moor

Part Two - The Battle [first battle]

Part Three - The Battle [continued]

• Gorgeous fanart by tumblr users sarcastic-mommy and sayurinomoe!

The Secret [continued]:

He set aside the dreamless sleep tea herbs for that night, as she suggested. 

For that, he was richly, painfully, rewarded.

In his rooms, she came to him. Madara knew they were his rooms, though they were differently arranged. His hand is stroking a tiny head of silky soft, warm hair as he rocks the cradle his son sleeps in. He has built a comfortable, firm nest of cushions and wrapped blankets around them. They sit near a fireplace to keep warm, and outside it is cold, the window panes frosty from winter winds. Inside his room, however, it is tender and warm, and he smells her, feels her body pressed into his side as she rests against him under his arm, a thick, heavy blanket wrapped around them. Inside him, his restlessness has been replaced by peace and he is content and sated. He can hear their soft breathing, smiling at his son’s kitten snores and the still pink cheeks of his mate.

The dream sustains him through the long winter night until morning, when Misao and Izuna shake him awake.

“Hn, finally,” teased Izuna, though there is relief in his tone. Behind Izuna, Misao is wringing his hands, his eyes wide with concern. 

Confused at the sudden change in his position, Madara jerks up in bed, his eyes searching his room.

The nest disappeared. 

The fire burned out long ago.

Worst of all, the cradle, his son and wife, were gone.

No, realizes Madara mournfully as the sudden sharp pain in his chest has him grabbing at his sternum, his jaw clenched as he listed to the side. They were never real.

“I’m going for a doctor!” cried Misao, running from the room as Madara swayed, pale with grief.

“Brother,” began Izuna, seeing the genuine emotion in Madara’s eyes. He reached for him, supporting his shoulder.

“Hn,” growled Madara, turning away from the fireplace and all he’d lost. “What time is it?”

“It’s late. Almost mid-morning. You… you slept well?” asked Izuna, squeezing Madara’s shoulder. He clenched his jaw as Madara’s downcast eyes and stiff lip remained.

“Hn,” replied Madara noncommittally. 

In that moment, through all his pain, Madara realized that he did feel well-rested. For the first time in nearly a year, he was fully aware of himself and his surroundings. The fog had cleared, his mind was sharp. 

He had a duty to perform, and it was well past the hour in which he would have been meeting his advisors to review the first quarter of the Birth Registry.

Running a hand through his hair, Madara again felt the pair of small protrusions from his scalp that had erupted during the Battle. No one had mentioned them, not even Izuna. His hair still covered them, at least. They grew longer and sharper, however, over time. 

He’d felt the soft, downy nubs on his son’s head, in his dream.

Were they real, or a figment of his imagination, too?

“Can you stand?” asked Izuna cautiously.

Madara frowned at him.

“If you can, then you’re late for your meeting,” said Izuna, eyes half-lidded with irritation.

“Hn,” huffed Madara. He got to his feet, unsteady but gaining strength. He would analyze his dream later. “Leave. I’ll be ready in a few minutes.”

As he exited his room later, dismissing Misao and Karin—much to their indignation—who waited for him outside, Madara couldn’t help looking back at his personal chambers one last time. His eyes rested on the rug in front of the hearth only for a moment. Then he joined Izuna, Shisui, Itachi and his other advisors at the meeting. In his robes was tucked, unbeknownst to the rest of the assembled, a sachet of the relaxation herbs and note that Sakura had prepared for him.

It was a welcome surprise to all the ministers that their increasingly surly, terse and irritable King had returned to the calm and thoughtful man they once knew and revered.

Izuna, for all his quiet guarding, positioned behind the King, couldn’t help the small smile that crept to his lips when his brother genuinely participated in the meeting, asking questions and making suggestions about how to improve the program.

“Do the babies have enough blankets?” Madara asked at one point. “And firewood?”

The room went silent.

“Sire?” asked Shisui, confused.

“It’s winter and cold,” said Madara, a flush across the back of his neck. Fortunately, it was hidden by his long, wild hair. “Are you ensuring that each family has enough firewood and blankets?”
Shisui and Itachi looked at each other.

“We’ve been inquiring what other necessities families require; we will immediately prepare a supply of blankets and firewood for distribution and deliver them to the medical clinics so they can be provided to needy families as quickly as possible,” said Itachi, writing something down. “And we’ll make a supply available to the Underground, for anyone… who may be more reluctant or unable to receive the official Registry benefits.”

Madara nodded once.

“Prioritize it for this week,” said Madara. 

“Of course, Sire,” said Shisui.

The meeting was silent a moment before Madara added,

“And baby hats.”

“Yes, Sire,” repeated Shisui, straight-faced.

Beside him, Itachi made another note.

Refusing to squirm in his seat, Madara continued the rest of the meeting, as planned.

***

That night, Madara banned everyone from his rooms.

Only when he was sure that even the usual spies were gone did he pop open one of the secret compartments in his walls that opened his private storage. The locked trunk was worn and damaged from the years of war before he established his kingdom, but it was heavy and strong. Pulling what he needed from the bottom, he hesitated, his fingers stroking the bundle gently as his eyes softened.

It had been years since he last set eyes upon it. Feelings more than actual memories flooded him.

He set the larger half of it aside, back in the trunk, before he pulled the smaller one out. Then he closed and locked the trunk, pushing back inside the hidden compartment in his wall.

Wrapping the item carefully, he tucked it into his robe and donned a servant-style cloak, pulling up the hood to hide his tell-tale mane. Without a word to even Izuna, he slipped out the emergency escape route from his room, through the darkness, down into the tunnels that ran beneath the capital. 

There was someone he must find.

It had been some time since Madara had navigated the tunnels himself. New ones had popped up that surprised him as his eyes narrowed at their directions and the possible insinuations. Izuna was normally the one who handled these types of rendezvous; had he been keeping the new tunnels’ appearance from him? Did he know? 

Setting aside that query for the time being, Madara continued on his path, following the tunnel that led to (above ground) the arrondissement of the capital where the nobility resided. He recognized these older tunnels; before the capital was officially established he used to frequent them himself. Noting the way the wooden reinforcement beams had been carved and some even decoratively added, he huffed at the way the nobility had gentrified even the smuggling tunnels beneath their homes.

Soon enough he passed down a particular tunnel, dark with none of the usual lanterns; to anyone else, it would have appeared abandoned.

Madara knew better.

He also knew to pause and tap the wall in a certain pattern once the tunnel’s darkness swallowed him whole.

It took only a moment, but the light appeared immediately. It blinded Madara intentionally.

“Name and business,” called a young man in even tones from behind the lantern, preventing his features from being recognized.

“Your uncle has come to call on his dear sister,” said Madara politely.

Immediately the sound of shuffling feet, rope and rustling fabric met Madara’s ears and the lantern’s beam was hoisted to the ceiling, illuminating the hallway in full. Only then did Madara lift his chin, allowing the light to catch his features from beneath his hood.

“My apologies. This way,” said Sasuke, leading Madara into the closest secret entrance of his home. His dark eyes flickered to Madara’s expressionless face. “It has been so long since you came alone. Do you require an escort back?”

“Not at this time,” replied Madara.

With a curt nod-bow to his esteemed Highness, Sasuke opened the door for Madara and followed him up the stairs.

“She’s in the west sitting room, in the night garden,” said Sasuke, halting at the corridor that led into the main house. “Would you like me to call her for you?”

“No, thank you. Return to your post,” said Madara. Then his brows furrowed. “Why are you in the tunnels? Isn’t that normally a youngling’s role?”

“Itachi sent word that I should be ready for a visit this evening,” said Sasuke, his eyes meeting his uncle’s. “Though he didn’t specify who.”
“Hn,” murmured Madara thoughtfully. “Did he?”

Every so often, Itachi would surprise and impress Madara with his cleverness, and that night was no exception. Madara appreciated Itachi’s foresight and realized it was probably why he was writing notes during that morning’s meeting. It would minimize potential gossip. Itachi either suspected or knew why Madara had put him on the Birth Registry committee as a lead. 

“Those were his only instructions,” assured Sasuke.

Protecting the brother he admired to the end, thought Madara with fond pride. 

“Thank you, that will be all,” said Madara.

With another curt bow, Sasuke returned to the Underground tunnel.

When Madara wandered through his half-sister Mikoto’s lavish home, he was reminded again of how successful she was—and how lucky he was that they were on good terms. The mansion’s guards had dispersed as soon as they heard Sasuke leave, providing him and Mikoto privacy. As Sasuke mentioned, she relaxed in the night garden, among the blooming flowers with their sweet scent and surrounded by all the accoutrements of a master embroiderer, which she was. Over her shoulder were two lamps, carefully angled to shine down upon her long, dainty fingers and their project.

“It’s late for you to be working,” said Madara.

From her cushioned settee, with a small pile of sumptuous fabrics at her elbow, Mikoto looked up at her younger half-brother with a keen, intelligent eye, so like his own.

“It’s late for you to be calling,” she replied, smiling. Her fingers continued their intimate dance with thread and fibre, dipping and pulling back with each stitch. “You look better than you have in some time.”

Arching a brow, Madara sighed and took a seat adjacent to hers, hanging his cloak over the back.

“Must you always gloat about your spies in my castle?” asked Madara, relaxing in spite of the obvious weaknesses in his defences. He knew he could patch them, but then Mikoto would get craftier, and he wasn’t sure he was ready to know the full extent of her reach.

“Big sister benefits. How else am I supposed to keep an eye on you?” teased Mikoto, her lips now showing a wry twist. “I was expecting you hours ago. Is all well?”

“Your oldest is telling tales again, I see. I can’t come for a visit?”

“The King may visit his sister at any time he pleases. But when he takes the tunnels to do so, there’s more to the game,” said Mikoto, her lovely lips forming a genteel, appropriate smile. “What can I help you with, Madara?” she asked gently. “You need only ask.”

His heart thumping in his chest, Madara watched his sister as she sewed so peacefully, her life content and relaxed. When his parents passed, Mikoto became his surrogate mother and taught him so much. She protected him as if they were true siblings, he and Izuna both. She prized family above all else. He knew he could trust her, but still, he nearly wavered.

Swallowing down his fear at sharing something so precious with another, Madara reached into his robes and pulled out the wrapped bundle.

“I need you to find someone,” he said quietly. “Only you.”

“I’m sure it’s something I can trust the boys with,” assured Mikoto. “They’ve never failed me.”

“It can go no further than you and one other,” said Madara seriously, holding Mikoto’s gaze. 

She arched a brow at that and waited for him to continue.

Then, with gentle hands, Madara unwrapped the bundle to show Mikoto. It was the only way for her to understand.

It was the first time in years Madara saw Mikoto’s hands still; her eyes widen and her chest rise and fall so quickly. Her lips opened, but no sound came out.

“Her name is Sakura,” said Madara, folding and wrapping the bundle again, even as Mikoto paled and shook her head at him. A part of him was elated to finally say her name aloud, even if it wasn’t to her yet. At least he could share her with Mikoto. “She is part of the Underground. Tsunade’s branch, probably a medic.”

“Madara,” began Mikoto in warning, her voice barely above a whisper.

“Do not frighten her. Do not threaten her. Do not abduct or otherwise disturb her,” said Madara, his voice rough. He looked down at the small wrapped package in his arms. He wondered longingly about the sleeping bundle in Sakura’s arms. “She has a son, about two months old,” he continued and passed the gift to her. 

When he felt Mikoto reach out to squeeze his arm, murmuring his name in sympathy, he looked up at her again. “This is for him.”

“This is something you should give him,” said Mikoto, her eyes begging him to reconsider.

“I still have the matching one at home,” said Madara. 

“Why?”

“Hn?”

“Why do you not order her home?”

“If I were to try, I would lose her completely,” said Madara, speaking the truth. “She’ll be guarded. You will need to be very gentle as you search.”

Mikoto nodded, cradling the gift.

They were silent a moment before Madara stood. “I’ll see myself out.”

“Madara,” said Mikoto, coming to her feet. “If you need more, tell me. We will do all we can for you. I … I suspected something happened, last year—”
“You mean Itachi already knew,” interrupted Madara, a sliver of anger slicing through him.

“—but we did not want to intrude on your personal life,” clarified Mikoto, her voice stronger. “We thought you sent her away.” She pursed her lips, her brows furrowing. “If we’d known, she never would have left the capital.” Then, as an afterthought, she added. “Don’t blame Itachi for being a tattle-tale. He spoke to me in confidence, and only because he was concerned for you. He saw her leave, that morning. He said she was terrified and injured, like she’d been...”

Madara swallowed, his lips pressing together.

Sensing his strong emotions, Mikoto softened her voice. “He didn’t understand her importance until he put the clues together later. He’s been pulling out all the stops to work on the Registry for you, to help you.”

“Mauled,” said Madara, finishing Mikoto’s sentence for her. “She appeared as if she’d been mauled. And that’s why you let her leave.”

At that, Mikoto straightened her back and inhaled long and quiet.

“There… was some indecision,” admitted Mikoto. But she held Madara’s gaze. “I insisted you would never have harmed someone in that way, but another party interfered.”

“Hashirama,” said Madara tightly. “Tsunade smuggled her out of the city.”

Mikoto neither confirmed nor denied it, but Madara already knew.

“Rather than risk unrest so soon after the Battle, we agreed to disagree and did not pursue her. We needed to keep the capital running,” said Mikoto tiredly. “I’m so sorry, Madara.”

Looking at his sister, Madara remembered again how difficult the first weeks after the Battle were. He had relied on her clear-headed thinking and manoeuvering in the Underground to swiftly smuggle in supplies that under legal circumstances would have taken weeks to obtain. 

As one of the pillars of the criminal Underground, Mikoto was a force to be reckoned with and normally ruled with an iron fist. She and Tsunade had been rivals and collaborators for decades, ensuring that whatever needs the Crown couldn’t meet would be adequately handled by other means. There were other groups of course, but the Senju and Uchiha managed affairs both above and below the legal line… they were just handled by different people within the webs of their organizations and clans.

To hear that Mikoto had set aside her own rules to promote peace and collaboration with the Senju during the reconstruction effort made him realize how much she sacrificed for his kingdom’s sake.

It wasn’t the first time that he thought she should have been Queen, rather than himself as King.

“Don’t give me that look. I’ll slit your throat if you try to abdicate,” said Mikoto, arching a brow at her younger brother as she recognized the look on his face. “I like my freedom.”

Allowing a small smile at her antics, Madara leaned down and kissed his sister’s brow.

“Thank you,” he said softly.

“Would you like to know when we make contact?”

Madara hesitated.

It would be torture knowing, but would he be able to handle not knowing?

Mikoto must have read the indecision in his eyes.
“I’ll let you know. If something changes, it’s best if you know that we can communicate,” said Mikoto.

“No news is good news,” agreed Madara. “At least in this. Your spies won’t be too upset if there’s nothing to talk about, will they?”

Folding her arms, Mikoto gave Madara the stink eye.

He chuckled as he left.

“Be safe,” said Mikoto to his back as he departed.

“And you,” said Madara over his shoulder.

A few minutes later, when he was sure Madara had left, Itachi appeared before his mother. While he’d been up for a day and most of the night, he was perfectly composed with not a hair out of place. As his mother’s primary liaison, he was long used to waiting for the opportune moment before making his appearance.

As he joined Mikoto, she was just finishing up her needlework, putting away her extra thread and snips.

“You were right about the young lady,” said Mikoto, closing the lid on her box of threads. “And now we have her name.”

“Sakura,” said Itachi. “The apprentice who came to the castle with Tsunade last year was Haruno Sakura, from the Senju clan. It is likely the same woman.”

Mikoto nodded, shaking out the project she had been embroidering.

“I didn’t think she was a born Senju. She wasn’t on their family register, unlike Karin, who is on one of their distant branches,” mused Mikoto. She glanced up at her son. “I saw that.”

His eyes tired, Itachi gave his mother a patient look, unwilling to admit he had flinched at the mention of the red-haired healer who had been trying for the better part of the last year to seduce him… and several of his cousins. Simultaneously. “She has moved on to Sasuke, I believe.”

Mikoto sighed. “Well, he’ll wise up to her soon enough. Thank you for letting me know who she’s targeting this week.”

“She is intelligent,” said Itachi, watching his mother.

“She must be, or she wouldn’t have made it into the castle. She’s also husband-shopping among Uchiha nobles in line for the throne,” said Mikoto. “She’s determined and forward, but she lacks finesse and strategy. I’m sure someone will enjoy her boldness and she’ll find her place, but it’s a shame the Senju haven’t helped her polish her social abilities more.”

“Perhaps there was conflict in her past,” murmured Itachi. 

Mikoto looked at her eldest son thoughtfully.

“Remind me tomorrow to have you elaborate on that,” said Mikoto, her sharp eyes not missing a beat. “But for now, you have a very important family duty to attend to.”

Lifting up the elaborately woven silk blanket with the Uchiha crest impeccably embroidered around the trim that she had been working on for the past year, Mikoto smiled. She folded it neatly and put it in a matching bag, including Madara’s gift on top. She had been very busy over the past dozen months.

“You and your brother have a baby cousin to find,” said Mikoto, holding the bag out to Itachi. “This will be very delicate. Tread softly.”

Itachi nodded as he accepted the bag, but did not immediately leave.

When he remained, Mikoto looked up at him again.

“Should I leave a calling card?” he asked, watching his mother carefully.

Folding her hands together, Mikoto looked down, her brows wrinkling pensively. Madara had been very specific in his instructions.

“If you can extend an olive branch, do so, but if there is resistance, seek peace,” said Mikoto, adding, reluctantly, “and retreat. Trust your judgement.”

“I’ll speak to Sasuke in the morning. Shall I send someone to relieve him now?”

“Yes, please,” said Mikoto. The threat of gossip or rumours circulating had receded with the King’s departure. “Set out as early as you can. I’ll send a note along to Izuna that you’re busy with family matters for the next few days.”

“Thank you,” said Itachi, retiring to his room.

Packing away the last of her embroidery supplies, Mikoto let her thoughts wander.

It was nearly an hour later before she joined her husband in bed.

TBC