Shion
Incense burns, the smoky fragrance of cypress filling the dining room. The strength of its scent is almost enough to cloud the thick tension which pollutes the atmosphere.
Several empty dishes have been left on the table. Immediately following her own evening meal with her mother, Shion stormed to Madara and Soran’s residence. She disregarded her sister’s calm greeting with sharp focus on her target, shrugging off her winter shoes and hanten with an unprecedented haste.
The man she’s sought out now sits directly across from her, poised with a smirk on his lips. If she wasn’t taught the proper way to act in such a situation, she may have very well slapped him in an effort to remove that smug expression.
“What is it you wanted to discuss?”
“Do not feign ignorance,” she chastises. Her eyes could not be further in the back of her head. “You are well aware of what I wish to talk about.”
“And that is?”
“I do not have the patience for this, Madara.”
“For what?”
A deep sigh of exasperation escapes Shion. “Why have you decided to arrange a marriage to Tobirama? In fact, would you care to explain in depth, and why you made my own mother your lackey for this information?”
Madara leans back, seemingly bothered by the fact he has been forced into this conversation to begin with. Did he not expect this?
“What did your mother tell you?”
Her eyes practically reach the back of her head. Of course he wants to begin with deflection. Still, she complies. “After I reminded her that arrangements are not customary for us, she reminded me that I am of marrying age with no prospects.”
"Shion, you are now the most desirable bachelorette in Konoha—”
"In the clan, I suppose."
"And you have made no effort to seek out a love marriage. You cannot expect to uphold a custom if you do not dedicate yourself to it."
He must be bluffing her. They both hold the awareness of how it sounds to state such nonsense. This is not a matter of love marriage, it is far from that, but it is a truth he wants to insert as the primary reason for his underhanded decisions. She’d rather he be direct with his intentions, and he’s known her long enough to understand this, but he’s going to tire her out with this conversation as much as he is capable. She, however, will not allow that.
With a huff, she responds. "Because I have not fallen in love with any of these men that have thrown themselves at my feet. They only desire my father's prestige, not me. What does this have to do with anything?”
"Well, I am doing the work for you now."
"By arranging a marriage to Tobirama."
"It is advantageous for us."
"How so? The union of an Uchiha and a Senju is a bit cliche, don't you think? It is inevitable in this new era of peace, but do I need to set the precedent?"
"It is advantageous for our village in the Daimyo's eyes. So yes, Shion, it is in the interest of everyone living in Konoha for you to set the precedent."
“But I do not want to marry Tobirama.”
“And I did not want to marry your sister.”
“You had a duty to fill.”
“I am asking you to fulfill a duty now as well.”
“What’s this about not wanting to marry me?” Soran jests, entering the room with a tray of tea. Her effort to ease the atmospheric friction is futile, though.
“You have yet to fulfill your true duty,” Shion bites, wordlessly accepting a delicate porcelain cup. “Both of you—are you aware of that? Five years and there has not been a single rumbling of a child. And now I have a duty to marriage? I surely hope you are not expecting me to do the dirty work of producing an heir if you are unable to do so. This clan would never receive a leader that shares half of its blood with the Senju.”
The room falls silent. Only inhales and exhales are shared as she glances between eyes filled with gloom and frustration. She’s made her move, placed a piece on the board that corners him. It is up to Madara to counter her. Maybe if he is successful, then she will reconsider and tuck her tail between her legs with an apology.
To her surprise, however, it is not his gruff tone that places her in such a position. Rather, a voice carefully trained to convey elegance is. Chaste words completely dismantle her conviction.
“I am pregnant, Dear Sister.”
A smug expression, halfway illustrated on her face, drops at her elder sister’s utterance. A final play near completion, but swiftly overtaken.
“You-you’re…” Words fall from her lips, yet nothing is said.
“We intended to tell you soon. With everything that’s happened in the past few years it was actually a bit difficult to plan an ideal time to start trying. I’m sorry it came out this way.”
Shion cannot describe herself as anything but stunned. Momentarily, she stays silent, pondering what to say next. A congratulatory remark is certainly due, but that won’t change the outcome of her feeble deflection of the true matter. The incense has burned out and the lingering notes fill the air begin to dissipate.
“No, no. Don’t apologize…” she trails off. Her nails tap against a cup of tea that has gone cold. “That’s great, truly. It’s exciting! So, I suppose that means neither of you are consigning that responsibility to me.”
Madara is unable to hold back a scoff, much to her chagrin.
“That was never expected of you. You even said it yourself— the Uchiha would never accept a leader possessing Senju blood.”
Anymore enthusiasm for her sister’s unborn child will need to be held off for tomorrow, it seems. Shion is cornered; no excuses left for her to get out of this predicament. There exists sound reasoning for the arrangement, as much as she’d like to ignore it. establishing a political bond through marriage between the Uchiha and the Senju is imperative, and setting a precedent for inter-clan relationships in the village is even more so.
But the mere image of Tobirama’s face pains her. The thought of living every single day with him until death divides them is agonizing. Perhaps, with his attitude regarding work, she won’t see him all the time. They may be separated by lifestyle— the labors of a busy man dedicated to his village and the leisure of a high-status woman. Yet those factors are obsolete in Shion’s mind. Tethered to the youngest living Senju brother, the task ahead of her presents an odd fate she never once believed she could encounter.
“Are the Uchiha accepting of a Senju taking the former Head’s second daughter as his wife?” she asks, voice barely above a whisper. Why she is unable to muster the question with conviction, she is unsure of.
“They will have to be.”
“I am surprised that you are so keen on this, Madara. You’ve never liked Tobirama, but you are so willing to hand me over to him.”
“Times are different.”
His statement is plain, it’s devoid of all emotion. A tolerance he has developed now takes a new form. He’s become more diplomatic since reconnecting with Hashirama; the Madara she once knew would have not allowed Tobirama within arms width with an Uchiha woman, let alone his own direct family member.
“Humor me, Shion,” he solicits. “The arrangement notwithstanding—his clan as well—what is your issue with him? Not once have I witnessed you interact with him long enough to form a substantial relationship, let alone sour feelings. And I am well aware that you are not shy with your opinions on men, seeing as everyone seems to know what you think of Izuna.”
“Izuna would not make a loyal partner, that’s all I believe about him. Even you have seen how he’s become worse now that he has access to more women.”
“That is not the question I am asking you to answer.”
“Am I not allowed to defend my stance on your brother?”
“What is it, Shion?”
She falters. She can’t tell him the truth, not like this. The tea that hits her lips has run as cold as her intrigue with Tobirama. Neither Madara nor Hashirama are aware of this, and she would like to keep it this way. Surely, knowledge of this would not only alter the view of herself and Tobirama, but it may encourage the two men to press further. It was a mistake; it should have never happened.
“It is nothing, Madara. I will think about the arrangement.”