Chapter Text
Forever saved into the depths of his Sharingan, Madara’s vision bled crimson the day his father took a blade to his chest. For sure a man like Uchiha Tajima could survive many wounds, but this day Madara believed him to take his last breaths.
A moment he had expected would occur at some point, had to, when his own future was on the line. Uchiha Madara, the heir, was to be clan head after his passing.
Madara himself, the son, had hoped to stay as his right hand for a little while longer. He was skillful, yes, he was ready as well - but burying another member of his family would lay heavy on his soul.
(He had mourned enough.)
((It would never be enough.))
The battle was not going in their favour, hadn’t for a long long time, and not only because of the Senju's soldier blade driving home into Tajima's chest. He was not the only one falling that day, Uchiha Izuna - his youngest, fell to his knees the same.
And with him, his oldest. The dirt on his knees staining the blue of his pants dark - the rain hit them and the last thing that Uchiha Madara would carry with him forever, was Izunas body falling unconscious before him.
A hit to the neck and the clan heir followed.
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The Senjus strongest asset has always been their iryō ninjutsu, but for the past centuries of their existence, they had lacked the capable hands of Senju Hashirama.
Clan heir, like Madara to the Uchiha, and not only mighty in his physical prowess but incredibly skilled in his medical ninjutsu as well - Hashirama carried the fights in a way not even their clan head could. His reputation travelled further than just to Uchiha ears - he was said to wield the power of a god, blessed with signless ninjutsu.
And for the uncaring eye, the Senju and Uchiha did fight a battle on even odds, yet in truth the Uchiha Ichizoku were slowly deteriorating. Their skills were found in the battle of speed, not endurance and while Senju continued to rise out of the ashes of their wounds, the Uchiha lost their warriors one after the other.
It was only a matter of time until the desired annihilation of one of the sides would take place.
And as far as the odds were, it would be the end of the Uchiha.
The Senju triumphed over them in many areas but one -
Pride.
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Uchiha Madara's eyes were heavy the moment he drifted back into consciousness. As if drifting turbulent sees, he was washed into the darkness for mere seconds - again and again until he could hold onto the driftwood, forcing himself out of the waters and into the air.
(He lived.)
The moment his eyes opened he was faced with darkness all around, Madaras gut filled with dread and panic - the memory of his fallen father and brother reaching his consciousness. No more, he pleads to Amaterasu, no more mourning, no more burying - let him live. His brother at least - the only reason to not be washed away.
Desperately Madara flared his chakra. A second went by, then another - and if not for Madara’s refined sensory skills, he would have surely missed his brother's chakra softly answering his. Like a flickering flame, reassuring him in his existence, telling him that he was hurt but okay - Izuna lived.
Now he dared to breath again - and with his breaths, his muscles howled and hurt.
Only now Madara really registered the blindfold covering his eyes and his hands bound to his back - uncomfortably twisting and with the ropes cutting into his skin.
His voice came out rough and painful, his throat so dry that it felt like a knife was dragged along his flesh with every syllable, yet he managed to ask Izuna what had happened. Though the question didn’t need answering - there was only one place where they could be.
Madara had just wished to hear Izunas's voice, instead, his chakra flickered and Madara could feel his worry, his fear and desperation - like a tidal wave crashing in on him. It took all of his self-control to not lose himself in his brother's emotions, to not let his own emotions be overtaken.
His sensory skills had always worked like a two-sided sword - as much as it could help him understand and read others, it would always threaten to cut Madara down with it.
To his brothers, Madara had even been more sensitive and he had quickly learned that he needed to be a pillar for them.
Wailing, arm in arm, could only do and help so much - it would always only end in more tears instead of drying them. And Madara could just not afford to let that happen.
Izuna’s silence prompted Madara to move, his entire body begging him to just lay there, like a dried-up fish out of water, but Madara’s nature has never been one of idle submission.
Not even to the needs of his own body.
He managed to sit up and scoot over into Izuna’s direction. The moment his back hit the wall and he could feel Izuna’s warmth beside him, his sibling leaned against him - head on his shoulder and spiky hair against his jaw.
“I don’t really feel like dying,” he whispered and Madara's heart ached.
“You won't."
A promise to both of them.
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Trying to sense what was outside of their hold was impossible, the Senju had put a barrier and Madara hadn’t even been surprised. They would have done the same if they would have gotten their hands on prisoners. Now it was just a matter of time until they would learn why they had been kept alive.
Once in a while, a Senju soldier seemed to check up on them, but no words had fallen - that was until a few hours into the afternoon. There was nothing they could have done to stop the separation.
The clan heir was taken away, and Madara was led through a corridor and into the light. The darkness of his blindfold was illuminated by the midday sun and his senses started to pick up on his surroundings - though he could not sense far, the Senju soldiers had placed themselves around him and further through the camp.
Was this their main stronghold?
A thought crossed his mind, maybe he should dare to fight them. He could overpower some of them, even with his eyes closed and hands bound, but the thought of Izuna in their hands terrified him. So the idea to fight was discarded - begrudgingly.
They stopped their walk a little further towards the edge of the Senju camp and the Senju soldier stepped behind Madara. He expected a knife to his back - a quick execution through unbearing pain and Madara shifted to the side - the Senju soldier grabbed his arm and held him back in place. The backside of his mind tingled nervously, nothing worse than someone standing behind him.
Instead of a knife, the soldier undid his blindfold and stepped away from him. The blindfold fell and Madara's eyes were hit with direct sunlight - he needed a moment to adjust to the brightness before he could clearly see what was in front of him.
There's Senju Butsuma - next to him his children. Tobirama and Hashirama. Madaras dark eyes lingered on the latter for a moment - Hashirama. So much time had passed between them. When was the last time that they had met outside of battle? - his sharingan begs for remembrance and Madara denies.
(They had been children - wasted memories.)
((They had been soldiers.))
He denied his eyes the sight of Hashirama, as he gazed back to Butsuma - whose curl of a smile he’d love to wipe the very earth with. Before he can even form a sentence, however, he picks up a familiar nature in the chakra. He wonders how he didn’t notice before and right before his eyes Uchiha Tajima appears and stands now between Madara and the Senju.
His breath stopped for a moment - remembering the sword piercing his honoured father's chest - there was no way he could have survived this. A direct hit like that would kill even their strongest soldiers. Madara’s mind tripped and looped around again - he had seen him die.
His eyes fell on his father's chest - underneath his hakama he could see bandages peek out. His gaze flickered to Hashirama, instantly - his hands - iryō ninjutsu. But why?
“Let’s talk then, Tajima. You’ve asked for this, after all,” Butsuma’s voice rose and he sounded pleased - the sound of a man that had just won a century-long battle, which he had, considering that Madaras hands were still bound to his back and not wrapped around Butsuma’s neck.
(Why didn’t they bring Izuna?)
“Facts first, so we’re on equal footing. We’ve found the Uchiha camp, currently, they are only being watched. But, depending on how this goes, you will be the only ones left of your clan,” Butsuma sighs, “you know how these things work.”
There were barely any warriors in their camp - most of them had been on the battlefield with them. Madara’s mind circled back to the remaining ones - one of his closest friends Hikaku … the children - Kagami. His stomach turned. More burials? Would they even be alive to witness those? Had they really lost?
“Why didn’t you kill them already?” Tajima inquired, voice steady and strained - like a calm pillar yet Madara knew the storm was raging inside of his father. A man of war, yes, but a man that held the future of his clan dear.
“Because you can prevent this.”
Butsuma made a step forward, his sons stayed unchanged but Tobirama glanced towards his brother, brows furrowing.
“Because we’ve met on the battlefield, again and again, I came to respect you, Tajima. I know this feeling is mutual, so I want to give you the option to end this fight without bloodshed.”
“What are the conditions?”
Rightfully so, the Uchiha clan head was suspicious. Why would their, oh so hated, and feared, rival clan, give them a blood-free option, while all they had done to one another was to draw blood from every body part?
In truth, Madara was aware that his father had not only grown up in war and led it - he had also grown to love it. How could Madara understand and even admire this side of his father? It was because they shared those feelings. Whenever his feet would strike the ground before a battle, Madara felt the most at home, the closest to fulfillment. The ecstasy, the excitement - maybe it had already tainted his once pure soul - and then again Madara meant impurity from his very birth.
(But didn’t the excitement only come with his rival?)
Whatever the conditions would be, for this truce, Madara knew already that Tajima would agree and pull back - only to regroup and attack again. They would never give in under the heel of the Senju. They should know this - though by the way that Butsumas eyes narrowed and focused on Madara for a split second - he maybe did.
His stomach churned, and dread settled on his shoulders - venom all around him.
“For your freedom, Tajima, I demand your oldest. Madara - the future head of your clan, the strongest warrior on your front, who would surely continue your battles after your passing. He will be handed to the Senju Ichizoku.”
Venom met his veins.
What?
Madara’s mouth fell agape - he struggled to find his voice in the sheer absurdity of this request. Was Senju Butsuma falling victim to derangement? Had he truly lost his mind by now?
Before Madara could even voice those exact thoughts, Tajima held a hand out towards him - signalled his silence and silence Madara fell into. His teeth gritted, like stone hitting stone.
This was outrageous.
“You want to kill him.” Tajima concluded - the only reasonable motive that this request could have.
Now, Tajima had lost children to Senju's hands before - however, he would not agree to let Madara fall by his decision. He needed a solution, a different option. The Senju needed something of less worth.
(Izuna?)
“No. He will be wed to my oldest.”
Madara’s soul seemingly left his fleshy exterior.
“Under these conditions, you will be allowed to leave with the remaining of your people. I believe that this will ensure to keep you from going against us,” Butsuma’s mouth curled into a smile - in Madaras mind he looked nothing less of a fox spirit, trying to seal a deal that would cause nothing but doom.
Madaras mind failed to connect the situation properly, he was enraged by the simple idea of forcing him to be part of this wretched clan that had cut down his brothers and friends. He would not let himself be humiliated like this - rather would he die by their hands than become a war trophy for the Senju.
His feet carry him forward - this was surely a joke - a bad one at that. They would never yield to the Senju, never would Madara allow his pride to be given up like this and never would he leave his family behind. And how did they even dare to demand it from Tajima - his father rivalling him in pride, would not let his own family tree be tainted like that.
“Father - “
“ Agreed.”