Chapter Text
Wizened hands straightened the pages of notes scattered across the table, clearing away the detritus so that a massive scroll covered with neatly printed letters and carefully straight lines could be unrolled for all present to see.
“So it’s decided then; the terms are agreed upon?”
Madara had never been very fond of the elders in his own clan. Not that any of them had ever done him some kind of personal wrong but he was unashamed to say that they were a bunch of dusty old codgers who should have retired and sat down to play quietly with their grandchildren years ago. After the torture of the past few weeks, however, he was ready to kill them all with his own two hands just to make them shut up. He wasn’t a patient person at the best of times. This was not the best of times.
The serene line of aging Senju on the other side of the pavilion all nodded in eerie unison, dangerous smiles on every one of their faces. Madara hated them more than his own elders. At least he always knew what the Uchiha coots were thinking. These wrinkled old biddies were impossible to read.
“They are,” one of the Senju said in a warbling voice. “Let us review. The accords are thus…”
Madara was born of the Uchiha clan, whose enviable strength could be rivalled only by the Senju clan. The two peoples had long lived far enough apart that they were not often called to fight each other – but territories were shifting. As they began to clash more and more often on the battlefield over the last few years both clans recognized the danger posed. It was clear that they were each the only real threat to the other and to eliminate that threat a simple solution had been proposed: an alliance.
Messengers ran back and forth for several months carrying proposals and counter proposals almost without end until finally a meeting was set up to hash out the finals details of the most momentous peace treaty in living memory. The council of elders from both clans had been the ones to do most of the talking. Both Heads were always present, of course, along with the eldest heir of each, but mostly they communicated through the elders who were used to carrying a certain amount of gravitas. Madara had never wished so hard for an older sibling. He was so bored by it all and if that idiot Senju Hashirama didn’t stop fidgeting across the pavilion then Madara could not be blamed for burning the whole tent to the ground out of simple irritation.
It took quite some time to read out each and every one of the articles in their new treaty, pausing for the collective audience to agree to all of them one by one. Madara didn’t listen much. His main interest was in the two most important points and those were saved for last.
First of those was that the two clans had agreed to band together and build a village in the unclaimed territory almost exactly halfway between their two compounds. They had plans to invite many of the other clans in Hi no Kuni to make this a venture of peace and prosperity for all who would have it, a place where children could grow without having to worry about being sent to the battlefield before they lost their first tooth. The whole idea had actually been Madara’s big contribution, his suggestion. The location had been proposed by Hashirama. It was the first sign of an actual working brain inside the idiot’s skull.
The second article he cared about was the more concerning one. To build a village together and declare peace was one thing but the elders felt that an incentive to keep that peace was needed as well; not only for the cohesiveness of their own peoples but also as a show of unity to any other clans who may choose to join them. The Uchiha and Senju must be seen as moving together. It was decided rather late in the negotiations that binding their clans together by marriage was the best way to do that, a marriage between the eldest unmarried child of each head family. Madara had not taken well to being offered up like a sacrificial piece of meat – especially when he heard that there were no female Senju heirs. He was being married off to a boy. He wasn’t even sure if he liked boys! A couple of really strange dreams did not mean anything definite.
There was no need to be surreptitious when eyeing the oaf across the tent from him now. Hashirama was drumming his fingers on his thighs, listening to his elders speak with a broad smile and a surprising amount of attention. Madara took in the long brown hair and the deeply tanned skin, his dark brown eyes and too wide mouth. Miraculously, he’d never met his unwitting bridegroom on the battlefield and Madara wondered if he looked very much like his older brother. Sage but he hoped not. It would be like getting married to Hashirama and the very thought made him shudder. Just because the fool had a few redeeming qualities that made for easy conversation during the recesses between talks did not mean Madara had any desire for him.
Even more disturbing was the fear that they might act like him. He wasn’t sure he would survive even a single month bonded to someone who bounced in their seat like a child whenever they were excited or drooped with over-dramatic misery when their ideas were rejected. Hashirama was close to the same age as him and yet he acted as though he were half that. Madara certainly would not have a peaceful life if he had to share his home with someone like that idiot.
Finally, finally, the wizened Senju read out the last of the accords and received unanimous agreement from everyone present. Madara breathed a sigh of relief that the final day of this was finally over as he and his father stepped forward to sign the treaty laid out on the table. There were two copies for them to mark and they would take one with them for the perusal of their clansmen back home, to keep in their records should it ever be necessary to scrutinize the precise wording of each line to find loopholes – Madara knew his father, after all, and he knew the man was very fond of loopholes. It felt a bit like agreeing to sell his soul to the devil but Madara forced both hands to stay steady and produce his most elegant calligraphy as he took the brush to sign. The name Uchiha Madara had never looked more beautiful – nor felt so heavy.
They left the next day, returning to their traditional home with the date of Madara’s nuptials already picked out. Each clan had been given tasks to fulfill in preparation of the wedding and the building of their village as well. Madara’s task was to show up at the altar on the right day and try not to look like he wished death or destruction upon either himself or his groom. At least, that was how his father had put it. Tajima had been nearly as furious as Madara was at the first mention of an arranged marriage for his son just as most of the Uchiha delegation had. It was the worst sort of culture shock to discover such practices were actually commonplace among the Senju.
But that anger hadn’t lasted long, quickly fading to calm acceptance, and Madara wished he knew what could have made Tajima change his mind so easily in the face of something so completely against everything their people believed in. He wished he could be so confident in this path that had been chosen for him.
He also wished he had been allowed to express the emotions he truly felt about this whole fiasco. He wanted to rail against those Senju windbags, scream in their faces and demand to know what in the world was wrong with them. Arranged marriages were absolutely barbaric! Marriage was supposed to be a sacred covenant of love not a business transaction. Madara felt cold and used; he felt like prospects which should be his to choose from had been ripped away without his consultation. Like the rest of his family, he was a creature of emotion. He believed in love, true love, and that every person should have the opportunity to find it. Now he would never have that and he wasn’t sure he would ever forgive his father or any of the elders for voting to take it all away from him.
Madara was granted one full year of freedom after the Uchiha and the Senju made peace. He would have had less than half that but it was extended out of necessity as members of both clans were kept busy constructing the village where they would come together. He, on the other hand, spent nearly every second he could breathing deeply of the air around his home, rubbing at his wrists as if he could already feel the shackles there. He ran unchecked through the forests he’d grown up in, sparring with Izuna in violent clashes that only barely helped expel his tumultuous emotions.
“You could always run away,” his brother told him cheekily one afternoon as they lay panting in a field of burnt grass. He scowled and tossed a handful of ash, making Izuna squeal as he hurried to claw the grainy substance out of his long dark hair.
“And shame both myself and the entire clan?” he retorted. “Besides, where would I go? What would I do? I wouldn’t have a clan to find missions to earn my meals. I wouldn’t have you. You’re a Class-A idiot but I would miss you. For some reason.”
Izuna had only laughed, continuing to clean out his hair while Madara brooded. He’d been trying the entire time to think of a way out of this without bringing shame to himself or his family. In the end there had been nothing. He couldn’t even step down as heir because what kind of big brother would he be to force Izuna in to the same position he wanted so desperately to escape? No, the only path for him to take was to follow the demands of the treaty as his elders and supposed betters had agreed. But that didn’t mean he had to like it. He was very free to hate his new groom as much as he wanted; especially if he looked and acted like Hashirama.
All he had to do was keep that hatred to himself so no one would suspect how unhappy he was. They were being married for a purpose, after all.
The day of the wedding saw Madara nearly sick with anxiety when it finally came. The ceremony was to be held in the village once those who still remained in the compounds made the final move to Konohagakure, as it had been named. Madara stepped through the gates for the first time in mid-morning with Izuna at his side, both of them taking in the sites with wide eyes. He found himself more impressed than he wanted to be. He wanted to hate this place and was a little disappointed to find that he couldn’t, not when it was so magnificent, so full of promise.
Before he could get too carried away with sightseeing he was whisked away to the part of the village set aside for members of his own clan. There he was primped and prodding, dressed and decorated, made up for an event which should have had his heart feeling light with joy. Instead all he felt was dread heavy in his chest. It took more than an hour for his kimono alone to be properly put on, each layer pinned in place to accentuate his shape and the elaborate obi of the head family tied just so. His wild mane of hair was brushed until it gleamed and some of it caught up in an elegant top knot, adorned with the same kanzashi that had been worn by each of his predecessors for innumerable generations. When his attendants declared him ready and bowed out of the room, Madara turned to the mirror that he had avoided looking at since arriving.
In a word he looked beautiful. Certainly it was obvious that he was a man – and a rather strong one at that – but the traditional wedding outfit also showcased the beauty in him which he rarely bothered to play up. He usually preferred to let his hair fall wild, obscuring his face. With it out of the way all the focus was on his shapely eyes and the miraculously clear skin that remained free of scars or blemishes. He wished he could have taken more pleasure in what he saw there. Still, one is never sure what memories one will wish to look back on some day. Madara made a point of activating his Sharingan and committing to memory the sight of himself on his wedding day. He really did look good.
An hour later Izuna was sent to fetch him for the ceremony. The moment it finally sank in a year before that he was to be married Madara had asked his brother to stand with him, a subtle snub he was sure his father merely chose to ignore. He should have asked his father as the head of their family but instead he chose the one he was closest to, the one who had no blame on his shoulders for this sham of a union. Izuna’s voice sounded a little choked when he first laid eyes on him and Madara made a show of rolling his eyes.
“If you cry on me I will never forgive you,” he said. His brother laughed and took a moment to deliberately look him over with admiring eyes before opening the door wider, indicating that Madara should follow him out. The older of the two swallowed. It was time.
And he wasn’t ready.
No matter what he felt inside Madara was the picture of calm as he approached the orchard in which his wedding was to be held. It was a unique idea and he was loathe to admit to it but he liked it. The apple trees were in blossom, sending pink and white petals drifting on a gentle breeze to land in the hair of each guest seated among them. He was led through a cozy little community building and out the back to reach the orchard, drawing the eyes of the congregation with his arrival. They stood to receive him, of course, but he refused to look at any of the people gathered to send him to his doom. He looked only straight ahead, walking placidly down one of two aisles that had been cleared between the guests.
When he reached the dais set up at the end of his short walk he caught movement in the corner of his eye. His groom had arrived, keeping pace with him down the second aisle so neither of them arrived before the other. He tilted his head ever so slightly to peek sideways but found Hashirama standing between him and the man he was to wed. Madara only barely resisted the urge to huff in annoyance. The oaf was standing on the wrong side. Of course he was. Before he could say anything himself a new voice murmured low in a scolding tone and then Hashirama was blushing lightly with a sheepish grin.
“Sorry brother! Sorry!” he chirped, dashing around to the other side of his companion.
Madara’s breath left his body with a hard rush, leaving his lungs empty and quite unable to draw another. A face even more pale than his own turned just enough for a pair of deep red eyes to catch his, a brief moment that lasted forever as they took each other in for the first time. Senju Tobirama had cheekbones sharp enough to cut glass, each adorned with slashing red marks that were matched to a third one running down his chin. His hair was the color of untouched snow, cut short and ruffled by the wind. Startlingly, he was taller than Madara by several inches and the expression on his face was perfectly smooth, almost nonexistent.
Madara’s gaze flickered between the two men next to him rapidly, trying not to let his jaw drop. How the hell was this Hashirama’s brother? They looked nothing alike! Tobirama raised one pale eyebrow just a bit, asking wordlessly what was wrong with him, and Madara puffed up a bit with instinctual defense. He was allowed to be shocked! No one had prepared him for this – this gorgeous vision who was just as much of a sacrifice as him yet seemed entirely unbothered by it at all.
The priest cleared his throat, snapping Madara’s attention back towards the dais. He was an ancient man who had spent his life tending to the oldest temple in the Land of Fire. It was actually Hashirama's idea that he travel here to perform the ceremony as a neutral party so no one now or in the future could say that either the Senju or the Uchiha had more influence in this bonding. Much of the ceremony and the reception to take place afterwards had been designed to show equal influence from both clans so that neither was more prominent than the other, a visual declaration that they all intended to live together in harmony. As much as Madara understood the necessity and the intelligence behind it all there was still a small voice in the back of his mind that was sad to see the glaring absences where Uchiha tradition had given way to compromise, small things like the colors of the flowers and the placement of the banners. It just wasn’t how he had pictured his wedding.
With a dusty clearing of his throat their priest began the ceremony by reciting a traditional prayer for prosperity and love between the couple to be joined. Madara tried very hard to pay attention but he found his eyes sliding sideways as much as he could without being obvious, drinking in the sight of his surprisingly attractive groom. He couldn’t say he was happy about the situation he’d been forced in to but he was selfish enough to admit that such a handsome face certainly did make everything look just that much brighter. At the very least he would have something nice to look at as the days passed them by. Now all he had to worry about was whether the personality was half as pretty as the face was.
After what felt like a never-ending prayer came the sermon. Then the vows and the exchanging of rings and an odd little mini-ceremony where the priest asked them to hold hands and knotted a band of silk around their clasped fingers, declaring it symbolic of the way their hearts and fates were now bound together. As Madara understood it, that was a Senju tradition. Or at least he hoped so. If not it was just the crazy ramblings of an ancient priest.
Finally came the moment he was dreading when the priest asked them to seal their union with a kiss. He didn’t quite gulp because they were being watched by important members of both clans and it would not do to look so weak in front of them. He did, however, feel his heart beating erratically as they leaned in towards each other, eyes wide open and unblinking. It was unnerving the way those red eyes seemed to stare right through him. It took more concentration than it should have to stop himself from jumping when surprisingly soft lips pressed against his own with a gentle, fleeting pressure. Then they were gone in the next instant leaving him feeling oddly bereft until he was distracted by the thunderous cheers of their audience.
The priest unwound the ribbon from their hands and they turned to face their peoples, no longer touching each other but standing shoulder to shoulder in a preplanned show of solidarity. The rest of Madara’s life was to be a deliberate show of solidarity, he realized. He would spend the rest of his days playing husband, acting a part, consciously choosing his actions to appear to be in good relations with a man he did not love. As he stood on the dais and watched the happy faces of those looking back at him, Madara wondered how long it would take before he started questioning if this was all worth it. Perhaps he already was.