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SNAP DRAGON AND CRANE
Tobirama misses Water Country nearly the moment he finishes his mission there. The air is humid, and despite the fact that he can use all five elements, this place with all of its natural bounty feels more like home sometimes than the place he resides. Home, however, is where he is returning to now.
The trees have just begun to thicken when he senses it. A chakra signature—one he knows intimately well.
Uchiha Izuna.
He alights on the next tree branch, hesitating. His mission has so far gone over without a single snag. Uchiha Izuna however could be a major complication. His rival isn’t usually one to try and actively catch him on solo missions. They have both long come to tacit agreement on the wasteful futility of them clashing in fights outside major battles. With no clanmates as backup to actually use any opening they are too closely matched otherwise to make confrontation here a good tactical decision. Tobirama, in the past, has preferred to avoid those encounters, and he would prefer to avoid this one here and now. At best there is something infuriatingly disconcerting about seeing his usual battlefield opponent pose as a very convincing, very charming civilian. At worst, Izuna could be trying to lead him into an ambush, tipped off by someone uniquely well informed.
Even more troubling, Izuna doesn’t appear to be alone.
Tobirama hesitates, and in the moment he stands poised and still on the branch of an old tree he feels it; Izuna’s chakra shifts in patterns Tobirama knows really well. The Uchiha is fighting, and he’s doing so surrounded by dozens and dozens of clearly shinobi opponents.
There are a lot of hostile chakra signatures, but they’re not here for Tobirama. It’s rather... unlike Izuna to let himself be caught against such odds that would be catastrophic for any regular shinobi (and are still bad for him.)
Unless... it’s one of Izuna’s ploys?
He sighs and quickly calculates a new route home that will let him at least investigate whatever it is the cursed Uchiha is doing now.
Course changed, Tobirama hastens his steps. As he runs, some of the chakra signatures around Izuna flicker and go out, their connection with this world severed. He can map out Izuna’s fighting moves by the way his chakra flares, the Uchiha escalating through his techniques rapidly. A particularly large blaze of chakra with an almost sickening afterfeel to it is unfamiliar in its fury—except, isn’t that how Madara’s overpowered black flames feel?
He frowns and concentrates on his sensing ability. No, it’s really only Uchiha Izuna there. Izuna, who has never used that technique before. Tobirama has, along with the rest of the Senju, concluded with no small degree of relief that it must be a jutsu only Madara is able to use.
The all-consuming black flames—Amaterasu, Hashirama once mentioned—take out a significant number of Izuna’s opponents. Their chakra signatures vanish in a sudden rush.
Still, a significant amount is not all, and Izuna is not alone. There are still some left...
Tobirama waits. He waits until the storm of chakra grows quiet, until Izuna stumbles to his feet, teetering a little in his own exhaustion. Tobirama is low on chakra himself, he’s not going to help or hinder.
He gets close enough where he can see the fight now, but not close enough to be noticed.
Izuna manages to stab one of the remaining opponents in the side and another he dispatches with a kick to the head, the enemy’s jaw crunching as it dislocates.
Three left. His chakra flares once again as he blows a fireball at close range into two of them, flipping backwards only to be caught by the ankle and slammed into a tree by the last one. He has no usable chakra left, and he lays on the ground as the last shinobi comes to inspect him. He turns Izuna over, his arm stretches out to reach for his eyes.
The moment he gets close enough, Izuna springs from the ground like a snake and drags his kunai into the meat of the ninja’s unprotected shoulder. His aim is a little off, his arm is shaking and yet he throws himself forward to drag the kunai across his enemy’s throat.
He doesn’t stay on his feet.
As soon as the shinobi goes down, so too does Izuna. He collapses forward on the remaining bodies, and his chakra hums as if it’s a flame about to be snuffed out.
Tobirama waits until his breathing is still and then he leaps to the ground. It’s a chance to take out Izuna, the greatest obstacle in his brother's quest for peace, his own personal battlefield pariah.
(But if Izuna has Amaterasu—then why doesn’t he use it against Tobirama? Does he have Susanoo as well? Is he holding back?)
It would be so easy, no honour here, but there’s no honour for shinobi. Tobirama draws his kunai and turns Izuna over; he’ll make this quick, no need to draw it out. Politically, the Senju can’t even be tied to this.
He presses his blade to Izuna’s throat, but he hesitates. Here, Izuna looks so young, so much like his own kin who never came home, and here in his arms is the only chance Hashirama might ever have to make a bid for peace.
But is a peace negotiated by trading hostages really peace at all?
Tobirama sighs. He’s supposed to be ruthless, but he’s tired. He’s supposed to be a lot of things, but he isn’t all of those things all the time. His summons are making him soft, he knows.
It’s a lapse in judgment, but nobody has to know. Izuna might not survive anyways, as injured as he is. Some of his wounds are still bleeding and one of them is nasty and deep. He could heal it, but he doesn’t.
If the Uchiha survives this, it’s fate, if he dies, then he dies, but at least his brother will know.
It doesn’t take a minute for him to call his main summon; a large and elegant crane with a crown of ruby. Her feathers are white with black secondaries and she’s taller than Tobirama by the length of her elegant neck. She can carry a man on her back.
“Tsu,” he addresses her by name. “I have a favour to ask of you.”
Tsu’s eyes are judgemental, but seeing as there is no fighting here she cocks her head and holds his gaze. His summons are not well known even among the Senju, because they do not fight. Instead, they relay him all manner of scouting and intelligence, and are worthy companions of conversation to pass the time. They are also scholars, and they are all incredibly good at calligraphy and as it turns out, the art of sealing.
(Not unsurprising from a summoning scroll that was gifted to him by Uzumaki Mito.)
“Tobirama, I can’t say it is a pleasure, this place…” She replies. “My feathers will not be so pristine.”
“I promise to help clean them later, but I wish to ask you to please take Uchiha Izuna home. He may be too far gone, but his brother would like to have him back I’m sure. Even if it is only for goodbyes.”
Tsu hops from one foot to another, considering, but in the end she bows her head to rest it lightly against Tobirama’s chest.
“This is not so different from a letter, but what if he wakes?” She asks, her great beak opening and closing even though it is mostly for show. The words are not formed by her tongue the same way as a human’s, and her accent is thick but understandable after so much time.
“If he wakes, then drop him; he’s enough of a cockroach he’ll probably survive. He shouldn’t wake up though, I’m not sure that he’ll even live. Don’t get too close to their territory if you can help it. Madara is a sensor, please don’t engage with him.”
“As you ask, Master Tobirama,” Tsu agrees. She stays stock still while Tobirama lifts Izuna up and onto her back, tying his wrists around her neck and his knees up around her barrel.
She flies and Tobirama wonders if he’ll regret it, the small hope in his chest that maybe his brother is right. This way it’s up to fate, and if fate will see him through maybe he can change his mind.
x❤️x
When Tobirama arrives home he greets his brother, Hashirama, with knowledge that he could have tipped the scales and he didn’t.
Mercy isn’t something he was raised alongside, but it’s something he’s come to know. If Izuna lives…
Well. He might yet, but he was in rough shape. Once he’s alone in his room, Tobirama sighs and bites his thumb. Another summons, small this time, smaller than a regular crane appears before him.
“Yohyo,” he greets. “I have something to bid you.”
Yoyho hops from one foot to the other, and Tobirama knows that he is listening. He’ll ask for fish or trinkets most likely, but it’s an easy price.
“I need you to take some supplies with you to the Uchiha compound, where Tsu is, and drop your bundle alongside the unconscious man she carries.”
Yohyo cocks his head and snatches the supplies meant for Izuna. They are keyed into a sealing scroll that was made by his most familiar summon, Yuzuru. They can’t be traced to him by chakra or signature and the supplies that he’s gathered are simple, something for infection, something for healing and regeneration. The jars are marked with Yuzuru’s neat calligraphy, so they shouldn’t mix them up.
Yohyo snatches the scroll and takes off without so much as a demand for fish. They always reward him when they think he is doing the right thing. Perhaps it is not him training them, but Tobirama’s cranes training him.
x❤️x
Izuna wakes to avian feet on his chest. His eyes blink in and out of focus, but he’s in the wrong place at the wrong time. He should be dead. Is this what happens after you die?
The crane hops from one leg to the other and drops a scroll onto his chest with a thud. He blinks wearily but reaches up to grasp it. His grip is weak, and he’s still out of it.
“Izuna!” Madara calls, and Izuna turns his head to look at the spot where Madara is bursting into the clearing. “I felt you in my range, but—you’re injured.”
Izuna grumbles and tries to assure his brother that he’s alright, but he’s not alright. The scroll stays lightly in his hand as Madara lifts him up, “Hold on, I’ve got you.”
It’s all okay, Madara’s got him. He’s going to be okay.
Izuna doesn’t wake for a while after that, and when he does, he’s far more aware of his surroundings.
“I thought I’d lost you,” Madara says from his bedside, eyes blazing with his sharingan as if to always remember Izuna’s face.
“You haven’t,” Izuna observes.
Madara bends down over the bed to press his cheek against the side of Izuna’s chest. His heart is still beating. “I nearly did.”
“I had a strange dream,” Izuna sighs. “But I can’t remember it now. I was fighting and there were so many ninjas that were after the scroll I had, more than what the pay was worth.”
“The scroll you were after was still on you, but you were holding another one in your hands.”
“Was I?” Izuna asks, he vaguely remembers. He’s still hot and unwell. There was a bird, tall and blurry white, red, and black on his chest.
A crane perhaps.
“Yes, do you have any idea who gave it to you?” Madara asks.
“No,” Izuna sighs. He has not even a clue. “I didn’t have it before I was felled. Only after. There was a bird, but I thought it was a dream.”
“There was a crane standing on your chest when I found you,” Madara sits up again, still leaning protectively over the bed as if Izuna may just disappear on him. “Perhaps it’s a guardian spirit.”
“It could be a summon, but I’ve never heard of crane summons,” Izuna reasons, he coughs loudly and Madara dotes on him and slides the blanket up around his shoulders.
“Rest,” he says “I’ll be back tomorrow morning.”
“Mhmm,” Izuna grumbles again, “Alright.”
That night he dreams of cranes dipping their beaks into mountain lakes and fishing for scrolls. His fever subsides by morning, and all that is left is two small jars of medicine and a feeling that he’s missing something important.
x❤️x
“Tobirama! I’ve finished drafting the latest peace treaty—well, Tōka wrote most of it, but I helped, and now I just need a way to get it to the Uchiha.”
“Attach it to a kunai and launch it at Madara’s face,” is Tobirama’s suggestion.
Hashirama just laughs, as if Tobirama’s suggestion was a jest. “No, I meant, I thought, your summons are of the peace seeking sort.”
“My summons value serenity and harmony, and doing your own work with your own hands,” Tobirama sighs. Still he feels conflicted that he has aided Izuna in his survival, and yet perhaps it will be enough, maybe Madara really will listen when every fight with the Senju leaves them down members and taking dirty contracts.
Izuna shouldn't have been out there alone, Tobirama wouldn’t have been out there alone. Perhaps that is really the reason Tobirama spared him… and sent along supplies for recovery.
“They can fly though, and Madara doesn’t know you have them, since they never show up on the battlefield. It’s perfect, Tobirama.”
“I’m not asking them, and neither will you be. Yohyo doesn’t like you that much,” Tobirama fixes his brother with a stare. It’s true, Yohyo is perfectly able to communicate with any human should he wish, the only summon he has that can—aside from Tsu—and yet, he reserves his words for Tobirama alone and Hashirama knows it.
“You wound me,” Hashirama dramatically slumps to the floor. “Yohyo loves me and is too afraid to tell me.”
“Of course,” Tobirama rolls his eyes. “Have you considered sending one of the regular Senju carrier hawks? Send one from the edge of our territory, it will fly true and the Uchiha are likely to at least look at a missive before they burn it.”
“Yes! Yes they are, I’ll ask Mito for help, but I know Madara is fond of birds.”
He looks at Tobirama expectantly, but Tobirama refuses to give him an inch. “I’m not asking how you know, I’m assuming he told you.”
Hashirama bounces on the balls of his feet for a moment, “Of course, when we were children, and we both had a dream our brother’s lives could be better, that we could make them better.”
“My life has been…” Tobirama begins, but he trails off. Life has taken his siblings too young, and his father too bitter, and his mother too sad. “I am very grateful that you have been a part of it.”
Hashirama’s eyes glow with the praise, “Me too Tobirama, me too. I wouldn’t trade it for anything!”
He might trade it for peace, if Madara says no again, but Tobirama won’t blame him for it. He too, is tired of the fighting.
x❤️x
Hashirama’s peace offering comes at a time when Madara can’t afford to go into another full out battle. Izuna is indisposed, and was nearly dead just days ago. Hikaku is occupied with a mission in Earth Country and Madara’s advisors are clinging to the idea that they can lose as many young men and women as it takes to fight Tobirama when they inevitably meet on the battlefield without Izuna.
It’s not a price he’s willing to pay. He offers all of his advisors, economic experts, retired shinobi, and his father’s counsel that should the battle rage again, he will field them all out to fight in Izuna’s place.
“Izuna will be well again soon,” they say, but Madara knows that the whole clan is going to suffer if he can’t get them on even footing going into this treaty.
The only real factor he needs is Izuna to agree, and so far Izuna has only agreed with fighting unto the death of all the Senju or himself, whatever comes first.
When he opens the door, Hashirama’s scroll in hand, he’s not surprised to see Izuna sleeping in his recovery bed. He’s still exhausted, and his body is struggling to close the wounds that the Uchiha medics were required to stitch together.
He is surprised to see the small crane that is resting on the windowsill. It’s a little bird, but it’s beautiful. Madara should be more concerned but all any crane has ever done is deliver a scroll of healing medicines and perhaps oversee the return of his little brother to his home territory while he was dying. Maybe it’s the same one?
His dark throat marks him as a male crane, and he may be fishing for info—but in that case he would be seen around the Uchiha clan, or trying to communicate with Izuna. Madara has never seen the bird anywhere else, and usually when Izuna is unconscious. It’s a mystery, and not one he suspects that he will be able to solve anytime soon.
“Rest easy, little crane, I’ve got him,” Madara says, but if it hears him, it pays him no mind. Instead, it grooms the feathers on its wings. Madara chuckles, what an odd creature.
Still, it or its ilk saved his brother and seems to have no ill intent, Madara can spare the crane for now.
x❤️x
Izuna wakes like a slow winter morning. He’s hazy at first, with eyes half lidded and his skin casting a grey pallor. The Uchiha don’t have healers, only medics and while the salve seems to be keeping the wounds clean and fever out, they still need to heal.
“Brother,” he smiles, and Madara smiles back. He’s just grateful they still have each other.
“If I don’t lose you on the battlefield, I’m going to lose you to missions that are too hard—with not enough backup—that we can’t refuse because we need the work.”
“I’m not going down that easily,” Izuna grumbles, closing his eyes and shifting to be more comfortable. He ends up touching his arms over the blanket, mindful of his bandages.
“Where does it end, Izuna?” Madara asks instead, “Does it end when we are all buried in the ground? Does it end when Uchiha children go out to fight the Senju children? Does it end when I say yes, and we can live long enough to have children?”
“It ends when they are dead, and we are fine,” Izuna’s eyes are open again, staring intensely at Madara. “They took our brothers from us.”
“And we took theirs,” Madara snaps. “We aren’t any better than they are Izuna, I’m going out to fight both of them on the next summons. Hikaku isn’t back yet, but you should recover. I may not be able to hold them both and defend our people.”
“I need to know that if I die, you can lead the clan,” Madara presses.
He’s never asked that before and Izuna tries to imagine it, not what it takes to lead them, but what it might be like to lose Madara— to live without him for the rest of his life. If he can even keep going. As if he will be able to survive both Senju brothers by himself.
“Leading our people doesn’t have to mean doing what we’ve always done, because we’ve always done it. It means doing what’s best for everyone as a clan, for you, for the old and the young, the injured, the civilians, and shinobi alike.”
“I trust you to make the right choices, after I’m gone,” he says, and then Madara presses a soft kiss to Izuna’s brow and leaves Hashirama’s scroll on the bedside table.
x❤️x
There’s no words left between them, because Izuna is tired and sick, and now he has a lot to think about. He can’t imagine what it would be like to lose the brother he knows the best, has been privileged to know the longest.
He sits on his windowsill and is suprised by a small crane that seems to have taken up residence there. “I reckon you can’t help me with my troubles this time, little crane.”
True to his assumptions, the crane does not. It doesn’t speak up or even acknowledge that he spoke. Instead, it simply shifts position to hop closer to him just to catch his sleeves with its beak. It catches a loose thread and threatens to unravel the whole weave.
“Hey,” Izuna calls, as the crane flaps its wings as if to fly away with the thread. It stops at his protest but makes no move to bother him after that, instead just resting in silence on one foot as they sit and watch the sunset together.
That night, Izuna holds fast, but when he wakes to blood red skies in the morning and the call for battle he realizes that he might never see Madara again. He grabs the scroll from the bedside table and stumbles to his feet. He almost trips on the long cotton shift that he doesn’t remember changing into.
There’s a wound on his thigh that stings and the stitches pull as he moves, but this is more important. He runs, then, even though it’s still early enough that Madara shouldn’t even be in his armour.
“Wait—” he calls, stumbling into the main house, he can feel the blood running down his leg where his cut is open. Madara doesn’t have a cook or servants, so the house is empty. He’s always wanted to be a shining example of self sufficiency to his people. It’s their culture to stoke the hearth together, it’s their way. He doesn’t want to lose that to war, but he doesn’t want to lose that to a multi-clan village either.
“There’s got to be protections in place, for our safety, for the survival of our heritage,” Izuna yells as Madara turns to face him, his sharingan gleaming as his eyes glance from the scroll in his hands to the eyes in his head. “We need more information, and we need assurance that they won't slit our throats the moment we join or lay down arms.”
“I trust Hashirama—” Madara says.
Izuna cuts him off, “but I don’t. So you can have your treaty, but you’re going to need to base it on something more than just trust.”
Madara nods and holds out his hand out for the scroll. Izuna steps forward and places it in his fingers, not letting go until he finishes speaking, “Treaty of non-aggression with a negotiation measure for peace. Do not agree to anything yet, and don’t disappoint me.”
The smile Madara wears on his face is subtle, and Izuna wonders if anybody but himself would ever notice and see the beauty in such a small expression. He grasps his other hand up to hold Izuna’s and allows Izuna to slip free as he holds the treaty scroll.
Izuna turns to leave, all the adrenaline fading and making him feel incredibly sore and drained, he doesn't make it to the door before Madara calls back, “Izuna.”
He turns to face his brother, his silk coat bathed in tones of red and orange from the sunrise through the open window.
“Thank you.”
Izuna nods his head and leaves slowly, assured that this is not the last time he will see Madara. In his mind, his brother was always a standing pillar of invincibility, but then—so was Izuna.
His chest burns as he considers his own impulsivity, what if he’s made a huge mistake?
x❤️x
It’s too late to turn back now, and Tobirama is ready. He stands at his brother’s side, and while he’s never been completely opposed to peace, not since their father died anyway, he’s never really been able to imagine the possibility.
Yohyo can. Yohyo does.
“I am a terrible ninja, for not taking out Izuna when I had the chance, and now we go into this treaty on the same even ground,” Tobirama tells him, he’s in the safety of his workroom, where nobody can hear him. “I fear that he will be the poison that lingers long after the papers are signed and the wood is carved.”
Yohyo sighs and ruffles his feathers, he frequently delights in the sound of his own voice.
“You may be a terrible ninja,” he says, “but you are not a terrible man, and I think, at the end, that is more important.”
Tobirama nods, but offers no reply. Yohyo may go as he pleases, and Tobirama has nothing left to say. He’s too busy drafting ideas for Hashirama about the peace treaty to think about it.
“Besides, he is not the man you think he is either. He has many good qualities,” Yohyo continues talking, irregardless or Tobirama’s attention. “He is loyal to his clan, and he loves his brother enough to lay down his arms in the face of his fear that his clan will lose its ancestral lands and traditional ways if it means his brother gets to come home alive.”
“Yohyo,” Tobirama chides, drawing out his name and sighing deeply.
“I wanted to know if he lived, and then I was curious about who he was, this man who has caused you such a conflict inside your heart.”
“Please, don’t say it like that,” Tobirama dryly interjects, but Yohyo is not to be stopped.
“It turns out he is very similar to you in many ways, I think he would be a stout ally and a fast friend, if you could manage to make him one,” Yohyo finishes his appeal with a flap of his wings, shaking them once as if the shake off the notion that Tobirama would be opposed to making any friends.
“In any case, I would like a reward for my efforts of delivering the healing package. I have done well, Tobirama, and you must reward me.”
Cranes, as it turns out, are not ravens or crows but can still be swayed by something shiny. Tobirama keeps a scroll of trinkets and jewels that he has picked up on missions just for them. Today he selects a hairpin ending in a white silk anemone. The center is made up of tiny black glass beads sewn close together so it almost looks real. The pin itself is silver. It’s very pretty, but not something Tobirama would buy for himself.
He holds it up to Yohyo, and allows him to curl one of his taloned feet around it. “I like this one, it's very pretty. It matches my white feathers, perhaps crimson next time to match my crown?”
“Perhaps,” Tobirma nods, “especially if you help me with all the storage seals that we need to make a pavilion to discuss the treaty.”
“Oh course, Master Tobirama, your wish is mine as well, I would like to see you live long enough to grow very, very old. Peace is a good start.”
x❤️x
Izuna attends the peace talks because it is expected of him, but he struggles to have an open mind. For the first few days he clashes with Tobirama verbally over the location, over the ideas for infrastructure and the logistics of supply roads and economic treaties with various clans.
Many of the clans of fire country have expressed interest, if not asked to join outright.
Hashirama and Madara seem to do much less in argument, they are left with the political office to deal with, while Hikaku and Tōka are stuck with administration.
At the end of the day, everyone else has come to terms with their partner except for Izuna.
“A hearth in every home? Ridiculous. We should have heating via a clay stove. Beyond that… Water should come in pipes. As in underground plumbing. These are not efficient plans in the long run.”
“Look—the hearth means community, it means family. It’s not about the warmth,” Izuna argues.
They go around each other in circles, they agree to break and come back the next day, and Izuna isn’t sure what that will even change. At the end of the next day, Tobirama will still be a stubborn asshole, and Izuna will still be right.
He huffs and enters his tent he is set up to share with Madara but he has turned in early and Madara is still out. The dirt floor is hard under his feet, the cot is skinny and his blankets don’t smell like home.
For some time he tries to drown out the chit chat of people outside lingering, Hashirama’s voice booms like thunder and his laugh lingers into the night.
It’s dark when Madara slips in to sleep, and Izuna slips out because he’s still too upset to settle. Under the curtain of stars, Izuna breathes deeply and tries to allow himself a moment to relax, he needs to rest to be in top form tomorrow.
A rustling in the grass draws his attention, and a kunai is in his hand, but all that appears is the little crane. He thinks it might be the same one from his windowsill—it’s not as large as a regular crane, and it seems to find him exclusively, even in a large camp.
It steps out into the moonlight and Izuna can see that it’s carrying a flower, he crouches down, but doesn’t dare beckon it over, if it is a summon, or a spirit of some kind, it seems offensive to call it over like a common dog.
He waits until the crane gets closer and then he bows his head respectfully, this close he can see that the crane is holding a hairpin. Anemone.
“Should I call you Anemone?” Izuna asks, and the crane does not reply except to place the hairpin at Izuna’s feet before flying away.
He watches the sky for white wings; lit by moonlight, until long after they disappear. The hairpin is light, he notices when he lifts it up, silver and well made, the flower is silk with a black center. It would look stunning in contrast to his own midnight hair.
The next morning, when he awakes, he ties his hair high on top of his head in a thick tail and slides the hairpin in place, the battlefield is a table, and his armor is a hairpin. He braces himself for the absolute storm Tobirama is, even in a verbal spar.
x❤️x
Izuna arrives before Tobirama does. It’s a surprise, because Izuna preferred yesterday to show up just late enough to be irritating. His hands are clasped over the table and Tobirama doesn’t even bother looking at him until he’s got all the scrolls and ink he needs laid out in a neat pile to the side, where he can easily refer to them as needed.
Only then does he raise his eyes to meet Izuna’s, poised for the challenge that is trusting a Uchiha (or being defiant enough) to look them right in the eye.
Oh, but Izuna’s wearing his hair up, and it emphasizes the curve of his jaw, his face is fine and elegant and perched on the top of his head, slipped into his hair tie; is a white anemone pin.
Tobirama stares, he knows that pin, remembers the feel of the silk and wire under his fingertips. There is a small blemish in the stitching where it’s artisan snapped the thread and had to add an extra knot.
Yohyo must have given it to Izuna. Yohyo, who measures Tobirama by the sum of his deeds and not the sum of his parts…
He reaches for a blank scroll, willing this time, willing to learn and not to fight.
“Can you please explain to me the importance of a central hearth in each home and how it relates to Uchiha culture as a whole? As well as what kind of materials would need to be sequestered for the endeavor of supplying each district’s general-design home and all of the Uchiha ones?”
Izuna’s jaw drops to Tobirama’s amusement, but he gathers his composure quickly, and his eyes are alight with passion as he tackles the question with fervor.
“Well, the Uchiha find it most comforting to keep a fire nearby, we are in The Land of Fire and most of us are of fire nature,” Izuna begins. “It’s so much more than that though, the hearth is where we cook our food and get to talk to one another, it’s where fond memories of grandparents and family that have passed are closest to us again. It’s the place where we keep our great sorrows and our great joys—do the Senju have anything like that?”
Tobirama thinks about it for a moment, but he ultimately ends up shaking his head. They have cold stone and wooden graveyards for the dead. There are cold stone and clay ovens in rows for civilians who make their living cooking in large quantities for the clan.
“We don’t,” Tobirama replies, and he tries to elaborate at Izuna’s crestfallen look (and how did he never notice Izuna wears his heart on his sleeve?) “That doesn’t mean that we cannot change, the bow that bends is stronger than the one that breaks. The Senju would do well to hold the ideals of Fire Country in the center of their own homes.”
The tone for negotiations changes drastically after that. Not just for Tobirama, but for everyone. The clash of wills turns like the tide as the tensions settle between the two major clans. Others are invited to the table, and with Tobirama’s example, they are listened to. The Yamanaka wish to bring the flowers for their native lands to remind them of home, and Tobirama draws up rough designs for a greenhouse like the Senju use. Hashirama offers his assistance. The Nara have deer to be accommodated in a large bounty of land for such a small clan, but they bring medicine, and resources and will make the Nara feel at home.
All of these things become worthy accommodations once Tobirama understands why they are important. All these small things will unify and make them stronger and not divide them as he fears. Yohyo can see it, always could, but now Tobirama can too.
Konoha will be stronger for it.
x❤️x
Izuna wants to question Tobirama’s sincerity, but his house at the heart of the village makes it difficult. The wood and the plumbing is Senju, but the artfully crafted hearth is Uchiha. The paper walls are made by Hyuuga artisans, and the collection of spices is a combination of the Yamanaka and Akimichi’s efforts. It’s not the same as his house in the clan compound, but it’s quickly becoming home.
Madara makes sure he is never left alone too long, and he frequently hosts Uchiha visitors. One of his visitors, however, is nothing of the sort. The crane that he had befriended is still making himself known, appearing on the windowsill or the engawa on occasion. He never comes in, but Izuna still feels like he is a guest.
It’s in that spirit that he begins to quarter off a small section of his yard with a well stocked pond and moss and planted bamboo for his visitor.
“This is nice,” Madara observes.
“I didn’t do it for you,” Izuna grumbles as Madara barks in laughter and places a handful of berries into the clay bowl that is Izuna’s newest requisition for his friend.
This morning is one where Anemone is visiting, standing like a statue in the pond, but also eyeing the berries with the most considering stare Izuna has seen on him in a while.
“I wonder who his contract is with, could be just about any clan, none of them are known for cranes,” Madara wonders. “Either way, I am grateful.”
“Hey,” Izuna says, “I’m sure I could have come to the conclusion that peace was a possibility on my own.”
Madara’s raised brow is dubious.
“Eventually,” Izuna adds.
Even Anemone is staring at him like he’s grown a second head.
“In another hundred years.”
Madara grins, and it’s lovely to see him so free, even if he has more responsibility than any of the other clan heads, even if he never had as much work before peace was a possibility. It’s like a weight has been lifted off his shoulders.
“I’m thinking I should build him a shrine, just in case he is a summon and not just a very lucky animal,” Izuna muses.
“Do that and he’ll have a head as big as yours, though twice as pretty.”
The resounding slap on Madara’s arm is worth the relativity shove and threats to dunk each other in the pond. All while Anemone looks on, possibly amused, possibly just wondering if there are more berries in Madara’s pockets.
That night, there is a small jade crane statue left on Izuna’s windowsill.
x❤️x
There is nothing more insufferable than an irate Izuna, and upon getting the academy curriculum up and running, Tobirama finds he has such an Izuna on his hands.
“It doesn’t make sense, clan secrets were meant to be clan secrets,” Izuna rants, “letting them train together, they’ll definitely pick up on the other clan’s teaching and techniques to an extent, I mean obviously not a bloodline, but still, some styles are sacred.”
“Any advantage any student has in being in a multi-clan class at the academy is equally paralleled by any other student there who is smart enough to recognize that. Send your own clan children there, and then the advantage will be equal to all. Thus, no advantage at all.”
Izuna seethes, pacing and growling and tugging at his clothes as he considers it. If Tobirama didn’t know Izuna well enough, he’d think him truly upset, but he understands that it’s simply Izuna’s loud way of thinking it over.
In his mind he’s turning over all the points and coming up with an argument, and Tobirama looks forward to it. If there is anyone who can punch holes in any one of his plans, it’s Izuna. The Uchiha heir won’t let the details slip through the cracks or be set aside for later, and even though he’s annoyingly loud about it, his is a valuable opinion.
“If they are all too young to be individuals while in the academy, that would subsequently help with the damage of learning more than basic clan info. You’re proposing rotating squads as soon as they’re old enough to start really being individuals? That's—”
“Efficient, that way they can all work with different members of clans together,” Tobirama cuts in.
“Shaky at best,” Izuna continues. “Look, I know the Senju value versatility, but with young people, they ought to have bonds, family, they should be dependent on each other until they’re strong enough to stand on their own. Why don’t you lock down the cells until they’re skilled enough to have a handle on it. Handpick the leaders to be teaching, but also compatible.”
“Politically, you mean,” Tobirama frowns.
“Partially,” Izuna growls. “I get that you don’t want to play politics, but it can’t just be strength, no matter how much you don’t like to regard the clan as a factor, it’s completely a factor. Play it right and you can create long standing alliances, wrong and the village will tear itself apart.”
“You want me to not just account for skill compatibility, but rather, to build a family unit that can function under political stress as well.”
“Yes,” Izuna says, and Tobirama isn’t above admitting that he’s right, in his own head at least, but he’s not about to admit as much to Izuna out loud. Maybe he’ll slip a gift to Yohyo later.
“I respect you,” he says instead, “and will take what you’ve said into consideration.”
Izuna nods, not usually one to add more words when his dismissal is apparent. “Speaking of clans, I thought you might know…”
“What?” Tobirama puzzles.
“Is there any clan that has known crane summons?” He asks, and Tobirama’s heart almost stops. “I keep having the same strange dream, and I thought you might know.”
“Uzumaki,” Tobirama surprises himself, the information jumping from his lips before his brain even has time to process it. Too quickly, but Izuna doesn’t remark upon his hastiness.
“Like Uzumaki Mito? Does she have cranes?”
(And Tobirama is tempted to say yes, because he knows why Izuna wonders and it’s no surprise the wife of the current hokage would have always supported the ideals of peace. But Mito is more ruthless and grudging than Tobirama ever will be, and agreeing would be a lie.)
“No, she doesn’t, but the contract is known to be an Uzumaki one.”
The look that Izuna gives him somehow makes Tobirama doubt that Izuna doesn’t wonder that there isn’t more to that grain of truth. Tobirama isn’t prepared to offer that.
What he is prepared to offer is several crane themed trinkets, and Yohyo’s honest company, and twice in the next year Yuzuru and Tsu are sent out to check in or assist at his bequest. Tobirama gives up on Yohyo ever unsummoning himself or not being partial to living in Izuna’s yard. He can only hope that Yohyo doesn’t do embarrassing things for fish or berries.
(He does sometimes, but he doesn’t tell Tobirama about it in words.)
Yoyho does tell Tobirama the honest truth when Tobirama finally asks for it.
“Izuna loves more than he hates now, I think it’s his brother choosing life over battle that changed him that day.”
Tobirama wonders if this is what it means to be a good man before a good ninja, and he dares to feel the satisfaction that blooms in his chest.
x❤️x
“I got you a gift for the festival,” Madara holds out a thin box and stares at Izuna expectantly. “I thought it was appropriate.”
Izuna is slightly wary, but the box doesn’t look like it’s about to bite him, but he opens it carefully, just in case.
It's a hakama, one with a small crane motif on the waistband of black silk. It’s quality craftsmanship, and probably Uchiha-made with embroidery outsourced into a clan that specializes in it.
“It’s not one of my raptors, but I am still fond of your crane friend,” Madara admits. “Do you have any idea yet who—”
He’s interrupted by Anemone sweeping onto the windowsill, something shiny grasped in his razor sharp beak.
It’s a hair comb, with a crane as a motif, in silver with a ruby for the bird’s crown. Madara laughs out loud. “It seems both Anemone and I have the same idea, he really is your lucky animal.”
Honestly, there’s only one person that Izuna is even mildly suspicious of as holding a summon for the cranes, and he’s not willing to say the name out loud.
“Help me fix my hair?” He asks instead, and Madara obliges easily, wrestling his hair back into a high ponytail to be worn with his anemone pin. Sentimental, Izuna recognizes, but it’s sweet too.
“Would you like any help with yours?” Izuna asks, but Madara declines, preferring to leave it all wild and free. It’s probably a blessing that he chose to wear formal clothes at all, often deferring his position of Clan Head to Izuna in formal matters.
The walk to the festival is noisy, people gathering in the streets and most of them travelling the same direction, pointing out the food stalls and games as they reach the heart of Konoha.
Izuna takes little interest in the games unless it’s to be competitive with Madara, and even then most of the shinobi respect the vendors well enough not to ask for the prizes. Different clan members drift over to say hello, and one of the Senju shinobi stares at his hair a little too long to be polite, but ultimately the festival is uneventful.
When evening falls, Izuna finds himself on the fringes, Madara distracted by Hashirama. The lanterns illuminate a small crane scavenging the ground for snacks in the grass outside of the main square.
Izuna knows that crane.
When the crane notices him, he fans his wings out and takes to the air, one of the first times that he’s ever simply left, and Izuna follows. Perhaps Anemone means to show him something?
The little crane lands on the arm of Senju Tobirama, his black haori sleeve sweeping with the easy motion, a snapdragon unseasonably embroidered on the other sleeve. The Senju mon is on his chest. Tobirama doesn’t strike Izuna as someone who wears unseasonable fashions because he forgot, but rather because he does not care.
Izuna is too busy staring at the sight of the crane on his arm to notice Tobirama gesturing to the empty spot on the bench beside him. He almost misses it.
“Come, sit,” Tobirama adds, and Izuna does. “You always seem to find yourself in more trouble than I can account for.”
Izuna thinks that is unfair, and he’s just about to protest when—
“It’s no trouble at all,” the little crane says.
Izuna stares, “You weren’t talking to me…”
“Of course,” Tobirama smiles, “My summoning contract is with a specific family of cranes.”
“You…” Izuna begins, but then he pauses to sit, and think. He’s shocked, but Anemone has been nothing but helpful, and if he was a spy than Tobirama would have been more informed that he had been; less open, even at the peace talks. He makes a choice then, to focus only on the important part. “You saved my life, and helped, so many times, all the gifts… Why?”
“Well,” Tobirama says, “some of it, Yoyho decided to help on his own, but Tsu I asked to save your life. I’m not entirely sure, we weren’t friends then, but I couldn’t let you die like that. Now, I’m not so sure, I’d like to think of us as well—”
“Friends?” Izuna asks.
“Yes, friends. I’d like to think of us as friends,” Tobirama answers.
Izuna would like that, and looking at Tobirama, crane curling up on his lap for a nap, snapdragons gracing his festival coat, he realizes that there is probably more to this man than he ever wanted to think there was. At the very least, his crane certainly likes Izuna.
“One day,” he says, considering his words carefully. “We could be more if you like.”
Tobirama hums, and the first firework goes off in the sky, so loud that Izuna barely hears his reply. “I think I would like the chance to find out.”
x❤️x
It takes a full year for the festival to come around again, for the seasons to change, for Izuna and Tobirama to give each other the time to understand each other.
“Look, it’s your lucky animal,” Tobirama says, placing a haori with a beautiful embroidered Tsu (backed by moonlight and with Yohyo at her feet) on Izuna’s shoulders.
Izuna laughs, tugging at the snapdragons on Tobirama’s sleeve. His mother’s favourite flower, and his favorite festival coat, no matter how unseasonable it is in this part of the world.
Izuna smiles and reaches up to brush a soft kiss against Tobirama’s cheek. “You’re my lucky animal,” he teases, because he loves the way Tobirama huffs when he says it. Tobirama blushes and huffs, just like he thought, and Izuna smiles, because all is right with the world.