Chapter Text
“There are whispers of unrest amongst our people,” an elder Uchiha’s hardened voice punches in Izuna’s direction, commanding his attention. Izuna stands before his clan’s counsel, three sets of eyes boring into him, expectant.
“They feel that our clan head neglects his obligations,” another gruff utterance surfaces, Izuna’s gaze gliding to meet his. It would be ill-advised to assume this is a simple statement, despite its delivery. Izuna knows better. This is a demand.
“Nii-san is preoccupied with the advancement of the village.” Izuna is calm. He will not let the pressure of stern authority to diminish his will. Izuna holds great respect for his elders, but he will not allow them to speak ill of his brother.
“Madara is ignorant of the persisting rancour between the Uchiha and Senju!” the last elder roars, following a thwack of her palm against the wooden table. The harsh noise echoes through the empty room. “This cannot continue!”
There is little use in attempting to dispute them. Madara, while his intentions are in good faith, has not been as thorough as he has been in the past. There is no use opposing this, considering he is the one present at this meeting, and Madara is not.
Konohagakure, despite Izuna’s dying plea, was founded four years ago. His brother is far from weak, no, never that. But he is soft. Madara is just as much of a victim to his attachments as any other Uchiha. It could only be expected that while on a battlefield, with his baby brother cradled in his arms, his gore pooling just below them, watching his clanmates defect to Senju, that Madara could not resist Hashimara’s sweet promises.
“Please, Madara.” Hashimara implored, disarmed and hopeful. “I will heal Izuna. Let us make our dream a reality!”
“Do not fall for this,” Izuna chokes through blood and bile, drifting away from animation. Before the world leaves him completely, his eyes fixate on his executioner. He is rigid, face toughened into a disbelief that almost reads as disgust at the display of weakness before them. In his final moments, vision blurring and spotty, Izuna feels camaraderie with his enemy.
Izuna does not succumb to his injuries soon enough. Hashirama rehabilitates Izuna while he is incapacitated, mending his punctured organs and sealing his wound. His revival acts as a symbol of togetherness.
Konohagakure is born.
Izuna learns that while his life will always be protected, his opinions will not always be listened to.
With Hashirama tight to his side, Madara submerges his attention in Konoha’s swift development. The pair become a formidable presence. Even the most censorious of shinobi cannot deny their devotion.
Izuna tried. Madara is fastened to this version of peace. The one where Hashirama is his counterweight. A role Izuna formally believed himself to be.
Following the establishment of residencies, a democratic system is implemented that allows high-ranking nin to cast their approval of nominated individuals to serve as their infant village’s leader. Madara’s resolve still did not waver when Hashirama was designated the Hokage of the Hidden Leaf. Izuna chews his cheeks during the inauguration, lest he speak out of turn.
It is indisputable that the two have made great progress in the maturation of Konoha. Rich trading exchanges provide the citizens with goods, and these expanding relations reach clans who wish for alliance. Systems start to develop that concern themselves with the welfare of their young, protecting them from premature mortality. Their joint aspirations propel them closer to their envisioned future.
What Madara and Hashirama overlook as visionaries is the past. Two opposing clans and their blazing resentments are placed within the same confined borders. Next, it is anticipated that they will be neighbourly despite their threatening risk of combustion.
Peace is preached to the population, but mutual injustices are a hurdle too high to simply jump over. Without proper acknowledgement and guidance, polarization continues. The Senju and Uchiha have not merged into the coveted united front. They rarely mingle, self-constricted to their respective compounds. Only obligation will bring an Uchiha into perceived Senju territory. The Senju, likewise, do not tend to pay visits to the Uchiha.
The only unexpected aspect of the present turmoil is that it has not become louder much sooner. Even now, the expression of dissatisfaction is quieter than one would expect. It is there, though, and desperate to be addressed.
Izuna’s lungs balloon until they sting, the fleshy organs snug against his rib bones. Duty is not a notion Izuna will shy away from. He was steered into a life of revenge, adults coralling a child to fight battles of their vengeance until the enemy took so much that his own was ignited. Embellished peace was not enough to stunt that commitment. If his brother has left pieces behind, Izuna will pick them up. He can conserve Madara’s pleasure while simultaneously easing the worries of his clanmates.
That was what it meant to be second in command.
“I appoint myself to the responsibility,” he exhales, taking one assured step ahead, a hand clutching his chest. “I will dedicate my energy to improving the Uchiha-Senju tensions.”
His elders, those who have led longer lives in the warring state, bob their heads to Izuna, a reverent act that he is unsure if he yet deserves. Likely, it is his conviction that has eased their agitation. Even with no plan, they have given Izuna the grace to try. They will him to preserve a shape of peace they have never considered, a concept so daft they’d never even thought to imagine it. Yet, they try to maintain faith that Madara and Izuna can create a domain they can ease in.
“We look forward to what you devise, Izuna.”
“You are dismissed,” a once curt voice now instructs much softer.
Izuna bows low, thanking them for their trust in his abilities. Before they have the chance to change their mind and make demands of him that he is less pleased by, Izuna sees himself out of the council room.
The walk home is affable. The sun has dipped considerably since Izuna last saw it, saying its final goodbyes before lying to rest for the night. While the days are still pleasantly warm, the nights, while they do not rattle bones, hold a coldness that oozes under the skin to prickle it.
Izuna retreats further behind his collar as the breeze dances through the branches, already loose leaves brought low. With each year that distances them from the village’s foundation, burden is shovelled from the approaching winter.
The Uchiha Izuna passes do not discuss which of their vulnerable the upcoming season will gnaw at. They no longer have to conclude who should be given larger portions of rations, lest the frozen Earth eat them up, instead.
No, they are laughing together. This evening, they worry about little more than their young child’s wobbly steps along the cobblestone. They greet Izuna as he ambles homeward, some filling him in on jokes he has just missed, inviting him to quip alongside them. They include him in their conversations, pulling him in and asking for his opinion on mundane discourse. The more affectionate squeeze his core, bidding him a goodnight.
Izuna’s community is also his drive–his fidelity. These are the individuals he has sworn to protect, the people who have laid their trust in him to lead adjoin Madara. While Izuna has reservations, his concerns, and his criticisms, he is equally confident in his older brother. It is neccessary that he find a way to inspire credence in those unsure.
Rounding the corner that reveals his and Madara’s shared address, he stalls upon seeing Kagami’s dinky figure perched on his front step. Kagami’s brow is creased in the middle, absorbed by his moving hands. They move clumsily, but Izuna recognizes the form of Fireball Jutsu. Izuna shelves his pensiveness.
“What are you doing?” Izuna barks, purposefully inflecting his tone to be more stern than sincere. Kagami noticeably startles, eyes blown wide and searching. To his credit, his recovery is relatively without delay. Kagami surveys each crevice of his surroundings. When he identifies Izuna, a finger shoots out to point in his direction.
“Izuna!” He whines, his frown deepening further into his face when Izuna’s lips pick up into a waggish grin.
“Kagami, you know a shinobi should always be perceptive to their environment,” he teases, swinging a scolding finger.
Kagami’s cheeks puff, reddening in the plump middle. Oh, to be a child with hopes of living past thirty, pouting candidly with no fear of true consequence for a show of such weakness. How touching. Izuna tries, but cannot resist the urge to ruffle Kagami’s hair until it points in messy angles.
“So?” Izuna leans backward on his palms when he sits, the cool concrete chilling his fingertips. Beside him, Kagami is shifting awkwardly, now abashed by the confrontation of his intentions. Izuna allows Kagami to sit with this discomfort, sorting out the mental scuffle without an adult agenda interrupting. He sucks in a few calming breaths, squeezing his hands into tight fists.
“Tomorrow is my first day at the academy.” Kagami looks to Izuna now, dark eyes determined and earnest. It robs Izuna of another sweet smile, and he gives Kagami’s arm a reassuring squeeze.
“Are you here to ask if I’ll accompany you?”
“How’d you know!” Kagami jumps up, once again directing an accusatory finger in his face. Izuna points right back, mirroring his movements. Kagami is embittered by Izuna’s goading, but has gotten perspicacious. The more he carps, the more Izuna pesters.
“Remember, Kagami, cousin Izuna knows everything.” Before retreating, Izuna flicks the child’s nose without enough force to shock, but not enough to hurt. He chuckles when Kagami’s hands careen to cup the appendage, a delayed effort to block an attack.
“Baachan can’t walk that far…” Kagami speaks, muffled by the flesh blocking his mouth. Below him, he nervously digs shallow trenches in loose gravel with his heel. “And when I asked Madara, he told me to memorize my handsign by nightfall, and then he’d consider it.”
“Pfft… Sounds like him.” Izuna’s hilarity is short-lived, quickly replaced by tart irritation. Madara is here. That’s different. If it weren’t for Kagami’s blameless presence, Izuna would have excused himself to investigate the circumstances. Izuna can spare Kagami the attention. Izuna uses his knees to leverage his body upward. “Be at the gate first thing in the morning; you’re on your own if you aren’t timely.”
Kagami noticeably attempts to still his enthusiasm, struggling to still the buzz that shakes his frame. He beams in Izuna’s direction, each one of his teeth countable. Kagami’s expression is bright enough that Izuna might have been convinced the sun decided to rise once more, despite the stars speckled above them.
“Now, scram,” Izuna says with an amused wave of his hand. “Before you worry Baachan.”
“Thank you! See you in the morning!!” Kagami complies, yelling behind him as he bounds away, waving goodbye with both of his hands. Izuna’s stomach upends briefly, thinking about earlier, to the toddler who was just barely caught before their chin met cement. Kagami stays upright, thankfully.
Kagami is a good kid. He will be among the first batches of classically trained shinobi students. The system, like everything else, is new. It is still prone to error and, from what Izuna knows, sees frequent changes to its procedures and curriculum. Kagami will advance through change just fine. In his short life, he has seen plenty of it. He would have been six moving into Konoha’s perimeter, training to be a fierce shinobi, another soldier against the Senju, but he never made it to the field. Kagami is being given the chance to hone advantageous skills before facing danger, rather than the other way around.
Izuna finds himself overfond, watching his cousin rush through dim street paths, steering himself home, where a warm bed awaits his company. A mellow tenderness steeps in his body, absorbing a fragment of the day’s weariness.
Not all strains can be soaked up by syrupy sentiments. When he enters his residence, the sensation returns to him. What’s worse is the dejection that follows, as the redevelopment of this feeling is brought back upon meeting his beloved brother in the kitchen.
“Izuna,” he greets, voice doughy, a tone reserved solely for the private moments he shares with his little brother.
“Nii-san.” It comes out just as gooey, leaning into their mutual attachment despite what brews inside of him.
Lingering in the air is a subtle acidic aroma, travelling Izuna's way. Madara, recognizing Izuna's hushed inquiries, places a bowl on the counter, nudging the portion in his direction. There is a peculiarity in Madara being here. It is more common for him to remain in the Hokage's office until dawn. Doing what, Izuna is not entirely sure.
"Where have you been?"
What an ironic thing to ask. Madara has come so the two of them can play house. He has been reminded of his baby brother and decided it was about time he spent more than ten minutes alert to what might be happening in his life. Izuna grumbles against his chopsticks.
"I met with the elders."
Izuna is pleased by Madara's reaction. His whole body stutters, pupils narrowed when his stare meets Izuna's once more. He sees the guilt without it needing to be spoken. The enjoyment he derives from the display is cruel, he knows this, yet it still relieves him of his churnish impulses.
"That was today?"
"Mmhm."
"They didn't give you a hard time, did they?"
Madara is known to be the more difficult of the two of them, to no one's surprise. While he too holds esteem for the older members of their clan, he is also more than willing to express his thoughts with unbecoming words laced within.
Now, Izuna has an opportunity to be forthright with Madara about his current circumstances. He could be direct and address the political blunders, his failures to attend to the family they are both at the helm of. And what real difference would it make if he were to disclose this? Madara would redelegate the task to himself, fretting apologetically over Izuna.
That would be of no success. Madara's attempts at this assignment would not be accepted so easily. The clan views him biased, all snuggled up to Hashirama as he is. If Izuna is to tell, it is just to remove himself of the duty that he swore himself to—that he was trusted to complete.
"No, it was cordial." Izuna's resolution has been reached. He does not need the help of his brother to enhance the quality of life of the Uchiha, he's been doing it just fine on his own thus far. "I'll be taking Kagami to his first day."
Madara seems apprehensive to move on from their initial conversation, likely doubting the ability of the group to be anything but assertive. Still, he leans into any speak Izuna extends. "He convinced you?"
"You should be grateful he did. That hand sign of his is coming along quite nicely."
Madara's face softens at the knowledge, fixed with a contemplative expression. He shuffles in the kitchen, collecting the dirty dishes into a neat stack. "Since you'll already be around, you should come visit the Hokage's office."
Although it is a painless invitation, Izuna senses that there is more to his summon. There is something just underneath that ruminative glaze. His brother wishes to speak, but is not totally sure how to put tangible words to the thought. Izuna acknowledges the silent communication with an equivocal hum.
"Yeah, perhaps."
They wash up with minimal chatter, choosing to enjoy the inaudible whirring that can be felt in the presence of one another. Peaceful chunks of existence are more infrequent these days, somehow. The war kept them together, and peace has put distance between them. Izuna's familial frustration can be muted for now because even in moments where he thinks he is wrathful, love dawdles. It is near impossible for Izuna to disregard his attachment. When Madara's arms stretch to accommodate Izuna, he situates himself within the gesture, innately seeking their closeness.
Not much later, Izuna is captivated by the subtle faint of his ceiling. Now companionless, he has no interruption as he considers his self-assignment. Madara's snoring travels through the wall separating them, the ambient noise subduing the consternation calling for him to follow. Grounded in the darkness of his room, he visualizes the steps that lead him to the favoured result.
His knowledge of interdependent politics lacks the meaningful wisdom that would indicate qualification. Being appointed as the Uchiha's second head was a decision based on his strengths. Izuna was chosen for his optic deftness and quick wit that complemented. Not for his affinity to amity. No passion was ignited in him thinking about being some kind of diplomat.
How it is now, Izuna will put his faith in intuition, lest he become demoralized by his inexperience. What Izuna is privy to is the particulars of his clan and its inhabitants. Izuna recognizes the idiosyncratic needs of each one of the members. In areas where he may not even know himself, he is certain he will know it about his neighbour.
What was unfortunate was his juvenile inner prompting telling him that breeding empathy should be the first step. Decades of loathing mended by the frivolity of friendship. It's absurd. Ridiculous.
And yet, it was strategic. Their separation has not served to disprove any bias either group has held against the other. Making an impression that contrasts their beliefs is the start of connection.
Izuna is charming enough. Convincing partiality out of Senju citizens is comprehensible at an individual level. How does this translate holistically? Structurally?
It's safe to say, no matter how disappointing, that Izuna is going to need to recruit a Senju-born collaborator. Preferably one that regards his plan with at least a semblance of perspicacity. An average citizen wouldn't do. It would have to be a shinobi such as himself. One of high rank and well respected amongst the Senju.
Also useful is leverage in government…
A rotten taste overwhelms him, caught in the back of his throat.