Fandom [naruto] halfbreed || itliveswithin & arbus

[roxybirdie]

”Where is he?”

Pure and unadulterated chakra permeated the air. While a certain Senju represented nature blessed by the purity of life, the oppressive chakra washing over him represented hellfire scorched by the flames of death. It pressed against the younger Hatake, demanding absolute submission. Lesser shinobi would submit to the overwhelming potent sensation. Instead of faltering, Kakashi flared his chakra in response, answering the firestorm with the ferocity of a lightning bolt. His charcoal eyes glimmered a faint violet, lightning chakra buzzing underneath the surface. “It doesn’t matter,” Kakashi declared, tone leaving no room for argument. Once his eyes landed on the elder Uchiha, his gaze sharpened. “The Uchiha compound is safe, Madara. The Senju didn’t attack it. If you want to return, we need to leave right now and find shelter. You’re no use to your clan dead if we continue,” he deadpanned. At his angle, the silver-haired halfbreed noticed the Clan Head’s sickly pallor, including the blood streaking down his face. Overuse of the Mangekyō combined with the signs of a potential unknown illness.

Team Seven luck at its finest. Kakashi knew his good fortune wouldn’t last.

All of the sudden, a wave of dizziness washed over him. Kakashi gritted his teeth, stabilizing himself before he tripped. With his unoccupied palm, the former nomad sealed his chokutō inside the storage seal on his left inner wrist. Once his weapon was stored, Kakashi stepped forward, seized the elder Uchiha’s arm, and curled it around his shoulders. After he forced Madara to stand, the silver-haired halfbreed pivoted. As the Clan Head leaned against his left side, Kakashi faced the direction of the cavern he mentioned earlier. “We’ll both die if we continue,” he huffed. He gnashed his teeth together, failing to suppress the shivers trickling down his spine. Without the fireball Madara summoned, the severe snowstorm combined with his blood loss left him undeniably cold.

In spite of his impaired vision, gruesome wound, and trembling body, Kakashi moved forward. Each step was a challenge, and the increased blood loss weakened his limbs, but adrenaline coursed through his veins. Combined with unyielding determination, Kakashi guided the stubborn Uchiha to the aforementioned cavern located near the first landmark. Fortunately, not a single Senju entered the clearing. It seemed, while Kakashi escaped, the Senju Clan Head and his fleet retreated. Instead of contemplating the thought, Kakashi focused on not succumbing to unconsciousness.

A few agonizing minutes — how long, Kakashi wasn’t certain — later, the Clan Head and ambassador stepped inside a cavern obscured by a tall rock formation. Unless an individual stood in front of the entrance, the cavern was hidden behind the massive boulder. By the time the unlikeliest pair entered the cave, Kakashi was trembling violently. Sheer willpower prevented him from tripping or dropping the elder Uchiha. The younger Hatake coughed, strands of silver clinging to his cheekbones. The entire right side of his yukata was covered with blood, transforming the deep charcoal fabric into a hideous dark reddish-grey.

 

[arbus]

Madara, who was no sensor, who lacked the patience to even attempt to sense other people's signatures, was unaware of the killing intent he himself was radiating; all the more did the sudden surge of lightning chakra come as a surprise, pressing against his skin like a warning, and the unbidden image of two wild cats going for each other's necks to assure their dominance over the other rose in his somewhat muddled mind. His eyes narrowed, Mangekyo still spinning violently, restlessly, at the Hatake's words, even as the hair on his skin stood up -- not unpleasantly, and if this were anywhere else, he would rise to the challenge with a grin on his face -- and he growled.

"The Uchiha compound is safe, Madara. The Senju didn’t attack it. If you want to return, we need to leave right now and find shelter. You’re no use to your clan dead if we continue.”

He did not know what was more infuriating: The mutt's tone, or the fact that he implied Madara would not be able to crush that group of Senju in the blink of an eye. How strange, though, that way the words reasserted themselves in his brain as truth, as undeniable fact; how strange that despite -- or perhaps because of -- their infuriating boldness, Madara believed them. The Senju didn't attack. The compound is safe. The mantra sunk into his head, repeated over and over again, and it took him away from the abyss of white-hot rage he was edging against. A relief, as it smothered that sensation of being eaten alive from the inside out by it, and he breathed through his nose, calmer.

To say that accepting the mutt's assistance scratched at his ego would be a mild understatement, but Madara was pragmatically inclined enough to know when he needed help. The moment he made to stand he crumbled underneath his own weight, and he snarled, cursing himself and his nauseating weakness, all the way to the cave, his body pressed up against the mutt's who was trembling beneath him. Ignoring the confinement in his chest, he started to push his chakra into his feet, into his arm to stabilize the other even as he was stabilizing him, and that way they reached the hidden entrance of the cavern, shrouded in utter darkness.

“We’ll both die if we continue.”

He could hear the other's harsh breaths, the clatter of teeth; could feel him tremble even as he withdrew, for he was shaking so harshly by that point. There was a stench of fresh sweat and wet clothes and blood in the air. Slowly, Madara withdrew his arm from the Hatake's shoulders -- what kind of clan head was he, to be dependent on someone in dire need of medical attention? Instead of beating himself up, though, he formed a few hand signs, and just like before a small fire ball enshrouded in chakra grew between them, taking away the edge of the freezing cold in an instant. Madara stared at the mutt for a long moment, the Mangekyo ceasing into his dark gaze. "You look appalling", he announced, reproachful. "How deep is that cut?" The fire ball hovered over their frames, held by thin, invisible threats of chakra, as Madara reached out to shove the mutt against the wall, hands firm as they freed him of both cloak and yukata covering his frame to bare the wound for inspection. Being spared the strenuous walk through the howling storm, his legs proved more steady now, ready to hold him upright as he unclasped his own cloak, using his teeth to tear the fabric in stripes. Applying a tourniquet on the torso was next to impossible, but judging by the growing stain in the mutt's yukata, they needed to do something to prevent him from bleeding out.

"Couldn't you be quicker, mutt? Normally, you prove yourself to be so damn elusive."

Thick layers of fabric ready, he pressed his hand against the gushing cut. Blood seeped out immediately, and the torn cloak grew heavy and warm from it in an instant. Madara applied more pressure, dissatisfied -- and greatly disquieted, all of a sudden -- with the amount of blood the Hatake was losing. "I need to cauterize the wound", he said, "you sit down, now."

 

[roxybirdie]

”You look appalling,”

All of the sudden, a familiar warmth engulfed his frame. The silver-haired halfbreed raised his head, eyeing the small fireball hovering above the older Uchiha’s palm. The warmth radiating from the chakra-infused flames seeped inside his bones, easing the unforgiving ice coursing through his veins. His violent trembling reduced to a lesser degree, but the single fireball wasn’t enough to erase all traces of his shivering. Kakashi lifted his gaze, charcoal meeting luminescent crimson. He arched an eyebrow, unimpressed. “You look worse,” he pointed out. The former nomad glanced at the diagonal slash over the right side of his ribs. It stretched from the bottom backside of his rib cage, curved over his rib cage, and ended closer to the center; a few inches below his pectoral muscle. Since the Senju’s blade was chakra conductive, it penetrated part of his chest plate, exploiting the opening on his side. “I don’t think I’ll need stitches,” he muttered. Kakashi wasn’t certain about his prognosis, but it didn’t matter if his wound was light enough to forgo stitches. He was losing too much blood.

Before he could react, his back slammed against the cavern wall. It was a testament of how much the blood loss affected Kakashi since his immediate instinct wasn’t to retaliate. Once the Clan Head removed his cloak, chest plate, and the upper part of his yukata, his wound was exposed. While Kakashi wore a sleeveless, form-fitting shirt with a mask attached underneath his yukata, the viciousness of the slash mark obliterated the fabric surrounding the injury.

”Couldn't you be quicker, mutt? Normally, you prove yourself to be so damn elusive.”

A deadpanned stare met the elder Uchiha’s gaze. “How clumsy of me not to pulverize the severe snowstorm into submission and make it stop since it clearly aided the Senju,” Kakashi drawled, his tone drier than a desert. As Madara staunched the wound with strips of his gifted cloak, the silver-haired halfbreed suppressed a wince. Perhaps, based on the pressure, his injury required stitches. Unfortunately, Kakashi nor Madara — not that the Clan Head mentioned it, but he had his suspicions — was adept at iryō ninjutsu. Kakashi learned non-chakra healing techniques and he was adept at stitches, but he was in no condition to treat his wound.

”...you sit down, now.”

The former nomad repressed a flinch. The thought of the elder Uchiha’s chakra scorching his skin raised his hackles. Kakashi grounded his teeth together, every inch of his frame screaming to retaliate. However, the younger Hatake heaved a sigh. “Maa, maa...” After he forced his muscles to relax, Kakashi lowered himself on the cavern floor. The fact he listened indicated the severity of his condition. Truthfully, even if the Clan Head didn’t order him to sit like a dog — his blood boiled at the thought — Kakashi might of collapsed. A thin sheen of sweat coated his face, enhancing the shadows underneath his charcoal hues. His breath was ragged, teeth chattering from the unrelenting chill surging down his spine.

“I hope you know what you’re doing, Madara-san. I have a feeling you’re not a medical ninja,” Kakashi huffed wryly. The silver-haired halfbreed rested his head against the cavern wall. He pressed his fist against his masked lips, smothering a cough. Pain radiated inside his chest. It was difficult to breath and whether he admitted it or not, his mask made it worse.

 

[arbus]

Under his hands, the Hatake's body was limp and grew limper, and Madara could almost watch what little color was left seep out of his face, which had taken on an ashen appearance, sick and disconcerting. Madara's touches were that of a man unused to tenderness; his calloused fingers were rough, firm, but held a hesitancy of conscious gentleness; speaking of a deeper refusal to cause any more harm, of some intrinsic compassion normally overwritten by the blaring temper.

“How clumsy of me not to pulverize the severe snowstorm into submission and make it stop since it clearly aided the Senju.”

He met the other's sardonic gaze, huffing. "Fucking clumsy indeed", he replied as he went down with the Hatake, his hand pressed firmly against the gaping cut. The minuscule, but tell-tale signs of disgust on the Hatake's features did not elude Madara; a grimace like revulsion, and he could see it so clearly in his features. Alliance or not, the Hatake seemed as revolted by the notion of an Uchiha helping him, touching him, as any other man or woman in this country would, but Madara ignored the sting of unspoken rejection, for they both knew that the Hatake needed help, and could not afford to be too proud to accept it even from him.

Madara commanded the fire ball to draw nearer, trying to ease some of the other's trembles, but he suspected they came as much from the loss of blood as from the unrelenting cold.

"It's Madara-sama, you impertinent mongrel", he murmured, but without bite, as his other hand moved to grip the back of the mutt's hair, forcing him to look into his eyes. The pinwheels of his Mangekyo were spinning their lazy rounds, taking in the other's dark grey gaze, the pupils blown wide. It was a very obvious offer of a genjutsu, to ease away the brunt of the pain as he did what had to be done: The agony of cauterization would likely have the other pass out, and Madara had seen enough battlefields, enough wounds of this kind to know that such pain could drive a man crazy. The air around them thickened, shifted, like a veil sinking over them; muting out the colors, the sounds of the howling storm, even the mutt's harsh breaths, Madara's wheezing ones. It covered the world in a dark, blood-stained red, but it was tranquil, hypnotizing, soothing.

It was a lullaby, a promise of warmth, of arms opening to welcome the silver-haired halfbreed into a loving embrace.

It was a world devoid of pain, devoid of fear, or death.

It was a deep, saturated sleep, impenetrable and good.

While the genjutsu was strong, potent, it was not all-encompassing; it was a suggestion rather than a command, left room to wiggle out of it if so desired. But being welcomed, it would mute the pain, and a moment after its appliance Madara removed the tourniquet, and pressed his palm, engulfed in the fire of his chakra nature, against the gushing cut.

A sizzling noise, and the immediate stench of burnt flesh, of congealed blood and melting skin. It was sickening, but he kept applying pressure on the wound, until his hand had shifted over the cut and closed all of it. When he withdrew his hand, after long, long seconds, his hand was black from soot and covered in blood.

He eased the Hatake down further, so that his trembling body could stretch out completely, and then retrieved the bedroll from his storage scroll, wrapping the shaking body into the thick quilt that had helped him through the worst of the cold that night at their camp side. The ball of fire hovered near, and Madara lifted the other's head to place it on a pillow, only then allowing his Mangekyo to cease. With the back of his hand, he brushed away the wetness streaming down his cheeks, and ignoring the blurring vision, he sank against the cave's wall, taking the Hatake's pulse with two fingers pressed against his aorta.

 

[roxybirdie]

”It’s Madara-sama, you impertinent mongrel,”

Calloused fingers gripped the back of his head, forcing the younger Hatake to meet the elder Uchiha’s gaze. All of the sudden, soft whispers trickled inside his mind. A wave of tranquility washed over him, promising sweet, unadulterated relief. It poked and prodded, whispers of pleasant nothings reverberating throughout his mind. Sleep, it said. While his instincts screamed to reject, the whispers vowed protection, safety, and warmth. His hand shot forward, gripping the wrist attached to the palm clutching his silvery locks. His fingers — he’ll deny it to his dying breath — trembled, uncertainty evident in his charcoal hues. A few minutes later, his trembling hand lowered. Instead of breaking the genjutsu, Kakashi welcomed it. His eyes slid shut, unconsciousness unsheathing its claws and dragging him under.

As the Clan Head cauterized the gruesome slash, the sleep-induced genjutsu protected the Hatake ambassador from the unimaginable agony of burning flesh. Once the gash was sealed, it left a streak of bright red. Underneath the blood coating the cauterized wound, the gash resembled a single burn slash. The gash was thin, but it was surrounded by reddened skin. After the injury healed, a slash-like scar would remain with tightened skin surrounding it.

Out of nowhere, warmth engulfed his frame. His sensitive nose detected a faint scent of canine, but the unconscious Hatake welcomed it. Combined with the fireball hovering near the silver-haired halfbreed, his violent trembling ceased. Kakashi heaved a sigh, all traces of discomfort vanishing on his expression. While his breathing remained haggard, the former nomad never faltered from his slumber.

Outside of the cavern, the snowstorm continued ravaging the forest. Fortunately, the monumental boulder shielding the entrance protected the cavern from the brunt of the unforgiving storm. Not even chilling drafts reached the Uchiha Clan Head and Hatake ambassador. Unless the pair stood in front of the entrance, the boulder shielded them from the frozen elements. In spite of the frigid temperature outside, the fireball hovering inside the cavern basked the cave in unadulterated warmth.

 

[arbus]

Time trickled away like the blanket of snow melting on the cavern's entrance; the storm had lessened considerably, and the warmth inside their abode made the snow and ice surrounding the cavern melt. It was a comfortable warmth; the warmth of a home, of hearth and safety. The flames of his katon jutsu flickered gently, throwing shadows across the stone walls, across the Hatake's pale features. The thin sheen of sweat covering his face had dried, and his body had stopped shaking a few hours ago, the breathing evening out to the point were the unconsciousness of a genjutsu met sleep, was replaced by it.

Madara kept leaning against the wall, legs spread out; his wrist, where the Hatake's fingers had gripped him, was buzzing faintly. The hesitancy in his eyes was stuck in Madara's head -- that moment when resistance gave way, that moment he gave in and gave himself over, to that genjutsu, to Madara.

The masked features did not reveal much, but the fabric was tight enough to show the contours of the other's cheeks, a thin chin, a long, delicate nose. Having left nothing else to do, he studied that face, that looked so young and vulnerable in its sleep; relaxed in a way it was not, no matter how carefree the mutt displayed himself to be, when he was awake.

From time to time, a cough would rumble through Madara's chest, shaking him to his bones and leaving a dull, throbbing pain in its wake.

He would traverse to the cave's entrance to spit, vision swimming from exhaustion, but the mantra remained: The Senju didn't attack. The compound is safe.

What had Hashirama wanted, then, ambushing them like that in the middle of a snow storm?

Once the storm had lessened to the degree he deemed it safe to travel, he picked the Hatake up with both arms, his freshly bandaged torso clad once again in his yukata and coat, wrapped in the quilt to provide him with warmth, and through the drifting snowflakes he started to walk, feet enhanced with chakra to make the travel over the snow easier, in the direction of the Hatake clan's dwellings. Half a day's travel, but the mutt needed more than a quilt and a katon jutsu to sustain him; he needed rest, and someone more capable than Madara to look after him.

 

[roxybirdie]

In the world of unconsciousness, time was a fleeting, insignificant concept. Darkness surrounded the silver-haired halfbreed, erasing all traces of light. Had Kakashi been an ordinary shinobi, he would of found the darkness unsettling. However, the everlasting sea of obsidian comforted him. Instead of a foreboding chill associated with the boundless shadows, warmth cocooned the former nomad. Not a single negative thought, harsh memory, or hellish nightmare reached the war veteran. Once Kakashi was surrounded by the sea of obsidian, it protected him. In the heart of the encompassing shadows, Kakashi remained dreamless.

Dreams to a seasoned shinobi are often filled with regrets tarnished by guilt. Rarely did Kakashi experience the sweet, unadulterated reprieve.

A few hours — how long remained undetermined — later, the snowstorm transitioned into a light trickle. Once Madara dressed him, it was a testament of how much trust the younger Hatake placed on the elder Uchiha when Kakashi didn’t stir. Had the situation been different, the lightest touch would of awakened the war veteran. Kakashi remained asleep, the claws of unconsciousness keeping him under. After the Clan Head carried him outside of the cavern, the silver-haired halfbreed shifted, resting his head against the older man’s chest. The colder temperature evoked a shiver, but the thick quilt — combined with the Uchiha’s warm chakra signature — ceased his trembling.

The distance between the hidden cavern and the “official” eastern border was roughly nine kilometers. While light snowflakes drifted on the ground, the unforgiving storm passed. Soft daylight swept over the land, the first signs of dawn brightening the terrain. It seemed, unlike the previous debacle, time was on their side. The moment the Uchiha Clan Head and Hatake ambassador passed the eastern border, a small squad patrolling the border spotted the pair. The patrol convoy consisted of four Hatake. The leader of the patrol squad stopped in front of the elder Uchiha and younger Hatake.

“What happened?” the leader, an older man with a horizontal scar across the bridge of his nose, inquired.

“Kakashi!” cried the youngest of the convoy, a boy no older than fifteen.

The oldest of the group, a female wolfwoman with half of her left arm missing, clamped her right palm on the boy’s shoulder. “Quiet, Mamoru,” she hissed.

“B-but—“ The boy wilted underneath the wolfwoman’s stern gaze.

“Uchiha-sama and Kakashi-sama require medical assistance, Komugi-taichō,” a soft voice drawled. A younger man, the last member of the convoy, eyed the Clan Head and ambassador.

A frown marred his lips. “Akashi is a medic.” The leader motioned to the younger man. “If you’re willing, we can escort you back to the Hatake compound for treatment. If you prefer to return to your clansmen, Mizuki and Mamoru can escort you to the border while I take Kakashi-sama,” he offered.

All of the sudden, his sensitive nose detected a multitude of scents. Before his instincts flared, he recognized the scents. Pack, his mind supplied. Kakashi heaved a sigh, shifting his head until his masked nose was buried against the elder Uchiha’s yukata. Somehow, not that his mind registered it, the scent of fire and woodsmoke alleviated his discomfort. A new layer of sweat coated his forehead, the sickly pallor indicating the beginnings of a fever.

 

[arbus]

The blanket of snow glistened in the first rays of sunlight. The woods were light around these parts, strewn with many small clearings and open paths. Madara, who was keenly aware of his own state of disadvantage, felt unusually vulnerable as he traveled the land. With the mutt in his arms and the tightness in his chest, he was not keen on yet another ambush. While he had no doubt in his mind that he still was able to crush any idiot dumb enough to face him, another confrontation with Hashirama would be -- to put it mildly -- inconvenient. Not only had the urge to return to the compound not ceased completely, but the Hatake's body felt too warm even through the thick layers of his wrappings, with hair soaked and sticking to his forehead.

And yet, Madara could not recall a more peaceful moment in his life; or for a long time, at least, probably since he had been sitting on that rock at the Naka, basking in warm sunlight and the cares of the world shoved to the side for that rare afternoons he was nothing more than a boy, playing with a friend.

The snow, now that it had become a light downfall, was a thing of beauty; thick, downy flakes covering him and the Hatake in layers of white. The milky rays of sunlight shed a soft, cold light on them both, on the lands surrounding them, and apart from his heavy breaths, the occasional shift of their clothing, no sound penetrated the air. It was so still, so quiet.

Shortly after he passed what he knew to be the eastern border of the known Hatake territory, he met a unit of familiar looking shinobi, clad in the traditional grey of the Hatake clan, bearing the crest that had become familiar by now. Madara stopped in front of the leader of the four-man squad, and he shifted the weight in his arms just so, the mutt's head a non-too-uncomfortable weight against his chest.

“What happened?”

"Senju Hashirama ambushed us", he said, surprised how rough his own voice sounded, rumbling from his throat as if he had not spoken for days. His eyes took in the boy, and the wolfwoman, to settle on Akashi, the medic, thoroughly ignoring the intake of breath from the adolescent boy, or the widening of the medic's eyes.

Luck, it seemed, was finally on his side again.

“Akashi is a medic.”

"Good", he said gruffly, "the mutt needs medical assistance immediately. I will carry him to your compound, and then continue my travels." He chose to ignore the quip at his own, somewhat wonky constitution, as it was nothing he would ever admit to in front of another shinobi, ally or not. His gaze drifted down onto the man in his arms once more, taking in the fresh sweat on his features, the ashen complexion. Somehow, even though it was the more reasonable thing to do, he could not bring himself to leave him like this; but instead of evaluating the notion, he stirred his head, and frowned. "What are we waiting for? Your clansman needs a bed and a med-nin, so get a move on."

The rest of the journey was conducted a lot faster than his travel beyond the border. If the mutt was suffering from inflammation, as his fever indicated, they had no time to lose. How many shinobi had Madara lost this way, after the battles were fought and the dead buried?

Entering the compound, he felt the eyes of practically every single Hatake on him, as he carried the mutt through the rows of houses. Akashi was by his side -- had not left it, in fact, since they had commenced their way back -- and showed him to the house of the clan head's family, a traditional, inconspicuous building in the midst of the small compound. Carefully, Madara placed the Hatake on the bedroll of the room he had been led to, and then looked at Akashi: "There was no way to clean the wound before I cauterized it." Or had there been, Madara thought, and should he have taken the time to gather some snow and rub it against the gash before sealing it? There had been so much blood, though. For a moment, he remained, staring down at the sweating, feverish figure on the bed, before he huffed an angry breath and left to find the mother, who he needed to speak to before he could recommence on his own path.

 

[roxybirdie]

”Senju Hashirama ambushed us,”

All members of the Hatake convoy stiffened. The youngest, Mamoru, glanced at his surrogate-aniki. The fifteen year old was the nephew-in-law of the Clan Head. Similar to Sakumotsu, the elder teen’s younger half-brother, Mamoru latched onto the older Hatake. Witnessing his powerful and elusive older brother crumpled in the arms of the Uchiha Clan Head left a bitter taste in his mouth. His stomach clenched at the sight. The youngest Hatake gritted his teeth, suppressing the tremors surging down his arms. A hand draped over his head, diverting his attention. Mamoru glimpsed at the eldest member of his group. The wolfwoman remained indifferent, but her dark grey eyes glinted with understanding.

Hatake Kakashi was, without a shadow of a doubt, the strongest member of their clan. Contrary to belief, it didn’t stem from the teen’s non-Hatake bloodline limit. The boy earned the title by mastering three of the Hatake’s strongest attributes; kenjutsu, raiton release, and tracking. However, the deciding factor was the former nomad’s purple lightning technique. Inventing the Raiton: Shiden proved he was worthy of the moniker. Seeing the younger Hatake vulnerable in the arms of the elder Uchiha was a stark reminder that while Kakashi was powerful, he wasn’t infallible.

Ignoring the Clan Head’s biting comment, Komugi signaled his subordinates with a few hand signs. Without a word, the Hatake patrol squad escorted the Uchiha Clan Head and Hatake ambassador to the Hatake compound. At shinobi speed, a total of twenty minutes passed. Unsurprisingly, the moment the entourage entered the compound, all eyes gravitated toward the older Uchiha carrying the half-blooded eldest son of the Hatake Clan Head. Wariness radiated throughout the clansmen, but not a hint of hostility was evident. While Madara and Akashi navigated to the main family household, Komugi and his remaining subordinates scattered, tasked with informing the elders and fellow clansmen of the situation.

As Madara and Akashi approached the Clan Head estate, the medic guided the older Uchiha to the injured Hatake’s room. Once the Uchiha placed the ambassador on the bedroll, Akashi removed the former nomad’s quilt, cloak, and chest plate. He unfastened the obi and removed the yukata, revealing a tarnished shirt and reinforced leggings underneath. The medic hummed at the comment regarding the cauterized wound. “Given the circumstances, what you did saved his life,” Akashi replied. After he removed the bandages, his palm illuminated a muted blue. It morphed into a small blade. Utilizing the chakra scalpel, Akashi removed the shirt. As a medic, he understood the Hatake physiology intimately. According to his Clan Head, Kakashi was born with overactive olfactory receptors, a rare condition in the clan. The mask was a necessity, and he respected the older teen’s privacy, but since it obstructed his airways, Akashi removed it.

The aforementioned Clan Head was currently handing her youngest son to her husband. The nine year old heard the news and he wasn’t happy. Fortunately, before Sakumotsu unleashed a tantrum, his father whisked him away. The wolfwoman navigated through her home, following the scent of firewood. Once she located the Uchiha, she leaned against the doorframe, folding her arms across her chest. “You look like shit,” Nōka deadpanned. The wolfwoman examined the ravenette, charcoal hues sharp and unyielding. “You reek of sickness. Shouldn’t you be with Akashi and the rest of the medics? The last thing I need is for the Uchiha to accuse us of ignoring their Clan Head’s health,” she pointed out. Before approaching the Uchiha, she dispatched her clan’s best healers to aid her clan’s medical prodigy.

 

[arbus]

Madara‘s first instinct was to deny it, which was a ridiculous notion, considering the fact that both of them could not only hear his labored, wheezing breaths speaking of illness, but the wolfwoman could also smell it. Madara was not even surprised; that thick, ugly-thick stench, feverish and compromised hung in his own nose, the back of his throat. He did not turn to face her, but kept his back as he was standing at the window, looking out on the snow-covered world with his arms crossed.

Judging from the decorative hangings on the wall, from the burnt incense, they must be in the guest room.

„We need to talk about what happened first.“

Afterwards, he would seek the help of one of the medics, hoping they would be able to alleviate some of the weight pushing down on his chest. And after that, he would leave the mutt in his clan‘s hands, and journey back home to make sure the compound was untouched; as convincing as the mutt had been in that desperate moment in the heart of a storm (and Madara had trusted his words, hadn't he), he would ever only truly believe it when he saw it with his own eyes.

A short while later, he was sitting with the Hatake clan head over tea, and the steaming cup was clasped between his hands as he inhaled the heavy scents of herbs. He would not admit it, but the travel through the snow, without any cloak, had frozen him to the bone; a chill so profound he seemed unable to shake it.

In the span of half an hour, he relayed to Hatake Noka what had unfolded over the last couple of days. He told her about the Senju spies, the skirmish that ended in the death of five Senju soldiers, his use of the Mangekyo to deceive them and erase the Hatake clan's invovlement in the battle. He spoke openly about the troubles he faced with the merchants and how the blackmail on them had helped to achieve a trading deal for the Uchiha. He told her about the snowstorm, his decision to keep moving, and the run-in with Senju Hashirama and his soldiers, in which her son had received the injury. He told about the retreat into the cave, and the severity of the blood loss her son had suffered, his words not unkind but unrelenting, as sentimentality had no place in this war-torn world.

When he was done, his voice was so hoarse he could hardly utter another word. He sipped on his tea, suppressed a cough, and then inclined his head.

"I appreciate your help, Hatake-sama. Without your assistance, I would not have been able to strike a deal with those merchants. My clan and I thank you for all you have done for us."A beat. „And I regret what happened to your son.“

This kind of openness did not come easy to Madara; it was as much a sign of his gratitude as the actual words he had uttered. He raised his eyes to the wolfwoman's, half-defiant and ready to snap should she decide to mock him for it, but in that moment the door slid open and a middle-aged woman entered, bowed, and held out a scrowl.

"A message from the Senju, Noka-sama."

Madara's spine grew rigid, and from one moment to the next, tension seeped into the room, thick enough to cut.

The Senju didn't attack. The compound is safe.

But what if the mutt had been wrong?

The scroll handed to the Hatake clan head contained a message from Senju Hashirama himself; relating the run-in with one of their clansman as an accident due to unfortunate circumstances, and an reiteration of the neutral terms the Senju and the Hatake stood on, with a continued plea for a peace treaty even despite the Hatake‘s unexpected and unfortunate alliance with the Uchiha clan.

It was an olive branch, a clear incentive for the Hatake to agree to talks regarding an alliance between the two clans, phrased just on the verge to shroud any possible threat in obscurity; one could read it as a simple attempt to gain the clan‘s trust, or as an ultimatum to end all relations with the Uchiha.

Madara kept his eyes on the clan head as she read the scroll, the frown of mistrust deepening on his pale features with every passing minute.

 

[roxybirdie]

”We need to talk about what happened first.”

The wolfwoman pursed her lips, but before she could retort, she felt a nudge on her side. Nōka glanced at her partner. The she-wolf prodded her side with her snout, directing the wolfwoman to the table. She huffed at her partner’s herding, but instead of resisting, Nōka approached the low table. She sat on a zabuton, slipping into a lackadaisical seiza position. She flicked her wrist, motioning the Uchiha Clan Head to join her. Shinra plopped on her right side, curling around her human. In spite of the she-wolf’s half-lidded gaze, her amber eyes remained fixated on the Uchiha brat. Once Nōka summoned one of her clansmen to serve tea — she made certain her guest received a herbal remedy suitable for his illness — the Hatake Clan Head listened to her ally’s report.

As Madara relayed the recent events, Nōka sipped her green tea. The thought of the Senju trespassing on her land made her blood boil. A part of her was grateful the Uchiha brat unleashed his Mangekyō on the Senju survivors. While it protected her clan from retaliation, it thoroughly concealed her clan’s greatest secret. Nōka wouldn’t delude herself into believing the secret would remain a secret. Not with Senju Tobirama and Senju Hashirama leading the Senju clan. The latter might be an eccentric idiot, but he was no fool. Once the Senju discover her clan’s secret, Nōka would be prepared.

After the Uchiha mentioned the blackmail, she withheld a snort. Nōka recalled her great-great-grandson’s letter. She wasn’t surprised by the intelligence gathered, but his suggestion was pure gold. She had no qualms writing a formal letter and sending copies of the specific treaties associated with the oath-breakers. Accepting a trading agreement with the Uchiha was, without a doubt, a more gratifying punishment compared to the alternative. Nōka wished she could of witnessed the old geezers’ reaction, but maa, politics. Her clan might leave the responsibilities of the island to the civilians, but it fell under Hatake jurisdiction. It was amusing how the avaricious merchants forget the particular aspect.

Once the younger Clan Head recited the ambush led by Senju Hashirama, it took every fiber of her being not to crush her ceramic cup. Her chakra spiked a little, but besides the blip, her outward appearance remained unperturbed. Sensing her partner’s inner turmoil, Shinra shifted, resting her large head on her human’s thigh. Nōka carded her fingers through her partner’s silky fur, suppressing the urge to jump over the table and throttle the Uchiha brat. On one hand, Nōka understood the Clan Head’s determination to return to his clan posthaste. She was no stranger to recklessness. On the other hand, based on her descendant’s future knowledge, it was painfully obvious what the foolish Senju attempted to do. Unfortunately, the unpredicted snowstorm decimated the attempt. The fact that Uchiha Madara saved her son spared him from her ire.

”...And I regret what happened to your son.”

Nōka hummed at the acknowledgment. She lowered her cup on the table. “The world may view your clan—“ Or Madara in particular, but the unspoken message was apparent. “—as a dark stain waiting to be erased, but on the behalf of the Hatake clan, we do not.” The wolfwoman met the younger man’s eyes directly. “We take care of our allies. I acknowledge your regret and I thank you for saving my son,” she announced. All of the sudden, one of her clansmen opened the door, handing her a scroll. Once she accepted it, the older woman vanished. Ignoring the Uchiha’s rigid stature, Nōka opened the scroll originating from the Senju.

“Calm the fuck down, brat,” huffed the wolfwoman. She lifted her gaze, charcoal hues sharp. “Your clan is fine,” she assured. Nōka lowered the scroll, rubbing the bridge of her nose. She might need to switch to something stronger. Damn the Senju and their horrible timing. “I’m certain my son pieced it together, but since he’s incapacitated at the moment, I’ll tell you. The ambush led by the Senju Clan Head wasn’t an ambush. The stupid brat decided a fucking snowstorm was the perfect time for one of his peace talks,” she pointed out. The wolfwoman retracted her palm, grasped her cup, and sipped her tea. “Your clan’s compound was never targeted in the first place. Now, will you accept treatment or do I need to drag your Uchiha ass to my medics?”

Perhaps, provoking the Uchiha Clan Head was the equivalent of poking a sleeping dragon, but she was beyond caring. Not only was her son recovering from a life-threatening injury, she had to review the recent message from the Senju. Fuck the Senju, fuck the Uchiha, and fuck their ridiculous feud. Nōka was tempted to accept the alliance out of pure spite, but she couldn’t afford to let her rashness cloud her judgment. Before moving forward, she needed to consult with the elders and her eldest son.

 

[arbus]

"The world may view your clan as a dark stain waiting to be erased, but on the behalf of the Hatake clan, we do not.”

The words still rang in Madara's ears as they were followed by Noka's reassurance: Your clan is fine. The ambush led by the Senju Clan Head wasn't an ambush. Your clan's compound was never targeted in the first place. His eyes drifted from the scroll to the wolfwoman's face -- dark and full of weary mistrust -- but the frown clouding his own features deepened in that way when understanding dawned.

"That stupid--", he began, fingers fisting the cloth of his robes as a bubble of relief and indignation rose and burst, and he barked a laugh -- a sound edging on aggression, devoid of humor -- that turned into a severe coughing fit that had him involuntarily curling in on himself. His chest heaved, as he wheezed his breaths, pulling them into his lungs which seemed much more work than he was used to. That fucking dimwit Senju. This was just like him. This was so much like him that Madara felt the urge to plant his forehead onto the table.

Once he recovered from the fit, eyes flitting to that scroll one more time -- there was only one thing the Senju could want, wasn't there -- as he rubbed his heaving chest.

"I want to see you try", he croaked, but his broken voice was bar all real threat. He downed the herbal infusion that had grown cold but was still soothing to his sore throat, then stood, making an effort not to show any traces of the sudden vertigo that threatened to engulf him in spinning darkness. "I will take you up on the offer, but if you try to poison me with more of that abysmal tea, you'll ..."

The sliding door opened and the Hatake woman stepped in again, interrupting Madara's empty threats. She bowed, before her gaze shifted from her clan head to the Uchiha. A second's hesitation, before she said: "Another message. This one is for Uchiha-sama", and handed him the scroll. Madara did very much not sway on his damn fucking feet as he walked over to retrieve it, ripping it open with much less delicacy than the Hatake woman had displayed.

Madara--

Since you seem to be willing to find new allies, it might be time to talk about everything once more.

-- Hashirama

Of course Hashirama would have known were to find him; this was just another proof that the Hatake clan head's words rang true. Hashirama had retreated, had let them get away, knowing full well they would seek shelter with the Hatake clan. Once he had realized Madara's weakness, he had fought with his punches pulled, and now he was fucking appealing to that ideal Madara had thought buried long ago, shared in those endless conversations eleven years prior.

"Your medics?", he spat, covering his shaking hand under the sleeve of his clan robes.

*
​

"Who would have known your mother has such a filthy mouth on her, eh?", he murmured. He was standing by the mutt's bedside, arms crossed and thoroughly ignoring the dull throbbing ache in his lungs. Half an hour with an old med-nin had left him to feel vulnerable, exposed, and uncomfortable; showing that much weakness was not something Madara was used to, and he had glared at the old man's wrinkled face with such malevolence the other had been brasher in his applications of the jutsu than he surely needed to be. After the infusion of some highly controlled chakra into his chest and back, the tightness had eased, and it was considerably easier to breathe. The man had recommended for him to sleep it off, but Madara would not spent a minute more in this forsaken forest than he had to. His last stop was the mutt, at whom he was staring right now, defiant and angry, as if it had been the other's fault that he had ended up so direly wounded.

He huffed.

"For your information, it is considerably easier to talk to you when you're not talking back, for once." A long pause. "You better get well. I demand a spar with you, once you can hold yourself on your own feet. And you better be quicker with me than with the Senju scum."

His glance swept over the other's pale, lanky frame, covered in a blanket -- the face obstructed by what looked like a fresh mask -- before he turned to leave.

 

[roxybirdie]

”That stupid—“

She arched an eyebrow, unruffled. All of the sudden, the Uchiha brat roared with joyless laughter. Unsurprisingly, the fleeting exertion irritated his lungs, reducing the younger Clan Head into a violent coughing fit. Nōka snorted at the brat’s following comment. “Don’t tempt me, brat. I can and I will,” she huffed. The elder Clan Head drained the rest of her green tea. After she lowered her cup, she eyed the stubborn ravenette. Her sharp charcoal hues spotted the subtle indications of dizziness and languidness. The Uchiha brat was a few steps away from collapsing. The wolfwoman suppressed another snort. Stubborn, prideful Uchiha. “Bring it, brat. I won’t hesitate to do it again.” While it could be perceived as blatant endangerment, the unspoken message — if one looked underneath the underneath — was undeniably clear. You’re welcome.

A few minutes later, the same Hatake woman that delivered her message handed a scroll addressed to the Uchiha Clan Head. Instead of inquiring about the message — it wasn’t her business unless he discussed it — Nōka rose into a standing position. “Maa, maa, follow me, you stubborn brat.” Without another word, the Hatake Clan Head guided the younger Uchiha to her medical team. Silently, the wolfwoman was gleeful that Hiroshi took over the treatment. He wouldn’t tolerate the Clan Head’s stubbornness. The elder man was part of her council of elders and her clan’s most experienced medic.

*​

While the emergency cauterization sealed the wound and stopped the blood flow, thus saving the younger Hatake’s life, it induced inflammation. Fortunately, Akashi cleansed the cauterized injury, removed all traces of bacteria, and healed the gash properly. He minimized the severity of the slash, but due to the cauterization, it would scar. Once Akashi completed the brunt of the treatment, he left the aftermath to his clansmen. His shishou, Hiroshi, oversaw the treatment before the elder man left to treat the Uchiha Clan Head. Akashi was grateful he wasn’t tasked with treating the temperamental Uchiha. By the time Madara stepped inside the ambassador’s room, Kakashi donned fresh bandages, a clean yukata, and a new mask. The silver-haired halfbreed was currently lying on his futon, asleep underneath a thick quilt.

Nōka, whom stood outside of her son’s room, huffed at the Uchiha brat’s comment. “Like you haven’t cursed before, kid,” she muttered underneath her breath. Shaking her head, the Hatake Clan Head sauntered down the hallway. She planned on checking her son, but it could wait. Her partner snuffled a laugh at the Uchiha’s command. The she-wolf had a feeling her partner’s pup wouldn’t mind the spar.

*​

Four Weeks Later

Four weeks passed since the excursion to the harbor and the aftermath. By the second week, Kakashi recovered from his infection. The frequent chakra treatments accelerated his healing, but since continuous exposure to foreign chakra could be detrimental, it was heavily regulated. His great-great-grandmother forbade him from training during the third week, forcing him to recuperate from the inflammation. During the final week, Kakashi adjusted to his new scar. Fortunately, it didn’t physically inhibit his movement during training, but the tightness around his ribs took time to adapt. If he wasn’t careful, it could inhibit him. A few days ago, his unofficial mother received word of a skirmish between the Uchiha and the Senju. According to the Clan Head, the harsher weather made it impossible for the Uchiha to collect their fallen. In exchange for saving his life, Kakashi volunteered to retrieve the bodies, deliver them to the Uchiha, and teach the seal masters his storage seal.

One day later, Kakashi was currently standing in front of the northern gate of the Uchiha compound. The silver-haired halfbreed was garbed in reinforced underclothes, chest plate, a winter yukata, and a winter cloak. The layers protected him from the frigid chill, but compared to the last few days, the temperature was somewhat mild. Suddenly, the former nomad spotted a familiar face in the guard rotation. “Maa, maa, you’re certainly prepared for the weather, eh Yakumi-san?” the elder Hatake drawled, eyeing the proper winter attire.

Said Uchiha flashed the older teen a sheepish grin. “Quite,” he replied.

“What business do you have here, Hatake?” an older Uchiha sneered.

He blinked slowly, tilting his head. “Did you fail to receive my mother’s message? I have a scheduled meeting with your Clan Head,” Kakashi pointed out. The silver-haired halfbreed rubbed his chin with his right hand. “I sure hope not. You wouldn’t make me walk all the way back to the Hatake compound, right? Especially after all the trouble I went through...” A pout was evident in the lackadaisical man’s tone.

While the Uchiha bristled, Yakumi shook his head. After the escort mission, the younger Uchiha was exposed to the Hatake’s nature. “Don’t antagonize my superior, Kakashi-san. Izuna-sama should arrive shortly to escort you to the main estate,” he declared.

Ignoring the older Uchiha, Kakashi inclined his head toward Yakumi. “On the behalf of the Hatake, we offer our sincerest condolences,” he murmured, the lazy tone a touch somber.

His lips thinned, a glimmer of grief evident in his onyx hues. “Thank you,” Yakumi acknowledged.

 

[arbus]

The right wing of the northern gate swung open in this moment to reaveal Izuna, clad in a thick winter robe, the Uchiha fan emblazoned on his back but half-covered by a dark fur thrown over his shoulders and half of his torso. Across the fur he wore the strap of his katana, and his boots crunched over the thin layer of snow as he approached the ambassador. "Hatake", he said, black eyes resting cold and unimpressed on the other man.

Yakumi and the older Uchiha bowed and retreated, continuing their parol, but not without Yakumi throwing one last glance at the Hatake before he vanished with Izuna into the compound.

The alleys leading through the compound were empty. Most people had withdrawn into the shelter of their warm homes, unused to the freezing temperatures of that unconventionally harsh winter. The sky was thick with the smoke streaming out of chimneys, and it smelled of forzen earth, of burnt wood. Izuna did not talk as he lead the Hatake to the main estate, situated in the heart of the compound. It was a beautiful, traditional home, expansive and richly ornamented with intricate crests. Walking through the long, polished hallways -- the sliding doors closed to the gardens against the cold -- they encountered a group of elderly men emerging from a room deep inside the house. They were murmuring in hushed tones, their voices carrying the gravitas of mild disapproval. They looked up when Izuna approached with the ambassador, and their sceptic faces clouded in a palpable displeasure.

Someone hissed, very audibly, halfbreed, as if it was a curse.

Izuna clicked his tongue, but did not comment as he let the elder men pass. When they were around the corner, he stepped into the entrance of the study. The room was airless, stuffy with the vapors of pipe smoke and the particular odor of too many unwashed, elderly bodies. The clan head sat brooding over the map table, wearing a dark blue kimono and a thick, black haori, a hand buried in his hair as he studied a scroll. Underneath the stench of sweat hung the aroma of herbal tea and the sweet scent of fever.

"Urgh", Izuna commented, wafting his hand before his face as he stepped around the desk to slide the door to the inner garden open. The fresh air was an immediate relief, and it had Madara raise his head.

"Oh." He eyed the mutt, who looked conspiciously healthy. "You survived." His tone was dry, but there was a smile edging around the corners of his mouth, before he could replace it with a frown. "I expected you earlier. Your mother's letter announced you for this morning. What time is it now?" He glanced over at Izuna, who was leaning in the frame. "Late afternoon, aniki."

A chilly breeze drove through Izuna's hair. "You should not listen to those medics, aniki. Instead of stuffy meetings, you should be walking in the woods."

"Get Natsuki to bring our guest some tea, Izuna", Madara said, pointedly ignoring his brother's comment as he rolled up the scroll. He gestured for the Hatake to take a seat. "Are you hungry, too?"

 

[roxybirdie]

”Hatake,”

Said silver-haired halfbreed inclined his head. “Izuna-san,” Kakashi acknowledged. He met the younger Uchiha’s icy gaze directly, not a hint of apprehension evident on his expression. After the former nomad flashed Yakumi a genuine eye-smile, he followed the younger brother of the Clan Head inside. Instead of subjecting the younger teen to the wrath of his witty tongue, Kakashi surveyed the compound. He examined the multiple houses throughout the compound, the number of routes weaving around the structures, and additional insignificant details. As the war veteran incorporated it to memory, the Uchiha escort and Hatake ambassador arrived at the main estate. The architecture was, without a doubt, stunning. In spite of the Uchiha’s plight, the compound exemplified the clan’s nobility and prestige.

Halfbreed...

Soft, seemingly unintelligible whispers washed over him. Kakashi didn’t need his enhanced hearing to understand the blatant disapproval and thinly-veiled hostility radiating from the elderly Uchiha. Not sparing the old geezers a glance, the Hatake followed the younger Uchiha to what appeared, based on his observations, a study. His nose wrinkled at the foul stench permeating the air, but fortunately, Izuna opened a window. The silver-haired halfbreed scanned the spacious room, committing the occupied space to memory. Kakashi glanced at the older Uchiha hunched over a map. His charcoal eyes examined the smooth fabric draped over the Clan Head’s broad shoulders and rigid frame.

”I expected you earlier. Your mother’s letter announced you for this morning...”

Ignoring the Clan Head’s dry tone, Kakashi tilted his head. His eyes curved into a signature eye-smile. “Maa, maa, you almost sound relieved,” he mused, charcoal hues glimmering with amusement. The former nomad approached the table, pressed his fingers against his left inner wrist, and channeled a kernel of chakra. With a small puff of smoke, Kakashi summoned a total of five nondescript scrolls. He placed the scrolls on the table, directly over the map. “I decided to take a short detour before I arrived. The weather is so unpredictable these days, but thankfully, I didn’t get lost,” he announced blithely. Based on a cursory glance, Kakashi deduced the terrain the map covered. He deliberately placed the scrolls over the area a certain battle commenced a few days ago.

Kakashi waved his hand at the offer. “Tea is fine,” he assured. The newly-affiliated Hatake lowered himself on a seat. “I see you still haven’t fully recovered,” he commented, eyeing the herbal tea. He glanced at the direction Izuna vanished to. “Your brother has a point. A dose of fresh air might be what you need,” he added. A few minutes later, a young woman entered the study with a tray. She bowed at her Clan Head, placed the tray on the table, and poured the Hatake a cup. Once he accepted it, she bowed once more and left. Instinctively, Kakashi sniffed the air around the ceramic cup. While he knew the Uchiha wouldn’t be bold enough — if anything, Madara would take him out personally — to poison him, old habits died hard.

As Kakashi lifted the cup to his masked lips, Izuna entered the study. “Hayato and Shizuka will arrive shortly,” he announced. The aforementioned Uchiha are the clan’s top seal masters. While the Hatake could teach the seal to all of the clan’s sealing experts, it was more practical if Hayato and Shizuka learned it. With the acquired knowledge, they could teach it to the remaining masters and experts without the tension of learning from a halfbreed.

Silently, Kakashi curled his finger over the edge of his mask and pulled it down. With a combination of hand placement, cup placement, and low-grade genjutsu, the former nomad sipped his tea whilst simultaneously preserving his privacy.

 

[arbus]

„I decided to take a small detour before I arrived.“

Madara halted in his movements, his eyes on the scrolls so pointedly placed. Understanding dawned immediately on his features, which, for the briefest of moments, slipped to reveal unadulterated, unschooled, raw emotion. He extended his hand as if he could not help it, all drowsiness fallen off, and his hand hovered over one of the scrolls, without touching.

Only when he realized that his fingers trembled did he curl them into a lose fist, withdrawing his hand to place it on his thigh.

„Hayato and Shizuka will arrive shortly.“

He looked up at his brother, suddenly strikken at how clueless he was; at the fact that, without his brother's knowledge, the bodies of his comrades were lying on that table. Izuna had fought so hard in that battle, doing his utmost to make up for Madara's constrained participation. Had stood in the very first rows, shoulder to shoulder with those comrades that now were not anymore, and how quickly Madara's heart had beaten in the wardrum of barely contained panic at his brother's recklessness. Suddenly, he found he could not sit still any longer, and said: "About that fresh air ... why don‘t you join me for a walk, mutt.“

„But, aniki—"

Madara, palms splayed on the table, stemmed himself up. „The sealing lesson can wait until morning. You will stay the night, I assume", he continued, looking at the Hatake's familiarly relaxed frame. He could make out no apparent traces of that near-fatal injury; and had it been only four weeks ago since that day, that had send the Uchiha and Senju spiralling into another conflict, that had led to the battle on the plains and cost them so dearly?

The compound was subdued in the aftermath of that fight; the losses had been high, and as Madara went up face to face with Hashirama, the other's eyes had been weary and heavy with a grim sadness he had felt in his own heart -- a sort of resignation, about the way the world thrust them against each other, with no apparent way to stop this devlisih momentum.

"But, aniki, the banquet", Izuna murmured, shooting him a meaningful glance that said: You can't seriously think about inviting him.

"The banquet", Madara spat, a snarl of disgust on his face as he swept up the scrolls. "I don't want to hear another word about that fucking banquet."

Izuna narrowed his eyes, which were flitting to the mutt, who had no business hearing them fight. "You know how important--"

"Hatake-san", Madara said, a cynical smile spreading on his lips, "would you do my clan the honor of attending the absolutely appropriate festivities to their clan head's fucking birthday?"

Izuna scoffed, a sound very close to an offended cat.

 

[roxybirdie]

His charcoal hues sharpened. The elder Uchiha’s shift in position was subtle, almost unnoticeable to the naked eye. Pure, unadulterated emotion reflected inside the Clan Head’s obsidian eyes, but a split second later, it vanished. Kakashi noticed the slight tremble in the ravenette’s palm, but instead of commenting, the silver-haired halfbreed sipped his tea. The oolong was a tad too sweetened for his liking, but the blend was pleasant, nonetheless. With a guileful combination of placement, Kakashi lowered his cup and donned his mask without exposing his face. He glanced at the younger Uchiha, noticing his lack of reaction regarding the scrolls. Did the younger teen fail to look underneath the underneath?

Although, how could he recognize the scrolls if he wasn’t familiar with the concept? Kakashi didn’t elaborate and he had no intentions of elaborating.

”...why don’t you join me for a walk, mutt.”

Snapping out of his musings, Kakashi directed his attention to the Clan Head. He arched an eyebrow at the offer. “Oh?” In spite of the opened window, the study reeked of old sweat, herbal tea, and pundgeant musk; a combination currently irritating his sensitive nose. A walk, even in the presence of Uchiha Madara, sounded exceptionally appealing. Kakashi opened his mouth, about to answer, but the elder Uchiha and his younger brother cut him off. It was glaringly apparent, based on the younger teen’s disgruntled expression and tense body language, he didn’t want to argue in front of the halfbreed.

”...would you do my clan the honor of attending the absolutely appropriate festivities to their clan head's fucking birthday?”

Kakashi blinked in response, momentarily caught off guard. Considering his detour took longer than he planned, Kakashi anticipated the possibility of spending a night in the Uchiha compound. Even if the Clan Head didn’t offer, Kakashi wasn’t perturbed by the thought of traversing the Land of Fire on a cold winter night. However, he never considered the concept of being invited to anything, especially a banquet in honor of the Uchiha Clan Head. “Maa, maa...” From the corner of his eye, Kakashi eyed the younger Uchiha. His lips twitched at the teen’s rendition of a spitting kitten. “It would be rude of me not to. On the behalf of the Hatake, I accept,” he replied. The silver-haired halfbreed tilted his head, eyes curving upward into a signature, misleading eye-smile. “Shall we?” he added, gesturing to the door. A stroll outside was significantly better than standing inside a stuffy office.

Izuna gritted his teeth, but he held his tongue. He refused to give the Hatake the pleasure of witnessing a full-grown argument. “I’ll notify Hayato and Shizuka,” he grumbled. Without another word, the younger Uchiha pivoted and exited — he did not stomp. Uchiha don’t stomp — the study.

The former nomad folded his arms, concealing his forearms underneath his yukata’s sleeves. “Maa, I won’t be poisoned at the banquet, will I?” Kakashi drawled, a hint of amusement evident in his lackadaisical tone.

 

[arbus]

The glance Madara threw after his brother could not be described as anything less than grimly satisfied -- winning an argument with the vexing sibling always had a way of cheering him up, no matter how childish the notion was. Madara scoffed at the mutt's words. He stepped out of the study, leading the other down the long, winding hallways until they crossed a smaller array of rooms that eventually lead out into the cold winter air.

"I can't make any promises", he replied. Once they were out in the cold, Madara drew the haori around himself, as if to shield himself from the cold. In the washed out light of a winter day nearing its end, his face looked colorless, the shadows under his eyes tinted bluish, that shade of exhaustion that spoke of restless nights. In his hands, he carried the five scrolls the Hatake had handed to him, and he found it hard to find any words at all, so he did not bother to search for them; he remained silent, for the half hour they walked the compound -- like a tour for the other's sake, ironical enough after he had seen it all in his flight -- until they had entered that small cluster of trees that hid the secret passage way through which the silver-haired man had fled that fateful day. In its midst was a large pond, now frozen, and a few scattered rocks, smooth and inviting to sit. Madara sank down on one of them, with a gruff sound that was a suppressed cough, and placed the scrolls before his feet, in a meticulous row.

They were alone; no other Uchiha was in the streets, the windows of houses lit. It was eerily quiet, a silence only ever invoked by grief, and death, and the aftermath of war.

A familiar silence, to Madara's ears.

"That banquet", he said, without looking at the mutt, "what do you think about it? Having a celebration in the wake of these shinobi's deaths." He uttered a joyless laugh. "If I could get away with roasting the elders, putting away with them once and for all, believe me, I would not hesitate." He ground his palm against his eyes; his shoulders hunched, he looked like a man on the brink of an abyss. "But we need to project strength. We need to show Hashirama that I am not weakened, not useless to my clan." He shook his head. "Dancing on our own people's graves to do so. I wonder, sometimes, what things I will have to do to make my clan have peace."

 

[roxybirdie]

”I can’t make any promises,”

Had the situation been different, Kakashi might of considered it a harmless quip. On the other hand, considering his current standing with the Uchiha clan, Kakashi wouldn’t be surprised if a single clansman decided to fuck the alliance and lace his food with poison. A part of him should be concerned with the very much real concept, but truthfully, Kakashi was desensitized to the notion. If a clansman threatened the treaty, they had to trump his battle-honed instincts and hypersensitive nose. While Kakashi wasn’t a poison specialist, he had enough experience with assessing his food or drinks for poison. Once the elder Uchiha exited the office, the younger Hatake followed.

Down the hallway, to the right, another right, and one left later, the Clan Head and ambassador stepped outside. Kakashi incorporated the route to memory, filing it with his previous compound observations. Besides his prior imprisonment and escape, it was the first time he was granted access inside the Uchiha compound. He assessed every single aspect, from insignificant details to important establishments. From the corner of his eye, Kakashi noticed the older Uchiha’s ghastly pallor and shadowed eyes. Instead of subjecting the Clan Head to his witty tongue, the former nomad surveyed his surroundings silently. Recognition dawned on his expression. Half an hour later, the pair entered a familiar clearing.

Last time, Kakashi didn’t bother to observe his surroundings. He cared more about escaping and surviving than assessing the scenery. Now, many weeks later, the Hatake wasn’t a prisoner inside the compound, but a guest. Things certainly changed, didn’t they? Without a threat looming over his head, Kakashi scanned the clearing. The silver-haired halfbreed lowered himself on a rock adjacent to his companion’s. He averted his gaze, eyeing the five nondescript scrolls placed on the ground in a meticulous row.

”Dancing on our own people's graves to do so. I wonder, sometimes, what things I will have to do to make my clan have peace.”

Unbeknownst to the older man, Kakashi didn’t carry five empty scrolls to the battlefield. The true source of his unscheduled delay was he brought nine empty scrolls to the battlefield. Instead of collecting the bodies of the Uchiha’s fallen, the former nomad sealed all the corpses. Once he completed his task, Kakashi handed the scrolls containing the fallen Senju to one of his mother’s summons, who followed him to the battlefield. As the summons delivered the scrolls, Kakashi continued his journey to the Uchiha compound. “Some people might consider the concept callous,” he began. In spite of the scarecrow’s lackadaisical tone, a somber undertone was evident. “Without a doubt, a banquet is the last thing on everyone’s mind.” Kakashi leaned forward, resting his forearms on his knees. The war veteran lifted his head, staring at the darkening sky.

“It doesn’t matter what I think,” Kakashi pointed out. His stomach roiled at the phantom scent of burning flesh. Witnessing the aftermath of the battlefield didn’t deter him — he saw enough death that the very concept unfazed him — but he was susceptible to certain scents. “What I do know, though, is true strength comes from your people; be it your comrades or the clansmen you swore to protect.” The silver-haired halfbreed glimpsed at the seemingly innocent scrolls on the frost-covered ground. “Celebrating at a banquet doesn’t mean you’re undermining their sacrifices. Any type of celebration, no matter the occasion, should be cherished,” he announced. Kakashi flexed his hands, ignoring the phantom sensation of blood coating his fingers. Even if his hands are bare, burning flesh always triggered the sensation of blood.

Instinctively, Kakashi pressed his hand against his sternum. Instead of a black orb-turned-pole penetrating his chest, his fingers met smooth fabric and unbroken skin. “If we don’t, all there’s left is war and bloodshed,” he murmured. Slowly, Kakashi retracted his palm. “Peace cannot be achieved alone.” The Hatake rose into a standing position. He brushed off the frost clinging to his yukata. “If you want to prove to the Senju or your clan that you’re not weak, break the cycle,” he declared. What cycle, one might ask? Despite the deliberately vague message, the answer was evident if Madara looked underneath the underneath.

The Hatake ambassador pivoted, facing the direction of the pathway leading to the Uchiha main estate. Every inch of his frame remained languid and unassuming. However, his charcoal hues darkened, a haunted gleam penetrating his lackadaisical gaze. While he was on the cusp of adulthood, his eyes reflected his true age underneath the visage of youth; a war veteran in the body of a child. “If we stay out here any longer, you might turn into an icicle,” Kakashi commented. All of the sudden, a frigid breeze swept over the clearing, further cementing his point. Shivers trickled down his spine, but the quality of his winter attire protected him from the brunt of the chilly gale.

 

[arbus]

“It doesn’t matter what I think."

Madara scoffed. It obviously mattered what the mutt thought, otherwise he would not have gone to the trouble asking. He missed Izuna, his brother to be by his side. As infuriating as his brother was to him most times, childish and stubborn and an adolescent know-it-all, he was a good listener too, and normally it would be him sitting at Madara's side. But ever since Madara had forged that alliance with the Hatake clan, his brother had grown distant; never had they disagreed so profoundly before, and it was hard to navigate those waters now, this unfamiliar territory of conflict. Maybe he was sharing too much with the mutt, but --

„ ... true strength comes from your people."

Slowly, Madara lifted his eyes to the mutt; his words were unexpected, but stirred something in him. It was evident by the frown on his face, an expression directed inward. But something on the mutt's visible features drew him out of his reflexion, and the frown deepened into something akin to concern, his gaze flickering to the hand pressed against the mutt's chest.

"Peace cannot be achieved alone. If you want to prove to the Senju or your clan that you're not weak, break the cycle."

Madara's jaw clenched, and he watched the Hatake get to his feet. "You talk about peace", he growled, his face suddenly tingly and numb, "All those pretty words. You seem to think you know just what to do." The words lacked bitterness, however; the anger behind them was deep-seated and ultimately self-directed, and Madara welcomed the freezing gale, driving into his kimono and brushing against his heated skin like icy fingers. He had spent much of his time in the archieves, lately; between crips scrolls, the smell of old parchment and flaking ink on the tips of his fingers, in his nose. He did not know how the conflict between his clan and the Senju escalated like it did, again and again; the mutt was speaking of a cycle, and wasn't it just that? A vicious, never-ending cycle of war, of bloodshed and hell?

He scoffed at the notion of breaking it. If the Hatake thought him weak because he had not found a way, he could not find a way, then so be it. It had been the Senju's strive for revenge that had lead them to this particular battlefield on the plains, that had buried a dozen comrades in the depths of a fucking scroll. Retaliation was something that came natural at this point, Madara knew; just an hour ago, the elders had argued to push for another attack, now that the Senju were severely weakend. But Madara had not forgotten the look in Hashirama's eyes, and the way he had kept evading Madara's attacks instead of retaliating them.

But Senju Hashirama was not a saint; his patience was wearing thin, and driven into a corner, given the chance, he would crush Madara in the blink of an eye.

Madara took the scrolls with him as he stood; he had been at a momentary loss what to do with the bodies; there was no cemetery, no place of commemoration. If graves were dug, it was in non-descript areas in the woods surrounding the compound. This was only seldomly the case; to bury the corpses of more than a dozen fallen Uchiha at a time had not been done for years, and it required logistics the clan head needed to speak to the elders about before he could make a decision of what to do.

"Natsuki will show you to your room", Madara was saying. He had started walking alongside the mutt back to the main estate, the scrolls once again cradled in his hands. "You should get some rest." Not a moment after they had re-entered the house, there was a deafening rumble, a clatter, and then a shadow darted around the corner -- flitting navy blue robes and a head of curly hair -- coming up short as the shadow bounced against the ambassador, stumbled backwards, and fell onto his behind after a hopeless try to regain his balance.

Two large, dark eyes in a round, cherubic face looked up at the two men before him, growing large and tearful as he recognized the clan head. "Ma-Madara-sama", he stuttered, before his eyes landed on the silver-haired man. "Ah", the sound came terribly close to a whimper, and he skidded back a bit. "S-sorry."

A second later, Natsuki rounded the corner, the wrath only a furious mother could hold in her wake; but the moment she recognized the two men before her, much like the boy, she deflated, and instead of the scolding that had so clearly been on her lips she bowed deeply.

"Forgive my son, Madara-sama. Hatake-san."

Madara raised his eyebrows. All that noise sounded supiciously as if it had been coming out of the dinning room. "Why are you running in the hallways, squirt? Didn't your mother tell you it is forbidden?"

"Ah, y-yes", the little boy -- he could not be older than four, five years, squeaked. "She did, M-Madara-sama."

Natsuki placed a hand on the boys head, forcing him into a bow alongside herself. "Please excuse my son. I will drown him in the koi pond shortly."

Madara snorted.

"Mh-hm. That is exactly the kind of threat my mother used make. Natsuki, please show Hatake-san to his room, and make sure he has everything he requires." He turned briefly to the mutt, informing him, "I will see you later,", before he recommenced his path down the hallway. Once Madara was out of sight, the boy relaxed visibly, but a soft knock on the head from Natsuki had him draw up his shoulders again.

"How often did I tell you not to touch anything,Kagami?", she hissed, before she looked up at the silver-haired man before her. "Ah, please follow me, Hataka-san. Your rooms are ready for you."

 

[roxybirdie]

”All those pretty words. You seem to think you know just what to do.”

A humorless, self-deprecating chuckle rumbled inside his chest. The elder Uchiha had no idea. Kakashi doubted the Clan Head — a man blinded by the overflowing bloodshed and jaded from the relentless war — saw underneath the underneath. He anticipated it, but at the same time, he had no intention of decrypting his hidden message. Some lessons are better taught with life-changing experiences. One day, without a doubt, Madara would look underneath the underneath and see the truth. Instead of retaliating, Kakashi remained silent. Unless he exposed himself — Nōka was a necessity; Madara could wait — Kakashi didn’t bother correcting the older man’s, without a doubt, misconceived conclusions. Silently, the silver-haired halfbreed followed the older Uchiha to the main estate.

Half an hour later, the Uchiha Clan Head and Hatake ambassador entered the estate. The moment they stepped foot inside the building, a loud crash reverberated throughout the corridor. All of the sudden, a blip of dark navy and obsidian jetted closer to the elder Uchiha and younger Hatake. Kakashi shifted his weight, stabilizing himself before the unknown blip collided against his shins. His immediate instinct was to retaliate, but he detected no threat. As his charcoal eyes landed on the blip, a pair of doe-like obsidian eyes gazed at him. It was a child, a small boy no older than four. His heart lurched in response, dread coiling inside his stomach.

On the outside, Kakashi remained unperturbed. He blinked slowly, but otherwise, his expression remained indifferent. On the inside, however, Kakashi was searching for an escape route. Frantic snippets of kami, what I do? or should I — no, that’s too dangerous for a child or anything of the sort resonated inside his mind. Kakashi had enough experience with teenagers and pre-teenagers to, albeit awkwardly, interact with a semblance of grace. However, children under the age of ten? He had zero experience. The former nomad, without a shadow of a doubt, was horrendously awkward with small children.

”Ah, please follow me, Hatake-san. Your rooms are ready for you.”

Said man snapped out of his stupor. He barely registered the Clan Head’s parting message before the elder Uchiha left him in the presence of a mother and her child. Kakashi inclined his head politely. Once he followed the older woman, her son flanked his left side. Despite his wariness, the boy’s eyes gleamed with curiosity. Kakashi deliberately ignored the gaze, focusing on the pathway in front of him. He instinctively catalogued the route inside his head.

“How did you get that scar?” inquired Kagami.

He glimpsed at the Uchiha munchkin, noticing the direction of the boy’s pointed index finger. Kakashi lifted his hand, draping it over his left eye.

“Kagami!” Natsuki hissed. She pivoted, bowing at the silver-haired man. “I apologize for my son’s rudeness. Here’s your room,” she announced. Down the hallway, one right, and two lefts later, the Uchiha woman opened a door leading to his designated room for the evening.

Kakashi waved his hand. “Maa, maa, it’s fine. Children are naturally curious,” he dismissed. The former nomad shifted, facing the boy. Out of nowhere, the child’s curly hair — an uncommon feature in the Uchiha clan — reminded him of an old subordinate long ago. For a moment, the image of an older boy with a mischievous grin overlapped the younger boy. Kakashi blinked, shattering the image. Shisui. Considering the boy’s unruly hair, it wouldn’t surprise him if he was a direct descendant of the future hellion. His heart clenched at the thought. While Shisui was never officially assigned to Team Ro, his constant presence made him an unofficial member. As the best friend of his younger subordinate, Kakashi was intimately familiar with the exuberant Uchiha. Without another word, the former taichō crouched in front of the boy. “I got this scar from protecting my first friend,” he announced. He lowered his palm, revealing his left eye.

“Did-did it hurt?” Kagami questioned childishly, a small frown marring his lips.

His eyes curved upward into a genuine eye-smile. “It did, but I would do it again to protect my precious people,” Kakashi replied. He raised his hand, ruffling the boy’s unruly curls. “Maa, you better listen to your mother, Kagami-kun. We don’t want you to drown in a koi pond, ne?” His charcoal eyes glimmered with amusement.

“Y-yes!” Noticing his mother’s stern gaze, Kagami hastily bowed. “T-thank you, Hatake-san!”

A chuckle escaped his lips. “Maa, maa, so formal. You can call me Kakashi, pup,” Kakashi replied. He ruffled the boy’s hair once more, rose into a standing position, and bowed at the child’s mother. Fortunately, it seemed she wasn’t inflicted by the clan’s curse. “Thank you for escorting me to my room,” he added.

She inclined her head. “Come along, Kagami,” Natsuki announced.

As his mother left, Kagami followed. “Bye-bye, Kaka-nii!” He waved at the silver-haired man.

Once the mother and child left, Kakashi heaved a sigh of relief. He turned around, entered the guest room, and closed the door behind him.

 

[arbus]

The guest room was spacious and comfortable; a bedroll, not yet spread, was placed in one corner, donning a thick blanket. Traditional art hung on the walls, and a sliding door was leading to a joined room with a washitsu and fresh tea. The sliding doors of both rooms led to the inner garden with the willow and pond, situated directly opposite the Uchiha's study. It was a long way from the underground cell; clearly, the rooms were intended for important guests, the furniture a rich cherry wood and the smell of wood polish and fresh linen heavy in the air. Next to an arrangement of mistletoes in a clay vase stood a small collection of books, and on the wall hung a full attired kimono in Uchiha colors but devoid of any clan insignia.

*​

The commencement of the feast was unmistakable, when, a few hours later, voices like soft murmurs started to sound through the main estate; albeit Madara's words, which might have lead to belief the festivities to be extraordinarily flamboyant, the banquet was a rather small affair -- a total of twenty-five, mostly elderly looking Uchiha gathered in the large dinning room, which was furnished with a long, traditional table. At its head, the seat was yet empty, and Izuna glanced from it to the seat to its immediate left; a seat of honor, and he had the sinking feeling he knew exactly who was supposed to take it. The table was overflowing with a large array of food; from bowls of rice to gyoza, udon soup and curry, the dishes were simple, but the smell was mouth-watering. Bottles of expensive sake were lined up along the table, and the clan members -- extended family and the elders (always the elders) -- conversed in low tones, throwing glances at the missing clan head's spot and at Izuna both.

"Relax, cousin", Hikaku said, throwing Izuna a small smile. Izuna was so tense he looked like he was about to snap.

"I am relaxed", Izuna muttered, belying his own words at the way he ground his teeth together, that ugly habit he had developed around the time of his father's death. "I just wish my brother did not insist on inviting ... you know."

"Pst", Hikaku urged, eyes flicking to the assembled advisers to the clan head. "Better not poke the bear by bringing this up."

"I think we can safely assume the bear to be poked already", Izuna commented dryly.

*
​

The soft knock did not come from the hallway, but the engawa outside. Madara stood in full attire, sporting a black kimono and hakama, donned with a white obi and a silken black haori, embroidered with a blood-red, intricate flower pattern, waiting in front of the guest rooms for the Hatake to open the door. His breath came in white puffs, and the silence of the garden was a stark contrast to the buzz inside; the kitchen personell busy with running to fro, dishes clattering softly, and it all reminded him of those days both his parents had lived, and all of his siblings, when the Uchiha clan had prospered in that short span before the conflict had grown into full-out wars.

 

[roxybirdie]

Charcoal eyes surveyed the spacious guest quarters. “Maa, maa, don’t I feel special,” Kakashi drawled. The silver-haired halfbreed glanced at the elegant kimono hanging off the wall. While it featured traditional Uchiha coloring, the kimono was devoid of the clan’s insignia. He approached the small shelf containing a simple collection of books, including a few scrolls. Kakashi fingered the spines of the books, examining the titles. He selected a book titled, Chakra Strings: The Art Of Puppetry, and turned around, taking a seat on the bedroll. The former nomad reclined on the bedroll, flipped open his book, and started reading.

*​

Half an hour later, once Kakashi completed his reading, the war veteran applied a modified privacy seal — the same seal he utilized on the island — on the floor, activated his Mangekyō, and vanished to his personal dimension. The moment his feet landed on a grey pillar, Kakashi dragged a hand down his face. “If things go according to plan, the battle that acts as the catalyst for the Uchiha and Senju peace negotiations will commence soon,” he muttered. He lifted his head, staring at the starry abyss above the multitude of grey pillars. “Your clan is so stubborn, Obito. I can see why you wiped them out,” he huffed sardonically. For a moment, the silver-haired halfbreed pictured his aforementioned teammate snorting. If Obito were here, he might even have the gall to say, ’Scared, Bakashi?’

His lips twitched at the image. “Knucklehead,” Kakashi chuckled. Without another word, the former nomad navigated through the traps, disabled them, and approached his scroll. He unsealed an inkwell and brush from his signature storage seal, lowered himself on the pillar, and opened the scroll. As he recorded the recent events, Kakashi contemplated the upcoming, inevitable battle. History depicted it as the turning point in the thousand-year — history never specified the years, but considering the knowledge a certain sage bestowed him, Kakashi knew the truth — war between the Uchiha and Senju. He was aware of the destined outcome, but did his meddling change the outcome for the worse? Kakashi couldn’t force the Uchiha and Senju to make peace. Any direct meddling would expose his mission. If the Uchiha or Senju realized his true origin, all hell would break loose.

“I wonder how Uchiha Madara might feel if I joined the battle,” Kakashi mumbled. The very notion was unbelievably insane, but what if he ensured the tide shifted in favor of peace? While the Uchiha-Hatake alliance prevented Uchiha or Hatake involving each other in personal skirmishes, Kakashi noticed one loophole; he was half-Uchiha. Technically, should Kakashi enter the battle as an Uchiha, the Clan Head couldn’t stop him nor accuse him of breaking the treaty.

*​

A few hours passed since Kakashi entered his personal dimension. One hour prior, the silver-haired halfbreed returned from his dimension, deactivated his privacy seal, and erased all traces of the aforementioned seal. He took advantage of the green tea provided and read half of the books on the small shelf. By the time a soft knock alerted a presence outside the engawa, Kakashi donned the elegant kimono hanging off the wall. The main piece of the ensemble was solid black with a crimson obi and a navy blue silken haori embroidered with white and crimson spider lilies. The war veteran approached the sliding door, opened it, and met the Clan Head’s obsidian gaze. “Maa, maa, I’m being escorted by the Clan Head himself? You know how to make your guests feel special,” Kakashi drawled, eyes curving upward. A hint of mischief was evident in his lackadaisical gaze.

He smoothed the front of his kimono. It was a tad large on his lean frame, but the obi secured it. Had Kakashi been graced with raven locks, not Hatake silver, he would resemble an ordinary Uchiha. The Hatake ambassador pivoted, facing the direction of the largest concentration of noise. “Shall we?” While it was a celebration in the Clan Head’s honor, Kakashi couldn’t help but feel he was about to enter a pit of venomous snakes. Without a doubt, not a single Uchiha attending the banquet would be pleased with a halfbreed joining the festivities. On the other hand, despite his prior concern, Kakashi was looking forward to it.

 

[arbus]

Madara huffed, but when he spoke, his voice met the amusement glinting in the other‘s eyes. „I‘m making sure nobody is poisoning your food, mongrel.“ His dark gaze swept over the Hatake‘s attire, and that glance lingered, although it was impossible to read. Instead of commenting on the other‘s choice to wear the provided kimono — something Madara truthfully had not expected — he continued,„You can thank me later“, as he stepped into the room. Crossing it, he took note of the books lying scattered around thr bedroll, before they continued their way through the hallway and into the dinning room.

As soon as they entered, the chatter died down, and all eyes went to the clan head, entering with the halfbreed by his side. It was a silent message, one that not a single man and woman on that table missed, and Izuna blanched under the weight of it.

"Steady", Hikaku muttered under his breath, his elbow poking Izuna's ribcage lightly.

"Madara-sama", an old man said, rising to his feet. Clad in an hitatare, his get-up spoke of his importance. His face was long and lean, like a horse's, the deep-set eyes glistening sharply, the lines in the sagging skin of his face buried deep. He had a high forehead, donned by wisps of white hair, and the lips were bloodless and thin, turned into a perpetual pout. He bowed. "Congratulations to your birthday."

"Thank you, Yoshitaka-san. May I introduce you all to Hatake Kakashi, ambassador of the Hatake clan and our honored guest."

If the slight smirk on Madara's lips was anything to go by, he relished in the murmurs that statement elicited, but the expression was gone as fast as it came.

The old man -- Yoshitaka -- managed to gloss over the look of astonishment on his face by clearing his throat and making a great show of gesturing towards the empty seat next to the clan head's spot. "Please, Hatake-san, join us on this merry occasion."

Madara had moved, and as he sat down at the table, he threw the mutt a half-curious, half-conspirational glance; there was mirth in his own eyes, which made them warm, his expression almost soft, if it were not for that grim smile tugging on his lips.

Izuna, who had watched that particular display with a frown, now eyed his brother suspiciously. There was no doubt in his mind that Madara was enjoying this, and it made it hard for Izuna to decide of he should be angry or laugh at the flabbergasted faces of the elders; but one glance at the halfbreed was enough to wipe away any stirrings of amusement, and his heart closed up against any notions of joy -- not when that impertinent man moved amongst them as if be belonged, standing next to his brother as if he had any right, donning their clan's colors as if to mock them.

 

[roxybirdie]

”I’m making sure nobody is poisoning your food, mongrel.”

The silver-haired halfbreed didn’t bother to suppress his snort. “How kind of you,” Kakashi drawled, tone drier than the Land of Wind. He stepped back, allowing the elder Uchiha inside. As the Clan Head crossed the guest quarters, outside the room, and down the hallway, Kakashi followed. Three rights and one left later — at this point, cataloguing the route was instinctive — the elder Uchiha and younger Hatake entered the formal dining room. Once they stepped inside the spacious room, all eyes gravitated toward him. Kakashi tilted his head, every inch of his frame languid and unassuming.

Within the crowd of Uchiha gathered at the long table, Kakashi spotted a familiar, somewhat friendly face; Hikaku. He flashed the younger Uchiha an eye-smile, the gesture more genuine compared to his lackadaisical mask. He scanned the table, noticing the array of simple, but mouthwatering food. From the corner of his eye, Kakashi witnessed a small hand waving at him before a feminine voice reprimanded the owner of said palm. The Uchiha munchkin and his mother are present. His eyebrow twitched, but otherwise, his expression remained unperturbed. If he ignored the ankle-biter, maybe the toddler would lose interest?

”...May I introduce you all to Hatake Kakashi, ambassador of the Hatake clan and our honored guest.”

He arched an eyebrow. Honored guest? Oh ho, that was the angle of the Clan Head’s game? It explained the kimono donning his frame. Kakashi met the aforementioned Uchiha’s gaze. The fabric of his mask stretched upward, indicating a grin. If Uchiha Madara wanted to play, game on. The silver-haired halfbreed inclined his head politely. Silently, Kakashi crossed the room, taking a seat on the left side of the Clan Head. The significance of the specific spot didn’t escape him. A part of him wanted to laugh at the irony. A former prisoner now the honored guest of a celebration in the Clan Head’s honor? Scratch his previous statement, he was poking a horde of sleeping dragons. “I think the shock of my presence might kill them,” he muttered, eyeing the elders. His tone was low enough to reach Madara’s ears only. “If this was your plan all along, I can’t say I’m against it.” Amusement was evident in his whispered tone.

Hikaku elbowed his best friend’s side once more. “Glaring won’t help,” he pointed out.

Izuna directed his attention to his infuriating friend. “You expect me to sit here and do nothing?” he hissed.

A deadpanned gaze met the agitated Uchiha’s. “Yes,” Hikaku countered.

If looks could kill, Kakashi would be six feet under. Once the Clan Head arrived, the feast commenced. He raised a cup to his masked lips, but paused. The former nomad glanced at the group of Uchiha eyeing him, specifically his mask. Kakashi repressed a chuckle. Without a word, the Hatake curled his finger over the edge of his mask and pulled it down. Similar to his time in the study, a combination of hand placement, cup placement, and low-grade genjutsu ensured his privacy. He sipped his tea, charcoal hues glimmering with mirth. It would take a couple of his more cunning techniques to consume his meal without exposing his face.