Angor Animi
The Senju compound is decked in banners of red and gold, swathed in ribbons of blue and green, positively covered in lines of silver bells and the most exquisite flowers. It is a perfect summer evening, a cool breeze dances past tinkling wind chimes, and there is a palpable joy in the air. Hashirama’s wedding is easily among the most beautiful sights that Tobirama has ever witnessed in both lives.
Standing under the sprawling branches of the Sacred Tree, Hashirama and Mito are a vision to behold. He in his blacks and golds, and her in white, blue and silver—it could not be clearer that they are a complementary match, like the earth and heaven itself. With both clans as their witness, the couple recites their vows, exchanges sips of sake and makes their ceremonial offerings—traditional sakaki branches out of respect for how symbolic the union and alliance are. As one, they take off the garlands they’d exchanged at dawn in private and hang them up on the lowest branches before bowing first to the tree, then their clans and, finally, to each other. With that, they are officially wed.
Tobirama’s gaze drifts to the garlands gently swaying in the breeze. Senju couples make them for each other personally, carefully choosing flowers best suited to convey their feelings to one another. For Mito’s garland, Hashirama has woven together forget-me-nots for true love, irises for loyalty, and white roses for devotion. In return, she has given him sunflowers for respect and radiance, morning glories for wilful promises, and daisies for faith.
‘Fitting,’ Tobirama thinks, pleased for both of them. He feels as though he can breathe easier now that Mito is finally here, and his family feels more whole. Like an itch settling under his skin. He prays for their blessed union and continued happiness, knowing well that they truly work as a unit, drawing out the best parts of one another.
He’d been warier in his memories despite the friendship he’d struck with his sister-in-law. Tobirama has always been protective over his brother, after all. He hoards and guards Hashirama’s happiness like it is his sole treasure. This time, he rests easy with the knowledge that Mito will do the same.
The main wedding party disperses to the tent where a formal dinner will be held for the most important members of both clans and distinguished guests, allowing Hashirama and Mito to greet and receive blessings from all the important players while they are gathered under one roof. Tobirama watches from a distance and runs interference for them, ensuring they are not overwhelmed by too many people at once and no incidents take place as is always a risk at celebrations when alcohol flows so freely.
At last, after circling around the room once already, the pair approaches him arm-in-arm, wearing exhausted but delighted smiles. Tobirama greets them with a smile of his own. “Congratulations, anija, ane-ue. May the spirits bless you with a prosperous future together. I am happy for the both of you.”
Hashirama beams at him, tears glistening at the corners of his eyes. “Thank you, Tobirama,” he says, so painfully earnest that it ripples through his chakra and sends warmth shooting through Tobirama’s own chakra where they twine in mimicry of an embrace.
“Thank you,” Mito echoes. Her perfect smile curls into something sharper, something more mischievous and amused. “I was under the impression we agreed not to be so formal with one another,” she says pointedly. “We are family now, no?”
“Aneja then,” Tobirama allows with an incline of his head. He lowers his voice and offers, “If you wish to leave, I could stage a distraction and make excuses on your behalf. I understand you’ve had a long and eventful day; no one would blame you for wanting some peace and quiet in each other’s company.”
Mito blinks and raises a hand to hide her laugh behind her sleeve. “What a thoughtful brother I have gained.” Her eyes glimmer when Tobirama immediately purses his lips at the sudden praise.
Hashirama nods along, beaming. “Tora always looks out for his loved ones. He really is too good to me.”
Smiling, Mito says, “You are very kind to offer, Tobirama-kun, but I believe we would both like to stay a little longer and celebrate with everyone.”
Ah, social creatures. Though Tobirama rather suspects that Mito’s intentions are more inclined towards gauging the personalities she will have to contend with on the Senju council as the clan head’s spouse. It is important for her to know what she will be dealing with if she is looking to cement her own authority rather than simply depending on Hashirama’s. It is why, as part of his wedding gift to her, Tobirama compiled a detailed dossier on the most important figures of the Senju clan and their prominent allies and enemies, including strength and weaknesses that his beloved sister-in-law will benefit from knowing.
Knowledge is power after all; Mito is sure to appreciate his efforts in assisting her integration into the finer machinations of her new home.
As though she has read his mind, Mito brings up, “Thank you for your gift to me, Tobirama. It was most thoughtful, and I have found great use for it already.”
“Of course,” he tells her. Then, in the Uzu tongue, he adds, “You are my sister. I want you to be at ease in your new home. If you ever need anything, I hope you will let me know.”
Her painted red lips curl further, eyes warm as she threads her chakra through his and presses gratitude-recognition-affection into his senses. Tobirama reaches back, easy as breathing, and impresses upon her the i-would-feed-you-my-heart-if-i-could-bind-us-by-blood that he cannot hide in his signature. Not today and certainly not from her. Mito does not flinch away. Insistently, she returns family-brother-i-have-chosen-you-to-be-mine-mine-mine.
Hashirama peers between them, ignorant of the silent exchange that has taken place. “What did you get her?” he asks Tobirama instead, also slipping into the language of Uzushio, though his accent and fluency are leagues ahead of Tobirama. He always was a natural at picking up languages and dialects, especially since he learns even better through conversation and practice rather than by book as Tobirama himself does.
Mito turns to him, face arranged into something playfully needling as though she and her brother-in-law did not just essentially swear fealty to each other, and says, “That is between my brother and I, husband dearest.”
Hashirama raises his eyebrows, though it’s not anywhere near enough to mask the dopy smile that takes over his face at the address. “You two are already conspiring against me!” It’d be more convincing if he didn’t sound so delighted about it.
Shaking his head with a sigh, Tobirama charitably does not call him a simpleton if only because at least he’s only stupid over Mito if he was going to be like this at all. If fate had been a crueller mistress, Tobirama’s idiot brother could have been mooning over Uchiha Madara instead.
“You will have to be on your toes,” Mito warns, lowering her voice and peering at Hashirama through her lashes. “I aim to steal all your allies and power. Tobirama may be my most fruitful investment, but he is only the start. I am most formidable, I assure you.”
Looking pathetically besotted with his flushed cheeks and wide eyes at such a declaration, Hashirama sighs like a lovesick maiden and says, “You are magnificent.” The artfully arranged flower arrangements in the room appear to abruptly multiply.
Mito laughs and pats his arm, waving a goodbye to Tobirama as she leads her husband away.
He watches the pair leave, bewildered and vaguely appalled. What an odd mating ritual. Tobirama is glad that he has already moved into a separate wing of the house. He does not wish to bear witness to such a display again.
“Akimichi Chosuke, Sarutobi Sasuke, and Yashogoro Maya were spotted entering Senju lands, presumably as attendees of the wedding reception,” Hikaku reports. With raised eyebrows, he remarks, “Some big names there.”
Izuna narrows his eyes where he is looking out the window in Madara’s office as if he can see all the way into the Senju compound. “I told you they’re up to something.” He scoffs with annoyance, “If only I’d gotten that smug Nara bastard to bark.”
Madara exchanges a glance with Hikaku and wisely does not ask Izuna what he has against Nara Shikataro. That line of questioning yields no real answers and only results in more sulking from his little brother who refuses to elaborate.
“A trade agreement perhaps,” Hikaku suggests, moving the conversation along.
Eyebrow rising skeptically, Madara challenges, “One so convoluted? It seems unlikely.”
“Nara confirmed it was an alliance of some sort anyways,” Izuna points out. “I just don’t understand why they’re being so secretive about it.”
Frowning thoughtfully, Madara turns his own gaze towards the window. For a long moment, he muses over the idea starting to take root in his mind. It seems a little ridiculous at first, but the more he thinks about it, the more he cannot let go. “Maybe they’re trying to establish a village,” he can’t help but say out loud, physically needing the words to be out there.
Izuna whirls around and even Hikaku looks incredulous. “Village?” Izuna repeats, head cocked like a bird. “Your village?”
Madara shrugs, leaning back in his seat. “It would make sense, wouldn’t it?”
“Nothing about your village makes sense,” Izuna insists but he sounds like he’s thinking about it even as he complains.
“There is some merit to the idea,” Hikaku says at last, like he is bewildered by his own agreement.
Madara openly rolls his eyes at their lack of confidence. He’s lauded as a genius for a reason after all. They could at least try to have some faith.
The corners of Izuna’s mouth pull down and his gaze sharpens. “But wouldn’t Hashirama tell you if he’s trying to establish a village? This dream of yours—it was a shared one, no?”
Madara stills. It’s not like the question isn’t valid. But, well— “I haven’t exactly been reliable about it,” he counters drily. “Even now, by any official standards, we still do not have peace between our clans.” Without a physical treaty to speak of, peace is simply an intention, not a tangible reality.
“So, he got impatient,” Izuna concludes flatly. “They were careful about not approaching any Uchiha allies or associates too. How…thoughtful.”
“But they’re speaking to neutral clans too,” Hikaku points out. “The Ino-Shika-Cho alliance have always avoided interacting with the Senju just as much as they have avoided us. If they’re changing that now…”
“Tobirama told them about our unofficial truce,” Izuna informs.
Madara infers, “Then there’s intent to leave an opening for us when the time comes.”
Hikaku hums. Then, with a frown, he asks, “Why not bring it up from the start?”
“It’s asking for too much too soon,” Izuna dismisses immediately with a wave of his hand. “We’re barely managing to convince the clan of a peace treaty as it is. Demanding a village on top of that would’ve led to riots.” His eyes take on a distant contemplative gleam. “But an alliance of this size, with neutral names as well. Big names like the Akimichi and Sarutobi at that.”
Madara nods at the pointed insinuation in his brother’s words. “It’s leaving us with no choice, in a way. Refusing to be part of something this large and risking being on the outs with all these clans is out of the question.”
“It’s not a request so much as it is a demand,” Izuna observes, lips quirking into a cold smile as his gaze flits back to the window. “This has Tobirama’s scheming written all over it.”
“Awful lot of faith in your rival there,” Madara comments.
Izuna arches a brow. “If it were up to Hashirama, I’m sure we would have been made aware already,” he drawls. “Probably by way of a bouquet bearing your name, and possibly, Hashirama’s hand in marriage.”
Madara winces, glaring at Hikaku who lets out a particularly undignified snort at Izuna’s astute observation. “Don’t joke about such things the day after his wedding, Izuna,” Madara hisses, ducking his chin and decidedly not hiding behind his hair. “Have some shame.”
Rolling his eyes, his brother folds his arms but appears to acquiesce for now.
Deliberately clearing his throat, Hikaku says, “Speaking of marriage, I suppose this alliance gives us sufficient cause to refute Bashira-san’s proposal of peace via a political match.”
It had been an idea gaining traction if only because an alliance through marriage is still a more tangible binding of their clans than just a regular treaty and it appeals to those parts of the clan who need that solidity after years of being at war. It could potentially take years of courting before a suitable agreement is reached between the parties to be wed, however, and deciding who the marriage would be between would have only been the first of many headaches to come.
To bear such a massive responsibility as securing peace between the Senju and Uchiha, the match would’ve had to be prolific enough to warrant both parties upholding their respective agreements. Naturally, Hashirama would be ineligible by Uchiha customs tending towards monogamy, Madara himself holds no romantic inclinations of any sort, and Izuna would probably sooner run away to become a goat herder in some remote mountain village on the other side of the continent than let their grandmother get another say in who he ends up marrying.
Which left them with Tobirama who is, unfortunately, uniquely popular among the Uchiha once the more foolhardy members of the clan got over him being the White Demon himself. With his sharp, angular features, unabashed deadliness and competence, and his inclination towards children, Tobirama apparently checked off some sort of list for plenty of young Uchiha men and women. The man even had the blasted red eyes as if to incentivise the deal by making himself out to be favoured by their patron goddess.
Madara had been openly dreading fending off the proposals because he’d known that if he tried to suggest peace come at the cost of Tobirama’s hand, Hashirama would probably attempt to ritually sacrifice the entire Uchiha bloodline for daring to presume and infringe upon his precious brother’s virtue or something. Never mind that the man himself had found love in his own arranged match. There is very little logic to be found in the empty cavern Hashirama calls a head and nearly all of it goes out the window when it comes to man doting upon his only remaining sibling.
Of course, Elder Bashira had only made the suggestion because he’d been wanting to boost his own standing within the clan. The man certainly hadn’t hesitated to suggest his own daughter for the alliance, and once Izuna had cheerily refuted by pointing out that Tobirama preferred men, Bashira had been quick to volunteer his only son. Madara had sneered at the display but hadn’t found adequate reason to turn down the proposal.
Now it seems there is no need to go to such lengths.
“We’ll need more solid confirmation before we can leverage this information,” he decides. “I’ll write to the Aburame and see if they’ve heard anything.” The Aburame have a standing alliance with the Inuzuka who’ve had decent relations with the Akimichi in the past. Hopefully, some prodding will reveal the truth. “Until then,” he turns to Izuna with raised brows, “do you think you can hold off the clan from pushing for any other self-centered schemes?”
“Of course.” With a delighted grin, Izuna drops his voice conspiratorially and says, “Did you know Elder Bashira’s son has been hiding a lover all this time? An outsider civilian he sees on missions. I heard she might even be pregnant. There's no way he can get out of bringing her into the clan if she bears an Uchiha child. Any other marriage prospects are out of the question.”
Madara stares at his brother.
Sounding bewildered, Hikaku asks, “How do you even know this? Why do you know this?”
Izuna waves him off, still chipper. “Don’t worry about the details. You know I have my ways.”
Something tells Madara his little brother didn’t take kindly to Elder Bashira’s attempts at scheming, but he isn’t about to pry into Izuna’s affairs unless he broaches the subject first himself. Madara is capable of learning some lessons, thank you very much.
(It has nothing to do with Izuna smuggling a scorpion nest into Madara’s bed last time he was upset about ‘being coddled’. Absolutely nothing.)
Instead, he sighs. “I’ll leave you to it then.”
“It’s a convoluted kind of governance,” Shikataro says over a half-abandoned game of shatranj.
“There’s precedent,” Tobirama returns simply. “I didn’t just pluck the ideas from thin air.”
They are entertaining themselves while the gathered clan heads are locked away in yet another meeting, this time trying to decide how they will argue their case to get the Daimyo to approve a shinobi settlement of this scale. Shikataro had been unsubtly looking for an escape from the festive atmosphere of the post-wedding celebrations when Tobirama had found him, and had been all too eager to hide in an out-of-the-way gazebo built on the edge of the pond behind the Sacred Tree for yet another strategy based game.
The Nara heir sighs. “I know of similar practices in Land of Earth and in continents further west,” he allows, “but to most other Fire natives, such an approach is practically alien. It’s complicated, which makes it difficult to enact from the ground up.”
He’s referring to Tobirama’s proposal for an adapted federal parliamentary republican style government consisting of a lower house for legislative purposes, an upper house for execution, the chief council of founding clan heads and military commanders, and an elected head of state. Considering that Land of Fire typically sees power in the hands of nobility, the proposal of a system combining that with certain democratic principles is probably a little strange, but Tobirama stands by his proposition. The village will function almost as its own independent state which means that there will need to be consideration for a whole host of areas like education, infrastructure, and finance, and so a variety of representatives will be required to ensure everyone’s needs are being met effectively.
Konoha hadn’t been quite like that in the memories that live in Tobirama’s head. Some ideas had been there, but the village had also seen two wars in quick succession which meant being in a state of emergency where the Hokage’s word alone was essentially law. He hopes it will be different this time, however. He wants this to work.
“Once we have it running, however, it will be effective,” Tobirama argues. “Power will be distributed, there will be checks and balances, and theoretically, everyone’s interests will have a chance to be reflected.” He captures one of Shikataro’s rooks. “And the shinobi clans will still come out on top with their council, so they shouldn’t have enough to complain about that I risk them backing out now.”
Shikataro snorts at that and immediately avenges his rook by capturing Tobirama’s elephant with his king. “But if you give the shinobi interests so much power, you risk alienating the civilian population of our clans.”
Tobirama hums and moves his horse to put Shikataro’s king in check. “We’ll let them have free reign over trade then. The markets will have no government intervention.”
That brings Shikataro some pause. He barely remembers to move his king to safety as he stares at Tobirama. “No import or export charges? That’s missing out on massive amounts of taxes,” he points out, brow furrowing like he can’t puzzle out whatever true intention Tobirama must be hiding with such a proposal.
There is no hidden intention really. “It will be good incentive for merchants, farmers and craftsmen though. So long as the economy remains sustainable and profitable to them, coasting on income tax, property taxes and maybe taxing luxury goods and services should be enough. The primary funding for the village will come from missions anyway.”
“And the Daimyo’s military fund,” Shikataro adds.
Tobirama inclines his head and concedes. “Assuming the honourable Daimyo agrees of course.”
“Of course,” comes the dry agreement. Then, “And what will we do while we’re trying to get the village established to begin with?”
“Temporary upper house and chief council just to ensure the essential departments are up and running. The council can focus on drafting a constitution of sorts while their chosen representatives can work on implementing and gathering public opinion on the proposed legislation.”
Shikataro groans and captures Tobirama’s queen with extreme prejudice as though looking for revenge. “Sounds like a load of work,” he grumbles, rubbing a palm over his face.
Tobirama raises his brows. “Naturally,” he says. “It was always going to be.”
“You should be in that meeting with them, you know.”
Funny coming from the man who will probably become head of the Nara within a year or two and should definitely be more interested in shaping the fate of his clan. Tobirama refrains from saying as much, instead stating, “I am not suited to diplomacy and negotiation. It would be a waste of my time and energy.”
Shikataro blinks. “You came to see me though,” he points out.
And Tobirama would’ve been the one to go even if Shikataro didn’t owe him. “The Nara are more fitting to my temperament than anija’s.” In other words, they’re just as odd and socially obtuse. Tobirama understands that better than Hashirama whose charm and effusive social grace tends to set the Nara ill at ease.
Shikataro clearly hears the implication even though Tobirama doesn’t speak it. He stares for a moment and then says decisively, “I resent that.”
There’s no response to that so Tobirama puts Shikataro’s king in check again. He promptly loses his horse for it but the momentary satisfaction is worth the loss.
“Last I heard, they’re hoping to approach the Daimyo before obon,” he says, changing the subject.
“Just over a fortnight then.” Shikataro frowns. “It’d be nice if we had more noble clans willing to throw their weight in. The Sarutobi and Senju are pretty much just as influential, but official noble clans would mean more clout in the capital and the Daimyo's inner court itself. Right now, we only really have the Akimichi who could drum up enough support for the mission from the bigger nobles.”
“The Aburame have inquired, but I doubt they will join until they can gauge the Daimyo’s reaction better. They’re a little too neutral for it,” Tobirama says.
And the Hyuuga?” Shikataro suggests and then snorts to himself in swift dismissal. “Too comfortable on that mountain of theirs to look down upon the rest of us mortals and our lowly affairs.”
Tobirama’s mouth twitches into an amused smile before he can stop it. “The Uzumaki expressing intention to join does us some favours,” he points out.
“Sure,” Shikataro agrees, “but they don’t exactly have local favours or clientele built up.” Tobirama makes an acknowledging sound and waits while the Nara heir watches him carefully for a moment. Finally, Shikataro prods, “What about the Uchiha?”
Tobirama arches a brow and considers his words. “They’d be ideal,” he admits. “Resourceful, powerful, and well connected. We were waiting for today’s meeting before approaching them. Today, the gathered clan heads will sign the proposal statement to show their support for the mission—we wanted it as proof and incentive since, by official legalities, we don’t have a formal peace treaty with them yet.”
“I’m sure they’ve already heard,” Shikataro muses. “Everyone knows they’ve expanded to selling information lately.” Then, after a pause, he admits, “I met Uchiha Izuna at the the Daimyo’s summer banquet.”
Tobirama blinks. “I see. Did you tell him?”
“Not outright,” Shikataro denies with a shake of his head as he idly toys with one of the pawns he captured from Tobirama. “I implied an alliance since that is more certain than a settlement for now. He seemed displeased to not know for sure.”
That would certainly be in character for someone like Izuna who so likes to stay informed. “He’ll find out soon if he hasn’t already managed to.” Wryly, he adds, “Izuna is good at staying in the loop.”
Something unabashedly intrigued comes to rest over Shikataro’s face and he rests his head against his fist, arm propped on the table, studying Tobirama openly. “You refer to each other rather casually,” he observes. “Uchiha-kun was the same way. I didn’t realise the two of you were so familiar.”
“We’ve always been familiar,” Tobirama says, leaning back in his seat. “Izuna and I have always been an even match in strength, so we’ve almost exclusively faced off against each other while our clans were at war. It is only recently that we’ve become—” not ‘more friendly’ since that sounds a bit presumptuous. Tobirama settles on—“less antagonistic.”
Arching a brow at the brief hesitation, Shikataro snorts. “Well, with the Senju-Uchiha conflict more or less resolved, at least things aren’t as troublesome as they could’ve been. It is only the matter of convincing Uchiha Madara, yes?”
“I don’t expect he will take much convincing,” Tobirama remarks, a bit amused. “It was he and my brother who first thought of a village for our clans to live together, back when they were both children. I imagine this would be like a dream come true for him.”
Shikataro looks visibly startled by this revelation. “I didn’t realise they were close enough to have shared dreams. Weren’t you at war?”
Tobirama sighs. “It’s a long story.”
Spreading his hands, the Nara heir says, “Well, it’s a good thing we’ve got time.”
There is a road leading to nowhere and a rabbit lies in the middle of it, white fur dyed pink from the pool of blood it lies in.
Tobirama feels uneasy at the sight of it. He is no stranger to blood and gore given what his profession is, and yet, this rabbit makes his skin crawl for some reason he cannot identify. He pities and is repulsed by it in equal measure.
He approaches anyways, drawn by some morbid curiosity. Thoughtlessly, he reaches out.
Scarlet eyes snap open, a three tomoe sharingan spinning spinning spinning in them. The rabbit opens it mouth to reveal razor sharp teeth, spitting blood black as pitch. It makes a sound—like prey and predator, like victim and killer, like screaming and laughing all at once—and rises to its feet with half its insides spilling out.
Instinctively, Tobirama knows this is not a rabbit. It was never a rabbit. How could he not see?
Death itself reaches out to him and—
Tobirama wakes up screaming, feeling like his face has been clawed apart.
“Tora, no!”
There are hands on his wrists, pulling and pinning them down, and abruptly Tobirama realises that the stinging pain is real, that the taste of metal in the air isn’t some vestige of his dream, that Hashirama and Mito are crowded over him with pale faces and wide eyes as they hold down his bloodied hands.
Tobirama tries to focus past the ache of his wound and the sharp ringing of his ears, desperately trying to shake off the daze of the nightmare with little success.
“Hashirama, calm down—”
“Calm down? My brother just tried to claw his eyes out!”
“And you will be of no help to him while panicking like this!”
“I shouldn’t have helped,” Tobirama murmurs before he can even comprehend that he is speaking, voice scratching against his throat and mouth feeling stuffed with cotton.
The frenzied whispers of the quarrel quiet above him immediately and Tobirama feels the combined weight of his siblings’ full attention on him, realising belatedly that he has closed his eyes. He blinks them open and frowns into the dark.
“Helped who, Tobirama?” Mito asks, her voice low and smooth like honey.
Fingers comb through his hair and gently skirt down to his cheekbones before minty cool chakra sparks to life and numbs the area. Hashirama’s mokuton is most useful when he is healing himself since something about the unique chakra composition makes it more liable to rejection in others, but Tobirama has always been able to accept small doses of it—perhaps owing to their shared blood. The pain subsides into a vague itch as his skin stitches itself back together by force as is the demanding nature of the mokuton as opposed to more coaxing approach their regular healing techniques take. Hashirama’s fingertips linger, gentle as butterfly wings, and Tobirama cannot stop himself from leaning into the touch. He feels more real this way. Less floaty, though the odd disconnect between his thoughts and body remain.
“The rabbit,” he answers. “It wasn't alive anyways. I shouldn’t have helped it. I was being foolish.”
“You are not foolish for wanting to help, Tora,” Hashirama chides softly, holding a wet cloth to Tobirama’s face and wiping at the blood starting to dry there.
It feels cool against his feverish skin. His eyes flutter shut again despite himself. Tobirama would feel panic at his own lack of control if he could get himself to think at all.
“It tried to kill me.”
Mito’s fingers pause where they were rubbing absentminded circles into his wrist. “The rabbit?” she confirms, sounding confused.
“He wasn’t a rabbit,” Tobirama says with a certainty he cannot explain. “He tried to kill me.”
Hashirama leans in closer, and the tips of his long hair tickle Tobirama’s face. “Who tried to kill you?” He sounds worried.
“It’s okay, anija. I didn’t let him get me.” Tobirama assures. He does not want Hashirama to worry. “I killed myself first.”