Work Text:
History would know Tobirama as more in favour of war compared to his brother; however, history isn’t always right. It is the rule, not the exception, that soldiers want to be anything but. Some simply can’t– don’t– won’t fight against the inexorable currents of blood and hate between archenemies.
No one said anything about rulers, though, he glumly thinks along the lines of while signing the ultimatum before him. It is sure to start another war, because rarely do ultimatums herald anything else. He knows that; his advisers know that; in a few hours’ time, the addressed will know it, too. But none of the above will say no to war.
He wonders if they ever will.
It’s always been like that: the rule is that peace gives way to war, never the opposite. When peace reigns, minor conflicts build up until war is inevitable, because compromising or not counting small coin is alien to those in power; but when war paints the lands scarlet, there are few – if any – who dare to stand up and speak their mind: that there is an alternative, we only have to build it.
Hashirama was one of the few. Tobirama? Not so much.
The next paper comes like destiny, perfectly timed – with his thoughts, not the outside world. If Tobirama was cynical (more than he is now, anyhow), he would laugh at the timing – a standard Academy form, filled out by the little Sarutobi, so glowing with childish innocence and hope, following a war-starting ultimatum. Such cynicism or laughter happen not, though, so instead he unfolds the note by Mito, who’s taken up to sorting through the paperwork that, without fail, comes in every day in unholy amounts. At this rate, he half-jokingly hypothesised with her, all the Hashirama trees will be cut down in a few years’ time. She added, laughing: For paperwork!
And because of that paperwork, she has more responsibility than already. He told her that she needn’t take up secretary work – if he needed someone to help him, he would’ve found someone already. She didn’t budge, though, so he allowed her this; after-all, he, too, is more than happy to distract himself from grieving for Hashirama by duties not his to claim. (Sadly, the hat isn’t one of those.)
Stuck with reading his brother’s wif– widow’s looping and nigh-calligraphic, yet still readable handwriting, he does so. Since the hour is so late (or so early?), he only skims Mito’s reasoning for why the form was sent to him; at the softened passages that hold opinion (“her purely personal opinion,” to quote), not fact, he slows down. Rarely does she put anything subjective in her notes; rarely does she have opinions on Leaf in general, preferring to be aloof. Even with him, however close they are; she is quite aloof on the whole, though.
All the more reason to rush to reading little Sarutobi’s form – likes, dislikes, dreams; the standard disguised social awareness test for Academy students, meant to train their skills in differentiating and remembering the unique traits of their classmates and others, even when turned anonymous by a copywriter and a box.
Mito called the boy “Hashirama’s blood group”. When Tobirama sets down the paper, he can’t find it in himself to disagree with her.
He’s already writing down a reminder to visit the Academy and getting ready to go home when the thought occurs to him.
Perhaps Hiruzen could be one of the few who dare to stand up and speak up.