The humidity in the air keeps the temperature warm even as the sun settled further into the horizon of the thickly forested hills and Tobirama settled into his camp at the turn of a stream where it pooled into a substantial bowl naturally carved into the large gray boulders that were scattered across the region like tossed grain. Sunlight dappled through the deciduous trees to shine on the clear water and rich brown of the earth where Tobirama had set his bed roll, unbothered by sleeping outdoors after so may years of travel.
There was a city nearby, one he had never seen nor even heard of, and a part of him wanted to push forward through that last stretch and take in the vibrant life he could feel even from a distance. He had always been fascinated with new things, especially magics, and in his desire to learn more had made it his quest to search out new cultures and their magical traditions, though it didn’t always work out well for him, as evidenced by the lines of taboo marked across his face from a particularly violent tribe he had come upon in his early years of travel. Fortunately he was powerful enough that he was able to defend himself against all the attempts that have been made on his life, from bandits and brigands to fearful religious sects.
Aside from well worn caution, there were other reasons to keep his distance from the city, namely the overwhelming press of life and magic on his keen senses. From this distance it was muted, but if he got close enough he could even discern every spark of emotion whether it was coming directly from someone, or from their magic left behind, intentional or otherwise, a wash of light and color that filled the world.
No, he prefers the quiet hum of the natural magic in the wilderness and the familiar press of his own wards to keep dangerous animals out of his campsite to the bustling activity of civilization.
The vague sense of something shadowy and searching catches on his senses for a moment before it disappears and he is left with the unsettling sensation of turning to look at a movement out of the corner of his eye and finding nothing there. More alert now that he has cause to be suspicious, for there are more than just other humans that he has to be wary of, and many discoveries are being made all the time of new species, magical and not. Tobirama stands and moves to tighten and perhaps strengthen his wards and include an anti-detection ward so that he won’t be found at all, but before he can make it the the perimeter of his camp there is a sharp pinch at his neck followed almost immediately after by the tingling sweeping through his extremities that usually signals either a poison or some sort of incapacitating agent.
By this time his magic’s conditioned response to being drugged by flushing the poison out of his blood is entirely involuntary, but the chemical is faster than any he has come across before, and he is out before he can feel the arms that rush in to catch him.
He wakes, disoriented and groggy, to the agonizing burn of a supernova rapidly approaching, too close to allow him to remain inert for the brightness that penetrates his unguarded senses without resistance and sears through his mind with the same careless disregard as a forest fire sweeping over a village in the middle of a drought. The unbearable pain has him washing the remaining drugs out of his system like a cleansing monsoon and on his feet calling up every bit of unconfined water in range and hurling it at the hapless miniature sun before he can even register that he is no longer in the woods, the bright shine of thousands of other magical signatures hidden under the beam of the one that has all of his attention.
—
Madara was watching the rise of the sickle moon from the sill of the tall library windows when the news came in, or rather when his younger brother Izuna burst in with the news. Startled from his woolgathering, Madara turned from the view of the spatial palace gardens to watch his brother scramble over to him.
“Aniki! The hunting party has returned!” The younger exclaims.
“What?” disbelief is Madara’s first response, “but they only just left!”
Izuna shrugs, weariness and suspicion warring in his eyes. He too has grown tired of the bride hunters bringing back inadequate matches that burn out before they can come within touching distance. The blood and magic of the Uchiha is powerful, being descended from the Sun God and Madara is more powerful than any of his clan has been for centuries. “Apparently they found someone camped a few miles outside of the city, I didn’t see them myself, but I heard from one of the servants that he’s as pale as the moon, and she heard that he somehow sensed the hunters coming.”
Madara snorts inn derision, as if looking like the moon was a sign of suitability. But he levers himself up and asks, “Where is he?”
Izuna, knowing what his brother was planning to do and always up for making more chaos, sends Madara a sharp grin and tells him. “Right now they’ll be in the process of cleaning him in the purification pools.”
Madara grits his teeth, sends a thankful nod to his little brother, and stalks out of the library and toward the back of the palace where the walled courtyard rests. The purification ritual, instituted no doubt by some pompous arrogant blowhard with an ego beyond measure, did more than just purify, they also left the sanctified so open that their inborn defenses, developed over the entire span of their life, were unable to shield them. That was at least half the reason why the previous candidates had all perished.
The council still persisted in ordering all candidates to be immedietly cleansed, contrary to Madara’s wishes, and Madara had had enough.
The guards outside the doors tried to waylay him, no doubt on orders from the council, but he refused to be held back, and pushed the doors leading into the courtyard open with enough force for them to bounce off the outer walls.
Movement at the edge of the closest pool caught his notice but before he could truly register what was happening chaos erupted in the courtyard. The startled oaths of the guards and shrieks of the pools’ attendants were secondary in his attention to the wall of water coming straight at him with all the force of a tsunami, and Madara was forced to rely on his little used knowledge of barriers to halt the tide. Which… wasn’t as successful as he wanted it to be, though the force behind the wave was broken so they were all able to withstand the deluge of water that flooded through the corridor, the weather seals already combating the influx of excess moisture.
Grimly, Madara waded forward, ignoring the further protesting of the guards, now too far back to catch him. He briefly caught sight of the figure in the center-most pool, now left mostly empty, though the backlash of that last attack had clearly brought enough of the room’s water back to be a threat, as evidenced by the next few strikes that kept him from getting a truly clear view of the room’s now only other occupant, the attendants having fled after that first wave.
Madara frowned as the attacks continued, hurried and frenzied in a way that certainly put him off, even as he kept track of the other as they backed further away from him. There was no thought to these attacks, merely panic, and Madara was able to neatly herd the man, lithe and pale by what he was able to make out, by dodgin around some and searing others into steam and water vapor, which was then turned back into water and used to attack him again. But Madara could be patient when it was important and he wanted to be, and this was both, so he drove the man back until he hit the corner, and when he panicked and threw what seemed to be everything else at his disposal at Madara’s head, Madara burned it out of the air, and stepped through the resulting cloud of steam to grapple the other man into submission.
He still almost escaped, trying to slip past Madara in the steam, and he was wily and desperate, trying to squirm out of Madara’s hold when hw couldn’t get leverage. He definitely left a fair number of bruises across Madara’s legs and torso trying to fight him off, but it was still just the unthinking desperation of an animal, and Madara eventually succeeded in pinning him into the corner.
Now that Madara was able to look upon the man he could definitely see why the bridehunters had come back with him, with hair as white as the distant snow capped mountains and skin so pale it was nearly translucent, he was a thing of beauty, though the grimace of pain framed by tear lined cheeks took away some of his enjoyment in looking.
The tightly shut eyes and continued efforts to back away from him even to the point of trying to sink into the walls (there were protective seals in place to prevent such a thing) sparked the recollection of Izuna’s claim that he had sensed the hunting party coming, and Madara called out to the waiting bystanders, “Bring me the Queen’s Diadem!”
One of the attendants squawked in protest, and Madara had to grip his temper in both hands, magic flaring in his rage. The shudder and high pained noise made by his quarry directly preceding another desperate squirm against his hold both helped and hindered his efforts. “NOW!” he roared, and one of the guards, his distant cousin (Kagami if he remembered correctly) tore off down the hallway.
Satisfied that his order was being followed, Madara turned his gaze back onto the man in his hold, completely bare before him, though thankfully shielded from the sight of others, Madara traced the faint scars spread across his pale flesh with his eyes until he came to the vivid red markings on his face, and at this distance he could tell that these were not scars like the rest, but tattoos that cut across his cheeks and chin and highlighted the sharpness of his features.
Having looked his fill, Madara was about to call for a robe also, but found Kagami rapidly approaching with the requested circlet, an intricate work of gold and silver featuring a crescent moon cradling a black gem while reflecting the light of the sun. Madara gave a sharp gesture with his chin toward the as yet unnamed man in his grasp when Kagami reached his side, and the crown was carefully set in place.
The moment the crown settled over his pale brow, the man collapsed with a relieved sob like a puppet with it strings cut, limp but trembling in Madara’s arms.
—
For what seems like an eternity, all Tobirama can feel is the searing burn of the sun pressed right up against him, the brightness so great it causes his whole head to throb at the piercing pain. He cannot get away from it, he can’t even think it’s so painful. He just wants it to stop. His ears register yelling, but there is no part of him capable of translating it into actual speech, all his thoughts are swept away by the burn before they can even form.
Then someone slips something over his head and the whole world comes into beautifully clear focus, and all the tension leaves him at once, and it feels like everything from the marrow of his bones to his nerve endings has turned to liquid in his relief. He can still feelsee the fiery bright prescience pressed against him, but it’s sharper now, contained to it’s mortal form, and the rest of the world is laid out around it like a blanket of stars.
He can touch it all if he wants to, but the magic is not all pressed onto him anymore, and it’s like he can finally breathe for the first time in his life.
Some sort of cloth is settled around him, and Tobirama is suddenly aware that he has collapsed into someone’s arms, the chill in the air and against his skin specifically, tells him that he is wet and naked, and someone is trying to cover him up. The cool weight of metal against his forehead helps him gather his scattered thoughts and take stock of his situation, a thick feeling in his throat and the blurriness of his vision when he opens his eyes tells him that he has been crying, and he has to blink the remnants of it out of his eyes before he can properly focus.
The man holding him, for it is a man, is dark skinned or at least deeply tanned, with a mane of thick dark hair clinging wetly all the way down his back. Black eyes catch his own gaze for a moment as he composes himself before he straightens, cool impassivity settling like a cloak around him as he takes in his surroundings; the spacious courtyard in white stone open only to the sky, shallow pools carved into the floor, water scattered over the whole of it with enough moisture in the air that Tobirama is sure that a great deal of it was vaporised just recently, probably due to his frenzied and unthinking reactions, and he himself is pressed into a corner. There are several others nearby, two only far enough to be polite, and the rest approaching, but Tobirama disregards them for the moment to turn back to his more immediate captor.
“Where am I, and why have I been brought here?” He asks, ice in his voice and knives in his tone.
Several of those nearby choke and sputter indignantly, but Tobirama can feel no threat from them, and chooses to hold the gaze of the man holding him instead of deigning them with so much as a glance.
“How dare-” some one puffs up from the side, but is abruptly cut off before they can say anymore.
Tobirama’s eyes narrow on the face gazing mutely at him with an expression he can only describe as awed, and a throat clears next to them. Tobirama glances over, if only because of proximity, to spy a man just as dark skinned but with curly black hair cut short and a sheepish expression on. “You’re in the purification room of the royal palace in the Kingdom of Fire…” he trails off leadingly, but Tobirama has no intention of giving these people any information about himself.
Turning back to the man still holding him when no other words are forthcoming, and before any of the others can attenmpt to drwa his attention away from getting answers as he can feel some of them are about to try, he asks again, “and why am I here?”
Silence.
Someone shifts awkwardly, and he can feel one of the - servants? attendants? No matter - begin to martial themselves, righteous determination projecting off of them, and Tobirama cuts that off before it can truly gain any momentum.
“Don’t think that I can’t rip every single molecule of moisture out of your bodies if I don’t receive a satisfactory answer.” He very nearly purrs the threat, hands settled on the chest of the one still clutching at him.
Shock, fear, and righteous indignation radiate from their company and he can sense the ones that are clearly soldiers of some sort readying themselves for combat, but the oe in front of him feels like something must have hit him in the head for all the shock and awe coming off him.
“You’re perfect!” the man blurts, shocking Tobirama and everyone in hearing distance. “Marry me!”
Tobirama can only stare at him with wide eyes for a moment before a scowl settles firmly over his face. “Why in the twelve realms would I marry someone who has clearly kidnapped me.” He growls in irritation, the audacity of this man-
Tobirama shoves him off of him and steps away from the wall, letting the cloak they had draped over him fall to the floor, nudity had never been something he had been all that concerned with, especially after some run ins with a couple of nudist colonies and a few barbaric tribes that would strip their enemies just so they could feel a perceived sense of superiority over them for their nakedness, causing the man to flush red and choke on nothing but air.
One of the servants begins nattering about what an honor it is to be marrying their lord, Madara, and Tobirama listens enough to learn that it is a tradition of the royal house to kidnap suitable brides and force them into marriage. Fury swells in Tobirama’s breast, anger chilling the air until the water puddled on the floor is ice, hoarfrost is limning the walls, and diamond dust is sparkling in the air.
A somber grimace stretches over Madara’s face, chagrin in his eyes, and Tobirama’s fury heightens. Madara knows it is wrong, and yet it is still a practice he is allowing to continue. If it was only a matter of a difference in culture and they kept it to themselves Tobirama would have let it be, but to know it is wrong and to involve one foreign to their ways is unacceptable in ways that Tobirama cannot let slide, even if he were not a part of it.
Madara’s hand on his arm cuts through the red hazing the edges of his perception, and he nearly balks but Madara’s beseeching gaze catches his eyes, and he stills his wrath, though winter’s chill remains in his stare.
“You are under no obligation to bind yourself to me, or this land, but please allow me to court you at least! You can stay here in the palace for three months and if at the end of that time you still desire to leave, then you are free to do so.” Madara proposes pleadingly, ignoring the aghast objections from the spectators, “I don’t know what you are traveling for, but anything in our power to grant you will be yours while you are here!”
Tobirama eyes him with cold disdain for a moment, options whirring in his mind, if he leaves now, they will most likely just find someone else to force into marriage, he is under no illusion that he can defeat them all here and they will surely recover quickly, and perhaps this is a good opportunity to learn all he can of this culture and their magics without having to deal with the thousands of people he can feel clustered in their nearby city.
Tobirama nods ponderously, deciding that he can endure Madara’s attempts to court him, three months isn’t too long a time when he has something to study, and it has been quite some time since he was welcome enough somewhere to stay for any substantial length of time. He clothes himself in the robe a younger servant offers him and allows himself to be lead away into the palace proper by Madara himself to be shown where he will stay while he is here.