At the main house, he spots Mayu, their housekeeper, sitting at his brother’s bedside. She must have taken over Izuna’s watch from the medic. The young woman looks up as he approaches, her brows furrowing slightly at the sight of Tobirama in Madara’s arms.

“Bring a futon to Izuna’s room,” he orders brusquely, his tone leaving no room for hesitation.

Mayu blinks, clearly puzzled, but she bows and obeys without comment. Madara appreciates that about her—she doesn’t question his decisions, though he knows she will likely scrutinize his interactions with the Senju later to uncover the reason behind this sudden shift in attitude.

Once the futon is prepared, Madara lays Tobirama down carefully. The omega’s pale face and shallow breathing stir an unbidden flicker of guilt in him. He shouldn’t feel responsible for an enemy, but this isn’t just an enemy. This is Izuna’s soulmate—a fact that sits heavily on his shoulders.

His hands move with uncharacteristic gentleness as he begins to remove Tobirama’s torn and dirtied clothing. The action feels improper; an alpha should not touch an omega like this unless they are mated. But Madara doesn’t trust anyone else to handle Izuna’s soulmate with the care he deserves.

Each layer he peels away reveals bruises and shallow cuts. When Tobirama is stripped to his undershorts, Madara sets to work cleaning his wounds. The disinfectant stings, and Tobirama winces in his unconscious state, his head turning slightly as a soft groan escapes his lips. His eyelids flutter, and Madara pauses, waiting.

Slowly, Tobirama’s crimson eyes open, clouded with pain and disorientation. They wander aimlessly for a moment before locking onto Madara’s face. Recognition dawns, and the omega flinches as if struck.

“Senju,” Madara says quietly, his voice low and even. When the word doesn’t seem to register, he tries again, this time using his name. “Tobirama.”

The omega’s gaze sharpens, his body going rigid as a flicker of wariness crosses his features.

Madara sighs. “I’m not going to hurt you,” he says, his tone calm but firm. “Izuna would never forgive me if I did. Besides, you’re family now. And I protect my family.”

For a long moment, Tobirama stares at him, disbelief and shock swirling in his crimson eyes. Slowly, the tension in his body eases, though a hint of caution remains—a wariness that Madara can’t fault him for.

“You know…” Tobirama whispers, his voice hoarse.

Madara dips his head in acknowledgment. “If you mean your soulmate bond with my little brother, I’ve just had it confirmed.” As he speaks, he resumes cleaning the omega’s injuries, his hands steady despite the storm brewing inside him. “There are things I need to know. Are you up to answering a few questions?”

Tobirama hesitates before nodding, his face pinched with guilt. “Izuna was supposed to dodge” he says, his voice thick with remorse. “He knew where I’d attack. We trained it for days. But he suddenly froze. I couldn’t completely redirect the blow in time.”

Madara studies him, his Sharingan spinning faintly as he reads Tobirama’s chakra. There’s no deceit there, only a deep well of regret. Madara doesn’t know what to say. If what Tobirama says is true, Izuna’s near-death was either an accident or partially his own fault.

“I shouldn’t have asked for his help,” Tobirama continues, his expression darkening with guilt. “Someone told the elders about my new jutsu. They… they took Haruto. To make me use the jutsu against Izuna.” His voice falters, and he looks away, his fists clenching.

Madara’s eyes narrow. Haruto—Tobirama’s son. The anger bubbling within him sharpens into something cold and focused. “You went to Izuna,” he prompts.

Tobirama nods. “I thought if we could make it look like I injured him badly enough, they’d give Haruto back and we could…” He stops, his voice breaking.

Madara’s mind reels. He wants to ask where Hashirama was during all this, but he already knows he won’t like the answer. Izuna told him enough about Tobirama’s brother to paint a clear picture of his indifference.

A knock interrupts his thoughts, and Hikaku enters hesitantly. “You called for me, Madara-sama?”

Without a word, Madara pulls the marriage contract from his pocket. He unfolds the papers, showing them briefly to Tobirama before signing all three copies with his chakra. Then he hands two to Hikaku.

“Have our fastest runner deliver one to the daimyo,” he orders. “Take the other to the archivist. She’ll know where to file it.”

Hikaku glances at the contract, his eyes scanning the contents before his face pales. “This is—”

“After that,” Madara interrupts, his tone brooking no argument, “make it known that Tobirama is Izuna’s soulmate. He and his son are to be treated accordingly, or there will be consequences. Also, I just signed a ceasefire treaty with the Senju, so make sure they don’t break it.”

Hikaku opens his mouth to protest but thinks better of it. Instead, he bows deeply. “Yes, sir.” He leaves quickly, no doubt to process the bombshell in private.

Madara turns to Mayu. “Stay with my little brothers. Make sure nobody disturbs them.”

The housekeeper nods, settling into a chair beside Tobirama. “Of course.”

Madara straightens, his expression grim. “I’m going to deliver Hashirama his copy. And I’ll be retrieving my nephew.”

Without waiting for a reply, he strides out, his aura crackling with suppressed fury. Hashirama will answer for this.