Work Text:
“Though justice be thy plea, consider this:
That in the course of justice none of us
Should see salvation. We do pray for mercy,
And that same prayer doth teach us all to render
The deeds of mercy.”
(IV.i.179–197) The Merchant of Venice, Shakespeare
The laughter of children echoes over the encampment, and Uchiha Madara taps his feet more firmly against the wooden deck as he approaches. Settling down beside one of the two orphans who forced themselves into his life, he joins Nakano in watching her brother Sasuke rally the younger children through a game cleverly disguised as a training session. Clan leader and clan orphan sit on either side of a staircase and watch the children of the clan catch a few fleeting moments of happiness before the grind of war catches up to them again.
The two think similar thoughts, unbeknownst to each other. Together, they contemplate their respective brothers, and the losses those brothers had endured because of them.
“I wish I could save them.”
Madara turns to her; she watches the children play with dark eyes and a stare that makes him think her eyes would be red, if she’d joined her brother in unlocking the sharingan. Her eyes shift from the children to Madara.
“They’re going to die.” Her face doesn’t shift, remaining tired, sad, and contemplative, “And probably on Senju blades. I want to believe peace is possible, but I can’t imagine how to get there from here. How many people has this stupid fight taken?”
Your parents, for one, Madara thinks, remembering finding their papers in the clan records—parents dead with children just barely old enough to look after themselves, technically, and therefore old enough to slip through the cracks and grow up alone. He turns away from her, preferring to watch her brother playing with the younger children.
But he answers her, “Too many. I don’t think anyone’s left without someone close to mourn.”
By the time he looks back, her eyes are on the game again. “If you - … If we. If.” She clears her throat, or maybe growls around the words caught in her throat. “To get peace with the Senju, we’d have to set all that bloodshed aside. We’d have to forgive them, every one of us.” She waves a hand at the children, “But they’d grow up without having to.”
She slumps, chin sinking into her hand, “And I can’t reconcile the thought that it’d be worth it, to have that peace, with … what I’d do, if someone killed my brother.”
Madara watches her as her eyes slowly darken, pointed in the direction of the field but clearly not seeing it. He (can’t promise wants to help) interrupts her thoughts, “He’s still here. Sasuke is still alive, and fine.”
Startling, she turns her eyes to him, swallowing in the fear he inspires in everyone and blinking. He tries to reassure her, “Your brother, he’s okay.”
“He is,” her eyes soften, and she doesn’t say that his isn’t, but he hears it anyway, “but he might not stay that way.” She turns to look in the direction of the Senju encampment, and silence falls between them, the better to hear two children arguing over some point in their game.
Madara turns to watch as Sasuke steps between the two children to mediate. His face, as always, reminds Madara of his brother—like watching Izuna’s ghost do things Izuna had never done, and make expressions Madara hadn’t seen Izuna make since they were children together.
Finally, Sasuke sends the children back to the game, and watches them go with a soft smile, eyes swirling red to watch the children play, and Madara wonders when the last time he’d seen Izuna that happy was.
“I could make that happen,” Madara blurts, like the words (and the decision) were forcing themselves out of his mouth. She looks at him, in surprise, and he meets her eyes, trying to convey his sincerity, “Nakano, I could make that peace. It’s something Hashirama wanted as children, and he wants it still. I can make it happen.”
Nakano watches him sadly, and doubts, “You’d have to give up on your revenge, for that. And revenge might not bring him back.” She smiles, but not happily. It twists her mouth the way the thought twists his heart, “But that’s not what revenge is for.”
“I can do it,” he promises her. “I can do it,” he promises himself. “It’s worth it, to stop the death. Revenge wouldn’t bring him back, and neither will peace. But if we could have made peace sooner, peace might have prevented his death.”
They watch one another for a long, long moment. In the background, Madara can hear the game continue, but the children laughing doesn’t drown out the thump of his heart. He can feel his pulse pounding behind his eyes, like the physical expression of the promise to work for peace.
Forgiveness will be hard. Just the thought of letting his brother’s death go unanswered makes his eyes tingle like blood will flow as tears once more. He closes his eyes—he closes his brother’s eyes, feeling empty and only barely holding himself upright by the promise that maybe, maybe he can build a future where Nakano won’t have to light Sasuke’s pyre. A future where he won’t have to see Izuna’s face burn a second time, on someone else’s pyre.
A hand settles on his shoulder. Madara opens his eyes to see Nakano standing closer to him than she ever has. Closer than anyone but Izuna has in years, his clan as scared of him as his enemies. She tilts her head, and he can almost feel himself falling through her eyes as their understanding only makes them seem deeper.
“It’ll be hard.”
“It’ll be worth it.”
Silence settles comfortably between them.
“Kako!” A shout startles them both, and they turn as one towards the children’s game at Sasuke’s warning shout, just in time for Nakano to catch a wildly flying ball to the face.
The stunned blink as the ball bounces off and back to the field startles a laugh out of Madara, and Nakano soon joins in.
Laughter stretches his face in ways it hasn’t in a long time, and Madara hopes the ache will fade in time. But for now, the ache feels good.