Archive of Our Own ^beta

It had been his fate, really, to fall in love with the sea.

It wasn’t enough that he was born and raised in the coastal city, home to their land’s busiest port. Or that his father, and his father’s father, had all sailed in the royal navy. Some claimed the Uchiha had saltwater in their veins rather than blood, so tied were they to the ocean. Since the founding of the country they sailed for, and the crowning of the Senju line, the Uchiha have been right beside them: their closest friends and allies. The military might to the divine right to rule.

Madara Uchiha was born a scant two months after the next crown prince, Hashirama…during the night of a battering winter squall. The sea had been boiling in the ports, thunder rumbling and lightning reaching across the pitch-black sky. His father Tajima liked to say that the sea knew its next king was born that night: the eldest of the five Uchiha sons. He who would conquer the waves and tame the winds.

For while the Senju were rulers of the land…it was the Uchiha who held dominion over the waters.

Madara grew fast, and every minute spared was spent learning his place. Be it playing on the beaches with his brothers, or accompanying his father on short sailing routes when only a boy, he was never far from the sea. He could climb rigging soon after he could walk. Talking was mastered only to learn to bark orders. Everywhere he turned, he was called, “lil cap’n”, as he felt was only right. He became the youngest ever to enroll in the naval academy…and the youngest to graduate with full honors. When he was scarcely sixteen, he was appointed to his first ship.

By twenty, he’d take his late father’s place as admiral of the entire royal navy. Over six hundred ships, and over forty thousand men were at the command of a genius - and admittedly ruthless - mind. For five brilliant and bloody years, Madara led the charge to expand not only the Senju-ruled kingdom’s trade routes, but its territories, colonies, and influence over the continent and beyond. Wars were waged and won. In his half decade at the helm, he claimed more victories and spoils than his father in the entirety of his career.

And his accomplishments did not go unnoticed.

…but nor did his methods.

There was no denying that the heir of the Uchiha was an unmatched tactician: not only armed, supplied, and populated beyond his enemies, but managing to plan and outwit as to minimize his own losses.

But the losses of the other sides were, as time went on, found to be too steep. Too cruel. Hashirama spoke to him on many an occasion, begging he rein in his bloodlust.

“What’s the purpose in conquering a people if there are no people left?!”

“We’ve people of our own. Send them out, make new colonies! You tasked me with expanding our borders, and I have done so. Better than any man before me!”

“You salt these new lands with hatred and disdain for our flag! If you continue to take beyond what is necessary, you’ll only incite uprisings.”

“Uprisings I will have little trouble crushing.”

“We cannot rule by fear and force alone, Madara.”

“That’s your lot, Hashirama. Not mine. Mine is to fight, and to win. By whatever means necessary.”

“That is my point - you go above and beyond what is necessary! From critical to cruel! If you cannot make these judgments more fairly, then I must -”

“Must what?” He turned to his childhood friend - the boy and man he’d grown alongside, planning their futures to be won together. Dark eyes seemed to burn with challenge. “You think you can remove me…? I have earned my place, with blood and with sweat. I’ll not be upended so easily, Hashirama. Those men are my men.”

“No, Madara…” Hashirama’s gaze was somber with realization…but also steely with resolve. “…they are mine.”

If there was one fault within him…it was Madara’s temper. When it burned, it blazed, and rational thought would fall to cinders in its wake. So, Hashirama thought he could take all he’d built?  Been born and bred for? No…this navy, this armada, was his and his alone.

…or so he thought.

That night, he gathered his highest ranking officers. Spun a tale of spurn and betrayal. Invited them to rise up against the Senju who dared try to yoke them.

But for many…his rousing speech fell on deaf ears.

Most - even Uchiha among them - turned their backs on him in favor of their king.

They say it was then he finally snapped.

Embittered, he’d taken what few remained - enough for a crew - and boarded his helmship: a beautiful frigate of lacquered granadillo wood. A stunning red in color with dark hickory accents, it was peerless. Strong but swift, loaded with thirty cannons, a heavy battering ram, and midnight sails, it had been a symbol of death and bloodshed at the fore of his armada since his ascension to admiral.

And now…it would be so on its own.

In the dead of night, with a favorable wind Madara claimed was divine, they left the ports behind, knowing full well their treachery would earn them a new name.

Pirates.

It was with a heavy heart Hashirama watched the ship abandon the harbor from his castle windows. “…I’ll give you this night,” he murmured to no one. “But come daylight, Madara…all you’ve left behind will be reclaimed. Your ties are cut. Cling to your ocean…for the lands you’ve forsaken will no longer house you.

“Step again on my shores…and you’ll be brought to make amends for your crimes. Your barbarity…and your betrayal.”

And so, Madara migrated from the most renowned commander of the royal navy…to the most feared and ruthless pirate on the seas. The trade routes he’d fought to clean of those now his kin were retaken: plundered at every opportunity. Should a ship bear his country’s banner, he’d pursue it to the horizon until it was looted and sunk. Some might call such actions petty…but for Madara, they were simple repayment for all Hashirama had robbed him of. If the ships of the Senju port were no longer his to command…they were his to take.

He’d make Hashirama regret his decision…and there would be no recompense. No amends. The Senju king had made his bed, and now he could lie in it.

One did not cross Madara Uchiha without begetting a grudge that could - and would - outlast empires.

And that was exactly what he planned to do.

…but the fates have other ideas.

Standing at the wheel, feeling a warm breeze at his back, Madara looks out over the decks. His crew - nearly two hundred and fifty men - are all in sound shape. They’ve only just left a pirate-held port, fresh from a two week reprieve from the sea. Their supplies are restocked, their spirits high, and their goals on the horizon.

He’s gotten word of a large convoy of Hashirama’s ships heading through…but taking what they believe will be a less noticeable route.

Hashirama, however, underestimates Madara’s mastery of the area. There’s not a cove or a beach he doesn’t know. If they think they can outsmart him…they’re very much mistaken.

And now, it will cost his old friend dearly.

…there’s only one thing standing in his way.

As they approach the series of islands the Senju ships are rumored to try hiding amongst, dark clouds gather at the fore. His plan - to lie low in an inlet before streaking in from behind - might get a bit…wet.

“Cap’n,” his first mate murmurs, stepping up with a bowed head of respect. “Perhaps t’ain’t my place t’say, but…I’ve no love for those clouds. They bring a rattlin’ in me bones that warns a’trouble.”

“This ship’s handled its fair number of squalls,” is Madara’s rumbling rebuke, hold steady on the wheel. “I’d gladly stand a bit of rain and wind for whatever lies in the hulls of those ships.”

“A-and I agree, cap’n! T’ain’t no better vessel than yers,” his companion admits, bobbing in apologetic bows. “But the achin’ in me joints tells me this storm’s a leap above t’rest. Perhaps we can…chart a course t’intercept the Senju convoy further down the line…? Out a’ the path o’the storm?”

Dark eyes give a cool glance, earning a flinch. “These islands serve as good cover, and the tide is favorable. Those fat ships won’t have our maneuverability, loaded with their cargo. We’ll dance circles around them until they run themselves aground. Then, they’ll be ripe for the taking. We’ll barely have to lift a finger.”

“…aye, cap’n.”

Looking back to his route, a haughty grin curls the former admiral’s lips. Oh, he’s going to enjoy this…and what’s a plundering without a bit of boiling in the ocean? Surely she’ll be glad to be fed all the fools he’ll throw overboard. Then she’ll calm.

She always does.

On they sail, weaving their way between the group of islands until finding the cove Madara’s had in mind. Dropping anchor, they face out toward the route their informant described. Here they’ll bide their time.

Not long after they tuck away, the wind begins to pick up, fat drops of rain shattering atop the decks and soaking the sails.

Ever patient when he needs to be…Madara waits.

It’s just dusk when a ship’s prow passes their hiding place. By now, the wind’s are whipping, swirling and knocking the rain any direction it feels.

“Steady,” Madara commands to those awaiting to lift the anchor. “Steady…”

A dozen ships pass by, utterly unaware. Half are the galleons carrying the cargo, two small gunships, and four brigs.

Child’s play.

Only once he’s sure they’re all past does Madara signal for the anchor to be raised. The tide’s lowering, leaving the narrow strips of sea between the isles shallow. One wrong move, and those swollen ships will be run ashore until it raises again.

Plenty of time to board and loot them. And with so little space to maneuver, their protection won’t have a chance to turn around to defend.

“NOW!”

With the anchor aweigh, the winds swiftly carry them from the cove, sails taut as they quickly build momentum. Below on the gun deck, canons await to be fired. Streaking out past the rear gunboat, they cut in front, dropping lit barrels of powder. As soon as the hull connects, the barrels explode, wreaking havoc and letting seawater through a gaping hole in the hull.

Alarms then sound as the convoy becomes aware, but there’s little to be done. Trapped between the isles, there’s nowhere to go but forward.

Gaining on one of the brigs, Madara commands they fire, cannonballs tearing through the broadside. The return fire is delayed, the enemy ship unprepared for combat. As his own crew reloads, Madara makes to cut to the other brig. A few of its cannons, loaded quickly, fire prematurely, skirting before the bow. Disorder in the chaos only works to his advantage. Cutting cleanly between the ships, another round is shot, this time from both sides, nailing both rear defense vessels.

The former begins to lag, heavily damaged. The latter, however, is hit with a shot to their powder room. A huge portion of the ship blows out, and water quickly begins to claim the ship. That’s two of the brigs down, and the rest are out in front. That leaves the large cargo ships exposed between Madara and any hope of defense. While they might have a few canons, most will have been spared to allow more weight in their holds.

A feral grin overtakes Madara’s face. This…this is what he lives for!

Out beyond, one brig attempts to turn between two islands, clearly trying to circle back around to come up behind them. But they misjudge the tide, running atop a sandbar and beaching as the high winds carry them far along the shelf.

They won’t be going anywhere for a good while.

In the same breath, two of the cargo vessels simply give in, beaching themselves against a left hand isle. The other four keep going, but it’s clear that with their limited canons, and only one remaining brig to defend them beyond the tiny gunboat at the helm, there’s little chance of outwitting or outgunning a ship like Madara’s.

“Hold on, lads!”

Streaking up to the galleons, Madara orders high fire. Masts crumple as cannonballs shatter the wood, leaving the huge ships stagnant in the water without a way to propel. Three of them he cripples before moving to the last brig. The final cargo vessel attempts to get ahead, and he leaves it for now.

Fire exchanges between them, Madara’s larger cannon volleys making quick work of his enemy. The gunboat, realizing it’s outmatched, simply beaches to the right.

But the last cargo ship is determined.

Leaving the rest of its armada behind, it attempts to make it out into open sea.

“Oh no you don’t -!” the Uchiha growls.

“Cap’n! Should we not return and loot what we’ve got? It’s a clear cut now!” the first mate calls over the squalls.

“I’ll be damned before I let one of Hashirama’s ships get away from me!” is the shouted reply. There’s a red glint of fervid revenge in Madara’s eyes. It’s all or nothing…anything less, and he might as well have attained no victory at all.

His pride won’t stand for it.

Forward they plunge through the growing waves, the storm nearly fully upon them. The wheel fights his grip every moment, the tides tearing at the rudder. Rain so thick he can hardly see the ship before him is mopped from his face, drenched into his hair and clothes until he feels he’s gained his weight over.

“Cap’n! The storm, it’s too much!”

“To Hell with the storm!” He’ll not come this far and give up. He’d rather die…!

They make it out of the cluster of islands, and then the weather truly hits them full force. Waves several stories tall, no longer inhibited by the land masses, toss them about like a leaf. Again and again they crest over the deck, sweeping anything not hammered down about and overboard.

He can hear the cries of his men, but they go unacknowledged. The hunt is on, he’s in too deep - there’s nothing beyond death stopping him now -!

Buffeted by a wave, the ship suddenly janks to one side. Thrown from the wheel, Madara lands with a heavy thump against the railing. Both gravity and water pin him down, the whole ship tilting as it’s swept up another wave. He can’t quite regain his feet…!

Reaching the apex, the crest crashes down atop the decks. Pinned to the railing, his body screams in protest at the weight of the water, unable to breathe, and then -

The wood gives out, and he plummets off the side, smashing into the sea with a clap. The weight of his garments drags him all the further, limbs fighting to break the surface. As he does, he sees the ship streaking forward, still propelled by its sails through the gusts.

In a matter of moments, it’s left him far behind.

Around him, debris from the deck either floats or sinks, and he manages to cling to a bobbing barrel. By now, they’re miles from the islands, and he hardly has a hope to swim back…especially not with the storm dogging him.

For the first time in his life…Madara fears the sea.

The waves batter and bruise him, throwing him about before parting him from his float. Struggling to find something, anything to hold on to, he finds a slat of wood. It dips under his weight, but once maneuvered, manages to hold him. Fingers make a white-knuckle grip along its edges, and Madara tucks his face against it from the pounding rain.

Eventually, the exertion is too much…and everything goes black.

When next he wakes, Madara feels a groggy confusion, but…why?

…then it hits him. He’s no longer swaying and sweeping atop water. He’s still.

Cracking open his eyes, he stares up into…leaves? What…?

Beneath him is something soft. Movement earns a rustle, and he sits up with great effort and a grunt. He’s in…some kind of strange hut. Perhaps ten paces across, circular, and with a sandy floor, it’s simply open along one side, giving a view out toward a beach.

Where…where is he?

It’s then he notices he’s been…redressed? His own garments hang nearby, drying, and he’s instead in simple trousers and a shirt, both dry. Likely the only reason he hasn’t caught his death. Feet bare, he swings them over the edge of his cot and looks around. A myriad of chests litter the hut, all overstuffed with seemingly random belongings.

His legs wobble as he stands, but he fights through it, stepping to the doorless doorway. Out beyond is a large fire pit, rigged for cooking. The whole thing sits back in a small inlet of trees and large rocks, protected from the wind. Surely the only way such a structure survived the storm.

The storm…!

All over again, Madara’s knees go weak. His ship…did the crew survive? Did they regain control? Or was all lost? And where the devil is he? Can he even begin to return?

…is there anything for him to return to…?

Without a ship, he’s a captain no more. Sure, he has his stash of gold and trinkets, but no way to retrieve them. And he can’t know if any of his crew - the only people he trusts - have survived.

A hand drags down his face, taking a deep breath. No…he can’t panic. He’s alive. Start there.

And someone clearly rescued him. He hardly hauled himself out of the depths and into a bed. Even if he washed up on shore, he has no memory of making his way here.

Someone else is here…but where?

The beach is too muddled to look for tracks, and he’s unfamiliar with the place - he hardly wants to get lost. Stepping out a few paces, he gives the view a once-over before he just so happens to find what he’s looking for.

Someone’s walking back down the beach toward him. A woman in a flowing skirt and strange, twisted top that encircles her chest, midriff bare. Against her hip is a wide basket. Like him, she wears no shoes.

But most shocking is the wild white waves of her hair - like a tangle of seafoam along her scalp, carried askew by the breeze.

Noticing him, there’s a pause in her strides before closing the cap. “…you’re awake,” is her soft offering, barely above a whisper.

“…aye,” he replies. “Are you…did I…?”

“Come, sit. I will explain.”

In her woven basket is a plethora of fruits, several fish, and greens. As Madara sits atop a stone near the firepit, she goes about sorting and preparing it.

“I found you in the waters just offshore,” she begins, skewering the fish with practiced ease. “Dragged you here…you’re quite heavy.”

The comment earns an amused snort, but no reply.

“You were soaked through, so I stripped you. You’d have gotten ill otherwise…I’m surprised you didn’t. A bit of a fever was all - you slept three days.”

Three days…? No wonder he feels so…off.

“And now…here you are.” Flint sparks dry vegetation, gradually fed wood. Finally glancing up to him, she shows mirror-like silvers, framed by white brows and lashes. He’s never seen anyone with such an appearance.

“Was…was there anyone else?”

“No…only you. You were in the storm…?”

“Yes.” He doesn’t elaborate - Madara’s not in the mood to tell such a story.

“…I see.”

“Where are we?”

“A small isle with no name…it is among the cluster here in the south sea. No one comes here…there’s nothing to be gained.”

“You live here…?”

“…when I must.”

Dark brows furrow. What does that mean…?

“Hungry?”

“…starved,” he admits. Already the smells of the fruits she’s cutting are making his stomach do eager circles. “…may I have your name?”

“Ryū,” she replies without hesitation. He’ll take that as a truth, then. “You?”

“…Madara. Madara Uchiha.”

Despite his notoriety, there’s no recognition at his offer. She just keeps going, handing him a crude bowl with the fruit. Then back to peeling and whittling she goes with a strange-looking knife, hands quick and clean.

As starving as he is, Madara makes himself take his time. “…do you have a…boat, or a ship?”

“No.”

The blunt reply earns a blink. “Does…someone come ‘round?”

“No.”

“…then how do you ever leave? You said you only live here when you must. How do you…?”

“I swim.”

“You swim…?”

Checking the fish, Ryū turns them before looking to him again, studying his face. “…you want to leave?”

“Of course. I’ve a life to return to. I have to see if my ship…” He fades out, not wanting to address the possibility of it being lost.

“…you rest first. Then I’ll take you.”

“You just said you have no ship.”

“I don’t need a ship. I told you…I swim.”

“That’s not -” He’s silenced as she holds out a skewer, snatching it and looking to her suspiciously. “…what are you…?”

At his question, she stops mid-bite, considering him before giving him a smile.

Her teeth are…are…!

“You never know what you’ll find lurking in the ocean,” she replies airily before finally taking her bite of fish.

Staring, Madara completely forgets his own. No…that can’t be…but…?

“…mermaid…?” he dares to whisper.

“Mm,” she hums in affirmative reply. “Hence only being here when I have to be. You’d be surprised how many humans end up lost in these waters. So…I haul them out. Bring them here. Then let them go.” Another bite. “I stay until they’re strong again. Then I head back out into the waters.”

“How…how has no one -?”

“Found me? Told of me? Anyone who’s been washed up is already believed to be mad from the sea. No one believes a washed-up man’s tales about a mermaid saving his life.”

“…why do you do it?”

“Why wouldn’t I?”

A pause, considering his food. A few bites pass before he asks, “Are there others?”

“Yes. But I stay alone. Most of my kind are not…fond of your kind. But I find you curious. None have tried to hurt me yet.” A pause. “…though I don’t fully trust you.”

“Probably wise,” Madara replies dryly. Lost in his thoughts, he finishes his food in silence.

“Here.”

Looking up, he sees her offer a waterskin. It’s then he realized how long it’s been since he’s had fresh water. “…so, how long before I can leave?”

“A few days. You were quite weak - you’ll have to build up some strength, first. Then I’ll take you to the next island. There’s a town there - you can find your way from the port.”

“Ah…that might not be wise.”

“Why not?”

“Do you know who holds this port?”

The mermaid blinks. “…no. Why?”

“Well…I’m rather notorious among humans. I might not be welcomed.”

Something lights her eyes for a moment - understanding, perhaps? “Then…where do you wish to go?”

“Do you know the port of Isla Verde? I’d be safe there.”

She thinks. “…that…is a great many miles from here. It would take many, many days to get there.”

“But…you could take me?”

“Mm…maybe. But what would you give me in return?”

“I have gold. Lots of it. Just need a way back to it.”

A hand waves. “I care not for gold. All I need, I have in the sea. Besides, I collect many things from it you humans lose. Where do you think I got your garments?”

“Then what could you want, if you have all you need?”

A thoughtful hum. “…I shall choose when we arrive. For now, I must think.”

“All right, fair enough.”

“And you must rest. Regain your strength. Here we’ll stay a few days more. Now…I must go hunt.”

“We just ate.”

“And hunting takes time. Stay, rest, eat. I’ll be back.”

Watching her go, Madara sees her step into the tide. Up to her waist she walks, stopping at an outcropping of stone. She pulls aside her garment, tying the fabric in place before sinking.

She disappears.

But then, with a leap, she breaches the surface, hopping out before diving into deeper waters. Rather than like a fish, from her hips extends a tail more like a dolphin’s: white, like her locks.

He just stares, still wondering if he’s actually dead, and this is all just some strange purgatory dream.

After a time, he grows restless, walking along the beach in one direction. The island is, indeed, rather small - it takes him all of an hour to come back around. Sand encircles the entire perimeter, a large rocky outcropping jutting from the center. Palms and other fruit-bearing trees pepper the isle, grasses and ferns growing more densely the further in you wander. A spring bubbles from a clearing, running clear and smooth. Taking a break to drink, Madara reclines under a palm tree, staring up through the leaves.

It’s like a tiny little paradise.

Were he a simpler man, he might entertain the idea of just…staying. There’s water, shelter, food…and the island itself is rather gorgeous.

Though it also hosts rather…strange company.

He’s not sure what to make of his savior. She seems pleasant enough. But to think that such a creature is truly real. Not just some fable of the sea.

It makes him wonder what else is possibly lurking in the dark depths of the waters he loves so ardently.

But, either way, he can’t stay. Not with the stirring that still pulls at his soul. That which longs for conquest and adventure, excitement and experiences! If he knows anything about himself, it’s that he’ll quickly grow bored of this place. Beautiful it may be, but…stagnant. Unchanging.

Too…peaceful. Peace is to be idle.

And to be idle is to go mad.

Returning to the inlet of the hut, he realizes that his companion has returned. Still transformed, she lies on her belly atop the rock, propped atop her elbows and staring out into the horizon. Idly the fin of her tail flicks up water over the smooth skin, sun reflecting off the pale white flesh.

Stepping up into the water to his ankles, Madara makes to call to her, but…stops as he hears something.

…singing…?

In a haunting minor key, without words, the mermaid croons into the breeze. Parts are reminiscent of shanties he knows, but…sadder. More mournful than cheery as meant to keep up the spirits of the crew.

It sounds…incredibly lonely.

“I stay alone. Most of my kind are not…fond of your kind. But I find you curious.”

Is that the whole truth? Or is there something she’s not told him?

Wading out a bit deeper, the sea lapping at the hems of his trousers, he waits for a lull in the song. “Serenading the gulls?”

Over her shoulder she glances to him. Her tie-on skirt is still hanging along the rocks, her strange top drying around her chest. Beside her, a net of crustaceans and fish is tied in the tide. “I like to sing. A pleasant way to pass the time.”

“Why don’t you just go home?”

“…home?”

“Back to…wherever you came from?”

Something shifts in her expression. “…I can’t.”

“Why not?”

“I am…not welcome.”

That earns a frown. “Whyever not?”

“I’m a danger.”

Madara can’t help a scoff. “You? Dangerous?”

“…my color is a threat. Wherever I go, I’m easily spotted. If I stay with the others…I bring them attention. Put them in danger. So…no, I can’t go back where I came from.” Her gaze returns to the sea. “…I was cast out. For the good of the others.”

He’s…not sure what to say to that. It makes sense. Something so brightly-colored - so different than the tones of the ocean - would stand out. “…is that why you approach humans? Because you’re alone?”

For a moment, she doesn’t answer. “…you always leave, in the end.”

“You could come with me.”

Again she turns to him, expression sharp, as though both troubled - and yet intrigued - by his offer. “…why?”

“If you’re tired of people leaving, find people you can stay with. True, this isle is amazing. A little utopia among the waves. But few are so content to remain in one place too long. Keep a man someplace he cannot leave of his own will, and no matter how you cater it to him…it will be a prison all the same.”

Something in her expression falls. “I…did not see it that way. I have the freedom of the sea…I never thought…”

“So, come with me.”

“I cannot stay with humans. The sea always calls to me. I cannot stay away forever.”

“You don’t have to. I sail! I’m rarely far from the water. We stop and explore isles, conquer other ships, visit harbors…”

“But you don’t know if your ship still sails. If your crew still lives.”

“I told you, I’ve gold. I just need to get to it. Another ship can be bought. Another crew can be found.”

“…why do you insist I go with you?”

“You saved my life. Perhaps I could change yours.” His arms open in a gesture of offering. “…maybe that could be my payment to you.”

The mermaid considers him, expression unreadable. “…I will…consider it.”

“That’s all I can ask. Besides…you may be right. I need more time to rest. Then…we can hit the open waters. Make up our minds.”

Her lips lift just a hair. “…you travel far? On your…ship?”

“Wherever I please. There’s much of the ocean to explore, and I’ve seen a great many places already. I answer to no man but myself. We could go anywhere you wanted.”

A wistful look colors her eyes. “…perhaps that would be…pleasant.”

“There’s nothing like it.”

A more genuine smile curls her mouth before looking to the horizon. “…we’ll see what we feel in a few days. You may yet change your mind.”

“And so may you.”

The conversation trails to silence, so Madara retreats up the beach and back to the hut. In truth, he’s still exhausted. His limbs feel heavy, and his mind slow. Nearly drowning, as it so happens, leaves one a bit tuckered. So, for now, he heaves himself back upon the cot, plans and what-ifs soon melding into dreams.