Shion
Shion rises from her slumber well after the sun rose. Harsh light is softened by the screen door to her room, but it irritates her tired eyes, nonetheless.
She drags herself to the mirror in the corner of her room., effectively abandoning the futon that is in such a state of disarray it is painfully evident that her rest was anything but peaceful. Her dark eyes appear sunken in and her skin is dull. Her hair, which reaches her lower back, is knotted. Still, she gets herself together. She desires to have at least a semblance of order in her life.
Her mother’s voice echoes down the hall. She must be talking to herself; it’s an unusual time of day for Soran to be over, much less any of the other Uchiha women her age.
Shion chooses to ignore this in favor of her morning routine. Her prized bamboo comb runs through her hair for seemingly the thousandth time as it detangles the stress of her night’s journey. Soon after, she grasps her favorite hair stick and expertly pulls together her long locks.
Laughter fills her ears. It’s rich; full of life. Her mother must have remembered an old story.
The attire of the day is typical: a deep, midnight blue kimono embellished with the Uchiha fan on the back. A furnace keeps the house warm, so a hanten is not necessary unless she desires a walk outdoors today.
Another voice joins her mother’s. Shion can finally hear it clearly. Her ears perk up at the sound and she bolts upward. It’s familiar, but she can’t quite place it. There’s an elegance to the tone, a warmth similar to that of her mother’s yet entirely distinct.
Just as they did days before, her feet move as though they have a mind of their own, dragging her down the short hallway. Suddenly, the drowsiness that once consumed her being has disappeared.
There her mother sits with another woman just about her age. Tobirama is the spitting image of his mother, with her silver white hair and amber eyes. Not even plausible deniability could tell Shion the woman sitting with her mother and happily sipping tea over conversation isn’t the woman who bore and raised him.
Despite having her many times, to say that she is shocked that Lady Senju is present in her home would be an understatement.
Her mother and Lady Senju have interacted with one another before, of course. The nights in which the Uchiha and Senju head families gather do not exclude either of them. In fact, they frequently flock together, even preferring to spend time solely with one another over joining the crowd of younger women. But Shion never knew them to spend time together outside of that setting.
As her feet pad along the floor, her mother has gotten the hint of her presence.
“She must be awake,” the older woman speculates. “At long last, my beautiful second daughter graces the world with her presence."
The distinct use of “she” over her name triggers Shion to believe they have been speaking about her, but she decides to not put too much thought into the nuances that creates. Given recent events, she must be a hot topic of discussion.
“Good morning, Mother. Lady Senju,” Shion greets cordially. It would have been rude not to.
“Good morning, dear.”
Shion joins them, filling the empty space next to her mother. The older woman silently pours warm tea into a cup and pushes it towards her. The air has thickened. Is it with tension? Perhaps it is, although she feels there is no need for it to be so.
“We were just speaking about you,” Lady Senju softly confesses. This confirms Shion’s suspicions, although she can’t pinpoint her feelings on the matter. It’s natural. Word gets around fast. She’s roped into a marriage arrangement with Tobirama and now they’re the hot gossip of the family. This must be her intervention, a last effort to persuade her into fully accepting her fate. Has he already accepted his? If his intervention consisted of Hashirama and Madara, Shion can’t imagine its efficacy.
She forces a smile. “Really? Regarding what?”
“I’m actually rather pleased it’s you, Shion. To tell the truth—I was telling your mother this—I was a bit worried finding a match for my younger son. Then Hashirama suggested unifying the clans.”
A breeze passes through the sitting room. The sliding door which leads to the courtyard is cracked open ever so slightly. Her cheeks flush and her skin prickles. Only her mother would believe this chilly weather is pleasant enough to keep company with a harsh draft.
As much as she dreads the constant discussion of the arrangement that is to come, she entertains Lady Senju. The woman extends a kindness to her that is unheard of for a member of her clan. Certainly, not many Senju mothers would be as receptive to their child sharing a life with an Uchiha. But she is. Her words peak Shion’s curiosity.
“Why were you worried about finding a match for him?” she inquires in earnest.
Lady Senju’s teacup is empty, so she wordlessly refills it. A small sigh escapes the woman’s lips and her amber eyes flicker around in search of what to say.
“Tobirama is a particular person, I assume you may already know this. It was far simpler to find a person for Hashirama because he’s an agreeable personality. He’s optimistic and bright, while Tobirama can be quite the opposite. I knew it would take a special person to tolerate him.”
“Your headstrong nature is good for him,” Shion’s mother adds. “You can thank her father for that, Lady Senju.”
“I can tell you’d be willing to set him straight.”
This portrayal of Tobirama is intriguing. Far from inaccurate, he’s always been a little stubborn, but his own mother’s admittance to her belief that he is a more difficult to find a match for stuns Shion.
He has a special mind, one that is set on solution and structure, but he isn’t all that unique from others. Shion would argue that Madara is quite the same, although the man would fight her on that. A strong-willed personality is essential for success as a shinobi.
Maybe she is wrong in assuming this is the reason. Maybe his mother means to refer to the way Tobirama conducts his life. She has never witnessed it herself, but family gatherings allude to him being a hermit of sorts. Hashirama accuses him of isolating himself and illustrates every room of his home as filled to the brim with scrolls. Mito speaks with the women of how her brother by marriage dedicates the remaining portion of his time to training and developing new techniques.
Shion’s heart suddenly pangs with a tinge of sadness. But why? Do they view him as someone in need of fixing, and is she meant to be the solution? She can’t imagine she’d lift him from the constraint of his ways by pure virtue of marriage.
“You believe so?” she asks in a high tone so as to not allude to the doleful thoughts that begin to cloud her mind. She continues shyly, “I’m not sure if I am capable of that, though. Tobirama is rather set in his ways.”
Lady Senju nods affirmatively. And suddenly, she extends across the table to grasp Shion’s hands. “Truly. And I have also noticed a certain affection that he holds for you. Imagine my surprise when Hashirama informed me of your lack of relationship with one another!”
Shion’s eyes widen. Affection? When has this ever occurred? Lady Senju couldn’t possibly know. No, she was naïve to the current status of their connection to each other.
“Lady Senju, I don’t wish to offend you. However, I am not sure what you mean by that… Affection?”
“Oh!” she exclaims. “It must be mother’s intuition, then. He has always spared glances at you during dinners, although I pressed to deeply into what causes him to do so. But his expression, it’s difficult to explain. Tobirama can be similar to his father at times, they both wear a hardened look that softens only ever so slightly.” A nostalgic smile graces her features. Shion, however, is unsure of what to make of this. When they were young, Tobirama often spoke ill of his father, it’s unlikely he would appreciate the comparison. Too demanding of him and his brothers, too harsh with his words, too stubborn on his belief that his younger brothers died with dignity like men rather than the tragedy of their youth cut short. The life of a wife is far different, she surmises. Through all their troubles, a widow can choose to remember only the best of her time with her husband no matter how horrid he may have been. Lady Senju releases her hands. “I suppose I cannot be too sure, though. Tobirama seldom interacts with women aside from the wives of his comrades, so all I am able to do is read too far into these things.”
“Please don’t concern yourself too much with accuracy, Lady Senju,” Shion reassures. “I have no doubts there may be truth to your words.”
Is it doubt, or hope? She poses this question internally. She felt a lightness to her body when Lady Senju declared her younger son held an affection for her in his eyes, but that holds no significant meaning. It is likely relief, a weight lifted from her shoulders in the face of an uncertain relationship. In the very least, she will be granted a husband that appears to care for her if she fully concedes to her fate. There aren’t many wives who can proudly express such a sentiment.