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Chapter Text

Karuma no Kagami

A Naruto Alternate Universe Fanfic

By Sif Shadowheart

Prologue: Little Brothers are the Worst

…

It didn’t happen the same as the first time.  Well.  At least the first time that she could remember.

What did she know about the mechanics of reincarnation?

Maybe last time her soul or consciousness (whichever one wished to believe or how they wanted to label the ephemeral sense of self that made one…one.  What did she know?  She was only a shinobi who had once-upon-a-time been a writer.  Such issues of philosophical nomenclature were above her paygrade.) passed through the afterlife, she’d forgotten to take a dip in the River Lethe.  Or maybe she’d failed to drink Meng Po’s soup.  It was immaterial.  All that really mattered in the end was that when she came to awareness in her second life, she remembered who she’d been before.

At least, for the life she thought that came before, it was the sort of situation where events were impossible to prove.  For all that she’d known when she’s awoken as Ono Toshiko, future kunoichi of Konohagakure, there’d been a dozen lives between the one where she’d been a writer and Ono Toshiko.  There was no way to know what happened or if she’d gone straight from one life to the next or had one or two or thousands in between them.  All she knew for sure, was that when she was still little more than a baby with their impossible and amazing baby brains and raw potential, she’d remembered being an entirely different person and living an entirely different life.

Now it’s happened all over again…but at least this time it was on purpose.

Sorta.

Kinda.

(Not really, but she’d always been weak to Naruto and his begging eyes…the little brat.)

He’d been the one who’d come up with the idea of a seal implanted in her chakra system as a dead-man’s switch.  A last resort - after a fashion - to save their world.  With an insane rabbit goddess running around and trying to end the world, she’d seen the need for last-ditch efforts and ludicrous ideas.  And no one she’d ever known was better at those than her little (adopted, but who cared about that?) little brother Uzumaki Naruto, jinchuuriki of the Kyuubi.

That impossible genius for out-of-the-box thinking had been why she’d entrusted him, not her lovers, not their sensei, but him, with the knowledge of what had happened to her and how the Samsara Wheel had gone a bit…wonky.

She hadn’t counted on him taking everything in, all that she had to say about who she’d been and what she’d done, and coming up with the idea to weaponize her weird hiccup on the reincarnation express:

…

“Why the hell would you think I’d want to do this all again?”  She remembered asking the grown-up brat her little brother had become, incredulously.  “Haven’t I fucked things up enough for one soul?”

“You didn’t break anything that wasn’t already broken, Toshi-nee.”  Naruto had been viper-quick to shoot back.  “Trying to change things for the better wasn’t wrong.”   He’d frowned.  “I think it just might’ve been too late, no matter what or who tried to do the changing.”

“So your solution is to make me live all over again, without you and everyone we love?”   Her voice had broken on the question.  “At some nebulous point in the past?”

Naruto’s face had darkened and grown serious as they watched a patrol roll in, one containing his lover, her own still out in the field somewhere trying to save more shinobi remnants from becoming meat in Kaguya’s army.

“If not you, then who?”   He’d asked simply.  “You’ve already lived a life before, the idea of it wouldn’t be beyond your mental ability to accept.”   Then it was his turn for his voice to break with emotion.  “And you’re the best survivor I know, nee-chan.  If you’re gone…you’d probably already be mourning the rest of us anyway.  At least with my idea, you might be able to save us from ever having died in the first place.”

“You don’t play fair, Rokudaime.”   She remarked, darting a pointed look to the jacket he wore that was a ringer for the one his father once wore.  The kageship was supposed to pass to one of her lovers, but after the slaughter of the Uchiha by Zetsu and Kaguya’s forces, neither of them had been up to the job when Nara Shikaku had died saving the other kage from an ambush when they were meeting to discuss a unified strike against the insane goddess.

“I can’t afford to.”  Naruto’s admission was more whisper than word.  “Please, Toshi-nee.  Please, let me do this.  At least that way I might have the peace of mind that if you should fall, it’s not permanent and that you might yet live somewhere - somewhen - else.”

“Anything for my brother, Naru-bo.”  She sighed, cracking her neck and then peeling off her top to let the seal-master get started on his work tattooing the seal to “guide” her potential reincarnation over her chakra gates.

…

The plan was that the dead-man’s switch seal Naruto had implanted in her chakra system via seals would be removed as soon as Kaguya was defeated.

That was their agreement.

She’d wear the seal on her heart and soul - among other places, given the locations of the gates on a shinobi’s chakra system - that would meddle with her potential reincarnation but only as a last resort until Kaguya was dealt with.

Only…

Their forces had slowly dwindled.

Kaguya had stolen more and more away, wrapping them up in her chakra-draining cocoons and feasting off of their dreams and life-force like a bloated spider.

Hope had faded, people died, and loss became a permanent part of their lives even beyond what they’d already known as active shinobi.

She lost her lovers first, but it was finding the corpse of Kakashi-sensei that had threatened to break her.

Toshiko wasn’t allowed to break.  Not when they lost Shikamaru at the same time and Naruto’s gaze grew deadened and hollow, only Sasuke’s and Toshiko’s survival keeping him from doing something heroic and stupidly suicidal in the aftermath.  Not when Nobu-ji still stood at her shoulder, taking command of the remaining fighters and scraping together plans for them to survive.

If there was a shinobi alive who was a better example of a human cockroach than herself, it was her uncle, and Toshiko had to start wondering if Naruto had inadvertently laid a curse on her when they’d been setting the terms of her wearing the dead-man’s switch seal.

Or maybe made a mistake on who to put it on.

Either way.

It was different this time.  From the start, even before her mind was able to process two lifetimes’ worth of memories, she’d known what was going on if not always consciously.  Her early weeks or months of life weren’t filled with grief and fear and confusion.  She knew, even when she wasn’t actively capable of knowing anything, that what had happened was planned and agreed to.

It didn’t help the grief of knowing that she really was one of the last of her kind when she’d died, that she’d intentionally sacrificed herself to save her brother and counted on the fail-safe Naruto had designed and implanted on her to work - or not, and then at least she’d be at rest - but it was something.

It let her have peace with her circumstances, if not her memories.

At least…for a time.

Then she figured out when, where, and who she was in this third (and last, if the Sage or the gods or the Flying Spaghetti Monster for all she cared finally had mercy on her soul) life, and peace became a stranger for a long, long time.

…

Uchiha Compound, Fire Country; Warring States Period

Uchiha Takara was born on the longest night of Winter during an especially brutal cold season.  Her birth was considered something of a blessing to her parents, as their marriage had been plagued by miscarriages and pain for several years before her arrival.  Though they weren’t entirely sure why that was, other than perhaps having something to do with her father, Uchiha Hanzou who’d taken the Uchiha name when he’d married in, having a greater well of Yang chakra than most Uchiha clansmen.

It wasn’t an unknown issue when having children, but it was rare to occur to either civilians or clans outside of the notoriously Yang-strong Senju and some Uzumaki, so left the Uchiha midwives and elders alike quite puzzled.

Her birth then was considered auspicious, as she was born during the dawn following the long night and after many years of struggle.

She was her parents’ treasure and was thus named.

However, unbeknownst to her parents or any of her many extended family and relations, there was far more to the pretty baby than her father’s blue eyes and a healthy set of lungs.

Even if it wouldn’t be obvious for many years to come.

…

Her brother sent her here.  As insurance against losing her permanently - Naruto did so hate to lose people -, to let her live on, but with strings attached.  It wasn’t selfless.  Nothing a kage did ever was.

Regardless she was here now, and she had a job to do.

Though she had a feeling that if Naruto-kun had any idea of the thoughts brewing inside her mind on how she was going to fulfill the duty he sent with her hand-in-hand with her memories of her known past lives, he’d have more than a few qualms over what his particular brand of problem solving had set in motion.

Yes, Takara-who-was-Toshiko had a job to do.

But she was going to do it her way.

…

Chapter Text

Karuma no Kagami

Chapter One: I’m sorry, you want me to meet who?!

Uchiha Compound; Takara’s Age: Newborn to Six Years

Fate did like its little jokes.

Takara-who-was-Toshiko’s new father was a hunter.

Not a hunter nin, she should clarify, not that he couldn’t have become one after marrying into the Uchiha Clan if he wanted to.  He had the chakra reserves and control for it.  But a civilian hunter who as a by-product of being the last son of his family line before marrying-in also had been trained by now-gone relatives in tanning and leatherworking.  Fate had jokes.   

At least her father Hanzou appreciated having a daughter that, in the absence of a son, was deeply interested in his trade and craft, picking it up with what probably seemed like astonishing ease.

Takara was a cheating cheater who cheated, and had been long before she’d been born into her third life as an Uchiha who either naturally (or through some fuuinjutsu fuckery that Naruto pulled, which she wasn’t discounting) had an ability to remember her second life with shocking clarity.  As well as all she learned during it.  Plus everything she was picking up since being born into her third life.

Honestly, she wouldn’t put it past Naruto to have tried to slip another card from the bottom of the deck - as if sending her who-knew-how-long into the past wasn’t cheating enough - by streamlining her memory integration somehow.  Or forcing her reincarnation as an Uchiha.  Or both.

It might be both.

(It was undoubtedly both, her memory was not this good even after shinobi mnemonic training.)

If she wasn’t just as good at picking up what her mother wanted to teach her about keeping a house and chores and all the things that a mother was supposed to teach a daughter in the days before standardized education (which meant she absolutely was in the Warring States Period, fuck) Takara’s obvious preference for her father’s company would've been a problem.

She was not living in a time of relative gender equality, even if over the years since her awakening as Uchiha Takara, she’d yet to see any real sign that women - at least Uchiha women, since she’d never traveled farther than the woods and fields surrounding the compound - were significantly oppressed.  Yes, there were obvious gender roles in play.  But from what she could tell among the Uchiha, there was some flexibility in the roles people were supposed to play.

No one had been vocal about her father taking her on as a pseudo-apprentice for example, but she still took her literacy lessons - which other than what would have been considered old-fashioned or even archaic kanji she breezed through - with other Uchiha girls her age.

Most of her days were simple routine by the time she was six years old, even if she wasn’t any closer to really pinpointing when in the Warring States Period she was.

Which both was and wasn’t a surprise.

When she’d been Toshiko, she’d read up on Konohagakure history quite a bit as a personal interest.  Trying to determine what was correct from the fanfiction she’d read in her first life and what little she remembered of the actual canon.  But most of that revolved around the shinobi world wars and the Founding, all of which tended to be whitewashed into a pro-Konoha and pro-Senju bias.

Then she’d, ah, gotten involved (that was one way to put it) with her Uchiha, and she’d learned a different take on both Konoha and Uchiha history.

But for all that her Itachi tended to be a nerd, he’d only really told her about some impressive, if then-defunct, clan history.  Like that they’d been, pre-Konoha and the concessions that went into the Senju-Uchiha Treaty and then the Founding, the highest rank of nobility in Fire Country.  They’d technically been considered something akin to sovereign princes in their own right, having been older and higher ranked than the lineage that would go on to become the dynasty of the Fire Daimyo.

Shit like that she knew thanks to Itachi.

Shisui had been more likely to regale her with tales of his most infamous historical ancestors, which was both less informative and more entertaining.

Her parents started her slow on chores.  Which allowed her, once she was able to toddle, to echo the training she’d been given once-upon-a-time by her second-mother and Nobu-ji designed to prepare her for a shinobi education.  She ran off to the small orchard of fruit trees that were part of her civilian parents’ allotment in the compound and would sit and meditate below the branches.  Crawl up into the attic of their home to practice her physical exercises and katas.

And through it all, she exercised and kneaded and worked with her chakra.

Chakra that was and wasn’t the same as she was used to, and no, she didn’t want to think too hard on the implications given her assumptions regarding Naruto and deck-stacking.

Her mother, Uchiha Aiko, first set her to sweeping the floors.  Then a few months after that, she was entrusted with a bowl of millet and other grains to go scatter in the herb garden and berry shrubs for their small flock of chickens to peck at.  Aiko was apparently the daughter of the trading branch of the Uchiha, which together with her father’s status as a hunter - and a good one based on how the other Uchiha seemed to treat him and how often Takara saw him returning home with both meat for their cookpot and pelts and bones - meant that they didn’t need to devote much of their allotment to food.  A fact that was backed up when Takara met her maternal grandparents for the first time in her memory since awakening and they arrived with bags of rice and boxes of tea among other presents that fell from open hands.

Aiko would bring her young daughter to socialize with her cousins - her many, many cousins - while she spun silk or braided cordage or embroidered with her own sisters or their own cousins from what looked to Takara as their subgroup of Uchiha clanswomen.  Specifically the daughters of the trading branch, whether they’d married within their own social strata or up into either the shinobi, blacksmith, or medic lines or down into the other craftspeople or farmers.  Not that Takara figured out the complex social tiers of the Uchiha right away, but with the freedom of a young child to explore and an adult’s perspective to influence what she noticed, by the time she entered literacy classes, she had a pretty solid understanding of the hierarchy of the in-clan.

Society at large she already knew was going to be another beast altogether, and one she was not looking forward to tackling when she grew older.

It was all very communal, and so vastly different from everything she knew from her second life - but not her first, having grown up in a family of women that were distinctly clannish - that it was actually a comfort.

Less to compare and grieve.

Aiko trusted Takara to collect eggs and gather their chickens into their coop for the night.  Then she was judged as old enough to learn a simple fire-starting chakra technique, more will and breath than jutsu.  At her mother’s knee a drop spindle was put into her hands, Aiko’s own holding them steady as she refamiliarized herself with the control and technique necessary to control the twist and thickness of the spun thread.

Cooking and additional cleaning joined her fire-starting duties, her father taught her to carefully brush out the fur of his pelts before he started working with them, or to properly watch the large outside cauldron as he treated bones for later carving.

She learned and she watched.

In secret she practiced everything she knew and remembered from her second life.

Then when she was five with no baby brother on the horizon, her father started teaching her his skill set, and her quiet childhood was about to come crashing down around her as reality set in with vicious efficiency.

…

“Steady, Takara-chan.”  Hanzou encouraged his daughter as she drew the string on the short bow that was small enough for a child to work with, without it being an insurmountable challenge.  “Fast and steady is better than slow and certain.”  He reminded her, though he knew she didn’t need it.

As the thwack and thud of her arrow striking too bore out.

He’d assisted more than one of the Uchiha hunters - or would-be hunters - over the decade or so since he’d joined the Uchiha clan by marrying his lovely wife, but none had had his Takara’s sheer talent with a bow or steadiness in the field.

“Good hit.”  He praised as the two of them already standing and moving to collect her kill - a good-sized serow who would help pad-out the cook pots of the Uchiha well - unstringing their bows and Hanzou returning his own arrow to his quiver as it wasn’t needed.  His daughter’s arrow had flown straight and true, burying itself in the serow’s eye, the creature dead before it ever realized it was in danger.  “Your aim is getting even better than your grandfather’s used to be.”

“Thank you, chichi.”  Takara took the compliment happily.  One thing she hadn’t missed about beginning a new life was having to retrain her skills all over again as well as learn new ones.  At least this time she didn’t have a language barrier.  Small mercies.  “Hunting makes more sense than etiquette.”   

Hanzou laughed softly, unable to argue but entertained at the wrinkled-nose expression on his daughter's face as Takara-chan wiggled her arrow out of the creature’s skull and cleaned it before inspecting it for damage and putting it aside.

Unsurprisingly, it likely needed sharpening at the very least after impacting the serow’s skull.

Together they lashed the serow’s hooves together and then threaded the leather burden-pad into place.  Together they lightly lifted to test their knots, then when the serow didn’t fall back onto the ground, Hanzou knelt and Takara helped position the burden-pad around his chest to help support the weight of the carcass.  Hanzou picked up his walking stick and steadied it in front of himself, Takara holding it firm, and then he flexed and heaved with a flicker of chakra reinforcing his muscles, making it onto his feet in one smooth motion serow and all.

Together with the hares from their traps already hanging from a rope that Takara picked up and slung over her shoulder and a wild pheasant that Hanzou had downed, they had a decent haul.

The cooks would be quite happy with them tonight, even if with it being summer there was less need for his contribution to the cook pots with many of their shinobi forces out on missions and plenty of other food to go around.

That simply made it the best time to train up his daughter when the need if she failed was less impactful - at least to his mind.

Others might not agree, but such didn’t bother him.

At the end of the day, Takara-chan was his daughter and hunting was an honorable trade, one that would ensure his child would never go hungry.

There wasn’t much more a civilian, even an Uchiha civilian, could ask for.

Once back at the Uchiha Compound, the father-and-daughter pair set about the next task of their trade: gutting and hanging their kills at the hunter’s shed near the tannery.  Hanzou knew how to tan his own hides, but couldn’t lie that it was his favorite part of the process.  He would teach Takara the craft, as his great-aunt had taught him, so that their own methods weren’t lost, but in the general day-to-day preferred to simply turn the hides over to Daigo-ji.  His arrangement with the elder Uchiha meant that for a certain number and quality of pelts (both leather and fur quality) that Daigo-ji kept for his own use, the rest were returned to Hanzou expertly tanned or dressed, made ready for leatherwork.

Hanzou gave the hares over to Takara to practice her knife work on, the pelts less valuable than the serow if her blade slipped, and set to work keeping one eye on the girl and one on his own skilled hands.

Not that he had much to worry about, previous trips had taught him that she was as steady with a knife as she was the shortbow he’d made for her, but a father would worry nonetheless until she was older and it was less startling to see such small hands working with such confidence.

Once their current haul were gutted, with the offal separated between that which would be burned for fertilizer for the farmers, what would go to the mews for the main family’s birds, what would go to the dogs, and what was for human cookpots, they rinsed their hands and then hung their fresh kills.

The serow would have to hang for several days at least, while the pheasant could go straight to Aiko for plucking and cooking.

Each of the hunters kept a log with their hauls, and had a dedicated space for what needed hanging before skinning and butchering.

The shed was temperature controlled through some clever use of fuuinjutsu, so they didn’t have to worry about the meat spoiling in the summer heat, even if it could be a bit chilly for the hunters as they worked.  But better a runny nose they had to sort out than losing meat to rot.  Or worse: people to a bad stomach and fevers.

“Here, Takara-chan.”  Hanzou lifted down some of the prior day’s catch, which had mainly been smaller animals from their traps rather than anything requiring longer hanging.  “You start with the squirrels.”

“Yes, chichi.”  Oh if Nobu-ji or Kakashi-sensei could see me now.   She thought irreverently.  Traded in S-Class bounties for rodents.

“Good girl, Takara-chan, remember to slightly angle your skinning knife and watch out for tendons.”

Sigh.

“Yes, chichi.”

…

On days where they didn’t go hunting, Takara would help her mother put breakfast on, attend her literacy lessons in the morning, then return home at noon.  Following the noon meal, she would help in the herb garden or small orchard, or go on visits with Aiko, learning her mother’s hobbies and etiquette all at once sitting and working with the other girls of the trading branch - at least, those who were at the Uchiha Compound on a given day.  Some of the traders left on expeditions that lasted only days or weeks but most would be gone months or even years.

The majority of the trading Uchiha who were present consistently for Aiko and therefore Takara to spend time around were those who’d either grown too old for the constant travel or who like her own mother had married out of the trading tradition.

Or in the case of the aunty Takara saw the least, Seiko-ba (the second sister of Masao-ba, Seiko-ba, Chiyo-ba, and her mother Aiko) served in the Uchiha Shrine as a shrine priestess.

Seiko-ba was an interesting case as she wasn’t chosen as a priestess due to any excess feeling of divine devotion - or at least, that wasn’t the case when she was promised to the shrine, as Seiko-ba was sworn to Amaterasu-Ōmikami at birth.

The reason?

Seiko-ba had a rare (recessive, Takara would call it, though her current family called it a divine sign instead) eye color.

Takara’s aunty had been born with Sharingan-red eyes.

Not the Sharingan itself, to be clear, or even the red of blood vessels that came with albinism, but irises in the vibrant red of the infamous Uchiha dojutsu.

Takara understood why those around her saw it as something miraculous, even if she didn’t agree that a simple quirk of genetics meant that her Seiko-ba, who was bright and cheerful in contrast to Masao-ba’s sober seriousness and her own mother’s dips into melancholy, was made to serve a higher calling rather than choosing such a life for herself.

Half the time with the aunties, Takara would play with the other children especially if Chiyo-ba’s three sons had come with her.  Akihito and Chikara were always willing to run a game of tag or skip rope, even if Akihito looked a little put-upon at having to “entertain” the younger children.  He was a good boy and still did it, with all the patient gravitas a boy several years the senior of his younger brother/cousin could muster.  Baby Haruki, who appeared swaddled in Chiyo-ba’s arms after Takara’s third birthday, they had to watch out for.  He was an adventurous toddler and was just as likely to walk right into a skipping rope or to tumble over his own feet off the engawa as he was to flop onto the edge of his mother’s skirts for a nap when they ran him out of energy.

Non-hunting days were mother days, woman days, where Takara had to put aside the indigo working clothes that matched her father and don her “little darling” mask and a yukata instead.

Her bow and quiver and hunting knife traded for a cook pot or sewing needle or spindle.

It was frustrating that she was too young to make her own wishes known any way but subtly excelling more and more at her father’s skills while merely being competent at what her mother taught her - even when she was naturally better than that, but excelling at feminine arts wouldn’t serve her.  Not here, not now.  Not with the job she had to do - and who she would have to become to accomplish it.

…

“With me today, Takara,” Hanzou instructed his daughter over their bowls of millet porridge with daikon slices and mushrooms they’d stumbled upon and foraged the previous day.

Takara lifted her head with some surprise at the instruction.

Usually her parents swapped time with her unless Hanzou had a particularly fine haul from their traps that he could use an extra set of hands in preparing and processing, claiming her time for an extra day that week.

That just was the way it went ever since her father noticed her interest in his bow as he polished and oiled the wood when she was four.

One day with Hanzou, one day with Aiko, and then the seventh day free other than her chores to run and play and be a child.

Hanzou had started her with exercises meant to strengthen arms and shoulders and hands for a budding archer and quiet treks through the forest as he taught her animal sign.  How to choose good rope and tie the knots for setting traps.  Care and maintenance of bows and knives.

Takara didn’t touch her first bow until she was five, but as soon as one was set into her hands, more than a decade of experience as an archer had her hands firm on the string and her eye steady on her target.

Hanzou was thrilled - Aiko less so, and then the day swapping began.

To her credit, Aiko never did more than quietly huff when she saw her daughter and only child dressed up like her husband in miniature.

Still, while Hanzou’s decision to have his daughter join him an extra day and lose a day on learning at her mother’s side wasn’t without precedent, it wasn’t the norm either.

Something interesting was afoot, or Takara was a Hyuuga.

“Yes, chichi.”  She chirped obediently.

All unknowing that her father’s decision to add another dimension to her hunter’s training was about to turn her world on-end.

…

“Where are we going, chichi?”  Takara asked in slight confusion.

Yes, her father had decided that she was spending the day with him, but…they left behind both their bows and their processing tools.

They didn’t have the canvas sacks they used for containing the smaller prey that wandered into their traps, or the ones for gathering any wild berries, roots, herbs, or mushrooms they might wander across while out on the trail.

In fact, all they had with them from what Takara could tell was one of the small bags with the weak (but standard, or at least was all she’d seen those around her use) preservation seal on it that only worked for a day or two to keep the contents from rotting.

They were also heading towards a part of the compound that Takara had never visited before in her life.

What in the world…?

The Uchiha Compound was large and while not segregated, per se, by anything but expedience - the crafts that were loud or in the case of the tannery and dyers smelly were set apart from residential use, for instance - but it did have small districts that naturally formed over the course of hundreds of years of occupation and use.  It was also the same size as a large village or small town in its own right.   And that was just the compound itself with its barrier wall as protection against attack or siege.  It didn’t account for the cultivated fields outside the walls, or the forest land that was theirs, or any of the other Uchiha holdings.

Just the main compound itself.

It was a fact of her new life that certainly helped put that the Uchiha were a noble clan into perspective.

There were cultivated and maintained fields of grain inside the compound so that they could never be entirely cut off from a steady food supply.  The same with the orchards and gardens every home had attached.  It was a home farm.   The Uchiha, at least when it came to their general food supply and not luxuries like tea and spices or beef which took a considerable amount of land to raise on a large scale, were self-sufficient.

They smelted their own metals, forged their own weapons.

Uchiha women were taught to reel silk, spin fiber including hemp and flax, and their weavers used Uchiha-produced thread and yarn as much as possible.

They could and did buy some of their weapons, armor, or textiles, but if forced, the Uchiha could and would feed, arm, and clothe themselves strictly by the work of their own people’s hands and skills.

It was why marrying-in Hanzou wasn’t necessarily seen as marrying down in status for Aiko as the fourth daughter of a trader - who were the wealthiest of the civilian branches, if not the entire clan - as his skills were both highly valued and essential to feeding and caring for the clan.

On this day, Hanzou led his daughter across the compound from their cozy home with its herb garden and small orchard.  They walked past Masao-ba’s home, then Chiyo-ba’s.  The shrine on the Naka marked as far into the compound as Takara had ever wandered, and then they continued on into strange territory.  Territory that saw the houses growing larger and the gardens more ornamental and less functional.

They passed a large flat field where a dozen or so boys in indigo working clothes were being drilled by a shinobi and Takara felt a pang of want and homesickness strike her so hard and fast she almost lost her breath.

Before she could get too lost in what-once-was, or slipped back into thinking of herself as Takara-who-was-Toshiko, her father turned them down another lane to a curated glade surrounded by shielding - and shade-giving - shrubs and trees that stood on a bit of a rise.  Not quite high enough to be a true hill, but enough to give a clear view of the manicured field of millet below with its orderly rows and waving heads of grain.  It was too orderly to be a true crop field, clearly planted with room to navigate it if necessary unlike regular grain fields that were planted to maximize yield without the extra space.

There was a ground-cover of some kind that she was too far away to identify, helping protect the roots of the millet from being singed by the sun or being exposed to too much water or digging insects or vermin.

Not that vermin was problem the Uchiha had to deal with often given the large amount of cats and crows that made their home in the compound with the Uchiha holding both summoning contracts and being welcoming to all cats and crows as a result, but that wasn’t any reason to get lazy and risk it.

“Here we are,” Hanzou gave his daughter’s small hand a squeeze, then released her, moving towards the outbuilding that made its home on the outcropping above its attached field and sheltered and shaded by the half-ring of pine and oak trees.  “The mews.”

“Mews?”  Takara lifted her head in sudden, intense interest from studying this new section of the compound and trying to puzzle out its purpose.  “Bird mews?”

There was only one kind of bird that was kept in mews after all…and never in any of her lives had she ever done more than pet a raptor.

Her Uchiha had corvid summons, not raptor, and she only knew the miniscule amount that she already did about falconry due to reading historical novels and attending falconry shows at renaissance faires in her first life.

The latter of which being how she’d even had the chance to see a bird of prey up close, let alone pet one.

“Mews.”  Hanzou nodded with a smile for the eager expression that brightened his daughter’s dark blue eyes.  A combination of her mother’s black Uchiha gaze and his own bright blue.

He ran one hand down the neat braided tail that Aiko always twined their treasure’s thick black curls into, the slight hint of red - red that she’d inherited, hint or no, from his own mother - well-hidden by the style and the lack of bright midday sun.

She was very much the melding of them both: him and his love, and he adored her all the more for it.

“Ah, there you are Hanzou-san.”  The main falconer greeted them in his calm, gentle voice.

“Good morning, Kentarō-ji,” the hunter returned the implied greeting with a slight nod, one hand coming down to press lightly between Takara-chan’s shoulders to include her as he introduced her to the retired shinobi-turned-falconer.

As well as partly to reassure her.

Uchiha as a rule were too used to the disfiguration that occurred due to being attacked to look twice at scarring or missing limbs, but some shinobi were wounded worse than others in their career-ending skirmishes.

Uchiha Kentarō, an older man of age not quite old enough for grandchildren but not far from it either with his black hair liberally streaked with grey, was one of the few who ended up looking particularly fearsome even after their medics were finished with their work.  Which Hanzou imagined was one of the reasons he’d chosen looking after the mews out of the options available to him when he could no longer run missions or meet the Senju in battle.  Missing an arm from just below his shoulder as well as having the right half of his face seem more like improperly melted wax than skin made no difference to the hawks and falcons.  Only whether he had a free hand with their treats and a sturdy arm or shoulder to serve as their perch along with a calm demeanor to prevent taking a talon from startling them.

“This is my daughter, Takara, who will be learning from us today.”  Hanzou continued, darting a quick glance down to check on Takara-chan’s state.  “Takara-chan, this is Uchiha Kentarō, who is in charge of the mews and its ladies.”

“Hello, Takara-chan.”  Kentarō gave the young girl a soft smile that only pulled slightly at his scars, pleased to see that she didn’t flinch or look away or in fact show any sign of being bothered.  But then, such was what he expected from a child raised by Hanzou-san.  Aiko-san had done well in bringing the steady hunter with his large chakra reserves into the clan.  No matter what some of the aunties might grumble about Hanzou being a waste of Aiko’s face and dowry.  “It is a pleasure to meet Hanzou-san’s treasured child.”

“Hello, Uchiha-ojisan.”  Takara returned his greeting more formally, as between his clothes and how her father addressed him she recognized that he was of higher in-clan rank than her own family along with being quite a bit her senior.  The sort of social etiquette that was taken much more seriously in the Warring States Period from what she’d seen than it had been in Konoha during Naruto’s era.  “Nice to meet you.”

“Mah, mah.”  Kentarō waved off the child’s quiet adherence to formality.  That was Aiko-san’s influence, or her older sister or mother’s, not Hanzou’s.  “So formal, Taka-chan.”  He shortened her name into a true diminutive to hopefully knock some of her maternal line’s starch out of her.  Making a pun out of it at the same time, as “Takara” was a whole word in itself rather than a name formed from combining meanings and characters.  While the character for Taka as he was using it meant filial piety.  “The ladies don’t care for formality, Taka-chan, only for calm hands, gentle voices, and good nibbles.”  He instructed/commanded.  “Call me Ken-ji.”

“Yes, Ken-ji.”

“You have a good girl on your hands, Hanzou-san.”  Kentarō noted in approval.  “Let’s run her through the safety measures and equipment, then she can meet the ladies…”

…

Takara was balancing a heavy squash on her wrist, the vegetable held in place with a bit of chakra to the surprise of Ken-ji but utter lack of shock from her father - he’d taught her more than a few civilian chakra techniques for use in hunting, including a bastardized version of her one-time Lightning Palm that he used to stop a wounded animal’s heart rather than cause it further pain - when it happened.

When he arrived and shook her understanding about when and even who she was in this third life to its foundations.

“Ah, Taka-chan.”  Ken-ji gave her a few seconds’ warning.  “Here comes my most eager pupil.”

For her part, Takara looked up and over her shoulder, keeping a sliver of her attention on the squash - a form of pumpkin, maybe? - on her wrist to keep it from falling and breaking open, as she studied the form striding their way through the field below.

Nothing about the boy below was unique or identifying.  He had the black spiky hair that those Uchiha (Takara included) who ran to thick, curly hair suffered with in childhood.  His clothes were the standard working indigo and general working cut.  From a distance, there was nothing about him that set him apart from dozens of her other cousins and kinsman.

Not until he drew near and Ken-ji introduced them, saying his name:

“Madara-kun, come meet our new trainee to care for the ladies if needed…”

Chapter Text

Karuma no Kagami

Chapter Two: Adapt. Evolve. Survive.

“Madara-kun, come meet our new trainee to care for your ladies if needed.”  Ken-ji greeted the eldest son of Uchiha Tajima, the main line head.

All unknowing that he’d just destroyed more than a few of Takara’s assumptions with a single name.

Uchiha-fucking- Madara.

The Walking Calamity, the Giver-of-Ash, strongest Uchiha to ever live outside of their founder Uchiwa-no-Indra himself.

What the actual fuck did you do Naruto?!

Why did you do this?!

What the fuck?!

That innocuous Uchiha boy, with his large dark eyes and messy hair, was the penultimate most terrifying enemy that Takara and her loved ones ever faced, second only to Kaguya herself.

Zetsu didn’t even compare, since he was more a manipulative little fuckhead made of chakra and malice, not a being with its own drives and desires.

As if that bit of dissonance wasn’t bad enough - and fuck but was Takara ecstatic for the resting-bitch-face that was natural to most Uchiha right now, or else she knew her mental vertigo would be splattered all over her expression - that boy being Uchiha Madara meant that it was Uchiha Tajima who was currently in charge of the Uchiha military forces as a cross that wasn’t general or master at arms or even lord alone but an unholy mismash of all three.  Outsiders called his position Clan Head, and they let it be.  It was an assumption that worked in their favor if they believed that main line head was in command of all the Uchiha in an autocracy rather than the leadership structure that was actually in place.

If someone with a mind for fuckery, like say the Daimyo or some other civilian noble, or worst of all a shinobi noble like the Hyuuga, thought they could work around the “clan head” by going to the “Lady Uchiha” it would be nothing short of a mess.

They were a team, the “Lord” Uchiha and “Lady” Uchiha, one with leadership over outside affairs and the other over home affairs.

At the moment the “Lady” Uchiha was Uchiha Minoru-obaa-sama, though Takara wasn’t aware of how that venerable lady who her mother had spoken of with respect needing her permission for something-or-other, was related to Uchiha Tajima.

Mother or aunt or even great-aunt/grandmother maybe?

Given Takara’s age, her mother and aunts focused on having her memorize their side of the Uchiha family tree that covered the dozen or so trading branches and marriages and ancestors than getting into the main line, shinobi branches, or the other civilian branches.

It broke her heart a little when she thought about the state of the Uchiha when she’d known them originally at their “peak” in Konoha that didn’t ever crest over two-hundred members as far as she knew.  In comparison, there were two hundred-plus members of the trading branch of the current Uchiha.  The same amount of farmers and craftspeople.  Around a hundred and fifty (give or take, depending on casualties) active shinobi warriors plus children and teens in shinobi training.  A dozen medics, midwives, and a lone apothecary plus his apprentice.

All total, including the very young and the quite old, the Uchiha stood as over five hundred members strong, each carrying the Uchiha name.

The truly horrifying bit as the words Madara-kun rang inside her head, was the knowledge that as the boy couldn’t be much more than eight or nine years old, was that they weren’t just enjoying a lull in the hostilities with the Senju.

Oh no.

They were heading on a collision course with the worst conflict and accompanying highest death-toll that the Senju-Uchiha War ever saw.

Mother fucker.

Sage-damnit Naruto.

That little brat of a brother gave her a job to do dammit…but in order to complete it, she’d have to survive an all-out war first.

A war that started back up, by the way, with the murder of Uchiha Tajima’s younger sons.

Fuck you, Naruto.

Seriously.

Fuck, you.

…

The girl, Takara-chan, was…a bit odd.

Uchiha Madara supposed that made sense.  

Hanzou-ji had talked about his daughter in the past.  How after his wife got sick (Ken-ji looked mournful at that, like there was more than just sickness involved even if at eight Madara was too young to be told about adult things) he started taking Takara-chan into the woods with him.  Takara-chan was one of the few girls who was being trained from a young age to follow her father’s footsteps and not her mother’s rather than choosing when she was older to become a hunter or a shinobi or a blacksmith.

Madara was used to girls who wouldn’t meet his eyes and lowered their heads.

Or if not that, were silly.  Blushing and chirping and blinking their eyes at him so fast that they looked like they had dust caught under their eyelids.  But when he asked them what was wrong, they’d get mad and run away.

Madara did not understand girls.

Unless they were his older cousins from his mother’s branch of the Uchiha.

They were alright, even if they only ever looked amused at him when he tried to ask them why the other girls he met were so weird.

All of his mother’s kin traveled most of the year - or for multiple years at a time - commanding the largest and most important of their trading caravans so they weren’t around often making most of Madara’s encounters with girls when he was shadowing one of his parents.

As his father trained and oversaw the Uchiha warriors or as his mother cared for the Clan Hall or assisted Minoru-obaa-sama with her duties as the Uchiha kagi no ban'nin, the keeper of the keys or the ranking Uchiha charged with the kanri leadership, or stewardship leadership over all of the Uchiha domestic affairs.

His father was their general and the commander over outside affairs such as treating with the daimyo and commanding their warriors and shinobi in the field.

Minoru-obaa-sama had direct control of their farmers, craftspeople, decided when new fields should be cut and new houses raised or old ones repaired.

But when affairs crossed those lines and involved both aspects of the Uchiha Clan, both leaders - the Shirei-kan in his father and the kagi no ban'nin in his father’s mother - had to come to an agreement.

Theoretically, anyway.

In reality, both tended to mind their own affairs with his father managing the ongoing war without interference so long as he gave obaa-sama the same courtesy when it came to trade - the two main intersections of each individual’s scope of power.

At least, from what Madara could tell in contrast to what his lessons and the Uchiha Law Code actually laid out as the “proper” administration of the clan.

Clan administration law was boring and memorization was one of his mother’s favorite punishment tools for misbehaving sons.

He didn’t think Izuna would ever forgive him for the prank against sour old Mikoto-baasama that had them memorizing the entire Uchiha Law Code and etiquette manual on respecting elders and filial duty.

At least since their great-great aunt was out of charity with them, she’d stopped coming around for tea with their mother and bringing along her granddaughters to giggle at them.

Takara-chan didn’t giggle - or at least not at Madara.

When a couple weeks after their first meeting, where she barely spoke to him after their introductions where he told her to call him Madara-san rather than the formal (proper) Madara-sama she started out with, Ken-ji decided that Takara-chan’s arm strength was enough to hold the smallest of the raptors without faltering and she was allowed to pet pretty Ume-chan’s breast feathers - then she giggled at how soft they were.

A kestrel that was a gift from his mother’s eldest brother Daichi to Madara when the heir to the trading branch learned of his nephew’s new hobby, Ume-chan was a pretty bird with reddish and white feathers with black barring.

She was so pretty and sweet to handling that Madara thought that Takara-chan being so happy at getting to hold her was only correct and forgave the giggling.

“Do you want to fly her?”  He offered generously, as Hanzou-ji was too mindful of the raptors belonging to the main family to ever hunt with them unless prompted and both Madara and Ken-ji came along, so he assumed the same rules would apply to Takara-chan too.  “With a fourth person, we can take all the ladies out at once.”  He carefully hid his eagerness to do so under the blank mask all the older clansmen wore.

Takara studied the young boy carefully, one hand still lightly petting the soft feathers - she’d never get over how soft raptor feathers were, though none were so soft as the owls she’d had the chance to pet in her first life at a ren-faire - as she thought about that offer seriously.

Meeting Uchiha Madara, especially a chibi Uchiha Madara, had been so startling to her equilibrium that it’d taken more than a week for her to come to terms with when her idiot little brother had sent her.

As a result, they’d not spoken more than a couple of words in those first couple meetings as her father and Ken-ji began her training as a falconry assistant.  She’d been polite to the boy, but didn’t try for friendly.  Not when she was still trying to separate the actual living child before her from the nightmare that a version of this child grew up to be after unrelenting tragedy and more than a little manipulation and betrayal.

Strangely enough, once she’d managed to pay attention to more than not having a panic attack and started to actually think again, it seemed like her utter focus on learning from the older men and on the birds themselves had made a positive impression on the clan heir than the opposite.

Which, unfortunately, made too much sense.

Uchiha, as she knew all too well, were like a clowder of cats almost to the last one.

They varied in friendliness or sociability, but for the most part - cats.

Big predatory ones in her lost loves, or sweet finicky ones like Sasuke, but cats nonetheless.

Ignoring Madara and letting him observe her before making a move to engage with her, if he was anything like his descendants, made him more inclined to like her and want to engage with her than if Takara had tried to force it.

Those catlike sensibilities was probably why she was successfully integrating herself into the Uchiha Clan without having to change too much of her underlying personality.  Even before gaining her now-lost summoning contract (and that was a wound that she tried not to think about too hard or too long, as she ached for her summons with a yearning she doubted would ever fade) her uncle had joked about her being part cat.  That she’d ended up with a canine-loving sensei had been one of the longest running jokes in Konoha.

Before it was destroyed anyway.

So yeah: she understood where Madara was coming from.

Which, cat, really only left her with one option unless she wanted to risk mortally offending his sensibilities now that he’d decided to make the overture.

“I’d like that, thank you Madara-san.”  She answered simply with a soft nod.  “If it’s alright with Ken-ji?”

“I think we can manage that.”  Kentarō tried an amused look with Hanzou over the heads of their young charges.  

Kids.   Madara-kun likely had no idea that he’d just offered Taka-chan the use of a bird that if Ume-chan decided to fly off and not return, would cost more than whatever headway Hanzou-san had made in setting aside goods and funds for his daughter’s dowry as the daughter of a huntsman and leatherworker to replace if Tajima-sama wanted to make an issue of it.  Madara-kun was a good kid though, and would surely own up to being the one making the offer instead of Taka-chan asking, which would hopefully keep the young family from being burdened by an onerous debt.  There was a reason that Hanzou-san never flew the birds without Madara-kun present after all, as the man had sense and no wish to upset their fiery clan head.  

“We’ll ready the birds,” Kentarō gently took control of Ume-chan from Taka-chan.  “You two get the supplies together.”  He ordered, keeping an eye on the pair as they readied treat bags and game bags to carry any fruits from the birds’ labors.

Hanzou-san softly sighed and shook his head, heading back into the mews to check the jesses and hoods of the other raptors before moving them out one at a time to line up on the rail to wait for the kids’ preparations to finish.

Leave it to his Takara-chan to befriend the clan heir, and without lifting a finger to do so.

Perhaps it might cheer up his wife to learn of it.

Perhaps not, the loss of their most recent unborn child in the womb had once again taken its toll on his beloved’s spirits.

Hopefully between her budding friendship with Madara-kun and the increasing lessons on calligraphy and his own skills Takara-chan wouldn’t be troubled by her mother’s moods that could switch in an instant.

If not, he could ask his wife’s sisters if any of them might be willing to take Takara-chan under their wing for a few months while Aiko recovered.  Teach her a new skill or two.  With her ready mind and quick hands, Hanzou, despite his own reservations on teaching his skills and trade to a daughter rather than a son as it was usually done, had found her a joy to teach.

Anything to keep his sharp-eyed child from noticing the sharp decline in her mother’s mood and health and start asking questions that would only pain Aiko to answer.

Anything for his girls, no matter how unconventional.

Even encouraging a slightly improper budding friendship with the clan heir, despite the near ocean that separated their social stations, distant relation or not.

…

Maybe if this was the life chosen for her by whatever ineffable deity was pulling the strings in this universe - the Sage of the Six Paths?  Someone else? Someone who actually cared? - she would’ve been baffled by the mere idea of becoming friends with big-bad Uchiha Madara.

Well.

Depending on one’s point of view.

Naruto canon got really fucking weird with moon magic and aliens and sapient chakra constructs made of malice and divine will, so…

Anyway.

There was a world of difference between Takara-who-had-been-Toshiko and Toshiko-who-had-been-Sif.

People change and adapt and evolve if they wanted to survive.

It took her time and exposure, but she did stop giving an internal flinch and kneading her chakra every time she saw Madara at the mews.  Which was good.  He was too young and a relative neophyte to shinobi training for him to notice what her chakra was doing when he barely had much of a grasp on his own.

Probably because Madara, as in canon and the monster she’d fought once-upon-a-time, had so fucking much of it.

Takara’s chakra reserves were absurd for a six year old, but there had been a lot of cheating involved in that, whether intentional or not.  Neither her, Naruto, Kurama, or anyone else who’d taken a look at his dead-man’s switch seal had clocked the main secondary side effect she’d been dealing with pretty much since birth.  Takara had too much chakra.  Or at least, more than she’d ever had to deal with.

Her best guess was that since Naruto embedded the DMS as a three-point seal on her heart, mind, and chakra system in an attempt to control her next incarnation, it’d taken her chakra reserves as they’d been at the point of her death with her into her next body.

Which meant, in short, that as a newborn Takara had the chakra reserves of a twenty-something Toshiko.

And, being a newborn, that meant that rather than stagnating as-is, her chakra reserves only grew once she regained her awareness and started working with them.

By the time she hit physical maturity and her chakra system grew less responsive and harder to grow and change, she would be so overpowered compared to her raw abilities in her second life it would be ridiculous.

Nearly Hoshigaki Kisame-level ridiculous, if not Senju Hashirama or jinchuuriki ridiculous.

That main secondary side effect had a knock-on effect creating the third: her chakra control was fucking shot and took far longer than she’d like to admit to even begin to resemble anything like her control as an Academy student, let alone an adult Toshiko.

Which was a fucking problem given the era, clan, and persona that made up her third life, as almost all of her ace-in-the-hole jutsu and seals required pinpoint accuracy to work that she just didn’t have as a child.  Accuracy that she likely wouldn’t regain for years.  Years that she didn’t have to waste with the Uchiha teetering - even if no one else knew it - on the cusp of all-out war with the Senju.

So she could sympathize with Madara’s nascent chakra awareness and inability to really do much with all that power hovering at his fingertips.

At least Madara had the full support of the best trainers the Uchiha could provide to get a handle on his abilities, she distinctly remembered how challenging it had been to wrangle Naruto’s heinous combination of Uzumaki resilience and reserves combined with being the Kyuubi jinchuuriki with only obvious support from Nobu-ji and shadow help from Kakashi-sensei.

In fact…she remembered a lot more and with more clarity and less inevitable fading this go-around than the last time.

Naruto was an even worse cheater than she was, and that was saying something.

Though in the case of her memory she supposed she saw the point of it, even if it made her grief significantly harder to wrangle, especially with far less privacy in this life compared to the last: what good was a fail-safe if the person charged with fixing shit couldn’t remember what it was they needed to fix?

Still sucked major ass though, and she was going to give him an earful when she (eventually, hopefully) saw him in the Pure Lands when she was finally allowed to rest.

Not yet though.

Madara being a chibi had redrawn the lines of her plan, but not the core of it.

She had a job to do.

Step one?

Keeping Uchiha Madara sane until she managed to destroy Zetsu and smash the Gedō Mazō into so much powder.

You know.

Nothing big.

…

The year she turned eight, two big changes happened all at once, with one being a consequence of the other.

First, her mother Aiko was put on bedrest by her sister (and midwife) Chiyo-ba.

And a puzzle that Takara wasn’t even actively trying to solve gained new pieces, forming a semi-complete picture.  The times that her mother would grow sick and morose - she was mourning.  Takara’s mother had had a series of miscarriages and stillbirths (from what she was able to gather when she started eavesdropping once she realized there was anything to learn) since long before she was born.

Takara had started learning her father’s skills not to ensure they didn’t die out for lacking a son to pass them down too (though that probably was a bonus) but to get her out from underfoot and relieve her mother from having to watch and care for her when she was mourning lost children.

Fate was a bitch that liked it’s patterns, and this particular one she could’ve done without reliving after seeing what such a situation had done to her first mother.

The midwives and apothecary apparently thought after so many losses and failed attempts to intervene that it was something about how her parents’ chakra interacted when Aiko was pregnant that was the problem.  It wasn’t an issue they’d seen before but had heard plagued their enemies in the Senju.  Aiko was fire-natured like most Uchiha but Hanzou was not.   His chakra had the snap and storms that the Uchiha associated with the island nations in Whirlpool or Water or Moon countries.

That Takara had been born alive was seen as an outlier.  That Hanzou had unintentionally shared more of his chakra than usual with his wife during that pregnancy, leading to Takara’s survival.  Takara thought it probably had more to do with the DMS, but she understood the wishing for an answer - any answer - to prevent more pain.

Aiko was to go on bedrest, waited on hand-and-foot by family and the focused support and chakra infusions of her husband.

Which made being responsible for a child, even one as self-aware as Takara, a problem to be solved.

Aiko was also from a large and sprawling family line, however, and a fix was easily found.

Takara was to go on a trading caravan with her uncles and their families for six months while her mother convalesced.  Aiko cared for by Hanzou.  Pampered and cossetted.  While Takara learned the ways of the trading branch firsthand.

She was excited at the opportunity to see more of the world as it was in the current era, even with the inherent dangers of the Warring States Period.

Madara was less enthused to have his friend taken away, but as he was spending more time running novice missions as a shinobi under his father’s command, he couldn’t really argue about Takara learning about trade.

Pout about it?  Absolutely.

Argue it?  Nope.

Takara would be back in time to (hopefully, if the prescribed intervention worked) see her new brother or sister brought into the world, it wasn’t like she’d be gone for years.

They were only going to Iron Country and back, not into danger in the Land of Jungles or Demons or as far away as the Land of Silk.

More's the pity.

She missed her rosewood bow.

The oak shortbow her father carved her just didn’t feel right in her hands, though any bow was better than none.

Like much of her new life, it just wasn’t the same.

And it never would be.

…

Madara shifted anxiously before knocking on the shoji door of the house that Ken-ji had pointed out to him as belonging to Hanzou-ji and his wife Aiko-san.

“Ah?”  Hanzou-ji looked down in surprise at the sight of the young clan heir standing in his modest engawa.  “Madara-kun?”  He asked, baffled, as he hadn’t seen much of the young boy since Takara-chan left with his wife’s brothers on a trading trip.  Even his visits to the mews over the last year or so had been less since Tajima-sama had ramped up his son’s training upon him turning ten years old.  “Is everything alright?”

“Hanzou-ji.”  Madara gave the older man a crisp bow, proper in regards to their ages but murky when their positions within the clan were taken into account.  He held out a washi wrapped package before him in explanation for his presence.  “For you and Aiko-san.”

“Ah, thank you, Madara-kun.”  Hanzou replied, taking the package and coming out on the engawa to prevent disturbing his wife’s sleep.  At seven months pregnant and larger than expected at such a point in her pregnancy, it seemed like she slept more than anything else, even with his support.

That she had made it this far at all was a blessing, as it was the longest she’d carried any of their children other than their treasured daughter.

They moved to the side of the shoji and knelt properly, Madara rushing to explain - a bit impolitely, but not inexcusably so - as Hanzou began to unwrap the package at the boy’s prompting gesture.

“Takara-chan was upset that she wouldn’t be able to catch the furs for the baby’s basket herself.”  He attempted to explain the unprompted and unexpected gift.

“Rabbit furs.”  Hanzou murmured, his brows rising in surprise at the dressed and expertly prepared furs recognizing Daigo-ji’s work on sight.  “Mountain rabbit fur, at that.”  He noted, impressed as hunting mountain hare was more difficult than their lowlands cousins, but yielded a coveted denser and light-colored pelt.  “This is a most generous gift, Madara-kun.”  Hanzou protested politely as etiquette demanded.

Madara refused the demurral by rote, waving off any notion of him taking the gift back.  “Takara-chan is my friend, and you have been a most patient teacher.  Please,” Madara set his face firmly.  “Accept them.”

“As you will it, Madara-sama.”  Hanzou thanked him formally, covering how his fingers almost itched to work the pelts into blankets for his unborn child after months of only having bone to shape and carve aside from the rare afternoon he was freed by his wife’s sisters to make himself scarce and wander.  “Thank you, they will be well used.”

“Takara-chan would do the same for me.”  Madara said with the quiet assurance of the young.  “And the challenge was most engaging.”

Yes, Hanzou was rather sure of that last bit as Madara rose and took his leave like the mannerly little lordling he occasionally remembered he actually was.

With the way Tajima-sama drilled his sons, particularly the elder two, Hanzou imagined that having an excuse to slip away with his feathered ladies was most appreciated by the young heir.

Sage save him from the challenges of the nobility and give him even a wild boar to track and take down instead.

It seemed far less problematic, no matter the vaunted “privileges” the highborn supposedly enjoyed.

…

Life on the road with her uncles and their families as well as the squad of warriors sent for their protection - the trading trip to Iron Country that left in the late winter and returned to help with the harvest was one of the most important of the year, apparently though no one told an eight year old why - was a familiar comfort in an unfamiliar situation.

While as Takara she’d only just started going on overnight trips with her father after she turned seven and proved sensible enough to follow all his instructions for a sustained length of time, as Toshiko it was a different story.  By the time she died, even discarding the frantic running from Kaguya that had been her life in later years, she was an experienced hunter-nin.  One taught specifically to survive in the wild, alone, potentially for months or even years if necessary as she tracked her target.

Between her assassin, hunter-nin ANBU uncle, and her Hatake ANBU sensei, living rough was something she knew in a way that was familiar and comfortable in a way that even being Uchiha still was not.

Manual skills, chakra techniques, seal barriers: name it when it came to life outside the bounds of a village or urban area and she knew it.

Including how to tan and dress hides and furs with chakra, but she was still way too fucking young to pass that off as an innovation of her own, so had kept it in her back pocket until opportunity knocked.  

Well, hello opportunity.   

Her father had given her the hides from her own kills since she started apprenticing to him, with the exception of her first which he took as his due as her teacher, once they’d been handed back by the tanner.  Better believe she’d brought them along to trade, those that hadn’t been used for her leatherworker training or other projects.  Even the ones that were inexpertly tanned/dressed that were the result of her father ensuring she understood the process and could manage it herself in a pinch.

Slipping new hides and furs that had been treated with chakra instead of traditional manual methods into the mix wouldn’t draw any attention.

It wasn’t like her uncles or their wives knew how many hides or furs were in the personal bag her father had helped her pack for the journey, just that he had entrusted the work of her own hands to her for her to trade as she wished.

The simple bone beads and needles that were her novice projects in the bone carving that he’d started to teach her now that her hands were stronger were in there, along with a few leather projects that were experiments in leather pyrography and burnishing edges, coin pouches and belt bags, that sort of thing.

To Takara’s inexperienced eyes, the stack of trade goods once all gathered in a pile had seemed like a lot.

Until she’d seen the crates of various qualities of ink sticks that the Uchiha were known for, the trays of indigo dye bricks, and spools of Uchiha steel wire.  The caravan was truly a caravan, and the haul of ink and dye that her uncles were entrusted with by the clan took up several wagons alone.  There was only about half a wagon of steel wire, and that was guarded by seals put in place by the Uchiha seal master before it was allowed to leave the compound.

Only the intended recipient in Iron Country knew the key to that seal, as the Uchiha were not about to let quality steel wire fall into the hands of their enemies if the trading caravan was raided.

They could afford to lose the rest of it, though it would hurt and take time to recoup.

But if at all possible, their weapons, especially their high quality steel, they neither traded or risked.

As it was, from the grumbles from her uncles, the wire was a pledge of good faith to their trading partners in Iron Country, rather than an actual trade good per se.

By the time they’d left Fire Country, they’d already stopped and traded half the ink sticks and a third of the dye blocks in the capitol for crates of paper,  silk, and fine wood products like carved and polished boxes.  Setting traps every night had netted meat for the communal cookpots and the appreciation of her aunties - married to her two uncles or the more general “older relative” aunty alike - as well as additional hides and furs for her stock.  Sakura-ba, who was married to her younger uncle Satoshi, appreciated the fresh meat enough to continue Takara’s kokyū lessons.

All the children traveling with the caravan were actively being taught in a communal fashion by the teens and adults.  Formal calligraphy was impossible on the road, but just about everything else that Takara received lessons on at the compound was still covered and often expounded upon with travel-friendly adjustments and/or improvements.  But when it came to individual talents or skills of the various rotation of teachers it was dealer’s choice.  Hence, having to gain the appreciation of Sakura-ba before her music lessons - more than the regular singing that took place during chores or around campfires anyway - continued despite the change in Takara’s circumstances.

She liked the lessons on what seemed to her eyes as a three stringed fiddle that was held vertically instead of supported like a violin, and was glad when Sakura-ba saw her way to keeping up with them.

Though, granted, the lessons on bartering, economics, and trade were probably a lot more useful during her months on the road.

Such as when her older uncle, Tadashi, cautioned her to wait until they were in colder environs before trading any of her leather or furs.  Tadashi-ji had been entrusted with her father’s excess furs and leathers, plus the occasional leatherwork that wasn’t snapped up by their clansmen for as long as Takara had been alive.  If not longer.  If he said to save her cache until they at least reached the Land of Earth, she thought he would know far better than her.

What she knew about supply and demand of products was filtered through a more industrial, hidden-village lens, not the feudal reality of the Warring States Era.

Granted, she could probably make some decent guesses, but part of traveling with the caravan was learning the profession of her maternal line.  So she paid attention to the ebb and flow of goods as they made brisk time through the Land of Fire and into the Land of Fields.  Most ink of the lower quality rank the Uchiha produced was offloaded at the foreign capitol, this time in exchange for dried beef and cowhides.

Silver and even gold was slipped into the purses split (and protected) by her uncles and the other men in charge of the caravan, but for the most part it was a barter economy that she was observing in action.

The Land of Fields was plentiful in another way as well, Takara easily adapting her traps - both taught by her father and the teachers from her second life - to the new environment and making a literal killing on wild rabbits, grouse, pheasant, and prairie dogs.

By the time they crossed the border into the Land of Earth, Takara was once more bemused by the prospect of Fate as an actual entity, and she’d regained an old epithets - if with an adjustment.

Her cousin Shingo, who thought he was clever instead of a too-sassy eighteen year old, had dubbed her  Hanzou-ji’s Little Huntress.

Or “Huntress” for short.

Fate was such a dick.

…

Chapter Text

Karuma no Kagami

Chapter Three: Red Sky Morning

For all the chores and the long days walking alongside a wagon, setting traps and cleaning kills for her aunties’ cook pots, in hindsight the trading caravan felt more like a vacation than an attempt to keep her out from underfoot.

Or an intensive on economics, culture, and bartering during the Warring States Era.

Whichever.

On her uncle’s advice, Takara traded away her tanned leathers and lighter furs - squirrel, prairie dog, etc. - in the Land of Earth and haggled her heart out over her bone needles and loom tappers at the very edge of the Land of Iron.

Bone, properly cared for, wouldn't become brittle but only grew a softer, more velvety patina in time.  It made for excellent fine embroidery work when fashioned into needles of the correct smoothness and size.  Her father liked forcing her to make them because they are fiddly little fuckers and if she could make them correctly then she could theoretically make anything out of bone.

Digging bone shards out of her finger tips had been a bitch though for those first few weeks before she got the hang of it, she thought her mother was going to have an entire cow when she caught sight of them.

The tappers were her own self-assigned project as she'd shaped them before out of wood in her first life and remembered her weaving instructor waxing lyrical over how good an heirloom bone tapper felt in the hand versus hardwood or plastic.

Watching as Satoshi-ji gave her an approving look when she talked her way through the markets of Earth Country and into the possession of enough silver to buy a new hunting knife and sheath in Iron, with plenty left over to set aside for the trip back to the Uchiha Compound, was one of the highlights of the cold northern country.

Learning that the caravan to Iron and back was so important because the Land of Iron was where they sourced the vast majority of the iron ore that the Uchiha blacksmiths smelted and worked into Uchiha steel, on the other hand, explained a lot about the guards and how trained her uncles and cousins were despite not being shinobi or warriors.

The trip back home went much faster as they only stopped to rest and resupply as needed instead of taking a meandering trade route.

Finding a straight, flawless length of rosewood in the village of Fields that was closest to the Jungles border on the way was a matter of incredible luck.  Her uncles and aunties were a bit puzzled at the choice, woodworking wasn’t one of their common skills though most of them knew how to whittle as it was a portable, easily maintained hobby for the road.  There was no way for her to verbalize why she wanted it - that she missed Jizo like an amputated limb and nothing had come close to replacing it thus far in her new life - but that it smelled pretty seemed to be accepted easily enough.

It was her silver at the end of the day, and even if they discounted her purchases as odd or poorly made, her father hadn’t given her uncles any instructions on micromanaging her purchases.

Besides which - they had their own concerns to worry over.

Their haul of iron ore was divided between all of the wagons in seal-locked crates, in the hope that if they were attacked it might not be a total loss, but other than that, they didn’t carry anything else on the return trip.  There was no need.  Other caravans helped play decoy by gathering other trade goods from the lands along their routes.  Their job was to get back to the safety of the compound at all costs.

Only their annual stock of rice and soybeans, what they didn’t grow for themselves, was guarded more fiercely or treated with more care.

In the end, they were lucky.  Yes, they dealt with the odd bandit - or even a group of them once or twice - but nothing that the shinobi squad couldn’t handle.  With extreme prejudice at that.

That was as it should be.

Then they arrived back at the Uchiha Compound, and it seemed like all the luck that had carried Takara through for the last six months had disappeared as swiftly as it came.

…

“My little treasure,” Uchiha Hanzou swept his much-missed daughter up into his arms, twirling the eight year old around in a wide swing as their clansmen watched them indulgently.  Many of them greeting their own family members safely returned from the harrowing trip to Iron Country and back.  Even Tajima-sama and Minoru-obaasama were present to welcome the trading caravan and its precious cargo.  “Safe and sound for having been gone so long.”  He set her back on her sandaled feet, grasping her chin and tilting her face back and forth, then eyeballing where her head reached now against his breast bone.  “By Raijin-sama you’ve grown.”  He smiled, running one hand over her hair but feeling a bit bereft than his little helper had shot up while away.

“I’m home, papa.”  Takara beamed up at her father through watery eyes at seeing him standing at the torii that stood as the gates to the Uchiha Compound.  Torii that she had passed through many times in another life and been welcomed by another Uchiha though for a very different reason.  “I missed you all.”

“Ai, and we missed you as well, little treasure.”  He swung an arm around her shoulders and steered her over to where her aunties were over seeing the unloading of the caravans, in search of her belongings.  They would need to be quick.  “Your mother has carried well, Takara-chan, but is very heavy and uncomfortable.”  He warned her softly, not wanting to bandy about their family business, but thankfully shinobi who might hear were generally courteous and didn’t gossip about private information they might overhear thank to their abilities.  “Seeing you returned and in such good form will surely lift some of the worry from her shoulders.”

“Yes, papa.”  She replied dutifully.

“Good girl.”  He nodded approvingly, taking his daughter’s pack from his nephew Yasu-kun, and swinging it over his shoulder with ease, not letting loose of his daughter even for a moment.  “Now, tell me all about the trip.”  He prompted her.  “Did you keep up your hunting as well as your trapping?”

“Yes, papa,” she answered truthfully.  “We passed a herd of migrating sika in the Land of Fields on our way north…”

…

As soon as Takara clapped her eyes on her mother, she knew that heavy and uncomfortable were understatements.

Bedrest, for the most part, didn’t mean bed-bound, but from how drawn and pale Aiko looked, Takara was relatively certain that for her that was exactly what had happened somewhere along the line.

She just didn’t look healthy despite the clear signs that her father had been doting on her mother, or that she was visited frequently by her sisters and the Uchiha midwives.  From the stoppered ceramic jars on one low chest, she’d put her silver on the apothecary being involved as well, if not the medics.  Uchiha Aiko was not well, and that filled Takara with nothing but fear for her gentle, ladylike mother.

Women died in childbirth far too often even with the modern interventions she remembered from her first two lives, with the state of Uchiha medical practice leaning more on herbalism than medical ninjutsu…Takara was worried after seeing her mother rather than simply having an idea of what was going on.

She refused to allow worry or fear to paralyze her, however, instead choosing to take her mother’s hands when Aiko greeted her with a soft smile and softer voice.

“Takara-chan,” Uchiha Aiko murmured, fighting her way through constant exhaustion and the pulling drain of pregnancy to look upon her daughter.  “You look so well, my dear one.”  Her smile grew strength and brilliance as she took in the lean height that her child had gained and the straight edge to her back and shoulders.  “I am so, so glad that time with your uncles suited you so…”

Takara, having been kept in partial ignorance of the exact issue that was wrong - if even the midwives or medics knew themselves - had to stamp down hard on the urge to send her chakra spiraling into the shadow of herself Aiko had become over the last months.  Foreign chakra, no matter how gently introduced, can be a shock to the system.  Especially if there were complicating issues at hand, like carrying unborn children who after the first trimester developed their own chakra systems.

Chakra systems that would be attached but not part of the mother’s until they were ready to be born or they were forced by the mother’s system to detach to save itself causing preterm labor.

Senju Tsunade had been thorough in the medic lessons she handed out to anyone that would sit still long enough, especially after Konoha and its hospital fell.

Iryo-ninjutsu had never been a particular interest of Takara’s, but after Konoha was destroyed, she didn’t turn her nose up at any instruction anyone was willing to dish out.  She knew more than a little about the clan techniques of the Five Nations as a result, but nothing to the extent of her iryo-nin lessons.  In the end survival trumped tradition.  They lost too many of their own to Kaguya’s Zetsu clones to care about what got the job done, or to lose people because those around them didn’t know enough field medicine to keep a comrade from bleeding out before an actual iryo-nin could see to them.  Tsunade’s apprentice had worked at making at least field medics out of the remaining shinobi.  

The Slug Princess herself had given lessons an order of magnitude of complexity above-and-beyond that, to the point that by the time Senju had fallen against Kaguya, those like Takara who had sat through as many of the quick-and-dirty lessons as possible could’ve sat and passed for a medic speciality at the ANBU level if not the same as an actual healer.

That Takara could use none of her Tsunade-and-Shizune-provided education to help her mother - or even just figure out what was wrong - due to her lacking chakra control was a reality she didn’t want to face or even think about too hard.

Especially as the ghost of Ono Natsuko haunted Takara’s dreams that night.

A memory of another time she had no choice but to watch as her mother faded away, though she was losing Uchiha Aiko to pregnancy complications and not an attack by a visiting Kage.  Small mercies but also fate being a wanker all wrapped into one.  Because if pregnancy killed her third-mother…there would be no easy target to direct her rage at.

No one to blame, no enemy to fight.

It would just be life and the tragic turns it could take even without wars and rivalries and envy to poison it.

Takara was too old (mentally, emotionally, spiritually?) too bank on what-ifs and what-might-bes, however.  Not when her third-mother was smiling at her and her father, and letting Hanzou help her into sitting up so they could enjoy tea from a tray that Hanzou prepared and talk about life on a trading caravan.  Not when her new brother-or-sister kicked for attention and Aiko took Takara’s hand and let it rest on her bulging belly to greet her sibling.

No, she wouldn’t let fear take her from her third-mother while the woman was still alive.

Yes, Aiko was in danger.

How was that so different from any other Uchiha?  Takara didn’t wander around the compound seeing the people around her as ghosts and dead men.  Every Uchiha was in danger so long as the feud with the Senju wasn’t settled.

And for good this time.

Takara had no intention of allowing the centuries of feuding to poison the well against the Uchiha for centuries to come, as her memories shouted was all too possible if the feud ended on Senju terms or even just Madara caving to Hashirama’s entreaties.

It had to be different this time.

She would not plot and plan for more than a decade to destroy Zetsu and the Gedō Mazō only to have her people subjugated, mistreated, and segregated anyway.

She would not.

“Iron Country was so pretty but cold, haha.”  Takara chirped, her parents smiling indulgently at her.  “But they really liked my furs…”

…

There was a joy in being back at home, even with her mother only spending a few minutes at a time on her feet, mostly to use the chamber pot or wash.

Her father was approving over the rosewood she’d purchased, the two of them hunched over a waxed board with a stylus to work out the shape and design of her bow.  The Uchiha tended to favor short bows much like the one Hanzou made for her after she proved a capable trapper.  Hanzou, however, carried a recurve bow, and with Jizo on her mind, that was the same style she wanted for her own, if with a Uchiha flare.

Her father’s bow was mostly plain with only a few stylized clouds and wind patterns.

Takara wanted flames.

Hanzou chuckled at her choice, but agreed easily enough after warning her that given the quality of the wood she’d chosen, fashioning it for use with her adult frame would be the most sensible turn.

Which was frustrating, but understandable.

Takara physically was still a child.  Rosewood was expensive to import and rarely came in such a large piece so far south as the Uchiha Compound or the nearby villages.  That the trader in Fields didn’t even realize what he had in the rosewood had been his loss and Takara’s gain as otherwise she doubted she would’ve been able to afford it.

Bowyer project aside, Takara was given several days by her parents to settle back in before she was expected to slip back into the routine of life at the compound.  That those days happened to coincide with the last gasp of the lychee harvest was likely no accident, as her hands were lent out along with many others to help bring in the fruit.  The lychee harvest ran into the rice harvest, and Takara found herself for a solid week spending more time in the fields or checking traps in the forest than at home.

Many hands were needed to help ensure that the Uchiha would be fed through the winter, when missions were few and far between and food stuffs were only available for purchase at a premium even in the Land of Fire with its relatively mild cold season.

“Takara-chan!”

Returning from checking and resetting their traps in the forest, Takara lifted her head in surprise at the call of her name as she entered through the torii into the compound proper.  Her short bow was slung over one shoulder for protection, and a heavy bag laden with her current haul of stoats, hares, and a single marten was weighing on her shoulder.  Daigo-ji would be glad of the hides to process, and her mother had mentioned wanting rabbit stew over rice a few days before, so she was eager to process the catch and get home.

Before she was instead chivvied over to help with bringing in the latest round of crops, and her father found himself forced to take care of the haul as well as Aiko.

“Akihito-nii?”  She blinked at the sight of her older cousin, Chiyo-ba’s oldest boy, anxiously waving her over, hopping up from the boulder that he’d apparently been perched on to watch for her return.  She frowned, tagging the worry on his face at once.  “What’s wrong?”  She demanded, a sinking feeling in her stomach.  There was only one reason she could think of that her aunt’s - her midwife aunt - oldest son would be waiting for her.

And her mother was at least a month premature if she had gone into labor.

“Kaasan and the aunties were called to attend Aiko-ba.”  Uchiha Akihito told his little cousin somberly.  “I’m supposed to wait for you to turn your catch over to Daigo-ji and then take you to Kayoko-ba’s house.”

“Kayoko-ba’s?”  Takara blinked, shaking her head.  “Why not your’s?”

It was a decent question, as even if all the aunties were over helping with her mother’s labors, their husbands should still be capable of watching over their children - plus one, in Takara.

Akihito shrugged.  “Akira is going too.”

Takara swallowed, eyes wide, and then nodded.

It wasn’t like she could argue.

Not when “Kayoko-ba” was Uchiha Kayoko, her mother’s third cousin…and the wife of Uchiha Tajima.

For whatever reason that the adults had worked out amongst themselves.  Likely something to do with Akira-kun, Akihito’s youngest brother, and Takara herself staying with Kayoko being a “proper” way for the wife of the clan head to support her maternal cousin.  Maybe.  Or as a show of how the main family valued both Chiyo-ba as a midwife and Takara’s father as a hunter.

Or maybe it was truly genuine and Kayoko-ba wanted to help somehow, and adding in two more children who were of an age with her own brood wasn’t a bother given the help that she had in the form of a cook and housekeeper.

It was hard to say, and in the end it didn’t really matter.

No matter what the reasoning or the motivations, Takara was apparently having a sleepover at Tajima-sama’s house.

Sage help her.

…

Uchiha Kayoko was never quite certain what to make of her cousin’s daughter.

As a busy mother to five sons, all destined to be shinobi and follow in their father’s footprints, she didn’t have much time to herself.  She wasn’t kagi no ban'nin yet, and wouldn’t be until her venerable mother-in-law passed into the Pure Lands, yet much of her time that wasn’t spent with her twin sons who were still too young to attend lessons with their older brothers was assisting her mother-in-law with her duties.  Or keeping order over the large home and grounds of the main house.

When she did have a few moments to sneak away for herself, she enjoyed guiding her toddler boys by the hands over to the civilian section where her part of the family dwelled.  As traders, it was usually a random assortment of relatives to be found, but she enjoyed her time sitting and chatting while working at small crafts with them.  Kayoko hadn’t been on a caravan since before her marriage to Tajima-sama, but she still enjoyed the feeling of a smooth piece of wood and a whittling knife in her hands, or the process of weaving on a backstrap loom rather than the large floor loom weaving or fine calligraphy or lovely painting that were expected of her now.

Some of her cousins, like Aiko-san and her sisters, had like Kayoko married out of the active trading caravans and made good company on those days where Kayoko found time to sit in the sun and enjoy the return to simpler times.

As a consequence, though it was infrequent, Kayoko had watched as little Takara-chan had grown from a quiet, watchful babe into an extremely clever and capable young girl.

One that Kayoko often got the impression - mainly due to experience from seeing it in her own Dara-kun - who was humoring the adults around her.

There had yet to be a task set to Takara-chan from spinning thread to watching over younger children that the girl struggled with.  If anything it was the opposite.  Takara-chan often seemed to have a firmer grasp on many tasks than children much older than her, as if her hands already knew the work and only waited for her mind to remind them.

Then one day a few years ago, after Hanzou-san had started teaching his daughter his trade rather than continue to wait for a son that may very well not appear, her Dara-kun came home speaking about a new friend he had made.  Takara-chan with her dark blue eyes, who was learning how to hunt.  Including with Dara-kun’s beloved raptors.

Oh, her boy was going to be so mad when he returned from his training mission with his father and younger brother to the news that his youngest brothers had gotten to spend a solid week with his friend.  Without him.  Her Dara-kun was a sweet boy, if often withdrawn from others his age due to his status in the clan, but he was possessive as any other Uchiha.

Even if he’d yet to really have time to realize it, or that Takara-chan might be someone he was possessive over.

All her boys were that way, however.  Guarding “their” toys and clothes from each other like tigers.  Each trying to claim Kayoko herself as “their” mother.

It was all innocent, a trait that they would learn to moderate as they matured.

That didn’t mean that Kayoko wasn’t looking forward to watching Dara-kun’s thick curly hair fluff up like an angry cat’s tail over Takara-chan.

Especially if he witnessed a scene like the one Kayoko had found welcoming her when she arrived home on the third day that Takara-chan had been staying at the main house.

…

“Again nee-san, again!”

Takara huffed a soft laugh under her breath as she was swarmed by Akira-kun and Haruki-kun in the training ring that the main house had attached to their garden.

Likely for katas given the packed earth and lack of scorch marks, but it was a rare clear space to - theoretically - practice sparring or what-have-you.

Or in the case of being pounced on by little gremlins, swooping them up and sending them flinging backwards onto the soft grass with a whoop as they hit the ground and rolled.

Shinobi children, she swore, were both more durable and far more likely to bounce and roll than normal kids.

Case in point her little cousin Haruki-kun coming up with the idea to pounce on Takara as soon as he and Akira-kun returned from their lessons upon finding Takara present - freed from her own lessons - and no Kayoko-ba to chide them.

She made it a challenge at least, feeling them - even if she couldn’t hear them coming from a mile away, stealthy five years olds were not even ones trained in shinobi arts from the cradle like these two - as she’d moved through her slow-motion chakra control katas.

Time without supervision was rare in this life, worse even than growing up in Konoha, as with the sheer number of children living in the Uchiha Compound, the adults really couldn’t afford to let them run wild.

Oh, they had plenty of time to run and play and be kids.

Even ones being trained from near-birth to be future warriors of the clan.

But it was all supervised, by older children/young teens if not actual adults, making finding time to herself to work on her more physical skills that needed space - more than could be found in her bedroom or the attic anyway - a challenge.

A challenge not helped by the fact that Takara was supposed to be a civilian child this go-around not a shinobi one and was being educated accordingly.

She’d lucked out in having Hanzou as her father, and for more than one reason.  As a hunter, Hanzou was pretty much the closest thing to a shinobi the clan had absent active training.  Add in the chakra reserves she was certain she inherited from him and not her mother - minus whatever fuckery Naruto pulled - given how each used chakra (Hanzou, constantly, Aiko barely at all) and yeah.  If she had to be living in the Warring States Era she could’ve done a lot worse on the parental front.

Tajima-sama for instance was no picnic with the expectations he dumped on his sons and she heard of through the gossip chain or Madara’s grumbling.

Two more - much smaller - bodies rocketed over to Takara, trying to take her out at the knees as she looked up at the sound of a huff of laughter coming from the engawa across the garden.

“Gotchu!”  The twin on the left cheered - Takuya, she thought, given the beaming grin the toddler was wearing.

“Nee-san play?”  A sober little face asked on the right, impossibly big black eyes blinking up at her as he hugged her leg - Keita then.

Takara glanced over at Haruki and Akira, the older boys seeming genial enough to have their “sparring” time co-opted by the younger boys into actual play time without even the cover of potential training practice.

“Shinobi tag?”  Takara suggested, looking back over at Kayoko-ba who nodded and slipped back in the main house at Takara’s implicit offer to watch the boys.

A resounding cheer answered her question, both of the older boys snagging a twin and darting off into the garden to hide while Takara closed her eyes and began to count, no sign of her inner worry showing as she acted like the child her physical age declared her.

Her mother had been in labor for days, and no news had come.

Something was wrong.

Potentially even fatally so given how careful the midwives had been over Aiko’s pregnancy from the start.

“Ten!”  She shouted, firmly putting her worries aside.  Problematic birth or not, there wasn’t anything she could do to help her mother.  But she could wrangle a quartet of energetic shinobi spawn so Kayoko-ba could have a break.  So she would.  “Ready or not, here I come!”

…

Takara helped manage the younger boys all through dinner and washing up for the night, reading to them from one of the story scrolls that the main house had - this one on the legend of Uchiwa no Indra’s saving of a young prince who ended up becoming the first Daimyo of the Land of Fire - but once they were all settled she let the facade slip.

Kayoko-ba was the only witness as Takara allowed her shoulders to slump and the smile fade from her face after she’d closed the shogi door to the room currently shared by Akira and Haruki as the older woman came out of the twins’ nursery.

“Do you have work for Chizuru-sensei?”  Kayoko asked the young girl, a soft frown furrowing her brows at the visible sign of the strain that the child was under.

“No, Kayoko-ba.”  Takara sighed, rolling her head on her neck and then lifting her head and eyes onto the gentle face of the clan head’s wife.  She smiled, though it was a weak, watery thing, at the look of surprise the older Uchiha wore at her answer.

Though she understood it.

Chizuru-sensei was of the Tsukuyomi Uchiha, an elder of the first line of the Uchiha secondary branches, and a notorious hardass when it came to pounding both their reading and writing, as well as the art of calligraphy, into generations of Uchiha girls.  Each according to their reasonable station.  There was a standard of literacy that every girl had to reach before they were “freed” from mandatory lessons with the old battle axe, but it was also dependent on the wishes of a girl’s parents.

A girl from a farming family could spend additional months or even years compared to a shinobi daughter learning under Chizuru-sensei’s gimlet eye if it was requested and her parents were willing to make an adequate trade for the elder’s additional guidance beyond what was provided by the clan.

Most girls spend anywhere from three to five years learning from Chizuru-sensei to reach the “adequate” standard of literacy to be freed from her clutches, while others spend less or more.  All depending on how quick they were to learn and the aforementioned potential extra lessons.  As well as Chizuru-sensei’s tolerance for the girl in question.

The elder was notorious for assigning additional readings or calligraphy exercises.

Takara, however, was either the bane of Chizuru-sensei’s life or her favorite pupil, and she still wasn’t sure what the difference between the two was.

For good reason.

She’d blitzed through learning to write hiragana and learning basic kanji, even with the style differences expected due to there being a very different social culture in play than the one she’d grown up with in her second life that was more standardized in script and what a child was expected to know to be considered literate.  A fact that she was relatively certain was dismissed because, as she’d learned the hard way both from training Sasuke and her own early experiences as an Uchiha now, Uchiha brains and visual memory were just wired different than she’d known in her first lives.  Even taking into consideration an adult’s ability to abuse the fuck out of a child’s neuroplasticity, her visual acuity and memory had never been as good even after chakra and mnemonic training from Kakashi-sensei as it was now naturally.

She saw more clearly and remembered more, granting a clarity even to her pre-Takara memories that had been hard to deal with at first.

One of the best weapons against grief was time, and with how good her memory was now, time had a harder challenge in softening the rough edges of her grief to allow her to if not heal, at least be in less pain.

“Oh?”  Kayoko asked, a bit baffled.  “No practice?  From Chizuru-sensei?”

Takara shook her head, a sly smile lightening her expression if only for a moment.

“Chizuru-sensei needed to find a new rare-kanji scroll for me.”  Takara explained simply.  While another teacher would have thrown up their hands in exasperation and sent Takara back to her parents to spend her time learning another skill, Chizuru-sensei took her quickness as a challenge.  Setting her to perfecting her calligraphy rather than letting her slide by with what the elder considered acceptable from other students.  Tossing rare or unique kanji scrolls at her head for memorization and then drilling her on them.  As far as Chizuru-sensei was concerned, she owned Takara three days a week until she was ten, and she was going to pound everything she could into her head while she was at it.  The sour old biddy.  “I’ve already worked through and memorized all the standard material.”

As it was, she swore she heard Chizuru-sensei muttering something about archives, katagana, and law codes which filled her with nothing but dread.

“Oh.”  Kayoko blinked, shaking off her bemusement.  That did sound like Chizuru-sensei.  Kayoko herself had been “graced” with a few advanced lessons herself back when she was a little older than Takara.  It was how she was introduced to her lord husband, as a matter of fact, during one of her times taking official lessons from the calligraphy master rather than learning on the road.  “I see.  Did you bring any of your embroidery with you, then?”  She switched topics, knowing that Takara-chan had been moved from simple sewing and mending to high skill work before she left on caravan.  “You could join me by the iori and tell me about your lessons.”

“Yes, Kayoko-ba.”  Takara accepted the attempt to keep her mind off her mother’s travail and turned towards the guest room to retrieve the blanket she was making for her baby sibling.  “That sounds nice.”

“Very good.”  Kayoko turned back towards the kitchen, “I’ll make tea.”

“Thank you, Kayoko-ba.”

“Anything for family dear,” Kayoko waved off the idea of thanks.   “Think nothing of it.”

“Yes, auntie.”

“Good girl.”  She shooed her off.  “Go on now.  I’ll only need a minute.”

…

Chapter Text

Karuma no Kagami

Chapter Four: Bloodmoon

When she was asked later, Takara would never be able to pinpoint what it was that grabbed her attention.

Whether she heard the whisper of a kunai slicing through the paper barrier of shogi panels.

Or if despite the distance between her guest room and the kitchen she heard the clatter of Kayoko-ba being attacked.

Or even sensed the killing intent of the invaders.

Whatever it was, in the end it didn’t matter.

What did was that due to an accident of fate or maybe some strange design of whatever powers there might be, her attention was drawn as she knelt by her bag to gather up her blanket project and meet her kinswoman by the fire for work and talk.

Her instincts roused by it so much that instead of having her hands full of soft cotton and embroidery silk, when Takara stepped silent-footed out into the corridor holding the main family’s bedrooms leading to the main room, it was with her new hunting knife in hand.

The childish impulse of her body was to call out in worry for her kinswoman as a heavy feeling hung in the air.

Takara smothered such idiocy in the cradle, refusing to be at the mercy of her maturing hormones and synapses when her mind damn well knew better.

Instead Takara wrapped the quiet, still calm of the huntress she once was around her, moving from shadow-to-shadow as she sent her chakra seeking through the house to touch on the known residents, searching for anything - any one - out of place.

And found malice laced with killing intent, shattering the heavy calm in an instant with the sound of pottery crashing to the ground.

Kayoko-ba!

Takara had always been fast, and needing to retain the advantage of the shadows made no difference.

She flared her chakra once, big and bright and alarmed, to alert the guards on watch - if the invaders hadn’t killed them all, as her darker instincts knew was entirely likely - and firmed her grip on her knife.  She wished she wasn’t a civilian child.  At her age in Konoha, she would’ve had a full Academy-student’s kit to work with and actual training, not a single hunting knife more suited to skinning game then fending off trained assassins and whatever practice she could sneak in around chores and hunting.

The invaders would have to be trained assassins, if they’d gotten this far into the compound without anyone else but Takara sending up an alarm.

A choked off cry - Kayoko! - killed any remnant of hesitation inside of her.  The urge to hide and protect herself, to survive.  Not just this night, (and wasn’t it interesting that the assassins came while Tajima-sama was gone…?) but in general.  To keep the Uchiha from discovering she was anything more than a potentially talented child.  To keep the assassins from finding her at all.

To keep what she could do, as the student of the Viper and the Hound, to herself and from causing questions.

Eight-year-old body aside, Takara was done playing the long game if she was all that stood between four happy little boys and knives in the night.

Kneading her chakra she flipped her hunting knife and made the rat hand seal, summoning two shadow clones and feeling the immediate drain of chakra - but compared even to the drain prior to her last use as Toshiko, it was significantly reduced.

Seven-ish years of chakra training and increasing her reserves at a child’s both swift and malleable pace would do that.

She’d never have the power of her impossible baby brother, but she was on a path to be the furthest thing from average when it came to her chakra reserves and the responsiveness of her chakra coils and tenketsu points.

Her clones darted forward and back, hunting knives spinning back into an attack position in their hands, as one served as an advanced guard and the other split off to guard the corridor and the sleeping boys just beyond.

The first clone dodged left as soon as it breached the kitchen doorway, only to be dispersed a moment later giving Takara back its chakra and the layout of the attackers.

Though not before drilling the hunting knife with a perfect throw - Kakashi-sensei would be proud - through the eye of the assassin with his hand around Kayoko-ba’s throat where he had her pinned against the counter’s edge.

Her muscle memory was as much a work in progress as her chakra control, but the day she couldn’t throw a knife or kunai accurately was the day she laid down and died.

Four assassin left, sent a five-man infiltration team, Takara processed in a split second, deciding on her first target as she flipped her knife into a guard position to block an incoming attack as soon as she cleared the door.

“Takara!”  Kayoko-ba screamed out, grabbing a kunai from the body on the floor as she pushed away, flaring her chakra after finally rousing it high enough for an alarm.  “Get the boys and run!”

“Shut up, Uchiha trash.”  One of the assassins growled out, turning to backhand the woman with one fist, ignoring the little girl at the door, stunned to see the corpse of one of his men who’d fallen to what had looked like little more than a shadow.  “Your brats aren’t going anywhere.”

Cursing mentally as Kayoko-ba charged the man, presumably the leader, as Takara fended off the other three assassins, Takara knew in that moment that barring a miracle, even with all her skills, she wasn't going to be fast enough.

She was still a child in body.  One who had had to start over from scratch when it came to her physical shinobi training.  All the knowledge in the world didn’t matter when her body wasn’t trained to act the way she needed to, and sneaking in exercises and training - while easier on the road over the last half-year - wasn’t anything like the dedicated experience she’d had at the same age in her second life.

It was a fucker of a Catch-22.  Ten times the potential and a concrete plan of what to do with it.  But almost no time to act on any of it due to civilian parents who actually gave a crap about what their daughter was getting up to.

Spinning out of the way of a kunai, she blocked a second with her knife, then slapped down a hand grabbing for her hair with a palm charged - overcharged - with raiton.  The sound of gasping breath and a choking tongue music to her ears as the grabby idiot hit the ground seizing.  Two down.

Her knife flashed as she twisted it behind her as she ducked low, slashing at the ankle tendons of the two men on her with precise strikes of honed steel.

One stumbled, one dodged, and her knife flashed again as the first hit the floor and she cut his throat in the next moment, her arm and legs wobbling in an inexcusable sign of just how weak she really was despite her efforts.

The whistle of senbon flying through the air had her pushing off the floor in a chakra-powered leap, risking the chakra burn to reinforce her muscles and joints to keep going when her body protested, flipping up and over the projectiles that had been heading for her back and gave her a horrifying view:

Red.

Red on Kayoko-ba’s stolen kunai.

Red on Kayoko-ba’s yukata.

Red blood dripping down the assassin’s fist as it buried a kunai up to the hilt in Kayoko-ba’s heart.

Red.

Red was all she saw.

Then…she saw everything.

…

It wasn’t a dramatic change inside of her.

There was no shattering of a heretofore unknown barrier.

Her eyes didn’t itch or flare or burn.

It wasn’t a push or a flood.

The world didn’t freeze around her.

It wasn’t like she was moving at hyperspeed while everyone else was standing still.

What it was, was a singular truth: she simply wasn’t enough as she was, not when she knew she could be more.

Not when she needed to be more if she wanted to keep that kunai buried in Kayoko-ba from taking the innocent boys sleeping down the hall from her too.

It was dispersing her shadow clone to reclaim its chakra.

It was knowing she could be more and needing to be more and deciding to be more than she already was.

It was flipping a switch, the chakra coils and tenketsu points behind her eyes and even inside her optic nerves connecting and lighting up in new ways as Takara reached, and the Sharingan reached back.

…

It was a twist in the air and a thrust of her knife blade through the hollow of her current attacker’s throat, leaving him to drown in his own blood.

It was the memory of her former lover, a body-flicker and a kunai stolen from the body beneath her slammed between the shoulder blades of the man who’d taken her kinswoman from her and Kayoko’s sons and husband - and had given her the infamous eyes of an Uchiha warrior in return.

It was reaching down and twisting the kunai, severing his spinal cord and a shrill scream of pain ringing in her ears, and then cutting his throat with cold calculation.

It was blood on the moon, and blood on her hands, and blood on Kayoko-ba’s yukata.

And the night wasn’t done giving or taking.

Not yet.

...

By the time the Uchiha guards arrived, it was all over.

Half a dozen of their number had fallen in the night as the assassins slipped into and through the compound to the main house, their response to the chakra alert slowed as a result.

When they arrived, it was to the sight of an eight year old girl with burning sharingan eyes standing guard outside the nursery of the clan heirs, all four boys - three of the main line, one her own cousin - tucked away safely inside.

A girl who collapsed as soon as she recognized her own uncle among the second wave of guards, Uchiha Arata darting forward to catch her when the knife slipped out of her grasp and her knees buckled.

Takara-chan had allowed the guards to check on the boys inside the nursery but had yet to fully come out of her battle-fugue state before Arata arrived.

“Clean it up.”  Arata ordered his men, hoisting his niece into his arms to have her checked out by a medic.  “Check for survivors, run a full sweep of the compound, a full squad stays with the heirs at all times until ordered otherwise.”

“Yes, Captain!”

There would be time to mourn for the Lady Uchiha - but later.

Right now, they had to run a full sweep of the compound, ensure that no more lives were lost, and figure out how they were going to explain what happened to the elders, let alone Tajima-sama.

…

“What will you call them?”

“Tsubaki and…” a trailing sigh, more weak breath than word.  “Tsu…Tsu…”

“Aiko?  Aiko?!”

“Aiko!”

…

Uchiha Arata was standing over his niece’s sickbed when his wife found him, her midwife’s smock discarded but his keen eyes spotting stray bits of blood even without his sharingan active.

The drawn, haunted expression on her face said it all, Arata cursing under his breath as he darted a glance back down to the child.  Takara-chan was sleeping the deep, unbothered dreamlessness of the innocent.  Or perhaps, the ignorant.

“I heard from the boys.”  Chiyo pitched her voice low to avoid waking the unconscious girl.  One of the only pieces of her beloved younger sister to survive, now.  “The Sharingan?”

Arata nodded crisply.  “There was no doubting it.”  He sighed, exhausted, and lifted one hand to rub at the short beard he tended to cultivate going into the cooler months.  “Bright, vibrant, fully-formed” which was rare and might be a problem depending on whether or not the elders wanted to make it one.  Whether they believed that Takara-chan gained the sharingan over the events of that night or thought it had been hidden from the clan by her parents for some reason or other.  “and as red as our lady’s blood splattered over the kitchen.”

“Wounds?”

He gestured towards Takara-chan’s face, then her lower arms.

“Minor, they might scar but might not.”  He shrugged, the medic who’d seen to Takara-chan hadn’t been sure either way.  “I doubt she even felt them with how fast the attack happened.”

It had to have been incredibly swift, as he knew that even with finding several of their own guard comrades dead on the ground, mere minutes passed between first Takara-chan and then Kayoko-sama flaring their chakra in alarm and the first guards arriving on-scene.

Add in that other than one of the assassins who’d been found halfway out of the kitchen and into the main hall who looked like he’d cooked from the inside out thanks to an overpowered raiton jutsu all of the attackers had been found in the kitchen, and it was an incredible show of what even a civilian Uchiha could do with the sharingan.

Though her father’s hunting tricks had surely helped, making Takara-chan perhaps a half-civilian at worst when properly motivated.

Arata thanked Amaterasu-sama that Takara-chan had been properly motivated that night, even with what they’d all lost with Kayoko-sama’s death - his own youngest son’s life had been saved by it.

Still, he and everyone else knew what Kayoko-sama’s death meant once Tajima-sama was informed and the bodies searched for identifying information.

War.

“Are you going to wake her?”  He asked his wife, unsure which would be better for the girl he - and all of them - owed so much.

She saved the future of their clan with her actions that night.

They wouldn’t be quick to forget it.

“No.”  Chiyo decided with a sigh, coming over to lean into her husband and drink in his stalwart strength for a moment.  There was so much to do.  Two households had lost wives and mothers in the night, even if one of them struck more deeply at her than the other.  So much that would need to be prepared for and sorted out.  “Let her sleep.  It will likely be the last peaceful rest she has for some time.  I wouldn’t rob her of it to no purpose.”

“My wife is wise.”

Chiyo dismissed that with a flick of her wrist.  She wasn’t wise, she was exhausted and pushed past her limits.  She would break and feel the pain of losing her sister soon enough, let alone her beloved cousin.

She would break and wail later.

For now: there was work to do.

…

She didn’t want to open her eyes.  She knew simply by dint of her being alone, with no one around her that she could sense, that more than the attack at the main house had happened.  That once she opened her eyes her world would change once more.

Takara knew her third-mother was dead before anyone ever told her.

It was there in the absence of her father or any relative at all at her bedside.

It was in the labor that lasted for days.

In the lack of information or news from Aunt Chiyo.

The news was there in between the lines written in blood red within her new eyes, in the facts that she knew even without anyone having spoken a word.

She knew the truth in the absences and empty spaces, long before they were spoken into being.

Another mother lost and again history repeated itself.

But that didn’t mean that Takara had to face it head on and in that exact moment.

Instead, she let herself sink back into the dark and the warmth of dreams.

The morning would be cold.

It would bring hard truths and the aftermath of her new… situation into the light of day.

So she would let herself enjoy the warmth of a lie for a little while longer.

She would let herself be weak - if only for the moment.

Tomorrow she could be strong.

Tonight, all she wanted was to sleep.

…

Uchiha Minoru was far too accustomed to grief.

All Uchiha were, to an extent, but the worst of them by far were the blood of their shinobi warriors.  The mothers and sisters and wives of those who went out and fought the encroaching Senju brutes and used their hard-won skills to bring wealth and glory to the clan.  Or rarely to a mission that went awry.

Once they, the kunoichi of the Uchiha, had fought as well.  That time was gone, burned away under the fury of an entire generation when the Senju had captured one of their own and subjected her to the sort of torture that - were the Senju less short-sighted - would have led to line theft.   Uchiha women no longer fought on the front lines or took missions.

Even those who accompanied the trading caravans only did so if they were capable of concealing their chakra to the point of appearing civilian to a sensor, as well as other means of civilian infiltration and soft interrogation.

Their trading caravans brought not only needed economic prosperity to the Uchiha, but vital information from both within the Land of Fire and without.

Uchiha Minoru, despite being well-versed in grief after losing her husband and three of her sons to the Senju, had never expected to mourn a daughter or daughter-in-law to anything but sickness, old age, or the childbed.

But, brutal upjumped peasants that they were, it seemed the Senju were no longer content with the detente regarding their young after a decade of seeing no children younger than fourteen on the battlefield.

Uchiha Minoru had lost her hand-chosen assistant and wife of her eldest living son to a Senju blade within the halls of the clan’s main house.

Kayoko, gentle and elegant and refined, had been the perfect wife for the head of the Uchiha warriors.  A soothing balm to Tajima’s raging fury.  That she was one of the best civilian infiltrators and soft interrogators the trading branch had produced was no small accomplishment in her own right.

Kayoko’s intelligence and deft use of civilian chakra techniques had been what Minoru had wanted all those years ago in her son’s wife.

Everything else - such as the beauty that enraptured her son - had been a bonus.

Now she was gone.

That Minoru’s younger grandsons had survived the incursion was almost beyond belief.

A miracle.

A gift from Amaterasu-Ōmikami, but one that was purchased at great cost.

Two mothers were lost in the night to ensure the lives of Minoru’s three grandsons: one to a Senju blade and the other in ensuring that the savior of her grandsons would be in place to do so.

It was a gift that would have to be repaid, even as it was impossible to truly accomplish.

What could Minoru or even the clan as a whole give that might replace the loss of a good mother?  What could they do that would ease the pain of having a beloved wife taken from one’s arms at the will of the kami?  If the young babes born premature were lost as well, the debt that was owed would only grow exponentially as the small family that had bled to save the future of the Uchiha would only mourn more deeply instead of beginning to recover.

Oh yes, a debt there was to be paid over the events of the previous night.

And not just in blood to their ancient enemies, either.

But to their own.

…

When Takara finally opened her eyes after the deep sleep she recognized from skirmishes in her first life that left her tired in body and chakra, it was to the sight of her father sitting slumped at the side of her sickbed.

Hanzou’s eyes were red-rimmed even in sleep, dark bags beneath them, and with dried streaks of tears that Takara would have been able to pick out even without having her visual acuity increased tenfold by activating the sharingan for the first time.

She’d known that the first instance of activation changed how Uchiha viewed the world - and not just through their eyes.  She distinctly remembered helping Sasuke learn how to access all the information that his senses processed and how his brain adapted to a perfect memory.  In comparison to the increase in vision, the improvement to the other senses - including a shinobi’s chakra sense - were minor.

Yet they were increased as well, or perhaps it was simply an Uchiha’s brain being able to parse through and process more of the information all their senses took in.

Either way - whether due to actual increased senses or better information processing - once the sharingan was activated, Uchiha went from having impressive memories to near-perfect ones and ran the risk of sensory overload until they learned how to deal with it.

And that was without having the sharingan itself active.

With their eyes “on” and pushing extra chakra to them and their corresponding tenketsu points and chakra coils, their memories became perfect and the sensory input was processed and filtered to the point of Uchiha being able to react as if on supernatural instinct to the world around them.

Which had its ups-and-downs.

In her second life, there were only four holders of active sharingan she knew who used the dojutsu for more than battle.  Kakashi-sensei, Sasuke-kun, Itachi and Shisui.  She didn’t think it was a coincidence that they were also four of the strongest users, able to equal Uchiha Obito at his most vicious if not as flat-out strong (solo, there was no saying what might have happened if they’d managed to fight together) as Madara.

The Sharingan was a gift but it could also be a curse if the memories it recorded were all of bloodshed and death.

By the time Ono Toshiko had been born, to see the sharingan was seen as an implicit threat to the point that it was rarely seen outside of battle or missions even within the Uchiha Compound in Konoha.

She had to think that such seeming restraint on the part of the once-Uchiha had had a significant impact on both their mental health - individually and as a clan - as well as reinforcing the idea that to see an Uchiha using their dojutsu was to be in danger.

Such was not the case in Uchiha Takara’s era.

Walking through the Uchiha Compound would reveal at least a handful of sharingan being used at any given time.  Mostly by retired shinobi as they went about their trades but also by young Uchiha using them as a learning tool.  The sharingan was a tool like anything else.  It could no more choose to kill on its own than it could paint a fence.

Takara would remember the look on Kayoko-ba’s face as a kunai was driven through her breast all her life in crystal-clear high definition resolution.

She was determined, however, not to let that one moment be the defining one of her life.

To that end, she breathed a moment, orienting herself with the new paths her chakra took as it naturally flowed through her body without her active control, and then once more reached, her father’s face as he slept sliding into place in her memories alongside the clarity of Kayoko-ba’s death - and everything that came afterward.

For all her days she would remember the hesitance and caution on the faces of her own clansmen when they saw her guarding the way to her charges.

The blood splatter of the kitchen.

Haruki and Akira’s shocked faces but willingness to trust even as she looked a fright when she woke them and moved them into the twins’ nursery.

Keita and Takuya’s sweetly sleeping faces.

Takara was determined to balance the good with the bad, to keep herself from slipping over the edge into obsession and wrath that came far too easily to Uchiha with active sharingan because of how impossible it was for them to forget all that they had lost in their lives - and who was to blame.

She had a job to do, one that had become one step closer to completion now that she had the sharingan - and as a result, knew that no matter what was Uchiha tradition, she was going to be trained as an Uchiha shinobi.

So that she might protect her eyes, if nothing else.

To Hanzou’s credit, when he opened his own eyes at the feeling of being watched, he didn’t so much as twitch at the sight of sharingan eyes in his treasure’s face.

He knew - despite what he’d been told by his w-his wife’s kin - that it was a possibility.  The Uchiha had been impressed, almost insultingly so, by Hanzou’s depth of chakra reserves.  They’d explained that it was rare, even if put into a life-or-death situation due to bandits or a raid, for members of the civilian branches of the Uchiha to come into the sharingan.

Their dojutsu required vast amounts of chakra, or so he was told, and most of them had too many duties from a young age to devote the necessary time to chakra training to support it.

Hanzou thought that that might only be part of the underlying issue for why the sharingan was found most often in the shinobi lines of the Uchiha.

As an outsider with an outsider’s perspective, he thought it might also have something to do with expectation and need.  Though he’d never say as much, when the Uchiha were so certain in their beliefs surrounding power and grief.  If a bird was raised all its life kept in cages with clipped wings, would it still know it could fly?

His Takara had never lacked for chakra and grew up with the idea that the sharingan was possible but not a guarantee for any Uchiha.

Put into a position where she needed it and with every expectation that she could activate it…

No, Hanzou wasn’t surprised when he was told of what had happened in the main house and his daughter’s new status as a result.  The only real surprise in all of that was the assassins penetrating so deep into the compound, not that they would attack the main family or how his daughter would react to having those she cared for threatened.  Takara was very much his daughter, her use of his training to kill despite that not being the purpose behind it showed that, and wouldn’t run when she had the option to fight instead.

Though they didn't carry the name, having left it behind when his foremother and her husband were driven from the clan, their personal pack following, they were Hatake.  And Hatake protected their own.  Viciously, red in fang and claw, but they did so.

It was a difficult instinct to contain, that Hatake possessive protectiveness.

One that he had fought most of his life to control along with his chakra, and now had settled into his daughter - his eldest daughter - as well.

“She’s gone, isn’t she?”  Takara asked, allowing her sharingan to fade away after memorizing the blue of her father’s eyes and the grief that they held.  “Mother?”

“Yes, my treasure.”  Hanzou answered, voice rough from his private grief.  “We weren’t prepared for twins and given your mother’s strain before her pains even came…”

He couldn’t say anything more.  Couldn’t bring himself to.  Having to work with his wife’s mother and sisters to prepare Aiko for her pyre was bad enough.

He hadn’t done more than glance at his newborn children since they’d been taken away by Chiyo to the care of a wetnurse.

He hadn’t even named them, for all that his sisters-in-law had tried to cajole him into doing so.

“Twins?”  Takara blinked swiftly, pushing back the tears that threatened.  “Really?  Are they…?”

“Your sisters are with a wetnurse.”  Hanzou replied gruffly, closing his eyes and shaking his head as he straightened up, tucking away his grief and pain.  Takara needed him strong, not broken and beaten down.  “They’re small, but your Chiyo-ba has hope for them.”

He knew they had limited time before life - and clan politics - would intrude.

His eldest daughter had the sharingan.

His younger daughters were only tentatively considered healthy after being born early - though were given more hope than they would otherwise, as twins were born early more often than not.

Even the most presumptuous of the elders - or Tajima-sama - wouldn’t intrude on their mourning beyond getting Takara’s account of the attack before Aiko’s nōkotsu when her ashes were interred.

As it was, part of the reason behind Hanzou’s presence at his daughter’s side was to bring her the black mourning kimono her grandmother had unearthed from the family’s set of mourning attire and help her dress for her mother’s wake.

Kayoko-sama’s was being postponed until Tajima-sama and their elder sons returned, her body held in stasis in the coffin house, but their family was not so important as to require the clan head’s presence.

Hanzou had already lost his wife and would have to be careful he didn’t lose his eldest daughter to clan politics.

He wouldn’t risk causing damage to his beloved’s departed spirit by delaying her funerary rites.

“Come, daughter,” he rose, gently taking Takara’s hands and helping her to her feet in case she suffered from body-weakness as the medic had warned was possible after such strain of her body and chakra she’d endured.  “We must prepare.”

Takara took a breath, absurdly grateful when her legs held her rather than buckling, and nodded.

Uchiha Aiko had been a kind, gentle mother even if she had never quite understood her daughter or knew what to do with her.

Takara would honor her for her care and wish her well in the afterlife.

If nothing else, in hope that gentle Aiko would find peace in the Pure Lands.

Hope, in that case, was all she had.

She’d given up on finding out for herself with her latest round of reincarnation roulette.

No matter how Naruto had chosen to stack the deck.

…

Together with her aunties and grandmother, Takara packed away her mother’s personal belongings.

A few things were gifted by her and her father to her female relatives as momentos, but for the most part they were simply moved into chests and boxes for storage in the attic.  One day, she - gods willing - would go through them with her sisters.  They would each select which pieces they wanted to take as part of their dowries into their new homes.  Takara would tell Tsubaki and Tsukiko - the latter name chosen after much debate between Takara and their father - stories of their mother that went with different items or garments.

Other pieces were cleansed via ritual to ensure that no harmful spirits were drawn to them in the wake of her mother’s passing as they were too useful to wait and allow time to do its work.

When the kamidana was uncovered at the proscribed time, Aiko’s spindle was once again set in its place on a chest in the main room.  Her backstrap loom rested beside it, and the silk reel that had been a recent gift from her husband standing proud on the floor.  Her sewing and embroidery kits had migrated into Takara’s room, and her lone bonsai found a new home in the care of her priestess-sister Seiko.

Days passed in the ritual and tradition of mourning, Takara accompanying Seiko-ba to the wake of Kayoko-sama as was appropriate given that while Takara hadn’t saved the Lady Uchiha, she had saved the lady’s sons.

It was awful and awkward and more than she wanted to deal with on the heels of failing Kayoko-ba because she was so deep into her cover as a child that using the sort of jutsu that might’ve saved the Lady Uchiha didn’t even occur to her.

One part of her said that it wouldn’t have mattered.

That by the time Takara even knew anything was wrong that night that Kayoko-ba was already dead in all but deed.

It didn’t help against the rest of her that knew she was better than that.

Better, wiser, more powerful - none of it mattered against actions.

It didn’t mean she was infallible.

It was the sort of sharp coming back down to earth she would’ve given anything to avoid if possible and yet her old friend of grief and mourning came back around to remind her that no matter how much she knew or learned or was potentially capable of:

At the end of the day, she was only human in a world and age of shinobi gods and monsters.

She would make mistakes.

She would fail and she would lose.

But before all else: she was shinobi.

She would endure.

…

Chapter Text

Karuma no Kagami

Chapter Five: Tradition and Law

Fifty days precisely after the death of Uchiha Aiko to childbirth, her husband and eldest daughter found themselves kneeling formally in seiza opposite a tea table from the two leaders of their venerable clan:

Uchiha Minoru-sama, the (to Takara’s eyes) chatelaine-slash-castellan-slash-steward of the Uchiha was presiding as the host, with her son and general-slash-lord Uchiha Tajima-sama at her side.

In Uchiha-terms the pair were known as the keeper of the keys, referring both physically to the clan vaults and symbolically regarding the compound gate, and commandant over the Uchiha warriors and external affairs.

Kagi no ban'nin, with control over kanri or stewardship; and Shirei-kan respectively; at least in-clan.

Out-clan to conceal knowledge of the Uchiha leadership structure from being capitalized on or exploited, they were simply the Clan Head and his Dowager Lady mother.

Political fictions had no bearing on reality when one belonged to the Uchiha, and as a result both Hanzou and Takara were just as wary of the elder with her elegant kimono and silver-streaked hair - if not more so - than of the stern general seen more often than not in armor as one had significantly more open power over them within the clan than the other.

Oh, Tajima-sama could ruin their lives if he wanted to, but given their current status within the clan it would be through subterfuge rather than overt.

Thankfully, the tea they were present for wasn’t an official tea ceremony, but more a polite gesture to help move matters along given the reason for their meeting that all of them were aware of but due to mourning traditions had yet to be officially broached, let alone handled, leaving Takara and her immediate family in a sort of social limbo within the clan.

Holding out her age-spotted hands in wordless demand, Uchiha Minoru waited for the newest sharingan wielder of the clan to allow the kagi no ban’nin to inspect her personally and grade her potential talent.

Her chakra was brisk but warm running through Takara, not unlike being rubbed down by a warm rough cloth after a bath, though she wouldn’t call it comfortable by any measure.

Minoru-obaa-sama merely nodded after a long moment, sending a look towards her son who echoed his mother’s motion with his own hands and then examining the girl’s chakra pathways and what he could feel of her reserves for himself.

He was more like banked coals that were a bit too warm to be comfortable but were restrained so they didn’t burn her from the inside out to Takara’s senses.

Tajima didn’t allow it to show, but he was surprised by what he found given that the girl was known to have collapsed after the attack on his home.  He expected to find average chakra reserves at best.  Barely able to manifest the sharingan and then drained by the strain of said activation.  Not a hidden talent that rivaled the potential of his own oldest son - though it did give credence to the rumbles that were starting to work through the clan regarding the stages of sharingan progression versus the full formation that both Madara and now Takara-chan experienced on activation.

It made him question exactly how open and honest young Takara had been in giving her report - and how she’d taken down an entire Senju assassination squad - if she had such a depth of chakra at her command and still found herself facing exhaustion.

Either there was missing information, or the girl’s reserves had grown significantly over the weeks since the attack and manifesting her sharingan.

He was aware - when it came to his people Tajima was always aware - that she had been receiving training from the Shrine priestesses.  Training that was traditionally restricted to acolytes.  His mother, along with the child’s own maternal aunt, had pressured the High Priest and Priestess to allow the girl access to the basics that their own were taught as it was unwise to have a sharingan present in the clan who wasn’t under some form of tutelage.

There may have also been assumptions made by the Shrine leadership given that Uchiha Takara was a rare female sharingan holder regarding her future.

Assumptions that neither Tajima nor his mother had made any moves to correct, as having the girl get any training was better than nothing at all.

How effective that training might have been - or even what it covered, secret as it was - Tajima now found himself curious about after finding promise where he’d assumed would only be mediocrity.

She had survived the attack, it was true.  But when pushed, even a child or a civilian - or Takara-chan who was both - could find untapped depths of strength and viciousness.  As a hunter, the girl had taken life before she found herself facing off against a human target.  The child utilizing chakra and skills that had been taught to her for the hunt to take down a new form of prey.

At least, that was the prevailing assumption regarding Takara-chan’s ability to survive where his beloved wife had fallen, along with not being an immediate target of the Senju like Kayoko.

Asking the girl would serve no purpose beyond alerting the child that Tajima was suspicious over her veracity from that night, when simple observation of how her chakra reserves grew - or didn’t - over the next months and even years would reveal an answer of its own.

“The Uchiha Clan has not openly trained a kunoichi in over a hundred years.”  Minoru-obaa-sama began, appearing stark and stern in her mourning mofuku.   “However, it must also be recognized that the Uchiha Clan has not had a female member gain the Sharingan in the last three generations, nor one who has proven themselves as a blooded warrior.”

“Our tradition and law are at odds.”  Tajima-sama picked up the conversational track from his mother effortlessly as their clanspeople watched them carefully.  He would have that potential within his ranks.  The only question was how many fights he would have to conquer to manage it.

Hanzou-san with open concern not as well-concealed as a born clansman would manage, his daughter Takara-chan with such a blank, stoic affect that she could be confused with a statue rather than a living girl.

Good, that was as it should be for a blooded wielder of their dojutsu, if unusual given her age.

“As a blooded wielder of the Sharingan,” he continued.  “Uchiha Takara, despite her age and sex is considered by Uchiha Law to be both an adult and a warrior.”

“As a female of eight years, Takara-chan is neither of those things, nor considered eligible to be trained as a warrior.”  Minoru-obaa-sama countered by rote, the pair summing up the… conversations that the clan elders had been having with them ever since Tajima returned to find his wife dead, compound infiltrated, and a young civilian the only reason he still had five sons living instead of only two.  “So you see the conundrum you have presented the elders, Takara-chan.”

“To uphold tradition is filial.”  Takara answered the implicit questions that were presented to her after a glance at her father, Hanzou granting her a slight nod.  They had had conversations of their own since that night, and likewise came to a decision on how to move forward.  Their position within the clan could be seen as vulnerable by some, weak.  With two infants relying on them, their position had to be shored up before those who spoke against bringing in new blood to the clan could work to have them - or even just Hanzou - forced out.  “However, without law, there would be no foundation for family, duty, or tradition to rest upon to be upheld.”

From the identical pleased gleams that shone in the dark Uchiha eyes opposite her, and the hidden flinch her father gave, Takara learned in an instant exactly where everyone else in the room stood in regards to those conversations the elders were having surrounding her future.

Which both was and wasn’t a surprise.

What civilian father would want his daughter to join a war that never seemed to end, no matter the occasional lulls in open hostilities?  No matter how it might serve their family.  Hanzou didn’t want the turn their lives had taken, but when had want ever mattered to fate?

With Tajima-sama and Minoru-obaa-sama, the motivations were both easier and harder to discern.  Takara having an ideology of adhering to law over tradition would make her hard for others within the clan to manipulate - which no doubt pleased Minoru-obaa-sama as handling such issues was within her purview.  As did having a new, potentially powerful, weapon in his arsenal as the overseer of the Uchiha shinobi forces.

Anything else, Takara simply didn’t have the background on either of them to speculate on.

Though if she had to guess, having a visible Uchiha kunoichi on the field would make her a high-priority target - one that might even take higher precedence for the Uchiha’s enemies than the young main line sons.

She imagined before she was ever sent into the field Tajima-sama would prepare her with a suicide jutsu or somesuch contingency.

Anything to ensure that his line flourished and the Uchiha prospered.

“Is this what you would wish, daughter mine?”  Hanzou asked quietly, turning his head to stare at his greatest treasure with troubled eyes.  He wasn’t surprised.  His Takara had always…chafed at limitations placed on her, no matter how well-meant.  She hid it well, even from those closest to her.

But he knew.

He knew his child and the storm that raged inside her.

As it was, despite the generations separating them, his Takara-chan was too much a Hatake to rest idly when there was a fight to be had to protect the pack - even if she didn’t yet know it, and wouldn’t until she was an adult of age not merely by law.

Those around them looked at her and saw an Uchiha.  They looked beyond the red tint to her hair and her blue eyes in favor of her symmetrical, delicate features and saw themselves.  Another future Uchiha beauty, they thought.

Hanzou knew better.  Saw more.  Witnessed how temper would flare in those dark eyes that were tilted like an Uchiha but were his mother’s born again.  Felt how her power sang with the snap and crackle that warned of an oncoming thunderstorm that heralded a forest fire set by a lightning strike.

Takara was as much his daughter as she had ever been an Uchiha, and while he had settled and grown roots for love, theirs were not a people that were built for pretty cages no matter how comfortable.

His daughter might bear the Uchiha name, but she wasn’t made for the life of a simple clanswoman.  They were made for the wilds.  Of lone mountain peaks, empty plains, and crashing waves.

It surprised him not one iota that his Takara had found a way to be more than another pretty bauble kept safe behind the compound walls, above and beyond even the freedoms following his footsteps as a hunter would have allowed her.

“I have the Sharingan and large chakra reserves.  The first sharingan to arise from my branch of the Amaterasu lineage in five generations, if Tajima-sama’s honorable sons are considered part of the main line branch and not by their maternal heritage.”  Takara answered simply, no emotion showing in her face or form.  “My duty to the clan and my family requires that I train as a kunoichi, and so long as my family is taken care of, I would do so.”

As the eldest daughter, traditionally her duty with the loss of her mother would be to care for her father’s house and help look after her infant sisters, albeit with help from her maternal relatives until she was considered old and mature enough to do so alone.  It might even be expected that she forgo marriage in preference for caring for her father and sisters, or bring a husband into their home rather than marrying out of it.  By entering shinobi training, she wouldn’t have time to do regular chores for the most part, let alone take over a household.  

Her marriage prospects had swung wildly off-center now that she had manifested a full-tomoe sharingan and had the active chakra of a shinobi, both amplifying her value as a potential bride and minimizing her options.  She wouldn’t be allowed, no matter what anyone said, to marry outside of the shinobi lines now.  Her genetics were too valuable to the future of the clan’s warriors for it to be any other way.  

Uchiha didn’t do arranged marriages, at least not between strangers or without taking matters of companionship and marital harmony into account.  They loved too fiercely and completely for that in addition to the risks of bloodline theft with their kekkei genkai.  However, that wouldn’t stop a child’s elders from…nudging their younglings towards a match that would be advantageous for their immediate family or the greater family line in hopes that nature might take its course.

Complicating matters further, she wasn’t only a daughter, she was an apprentice to her father’s master hunter.  Her father would not only be losing a live-in housekeeper by Takara taking up the charge of the shinobi path, but also an apprentice hunter and the income she brought in from her endeavors - likely for years.  He wouldn’t be able to take on an apprentice with the notion that said-apprentice wouldn’t be taking his skills to the benefit of another family as they might marry Takara instead and keep his teachings within their household.

She knew from listening to her cousins Akihito and his younger brothers as well as the gossiping of her aunties, that as a working shinobi of the clan Arata-ji received a salary from the clan as well as bonuses for missions.  Which meant in time, they would have the ryo to potentially hire help but none of that would come until after her training was finished and she was actively working for the clan.  Add in the fact that her dowry as a kunoichi would have to be greater than that of a hunter or hunter’s daughter, and there was an additional financial burden.  Takara had long before accepted that she would have to marry.  It wasn’t optional like it was in her second life.  Bloodlines were too important, maintaining the status of the family line took precedence.

In time, she might even be healed enough from her losses to want a relationship again, though that was years away.

Yes, she wanted what she wanted, and becoming a kunoichi was necessary for her plans, but she didn’t want to become a burden on her immediate family in the interim or have them struggle because of her choices.

She had enough of that bullshit in her first life, thanks.

“Both the clan and the main line owe you a debt, Takara-chan.”  Minoru-obaa-sama admitted the debt, openly, for the first time by either leader.  

It had been considered understood and subtextual, known-and-there but not spoken of previously as both families mourned.  It showed in how the clan had begun to treat Takara-chan and her father after the attack, with an aspect of being honored that had never been there before.  They had always been respected as kin and clan, for Hanzou’s contributions as a hunter and craftsman, but honor was something different.

Neither of them was used to the change in social status yet, if they ever could get used to such a thing.

“...your family will be taken care of.”  The elder continued.  “Hanzou-san will be recompensed for the loss of an apprentice and the accompanying income if you decide to break the path of the kunoichi once more for those who might wish to follow you.”

“As a member of the Amaterasu lineage,” Tajima-sama picked up once more where his mother left off even as the idea of the logistics involved if the Uchiha once more fielded kunoichi in addition to shinobi was enough to give him hives.  “Takara-chan will have all the training the Uchiha clan can offer to a young warrior, and cover all of her expenses: weaponry, education, armor, supplies as well as a stipend for food and other necessities.  Once she begins taking missions, she will receive a set amount per mission as well as any potential bonuses for unexpected hazards or complications in addition to her warrior’s salary.  If she takes up a specialization, her stipend will be increased and she will be compensated for any products of her work that benefit the clan.”

Takara knew Tajima was thinking of new jutsu.  She knew enough about the communal aspect of their lives that owning a patent if she created - or simply used a technique that didn’t exist yet but she’d learned in her second life - wasn’t a reality yet.  Intellectual property was community property, all to benefit the clan.

Given that the Uchiha worked hard to be equitable with their people from the simplest farmer to the most skilled artisan to the most powerful shinobi, she didn’t really have a problem with it like she might if the circumstances were different.

Hanzou frowned, as it wasn’t what he knew and therefore wasn’t certain if his daughter was being treated fairly despite knowing from questioning Arata-san how the income of the shinobi warriors of the clan was managed.

What he didn’t know were the specifics: how much a male trainee was paid versus a blooded shinobi versus a captain, etc. to tell if what his daughter would be given was equal to that of the others.

As a hunter, he worked for the most part on a barter system within the clan.  Minoru-obaa-sama’s assistant over the storehouses kept careful track of his contributions to the communal food supplies and allowed him to draw on the current worth of his hunts at market in exchange for other foodstuffs such as rice or cooking oil.  Ten percent of his hauls were treated as a “tax” that he paid to the main family as the owners of the land he hunted upon - in meat, bone, and hides.

It was different as a craftsman.  He paid his tax to the clan, yes.  But everything else was his own to trade at his leisure.  Trading with the tanner for treating his hides, with the traders for carrying his work to market, but then everything else was his own to keep.

A hunter and craftsman was independent in a way that a shinobi and warrior was not.

Or a kunoichi, as his Takara would be if she did choose to walk this path.

For Takara’s part, the pay scheme was different from what she was used to from her life as Toshiko, but that didn’t make it a bad or unfair way to handle supplying and paying a fighting force.

That she also would be able - like many Uchiha shinobi - to work a trade or craft on her own time outside of missions and training would allow more of the independence she was used to from Konoha.

And potentially fill any gaps that might arise, especially once her baby sisters needed more than swaddling clothes and a wetnurse for their care and happiness.

Being trained in a trade outside of a family tradition wasn’t cheap, and neither was outfitting a dowry.

As her sisters, Takara was determined that Tsubaki and Tsukiko had the best.

No matter how many missions she had to run or fancy leather bags she had to craft to ensure it.

“If the Uchiha Clan hasn’t had a kunoichi in generations,” Hanzou pointed out shrewdly, setting aside the issue of pay unless/until it became emergent rather than theoretical.  “How will Takara be trained?”

“Shinobi training is manifold.”  Tajima answered calmly, as if that very question hadn’t been a source of constant squabbling among his training captains and masters for weeks, with the elders tossing in their two-ryo whenever they felt like it.  (Which was constantly.)  “Young Takara will first be tested for her current level of proficiency and to reveal any potential talent at various aspects of shinobi skills.  Once both her strengths and weaknesses have been identified, a training plan will be developed to her individual benefit as decided and monitored by her assigned captain.  At the same time, she will join the other trainees of similar skill in developing her taijutsu, ninjutsu, and weapons mastery, as well as specialized training in sharingan mastery.”

To Hanzou, that sounded well and good, part of him settled at what appeared to be a prepared and structured plan to train his daughter in her new profession.

To Takara, it was an interesting rundown.  Part standardized education with the group lessons, part individual training.  Like undergoing Academy training and having a jounin sensei at the same time.

Though hopefully it was far better designed than actual Academy training.  Most of that was useless for anyone but a civilian kid.  And even then…yeah.  Not good.

With a war on-and-off being a constant reality, she doubted that the Uchiha trainers were slacking given that the Uchiha still existed with the Senju being at the height of their strength under Senju Butsuma.

It was how this training would match up against what she underwent as Kakashi’s apprentice that was more of a question, not that she doubted that the Uchiha would fall down on giving her enough skills to stay alive if she didn’t come pre-programmed with a shinobi education.

“You are a tribute to our clan, Takara-chan.”  Minoru-obaa-sama murmured as the meeting wound down, Tajima-sama taking his leave after telling Takara where and when her skill tests would take place.  “We owe you more than my son could ever say.  Your family will be taken care of.  This: I vow.”

“Thank you, Minoru-obaa-sama.”  Takara gave the elder a full formal bow.  “That is all I ask.”

“For now.”  Minoru’s smile was sly and cat-like.  “You are young.  If that should ever change, do be sure to inform me.”

“Yes, Minoru-obaa-sama.”

“Good girl.”

…

Hanzou waited until they were holding Tsubaki and Tsukiko later that night to question his elder child.

The twins - not identical with how Tsubaki’s eyes were darkening but Tsukiko’s were not as well as slight differences in the shades and textures of their hair - were having their evening visit with their family, granting their current wetnurse a break of her own.  As there were two hungry mouths to feed, the babies were on a rotation set up by their maternal grandmother among the willing hands - and breasts - of the clan to see them fed until they could be weaned.  A large portion of Hanzou’s hunts since their birth had gone to supporting the families of the wetnurses, as it should be, but which meant in turn that they were relying more on Takara’s hunts than ever before for their own income and sustenance.

He wouldn’t say that the support promised by the clan heads wouldn’t be welcome, and yet - it chafed his provider’s pride, for all that he was equally proud of his daughter having her worth recognized and honored by the clan.

“If you have chosen warrior training because of pressure from the clan,” he spoke low and soft to keep from bothering the precious burdens held within his own and his daughter’s arms, the twins asleep in their post-feed naps.  “Or for the stipend to help care for your sisters, there are other options, my treasure.”

Takara felt a warm flush of affection for Hanzou, even as she buried any hint of amusement that she could be pressured by a bunch of too-nosy Uchiha.

To be sure: all of her aunts, elder female cousins, and female elders of both their branch of the clan and a few others who were strongly connected to her immediate elders had had a lot to say about her sharingan and what to do next.

Clan politics at its finest, divided between the staunch traditionalists who wanted a female to keep far away from a warrior’s role vs. the pragmatists who saw the need for every able-bodied warrior to fight for the clan.

Senju Butsuma was proving to be as vicious a motherfucker as the Uchiha archives had called him when she was learning about the non-Senju-approved histories from Itachi.  The assassination squad going after Tajima-sama’s children was only the breaking point in how the Uchiha fought the Senju.  Turning them from a defensive policy to an outright offense whenever possible, including child-hunts and putting child soldiers into the field.

She didn’t know, now, when or if that might change as Tajima-sama hadn’t lost his younger sons to the assassination squad.  Or if it would at all.  Uchiha Tajima wasn’t kittens and rainbows, but he wasn’t as bad - yet - as she’d worried based on the historical perspective she had of him.

After meeting with the clan heads, at least she knew that they fell closer to the pragmatic philosophy than the traditional one as she might have feared.

As a result, once the decision was aired to the clan as a whole, while Takara would have to deal with the odd whisper now and again, no one would openly say anything about her being trained as a warrior lest they be accused of acting against the clan heads.  Backhanded nonsense and gossip would be the weapon of the day.  But not out-and-out disagreement or disdain.

“I know, father.”  She answered after a moment of flaring her sharingan and memorizing the picture that was her baby sister in her arms and Hanzou cuddling a precious bundle himself.  “I know what will be expected of me as a warrior.  I want to be a kunoichi.”

She didn’t say anything about what might happen if she’d refused.  How she might’ve ended up a kunoichi anyway once Tajima-sama cut away and limited her other options.  She wouldn’t put it past him to act in the best interest of the clan rather than the individual.  That was his job to a major extent.

She didn’t say that if she was to succeed at the task she’d set herself - at the job she’d been sent to this time and place to accomplish - that she had to become a kunoichi.  If that was even true.  There had to be other ways and paths forward.

Becoming a kunoichi was comfortable to her, even with all the pain and discomfort it entailed.

After almost three decades in the world - albeit varying eras - of Naruto and shinobi, it was what she knew.

She didn’t say any of that.

Only: this is what I want, even if it was impossible for Hanzou both as a man and a civilian to truly understand.

With a sigh of resignation, the hunter nodded his head.

“As you wish it, daughter.”  His smile was weak and a bit crooked, but genuine nonetheless as he studied the pair they made: his oldest and youngest children, one still so small whilst the other grew so fast.  “I suppose I should bother the armorers for their patterns.”  He mused, teasing.  “It wouldn’t do to have my child armored in anything less than the best leatherwork we can provide.”

“Our own, I gather.”  She rolled her eyes, already feeling the pain in her fingertips from pulling needles strung with tanned sinew through the thick padded leather that was used to make Uchiha “light” armor versus the heavier steel battle armor.  “Though I won’t need it for years.”

“Practice makes perfect, my treasure.”  Hanzou’s tone was bland compared to the teasing glint in his eyes.

Takara grumbled under her breath to her baby sister, but wasn’t truly bothered.

There were far worse ways for Hanzou to have reacted than deciding to learn to make leather armor for her.

Several of which she was sure to experience as soon as her grandparents learned about Takara’s new future - and how it removed her from their control entirely and over to that of Tajima-sama as a shinobi trainee.

Obaa-sama was going to have kittens at one of her “precious” granddaughters turning shinobi instead of focusing on the feminine education designed to foster the proper path of a good (aka chosen by her grandparents) marriage and being a housewife.

Probably to one of the higher-placed sons in the trading branch, if not a shinobi or a blacksmith considering the connections their family line had gained through the marriages of her aunts.

Not that that was realistic once Takara unlocked her sharingan, but since when were “honored elders” supposed to cling to reality instead of their preferences?

Seiko-ba was already serving as a shrine priestess, and the clan had a policy of only taking a single acolyte from each family line every two or three generations, which would have been the only real non-shinobi path for a female sharingan holder.

In fact that was what happened with the last female sharingan holder from what little Seiko-ba was allowed to tell her of shrine gossip hand-in-hand with gentle katas and moving meditations that were similar to the Hyuuga Gentle Fist style to an extent that surprised her. 

(And had her questioning if a one-time spy had memorized them before toting them back to the clan.  But also not.   The Uchiha and the Hyuuga both descended from the Ōtsutsuki Clan albeit different founders in Hagoromo and Hamura.  It wasn’t a total shock that back before the clans were assimilated into Konoha that there were similarities that survived beyond both having bloodline dojutsu.)

Ah well, there wasn’t anything anyone could do about Takara’s status and knowledge now.

Uchiha Takara was to be a kunoichi.

She would take on far more than a little (ok, a lot ) of familial disapproval if it meant being able to slowly shed her “good civilian daughter” persona that had been growing more and more stifling and restrictive the older she got.

Even if she’d never been particularly good at playing the part, even the facsimile of it had started to strain her patience - and temper.

Sage knew she wasn’t going to stop Zetsu by a show of manners or inviting him to tea ceremony.

Though if that had been the case, she would’ve sucked it up and done it.

Anything to stop the future she once-knew from becoming the future in truth.

…

Chapter Text

Karuma no Kagami

Chapter Six: Gods and Monsters

Two days after Takara had formally declared her intention to serve the Uchiha Clan as a kunoichi and enter shinobi training, she found herself meeting her first round of test proctors - not on the training field, but the classroom.

The first day after meeting with Tajima-sama and Minoru-obaa-sama was spent on the death of shinobi everywhere: paperwork and logistics.

Her addition to the shinobi trainees had to be formally announced.  Arata-ji came to take her to the clan’s outfitters to collect training equipment and a pair of indigo training uniforms with the Uchiha mon plastered over the back.  Takara had to fill out the paperwork with a bookkeeper under the clan accountant - who in turn was one of the assistants that worked in conjunction under both Tajima-sama and Minoru-obaa-sama - to receive her trainee’s stipend.

It was a hassle but not anything she wasn’t expecting.

Arata-ji was there to guide her from point to point, which was helpful for her as a member of a civilian family since she wasn’t raised knowing the process the way her cousins did beyond what she picked up from gossip.

Her first test was written rather than an actual skills test.  Which made some form of sense.  As a female civilian, the shinobi trainers would have no idea what she did or didn’t know about…anything really.

A fact she ruthlessly used to her advantage, as since there wasn’t another would-be-kunoichi to compare her against, there was no curve to blow or real standard to hold her to.  They could levy her results against those of her male cousins, or even Tajima’s sons, but that held an implicit margin for error.  She imagined it was causing no end of grief: trying to decide what to even teach her when the only examples were historical ones.

Especially the most recent historical ones, given that they were the reason - once bloodline theft became an acceptable tactic among some shinobi and a massive danger to any clan or family with a bloodline talent - the Uchiha no longer fielded kunoichi. 

Until Takara.

Don’t get her wrong: female Uchiha were still trained.  They were taught to use chakra in civilian applications.  They learned a form of self-defense in case of an attack on the compound.

But female Uchiha, unless they were barren or transgender, didn’t serve the clan as shinobi, the risk of bloodline theft was considered too great.

Not to say that the risk of male shinobi to bloodline theft wasn’t real, but there was a stigma regarding gender roles and protection that muddied the waters and led to the prevailing double-standard that the Uchiha had.  Male shinobi may be more profitable to bloodline thieves - slavers by any other name - but they were considered harder to both catch and keep.  Kunoichi could often be held easier once they produced a child, as few would want to either kill or leave their offspring in the hands of their owners.  Or so it was said.

A double-standard that Takara was slowly dismantling, more for her own benefit than out of any desire to - as Minoru-obaa-sama put it - break a path for kunoichi following her to follow.  It was a nice thought.  That other girls might be free to become kunoichi if Takara proved herself.  But it wasn’t Takara’s purpose for her choice, merely a side-benefit.

So her skills test started with an actual paper test on the daimyo’s laws, the codex that shinobi were subject to, the consequences of being caught engaging in shadow work to both shinobi and their clans, as well as Uchiha law, tradition, and protocol governing their warriors.

Needless to say, while some of it she knew or could extrapolate on, most of it she failed.  Horribly even.  It was no fault of her own, and she could see that reflected on the face of her proctor as she watched him out of the corner of her eye after she turned in her paper, stretched, and then sat back down for the test on chakra theory.  Beyond what she’d picked up from watching and listening to the clan around her, or the odd scrolls that would be lobbed her way to test her literacy, she had a civilian’s education.

Ask her about trade routes and prey animal migrations and she’d ace the test.

Archaic (to her) shinobi law codes?

Hah.  Yeah.  No.  The little she knew at all had more to do with Chizuru-sensei’s mission to find kanji that would stump her learning curve than out of any real considered need for Takara to know it.

The following test on chakra theory however she rather thoroughly made her bitch.

The one on sealing theory?  Oh man.  She had to sandbag so hard.

It’s okay.  It was fine.  She wasn’t going to out herself as more than talented.  She wasn’t.  She was not going to get cocky and end up with her mind being torn apart by Uchiha fucking Tajima or on orders from his even more terrifying mother because they suspected an infiltrator.

No.  Just no.

…

Since it was testing for a shinobi trainee, there was no break between the gamut of tests switching from paper knowledge tests to the training field for physical testing.

Takara was to be a kunoichi, her ability to pivot and adapt to challenges and outlast challengers were as much under the microscope as her concrete skills.

“Begin!”  Came the call from Tajima-sama and Takara watched as her own cousin Chikara-kun darted across the field to engage her in taijutsu.

It made sense on the face of it.  Chikara was her own age, if a couple months older.  That put them of a similar height and body weight.  Where there might have been grumbles came from Chikara having been trained since he was a toddler to enter shinobi training and had years of actual training on her.

Theoretically or from the perspective of the clan, anyway.

In comparison, Takara’s few weeks of training with Seiko-ba would seem to put her at a significant disadvantage.

If all they were looking at was the surface level.

They weren’t.

They were shinobi and moreover they were Uchiha.

Takara had sharingan.

In no way were they expecting her to win, despite her dojutsu evening the playing field, allowing her to learn in weeks or months what might take a non-wielder years, but they did expect her to hold her own.

Which was exactly what she did.  She knew the standard Uchiha taijutsu.  A bastardized version was taught to all the clan for self-defense.  Her Uchiha - her now-gone lovers and Sasuke-kun alike - had known it well, even if Sasuke was the only one who sparred with it and that only until he unlocked his own sharingan and learned one of the sharingan-based forms.

She knew the gaps and weaknesses it had, as well as the strengths.

Even sticking predominantly to the not-gentle-fist style her aunt had been drilling her in and the dirty brawling her father favored, she could take on a kid her own physical age with little trouble and pass it off as talent and sharingan use.

And that was exactly what she did, even keeping her sharingan dormant as Tajima-sama had commanded.

Dodging her cousin’s charge, diverting or repurposing his momentum, it didn’t take long for her to fluster Chikara-kun when Takara - who he’d only seen as a girl and a quiet one at that for all that she was willing to play on the same level as him and his brothers - didn’t go down easy and forced him to work for it.

Like a ghost, she heard the half-mocking tones of her sensei whisper in her mind: stop playing with him, Toshi-chan, and on Chikara-kun’s next charge engaged rather than rely on misdirection.

The shrine priestesses of Amaterasu - like Takara’s Seiko-ba - and their taijutsu used chakra to reinforce their bodies and give them added strength as well as their infamously youthful looks.  Which, together with the similarity to Gentle Fist Style, made for a punishing type of taijutsu.  One that if practiced improperly could hurt the practitioner as much as the target.

More than half of Seiko-ba’s instruction had been on proper chakra flow and reinforcement of the body.  How to protect lungs and soft tissues from blowback and burns from the Uchiha fire techniques.  How to ensure that every part of the body was strong enough to stand up to their taijutsu and not just the immediately evident ones.

It did no good to expand lung capacity and teach circular breathing techniques for impressive pyrotechnic displays on holy days if a priestess seared her airway when she tried to use a simple katon.

In the same way that increasing muscle strength alone was useless if you didn’t also reinforce bone and connective tissues and joints to withstand the strain of flex and impact.

All of which together meant that even with rudimentary training from her aunt and everything else aside that made Takara a cheater - though her muscle memory was still very much a work in progress, thanks - she only really needed to land one or two hits on her cousin to knock him out.

Specifically, a jab to his solar plexus that had him sucking air and then an uppercut to his jaw before he could recover - both due to Chikara-kun letting her into his defense since he wasn’t taking fighting her all that seriously - and he was down.

“Arata-san, retrieve your son.”  Tajima-sama murmured as his men began a furor of whispering around them.  “Akihito-kun,” he sent a look at Chikara-kun’s elder brother.  “I trust you will take fighting your cousin more seriously than your brother has done?”

“Yes, Tajima-sama.”  Akihito bowed and almost gulped at the implicit threat in the general’s words.  Tajima-sama wouldn’t hurt him - or Chikara - if they failed in a spar, but he also wasn’t shy about handing out punishment details meant to make an impact.  Chikara was going to end up with extra chores or physical training after his performance and if Akihito didn’t want to join him, he’d have to do better against their little cousin.  “Strict taijutsu as well?”

“Yes, I want to see what Takara-chan can do, not what her partner lets her do.”

“Yes, Tajima-sama.”

…

Tajima received what he asked for from Akihito-kun, the older boy taking his young female cousin seriously from the outset and pushing her to both strike and defend.

She was good.

Very good, for having limited training and being raised most of her life as a civilian.

She was able to see and predict Akihito-kun’s movements to an extent that was the norm for a sharingan user but that was nothing compared to what they could do with the dojutsu active.

Then he threw dull practice knife at each child’s feet after they’d pushed away from each other to take a breath, and events got interesting, Tajima and those who’d wandered over to watch the testing including his present training captains beginning to see and understand how the child had held her own against blooded shinobi.

“She’s fast,” Arata mused, watching his son fight his niece with some surprise.  The knife work didn’t surprise him an iota, though he was one of the only ones who held that mind set.  Hanzou was a hunter.   With all that entailed.  Takara-chan was his apprentice.  He would’ve been shocked if she didn’t know how to take a body apart.  “Agile.”

“Light feet, soft steps.”  Uchiha Kyō, one of the training captains and squad leaders, noted.  Then winced as she slid low and twisted to get behind Akihito-kun, who was on his training squad, and tagged him several times with the training knife before the boy could respond.  “Excellent instincts.”

“For infiltration.” Another witness countered.  “She goes to hobble and maim before a kill-strike.”  Uchiha Kuma, Tajima’s younger brother and the head of training as well as the compound guard, tsked in disapproval.  “She needs taught new instincts if she's going to survive a battle rather than missions alone.”

Tajima listened to all the observations and arguments that sprung up when he didn’t censor the first voiced opinions with a keen mind.  Even as he made his own.  Pleased, as ever, to have his own previous observations confirmed.

The girl was talented and they’d yet to see what she could do with chakra or her sharingan.

“Takara-chan,” he called out once more changing the terms of the spar, the two children springing apart to wait for his instructions.  “Sharingan.”

For his part, Akihito let out a low moan too soft for their watchers to hear as his little cousin gave him a vicious grin from her dirt (and blood, as he’d split her lip at one point) streaked face.

Then in the next instant her eyes bled red and it was all-but-over.

…

A tap to his shoulder had Uchiha Madara straightening from where he’d been leaning on one of the wooden posts that demarcated the sparring field from the rest of the training field, the young clan heir turning dark eyes up to meet his father’s gaze.

“Go.”  His father gave the order as soon as Takara-chan had her cousin down and dazed, moving impossibly faster than she had without her sharingan active and scything through her cousin’s defenses like a blade through grass.  “Even the stakes.”

“Yes, father.”  Madara nodded his head, eyes bleeding red and three black tomoe swirling into place as he darted into the field and engaged at once with the smaller form of his…clanswoman?  Sparring partner?  Maybe-friend?

The recent changes in their lives had left him a bit lost when it came to Takara-chan.

She had been there when his mother was killed…but she saved his younger brothers.  Takara-chan was the reason he still had sweet Akira running after him and begging for katon lessons, or the twins toddling after Izuna and tugging on the hem of his shirt for attention.  That mattered.

Mattered more than missing Takara-chan when she’d been away, or the days they’d once spent learning falconry and spending time at the mews.

Takara-chan had saved his brothers and in so doing her entire life was now different.

No longer able to leave the compound and roam the wilds for days or even weeks at a time as she’d once talked about doing once her father confirmed that she’d had enough training as a hunter to wander freely.

Now her time belonged to the clan and to training in a way that it never would have done before she saved Akira, Keita, and Takuya along with her own cousin Haruki.

She was more than a friend now, she was a comrade, and he would treat that change with the respect it deserved.

Takara-chan deserved the best training that the clan could offer, his father and obaa-sama said as much when they talked about her and what to do, but she wouldn’t get it if Madara acted like her cousins and took it easy on her.

If Takara-chan was going to survive the demonic Senju, just like his own brothers, then she needed him not to hold back instead of pushing her.

…

Shit fuck damn.

Sandbagging sucked major ass.

As Takara peeled herself up off the hard-packed earth of the training field, she held back the urge to whimper or groan.

Uchiha Madara was a beast to fight even with the sharingan and no ninjutsu in play.  Stronger than either of her cousins, despite being the same age as Akihito.  Faster.  Quicker reactions as expected from having the sharingan which stripped away the only natural skill she might have had over him otherwise.

Her bruises were going to have bruises, and she was having multiple flashbacks to the beginning of her hell-training with Kakashi-sensei, but in another way it…felt good?  To stretch her abilities.  To see where she was on the playing field in comparison to other children both her age (Chikara) and older (Akihito, Madara).

Other shinobi children she should say, as she already had a metric to compare herself against and use as a template to avoid drawing too much notice from the “adults” (she was on her third life, body aside, she was an adult damnit) around her.

Without using ninjutsu such as body-flicker or whipping out a taijutsu style that she had no earthly way to explain knowing, she couldn’t beat Madara with both their sharingan in use.

Bigger, faster, stronger, and well-trained instead of having to hide it, he was every bit the future monster of a shinobi that historical records (and her own nightmare memories) put him down as.

The Warring States Era was one of gods and monsters, and she’d just sparred one of them.

What a fucking time for Naruto to have sent her to.

Though now that she was going to be getting actual training, she could slowly scale her abilities up.  Integrate her previous taijutsu styles into what she’s taught by the Clan.  Use her sharingan to memorize everything they teach her to explain jutsu that she already knew.  Get sealing training.

Takara felt a little bad about some of her plans.  Just a smidge.  Intellectual property theft wasn’t a pretty thing to contemplate.  But at the end of the day, she was shinobi.   And those jutsu and seals that hadn’t been invented yet (mostly by Senju Tobirama, speaking of gods and monsters) would help her survive and thrive in the era she was living within.

The Uchiha didn’t even have a decent preservation seal set up as Uzushio and the Uzumaki weren’t openly trading with the mainland yet for fuck’s sake.

Rising to her feet, she bowed - slow, she was already aching from the sustained activity and Madara hadn’t been pulling his blows much - and thanked her sparring partner for his time once Tajima-sama called a halt.

“Thank you for your time, Madara-sama.”  Takara retreated back behind formality with so many eyes on them, rather than the comfort of the mews or the forest surrounding them.

“It was my honor, Takara-san.”  Madara returned her bow, keeping an eye on their audience.  “You’re a good fighter.”  He told her honestly.

Better than he expected, honestly, but he might only be eleven but he knew better than to say that to a girl.

Any girl, not just one that’d already proven she had what it took to take life.

“Takara-chan.”  Tajima motioned the pair over to the watchers at the edge of the sparring field, then held out his hands in a growing-familiar wordless demand.

She mentally braced herself and rested her palms against his own, feeling not for the first time the lifetime’s worth of calluses and small scars that riddled the large Uchiha leader’s hands.

“Priestess Seiko has taught you much in such a short amount of time.”  He noted, pleased, as he found her chakra threaded throughout her body and not merely laying passive (if deep) behind her gates.  “It will serve you - and the clan - well in the years to come.”

Releasing her upon finding no strain at the tenketsu points or chakra pathways in and surrounding her eyes from her sharingan use, he set the next task, activating his own sharingan with barely a thought.

“The Raiton you used against the assassins,” he commanded.  “Show us how you channel the chakra.  It is a touch-based technique?”

“Yes, Tajima-sama.”  Takara refused to feel intimidated at the sight of several pairs of sharingan staring her down and watching as she prepped her Lightning Palm.  Though it was interesting to her that not all of the grown shinobi around her, let alone the handful of trainees, activated the dojutsu.  Making her wonder if that was due to a lack of interest or a lack of sharingan users being present.

With the sharingan active, those around her could see the snapping-silver chakra of raiton elemental jutsu being pooled and held on the palm-side of Takara’s hands.

Which said quite a bit of her mastery of that particular technique, as it took more control to keep the volatile elemental chakra limited to one area of her hands rather than allowing it to simply encompass the entirety of her hands.

Those around her didn’t know it, but with her new reserves and having her Lightning Palm technique mastered combined with the sharingan…Takara thought she could probably recreate her sensei’s Chidori and variants.

Maybe.

Potentially.

She still wasn’t sure.

(She wasn’t sure about a lot of things, but Chidori and Rasengan…those two techniques were complicated and came with a lot of feelings she wasn’t sure she wanted to poke at.  Even if they would be useful.  Useful as fuck.  Life-saving useful, as if she had the chakra control for Rasengan, she probably would’ve been able to save Kayoko-ba.  Whatever Naruto had done - assuming it was Naruto and not just how much chakra this incarnation naturally possessed - had granted her power and nerfed her ability to use it via shit-canned chakra control.)

“Does raiton come easier to you, Takara-chan, than katon?”  Arata asked, wondering if her chakra nature took more after her mother or her father.

Hanzou was formidable for a civilian, and had clearly taught his daughter well.

Takara had to think about that for a long moment as she allowed the raiton build up to disperse and absorbed the chakra back into her tenketsu points - to some consternation on the part of the gathered shinobi, as reabsorbing a technique instead of using it was the more difficult process.

“I don’t know, Arata-ji,” she eventually admitted.  Honestly at that.  She knew he was probing at the question of her chakra affinity, but due to her prior knowledge influencing her ease with learning Hanzou’s technique, she didn’t know whether it was easy because she knew she could do it or because the nature transformation fell within her body and chakra system’s affinity.  “I’ve never had trouble learning chakra techniques from anyone.”

It was an honest if limited assessment of what she’d picked up new since being born as Uchiha Takara.

All the Uchiha techniques for civilian use she’d been taught by her mother and relatives were all either fire or yin/yang techniques whereas Hanzou’s were either lightning or yang, with a single wind jutsu that was so weak anyone could probably use it.

Hanzou used it to fan campfire flames or cause a freshening breeze - hardly the stuff that Naruto or his father were capable of using fuuton for.

Takara’s time to experiment and play with her new potential was so sharply limited that she’d had to prioritize.  Getting her chakra control back up to snuff and ensuring her body wasn’t weak but capable of shinobi training was far more important than playing with jutsus.  Trying to reinforce taijutsu forms and katas took precedence over seeing whether her miserable ability with genjutsu had improved by being born Uchiha.

Until she’d been asked by Arata-ji, however sideways, she hadn’t really given much thought to her chakra affinity or how it might’ve changed or might be different from the standard Uchiha-fire.

“We shall test it.”  Tajima decided, rapidly flipping through which of his clansmen knew jutsu in the various affinities, then turned to his own sons.  “Izuna, Madara: demonstrate the Great Fireball and Flame Spear once each for Takara-chan to copy.”

“Yes, father.”  “Yes, father.”

“Yes, Tajima-sama.”

Now Takara knew it wasn’t that simple.  She’d been taught by the Copy-Nin.   Her lovers had been two of the most powerful Uchiha since Madara and the founding of Konoha.  She’d helped train Sasuke after he activated his sharingan.  She knew bone-deep that there was a vast spectrum of skill and proficiency with learning and utilizing all of the aspects of the sharingan.

Especially when it came to its ability to memorize and copy the information that a sharingan perceived.

It was not as simple as flipping a mental switch, turning on her copy-wheel eyes, and bam! new jutsu (ninjutsu, taijutsu, genjutsu, anything but sage arts when she wasn’t a sage and/or kekkei genkai) suddenly popped fully formed and actualized in her brain for her to use.

On the other hand, learning using active sharingan was vastly easier and faster than learning without it - and she had multiple lifetimes’ of learning to back that up.

Hence: her ability to reliably use the taijutsu style of her miko aunt, despite only having a few weeks to learn it.

With her dojutsu activated, she watched what Izuna’s - Madara’s infamous younger brother killed by Senju Tobirama - chakra was doing as it moved through his chakra pathways.  At least on a large-scale, rough level.  Sharingan didn’t have the pinpoint accuracy when it came to the chakra system that the Byakugan granted, but it was better than not seeing how chakra moved during jutsu at all.

Takara knew the Katon: Great Fireball technique already, but watching how an Uchiha used it with the sharingan gave her a different perspective - as well as ideas on how to change the standard fireball to make it bigger, smaller, hotter, colder, or more precise based on what she knew of katon jutsu.

She had never created a technique before - seals were different, seals were her bitch even before she got additional training from Kakashi and (eventually, reluctantly) Jiraiya.  Even what she did with “her” Lightning Palm was just an extension of existing technique.  But she thought, maybe, with the sharingan giving her a clearer view of what jutsu even were and how chakra moved and worked for other people, that might change.

It might even be necessary since without the Amatersu black flames that Itachi and Sasuke had via their Mangekyou, she was running up short on ideas of how to kill Zetsu once she had the time and freedom to track him - it? - down.

Katon: Flame Spear was a technique she didn’t know how to use, though after watching Madara perform it for her to copy, she thought it was one of Fugaku-sama’s favorite katon jutsus from before he died in the Fourth Shinobi War.

It was more sweeping in effect than the Great Fireball, but as a result required more chakra, as it was more like a swipe of a scythe made of flames than a spear.

Not that it mattered, since it was far from the worst named jutsu she’d ever seen in her life…lives.

“Now Takara-chan.”  Tajima-sama prompted, the young girl moving to the central space of the training area and the boulders that they used for katon target practice.

The nearby river and a shinobi ready to douse the flames were also standard precautions when teaching the young ones katon, but Tajima saw no need to direct the child’s attention to such matters.

Insecurity could kill a shinobi faster than an enemy’s blade.

There was plenty of time to teach Takara-chan of proper precautions after they learned what sort of skill, power, and talent they were working with.

Despite having trained herself out of using as many hand-signs as possible for the standard jutsus in her repertoire, the ones she used most frequently or liked to have tucked in her back pocket for an emergency, Takara still went through all the demonstrated signs for the Great Fireball as she kneaded her chakra and then sent a spout of flames pouring from her mouth.

One that thanks to her aunt’s training in circular breathing, she was able to keep up until Tajima-sama ordered her to stop.

The clan leader walked over to the small girl, studying the boulder across the field that was glowing from the sustained heat of her jutsu, and held out his hands to test the state of her chakra reserves after such an impressive showing.

He arched a brow in interest.  Despite having blown a fulminant katon that was as powerful and lasting as four or five smaller Great Fireballs, Takara-chan’s chakra reserves were barely touched.  Oh, this child will be a gift once she was old enough to field against the Senju…   It was a better result than Izuna, who was a year older and with far more training could manage.  Almost on-par with that of Madara, and his eldest was the most talented shinobi trainee that the Uchiha had produced in at least two generations.

“Now the Flame Spear.”  He said, keeping an eye on the girl as she performed the jutsu perfectly, but with less showmanship than the Great Fireball, and then tested her chakra again after she’d completed the jutsu and his younger brother Kuma had used his own chakra to smother the flames.

Tajima found, once more, that while Takara-chan wasn’t on the same level as his own son, she wasn’t that far from him.

The distance between their abilities was far smaller than anyone would’ve ever expected but was still significant - for the moment -, and despite the potential implications - she was only eight to Madara’s eleven - he found himself glad of it.

Within the clan there was no one, even his other sons, who were of the same degree of talent as his Madara.

Having a friend or rival or even just a fellow trainee who had the potential to match him…it would do more for his son’s development as a shinobi than any amount of outside influence or training missions or punishments.

His son was competitive to the core but without a real challenger.

Now there was this girl who had the potential to not only challenge Madara, but perhaps with time, training, and opportunity even surpass him if her chakra reserves continued to grow and didn’t stagnate.

“Good.”  He nodded, clipped with his praise but not meaning it any less for it.  “Now shunshin and kawarimi.”

The testing went on like that with what were considered the utmost basic of jutsu for a shinobi to master.  Tajima’s sons would demonstrate unless it was a technique that the girl had already been taught by her aunt or uncle, and the girl would pick it up instantly with the sharingan.  At times her mastery of it went far beyond the general learning curve even with sharingan involved.  At times she fell within or rarely just under Tajima’s evolving expectations once he categorized her in the same range of talent as his own sons.

Then it came time to test her against additional elemental affinities, as they did for every new trainee, and there her differences from his own sons shone.

His own brother stepped forward, demonstrating a Doton: Mud Wall and a Fuuton: Wind Cutter with practiced ease, despite his own katon affinity.

To much shock from the small crowd of working shinobi - those that weren’t out on missions - that had slowly grown, Takara-chan echoed his jutsu with aplomb, neither affinity giving her anymore trouble than any other skill they’d tried.  If anything…

“She might have an affinity for wind.”  Kuma murmured, sharingan on and narrowed as he watched the girl mirror his own jutsu without strain.

Arata-san made a humming sound.  “Hanzou has a touch of it.”  He reminded them, rightly.  Before Takara-chan’s sharingan, it had been a decade since any of them had thought too deeply about their master hunter’s chakra abilities or family history.

Now, with Takara-chan’s talents, they were having to reconsider what affect, if any, Hanzou’s own history and lineage might have on their newest trainee.

“Last test,” Tajima ordered, nodding to Arata-san as one of the few shinobi in the clan that had any real ability with suiton, though it came through strict practice rather than ease.  “Suiton.”

Takara hid a grimace at the mention of her old nemesis.  She didn’t want to hamstring herself, so she didn’t let herself freak out but…she’d never been more than acceptable with water jutsu as Toshiko.  Now that she was an Uchiha…she really didn’t see how that might’ve or even could’ve changed beyond sharingan helping her out.

Kakashi-sensei had managed it, but he was a friggin’ genius and didn’t count.

“Watch closely, Takara-chan.”  Arata-ji instructed her, Takara nodding wearily and wiping away sweat that had slowly beaded on her brow between the physical and chakra workout she’d been put through.  “Suiton is flow and movement.  It will slip away like fuuton or lash out like raiton at the slightest loss of control.”

“Yes, Arata-ji.”  Takara chirped, playing her part perfectly as she watched him move through the steps - thankfully to a jutsu she already knew.

The Water Knock-down didn’t require the precision of the Needles technique, or the massive power of a Water Dragon, but was what she’d consider a solid C-Ranked jutsu (despite the ranking system not existing yet.)  It was mostly used by the clan - from what she’d seen - as a way to put out fires by punching them with a water spout and then letting the jutsu collapse into a splash of liquid.  In theory a shinobi could use it to hit a target and send them flying, but it was a waste of chakra to do so for most when they could use taijutsu instead.

Takara followed his chakra flow, noting that his estimation had been right: suiton did flow similar to fuuton as he went through the handsigns but with a more untamed edge like raiton.

Interesting.

Cocking her head a bit to the side, Takara watched carefully before echoing him the same as she’d done all the other techniques she’d been drilled on.

And then to her own surprise, managed to send a decent-sized Water Spout at the rock she’d used earlier as a target for her Great Fireball, with all the tight force and tension of a forward jab.

Huh.

That was new.

Then her cheater’s well of chakra trembled along with her knees, and Takara found herself bending over and sucking wind as while she’d managed the Water Spout…it wasn’t with anything close to finesse, Takara’s instincts weighing in on a need to force it side of the scale with suiton in a way that was, apparently, overkill.

And cost her significantly as a result.

Thankfully, it seemed like she’d finally finished running the gamut for Tajima-sama and the gathered spectators, as the clan head finally called her back to his side instead of having her try the last technique again to ensure it wasn’t a fluke like with most of the others.

“Rest now, Takara-chan.”  Tajima instructed the visibly-exhausted child, whose hairline was damp with sweat from the unfamiliar strain her testing had put her under.  She had done well for being both civilian and a girl.  Kept up with his sons who were serving as Tajima’s assistants as well as a ready comparison for those watching, even if it cost her to do so.  That sort of determination combined with raw talent (and more than a little desperation) explained much of how she had not only survived but conquered against a hit squad.  “You have done well.”

“Yes, Tajima-sama.”  Takara nodded her head obediently, as if she had no idea what was going on or that the testing was over but was willing to follow direction and trust his word.

“Truly a credit to the clan.”  Tajima commented on the result, as if it was about what he’d expected, and mostly in keeping with results from other first generation offspring when someone out-clan married into the Uchiha rather than the shock it was.  As if her testing hadn’t given him ideas but no real answers regarding her elemental affinity or where her talents really laid.  “You are dismissed for the day, Takara-chan.  Tomorrow your training begins.”

“Yes, Tajima-sama.”

…

Chapter Text

Karuma no Kagami

Chapter Seven: Trainee

“Report.”

Uchiha Tajima’s order silenced the grumbling and whispers that came from the gathering of his training captains and masters of the clan - as well as those shinobi who had stuck around to see what came of Takara-chan’s testing, and not to forget the elders who conveniently had time to sit-in on the meeting.

The meddling old vultures.

 “According to the paper tests.”  Elder Eiji - the training master over teaching the shinobi trainees literacy, calligraphy, and the basics of sealing in search of shinobi with sealing aptitude to learn from the scant number of Uchiha seal specialists - spoke first.  “Uchiha Takara has the expected knowledge gaps regarding the intersection of law and shinobi operations that would apply to any civilian.  However,” here his expression was conflicted, a mixture of baffled, chagrined, and interest to Tajima’s eyes.  “She has learned enough from observation of the clan during her childhood to extrapolate correct answers regarding shinobi life and operations in general.  Her literacy and calligraphy are flawless, Tajima-sama.”  He finished.  “It is my recommendation after speaking with my counterpart over the clan’s girl children, that she be tested as soon as possible for fuuinjutsu aptitude.”

A susurrus of whispers broke out among the gathered shinobi and elders at that.  True sealing aptitude was rare.  Rare enough that the Uchiha had no true fuuinjutsu master, merely levels of competency with Elder Eiji and his middle son Fumio at the height of Uchiha ability.  Most Uchiha learned fuuinjutsu basics: enough to detect seals and know the difference between a quality sealing scroll and a shoddy one, as well as make small scale exploding tags - but that was all.

The idea of an active shinobi who had more than basic-level knowledge and application with fuuinjutsu was…a heady one.

As matters stood, both Elder Eiji and Uchiha Fumio were far too valuable to risk leaving the compound lest the Uchiha lose the little fuuinjutsu ability they do possess, let alone the ability to train the basics into their shinobi.

Elder Eiji having said his piece, he sat back and took up his tea while the next proctor spoke in turn: Tajima’s younger brother Kuma who had witnessed all of Takara-chan’s tests side-by-side with Tajima, and who generally had more to do in the day-to-day with overseeing shinobi training than Tajima himself.

If efficiency was the name of the game, then the meeting would be over with Elder Eiji’s report.  Tajima had been present for all of Takara-chan’s other testing.  He knew what he’d seen and together with the information he’d gathered from those who’d trained the girl previously, he had a plan for her shinobi training already in mind.

However, given the unique status that Takara-chan was about to take within the clan as the only kunoichi - active or trainee - in generations, thoroughness was far more important than saving time and energy.

For a simple reason.

The more information that was presented, the less shadowed Takara-chan’s skills, talent, and potential became in the minds of their clan, and the less room that the traditionalists who were not pleased by Tajima’s decision had to maneuver to bring pressure on either Tajima or the child herself to undo it.

“She requires training: with the Sharingan, in shinobi skills, and for her physical strength.”  Kuma noted.  “She also,” he continued before the detractors in the room could grow excited despite the summary of needed improvement being the same as most trainees, many younger than the girl in question save where the Sharingan was concerned.  “Has great potential.  Her sharingan was fully actualized on activation and her use of it in both sparring and memorization shows natural aptitude.  She has deep chakra reserves, good instincts, managed to learn and execute techniques in every element, and possesses excellent speed and agility.  With the proper support and training, she will go far as a shinobi.”

“And who will train her?”  Mikoto, elder of the Amaterasu Lineage, asked with a harrumph.  Also known as Mikoto-baasama the Grouch, to Tajima, Kuma, and their sons.  “What training captain would lower themselves to training a girl shinobi arts when she should be learning to be a wife?”

“Uchiha women in our long history have managed to be kunoichi as well as wives and mothers, Mikoto-baasama.”  Tajima countered patiently.  If they hadn’t there would even be an Uchiha clan left, he pointedly didn’t say.  “But let us put the question to our shinobi,” he continued, staring the bitter old bat down.  “Who among the clan would be willing to stand as Uchiha Takara’s sponsor?  Who would be willing to train her?  Who would be willing to accept the responsibility of her on their training squad?”

He let the three questions, which were separate but each equally important, fall onto the crowd before him lest he give Mikoto-baasama or another elder trying to cause discord an opportunity for protest.

A sponsor was usually a formality for children.  They were automatically sponsored by their father, or in the case that their father had died before they entered or finished training they were taken on by a paternal relative such as an uncle or cousin.  Sponsors became important when a teeanger who was of age to choose their own profession and had a talent for shinobi arts applied to be trained as a shinobi of the Uchiha despite not being from a shinobi line.  Such was Takara-chan’s case, though she was significantly younger than most who exercised that option.

Significantly younger - and due to how Uchiha Law was written, technically an adult in her own right which would posit that she had no need of a sponsor as a legal adult.  Technicalities were the life-blood of meddling elders but in this case none of them would try and use that particular one as it would also negate their main argument regarding Takara-chan being, well, Takara- chan and therefore ineligible (or inappropriate) for shinobi training as Uchiha law regarding adulthood made no distinction between genders.  Which in turn made the issue of Takara-chan’s sponsor one of logic and rightful duty rather than law, but unfortunately didn’t make the issue any simpler to solve.

Logic dictated that her uncle-by-marriage Uchiha Arata should be her sponsor, but there was also tradition to consider as well as the debt of blood and honor that Tajima owed her - and that was where her sponsorship became…messy.

There was a pause as the questions were taken in by the gathered shinobi and elders, then - to the visible shock of Mikoto-baasama and a few others - as one all the present shinobi and training masters rose to their feet and saluted Tajima.

Including his own brother who was the highest ranked shinobi in the clan next to Tajima himself.

Another pause, allowing those few with active sharingan to record the moment to later be written down for the clan archives as a supplement to the clan scribe’s own minutes of the meeting, then the field - at least regarding her sponsorship as it was asked first - cleared as many retook their seats.

Leaving only Uchiha Arata as Takara-chan’s maternal uncle and Uchiha Kuma standing, though not for long.

Tajima had to give respect to Arata-san.  There weren’t many people, shinobi, civilians, or otherwise, who would stare down his younger brother over anything.   If Tajima was the sword of the clan, Kuma was the shield and he’d built himself a reputation of being immovable and unshakeable in turn.

“In recognition of the debt owed to Uchiha Takara by the main line.”  Uchiha Arata at last made a salute towards Kuma-san, ceding the responsibility - and all that came with it - to the older shinobi.  “I cede my right of sponsorship as her closest shinobi relative to Uchiha Kuma-sama.”

From the sour expression on the anti-kunoichi contingent, Arata’s use of the life debts effectively shut down their next round of arguments that would’ve likely been against giving sponsorship of Takara-chan to a non-blood-relative.

Honor and duty came before almost everything else - at least within the clan - and none could argue that the child wasn’t owed by Tajima and his family for the lives she’d saved after gaining her sharingan.

Arata also owed her a life debt for Haruki-kun, but in comparison to three clan heirs, a youngest son wasn’t seen as heavy as the other debts incurred that night.

“I accept the duty and charge of standing as Uchiha Takara’s sponsor.”  Kuma agreed solemnly.  “Until the day that she has completed her training and is a shinobi of the Uchiha in full, she shall be mine to guide and protect.”

“Accepted.”  Tajima announced with a flare of his sharingan.  “Who shall offer her training?”

As Kuma sat, the handful of Uchiha master trainers rose.  Everyone from Uchiha Eiji over sealing to Uchiha Fumiko the head medic to the falconer, retired Uchiha Kentarō, who’d forgotten more about stealth than most shinobi ever learned in the first place.  Even for an Uchiha.

They saluted in silence and then sat once more after confirming their commitment to training the young shinobi of the clan - all of them - regardless of other considerations.

Such as a few elders kicking up a fuss or some stodgy bastards needing a lesson in how vicious a kunoichi can be in the field.

“And last: who shall welcome her onto their training squad?”

…

Air burst from her lungs as Takara once more hit the dirt hard, having been tossed over Madara’s shoulder fast and hard enough that she hadn’t been able to twist in mid-air to stick the landing.

Mother fucker but he was strong.

Taught to reinforce his body the same as Takara had been, though his was a family technique and not via the Shrine, even as a preteen Madara hit like a freight train in comparison to other trainees his age.

Even Takara, since though she knew what he was doing, he had more base physical strength to play off of and utilize than she did being both younger and smaller than the clan heir.

Unfortunately, for a real spar and not training practice, as far as trainees went…she really didn’t have a better option to partner with than the future Calamity.

Not if she wanted to train her sharingan which most of the other trainees simply haven’t activated yet, including Izuna.

In time it would change, but for the moment the only real challenges she and Madara had were each other - and as a result, Takara ended up eating dirt at the older shinobi’s hands more often than not as while she had the speed and agility to face him, her strength and training hadn’t caught up yet.

A few years down the line and she’d be a threat, maybe.

Now?

Not even close, Madara spent most of his time training with either his father or uncle, when he wasn’t batting Takara around the training yard during taijutsu practice.

Ninjutsu practice was another story altogether, but no matter how many times she made his mane of hair fluff up with electricity, it wasn’t the same as making him eat dirt.  Which was probably why he tossed her so often.  The ass.

“Ok there, Takara-chan?”  Madara loomed over her, arching an expectant brow at his friend as she stayed an extra minute laying on the ground instead of springing back up to try and knock him on his ass.

A soft growl was his answer as she smacked her hand up to take his own and be hauled back onto her feet.

Feisty.

It drove Izuna nuts, which was made of win, that Takara-chan never just stayed down.

Not that the midget managed it that much himself, but Madara’s younger brother almost took it as a personal affront that Takara-chan refused to give an inch without forcing Madara to fight for it tooth and nail.

He, on the other hand, appreciated it more than he could say.

She forced him to meet her on her level.  To keep going instead of slacking off in training.  To push and move and meet her head-on.

Madara was the clan heir and had been training since he could walk, but in a few short months Takara-chan had come closer to closing the gap between them than he thought even she recognized - particularly in ninjutsu, though her taijutsu was nothing to laugh at for all that she rarely beat him in a spar.

Tou-san and Kuma-ji had been happier with his training since Takara was put in his group with their shared cousins, Izuna, and Hikaku than ever before.

While Madara liked it, the other boys were either astonished or disbelieving of how much difference one new variable could make.  Izuna took matching her ninjutsu abilities as a personal challenge.  The others worked extra to try and keep up with her speed.

It was…good.

Better than he’d thought at first, when none of them were all that sure about having such a younger girl in their group would work.

Madara at least had had hope because of his friendship with her, but hope wasn’t a guarantee.

“Never better.”  Takara shot back with a cough, cracking her neck as she stood and then moved to retake her stance.  “Again.”

Though, once the other boys realized that having Takara around meant a reprieve for them at being Madara’s sparring partner, well, that had helped a lot even if they still mixed things up now and again at Kuma-ji’s instruction.

Nobody liked being on the other end of a sharingan.

Unless, that was, they had one themselves - and knew how to use it.

Takara-chan was both.

She was so cool, though he’d never tell her that.

His face would never recover from the teasing the others would give him.

…

Hanzou watched with amused eyes, his younger daughters cradled in his arms, as his family’s new housekeeper caught his Takara-chan by the shoulders before the young girl could flop onto the tatami and ushered her out to the kitchen to refresh herself with a quick wash.

He wasn’t fond of the idea of taking a new person into his home.  Into Aiko’s home.  He worried over how she would impact both the raising of his children and the harmony of his home.

Those worries melted away like a rare winter snow in the Land of Fire at the first meeting of the inestimable Uchiha Miho, who was at least fifteen or twenty years Hanzou’s senior and had little interest in becoming an imposition on anyone, let alone her only child and daughter.  Hence her position as a caregiver among the clan, stepping in when additional help was needed due to a difficult childbirth or injury among the shinobi families.  Taking on a permanent position, however, gave her real independence and a household to run to her own liking - as long as it was to Hanzou’s liking as well.

More: having been the daughter, wife, aunt, mother-in-law, and someday a grandmother of shinobi, Miho-san knew exactly what to do with Takara.

Far more than Hanzou himself did, at least when it came to the aftereffects of her training days, even now several months into their new reality as a mixed family of civilians and a lone shinobi trainee.

When his daughter stumbled into their home with scrapes and scratches and tears in her training clothes, Miho-san didn’t so much as cluck her tongue in disapproval.  Instead she would gather Takara-chan up, clean her off (as she was doing at that very moment) and then inspect her training wounds for any that might need more care than a simple wash with soap.  She would mend the more serious tears in the clothes, letting Takara-chan handle the smaller rips, and by Takara’s next training day his daughter would be ready to begin all over again.

And it was a case of stumbling home.

Six days out of seven Takara attended the shinobi physical conditioning routine in the early mornings with the rest of the trainees, and that was only the beginning of her days.  While lessons in the basics of sealing and first aid and shinobi law had overtaken Takara’s duels with Elder Chizuru on calligraphy during her non-training days, the bulk of her time was spent in improving her physical self and training both her eyes and chakra.  She learned weapons handling and close quarters combat.  Sparred with the other trainees and ran more laps than seemed feasible.

His daughter more often than not was a lump of exhaustion when she returned from training, but at the same time all of that weariness and work couldn’t hide how happy she was at the expansion of her world.

At least he would see more of his daughter over the next ten days as the trainees were given a break to help their families prepare for the New Year celebrations.  Due to when she was born, Takara at least hadn’t had to train on her ninth birthday unlike others.  From what Hanzou understood or had been told by either Miho-san or his brother-in-law Arata, trainees tended to have it worse when it came to time off than active shinobi - at least in the cooler months of winter as while missions waxed and waned with the seasons, training itself was infinite.

Once Takara returned from being scrubbed - and the cold water having done its work of reviving her - Hanzou passed off Tsubaki as Miho-san poured the tea and served their dinners.  The babies were almost old enough to wean and rejoin their household in full.  A fact which filled Hanzou with both joy and grief.

Joy as the twins against all odds were not only surviving but thriving.

Grief…well, that was self-explanatory.

At almost six months old, the twins were interested in mouthing at rice and soft bits of fish or fruit, though less interested in porridge for all it was easier for them to eat.

In contrast, due to the demands that were being put on her growing body both in terms of physicality and chakra usage, there wasn’t a single dish - even if previously it was one the girl would barely deign to touch - that was placed before Takara that she didn’t fall on like a well-mannered, if ravenous, wolf.

“You will take care, Takara,” Hanzou commanded.  “It may not have snowed or iced-over in the lowlands yet this winter, but the mountains will not be so kind.”  He warned regarding his daughter’s planned hunting trip, the first overnight that she would be taking alone.

Most hunter’s apprentices - like her little cousin Haruki who had made a menace of himself until Hanzou agreed to train him as the boy wanted to try and repay Takara for saving his life, and helping Hanzou was what his father Arata suggested - wouldn’t take on an overnight hunting trip alone until they were much older.

Most hunter’s apprentices hadn’t shown a proclivity for outright murder in self-defense either, and his Takara had never been the type to lump-in with the most.

Takara had the skills and the strength to take on such a task.

Moreover, after all the constant strain and grief and changes over the last six months, Hanzou believed she needed it.

As a chance to take a free breath, if nothing else.

“Yes, papa.”  Takara replied absently as she fought to keep her chopsticks out of Tsubaki’s fascinated - and grabby - hands.  “I will.”

…

Takara wouldn’t put her change in circumstances - the switch from a mostly-civilian childhood to shinobi training - on the same level as what she’d undergone as Toshiko.

The comparison just didn’t work beyond the surface level of both being shinobi training for multiple reasons.

How the Uchiha Clan trained their young to be shinobi was far more intense and integrated than the Academy for one.  And yet was far less intense and total than how her Kakashi-sensei had trained her, for two.  It wasn’t an even playing field to make those sorts of comparisons - the situations were utterly different for all that they both had the identifier of “shinobi” slapped on them.

The way the Uchiha divided up training into three different levels: training masters, sponsors, squad captains; allowed for a more thorough education without risking trainees falling through the gaps like in her experience with the Academy.  There had always been a disparity between clan-raised kids and everyone else, even shinobi-family kids, in Konoha.  It put a lot of pressure on jounin-senseis to close the education and training gaps, but it also ended up with trainees who might have done better with a different approach dropping out or filling out the Genin Corps.

Enough gaps that the Academy was considered a joke by a lot of shinobi by the time that Ono Toshiko entered it, despite it originally having been a revolutionary idea by the Nidaime.

A case of where an idea was good, but the execution ended up flawed once the human element interacted with it.

(AKA, once Sarutobi Hiruzen and his cancerous growth Shimura Danzo were in a position of power, but they weren’t even born yet so Takara was working on letting old grudges go.)

Takara was exhausted and she wasn’t going to try and pretend otherwise.  She had done her best to train herself once she woke up as Uchiha Takara, but was limited by time and supervision.  As a child, her time wasn’t her own as much as that frustrated her.

As a trainee, her time definitely wasn’t her own, but it was a changed situation.  Her goals and that of her new “supervisors” - for all intents and purposes - were now in total alignment rather than being tangential (in the case of her father) or non-existent (in the case of her late third-mother.)  Takara needed the training that she was being given now to succeed in both her short-term and long-term goals, and that made the rub of having her time dictated and scheduled in near totality easier to swallow.

Takara had the gift of experience working on the side of ameliorating her frustrations as well, which helped.  The knowing, in not just an academic sense, that the training was both helping strengthen her and wouldn’t last forever.  Nothing ever did - even when it was supposed to.

With every sparring round and set of sharingan exercises, her “lag” - for lack of a better term - between what she saw and her reactions shortened and became less noticeable.  Eventually she knew she would be able to use her sharingan with the same flawless ease as her former loves - or Madara the genius bastard - but that it wouldn’t be effortless getting there.  Helping train Sasuke had taught her that much but also helped her know exactly where the scant few weaknesses of the Sharingan were.

Which, being the second cheatingest cheater of a kekkei genkai next to the Rinnegan and only slightly more problematic than the Byakugan - or the mokuton, speaking of OP cheats - were mainly in the execution of the Sharingan and practice, not the dojutsu itself.

Well, as long as it was a natural sharingan and not a poorly field-transplanted one like Kakashi-sensei’s.

That was a clusterfuck of a different level altogether.

Takara thought it would probably take until her body was close to maturity for her to really close the gap between what her eyes could see and her ability to react in complete unison - but that was fine, if not optimal.

Only another Uchiha with the Sharingan would probably notice anything at all by the time she’d been training for a year or two, and since she had no intention of warring against her own, that wasn’t a real concern.

Add in that Senju Tobirama wouldn’t (likely, hopefully, potentially?) be creating Hiraishin until he was in his late teens or early twenties in order to best Izuna - provided the future still took that path - on the battlefield and she felt relatively safe taking the needed time to mature and grow her abilities.

Or, as a backup plan, to seed enough future-jutsu and knowledge into the Uchiha Clan that they can survive the coming war with the Senju in a better state than what she once was told about by her history-nerd Uchiha.

It may have been academic to start with: wanting the Uchiha to survive.

But they were hers now.

She was Uchiha Takara.

And while her little brother may have given her a job to do, a job or duty alone wasn’t enough to really live for.

She let herself get attached to these people.  To her patient, slightly off-center father.  To her baby sisters.  To Kayoko-ba before she died, to all the aunties who took up the charge of ensuring that Aiko’s family weren’t neglected after her death.

Even to Madara, despite knowing who - or what - he might become if pushed just the wrong (or right) way.

They were hers now, and she would protect what was hers.

Even if that meant taking a mental-health break in the guise of a hunting trip, since with the addition of the eagle-eyed Miho-san to their household, Takara really didn’t have much room to unwind and decompress any longer.

…

Hanzou saw his daughter off on her hunt before the morning sun, the two parting once they cleared the forest line that separated the cultivated Uchiha fields of flax and grains from the wildlands they claimed as their own.

Wildlands that were on the opposite side of the compound from the Naka river, as neither one of them wished to run into an encroaching Senju squad if the vicious bastards were testing the Uchiha borders that day.

There hadn’t been another attempt at an assassination within the compound.  Takara had made the last one far too costly.  With the increased patrols and strengthened compound guard rotation, including over a dozen retired shinobi once more donning their armor to protect the compound, it likely wasn’t seen as worth the risk.

Not when they could test the borders or try to ambush Uchiha squads on missions instead.

Gods of old, but Senju Butsuma was a bastard of a man even for a shinobi.

Takara would think that having spent most of the last few years in a lull of hostilities, that the vicious shinobi would have realized that a ceasefire if not outright peace between their clans actually benefited them.

There was a reason why once Konohagakure was founded and proven viable, that advances in every field leapt forward.  It wasn’t just that there were geniuses of research and development like Senju Tobirama and Tsunade or Orochimaru to push the line of what was possible.  It wasn’t even a phenomenon that only affected Konoha.

All around the shinobi world where the stability offered by the creation of the hidden villages allowed for collaboration, innovation, and easier access to materials, society advanced.

Necessity may be the mother of invention, but it also required time, space, and capability.

All of which were easier to get when a would-be-inventor didn’t have to worry about sneezing and setting off - or restarting - a clan war.

No, Konoha was nowhere near perfect, but it still had its upsides and benefits as well.

Many of which Takara planned to use for the benefit of her clan, even if the ethics of doing so were…debatable at best.  Meh.  She was a shinobi and a damn good one, ethics and honor were only so useful as the lives they saved - and many lives could be saved with the medical jutsu Takara remembered from her second life alone, even if she disregarded everything else.

First however she had to learn what the Uchiha did and didn’t know - and as much as it chafed at her urge to go go go and push farther and faster now that she’d stepped out of the background and into actual shinobi life once more, part of effective learning was knowing when to take a break.

She was old and trained enough now - per the beliefs of the era - that her father trusted her to go hunting both alone and for longer periods of time.

Which wasn’t all that different from her second life, if she was being honest with herself, since at the same age she’d basically taken on full-time mothering and raising Naruto with minimal help from her Uncle and Kakashi-sensei - even if the latter was only financial and from the shadows.

Children in this world simply had to grow up and mature faster than what she remembered - if vaguely - from her first life, and she had always taken advantage of that.

As she bid her father goodbye for the next day or two, Takara prepared to stop pretending to be a child altogether and let herself just be.

For safety, she didn’t carry the Uchiha mon anywhere on her person and was entirely incognito as a civilian boy.   Her hair wrapped up tight in a top-knot.  Her clothes were all the same standard utility cut of Uchiha working clothes but in a plain dun brown dye of the peasant class rather than the indigo the Uchiha were notorious for.

Takara’s weapons in the knives she carried and the fine make of her bow - not the rosewood one she’d designed with her father before her mother’s death, but a regular Uchiha short bow - would give away the game if someone took a close look.  The only real tell that Takara allowed herself.  For a simple reason: if someone was close enough to her weaponry to realize she wasn’t quite the civilian peasant hunter she was playing at portraying, then she had bigger problems than her weapons being too fine.

A sharp grin flashed over her face as she turned away from waving at her father, Hanzou off to track the coming winter migration of the various herds that ranged closest to the Uchiha compound as Takara moved further into the mountains.

She paused a moment, sending out her chakra in spiraling waves like Kakashi-sensei had taught her once-upon-a-time to sense - even without being a true sensor - if there were other shinobi in the vicinity.

Then when the answer came back as a resounding no, unless someone was concealing their chakra signature anyway, Takara darted up into the high canopy of the forest and ran.

Chakra pumping and circling through her body, her speed impossible for a civilian to reach.

She would slow eventually, start an actual hunt and use her haul to test “her” improvements to the preservation seals the Uchiha used.  (Not that they needed testing.  She knew they worked, they were Konoha standard by the time she entered the Academy.  But they were far and away better than anything easily found outside Uzushio - and that meant proving herself and “her” inventions to the clan.) She would fulfill her duty as her father’s daughter.

But, just for a while, Takara allowed herself to forget it all and leave it behind her.

To be free.

And so she ran.

…

Chapter Text

Karuma no Kagami

Chapter Eight: Huntress

Takara ran for hours before she slowed and took stock of the mountain range surrounding her, having traveled farther in her rush of being than she had before in this life whether with her father or alone.

Running west opposite from where the Senju lands were located across the Naka from the Uchiha put her still within Uchiha lands but closer to where the Hagoromo - who were nominally their allies - and the Shiranui who were their vassals claimed their own territories.

North would have put her closer to the capitol - and the Shimura as a result - while South eventually crossed into a no-man’s-land before becoming Aburame territory nearer the coast.

All of which were far from the only clans surrounding the Uchiha, but they were the closest.

Setting traps for mountain hare and other small creatures, Takara strafed northwest along the edge of the range as she estimated herself far enough out that curling back inland wouldn’t hurt anything.  Especially as she had no intention of following the mountains all the way to the Land of Rivers.  She didn’t have that kind of time to wander, even if she kinda wanted to explore.  She remembered the Land of Rivers as semi-nomadic, with a vibrant culture that rotated around the ebbs and flows of the vast river system it was home to.

Part of her wanted to see how it compared now to her memories.

Another part of her wanted to forage marshmallow roots from the marshy wetlands and roast them over a fire until they were as sweet and sticky as the sugar pillows that were named for them in her first life.

Both of which lost to the strong sense of duty that had been forged into her over her current and previous life, as wanderlust wasn’t a good enough reason to terrify her father - especially not with all he’d lost over the last months.

That night she slept high in a tree, alone but guarded by a previous life’s experience and knowledge, and with only the stars above to watch her.

The next morning she woke and washed in a nearby river that she raided of fish both for her breakfast as well as a test of one of the mass-storage scrolls she’d recreated from memory and the training of a prior life.  Storage scrolls, especially ones that either contained multiple compartments or that could move a high mass or volume of material, either didn’t exist - yet - outside of Uzushio or simply weren’t used by the Uchiha given her experience with the trading caravans.  Her ryo said that Uzushio had them but like most of their fuuinjutsu they weren’t interested in sharing that kind of technology with the mainland.  

Or anyone, for that matter.

Fuuinjutsu was rare enough that even if she never did anything for the clan ever again, bringing them a new design or two would cement her place so firmly within the Uchiha that short of outright treason she’d be golden for the rest of her natural (or with the way things were going unnatural) life.

She didn’t plan to stop there (see ability to advance their medical corps significantly even with only having medic training and not a full iryo-nin) but it would be enough to ensure she was valued and taken seriously.

Instead of for her potential as a distraction or cannon-fodder on the battlefield.

Her change to the timeline of saving the clan head’s younger sons could, if the social pressure became great enough, be dismissed as a one-off if she let it.  Takara couldn’t afford that, to be seen as resting on her laurels, not if she wanted to both fulfill her duty to Naruto and carve out a life for herself that was worth living.  To say nothing of trying to save as many of her new clan as she could.

Even the tetchy shits that were the elders had grown on her, albeit more like a fungus she couldn’t get rid of than in any sense of real affection.

So: seals and medical ninjutsu, even if she had always been far more skilled and interested in the former than the latter and still wanted to be a field shinobi and not a desk-nin.

By noon she had tracked a herd of young sika deer bucks that had banded together after being driven off from their birth-herds by larger and older males, taking down two of the smaller ones in quick succession before the others scattered and adding them to one segment of her mass-storage experiment.

They were large and heavy enough that realistically she wouldn’t have been able to bring them back to the compound whole, making them a good test of the scroll - if a wasteful one if she was wrong or had misremembered the sealing matrixes.  She wasn’t and she hadn’t.  Even if she had, in the beginning of remembering seals, she made sure to test them on a smaller scale in her free time before risking greater tests.  But still - doubt lingered.

By sundown she had stumbled - almost but not quite literally thankfully - on a large wild boar that made her glad she knew how to add seals to her arrows.

Granted, a knock-out seal was usually her go-to for an ambush and not hunting but that thing was more than twice her size and meaner than Izuna after a dunking by Madara in a fish pond - she wasn’t going to fight fair.

(Granted, if she wasn’t alone she wouldn’t have taken the time to etch the arrowhead with a knock-out seal in the first place but…details.)

Once she had the boar tucked away, she hot-footed it away from that area, not wanting to risk an unpleasant end to her dinner in case it wasn’t alone, and started backtracking her trail.

Which, of course, was when everything went very wrong.

…

His heart was in his throat as he flared his chakra the way his nii-san taught him if he was ever in trouble.

It was just supposed to be a courier mission.

Otou-sama said that Kawa was old enough now to wear armor and run messages.

To make himself useful to the clan.

Kawa wanted to be useful, to help the clan and be a good shinobi like his brothers and cousins.

It was just supposed to be a courier mission.

He didn’t know where the enemy nin came from.  One moment he was running through the trees back from the capitol to his home.  The next there were shinobi chasing him and baying for his blood.

Or-

No.

He wasn’t going to think about what that one kept shouting at his back.

Tobi-nii told him over and over again: if he let himself focus on fear, he was already lost.

He had to run.

He had to get close enough to the compound for Tobi-nii to feel him and send help.

He had to-

He had to-

He had to roll, what was that, why was he falling…?

(He wasn’t going to make it home.  He was so scared.  But he wouldn’t let down Tobi-nii and Hashi-nii and Otou-sama by crying like a baby.   He was a shinobi.)

Rolling, Senju Kawarama grabbed a kunai out of his weapons pouch and sprang back to face the enemy nin who’d herded him into a trap like hounds after a fox.

He thought the clan mon on their shoulders was the Hagoromo mark.  Uchiha allies.  Uchiha allies that if he listened to the aunties and not the uncles around the compound that were worse than their fire-eyed demon enemies could ever be.

The sheer gleeful malice that the Hagoromo were sending at him through their chakra - maybe one of their child-killing squads that made the elders curse and spit - threatened to buckle his knees but Kawarama didn’t let it.  Their chakra was weak, even altogether, compared to how Hashi-nii leaked chakra - and his feelings - everywhere.  Learning how to block out the chakra of others was a basic survival skill in the Senju compound since Hashi-nii started coming into his mokuton.

Blocking out having to feel the enemy-nin that were going to kill him was both easier and harder to Kawa.

They wouldn’t make him cry.

They wouldn’t make him beg like they said they were going to.

Kawarama was a shinobi.

And he was going to die like one.

…

Takara wasn’t a sensor.

Or at least, she didn’t have the innate talent and ability that marked a true sensor - like, say, Senju Tobirama or even Uchiha Madara.

What she could do was the same as any adequately trained shinobi with enough chakra - and most importantly chakra control - to be able to differentiate her chakra from nature chakra from the chakra of other shinobi.

It had been the first major lesson from when she underwent sage training with the snow leopards of the Senri Steppes - her much-beloved summons who in this time and place were bound to Senju Tobirama.  (Or so she assumed.  Like with many factors of her new-third-life, she hadn’t looked too hard or dug too deep.  Keeping her grief from pulling her under and drowning her was more important than fact-finding most of the time.)  Any half-trained idiot with a modicum of chakra control could emit Killing Intent or sense it from another.  A level up from that was sensing when other shinobi were nearby due to their chakra density and/or how their chakra responded to their mood.

What Takara had learned in her second life and had to re-teach herself in her third, was an order of magnitude beyond either of those skills, simply because before a would-be sage could even begin to attempt to work with nature chakra, they had to learn to parse out and catalog the chakra around them.

Regaining that skill was a work in progress but she didn’t need the same finesse from another life in order to recognize both an SOS flare when she felt it - as well as the truly vicious amount of KI that surrounded it.

Sensibility said to ignore the fuck out of whatever that was and go around it.

Practicality said that whatever ambush was going on, it’d drifted right smack into the middle of her easiest path home and she didn’t want to add an extra half day to her return - plus sacrifice her traps - to avoid it.

Especially when she had the skill necessary between shunshin, kawarimi, and sheer speed - to say nothing of her sharingan - to be nosy and get home along her preferred path.

Sue her: she was shinobi.   Being a nosy bitch was part-and-parcel of the job description as far as she was concerned.  Besides which: whatever that was would probably have implications for at least one of the Uchiha neighboring clans, given where it was happening in the not-quite-Uchiha but non-quite-not section of the lowland mountains of their northern border.

Not their northern pass and main trade route to the capitol, to be sure, but not far from it either.

Before she saw the ambush, she felt it.  There was no way she couldn’t given that who she was starting to think was only a kid was pumping out distress and fear mixed with determination alongside their chakra.  Fuck.  Fuck.

Not that the adult shinobi surrounding them were any better with their vicious waves of excitement that bordered on sexual from some of them or their gleeful bloodlust.

Yeah, before she even saw what was going on that had snagged her attention, Takara had a decent idea of the shape of it - and had already decided to interfere, come hell or high water.

For two simple reasons:

First: that was a child she felt being terrorized.

And second: those weren’t her own clansmen doing the terrorizing - and even if they were, her loyalty to her own only stretched so far.

Being sent to assassinate a child or wipe out a whole family or clan was rare but it did happen to Konoha nin.  ANBU especially got handed those sorts of orders.  Takara had never judged any of her fellow ANBU for doing their duty even if her own tended to be tracking traitors, missing-nin, or high-ranked enemies and bringing their heads back to the Hokage.

Now if they were the sort of sicko who got off on slaughtering children, that would’ve been a different story and Takara would’ve been the first one to step up and cull such disease from the herd before the infection could spread.

Takara felt their menace slowly tightening like a noose around the terrified child.

A moment later she pulled two arrows from her quiver, the shortbow not strong enough to handle more like a recurve or longbow could, her feet not making a sound or missing a step as she all-but-flew through the tree tops.

She tucked her chakra down tight even as she started to knead it.

Then, when she cleared the trees and had line-of-sight, when she burst onto the scene:

(A boy in green and brown huddled against a tree but jabbing out with a kunai in defiance.  Four grown shinobi with the Hagoromo mon circling him.  Four targets.  One child.)

Her arrows were already in the air before anyone else knew she was there.

…

Kawarama felt the blood splatter against his face before he noticed where it came from: an arrow that had lodged clean through the Hagoromo directly in front of him from the back and out the hollow of the nin’s throat before getting stuck on his armor.

Two bodies dropped almost in unison: the one in front of him and the nin directly to that Hagoromo’s left, both with arrows in their necks before Kawa could even blink.

The Hagoromo nin - for a moment that could’ve been less than a heartbeat or an hour - were likewise slow to pivot with the rapid change in circumstances.

To their detriment and Kawa’s favor, as it happened, as no sooner had the first two fallen, then a, a pair of shadows split off from the forest around him and dove forward to attack the remaining Hagoromo clansmen.

Kawa couldn’t make out their face or the color of their hair or-

Anything really, even how tall they were or their build was obscured under the shadow illusion that had to be some form of henge.

Kawarama, however, also wasn’t stupid even if he was young and had just started running messages.  He didn’t know who his savior was, but he knew they weren’t a Senju.  Maybe a Nara or some clan he didn’t recognize who used Shadow Jutsu, but he knew what his people felt like (he could feel them even now coming into his range moving closer and closer to him at speed, his Tobi-nii’s cool chakra leading the way with Hashi-nii’s heaviness one step behind him) and the shadow-nin wasn’t one of his own.

Before the twin shadows could turn their attention from where they were efficiently cutting down the Hagoromo with a mixture of knife-work and close-quarters jutsu, Kawarama girded his reserves, shifted his feet, and bolted in the direction of that cool-solid mixture that meant his older brothers.

…

Later, when he was asked about the feel of the shadows’ chakra, he mentioned to his Tobi-nii (who was doing the questioning and wasn’t likely to dismiss him the way their Otou-sama or the other older shinobi would) that it felt warm.

And asked what they’d felt like to Tobi-nii.

Identical, was Senju Tobirama’s first impression of the veritable firestorm of chakra that had saved his brother: a pair of strong identical chakra signatures.

Then came the rest:

Strong, and like the lightning strike that heralded a wildfire - but somehow also a storm at sea.

A mixture of affinities that had no business belonging to the same person, let alone two identical people (and even twins didn’t have the same chakra signature, nothing about that made sense) with how it was a tangle so dense that Tobirama couldn’t even parse out the individual affinities involved.  Fire and wind and lightning for sure, but with something else, something strange and different carried along with it.  Not his anija’s unique form of chakra due to mokuton.  But also somehow the same in how it was mingled and tangled into something else that was a separate entity from its base components.

That was who saved his younger brother from a gruesome fate.  It was a chakra signature he never allowed himself to forget.  As if he could forget a chakra signature so unique and odd and wonderful and powerful all at the same time.  And it was one that he looked for whenever he met other shinobi ever after.

Until he finally felt it again, once his sensory abilities had grown with age and practice and he got better had parsing out individuals from groups of shinobi and found it again, and in the exact last place he ever would’ve thought to look:

The “twin shadows” that saved Kawarama from the Hagoromo child hunters was an Uchiha.   Which was confusing to Tobirama for more than one reason, first being an Uchiha saved a marked Senju, and ending with the impossibility that was the identical chakra signatures that came-and-went with no discernible pattern.  It drove him crazy with curiosity, how they were doing that.

For that reason - Tobirama was never able to prove that it was an Uchiha beyond his own sensory abilities, and he kept more of that information to himself than anyone, even his older brother Hashirama, ever realized - among others, he never said a word about it.

And so long as that chakra signature never took the field against the Senju, he would never have to.

It was the least he could do for the enemy that had shown more care for Kawarama in that moment than some of their own clan.

(If over the years Tobirama grew accustomed to reaching out towards the Uchiha Compound just to… check on that firestorm chakra, to know that Kawa’s saving shadow was still alive and hadn’t died on some distant mission, that was between him and the Kami.)

…

Takara was actually kinda impressed with the Senju kid for rabbiting when he saw the chance.

That one might actually have a chance to survive this fucked up world if he had decent instincts like that and could avoid anymore ambushes.

She knew she was on a clock: either the Senju or the Hagoromo would be on the scene soon and she had to clear away the evidence she was ever there - let alone anything that could identify her.  Takara dropped the shadow henge - not at all subtle, and looked too much like Black Zetsu for her peace of mind, but effective - and made another clone to assist her original one in stripping and looting the bodies.  She couldn’t risk doing it herself: the Hagoromo were noted poison masters as well as being epic dicks and she wouldn’t put it beyond them to booby-trap their bodies in particularly awful ways.

A precise application of katon had the blood burned away from her arrows and hunting knife, Takara destroying the arrow shafts entirely but pocketing the heads for repurposing.

“That’s everything.”  Her second clone reported, the first one hitting the clothes - which were bloodied and had some kind of contact-based poison coating them, lovely - with another katon before banishing itself.  The second clone handed over the non-poisoned supplies from looting in one sealing scroll, the poisoned but treatable items in another.  “The vials weren’t labeled.”

With a nod of thanks, Takara dismissed the last clone with a flex of chakra, tucking away the loot into the scroll holster she had tucked around her waist underneath her civilian work clothes and padded grey hanten jacket.

A final look around the scene - and an overpowered katon to cremate the bodies and keep any evidence she might’ve missed from being discovered - and Takara was gone, back on her hunting trail and too far into Uchiha territory for anyone to risk tracking her.

After she tucked her chakra signature back down.

She wouldn’t put it past Butsuma to be hotheaded and/or arrogant enough to send a tracker after her anyway for having the audacity to save one of his clan’s children.  Children who were too fucking young to be running around without backup, or at all when they were one breath away from open war, but hey what did she know?  It wasn’t like she was doing this shinobi thing for the second time or anything, or seen the toll that being turned into a murderer-for-hire at a too young age took on them - if they managed to make it to adulthood at all.

Takara reviewed her clones’ memories as she ran to her next set of traps to check.

There’d been ryo in the untainted supplies.  Not a huge amount, but enough to make her speculate that they’d been coming back from one of the civilian villages - or headed to - when they’d caught the trail of the Senju kid and decided on a bit of recreational murder.  Pricks.

Together with what she thought from her own training and experience to be a basic kit-out for active shinobi, she was leaning harder on the supply or entertainment run side of things rather than them being on an actual mission or patrol.

Which was good for her and bad for their odds of being found by their own in anything close to a timely manner.

Couldn’t have happened to a nicer set of assholes, really.

…

“Whoever they were, they’re long gone now, Butsuma-sama.”  The squad the Senju Clan Head had sent out to track and clean-up the site where his son almost died if not for a stranger’s intervention reported back two days later.  “There was no trail to follow.  Only some signs in the general area that a civilian hunter had been through recently beyond the tracks of the child-hunters and Kawarama-kun themselves.”

“Dismissed.”

Disappointing, but not unexpected from his son’s report.

That they covered their identity so thoroughly was intriguing but not overly so.

He knew some clans, weakened by base sentiment, looked down on those who hunt children, seeing only their age and not their potential threat that was best nullified before they grew into a danger.

That a shinobi would interfere with a child-hunt without being directly involved in the affair was not unheard of, though it was rare.

If they were closer to the northern borders where the nomadic Hatake ranged in packs as far away as the Lands of Mountains, Snow, and Lighting or as close as Fire’s own mountain ranges, Butsuma would assume it was one of them at work with the pack-like mentality that the rangers were notorious for.

It wasn’t unknown - though rarely addressed - for a Hatake pack to find a wandering child or a young clan messenger and simply…claim them as their own so long as they were willing to be claimed.

There once was a rumor that a portion of the Hatake had split away from the main clan around the time of his father’s generation, but that there had never been any Hatake found within the Land of Fire, Butsuma had long ago dismissed it as rumor-mongering.

And if the driven-off wolf-worshippers had drifted into the Land of Fire, there would’ve been word of it long before Butsuma took over as clan head.

The Hatake were the utter bane of both bloodline thieves and established clans alike.  They would fall on a slaver’s camp and decimate it if one set up too close to their game trails.  And if afterward, clan children who had grown attached to their saviors popped up on the other side of the continent calling themselves Hatake there was nothing to be done about it.  Once a child was adopted into the Hatake, getting them back was impossible with only rumors to use as evidence against the nomads.

Only the Hyuuga and the Uchiha didn’t have to concern themselves with such problematic proclivities, as of all kekkei genkai dojutsu was the most obvious and difficult for a claimed-Hatake to hide.

Butsuma had suspicions about what happened to stolen Hyuuga and Uchiha spawn who’d had their eyes taken before the Hatake found them, but again: without evidence and proof, there was no case that could be acted upon or brought before the Daimyo for redress.

No, whoever had interfered and saved his son, he doubted they were Hatake.

Which only left him with half the clans on the continent to consider, barring  the Uchiha who would never go out of their way to save a Senju, and no clear answer.

Ah well, such was life.

The stranger’s sentiment worked to Butsuma’s benefit, and made it clear that his third-born son needed more training on stealth and evasion before being sent out once more, to say nothing of Hashirama’s recent bouts of sullenness and backchat.

He would think no more on it, unless or until a stranger presented themselves at the Senju Compound seeking a reward for their weak, soft-hearted idiocy.

…

“You look well, my treasure.”  Hanzou greeted his eldest daughter as he met up with her as previously agreed a few hours’ walk from their home.

It was a quiet glade well-hidden by tall trees and a cliff-face to one side, and made an excellent base camp for when they either wanted or needed to be on the trail for more than a day.

Takara gave a moment’s thought about how cathartic a spot of judiciously-applied murder of child-hunters could be, well aware that she had a habit of taking out her frustrations - of any kind - on enemy combatants.

“It was a good hunt, papa.”  Takara replied, shrugging off her bow and pack to join him at the campfire and rest from the long run back from her hunting grounds to their meeting point.  “A good test of my new seals.”

Hanzou sent an interested look at both the preservation bags and the hidden scroll holder he knew his daughter carried, being among the few - including the clan’s two best sealing adepts - who were aware that Takara-chan was starting to work on her own fuuinjutsu designs.

His treasured child had absorbed the lessons at both Elder Eiji and his son Fumio-san’s instruction at a speed and thoroughness that was nothing short of prodigious.  To the point that he knew from his brother-in-law that there had been some questions regarding keeping Takara as a sealing master and away from taking outside missions once her kunoichi training was complete.  Or even seeing if a deal might be brokered with an actual sealing master from Uzushio for additional training - which was swiftly dismissed due to the connection the ruling family of Whirlpool had with the Senju.

Not all Uzushio shinobi or civilians were Uzumaki, but no one wanted to risk an Uchiha child being ambushed on their way to or from training when they couldn’t guarantee that the information wouldn’t make its way to the Uzumaki and thereafter the Senju.

Not after the Senju Clan Head had shown his colors in sending an assassination squad after Tajima-sama’s wife and children.

Which meant that his Takara-chan was forced to learn through trial-and-error when it came to her experiments rather than being able to gain instruction under a higher level of sealing master - hence, testing.

(And a few contained explosions, but since those took place in the training yards, no one was too worried about that once both Elder Eiji and Fumio-san confirmed it was a normal part of the fuuinjutsu creation process.)

Hanzou found himself left both shocked and filled with pride at his daughter’s successes, perhaps especially so due to the fact that she hadn’t forgotten her civilian roots.  He’d seen it before, though mostly in his past before the Uchiha.  Children gaining access to greater opportunity and forgetting where they came from.

Not so his Takara.

Despite jumping in with both feet to her shinobi training, her first inventions weren’t shinobi-use based (though he was sure they had shinobi applications) but to make life easier on their civilian clanspeople.  His daughter had remembered hunts that had to be cut short because they didn’t have the capacity to carry anymore weight back to the compound.  Carcasses that spoiled because of the Fire Country heat defeating even their best preservation seals.

She had taken the experiences and lessons of her early life: civilian concerns, hunting issues, life on the trading roads; and put them to work once she had a way to help solve the challenges and improve their lot.

Takara may primarily change the status quo for the women of the Uchiha, but Hanzou had no doubt that she would remember and remain true to her roots.

A huntress.

No matter what - or who - found her on their trail in time.

…

Their return from the hunt was heralded by the sight of Tsubaki and Tsukiko giving them sweet baby waves in the arms of their cousins Akihito and Chikara, which was the best welcome that either of them could think of.

The hunt might feed their spirits, but their family was where their hearts found rest - if only for a time, before the hunt called out to them once more.

Hanzou considered his daughters, thinking - doubting - again the wisdom of keeping their heritage a secret until they were of age.  It was how his family had trained and taught him.  Granting him all the skills of their bloodline long before he had any real knowledge of who they were.

Keeping secrets was in their blood, it was true.

But at times he wondered if it did more harm than good.

Still, when he’d confided his concerns to Arata, his brother-in-law had reassured him that his girls wouldn’t come to any harm by waiting to learn of their paternal bloodlines.  Especially as he didn’t even have any proof regarding his mother’s origins.  They would grow and live as Uchiha before anything else, and the Uchiha would cherish them and keep them safe.

Well.

As safe as possible when it came to Takara and her wild spirit that was far more like Hanzou’s own than her gentle late mother’s more restful soul, Kami grant her peace.

The Uchiha had their ways, but Hanzou’s family had their own: both handed down from when they were Hatake in name as well as blood, and those taken up after their divide from the mother-pack.

Hanzou wouldn’t rush his daughters into taking up the mantle of their blood, either early or at all if they didn’t wish for it.

No, no.

His eldest was a huntress to her bones.

His new apprentice was coming along nicely.

It was enough.

It had to be enough.  Takara was wonderful and fierce and every bit his daughter.  But he couldn’t deny that there was part of him that wished - a weak part, perhaps - that she was more easily contented.  At peace within the safety of the compound instead of the wilds.  He wouldn’t rush his younger babes into following in either his or Takara’s footsteps.

Tsukiko and Tsubaki would never be put into the same position as Takara.

Forced to take life to protect their own.

Not so long as he drew breath.

Even if it meant never speaking to them about the other side of the blood that ran in their veins.

In this: he hoped and prayed that they were more Uchiha than Hatake.

If only so his heart and mind could find some peace.

…

Chapter Text

Karuma no Kagami

Chapter Nine: Planting Seeds

The next day after morning training, Hanzou and Takara were joined by Arata, Ken-ji, Kuma-sama, and Fumio-san for the unveiling of the fruits of both Takara’s hunt and the results of the next stage of her seal testing at the hunter’s workshop in the compound.

“Which first?”  Takara asked Fumio-san, the working fuuinjutsu specialist having taken over a lot of Takara’s hands-on training, and then once she tore through his own and his father’s lessons on the discipline as her supervisor when she experimented.   She didn’t mind having the fail-safe, not when she remembered some truly spectacular fuck-ups she, Naruto, and Sasuke all had when they sat for sealing lessons from Jiraiya.  “The preservation and expansion seal matrix on the bags?”

It wasn’t quite a Mary Poppins bag - or true pocket dimension matrices - but anything to do with extension and expansion of space was new to the Uchiha.

Even without the stasis aspect which was woven into all of the storage matrices she knew.

Untangling them would be a bigger challenge than using them as-is, and it was a project on her list - once she’d gotten the big-ticket items taken care of.  She could absolutely see a use for a stasis seal that wasn’t bound to a storage aspect.  The potential medical applications alone she was very intrigued by, though she could think of a couple ways to weaponize it just off the top of her head.  New applications constantly popped up now that she was having to both remember and reverse engineer every seal she wanted to introduce to the Uchiha instead of taking them at face value.

It wasn’t enough to know that they worked.

If she wanted to teach them, she needed to know how and why they worked as well - and therein laid the challenge.

Fumio-san nodded, dark eyes intent as she laid out the first bag.  As part of her attempt to limit variables in the testing phase, she had separated the smaller game based on an hourly basis.  Which meant that her bags mostly held the contents of her traps, as most of her active hunting had yielded bigger game and been used to test her scrolls.

Making the proper hand-sign, she reached in and pulled out the first set of game: a brace of large copper pheasants that had fallen to her bow her first day out.

Hanzou, as the resident master hunter, inspected them closely before confirming that they showed no signs of decay, a process that played out through the entire process of emptying her experimental bags that could hold about twice their physical size but would still weigh the same as their contents.

Fumio-san was nearly giddy at the implications, and the shinobi weren’t much better, already making plans to run a long-term test of the bags’ efficacy in staving off damage and decay to their contents.

Which would end up being between three-to-six months from what she remembered depending on the contents and how fast they naturally decayed.  The bags were cheaper in Konoha due to the lower complexity, which made them popular with genin and paper-chuunin.  It wasn’t true stasis like the more complex scrolls could achieve, merely a delay in the natural process.  She had always favored sealing scrolls, but when she learned fuuinjutsu the first time, she’d learned all of it she could get her hands on.

Even when it meant dealing with Jiraiya the giant perv for access to his library on fuuinjutsu theory and application research.

“Show us the scrolls.”  Kuma-sama ordered, a light in his eyes that Takara could only call eager.

For good reason: the ability to use sealing scrolls to carry large amounts of supplies was one of the biggest and most practical advancements in fuuinjutsu that came out of Konoha’s alliance with Uzushio.

Takara felt zero guilt about utilizing it for the common good of the Uchiha.

Shinobi did not share their secrets.  Anything that Takara was willing to share with her people would only affect her people as a result of that secrecy-hoarding.  It wasn’t as if she was screwing Uzushio out of a wealth of patents and royalties.  She had no fear of Tajima-sama or Minoru-obaa-sama deciding to patent her “inventions” and disseminate them around the country.  Kami, it probably wouldn’t even make it to their allies, let alone anyone else, as the Uchiha had never worked in the fuuinjutsu trade and they wouldn’t want to risk drawing attention to Takara by starting out of nowhere.

The same with “her” medical jutsu and/or seal innovations to come, or any other techniques from her second life.

Unless someone saw her use them in combat or on a mission and reverse engineered them in the time-honored thievery of techniques that was standard if rare, then unless or until Konoha was founded, ethical issues surrounding intellectual property rights wasn’t something she had to concern herself with.

Especially since there was no telling that those innovators will even be born because of the ripples that occurred thanks to her presence.

Senju Tsunade, for instance, would be ecstatic to have Takara disseminate her techniques decades early as everything she created was with the intent for it to be used and spread and save lives as a result.  If anything, iryo-jutsu would advance even farther, faster, due to Takara pushing it forward artificially instead of waiting on the original main innovator to do the heavy lifting.  If Tsunade ended up being born in this world, and still had an interest in iryo-jutsu, then the potential of what she might achieve with having a wider base to begin from was mind-blowing.

Just like what a potential-Orochimaru might do if he wasn’t left alone to go completely bug-fuck nuts.

First though, Takara had to cement her reputation as a creator of techniques before she tried to revolutionize the Uchiha medics or “create” jutsu full-stop.

She wasn’t giving them weapons to actively wage a more effective war.  Everything she was creating or “creating” and turning over to the clan was about quality of life, not the field of combat.  There was a reason she didn’t start with new ninjutsu instead of with fuuinjutsu and iryo-jutsu.  The Uchiha were already damn good killers without her help.  If she was pressing her thumb on one side of the scale, it was on the side of survival, not mass destruction, thanks.

Pulling out the first scroll, Takara pressed her chakra into the release seal to eject the wild boar onto the table, the small game already hung up out of the way for later processing.

None of the scrolls she was demonstrating were multi-compartment, no matter how much she wanted to rush ahead.  For her own use was another matter.  But she was self-aware enough - even if her childish impulse control wanted to just fling everything at her new people in a rush - to know she needed to pace herself.

Takara had no intention of being treated like a dispensary of inventions.

Like if one just poked her hard enough she’d spit out some perfect solution to a problem.

Or an answer to a mere want rather than a genuine need.

She’d spent months getting to the point of debuting her two improved preservation/storage matrices.  It would probably be at least a year or two before she decided to “perfect” a multi-storage or mass-transport scroll.  Potentially longer depending on how much time she was able to devote to learning from the Uchiha medics and figuring out how to reverse engineer and then teach Tsunade’s techniques.

Teaching was no problem.

It was the explaining how and why they worked that was the rub as while Takara was a medic she’d never been a fully-fledged medical professional with the background training to go with it.

A headache that would dog her steps for a long time as she beat her head against that particular brick wall.

But in the meantime, she had the slack-jawed expressions on the faces around her as they took in the sheer mass that was a wild boar having popped out from a storage scroll that weighed less than a deck of cards to entertain her.

…

“Everything she touches turns to gold, aniki.”  Kuma reported to his elder brother that night over an informal meal and a bottle of sake.

Their conversation was protected by the strongest privacy seals the Uchiha had managed to purchase from a disaffected Uzumaki a generation before, even the nosiest of their clan members - or Kuma’s bratty little nephews - wouldn’t be able to spy on them in the depths of the shirei-kan’s office.

“In a matter of months working in a few hours a week plus whatever spare time she might scratch out, Takara-chan has created storage seals better than even the Senju might have with their alliance with the Uzumaki.”  Kuma continued, speaking animatedly as Tajima sipped thoughtfully at his own cup.  “Her talent with fuuinjutsu is unprecedented.”

“Perhaps not.”  Tajima mused, thinking on what was known regarding Hanzou-san’s background - particularly his bloodlines and family tree.  “There was a suggestion when Hanzou was investigated,” he explained at his brother’s look of confusion.  With good reason, Hanzou came to them during a time of transition between clan heads after the death of their father in battle.  Kuma had had other concerns at the time than the investigation into a civilian’s background - such as keeping Senju Butsuma and his brothers at bay while Tajima was forced to focus more on stabilizing the clan than continuing the feud.  “-that his mother might have had a shinobi background.”

“A defector?”  Kuma blinked in surprise.  “From where, beyond Wind or Earth?”

It wasn’t an unfair assumption to make.  Defectors didn’t tend to settle down once they fled their families or clans.  The few who did, often traveled as far away from their land of origin as feasible before they stop running - and that was if they weren’t caught first by a bounty hunter or bloodline thief.

Tajima dug into a stack of scrolls in the heaving rack behind his desk, pulling out one that he’d recently unearthed from the archives out of curiosity, then handed it over to Kuma for his brother’s enlightenment.

Takara-chan’s performance both during her testing and then in her ninjutsu training since had made him very curious indeed regarding Hanzou-san’s origins.

Kuma arched a brow as he opened the scroll.  Interesting, he wondered how deep into the archives his brother had to dig to find this.   The archived copy of Hanzou’s interrogation testimony when Aiko-san had brought him before the clan leadership for approval to marry-in.

Diminished civilian clan with shinobi connections-blahblahblah- last survivor -blahblah- rescued mother, that was interesting, never spoke of her origins, dyed hair with red roots, had chakra but refused to use it -blahblahblah- suspected origin: Uzushio.

“Red hair and blue eyes,” Kuma clicked his tongue, shaking his head at the naivete of remaining within three countries of the eastern coast if Hanzou-san’s late mother had been of Uzushio.  Naive…or confident.  “Could be Uzumaki or Arashi.”  He shrugged, less concerned about a now-dead defector than the living kunoichi.

“It would explain Hanzou-san’s strength that he’s passed down to at least his eldest daughter,” Tajima noted.  “If it was Uzumaki.”

“A natural affinity would explain some of Takara-chan’s talent but not all of it.”  Kuma countered.  “The traditionalists will try to use her gift for fuuinjutsu as an excuse to confine her to the compound, making her a kunoichi in name only.”

If it succeeded it would end badly - for everyone.

Regardless of what they didn’t know about Hanzou’s maternal lineage, his paternal foibles were well known for all that he didn’t claim the name due to some internal pack dispute older than Mikoto-baasama.

Hanzou’s foremother and her entire immediate family had split away from their birth clan - their birth pack - for a reason that if Hanzou-san knew, he’d never spoken of even when he was under active investigation.  Civilian members, but still blood.   Still clan.  With all the interesting quirks that could come with it.

The hunter didn’t have the coloring of the main line - but that was it, no matter what he’d inherited and passed down to his children, that man was a Hatake.

Takara-chan was her father’s daughter, and trying to chain down a Hatake was a fool’s errand that only ever ended with someone mauled.

Usually the idiot trying to hold the would-be leash.

Tajima snorted.

“They must not have seen what she did to the fire jutsu training yard before the festival break then.”  He smirked, thinking of the damage that Takara-chan in unison with his two older sons could deal in a matter of moments, each pushing the other to greater extremes of power and proficiency.  “I dare anyone to see Takara-chan’s Fire Dragon and say that she should be coddled and smothered inside the compound for her own safety.”

He shook his head, emptying the rest of his sake cup.

“Her victory over the Senju cowards was no fluke, otouto, much as the blowhards might wish it otherwise.”  Tajima sighed, mourning that in order to gain such a weapon for the clan that he had lost his beloved wife in the process.  “Takara-chan belongs in the field when she is of age to fight.  I defy anyone - even the elders - to say otherwise.”

…

When she arrived home after a long day and evening of seal testing, Takara took her baby sisters in her arms and pressed firm kisses to their heads.

Along with a promise.

Her sisters would never know hunger.  Wouldn’t be cut down by starvation.  Wouldn’t become victims of famine.

Not like the Fuuma Clan that had nearly been wiped out over the last winter by a poor harvest and a sickness that had swept through their weakened systems like plague or the Kaito who had purchased grain had a premium from the Uchiha farmers to stave off desperation as their supplies ran short.

No: her sisters and all the Uchiha children would not die because the Uchiha ran out of food.

Takara would not allow it, even if it meant personally drawing up storage scrolls for every household and pantry to hold emergency stocks of meat and grain.

Her sisters would live and thrive if Takara had anything to say about it.

As it happened: she did.

…

How her time was allocated changed after she proved her abilities in fuuinjutsu.

Two days out of ten she spent experimenting or working on fuuinjutsu with Fumio-san to supervise and ensure she didn’t blow up the compound, a stark change from her former single afternoon.  She no longer even vaguely needed to hunt to help provide for her family.  The rewards from both Tajima-sama and Minoru-obaa-sama were so great that neither she nor her father would ever need to work again in exchange for her two fuuinjutsu designs.

To say nothing of the stipend she and the other seal masters received for their work in filling the in-clan demand for the new seals, including having to start making chakra paper themselves rather than purchase out-clan as was their usual tendency.

Increased orders of chakra paper would be like a signal flare to the other shinobi clans - and even the civilian merchants and nobles - that something was going on with the Uchiha.

They couldn’t risk it, and yet they needed fuuinjutsu-quality chakra paper to put Takara’s storage scrolls into production.  The bags were simpler.  They had to be of a certain design and tightness of weave, and the seals required chakra-conductive silk, but that was no problem.  Not compared to the sudden mass of chakra paper needed to meet the demand for first dozens (for the main compound supply) and later hundreds (each household and squad) of storage scrolls.

Elder Eiji and Fumio-san taught her the process using bamboo washi frames, even as they put in an order with the Uchiha craftsmen for more frames and bamboo screens.  Uchiha-made washi favored using fibers from their rice plants after the grains were harvested mixed with the small amount of paper mulberry that the elder grew as part of his home’s allotment.  It was very fine, excellent for calligraphy and wrapping paper, but they had to increase the amount of pulped mulberry or add in hemp or flax in order to get the sturdiness required for storage scrolls.

Which added an additional complication in needing to propagate more paper mulberry and/or buy saplings and/or hemp plants - all of which had to wait for planting season.

In the meantime the three of them, plus any additional hands they could wrangle and proved capable of the chakra techniques needed to make chakra paper rather than basic washi, went through the stock of pulp at hand and worked with what they had.

Even Hanzou took a turn at flushing the mixtures of water and pulp with chakra, usually right after they would return from a hunting trip to stretch their legs.

They both still hunted, but it was out of enjoyment of their craft rather than need, and to help fill the storage scrolls the sealing specialists were creating as fast as they could process the needed paper.

Once the initial rush slowed, her former fuuinjutsu training timeslot was spent instead on the next phase of her training, and the one she’d looked forward to - and also dreaded because unlike with sealing she had no true inclination towards it - medic training.

That took her much longer to master the Uchiha principles and reverse engineer the iryo-jutsu and even iryo-fuuinjutsu than all her other training put together.

All told, it took her more than a year to master the current state of Uchiha healing and herbalism to the point that her inventing anything to do with the field would be credible.  And it had to be credible.  With an out-clan father who married in, a slight misstep that might’ve been overlooked in another would draw attention to her in the wrong ways.

Far better that they simply believe her to have a genius-level intellect than doubt her loyalties - such as that someone outside the clan was feeding her information and ideas to ingratiate her with the clan.

It may be paranoia - two lifetimes lived as a shinobi certainly wasn’t material for a trusting soul - but as far as Takara was concerned, better safe than sorry.

If suspicion ever fell on her - for who she was, for what she could do, for all she knew - the sword wouldn’t fall on her neck alone.  It would swing and hit everyone she loved.  Her father and sisters would die.  Her mother’s family - all her aunts and uncles, her grandparents, her cousins - would all come under suspicion and would be tainted by association even if they escaped a death sentence.

No.

Takara couldn’t afford to rush ahead and trip over her own hubris.

The storage scrolls and bags were first.

They would prevent (hopefully, ideally) the Uchiha from ever going hungry if for some reason their crops were blighted or their livestock took ill or their normal trading partners defaulted, or any of a thousand events that could go wrong and bring starvation down on them.

All the other purposes they could be put to - especially supplying missions or moving trade goods - came secondary to that goal.

With her people fed, Takara could turn her attention to other subsequent goals in a way that wouldn’t put herself or her loved ones at risk.

After she did her part to fill her family’s new emergency ration scroll.

She had priorities, damn it.

Family, clan, duty.

Her family, past or present, came first.

…

“Where are you sneaking off to?”  Takara asked, arching a brow at Madara who was doing a piss-poor job of actually sneaking anywhere despite having made a clean getaway from the compound.

As if he forgot somehow that not only was the forest along the Naka patrolled by their own people, as well as populated by their civilians going about their business, but potentially Senju clansmen as well.

Madara might be the most powerful Uchiha trainee despite only being twelve years old, but he still was a trainee - and not a particularly stealthy one to anybody with a modicum of sensory skill.  Takara wasn’t unfamiliar with the issue.  The more chakra a shinobi had, the harder it was to learn to keep it tucked away inside themselves instead of acting like a flare to everyone around them.

With Takara’s success as a fuuinjutsu specialist despite her young age, her father had started to spend more time teaching his skills to their clan rather than relying on it to feed and supply them.  Haruki remained as his hunting apprentice, but he’d expanded beyond that small scope.  Including giving lessons on stealth and woodcraft.  The main line sons had all gotten much better about not throwing their chakra around as a result, as Hanzou had always favored practical skills over theory which appealed to hands-on learners, but they still had a lot to learn if they ever wanted to truly go unnoticed.

It wasn’t just about disappearing to a sensor - it was really about learning to mimic the natural world to avoid leaving a void in the chakra where something should be.

Her clan heir might be able to bat her around the training yard when it came to shinobi skills except for fuuinjutsu and sometimes ninjutsu - though she was working on closing the gap - as she worked to ensure she didn’t fall under suspicion, but when it came to woodcraft he had decades of work to do if he wanted to best her.

As it was, she’d started to get nervous about Izuna’s recent complaints about Madara being hard to find outside of training, and had started wandering into the forest at random times to see if she could catch him outside the compound.  It was one thing for a shinobi of little social status like Takara to be in the woods - especially since she had a skillset that made her presence plausible.  It was entirely another for it to be one of the heirs.

No, Takara was sure there was something else afoot given recent events, and was almost certain it involved the words Senju and Hashirama.

Even if Madara was completely unaware of the former.

“T-Takara-chan!”  Madara almost yelped in surprise as the slight form of the young kunoichi leapt down from her seat in the boughs of the trees overhead to block his path.  “What are you doing here?!”

In wordless answer, Takara rolled her eyes and jerked the shoulder that held the strap for her quiver, where her half-strung bow awaited use, staring down the little ingrate who thought he could distract her.

“I was a hunter, Madara-san, long before I started training as a shinobi.”  Takara said, voice as dry as the Land of Wind.  “My presence in the Uchiha Wood isn’t in question.  The lordling without a guard, his training squad, or Ken-ji with his hawks on the other hand…”  She trailed off leadingly.

Madara didn’t know what to do.

Takara-chan was his friend.  She didn’t cater to him like a lot of the other clan children would, didn’t care that he was the heir and would be their shirei-kan one day.  It wasn’t with him alone either.  On days where Izuna would badger his way into going hawking with them, she was the same with the annoying, friend-poaching little runt.  Then once she started coming to shinobi training, after she saved his brothers, he saw that…that was just how she was.

She could be patient and sweet, but she didn’t tolerate any nonsense from any of her fellow trainees, from the oldest trying to give her a hard time or treat her like a little kid and not the badass everyone knew she was, to the littlest of the new cohort.

Takara-chan was his friend…maybe even his first friend outside of his brothers and cousins, but…

He didn’t want to share his secret with her.

Which was a problem because Takara-chan wasn’t just strong and fast and a badass, she was smart.

Too smart to lie to, but-

Maybe smart enough and a good enough friend to trust him if he told her a not-a-lie but not the whole truth either?

Takara had a bad feeling about this.  

She wasn’t sure if Madara’s friendship with Hashirama was on the same trajectory as it was originally meant to be.  Madara hadn’t lost his youngest brothers.  She hadn’t heard any gossip in the clan about the younger Senjus dying either - which was weird, but maybe a knock-on effect of Tajima-sama not being a grief-stricken and lashing out father?

With that being the case, she wasn’t sure what the boys would bond about.  Or if it would be as strong and enduring as it was supposed to be.  That they would bond she didn’t doubt.  As the current incarnations of Ashura and Indra, they were pretty much destiny-bound to be something important to each other, in whatever form that might take.

But.

Because of the changes, she couldn’t predict how events would turn out or what would happen in the process.

Takara was likewise reluctant to interfere as there was so much good that eventually came from this one boyhood folly that she struggled to justify trying to change it out of her own paranoia for Madara’s safety.

“Please don’t tell anyone!”  Madara finally burst out with a small flail of his hands, hair poofing up in his anxiety.  “I just made a friend with a civilian boy and…”

Uh huh, sure ya did.

“Are you being safe?”  It was all she could really ask.  Despite being mentally older than the clan heir, she wasn’t in any position of authority over him.

At the end of the day, Takara had two options for how to deal with catching Madara sneaking off to meet with his “civilian friend”: snitch him out to, say, his uncle, her sponsor (which by all rights she should do); or let him go, keep the secret, and hope it didn’t blow up in all their faces.

Which really…wasn’t much of a choice at all, considering her objectives.

“Yes!”  Madara felt like he could melt in relief when Takara-chan didn’t push or ask any other questions.  “He doesn’t know I’m an Uchiha, I swear.”

“Fine.”  She sighed, then dug into her bag of survival supplies - in case of emergency, Kakashi-sensei didn’t raise no fools - and held out a seal tag insistently.  “Take it,” she prompted when the older boy just stared at her in confusion.  “It’s a flash-bang.  Won’t really hurt anyone, but will buy you time to escape if necessary and let the patrols know there’s a problem.”

“Thanks, Takara-chan.”  Madara flushed, reaching out to take the tag from the younger girl.  Not admitting for even a second that he was unfamiliar with a “flash-bang” tag, though he could extrapolate its purpose from the name.

“Just be safe,” Takara told him in exasperation.  “Or Tajima-sama is gonna kill me dead for not reporting you.”

Not to mention how hard it would be to live with a guilty conscience - and unlike a lot of shit she’d done in her life as a shinobi, this was exactly the sort of situation that would breed guilt - even with as pragmatic as she was.

Better to align herself as a trustworthy friend to Madara than to waste his favor by sucking up to his father.

Or at least…that’s what she told herself.

Ignoring the fact that his cute face and begging eyes were damn hard to disappoint.

The little brat.

He better not get himself killed by that asshole Senju Butsuma.

Or she’d have to risk outing herself by going on a minor assassination spree…and, really, no one wanted that when the repercussions to the clan as a whole were taken into account.

…

Not even two weeks later it was the talk of the entire compound:

Their clan heir had been leaving the compound, alone, to meet up with a Senju boy he’d unintentionally befriended - the Senju bit, everyone was quick to clarify, Madara-sama would never betray them on purpose, though he had been incautious with making friends with an outsider in the first place.

The grannies and aunties clucked their tongues.

The grandpas and uncles shook their heads.

Kids these days.

So intemperate, so rash.

Why in My day…

And so on, ad infinitum.

Takara wanted to be amused by how predictable the gossip was, but found herself instead glad that no one had been significantly wounded in the clash at the Naka.

She was much less amused when she learned about the punishments that were handed down - and, moreover, how they came to affect her.

…

Takara looked up from the dead fish she was practicing her stitches on in the infirmary as the shogi doors opened with a thud, drawing the attention of the small class of medic trainees led by Chie-sensei.

Basic field first-aid was required for all of the Uchiha warriors and shinobi to complete, but medic training was a step above that and required significant chakra precision.  

As a result, due to either social expectations or what-have-you, most medics ended up being female.  It was accepted doctrine that “boys” would have greater chakra reserves and girls lesser.  Whether that was true or not didn’t really matter so much as how that expectation was so endemic in shinobi culture that it was still the case when Takara-who-was-Toshiko went through the Shinobi Academy.

From her perspective, it was all a bunch of bullshit that played into gender roles and “boys will be boys” rhetoric.  That because boys “of course” had greater chakra reserves, those around them didn’t bother focusing as much on teaching them precision and control.  That because girls “of course” had to make the most of what they had, being weaker than their male counterparts, they needed to focus on precision and chakra control.

Sure it wasn’t worded that way, even back in ye old Warring States Era, but that was the essence of the dichotomy of how chakra was taught along gender lines.

As a result, despite the ability of the Sharingan to memorize jutsu and rapidly advance the learning of techniques, there were almost no Uchiha field medics - the trained shinobi often didn’t have the necessary pin-point accuracy to use it.

Takara had blitzed through the basic first-aid course with the rest of her shinobi training cohort, including her cousin Chikara and Madara’s brother Izuna, leaving them to struggle through learning how to properly apply tourniquets and wound dressings for actual iryo-jutsu with the medic trainees.

All three of them, all of them teenaged girls from shinobi lineages: two Susano’o, one Kagutsuchi - plus Takara who had turned ten in the preceding winter.

“Madara-sama, Izuna-sama,” Chie-sensei greeted the pair of clan heirs - both of whom looked like they’d rolled in the dirt and been stomped on a few times.  Maybe by an elephant.  Maybe by a raging Tajima-sama.  It was hard to tell the difference sometimes.  “How may we be of assistance?”

The eleven-and-thirteen year olds shifted with embarrassment, then Izuna shoved Madara over onto an empty cot in the “treatment” portion of the room near the front and the shogi doors.

“Madara got kicked by Matsunaga’s mule.”  Izuna chirped with far too much glee.  “His ribs and hip need checked.”

“Izuna also got kicked by Wareme-sama,” Madara jumped on the chance to repay his irritating little brother in kind.  “His leg is scratched and bruised, maybe worse.”

Chie-sensei quickly took charge, dividing her students between the two boys for intake and getting them settled, asking the basic questions, etc., as she moved between the two cots.

“What were you even doing near that mean old thing?”  Takara whispered as she worked with a piece of clean rag and the high-potency (but toxic if ingested) alcohol the apothecary distilled for the healing halls.  From the stench, she assumed it was a kind of moonshine that would as soon kill a man as it would get them drunk if they dared drink it.

It was a fair question.

Old man Matsunaga was a grumpy bachelor that had lived on his farm to the west of the compound since the Sage was alive - or so it seemed - and was the epitome of get off my lawn!   Nobody dared argue with him, or even really did more than trade in utter silence both because of his testy temperament and that his farm was one of the biggest belonging to the Uchiha.  Takara thought he grew flax as well as maintained an orchard but couldn’t swear to it as no one she knew traded directly with him, though her father would drop off the rare swan they took down to the grump as a favor to the clan butcher.

Wareme-sama was the old man’s equally old and bastardous mule, hence the moniker of “Lord Cranky.”

Madara darted a look at the other trainees, who were all mostly clustered around Izuna who was putting on a dramatic show for them and soaking up the attention like the brat he was, before glancing back at his friend as she dabbed carefully at the edges of his bruises, looking for skin-tears.

“Tou-san still has us on enhanced training.”  Madara muttered quietly under his breath.  “We were learning how the farmers clear land without chakra.”

Takara swallowed the urge to laugh in his woe-begone face.

Enhanced training was certainly…one way to word it.  Ongoing punishment via massive amounts of chores was another.

Tajima-sama, in all his fatherly wisdom, had decided that if Madara had time to sneak off for weeks and make friends with a random child that ended up being a Senju, and Izuna had enough time to spy on his brother, then both of them were in need of being kept busy and out of trouble.

The clan’s consensus was that Tajima-sama wasn’t as upset by the situation as he was by the lack of good judgment both boys had shown.  Madara, in sneaking away from the compound and putting himself in danger in the first place.  Izuna, for figuring it out and deciding to spy on his brother rather than alert someone to the danger.

Both boys had had the majority of their former free time curtailed as a result, with additional training of all kinds added to their schedules.

Part of which, apparently, was chores in the guise of learning how their civilian clan members worked and completed their tasks.

As well as lending them to anyone who needed an extra pair or two of hands, which had led to Takara spending weeks over the winter teaching them how to channel their chakra into the washi vats or properly charge the bamboo screens, or…

They’d fussed here and there, but for the most part they’d been taking the punishment well enough and she imagined once more missions started rolling in, they’d be let off the hook to join their training squads again instead of being directly under their father’s eagle eyes.

Once the inspection was done and Chie-sensei confirmed that there was nothing worse than bruising and scratches - though Madara had bruised clear down to his hip though hadn’t fractured or chipped bone from what Chie-sensei could tell - she set her students to cleaning them up as she portioned out a high-potency arnica cream for the bone-bruise.

Every shinobi - trainee or otherwise - had their own stash of bruise cream from the clan apothecary, but the higher-strength formula for deep tissue and bone bruising was regulated through the healers.

If only to keep bone-headed shinobi from trying to hide a wound that ended up being a fracture by treating it themselves and making bigger problems.

“Morning and night, Madara-sama, Izuna-sama.”  Chie-sensei instructed the pair, passing over the small pots of cream.  “Until the bruising lightens to green-yellow.  If it doesn’t progress in a week, come back.”

“Yes, Chie-sensei.”  Both boys replied in stereo.

“Go on, I’m sure Tajima-sama is waiting for your report.”

“Yes, Chie-sensei.”

Once the pair had cleared the infirmary and shut the shogi behind them, Chie-sensei let out a soft snort, Takara having to pinch her lips together to keep from laughing.

“Kicked by a mule.”   Takara choked out as she turned back to rejoin her classmates, more than one snickering into their sleeves.  “You’d have thought Izuna’s leg was going to fall off with how he was playing it up.”

“Those boys are trouble.”   Chie-sensei sighed.  “Have been since they came screaming into this world, Kami bless Kayoko-sama’s departed soul.”  She tsked, shaking her head.  “I pity the poor women that Minoru-obaa-sama chooses for them someday.”  She predicted, the older girls all giggling at the notion of marrying one of the clan heirs - ridiculous antics or not.  “Mark my words girls.”  She warned.  “Izuna- sama,” she sent a look at Takara-chan.  “May have a pretty face but he’s trouble.  And Madara-sama may be the clan heir but that temper,” she shuddered.  “Their brides will need the patience of Kannon Herself to handle them, and a strong backbone besides.”

Takara ignored all the looks and worse - whispers - that started following her among the other medic trainees and eventually trickled out into the compound proper about her familiarity with the two older clan heirs.

She knew it was only a matter of time.

Societies of all manner and type ran on gossip like lifeblood.

But - fuck.

She thought she would have more of it before people started getting their feathers ruffled over her being friends with Madara and Izuna.

She was only ten for fuck’s sake and the daughter of an out-clan civilian besides.

There was no future there, even if she wasn’t way too young for it to matter and all the clan heirs too young to care.

Ugh, Madara and Izuna were going to pay for her having to listen to a lecture from her civilian grandmother about propriety and station and manners.

She didn’t know when.

She didn’t know how.

But it was coming and she was going to make it hurt.

…

Chapter Text

Karuma no Kagami

Chapter Ten: One Small Step/One Giant Leap

Uchiha Compound; Three Years Later

Green iryo chakra poured out from Takara’s hands and into the body beneath her.

The insidious calm that had followed the failed assassination attempt on the Uchiha main line hadn’t lasted long - less than a year - before Senju Butsuma changed his tactics following the confrontation at the Naka.

On the surface the clash had been minor despite it involving both clan heads and their elder sons.

But only on the surface.

Within months the Uchiha had learned to constantly be on the lookout for ambushed patrols, interference on missions, and even Senju shinobi finding them in civilian settlements to start fights in the streets.

Butsuma’s pride had been wounded, and the clan head lashed out in every way except a head-on battle.

Open warfare apparently wasn’t the asshole’s style, he was a true shinobi and worked instead from the shadows - and the Uchiha responded in kind.

They doubled or tripled the guards assigned to their trading caravans, including sending out guard rotations to the caravans who were away from the compound when the feud once more sparked from banked flame into open fire.  Border guard rotations along the half of their territory closest to the Senju became another name for skirmishing.  Even unaffiliated civilians learned to be wary when traveling among the villages in the unclaimed territories nearest the Uchiha and the Senju lest they be caught in the crossfire between shinobi.  

More blood was shed between the clans in the six months following the Naka than in the six years preceding it.

Trainees were moved at fourteen instead of sixteen out of training, and Kuma-sama opened up shinobi training to their civilian branches as young as six instead of waiting until they were of-age to choose the shinobi lifestyle for themselves.

Including, though some protested, allowing girls from the shinobi families to either begin training with their parents’ permission, or allow girls who were of-age and not yet married to join of their own accord.

It was radical but no one could protest that Takara hadn’t proven how strong an Uchiha kunoichi could be, even if those who followed after her were earmarked - at least the first cohort or two - for compound guard rotations, allowing the male shinobi to be moved from guard to patrol instead.

The shift had started the year before, with the first group of kunoichi able to start taking guard shifts after two years of intensive training.  Guards went to territory patrols.  Patrol shinobi in turn either were added to the trade-guard rotations or were moved into active-duty mission status.

All because of Butsuma’s assholishness and Takara proving that anyone who was Uchiha could develop the sharingan and be a warrior if they wished.

Takara was the spark - the Senju feud became the fuel of the fire that burnished and tempered the return of the Uchiha kunoichi.

There weren’t many kunoichi in that first cohort.  Only a handful.  A handful that had a domino effect with freeing up guards and patrols for other duties.

One year after that first handful, they had a dozen young girls from shinobi families in with the other trainees, and ten kunoichi who stood guard on the compound.

It wasn’t much - but it was a start.

Half of the young trainees were being slotted in for medic training.

Eiji-oji had asked Takara to teach two more advanced sealing when they were finished learning from him and Fumio-san.

With the Senju aggressions, despite her young age, Takara had been leaned on heavier than before and from almost every angle.  Eiji-oji wanted to train more sealing specialists.  Tajima-sama wanted her to focus on combat and defense applications of fuuinjutsu.  Fumiko-sensei began to trust Takara’s iryo-jutsu as more and more of the wounded survived once she got her hands on them.  

Trust it enough that she had Takara start teaching it after the third successful human treatment.  Fumiko-sensei and Chie-sensei were the first students in her new life to learn Tsunade’s iryo-jutsu, but they were far from the last.  Ripples growing larger and larger from the cast stone that was Takara’s first introduced iryo-jutsu to repair surface scrapes.

“Done.”  She lifted her hands away from the nasty tear on Kuma-ji’s side, now more than familiar with the ugly results of Hashirama’s mokuton.  

The Senju heir was the highest-valued target on the Uchiha collective consciousness, his mokuton so dangerous since he first took the field three months after the Naka that the clan had been trying to kill him ever since.  When Madara wasn’t his opponent, anyway.  But now that he was a fully-fledged shinobi of the clan, half the time Madara was away on missions when Butsuma lobbed his sons at the Uchiha, and couldn’t keep the murderous tree contained.  Takara had lost count of how many clansmen she had healed with the jagged tears and puncture wounds of mokuton, let alone the others she’d taught Tsunade’s techniques to.

Or how many had died from ruptured organs from a mokuton spear that Takara couldn’t heal.

Such an intricate use of iryo-jutsu was beyond her.  The same with growing a new organ like Tsunade and Shizune as well as a handful of other fully-fledged medics from Konoha could manage.  The time might come where one of the baby-medics that Takara trained had the aptitude to advance Uchiha medicine to such a high level - but they weren’t there yet.

Eye transplants were the most advanced technique they could manage, and half of that was due to Takara having such a personal look at a poorly-done one in Kakashi-sensei during her second life, and the other half the sheer mass of information that the Uchiha medics had on their eyes, down to the smallest tenketsu point.  And even then, it was still theoretical.  Most of the Uchiha medics had experience in healing eye injuries and overstrain, considering how their dojutsu makes for a massive target in combat as well as a major weapon.

At the same time, Tajima-sama was starting to make noise about Takara taking missions - though in disguise as a male - while also pushing for her to devote her non-training time to inventing as she’d been open about hitting a block in her ability to advance further with iryo-jutsu.

Avoiding a life chained to the infirmary with all her might.

She didn’t have the aptitude or interest in iryo-jutsu like she did in fuuinjutsu or ninjutsu to push herself to overcome her natural lacks in medical research and innovation.  If it wasn’t something she learned as Ono Toshiko in Konoha, she couldn’t teach it.  The only real exception being the stasis seal she’d been working on for years but that wasn’t a true medical use of fuuinjutsu, more a byproduct via application.

“Light duty for a week, Kuma-ji.”  She instructed her sponsor, who over the years had become like an uncle to her.  “Or I’ll tell Minoru-obaa-sama on you faster than even your sharingan could track.”

“Alright, alright.”  Kuma huffed.  He’d almost had that vicious tree-fucker.  If not for the irritating little shit White Demon that Butsuma had probably fucked a yōkai to spawn, he would’ve finally put an end to the Senju Heir - and taken revenge for all the clansmen who’d died to his kekkei genkai.  “No need to tell kaa-sama on me, I’ll rest Taka-chan.”

“Good, do.”  She nodded firmly.  “Or next time I’ll use you as a test for my stasis seal.”

“Oh?”  Kuma perked up as he climbed to his feet, being the last one done healing due to it not being lethal - just ugly - and the time it always took to heal a mokuton wound.  They seemed to fight Takara-chan and the medics somehow, which just figured.   Senju fuckers.  “Ready for tests?”

Takara made a face.  Teasing apart the stasis aspect of her storage scrolls had been far more complicated and time-consuming than expected.  Having so much of her time taken up by the infirmary didn’t help.  Winter, when missions and skirmishes slowed or outright stopped, was her main time to experiment and create anymore, much like the other craftsmen of the clan but contrary to their medics.  In the cold season, sickness was the main worry of the clan, not injury - and Takara’s skill-set was not useful in a battle against a cold or flu hitting their civilian clanspeople.

Winter would be on them again soon, with its runny noses and hunkering down to escape the cold, and Takara could finally have time to focus on her fuuinjutsu and other work beyond the infirmary.

With mokuton-based wounds and the sheer magnitude of how often the Uchiha clashed with the Senju since Butsuma got butthurt and Tajima-sama sought revenge for the death of his wife, both nursing the grudge and feud between their clans like babes at the breast, they needed that stasis seal.

Watching a fourteen-year-old Madara come dragging back into the compound carrying the ashes of his team and the Mangekyō spinning in his eyes had been a wake-up call to much of the Uchiha about the stakes that the clan heads were playing with.

Having it happen again only six months ago - but with Izuna - had horrified the clan as Izuna had taken out a young group of trainees, the youngest of whom was only nine, only to be set upon by Butsuma himself and a group of his old guard.

Child hunters.

Izuna’s Mangekyō had saved him, and killed all but the old bastard himself, but the Uchiha were starting to grow vicious under the weight of grief.

Rumbles of starting their own child hunts were starting to kick up.

Something had to give.

And as always seemed to happen to her: it did.

In the worst time, and the worst way.

…

The winter Takara was to turn fourteen was heralded by icy, bitter winds and an early frost.  The Uchiha silkworms spun thicker cocoons, the pelts of both livestock and the hunters’ catches alike were dense and long.  All signs of a long, and bitter, cold season throughout the Land of Fire.

Civilian or shinobi, peasant or noble, everyone stockpiled supplies and prepared to shutter their homes and wait out the rare vicious winter.

Hanzou stepped away from his students and Takara set down her calligraphy brush, Tsukiko and Tsubaki left to Miho-san’s care, as they headed into the forests to supplement the meat supply with the rest of the hunters - professional or amateur - of the clan before the forests grew quiet as well with the animals sheltering or migrating to survive the cold.

Takara pulled her hair up into a severe topknot and bound down her budding breasts under her grey and brown hunting clothes, the rosewood bow with its mixture of flame and lightning motifs that her father finished in time for her tenth birthday strapped to her back.

As two of the best huntsmen that the clan had, despite their other endeavors, Hanzou and Takara were headed into the harsh northern mountains.

It was contested territory as of late, but the rougher terrain and inherent risk was worth the chance of taking down wild boar or bears.

Normally Haruki as her father’s hunting apprentice would have come with them, but he was given orders closer to the compound to track one of the last herds of deer moving south for his father and brothers to cull for the winter stores, shinobi skills turned to concerns of feeding the clan directly instead of through earning gold or silver or bartered foodstuffs from missions.

So it was just the two of them: father and daughter on the hunt once more, as they moved slowly and with care through the mountains for more than a week in the predicted lull before the first serious storm of the season hit.

Mountain goats, hares, a lone black bear that hadn’t yet gone into hibernation were sealed away in one of Takara’s storage scrolls before they split up.  Hanzou tracking an elusive herd of serow.  Takara after the promised wild boars.

Only with a long winter ahead and the Senju having been focused on fucking with the Uchiha or surviving the Uchiha fucking with them, they weren’t the only ones ranging far and wide in hope of padding out their winter supplies.

Two days out from heading back towards their compound, with having found and followed a herd of boar, picking off the least healthy or thinnest with care, Takara felt a massive flare of chakra come from too far away in an eerie echo of when she’d saved a Senju child in these very mountains.

But it was no child’s chakra Takara was sensing.

On the contrary: it was her father’s… and he was surrounded by fear and bloodlust.

…

A moment was all she spared.

Her bow sealed away, a brace of senbon strapped into place, her tanto in her hand.

Then Takara closed her eyes, tucked away her terror for her father, took a breath, and reached across time and space.

To the marker that she’d planted on her father’s bow, more than a year before when her chakra control and precision finally started to catch up to her knowledge set.

… 

“Are you sure you should be showing me this, Kakashi-sensei?”

“I made a promise to teach you all I know when I took you as my apprentice Toshi-chan.  There are some skills you’re unsuited for.  Others that are Naruto’s inheritance.  This is neither.”  Kakashi waved a hand over the Hiraishin three-prong kunai and the stack of his own sensei’s fuuinjutsu notes.  “Minato-sensei didn’t invent the Hiraishin, he improved it.  Let’s see if you can do the same…”

…

All she saw was black and red.

The black of hiraishin’s portal - the red of her father’s blood on the ground.

The black of the night - the red of her sharingan as it spun faster than ever, faster than even the first time it blurred into existence out of need and chakra.

She watched as the kunai was thrust into her father’s stomach.  As it was twisted.  And as all Uchiha were cursed, much as she saw Kayoko-ba’s last moments over and over again when she closed her eyes, she knew that she would see that kunai, hear the soft punched out little gasp her father made, all her life.

The sharingan spun faster and faster, more and more of her chakra pouring through her chakra gates and into the tenketsu points behind her eyes.

Until it stopped.

Until it twisted.

As Takara moved, as she saw, and as she screamed.

As the world bled black on red and a new design sprang to life inside her eyes.

As her father’s killers screamed with rage and pain all around her as black fire - cursed fire - Amaterasu’s flames engulfed them in her grief and rage at the sight of her father bleeding out on the ground.

Her civilian father.

Her gentle father.

Her father that never should have had to worry about dying by a shinobi’s blade.

“Uchiha!”  One of the killers shouted in shock as two of his fellows - Takara saw the mon they wore on their collars, Senju, Senju fucking Senju - were burned away, not even leaving ash behind under the firepower of the Uchiha’s Amaterasu bloodline combined with a holder of the Mangekyō Sharingan.  “They’re Uchiha scum!”

Two down.  Five to go.

Takara was tracking their movements faster than ever before.  Faster even than her original sharingan could manage, personal proof-of-theory that the evolved sharingan was more deadly than the original in more than the additional techniques it bestowed.  A kunai was caught mid-air and flung back at its source, striking through the eye.

Three down.  Four to go.

“It’s just a child!”  One of the Senju shouted, harrying his men forward against her.

“It’s a fucking demon, Souma!”  One of the others countered, turning to run - straight into a rain of senbon sparkling with lightning, going down with a gurgle.  Three left, splitting away and trying to flank her.

Now that wouldn’t do.

Shunshin, bitchslap with a touch-transfer seal, shunshin, kawarimi - fuck! duck!

Before Takara could fully duck to avoid the destructive wave of a Doton: Stone Arrows, her left eye flared and the jutsu… disappeared?

What the actual fuck.

Takara wasn’t alone in her shock, though unfortunately the last Senju standing wasn’t so gracious as to freeze and let her kill them.

Shame, but figures.

She’d worry about what the fuck her second Mangekyō ability actually did - was that kamui, only with jutsu instead of physical objects?  something else? - when she wasn’t busy killing Senju assholes who had apparently targeted her father for no reason?

Because he was a civilian?

To rob him of his hunt haul?

Whatever the reason it wouldn’t make his loss hurt less than the raging inferno that threatened to suck her under, and it wouldn’t bring him back.

But that didn’t mean that they got to walk away, either.

A Great Fireball distracted the apparent leader, Takara jumping back over to the tag on her father’s bow - and due to how they’d all shifted over the course of the fight, behind the next-to-last man standing.

Jump with chakra, thrust and tear of her tanto-

and then there was one, not counting the poor bastard she’d hit with a knock-out seal.

“He was just a fucking civilian, Uchiha.”  The squad leader spat at her, shifting this-way-and-that as he looked for an escape route.

Takara tracking - and predicting his movements - every last switch-and-twitch of his muscles and joints, ignoring his eyes all while knowing he couldn’t ignore hers.

“You’re right, he was.”   She spat right back, clenching her right fist.  “He was also my father.”

Then all anyone could hear for a good distance was the sound of a thousand chirping birds as Takara put a Chidori right through his fucking heart.

…

For dozens of miles away, sensors all over the Land of Fire turned their eyes towards the same point as a massive flare of chakra went up in the gloaming twilight.

…

In the Uchiha Compound, the Clan Heir let out a gasp and ran to alert his father to one of their own being in danger.

…

In the Senju Compound, two young shinobi turned towards the northwest.

“Do you feel that, aniki?”  Senju Kawarama murmured to his older brother Tobirama, who’d closed his blood-red eyes to focus on what he was sensing.  “That feels…familiar somehow.”

“I know that chakra.”  Tobirama admitted after a long minute.  Firestorm.   An enraged firestorm.  A single firestorm instead of the duplicate identical signatures.  Worse: he knew the cause of that rage as he felt one signature after another of his own kin blink out.  “It’s the shadow who saved you from the Hagoromo.”  He grimaced, giving his younger brother a look.  “You can’t say anything to otou-sama or anija.”  He warned.

“Why?”  Kawarama asked, baffled.  He was young but he wasn’t stupid, already training to be his elder brother’s diplomat, envoy, and trusted courier as a third son.

Hashi-nii was the heir and leader.

Tobi-nii was the spare and general.

Kawa’s place was to be their eyes and ears among their allies and the civilians alike, while Tama was already being trained as a combat medic.

“Because the same person who saved you years ago,” Tobirama told him grimly.  “Just killed Uncle Souma and his entire squad.”

“Oh.”

Yeah: oh.

…

With a lack of targets to focus on, Takara let the flush and flare of power fade from her eyes as she fell to her knees at her father’s side the chakra drain leaving her weak and shaky.  With soft hands she turned him over from where he’d crumpled when the Senju pulled out the kunai with a vicious twist.  Revealing a slowly-forming puddle of black blood and a gaping stomach wound.

Moments had passed since then, less than five minutes in total, and Takara had to hope that he hadn’t bled out.

That was the reality of stomach wounds: they were painful, vicious, and often lethal with a high chance of damaging or even destroying organs - but they weren’t fast ways to die unless an artery or major vein was punctured or torn or an organ ruptured.

Firm hands pushed the back of Hanzou’s hanten and working top up from where the hem reached the band of his trousers, her eyes quickly searching for an exit wound only to come up blank.

The Senju’s blade hadn’t been long enough for a complete puncture through even the lower torso of a grown man.

Unable to sacrifice the chakra to summon a shadow clone to help, Takara slowly manipulated his form from the fallen-over fetal position to lying supine on the leaf-and-blood strewn ground, trying to avoid causing him additional stress.

Small hands moved his torn clothing away from his stomach, even as her own stomach sank at the sight of continuous bleeding and the jagged wound in his gut.

Black blood which always heralded one thing from a gut wound: a punctured liver.

“Shit,” she breathed out, her jaw clenching, then she tucked the resurging grief and fear back away and got to work.  She’d have to hope that the seal would keep the surviving Senju down, that he didn’t have the chakra reserves to naturally burn it off despite being unconscious.  Not that it would matter if he did.

She’d simply kill him if he woke and tried to interfere.  A prisoner to question would please Tajima-sama, it was true.  But Takara had matters of greater concern on her mind than that of feuds and prisoners.

Takara cracked her neck and calmed her mind.

Iryo-jutsu wasn’t her forte.  She had no real aptitude for it.  What she had was training and power - and she was going to need every bit of it if she wanted her father to live long enough to be moved, let alone see one of the real healers she’d been working with for the last few years.

…

Running at their top long-range speed, it took Madara’s squad hours to reach the site of Takara-chan’s chakra flare.

His father had ordered half-a-dozen of their fastest shinobi to assist and recover their fuuinjutsu master.  Which, as such things went, meant that even for the insular Uchiha, it was quite the family affair.  Madara and Izuna from the clan head’s line.  Their first cousin Hikaku, who was furious given how close he’d gotten to his father Kuma’s protege.  Takara’s first cousins in Akihito and Chikara who had already returned from their own hunt.

The only one without a direct stake in Takara-chan who was tasked to the team was Saburō - and even that was arguable, as his older brother Kyō was Takara-chan’s training squad captain.

As it was, both Kyō-san and Kuma-ji were like to be outraged that their joint kohai had sent out an emergency chakra flare and neither of them were within the compound to receive it and respond, too busy with either the last hunt before the winter shut-down or finishing off a mission to be around to help.

Instead it was left to Madara’s generation, Saburō the eldest at nineteen, to sprint through the harsh northern mountains and pray to Amaterasu-Ōmikami that they reached her in time.

In time for what, they didn’t know.

Only that one of their own cried out with their chakra for help and that they would do everything in their power to answer and assist, trading sheer power in the case of a few older volunteers for the speed of the younger shinobi.

None of them said anything, too busy conserving their breath for the run, but all of them worried.  Takara-chan’s abilities were slowly becoming infamous, if only within the clan.  Hanzou-san knew the woods of the Uchiha territory better than anyone - and while his chakra hadn’t been part of the flare, it was well-known that the father had accompanied the daughter on the hunt.

Both of them known.  Both of them respected.  Both of them loved by the clan.

What could have happened, what trouble or danger could either of them found, that ended in a chakra-cry for help?

More…what would be awaiting them when they finally arrived to try and give it?

They had no idea what they were running towards.

Though it had to be said that whatever nightmares and demons their imaginations had conjured…they fell quite a bit off from the scene that eventually met them when Madara at last came into range of Takara-chan’s chakra and followed it to her side.

…

“I can’t move.”  Takara admitted, not even looking up from her work as iryo-jutsu poured from her hands into her father’s body below her.

She didn’t look up.

She didn’t need to.

She’d felt them coming long before they arrived, the overwhelming heat of a squad of shinobi led by Madara pinging her senses like the promise of summer sunshine after a cold rain.

Madara’s chakra was filled with a tangled mess of worry, fear, rage, much like the softer, less vibrant chakra signatures of the squad he’d led to her side.

There were touches of grief and joy at the sight of her still alive but her father on the ground.

Vengeance sparked into new life at the sight of the Senju mon marking the armor of their enemies on the ground.

“I need a second medic to heal the bleeds I’m holding at bay.”  She said, her voice rote as all of her true attention and energy was locked on her work.  Though she appreciated the warm brushes of chakra from the rescue team, she had no time for their relief.  Not when her father could - would - still die if she didn’t get him to one of the senior Uchiha medics.

And even then…

No, she wouldn’t think about that, not now that help had come.

“One of the Senju is knocked out using one of my seals,” she continued her report.  “The rest are dead.”

“That’s for sure.”  Hikaku muttered, brows lifting as he shot a meaning-filled glance at Madara once the clan heir managed to tear his attention away from Takara-chan.  He jerked his head towards the wicked slash of burnt-black earth.  A scar on the ground that all the Uchiha and Senju alike had grown to recognize on sight as the after-effect of Amaterasu.

Fuck.

After centuries of the Mangekyō growing more and more into legend and myth, and a mere handful of records in the archives, if that was what it looked like, then Takara-chan had become the third Mangekyō holder in the clan in less than two years.

Not exactly a sign of divine favor for them, despite what some of the elders might think, as the Mangekyō historically only appeared during the worst trials of the clan.

It was a warning, not a gift - but trying to convince the more bloodthirsty of the clan of that was like trying to out-eat an Akimichi.

“Saburō, the prisoner.”  Madara handed out his orders briskly, even as he took out his storage scroll and unsealed one of the stretchers they’d brought as they’d had no idea of what they were running into.  “Chikara, Izuna: loot and then burn the bodies, Hikaku and Akihito with me.”

Together the Uchiha squad worked to clear the scene, the three strongest taking great care to move Hanzou-san onto the stretcher laid out next to him, Takara-chan lifted and then lowered to straddle her father’s lower legs by Madara himself to keep her hands in place and her chakra flow steady.

Once the younger shinobi were finished with their own tasks, Chikara and Izuna took position at the front of the stretcher, Ahikito and Hikaku at the back while Madara took point as their powerhouse and Saburō guarded the rear with the Senju flung over his shoulder like an ungainly bag of rice.

“Ready?”  Madara doubled-checked before the four on the stretcher prepared to lift.

“Ready.”  Takara nodded, her hands steady and expression eerily calm.

“Ready.”  The stretcher bearers echoed.

Madara nodded in turn, then spun and set a fast, even pace back towards the compound.

If Hanzou-san needed a second medic to survive, a second medic was what he’d get, no matter how hard they all had to push themselves to accomplish it.

Madara - or Takara for that matter - would accept nothing else.

…

She still had her father’s blood on her hands and staining her clothes when she was called into the warrior’s hall to report on what had happened.

It had been an arduous run back to the Compound, even with the others doing everything they could to limit the jostling and still make good time.

But-

But her father still lived, even if Fumiko-sensei wasn’t certain how long that might last, or if he’d be able to recover, let alone what survival might look like after such a severe wounding.

They ended up having to take the lower lobe of his liver.  His abdominals had been torn wide open.  They still weren’t sure if he was going to be able to keep both of his kidneys, or if there’d been a knick to his intestines that they’d missed due to all the more obvious wounds.

They…just didn’t know.

And now Takara had to pack all of that away, force it aside like the shinobi she was, and report to her clan head and shirei-kan as to how a simple hunting trip had gone so fucking sideways.

The Senju had survived the trip to the Uchiha Compound as well, and as Kuma-ji was nowhere in sight Takara could easily guess who was in charge of tearing every last bit of information out of him - so at least she wouldn’t have to try and figure out that angle of what had gone wrong.

Only her own part - and therein laid the danger.

She could only hope that the clan was so focused on her evolving the Mangekyō (and fuck, she had the Mangekyō), that they wouldn’t look too hard at how far away she’d been when she’d felt her father’s chakra flare, or how she’d crossed the distance.

She hoped.

Though given the searching look Tajima-sama was giving her, as if she was a puzzle in need of solving, she wasn’t willing to make any bets on it.

…

Chapter Text

Karuma no Kagami

Chapter Eleven: Game On

Uchiha Tajima silenced the vicious debate that threatened to turn the meeting room in the warrior’s hall into an uproar with a loud slam of his fist against the tatami.

His captains and training masters, the elders of the clan, as well as himself and his mother in their positions of kagi no ban’nin and shirei-kan with Madara as his heir to observe, had all gathered and with a single purpose and question on their minds:

What were they going to do with Uchiha Takara?

It wasn’t the first time they had had to face the issue that was a wildfire of a girl.  One who wasn’t content to simply slip into the role her birth had dictated.  Instead challenging more than a century of Uchiha tradition to forge a place within the clan for herself as an active kunoichi.

Her detractors had heavy weapons in the factors of her skill at healing or her sheer talent at fuuinjutsu.  Heavy enough that even with the support of almost all their active shinobi behind her, including the entire main line, Tajima had been coming to a point where he may have had to make concessions to keep the peace among their own.  Perhaps as total as restricting her from taking missions despite her other talents if not confining her to the compound altogether.  As if she would accept that given who she was.

A kunoichi in blood and bone and chakra.  

A creature not so easily contained as an iryo-nin or a fuuinjutsu master.

His own preference would have been for her to bind her bosom down and tie her hair into a masculine topknot.  Uchiha had always been derided by the Senju as “too pretty.”  In that way, he doubted their ancient enemies would have looked further than a simple disguise as another too-pretty Uchiha shinobi to see the kunoichi underneath.

Takara-chan was powerful, they’d known that since she activated the sharingan and saved his younger sons as well as her young cousin.

The testing they’d done before accepting her into ninja training had only confirmed that: her talent and power with shinobi skills helped to push back the arguments of her detractors.

Now she had evolved her sharingan into the Mangekyō, using Amaterasu to burn at least two Senju to ashes and dust according to her account, as well as presented a new Mangekyō technique that the clan had no records of, and there they were, back in his office, facing the same debate all over again:

What to do with Takara?

Only as a teenaged holder of the legendary Mangekyō, the question had different nuance than it had originally possessed when she was an eight year old with a new sharingan.

When before it was a question of law and duty and tradition, now with her additional years it became one of bloodline and power-grabs and control among the elders.  Her popularity among the shinobi was no secret.  Her worth was incontrovertible.  Even those who disdained her choice to break the path of the kunoichi recognized the value of her being the first.   They knew the potential power she might wield within the clan should she choose to.

All the elders - his own mother included - were angling for an arranged marriage to bring Takara into their lineages.  To tie down the power that thrived so fiercely within her to their own children or grandchildren, and breed it further into the Uchiha.  To subsume her power for the glory of their own lines.

As if all Takara-chan had ever been was another Uchiha girl to bear Uchiha sons.

He couldn’t deny that the idea appealed to him as well:

She was friends with his sons, friendly with his nephew.  A good daughter to Hanzou, an excellent sister.  She embodied powerful chakra reserves, a wicked hand with ninjutsu, and walking, talking creative genius unlike anyone else in the clan.

Only a fool wouldn’t want her for their son.

Uchiha Tajima had never been a fool.

Takara-chan was also a massive fucking headache due to her nature.  Unpredictable.  If the elders tried to corner her into a marriage agreement, there was no guarantee she wouldn’t slap them in the face with chapter-and-verse of the Uchiha Law Code and make more than one enemy in the process.

Which, really, only left Tajima with one avenue to take.

“We will recess until after the noon meal.”  He commanded, not brooking any interruptions from Mikoto-baasama and her rabid pursuit of all-but-chaining Takara-chan to a betrothal and the infirmary theater.  “When Takara-chan will be summoned and included, as an adult by law, in any further discussions regarding her future within the clan.”

A glance at his son as the problematic old bastards and biddies filed out of his office was all the order that was needed.

Madara would ensure that when Takara-chan presented herself before the elders that she knew what she was walking into.

Everything else was in the hands of fate and the child’s contrary nature.

Amaterasu-Ōmikami help them all.

…

Madara knew where to find her.

It wasn’t a secret.

Ever since Takara-chan had returned from the hunt crouched over her father’s body and pouring healing chakra into him to keep him alive until a full medic team could take over, she’d only been one place if she wasn’t at home helping care for her sisters: at her father’s side.

She’d had to give her report to his father with the blood of her own still on her hands, but after that it had been the same:

Wake and care for her sisters, see them off to lessons or the care of their aunts.

Then head to the infirmary where Hanzou-san remained in an unwaking state.  Not dying.  The medics were clear about that: he wasn’t diminishing or growing weaker.

He was healing, but slowly, and with a heavy requirement of care to keep him fed on broth and honeyed water and his needs handled, much of which Takara-chan insisted on doing herself.

Filial, was the consensus, as if that had ever been in doubt.

Any attempt to coax her away had failed, no matter who it had come from.  Her uncles or aunts.  Her cousins or friends.  His brothers or even Madara himself: no one could convince her away from her family in order to take a break or even train.

It wasn’t the worst response to evolving the Mangekyō in the Uchiha records, but becoming an automaton was hardly ideal either, especially with the conflicts that had arisen within the clan while she’d been too focused inward to notice.

Hanzou-san’s color looked, if not good, then better as Madara entered the side room of the infirmary that had become his residence since his attack.

He didn’t doubt the likes of Fumiko-sensei when the Uchiha head medic said he would live, but then…he’d seen how much blood had painted Hanzou-san, Takara-chan, and the very ground when they’d gotten him on that stretcher to carry him home.

It hadn’t looked good for the older man, to say the least, and their nearest and dearest worried for the small family of four the longer the patriarch remained unconscious.

Takara-chan’s status as a blooded shinobi and adult would carry them far, but, as the recent bullshit the elders were trying to pull proved, it wouldn’t protect them from everything in the absence of Hanzou.

She felt him before she saw him as was usual with Madara.  The clan heir sliding into her father’s sickroom and silently moving to kneel at her side, his presence warm and supportive - but worried - even without him saying a word.  His chakra said it for him, at least to her.

Allowing herself to be weak, if only for a moment, she leaned into his side, Madara lifting one hand and resting it lightly on her far shoulder in a not-quite-hug, his well-muscled arm a firm support behind her shoulders.  Taking a deep breath, she closed her eyes, wrapped in the feel of his chakra, then pulled away and returned to dabbing her father’s sweaty brow with a damp cloth.  They couldn’t risk the normal tonic for bringing down a fever.  Not with the willow bark it contained being a blood thinner, and the ever-present fear that they might have missed a slow bleed.

Cold water had to do, which made her thankful in a weak sort of way, that winter was closing in fast on the Uchiha lands.

“What’s going on?”  She asked at last, wringing out the cloth and setting it and the bowl aside to turn and face Madara’s weary expression.

She’d known this teenager, this ever-growing strength of the clan, since he was little more than a bundle of spiky hair and potential.

She knew when something was bothering him, even if she didn’t intentionally reach out to his chakra for hints and clues to his mood.

And she would say, if he was coming to see her while she was at her father’s bedside and then not speaking, that Madara was very bothered by something.

Madara tended towards quiet.  Towards introversion.  He had his moments of extravagance and dramatics, but not more than any other Uchiha, and generally preferred to watch and listen before speaking.  Izuna was the extrovert, who was comfortable drawing attention and eyes, though the twins weren’t far behind him.

Akira fell somewhere in between, as often happened with middle children.

But there was a time and place.

If Madara had sought her out when her family was in turmoil, and not to try and cheer her up or coax her away or distract her, then he had something to say that he didn’t want to voice.  There wasn’t much she could see causing that.  Of the options…well the best case scenario was cranky elders and in-clan politics as everything else came with blood and death attached.

“You’re going to be given a formal summons to appear before the clan leaders and the elders.”  Madara warned her, blatant concern filling his eyes.  “Some of them are…  Some of them…”

Takara gave a heavy sigh, closing her eyes and girding her patience for shitty opportunistic elders, then asked:

“Is it marriage or confinement or revoking my status as a kunoichi that they’re pushing for?”

“Yes.”  Madara answered breath gusting out in relief that despite her preoccupation, Takara-chan wasn’t so out of touch with the clan to be caught unaware of how events were moving.  He couldn’t give her specifics due to the expectations of his station regarding what he witnessed during meetings as clan heir.  But a vague confirmation of her own suspicions wasn’t the same thing as spilling secrets.  “Some on one side, some on another, a few overlapping.”

Ignoring that only Tajima-sama had the authority to revoke her status as a kunoichi - and such was usually only done before beheading a traitor by law, if at all, she was surprised it’d taken this long for everything to come to a head.

Despite the fact that Uchiha didn’t - ostensibly - do arranged marriage either by law or tradition, that it had come to this crossroads between her and the elders wasn’t a shock.  On the contrary: she’d been moderately surprised five years ago when she activated her sharingan that there hadn’t been a strong push to match her up with an “appropriate” betrothal to eventually breed powerful shinobi sons for the clan from the traditionalists.  Or that they hadn’t pushed harder against her receiving shinobi training.  Her age, and the probable assumption that she would soon weary of training and quit, had likely been the linchpins there, or so she assumed, but it wouldn’t save her now.

Almost fourteen was a vastly different situation as far as setting up a future marriage goes than eight or nine.

Being on the cusp of completing her official shinobi training among the clan was an entirely different matter than being a young girl starting it - and starting late, besides.

Likewise, those who wished for her to be confined to the compound, both for “her own good” as well as that of the clan had never really gone away.

Quieted down in public maybe, but not disappeared entirely.

It didn’t help that her work in fuuinjutsu and iryo-jutsu had only given the traditionalists more ammunition rather than less, despite her best attempts to balance the scales with her performance in the training rings.

That those who approved of her work for the clan were also some of the same people who would want her confined or married off didn’t help matters.  Especially with having three separate issues at play.  It was all one tangled knot, one of sufficient complexity that while she had a decent idea of where the various elders and other members of the clan council stood, she couldn’t be certain.

She would have to quickly take note of the various stances if she wanted to make it to her official completion of her kunoichi training without being forced out, as while she might have been the first Uchiha kunoichi in generations by law, in fact and function she was still considered a trainee.

Which hamstrung her when it came to exercising any sort of authority or decision making power outside of her known areas of expertise.

Legal adult or not, her physical age was a deterrent against being taken seriously, and she was going to have to make the clan council sit up and take notice if she didn’t want them to try and run roughshod all over her without her father awake to back her up.

She’d give the old bats that much: they’d chosen their moment well.

“How long?”  She asked, rising to her feet in the graceful, nearly predatory motion of a trained kunoichi, Madara joining her in perfect sync from uncountable hours training together and being able to read her movements.

“After the noon meal.”  He replied promptly, following her out of the sickroom as Takara sought out one of the younger medics on duty to take her place.  “No sooner.”

Takara forced herself to calm, blanking her mind of everything but the mission before her: infiltrating the meeting with the elders and negotiating for the good of her family; rather than throwing a mental hissy fit over questions of appropriateness and timing.

The elders wanted to play games?

Alright then:

Let’s play.

…

Uchiha Miho looked up from her mending work as she heard the fusuma doors at the front of the engawa slide open, the only sound she could hear to alert her that Takara-chan had come home.

Putting her work aside - as they grew older, the twins, despite being gentle souls, grew more active making more mending to be handled - Miho rose to her feet to step away from the warmth of the irori and check on her oldest charge.

When she’d taken up the duty of looking after Aiko-san’s family after her death, chosen specifically for the task by Minoru-sama which was a high honor, she’d assumed that the bulk of her work would be caring for the infant twins and helping shepherd the elder girl into womanhood.  She’d known that Takara-chan was being considered for training as a kunoichi, but hadn’t thought it likely to happen.  Not with how long it had been since her clan last trained a woman for open combat or shinobi missions, and how well-entrenched the idea that their women needed protecting had become rooted among the elders.

She’d been prepared to tolerate Hanzou-san, as an outsider who couldn’t - could never - understand what it was to be Uchiha.

To be clan.

Miho wasn’t too proud to admit that she’d been wrong on almost every account.

The twins had needed her care, it was true.

Takara-chan did appreciate having a woman - who wasn’t one of her direct relatives, and came with expectations - around to either help her care for her family or when she was exhausted to take on the charge altogether.

Hanzou-san did need some help with understanding his girls - but that was because he was a man and not because he didn’t recognize or accept their bonds to their kin.  On the contrary.  By Miho’s estimation, Hanzou-san loved as deeply and fiercely as any Uchiha but not so blindly that he neglected his daughters out of grief for his wife.

The twins had grown from delicate infants that the entire clan feared for, to bright, sweet young children who were the joy of their father and elder sister as well as all who knew them.

Takara-chan was becoming a fierce, intelligent young woman as well as a kunoichi to be reckoned with, able to stand shoulder-to-shoulder with her head lifted high among the ranks of the Uchiha warriors.

Hanzou-san’s gaping, bleeding grief had mellowed with time and the company of his children and his students to an old ache that flared up from time to time and the one Miho worried over the least - until Takara dragged him back bleeding from a hunt and Miho found herself overseeing a trio of daughters who were all lost in one way or another without his strong presence.

Takara-chan may be a pillar of support for her family, but Hanzou-san was the bedrock upon which she was planted and without him her unease was clear to see - if one knew where to look.

To have her come home early from caring for her father, long before she normally arrived to take the noon meal with her little sisters, was not a good sign by any measure.

“Takara-chan?”  She called out in concern from the bottom of the ladder leading up to the teenager’s attic room.  That the younger woman hadn’t at least called out an absent greeting worried her deeply.  Even at her most exhausted or in a rush, Takara-chan minded her manners.  

Miho craned her neck back to look up into the warmth of the attic, searching for any sign of movement, only to be startled and step back when the kunoichi leapt down from above, a large kimono storage box balanced carefully in her hands.

“Takara-chan?”  She asked again, softer, her worry trebled at the sight of that box in her hands.

Miho recognized it well, as every year she helped Takara-chan air out her late mother’s kimono and search out any sign of damage or mold.

She had thought, based on how quickly Takara-chan was growing up, that the next time they did so they would also be discussing which kimono Takara-chan would begin to wear and which would be set aside for her sisters to choose from one day.

As a wealthy trader’s daughter, Aiko-san had had a rather large collection of kimono, obi, underpinnings, and accessories in the colors, patterns, and sleeve-lengths of an unmarried maiden, enough that each of her girls would be able to take three or four at least into their own marriage when the time came, or to wear as unmarried maidens themselves.

Several even had sleeve options that would allow the set to be worn at varying levels of formality or life stages, changing one kosode into differing uses with as little effort as pulling a few stitches and setting new sleeves in place and tying the proper obi knot.

The box in Takara-chan’s hands, identified by the size of it and the ribbon it was tied closed with, was Aiko-san’s most formal (and expensive) furisode set, second only to her wedding kimono.

“What has happened?”  Miho continued to press, seeking an answer - any answer - for Takara-chan’s out of character behavior.  “Takara?  What’s wrong?”

It couldn’t be Hanzou-san or the twins.

Takara-chan wouldn’t be nearly so composed, if blank, if anything had happened to the twins or her father had taken a turn for the worse.

“I am to be summoned before the elders and our clan heads.”  Takara finally said, her tone cold enough to give even the Land of Snow pause.  She blinked, then focused on Miho-san, focusing on the immediate moment rather than letting her mind run with plans and plots and contingencies.  “Miho-san, will you help me prepare?”

Now Uchiha Miho had never been involved in inner-clan politics.  Too fussy and messy for her taste.  She’d been of the shinobi lines all her life: daughter, sister, wife, aunt, mother-in-law, widow.

But what she did know was the sight of an Uchiha preparing to go for war - and that was exactly the expression she saw in that moment in Takara-chan’s eyes.

“Of course, dearheart.”  Miho replied promptly, wrapping one arm around her slim shoulders and propelling her along.  “Come.  By the time the summons arrives, you will be flawless to face the elders.”  She swore.

Takara gave a clipped nod of agreement, her jaw set and wrath carefully banked in her eyes.

The elders were expecting to face Takara the Kunoichi: strong, dutiful, obedient.

That was not who they were going to get.

She wasn’t going to lay down and let them tromp all over her with their words of respect and honor and duty and filial expectations.  Over her dead body would she play the doormat.  The silent kunoichi, conditioned to obey commands from those of higher rank.

No, they were going to have to deal with the woman who stared the Sandaime in the face and made yes, Hokage-sama sound like go fuck yourself whilst still being perfectly acceptable and polite.

All through donning her late mother’s kimono she let the embers of her indignation and rage burn and burnish her resolve.

As she stripped to her skin beside the irori and briskly wiped herself down with fresh water quickly scented with a tipple of precious rose oil and brushing out her hair to be later braided and pinned up anew.

As she stepped first into the two-piece sleeveless hadajuban in plain linen, the material worn soft and warm to the touch by washing essential for protecting the layers of fine cotton and silk to come from being stained by her sweat or skin oils.  She knew she was a bit odd for preferring linen to cotton, as it wasn’t considered as “fine” of a fabric being at first rougher on the skin than cotton, and with a more uneven weave, but she honestly didn’t care.  Linen did a better job of absorbing skin oils and protecting against odor than cotton and adapted better to fluctuations in warmth and cold.  If she had it her way, her whole family would wear linen rather than have it be considered “working” wear.  Takara was still too young and flat-chested to have to worry about binding her chest or padding out her silhouette in kimono, which at the moment was very much a blessing considering that they were working on a very short timeline to prepare both physically and mentally. 

Since it was winter, she tied on two layers of sasuyoke which were similar to a slim-line petticoat worn for warmth and made of cotton flannel, then wrapped her regular indigo sleeveless linen nagajuban into place.

Over the plain indigo nagajuban came a second underlayer in deference to the cold of the winter, Takara wrapping Aiko’s best pale wisteria purple silk nagajuban around herself and tied it into place.  As there wasn’t snow on the ground she didn’t have to worry about ruining the silk and would wear high zori to keep from staining the hem in case of mud.  The purple was light and delicate, and only a shade that Aiko was allowed to wear by virtue of being Uchiha, decorated with beni itajime style white cross-hatching.  Only the edge of the nagajuban would show sandwiched between the indigo layer and the overlayers at the stiffened collar when she was fully clothed, but the eagle-eyes of the elders would note it nonetheless.

If social warfare was the name of the game, then Takara would show up prepared to put on her most skillful showing, taught and trained at the knee of Konoha infiltration experts and Mikoto-sama to be the future Lady Uchiha.

She may have never been excited to learn to wage social warfare due to who she got all…tangled up with in her second life, but it was a valuable skill - and Kakashi had always taught her to make the most of those, even if they didn’t seem necessary in the exact moment they were learned or gained.

After Aiko’s pale-wisteria nagajuban came the first donuki layer, a matching kosode made to be worn under the furisode with complementary coloring and designs instead of the more common practice of just layering kimono full-stop.  An even more delicate color than the pale-wisteria, but not regulated by sumptuary law, the cherry blossom pink of the middle kosode’s background and its fine cotton fabric made it a lovely piece on its own.  If Takara wasn’t trying to make a statement.  White plum blossoms decorated the sleeves and bottom length of the kosode below the knee, as well as along the sewn-on Uchiha-crimson collar, beginning the motif for the outfit.

Then came the overlayer, her mother’s furisode from when she was an Uchiha maiden being courted by several prospects before she decided on a hunter with the wilds in his heart and danger in his smile.

The painted silk with its heavy, fine weave draped over her shoulders like a queen’s mantle.  As heavy with the weight of duty and station that it represented as the actual heft of the fabric.  Designs painted onto the fabric with dye, not woven.  Details picked out in the finest silk thread that shone even twenty years or more after it was first embroidered.

It was a reminder that, trader’s daughter or not, as an Uchiha, Aiko - and now Takara and her sisters - were of noble blood.

And not merely noble, but the highest station of nobility in the Elemental Nations next to the various Daimyos and the Shogun over the Land of Iron, and older in lineage and history than many of those in authority over entire countries.

They weren’t the only shinobi lines so vaunted.  The Hyuuga were right there with them.  The Senju could have been if they’d been led and founded by a man with more ambition, their blood was just as old but not as revered.

Though Takara might be one of the only people alive who knew that last bit since she couldn’t see someone like Senju Butsuma not using that sort of social and political capital if he knew he had it.

The furisode wasn’t as fine as what a daughter of the main line Uchiha would boast or the immediate family of a bloodline head…but it wasn’t that far off either, given the wealth of Takara’s grandparents.

It was a pale mist blue silk that was nearly purple from shoulders to elbow and then down the length to just below the knee.  Woven into the silk in a shade darker that wasn’t quite slate was the impression of bamboo stalks that striped the fabric vertically all the way to the hems of the furisode and long swinging sleeves.  The hanging portion of the sleeves as well as the furisode below the knee were blocked out, the colors shifting from mist blue and almost-slate to white/mist still in the bamboo motif as the background.

Dyed and painted over the lighter background fabric was the complementary design of a copse of mingled plum trees in blossom and pine trees, completing the “Three Friends of Winter” motif.

At the top of the furisode were three uchiwa stitched in white, at the center back over the spine as well as the top-center of each sleeve.

Takara wasn’t yet as tall as Aiko had been when the furisode was designed and made for her, so she and Miho tied it up and bloused it under the obi using koshihimo and munahimo ties at her waist and hip and then hid the extra folding under an obi ita that would in turn support her obi musubi, or obi knot.

The obi itself was a vibrant embroidered silk brocade with a saturated crimson background and a main design of large swirling kara-kusa in real silver and a gleaming steel grey thread.  As a fukuro obi, it also had a smaller design element of dainty embroidered folding fans with purple handles and spokes with pink and white centers.  The fans danced in and around the kara-kusa swirls in various states from closed to completely open, showing the dots on the fan’s centers.  The backing of the obi was woven-design in the natural cream-gold color of oak moth silk, creating a design within the fabric itself of simple chevrons.

Thankfully Takara had Miho to help her tie it up into a formal tateya musubi since it had been almost fifteen years since she’d had to tie formal musubi outside of lessons with her aunties and even with using a shadow clone or two to help it would’ve been an ordeal to manage.

The obijime were a complementary pale blue-almost purple tied around and centered in the obi in the front and Miho slid Aiko’s enameled uchiwa obidome sash pin that was about an inch and a half long and half that wide into place over the central knot while the obiage that helped conceal some of the tying cords at the top of the finished obi and was then tucked in was a light silk gauze in white-on-white dots.

By the time she was finished dressing, including slipping into warm winter tabi socks at the very beginning as such an outfit demanded zori sandals, it took almost an hour from start to finish to settle and tie and fold everything into position.

Later the outfit would be finished with a haori for moving from her home to the warriors’ hall, but for now her dressing was complete insofar as the actual garments were concerned.

“Your hair?”  Miho asked, stepping back and feeling her breath catch in her throat for a moment at the sight Takara-chan made.

A true young lady of the Uchiha.

Secondhand grief and regret struck her on the heels of the will-o-the-wisp wonder and pride.

Hanzou-san, Aiko-san, should be there to see the woman their daughter was becoming.

That they weren’t was a wound, but that Takara-chan had someone to help her was at least a small comfort.

“Braided bun to one side, the braid left to trail over my shoulder.”  Takara decided on the fly as she lifted out the matching silver plum blossom kanzashi that went with the outfit from her pocket, having dug it out of the locked box with the rest of her mother’s jewelry and fancier hair accessories.

“A reminder that you’re both an adult and not yet eligible for marriage.”  Miho nodded, approving of the two-fold message.

Takara-chan may be dressed as an unmarried maiden - was an unmarried, unspoken for maiden - but she was still young.   A year or two younger than the elders usually started a genuine search for an appropriate match.  At least four years too young to wed.

Whatever the elders and clan heads had in mind by summoning Takara-chan while her father was still insensate in his sickbed, it seemed that Takara-chan thought (and Miho agreed) they could use a few silent reminders of who they were hounding.

Or how they should properly treat one of their own.

…

Madara almost choked on his tongue when he knocked on the fusuma panel door to retrieve Takara-chan and bring her to the warriors’ hall and saw what waited for him on the other side.

In his defense, Madara had never really focused on the fact that Takara-chan was a girl beyond noticing that she didn’t fawn over him or his brothers.

There were more important facets that he took into account when considering Takara.

She was his friend.  The reason his youngest brothers were still alive.  A shinobi growing more competent and powerful by the day.  Hanzou’s daughter, Akihito’s cousin, his uncle’s protege.  A skilled medic and a master of fuuinjutsu.  Had a punch that could break bone if she wanted it to.

All of that came to mind when he thought about Takara long before he considered that his younger friend in addition to everything else happened to be a girl.

Seeing her dressed in a furisode with long swinging sleeves, Madara suddenly couldn’t focus on anything else, even as she tucked up her sleeves, tied up her kimono skirts, and covered herself for the walk in the cold with the crimson fine-wool haori lined with snow-white rabbit fur he knew Hanzou-san had given her the previous new year.

It had little sharp-edged geometric designs embroidered in white all around the edges that hid Takara’s own preservation seals within them that kept the bright dye as fresh and vibrant - or alternately the white of the thread and furs untouched and pristine - as the day it was sewn.

She looked like a fire festival sprite in the red haori, and Madara lost his ability to speak at the sight of her.

Elders Hirohito and Mikoto were going to spit blood at the sight of her.   

Madara already knew, having been sitting in silence for days’ and days’ worth of debates about Takara over the years, that whatever the elders had planned to browbeat her into submission in the absence of Hanzou-san…it was not going to work out the way they thought it would.

They were prepared to deal with a barely-civilized kunochi who’d spent more time devoted to shinobi skills than sociability since her mother died.

Not the very vision of femininity and Uchiha maidenhood that Takara was presenting them with her dress, hair, and even her demeanor that didn’t flicker from coolly dispassionate even as Madara made a fool of himself on her engawa.

Once he managed to move beyond the vision she made, and allowed it to click into place in his mind along with the other pieces that made up Takara over the years, her plan became immediately apparent to him.

“Oh, you’re wicked Takara-chan.”  His smile was all teeth as he offered her his arm.  “This is going to be so much fun.”

…

If the way their clansmen stumbled over themselves at the sight the pair of them made on their way to the warriors’ hall, before rushing off - either to gossip or to find a seat of their own for the show - Madara’s words might as well have been prophecy.

…

Chapter Text

Karuma no Kagami

Chapter Twelve: Social Warfare

Madara wasn’t the only one to almost choke upon catching sight of Takara, as otherwise it seemed like there was a sudden epidemic of coughing ailing the clan elders and no few of their highest ranked shinobi.

In fact, to Takara’s eyes, it seemed the only person who didn’t show visible surprise in one way or another at her decision to take the field as a woman and not blatantly as a shinobi was Minoru-obaa-sama.

And if the way the corner of her mouth briefly pulled up into a smirk was any sign, the Dowager Lady Uchiha approved.

Takara had enjoyed the noon meal listening to the chattering of her little sisters as they talked about their beginning lessons in thread work and cloth making.  Which at their ages and it being winter meant helping Misao-ba and Chiyo-ba prepare flax and cotton for spinning and helping with basic dyes.  Once their aunties were convinced that Tsubaki and Tsukiko had the patience to sit and spin thread, they would start them on either cotton or wild oak moth silk, as they were both more forgiving than linen and less valuable than mulberry silk.

Tsukiko would likely be moved to the next stage before Tsubaki, as the younger twin was more energetic and less patient than their middle sister, but Tsubaki in turn would probably outpace Tsukiko in more interactive chores or crafts like weaving and their father’s leatherwork as a result of that same difference in temperament so it all worked out in the end.

It was good that Takara had that time with her sisters.  Listening to them chatter and chirp, confident in their older sister’s assurances that their father would heal and return to them soon.  Unshakable in their surety that everything would be fine and life would continue.

Stubbornness and spite could and would carry her far, as she knew well, but at times it was helpful to have a walking and talking reminder of why she was fighting so damn hard to keep the Uchiha strong and what she had to lose if she failed to stop Zetsu.

All she had to do was look at the smiling faces of the twins, or those of Madara’s three younger brothers and Haruki, to reaffirm and remember just why she kept pushing when it would be far easier to stop and fall back and bow under.

She would not - could not - let the Uchiha become some dark and hateful thing instead of the warm, loving, wonderful clan and family she had come to know.

Takara refused to let them be broken.

No matter who by: Zetsu, the Senju War, the Founding of Konoha - whatever the cause of the Uchiha becoming cold and withdrawn even in the safety of their own compound, unless with those they loved and trusted, she was not going to let it happen this time if there was breath in her body to stop it.

“Nee-san looks like a princess.”  Had been Tsubaki’s awed assessment of Takara’s outfit after their meal, as Takara pulled out her best haori and spun it into place on her shoulders.

Tsukiko had been more focused on petting the lavish embroidery of her obi, and then the thick, soft white fur of her haori than speaking her thoughts.

They had both at least seen the haori before, having been present when she was gifted it - without the embroidered border containing her sealwork - by their father the previous New Years.

“Takara-chan is dressed like a true Uchiha lady.”  Miho had informed both the young girls, their bright eyes memorizing the sight Takara made, blue and black gazes locked on her until they were chivvied off to wash up after the meal.  “Someday, you both will dress like your older sister and uphold the face of your family.”

“Really?”  Tsukiko’s softer tones piped up, her head lifting from where she had shifted to tracing out the patterns of seals hidden within the haori’s edging.  “Exactly like nee-san?”

Miho and Takara shared an entertained, charmed glance.

“If you like.”  Takara agreed.  “I’ll even make the matching haoris myself.”

Tsubaki nodded eagerly even as Tsukiko’s nose wrinkled a little.

“Not red.”  The elder twin protested.  “I want blue.”

“Alright then, fair enough.”  Takara chuckled, then looked in question at the younger twin to double check now that the notion had been aired.  “And you, imōto?  Do you want red, or another color?”

“I like red.”

“That’s settled then.”  Takara nodded firmly, then shooed the girls off with Miho to finally was able to carry her charges off.

With excellent timing, as no sooner had she done so and Takara slipped her socked feet into her only pair of formal zori, when the knock came summoning her.

Madara had played the gentleman to the hilt despite his clear surprise at her chosen manner of dress.  Offering his arm, keeping a slow steady pace in deference for her zori and kimono skirts.  Even playing support as she balanced on one foot and then the other - though she didn’t truly need it, they both were playing their parts - as she took off her sandals leaving her in tabi, letting down her skirts, then helping her with her haori and hanging it up for her.

All of which had been well worth it: every moment of wrapping herself up like a fancy present complete with bow, being spun and tied and even pinned into place; just for the looks she got from the elders and the surprise from the shinobi as everyone was reminded that while yes, she was a kunoichi, by very definition she was female first.

Anything to do with Takara was ostensibly a shinobi matter.

Hence the location: the warriors’ hall; and the audience: the highest ranked shinobi in the clan, most of them master trainers or squad captains; as well as Tajima-sama taking pride of place at the center of the long table hosting the elders.

The elders must be going for an illusion of fairness by allowing the audience.  They wouldn’t be allowed to speak.  Decorum would hold them silent unless directed otherwise by Tajima-sama.

But it said something about what angle the elders were working that it was a semi-public affair and not a closed-doors meeting.

Minoru-obaa-sama was seated to Tajima-sama’s immediate right, with Mikoto-sama the sitting elder representing the Amaterasu lineage elders at her side, the rest of the lineage elders next to Mikoto-sama, ending with Matsunaga-oji, the cranky farmer who was nonetheless the last of his lineage, the Takeminakata and had the right to advise the clan leadership the same as any other lineage elder or head.

To Tajima-sama’s left were the lineage or family heads, who were in general younger and more directly involved with the administration of the clan.

Kuma-ji was seated as the figurative representative of the Amaterasu and one of the generals of the clan at his older brother’s left hand.  Tajima-sama was the overarching lineage head much like Minoru-sama was the overarching lineage elder, and in a mirroring of Mikoto-sama’s place at the table, Kuma-ji was her counterpart.

It gave the Amaterasu double representation in comparison to any other recognized bloodline within the Uchiha, but then they were shinobi.

If they weren’t cheating the system somehow, they wouldn’t be worth their salt.

Amaterasu Uchiha were the original Uchiha, with direct traceable descent from Indra-no-Uchiwa, and made up a full third of their active shinobi and all of their civilian trading branch.  No other bloodline could argue their place of precedence - though Takara was sure there were a few elders who’d like to try.  She’d been unsurprised to find in the Uchiha Law Code and a few surviving historical records engraved on clay tablets in the archives, that even as far back as eight hundred years before Tajima-sama’s birth when the first secondary line was founded that laws were already set in place to ensure that another bloodline could never equal the control of the clan by the Amaterasu.

Next to Kuma-ji was her own squad captain Kyō, as a high ranking Tsukuyomi, then Fumiko-sensei representing the Susano’o, and then lastly sat the Kagutsuchi, represented by Fumio-san.

As a whole, the Uchiha only recognized a small number of official bloodlines: Amaterasu, Tsukuyomi, Susano’o, Kagutsuchi, and Takeminakata.

Five bloodlines in total, each representing and descended from a Mangekyō holder who presented with a unique form of the Mangekyō and the accompanying abilities, one of which had been pared down to a single elder and had no other member to take a place on the council next to Fumio-san.

Now there was Takara, who was descended from the Amaterasu, but had also presented a new Mangekyō pattern and ability, upsetting the delicate status-quo of what amounted to the Clan Council in action if not in any officially recognized distribution of power.

What the elders and the corresponding line heads had in the place of directly conferred power was that of filial duty and social engineering.

Making what should be a shinobi matter, or one kept among immediate family, into a knot far more delicate and complex to navigate once the elders decided to stick their fingers into the tangle before dragging the rest of the clan council along with them.

Tajima-sama and Minoru-obaa-sama had the direct power to effectively do whatever they liked as the leaders of the Uchiha, but their council held enough social prevalence that if they felt disrespected they could cause civil unrest within the clan - and that was something no wise clan leader sought.

Nor did Takara.

They may piss her off at times - the elders, specifically, as well as the more meddlesome and disapproving members of the clan - but they were hers.

Uchiha.

She didn’t intentionally cause upset, but by the same token she couldn’t afford to sit back, shut her mouth, and bow her head.

Not with what she had been sent to do, as well as the consequences if she failed.

So she moved with graceful, silent steps over the tatami to the waiting pillow down on the floor below the raised dais holding the table where normally Tajima-sama would debate the merit of various mission request or plot out guard rotations with his captains and lieutenants, and slid elegantly down onto her knees.  She removed her tanto from where it was concealed in her sleeve and set it beside her thigh with precise movements.  Then lowered herself into a full bow with her hands making a triangle under her face, stomach touching her thighs, and her face mere centimeters from the tatami.

Sitting back, she rested in seiza, all the while knowing she presented one hell of a picture to both the council and the shinobi who had gathered at the back of the room and were silently playing witness to the proceedings.

Silks and fine cotton draped elegantly around her while a tanto, the sign of her status as a kunoichi, rested mere inches from her right leg.

Her hair bound up into a formal bun, but braided instead of the tail swinging loose and no cosmetics on her face to conceal her young physical age.

On one hand dressed elegantly and lavishly enough to be presented before the Daimyo without causing offense, but on the other very much a creature with blood on her hands and blade.

“Uchiha Takara.”  Tajima-sama began, after he felt the scene - and message -  Takara-chan had so deftly created had been adequately taken in.  Cutting his gaze over his men, he wanted to laugh that more than one shinobi had clearly forgotten that there was a young woman underneath the blood and dirt that so often decorated Takara-chan’s pretty face.  In the sparring rings, Takara-chan was more than one shinobi’s nightmare.  Dressed in furisode, she had likely just become more than one’s dream, with the tanto at her side more enticement than warning.  Oh, she was still flat as a board for the most part and years away from true beauty or temptation - but the promise was there, and he trusted that his shinobi were canny enough to see it.  Even if that was yet another headache he was going to have to deal with.  “Do you know why you have been summoned?”

“No, Tajima-sama.”  Takara answered truthfully.  Madara hadn’t told her anything after all.  She didn’t know.   What she surmised on the other hand…well, Tajima-sama hadn’t asked about that, now had he?  “I do not.”

“The venerable elders have brought concerns before the clan leaders regarding your status as a kunoichi, Uchiha Takara.”  

Tajima maintained formality even when all he wanted was to take the complaints of the elders and ram them down their collective throats before getting back to the business of fighting a war with the Senju.  One that was certain to ramp up again with the death of Senju Souma - the fucker, may he burn - at Takara’s hands.

Literally.

By her own admission and the reports of the rescue squad, the young kunoichi had literally punched a hole through Souma’s chest.

Couldn’t have happened to a more deserving tree-fucker, though Butsuma was likely to retaliate the loss of his last living brother, as even with cleaning up the scene, there was only so much they could do to hide the traces of Amaterasu flames.

“As well as the frequency with which you leave the safety of the clan compound.”

Takara had quite a few biting respondes begging to trip off the tip of her tongue, but held them back, instead using the opportunity that Tajima-sama had all but gift wrapped for her to make her first point and her next move in the game of shogi she’d been playing against the traditionalists since she gained her sharingan.

“I believe I have shown rather thoroughly that I am capable of maintaining my personal safety whether within the compound or without.”  She kept her tone bland and calm, instead of icy or rash or harsh.

From the hushed laughter behind her and the frozen expressions on two particular faces among the clan council, her first point had scored a hit.

She wasn’t the one ambushed and/or attacked in any scenario - that the Uchiha were aware of - where she’d been in danger as a member of the clan.  It was always someone or something else.  The trading caravan, Kayoko-ba, her father.  (The Senju boy.)  She had never been the subject of a direct attack.

Or to put it a different way: Takara hadn’t started any of those fights, but she sure as hell finished them.

The worst consequence she had personally suffered in any attack was the chakra exhaustion from the attack on the main house and then more recently keeping her father from bleeding out.

Her ability to fight and survive was not the correct tact to take given the givens if it was presented as a her only issue and not a kunoichi at large one.

“That may be true, Takara-chan.”  Elder Hirohito of the Susano’o lineage spoke up, disapproval ripe across his face for her seemingly cocky answer.  “However even the finest forged blades can have a hidden fault, or the most powerful shinobi be taken unaware.  Previous events have no bearing on guarding against future tragedies.”

There you are.

Takara had wondered who’d supported Elder Mikoto in her blatant desire to have Takara chained to a betrothal and a “proper” position in the infirmary.

Enemy of my enemy: the pair likely had a stiff disagreement regarding who Takara should be bound to, each wanting her for their own bloodlines - especially Elder Hirohito, as the Susano’o lineage didn’t have any current sharingan holders - but united to try and get her confined to the compound.  Even if Takara was wed back into the Amaterasu lineage - which was the most likely outcome, more a question of which Amaterasu shinobi than which bloodline - having her kept as a medic would still benefit the Susano’o.  As the main family in the current era over the infirmary, apothecary, and the growing of healing herbs, the further she advanced iryo-jutsu, the more importance the Susano’o gained within the clan as the primary recipients of her lessons.

She hadn’t been sure it was him, the High Priest had his own axe to grind when it came to Takara’s status as a kunoichi, but as she’d won over the majority of the working shinobi to her favor in the years since she began training, the most likely place to find those working against her was among the elders.

The clan’s civilians were another possibility, but Minoru-obaa-sama was too good at controlling the tone of her people’s beliefs to let real dissent foment.

Sideways looks at Takara when she went from one place to another in shinobi dress: sure. A few whispers about her learning to fight instead of run a household: yep.  But nothing more than she’d expected.  No real blowback or dissent that affected the quality of life for herself or her family.  

It was one of the ways that having an out-clan father had benefited her: anything seen as peculiar was quick to be dismissed because she wasn’t completely Uchiha.

To some that meant she wasn’t a real Uchiha, but those voices were the minority still.

Despite being a more formal and rigid society than the one she knew in Konoha, in one way the Warring States was more lax: the Uchiha hadn’t yet reached the peak of their insular, Uchiha-centric policies in an attempt to protect themselves after the Founding.  Takara might be in the minority with having an out-clan parent, but she wasn’t alone.  It wasn’t odd.   More anecdotal than an affront to Uchiha sensibilities - for the most part.

“Tajima-sama.”  Takara turned her gaze back to the clan head.  “Have I failed in any manner as a kunoichi?”  She asked.

“No, Takara-chan.”  Tajima responded immediately.  “Your work for the clan has been exemplary.  As shirei-kan, I have no complaints regarding your training, efforts, or status as a kunoichi in training.”

“Then it is not on the basis of my status of a kunoichi of the Uchiha on which I have been summoned.”  Takara summarized neatly.  “Or else it would be a private discussion, between shirei-kan and a kunoichi under their command, not of a member of the Uchiha clan and their clan heads and council.”

Madara, seated behind his father to observe, had to duck his head to hide his smile at that salvo, which hit fast and hard against the arguments of the elders before they had even been fully actualized.

Kuma-ji knocked his knuckles against the table before him in agreement with her statement, the other shinobi around the table - as well as the room itself, despite it being a break in decorum - following him until the meeting room was alive with the pulse and beat of the shinobi rapping their agreement against the tatami.

Takara was one of their own, and they would have her remain that way, a fact which now even the most intransigent elder could not deny with how public they’d chosen to make their complaints rather than keep them private.

Likely in hope or expectation that she would be nervous and falter with so many eyes on her.

Hah.

More fool them.

She waited for Tajima-sama to lift his hand and silence his men, his eyes warm as they tracked over those gathered even as several faces of the council had soured even further at the call-and-response that had happened before they could stop it.

Or attempt to, anyway.

“Insofar as the concerns regarding my freedom of movement outside the compound.”  Takara continued, now that she’d put the elders on the back foot.  

This wouldn’t be the end of it.  It never was.  Her potential marriage still loomed large and vaguely threatening in the background and undertone of the present confrontation.  A problem she was going to have to solve and soon, if she didn’t want to go through another attempt to manipulate her.

Her temperament was no secret within the clan.

A fact which she was certain - other concerns aside - that the more cunning members of the clan council intended to use as both carrot and stick to agree with whatever marriage candidate they had picked out.

By law, the only person with the authority to confine Takara to the compound was Tajima-sama so long as she was an active shinobi.

If they had managed to get that reversed, then authority over her as a clan member fell back into the hands of far too many people for her own comfort in varying levels.  Her father was only the start, as if Takara wasn’t a shinobi, then she wasn’t by law an adult.   After her father, there was a veritable horde of people who had either social or actual authority over her, starting with her grandparents and ending with both Elder Mikoto and Minoru-obaa-sama.

She couldn’t allow it.

Not only for her own sanity, but she was far too close to completing the job she’d been sent to this life to do now that she had the last piece of the puzzle - a backup plan for how to kill Zetsu if the original failed - and only lacked opportunity to see it done.

“As a kunoichi, I will obey the orders of Tajima-sama.”  She stated, and wasn’t even lying.  “If in his wisdom, Tajima-sama orders me to remain within the compound, I will do so.”

Before the elders could so much as crack a smile, she went on:

“However.”  Her gaze turned cold on a few faces before her in particular.  “I would also ask what offense under Uchiha Law that I have committed that requires such a punishment to be levied against me, as we have just heard from Tajima-sama’s own lips that my work has been exemplary and he has no complaints regarding my performance as a kunoichi in training.”

Silence.

“Which leads me to believe,” she wrapped up.  “That if not to discuss my status as a kunoichi or my freedom of movement, that I have been brought before the clan council for other reasons.  Reasons that have not been openly presented, as required by tradition and law, for me to know and answer in kind.”

She’d give the scheming old badgers points for plotting ability.  Going after her while her father was laying wounded in the infirmary and she didn’t have him to lean on was an asshole move, but smart.  Presenting it as worries over her safety was pushing the age-old ‘think of the children’ tactic given her age.

They were even cunning to take advantage - or try, anyway - of her checked-out state following the attack on her father.

If she wasn’t used to having to snap out of an indulgent, numb state to fight a new battle at the flick of a kunai.

If she was a regular thirteen, nearly fourteen, year old girl, “genius” kunoichi in training or not, she probably wouldn’t have the wherewithal to deal with what amounted to a hearing before the clan council to defend herself, her rights, and her status.

But she wasn’t a young teenager, not really.

And she had learned shinobi scheming at the knees of Hatake Kakashi, Ono Nobu, Nara Shikaku, and even her time’s Uchiha Mikoto: they were going to have to try a lot fucking harder if they thought clan politics were going to unsettle her when she was used to worrying about plotting on the global scope and ensuring she didn’t set off a world war because she took a swipe at a Kumo-nin too many.

Or merely just the wrong Kumo-nin.

“How arrogant are you, girl?”  Elder Mikoto at least couldn’t take the chit’s cheek any longer and burst into vitriol-laced action.  “To sit there in your mother’s silks and act as if you are above tradition and duty and filial behavior!”

Gotcha, ya old bat.

In a clan like the Uchiha, with their kekkei genkai and prodigious memories, once a thought, or fancy, or grudge was aired in public, it was almost impossible to walk back.

By the time the shinobi present were done spreading the word - let alone the rest of the clan council - Elder Mikoto wouldn’t even be able to breathe in Takara’s direction without having to deal with suspicion regarding her motives.

Especially as Elder Mikoto was a finicky, cranky old bitch and she’d set herself against a family that while not universally liked in Takara and Hanzou, were very well respected for all their efforts in recent years to defend and support the clan.

“In what way am I acting above tradition?”  Takara countered, demanding proof and not merely the elder’s nursed grudges.  “Or duty?  In what way is my behavior unfilial, Elder?”  She questioned.  “Please, share your wisdom and educate this motherless daughter.”

Elder Mikoto puffed up in affront at the child’s sheer ignorant audacity.

“Your duty to the clan, as a daughter, is to marry and bear sons.”  Mikoto hissed, eyes narrowed and hands curled into claws in her high dudgeon.  “Sons to bring honor and glory to the Uchiha.”

Takara arched a brow, glancing along the long row of the clan council, as if to say is that it?

That’s all?

That’s their hidden agenda and oh-so-important issue?

“I take note that the honored elder had no response to how I am either ‘acting above tradition’ or behaving in a manner that is ‘unfilial’.”  She retorted, deadpan, drawing attention to the lack in the elder’s rhetoric before she attacked the meat of the problem - and the real reason they were all here.

It wasn’t about confining her to the compound or her status as a kunoichi - or if it was, it was only tangentially.

It was about the fact that Takara had been born with a womb to carry children instead of a cock to sire them.

“As to the venerable Mikoto-sama’s actual indictment of my failure of my duty to the clan, I have two responses:” she continued, not giving the old bat an inch.  “The first being that I would remind Mikoto-sama and the clan council that despite being a blooded kunoichi and an adult by law,” she lifted one hand from where they’d been resting hidden by the long sleeves of her furisode on her lap and tapped the braid hanging over her shoulder and down her chest.  “I am not yet of age for courtship, let alone marriage and the subject of such has yet to be broached by either my honorable father or Tajima-sama.”

She let that sink in for a long tense moment before she went for the jab to the underbelly:

“As for the implication that only sons can bring honor and glory to the clan, I would ask the venerable Mikoto-sama if she was perhaps confusing the Uchiha with the patriarchal Senju.”  She made her tone as sweet as candy as they tripped off her tongue.  The hisses and coughs of surprise from their audience music to her ears as several of those present turned puce with outrage at the nearly blasphemous accusation.  “As nowhere in the Uchiha Law Code nor the scriptures of the Shrine of Amaterasu-Ōmikami does it say as such and I am confused about where the venerable Mikoto-sama might have learned such a doctrine?”

…

“She’s going to make you pay for that.”  Kuma-ji told her later, after Tajima-sama had regained control of the meeting following the uproar that Takara caused with her final knockout blow to the meddling elders, and adjourned it.  “Mikoto-baasama might be an old bat, but she’s not without her supporters, Taka-chan.”

“She had it coming.”  Takara shot right back as she shuffled around the small chabudai in Tajima-sama’s office, still in her full-formal turnout, fetching a bottle from Tajima-sama’s sake stash while Madara laid out the cups before his father and uncle, the four of them having reconvened to discuss a battle plan to tackle the issues caused by both the meeting and the underlying problems before they could grow any further.  “Shouldn’t have taken an oblique potshot at my father.”

“If you would stop giving them ammunition,” Kuma countered unhesitatingly as Madara sat down across from him, Takara sitting at Kuma’s side once she’d filled all the cups on the table.  “Or at least yanking their obijime, they wouldn’t go after Hanzou-san’s ability to control you.”

“The fact that I exist outside their control irritates them.”  She snarked, rolling her eyes in exasperation.  “So sorry that I’ve made it worse by evolving the Mangekyō.  Next time I’ll just let the Senju kill my father, shall I?”

“Enough you two.”  Tajima sighed, one hand lifting to rub at his brow.  “Otōto, you know none of us have control over when or if our dojutsu progresses.  Taka-chan, of course none of us would’ve wished you to leave your father undefended.”

“We all know it was never about Baa-sama’s irritations.”  Madara interjected, sipping thoughtfully as his sake, letting it roll over his tongue as he carefully chose his words.  “The core issue isn’t really about Takara-chan, not really.”  He put his own take on the ongoing internal clan struggle out into the open.  “It’s about authority.  About Uchiha fielding kunoichi.  Marriage, propriety, and Takara-chan’s potential death before she can have children are just the main arguments they’re public about, it’s likely not the only ones they possess.”

Takara grimaced, staring down into her sake cup before slinking back to her feet and refilling Kuma-ji’s own in silent apology for trying to bite his head off.

Another teenager would be baffled or unsettled to be sitting in the clan head’s office quaffing sake.  It wasn’t usual behavior from Tajima-sama to say the least, since he tends not to bother himself with singular shinobi in preference for managing their overarching concerns.  Kuma-ji as well as Tajima’s sons were very much the face-to-face element of the clan leadership.

Takara wasn’t the average teenager, or the average shinobi for that matter.

Between needing to arrange testing for fuuinjutsu experiments, her endeavors in the infirmary, and perhaps Tajima-sama’s favorite of her traits: her body count of high-ranked main line Senju, she’d gotten to know the clan head over the years.

As he had come to know and appreciate her for her skills and talents and mind rather than looking down on her because of her age or even her sex.

All that really mattered to Tajima-sama was how well she killed Senju and how she could benefit the clan - and since the answer to both turned out to be exceedingly well, even with the drama she came with, she was in his good books.

Above what had come from that, whole, saving his sons, thing.

“So then the question becomes,” Kuma posited.  “How do we hamstring their arguments or their grasps for power, when we don’t even know what they all are?”

A hush fell over the office as each of them fell into their own thoughts, twisting and turning ideas over and over in their minds.

Until finally it was broken, a spark lighting up behind Madara’s eyes, and his smile was all teeth as he began to speak: “We don’t…”

…

Chapter Text

Karuma no Kagami

Chapter Thirteen: A Tricky Bastard

Last Time:

A hush fell over the office as each of them fell into their own thoughts, twisting and turning ideas over and over in their minds.

Until finally it was broken, a spark lighting up behind Madara’s eyes, and his smile was all teeth as he began to speak: “ We don’t…”

“We don’t,” Madara said.  “We know what they’re afraid of, have a decent idea of what their aims are.  Why pander to them and play a defensive game of strikes and blocks and tallies?  Why not take the offense and act instead of merely react whenever the small - but so very vocal - minority decides to throw a fit?”

Takara tilted her head a bit to the side, liking the premise but unsure of how the older teen saw that working in function rather than theory.

It drew a line.  Set the traditionalists and the elders who were either a part of them or supported them in a very us vs. them position.  Takara couldn’t say she was opposed to the shift.  

With the latest contretemps, at least two elders had proven that while they may not be an enemy in the sense of slitting her throat in the dark or an attack during a mission, they sure as fuck weren’t her allies either.

“I’m always in favor of striking before the enemy knows I’m in play.”  Kuma commented, to no surprise - on the contrary to much agreement - from the others.  It was a very shinobi way of thinking.  Striking fast and hard before the opposition ever knew there was a fight to be had.

And all of them seated around the table were excellent shinobi, even if the men weren’t fully informed regarding the extent of Takara’s skills.

“Hn,” Tajima-sama hummed low in his throat.  “What are you thinking?”

Madara set down his cup with a soft click, leaning forward towards Takara-chan.

“We know that they’re focused on Takara-chan as the embodiment of their objections to training and fielding kunoichi.”  Madara pointed out.

“Which is stupid in itself, because I may have been the first officially but I still haven’t fully left my training when we have older kunoichi who are working as compound guards.”  Takara interjected, lifting a finger in emphasis, then nodded at Madara to continue.

“Exactly.”  Madara nodded at Takara’s aside.  “There are other kunoichi who could be the focus of their ire, but they’re not.  From what I’ve heard in the clan, none of the active kunoichi are dealing with being shunned or ostracized by their families or the civilians.  There isn’t an active whisper campaign about them the way there is Takara.  So we close off their avenues of complaint until they have no choice but to either voice their disagreements regarding kunoichi as a whole, or are silenced.”

“The question becomes, why Takara?”   Kuma followed the train of thought.  “How and why are they attacking your position?  What makes you in particular so dangerous to their own positions and beliefs?”

“I’m out-clan.”  Takara said the obvious, and potentially main, difference between her and the other kunoichi of the clan, few as they still were.  “And civilian-bred.”

“A challenge to common assumptions and thought regarding talent, potential, and power as a shinobi as well as Uchiha supremacy.”  Tajima mused, his chin propped on one hand, elbow on the table as he listened to those around him.  “They mentioned your father both obliquely and specifically in audience.”

“Mm.”  Takara hummed, nodding.  “If a girl civilian with an out-clan father could develop a full-tomoe sharingan and then evolve it into the sacred Mangekyō, what else about their doctrine is either less solid than they thought or simply wrong altogether?”  She grimaced.  “It would be a paradigm shift if I prove not to be an outlier…and that in turn makes me fear for my sisters and what they might do to get their hands on them, or enough authority to ensure that they don’t follow in my footsteps.”

“Is that likely?”  Madara asked, frowning.  “I was under the impression that Hanzou-san wasn’t going to allow your sisters to become kunoichi.”

It wasn’t an unfair analysis, as if Hanzou was going to put Tsubaki and Tsukiko into shinobi training, they should’ve started already, joining the current-youngest set of trainees both for morning conditioning and in the classroom.

“My father didn’t want me to become a kunoichi.”  Takara told them sardonically.  “He is proud and supports me, but it was never his wish, more a matter of practicality.  He is also well aware of the push back I’ve gotten from some quarters among the clan and as a result has never stated anything but approval after our initial discussions regarding the path I have walked.”

“Your position has been shorn up by your performance this afternoon.”  Tajima noted.  “Perhaps it is that of your family that we need to focus on, as any avenue towards removing you as a shinobi has been effectively defanged.”

“Leverage.”  Takara grimaced.

“Your love and care for your family is well-known within the clan.”  Madara agreed with her.  It was a distasteful reality, but Takara had never been a quiet member of the clan.  Her soft spots were open for perusal instead of protected.  As it should be: the clan should be a place of safety where she didn’t have to worry about protecting herself and those she loved and cared for from attack.  

It was a mark against the Uchiha that such was not the reality.

One day, Madara would be in a position and have the power to ensure that the Uchiha wouldn’t have to worry about and work against their own, whether in politics or social warfare.

For now, however, all he could do was assist as best he was able while they were forced to scheme against the poisonous growths hidden in the shadows of their clan until such a time as they could be burned away - for the good of them all.

“My father and sisters, again.”  Takara sighed, shaking her head.  “It always seems to come back to my immediate family.  With my father unconscious, it’s only a matter of time before Elder Mikoto gets in the ears of my grandmother and uses her to do the elder’s dirty work.”

She wrinkled her nose, then mimicked the elder with near-perfect (and hilarious) accuracy:

“Takara-chan does so much for the clan already, isn’t it too much to expect her to mother her young sisters as well?”

“Hanzou-san has a long recovery before him - if he wakes.  Surely asking him to parent three daughters when the eldest is such a handful would be unfair of us?”

“Tsubaki-chan has such a lively character, perhaps she should join one of the caravans and learn more of her mother’s family?”

“Tsukiko-chan is a gentle soul.  Might she not enjoy learning weaving or the more genteel arts than what her sister can teach her?”

“You’ve given this much thought, I see.”  Kuma said when he’d gotten his laughter under control at the uncanny impression - even as his brother and nephew were still recovering from their own bouts of hilarity.  “This isn’t a new thought to you.”

“I’ve had little else to think about as I’ve sat at my father’s bedside and coaxed him to take fluids.”  Takara admitted, closing her eyes for a long moment.  “With my tenuous position within the clan, I’ve never had the luxury of self-deception.”

Madara snorted in unison with his father and uncle, the three of them trading looks before the youngest spoke what they were all thinking:

“There’s nothing tenuous about your position in the clan.”  He said firmly.  

“You’re a shinobi of the Uchiha.  One of the most powerful we have.  No matter what anyone tries, that will never change unless you, yourself, choose to retire from active service.”  Tajima clarified then Takara-chan seemed rather taken aback.  “And even then…”  he trailed off with a shrug, completely unashamed of the fact that if push came to shove and they needed her in the field, he would have no problem disregarding her own wishes to throw her at a target like the human-shaped force of destruction she was shaping up to be.  “If needed, we might have to recall you to service depending on the circumstances.”

Takara felt both relieved and consternated by her own relief.  Tajima-sama had basically just told her that even her own wishes potentially meant nothing in the grand schemes of events and he would use her against their enemies if needed if/when she ever retired.  Though it wasn’t without precedent.  She’d simply never had to apply it to herself before:

She’d never lived to the age of retirement in any life.

“There were already whispers after my mother died.”  Takara spoke to her active concerns rather than confront Tajima-sama’s attempt at reassurance.  It was good to know where she stood with the head of the Uchiha shinobi forces - and it seemed the answer was in very good stead.   But at the same time the thought of retiring to have kids and raise a family only to be recalled to service and dying… yeah, well, it’d been a while since she had new nightmare fuel she supposed.  She was about due.  “Regarding whether or not it was appropriate to leave a single, out-clan father to raise three Uchiha daughters.  Minoru-obaa-sama stopped most of them by hiring Miho-san on our behalf, while my aunts and cousins did the rest with how involved they’ve been in helping raise the twins, but now that I’ve publicly positioned myself against Elder Mikoto, they’re going to start back up again and with a vengeance.”

Her life would be so much easier if one of the other elders like Eiji-sensei was the nominal head elder of her family line instead of that bitchy, plotting old bat.

Even cranky-assed Matsunaga-oji would be less problematic than the bastion of “propriety” that was Mikoto-baasama.

Sage, his bite-happy mule would be easier to handle than Elder Mikoto.

“You’re under shinobi authority.”  Madara said, back straightening from his “thinking” slump beside his father and eyes lightening with realization.  “But your family isn’t.”

It was an issue that didn’t happen very often, if at all, within the Uchiha due to how rare it was for a civilian-line child to take up shinobi training, but after how hard Takara-chan had hammered the fact that she wasn’t for the elders to command or call to heel, the flip-side of that argument was closer to the surface for the shinobi-line main family to pick up on.

“No, they’re not.”  Takara said softly.  “Nominally, my father is the head of our family and doesn’t answer to any of the elders as he’s out-clan: only to Minoru-obaa-sama.  In reality, as long as me or my sisters have to answer to any authority within the clan, it will affect him as well.”

“As Aiko-san was an Amaterasu civilian,” Kuma groaned deep in his throat.  “That makes Mikoto-baasama the head elder over your sisters and functionally your civilian grandparents the immediate authority regarding them as long as your father isn’t in a position to assert his rights over his children and household.”

“Baasama is likely already hissing in your grandmother’s ear,” Tajima predicted humorlessly.  “To punish you for your so-called arrogance if nothing else.”

Technically, Elder Mikoto was the paternal aunt of Tajima.  There were some who had thought, back during the power shifts of that generation, that Mikoto had more right to the position of kagi no ban’nin than Minoru.  However, as Mikoto had married out of the Amaterasu bloodline (and some thought married down in station) she wasn’t the highest ranking Amaterasu civilian at the time.

To save face and placate his elder sister, Tajima’s father had granted her the Amaterasu elder seat instead.

And everyone within the clan had been dealing with results of that ever since.

“It’s too bad about Hanzou not wanting the twins in shinobi training.”  Kuma pulled a face at Takara’s narrowed gaze, the kunoichi not approving even a sideways slight at her father at the moment.  Not that she ever did.  “It would have simplified matters, don’t look at me in that tone of voice.”  He defended himself.  “Now the only people with the authority to put them under our authority,” he waved a hand between himself and his older brother.  “Are either unconscious or civilians who’d do so over baasama’s dead body.”

Alright, Takara had to give a mental sigh, Kuma-ji had a point with that for all she didn’t appreciate it being voiced.

It would be an easier way to stem the flood of issues heading their way if Tsubaki and Tsukiko were seen to be under Tajima’s authority in any fashion, even if merely being part of the youngest training cohort.

Damn it.

“What if they weren’t?”  Madara’s mind rushed ahead, doing his best to see around corners and look for hidden traps and snares that their opposition might use to force Takara to voluntarily (heh, yeah right) revoke her position as a kunoichi since they’d failed to do so using Uchiha law against her.  “Civilians.”  He continued when the others stared at him in confusion, not following the jump that his mind had made.  “What if,” he explained before they could assume he hadn’t been paying attention to what they’d already covered.  “None of them, even Hanzou, were part of a civilian lineage?”

“My father has never told me anything about our family history.”  Takara thought she saw where Madara was going with his proposition but it wasn’t viable.  “He’s never had shinobi training or said anything about being from shinobi descent.”

“No, not Hanzou.”  Madara flicked that away with a twist of his wrist, grinning fiendishly at his friend and sparring partner, even as his father and uncle shared a look over the younger pair’s heads.  “You.”

“I’m Amaterasu,” Takara said, deeply confused - and more than a little worried - over what twisty pathway his mind had gone down and left them all behind.  “Madara, what-?”

“Your Mangekyō.”   Kuma breathed out, eyes wide as his head jerked slightly as he glanced between his nephew and his protege.  “He means your Mangekyō.”

“It’s not a known pattern, with a new technique.”  Madara’s grin stretched, becoming all teeth.  “By both tradition and law, Takara could become the head of her own shinobi lineage, as was done in days of old - and take her blood-family with her, and under her authority.”

“You’re insane.”

“That could work.”

Takara and Kuma turned and glared at each other for a brief moment as their responses overlapped each other with opposing points of view, then Takara ceded the right of speaking first to her sponsor, as was right and proper.

“It could work.”  Kuma reiterated, shooting a look at the girl who’d been so quick to dismiss his nephew’s idea as insane.  “Madara is right: by both tradition and law, as a holder of a new Mangekyō, you have every right to claim and build a new bloodline, despite one of your eyes holding the Amaterasu technique.  You could take your sisters and father into that line instead of under the authority of the Amaterasu, protecting them from any direct interference by your opponents within the clan.”

“They would have no choice but to go through you,” Madara explained a little more when Takara’s bright, worried eyes looked at him once more.  “And you’ve proven more than once with the Senju just how difficult a task that can be.”

“It would protect you as well, as resistant to societal pressure as you’ve proven thus far.”  Kuma added.  “As the head of your own line, no one would have the authority to pressure you into marriage or out of your role as a kunoichi.  Even the most stubborn of our people would realize this and few are spiteful enough to persist in the face of certain futility.”

“Most aren’t spiteful enough.”  Takara noted drily, hiding an eye roll - though if the flicker of amusement in Tajima-sama’s watchful gaze was any sign, not quite good enough - in response to Kuma-ji’s optimism.  “But not all.  We don’t even know what my Mangekyō does.”  Her complaints weakened in the face of such united resolve from those she valued - and in this, Tajima-sama’s silence was as good as resounding agreement.  “Not really.”

“Then we’ll go to the training fields and find out.”   Madara continued insistently, leaning towards her across the chabudai and locking gazes with her troubled eyes.  “This will work, Takara.  Trust me.”

Takara had no defense against such an appeal.

Madara really was a tricky bastard, cunning and intelligent and all that a shinobi should be long before he became known as a walking calamity - though from what she’d heard in the clan about his battles against the Senju and performance on missions, he wasn’t far away from his one-time titles.

She always had been weak to tricky, bastardous Uchiha, long before she became one herself.

Which really only left her with one avenue for salvation, in the face of such an attack:

“This is a terrible idea.”  She predicted solemnly, then turned to Tajima-sama hoping to find any sense of logic or reason in the sea of Uchiha creative problem solving she was drowning in.  “I’m a hunter and a warrior, I have no place leading a bloodline or advising clan leadership.  I’m only thirteen.”

“Fourteen soon enough.”  Tajima replied, having been considering his son’s - mad, Takara-chan was right enough about that, but clever - plan to protect the family of one of the clan’s greatest living assets while the others laid out their arguments.  “Old enough to wed under other circumstances.  Old enough to fight and kill and die in service to the clan.  Why should you not be thought old enough to help lead it?”  He dismissed that from consideration.  

“Being a hunter and a warrior did not stop you from taking up the challenge of improving the methods and techniques of our medics or earning a sealing mastery, why should it stop you from serving your clan in a new way if you are so called?”  He lifted his brows in question at the red-faced teenager who had looked away in embarrassment at having her achievements laid bare.  “And you are called to serve, Uchiha Takara.  Those strident voices who would see you locked away from combat must be silenced.  For the good of the clan.”

“Yes, Tajima-sama.”  Takara lowered herself into a seated bow, accepting his ruling like a lash upon her back.  “If that is your will.”

“Madara.”  Tajima turned to his heir.  “Locate the patents of bloodline lineage in the archives.  If this is to be done, it shall be done properly lest our opponents find a way to contravene it.  Appropriate your brothers for extra hands if you find them idle.  Kuma, Takara-chan: to the training fields as soon as possible.”  He ordered, taking into consideration that Takara-chan at least would need to change her heavy, expensive ensemble for her uniform.  “If we are to create a lineage around your Mangekyō,” he mused.  “We must know what it does as well as the design of your eyes.”

“Yes, Tajima-sama.”

And with that pronouncement, it was all but done:

Uchiha Takara was to found a new bloodline lineage within the Uchiha - with all the rights, but more importantly to her, all the responsibilities that went with it.

Sage save her from Madara’s idea of helping.

Oh, he certainly fixed the immediate issue of protecting her family without relying on the main line to intervene on her behalf, or the elders trying to have her sisters removed from the care of herself and her father once he awakened.

He’d only caused a half-dozen other issues that Takara would have to handle in time in the process, not the least of which having to actually run a bloodline and all that went with it.

She was going to strangle Naruto when she got her hands on him in the Pure Lands for dropping her into this clan and time period.

Give her Konoha and only having to worry about herself, her immediate family, and missions any day of the week.

Stupid Madara.

Stupid Kuma and Tajima for going along with his insanity.

Stupid, stupid men.

Ugh.

As soon as she figured out what her Mangekyō did, she was going to bat Madara around the training fields like a bouncy ball for pulling this bullshit.

If being a lineage head turned out to be as big of a pain in the ass as she thought it might be, that wouldn’t even be a one-time asskicking either.  Oh no.  Madara set this in motion.  Every bit of hassle that it caused her, she was going to repay to him in turn.

And with interest.

Stupid fluffy-haired tricksey bastard.

(The worst part was that he was right.   It would work.  Damn it all anyway.)

While Madara rousted his brothers to help him search the dusty archives, Takara made her way home after being dismissed by Tajima-sama.

Her sisters were eager to jump up from their mending work, learning at Miho’s side so that Takara could teach them to embroider when they were older, to help her strip away her layers of silk and fine cotton and hang them up to air before packing them back away after inspecting them for dirt or grime.

Takara had taken great care on the walk between their home and the warriors’ hall however, and other than a bit of hem-brushing to ensure that no dust clung to the outfit, no other care was needed as they draped the layers of kosode and furisode over wide hangers to prevent pests and foul odors from sneaking into the expensive garments by airing them out.

Both her sisters were gentle with the fine cloth, and Takara was glad to spend a few quiet moments with them after the upsets of the day.

The day that wasn’t yet over.

Tsukiko carried their mother’s kanzashi over to Takara’s chest and tucked it away in one of the many empty slots for jewelry or hair ornaments while Tsubaki helped pin Takara’s braid back up for her ninjutsu practice.

Target practice, really, as Takara knew that in order to figure out what her Mangekyō had done during the Senju attack, she was going to be facing a lot of jutsu shot her way by Kuma-ji and whoever he might recruit to help.

In no time at all, Takara was once more at ease in her shinobi uniform of indigo-dyed tough canvas trousers, hempen shirt, and thick quilted kendogi over her plain padded-linen underthings in deference to the cold.  Her father's daughter, she wove soft leather wraps around her joints and tucked them in place to support her limbs and protect her hands rather than the cotton most used. As an archer, unlike many Uchiha shinobi Takara didn’t wear leather gloves to protect her hands, instead favoring wraps that reminded her of boxers or mixed martial artists from her first life.

With the Uchiha mon taking pride of place on the back of her otherwise plain kendogi jacket, and her hair tucked up and away in a masculine braided topknot, there wasn’t much difference at first glance between Takara and any other Uchiha shinobi.

“Why do you have to go back out?”  Tsubaki asked, lower lip pouting over having time with her sister curtailed, Tsukiko nodding in solemn agreement next to her as they watched Takara slip into her reinforced shinobi sandals on the engawa.

Even as young as they were, they recognized that as a shinobi their sister didn’t belong to them alone - but that didn’t mean they were always happy about it, especially when Takara’s duty to the clan took her away from them.

Doubly so when their father was sick and wasn’t around to teach them things or sing to them or tell them stories while they worked at their lessons and he worked with leather or furs in the main room near the warmth of the irori.

“Have you been taught about the Mangekyō in your lessons yet?”  Takara crouched down before their sad little faces.  Kuma-ji would forgive her the extra time.  And if he didn’t she was willing to deal with whatever extra laps or chores he might assign as punishment for her lateness and waste of his time if it meant her sisters weren’t feeling neglected.

“Indra-sama had the first Mangekyō.”  Tsukiko parroted their lessons.  “He founded the Uchiha, and is the father of our bloodlines.”

“That’s right,” Takara smiled encouragingly at her quieter sister.  “Indra-sama had the first Mangekyō.  His was Amaterasu, the unstoppable black flames.”

“Like Madara-sama and Izuna-sama.”  Tsubaki pointed out with a soft gasp, making the connection between what the girls had overheard or been taught and their great forefather.

“Yes indeed.”  Takara agreed with a grin and a hair ruffle for both her sisters.  “The Mangekyō is powerful but rare.”  She sobered, then pulsed a careful thread of chakra through her optical tenketsu, sharingan spinning to life to excited little cheers from her young audience.  Then she pulsed another, stronger thread of chakra through her eyes, and felt them spin faster and the world sharpen exponentially as her unlocked Mangekyō took in the sweet faces of her younger sisters - as well as the shock on Miho-san’s face as the calm elder clanswoman finally realized what all the recent fuss among the clan had been about.  “And like all gifts of our bloodline, I need to practice to use the Mangekyō correctly.”

She left out the bit about needing to practice so she didn’t overload her eyes on accident and leave herself blind, but that was as it should be.

Bad enough that her baby sisters had a shinobi child’s understanding of the world and death, without giving them nightmares about exploding eyes or sudden blindness as well.

“Pretty,” Tsubaki reached out and patted Takara’s face next to her eyes.  “Like a black flower.”

Takara was, as always, awed by the way young children viewed the world.

She knew what her Mangekyō looked like, what it was that the Senju squad had seen that had them terrified and dubbing her a demon - and it certainly wasn’t a black flower trapped within the sharingan-red of her eyes.  A shadow-clone had memorized what Takara’s new eyes looked like, the memory transferring over after she canceled it - she knew that the pattern of her Mangekyō wasn’t anything lovely or delicate.  Hypnotic, maybe, when it spun, though the Senju had found it horrific to behold.

Though that might have just been their prejudices playing out.

Three arrow-points now took pride of place around the center of her eye in black, the bottoms hollowed out and curved to create sharp points on either side, the “wings” of the base overlapping with each other.

Fitting, for an archer, she supposed, and faintly petal shaped if one squinted.

Or was a young child with a healthy imagination.

“Thank you, imōto, I’m glad you think so.”  Takara said gently, taking Tsubaki’s hand in her own and turning to kiss the back of it.  “Now I have to go train and learn so I can use them.”

“Ok.”  Tsubaki allowed with a heavy, put-upon sigh.  “I guess.”

“Will you come back and tell us our story tonight?”  Tsukiko asked softly, still staring up at her sister with eyes that were only a few shades darker than Takara’s own bright blue.  “Before you go and take care of Papa?”

“Of course, if you want me to.”  Takara promised, then rose.  “Go help Miho-san now.”  She shooed them back inside so she could close the heavy winter-weight panels over the house’s main entryway.  “If you want to learn embroidery or weaving, you have to practice your stitching first.”

“Yes, neesan!”

Takara joined Kuma-ji and the handful of shinobi he’d gathered together to help test out her Mangekyō and figure out what the heck it does at the training field the farthest away from the compound and farms.

Which was…reasonable as while they didn’t know what one of her eyes had actually done when she fought the Senju, the other they absolutely recognized as Amaterasu.

Only, without the ability to control the flames, all Takara could do was cancel them out, which would help prevent damage if she activated the wrong eye, but couldn’t guarantee it: hence, being as far away from others as possible.

“Explain for everyone what you think happened, Takara-chan.”  Kuma-ji prompted her once she’d taken in the space and the gathered shinobi.

Which included her cousins, even Haruki, her blood-uncle in Arata-ji, Kuma-ji’s son Hikaku, and her training captain Kyō who had also been her cousin Akihito’s captain before he was old enough to lead squads of his own.

“One of the Senju sent a wind attack at me, but it never hit.”  She summarized.  “I felt my eyes do something, but I don't know if they nullified the attack somehow or blocked it or…”  She shrugged.  “I just don’t know and was too busy at the time to stop and think about it.”

“Seems simple enough.”  Arata-ji commented.  “All we need to do,” he waved a hand encompassing the gathered shinobi.  “Is shoot Great Fireballs at her.  It’ll be up to Takara-chan to use her Mangekyō instead of relying on her reflexes to dodge.”

“Sure, simple.”  Takara groused even as the others lined up.  “Easy for you lot to say…”

Motherf-!

Before she could utter another word, she had to dodge and pulse her chakra to activate her Mangekyō, as Kyō-san had apparently had his fill of her mouth for one day.

Which: fair.

He’d had to sit through the council meeting and listen to her verbally spar with the elders while having to hold his tongue.

That had likely required more patience than Kyō-san possessed on a good day, let alone one almost designed to test him.

Though at least her captain’s jumping the gun had achieved something: when the next wave of flame came her way Takara was in good stead to focus on it with her eyes instead of her instincts…though she still had to hit the dirt.  She could feel that there was something waiting inside of her eyes.  She just didn’t know if it was the technique she was supposed to be discovering or something else.

Something like Susano’o, which would be cool but absolutely not what she was supposed to be practicing.

“Focus, Takara!”  Kuma-ji barked from the other side of the field.

“I am focusing!”  She shouted right back at him as she popped back up onto her feet.  “It’s not as easy as Madara makes it look, you know!”

Ugh.

So echo her one-time friend Shikamaru: what a drag.

Chapter Text

Karuma no Kagami

Chapter Fourteen: Kagami, Fǎng, Kyūshū, Hansha?

By the time Madara and his brothers - even the seven year old twins - had finished digging out the records their father wanted from the archives and made their way to the training field, Takara was head-to-toe in dirt and ashes.

She couldn’t look less like the refined lady of the Uchiha she’d been only a few hours before if she’d tried.

As it was, the stark dichotomy was unintentional: if Takara had it her way, she wouldn’t have been rolling around in dirt and ashes at all, but trying to discover the functions and triggers of her Mangekyō when it was a new technique and instance of the dojutsu wasn’t a clean business.

It took over an hour of dedicated practice for Takara to separate the different technique triggers that waited within her eyes to different minor tenketsu points as well as differing amounts of required chakra.  Most of that due to her almost overpowering the technique she wanted - the not-Kamui - into manifesting the start of Susano’o instead.  For as chakra-intensive as Mangekyō could be, especially at the beginning before the user learned how to moderate and streamline the required chakra, the secondary ability of her new eyes barely required more effort than using her sharingan in the first place - thereby causing the block.

She was so sure that she needed more chakra than the technique actually required, that by throwing herself head-first against the problem of figuring it out she skipped right over it and ran into the roadblock of Susano’o.

Takara was trying too hard and overshooting the mark.

It wasn’t until she was tired and was forced to take a break by Kuma-ji in fear of overtaxing her new eyes, and pulled her chakra away that she almost tripped over the technique as most of the chakra she’d flooded her eyes with washed away.

From there the practice got easier…and harder, as Takara’s Mangekyō apparently was one requiring finesse instead of brute force and she was still working at refining her chakra control though she was worlds better than she used to be when she was younger and struggling with the backlash of what Naruto had done with the DMS and how it destroyed her precision.

Before almost a dozen pairs of eyes, Takara’s unique Mangekyō pattern spun as Haruki-kun’s Fireball sped towards her - only to disappear as if it had been sucked into the depths of her eyes.

And as she was paying attention, Takara actually felt and was able to memorize what had happened: not nullification or diversion as she’d halfway assumed, or a strange version of not-Kamui that warped the jutsu away, but absorption.

(She missed her chakra-conductive split-staff like an aching phantom limb in that moment, to say nothing of Kakashi-sensei who’d commissioned it for her.)

But she thought the technique somehow wasn’t complete as the jutsu’s chakra was absorbed by her own system.  Her instincts, the primal lizard-brain that controlled fight-flight-freeze impulses and in a Uchiha taught them how to move and predict movement as soon as their sharingan activated, said that there was something else.  Something more to her eyes than the ability to absorb chakra attacks.

She just had to find it.

“How is it going?”  Madara asked his uncle after his brothers had split off to take turns of their own at shooting fireballs at Takara-chan for her to…suck up?  Her eyes were sucking up the jutsu like water through a bamboo pump.

Okay.

That was appropriately terrifying, as if Takara-chan wasn’t scary enough to spar on her own as she could apparently punch through a man’s chest.

“The Shrine is going to have a field day arguing over what to name her version of the Mangekyō and accompanying bloodline, nephew-mine.”  Kuma huffed, his arms crossed over his chest as they watched Izuna’s Water Needle get sucked into the swirling power of Takara’s Mangekyō - only to then dart faster and harder right back out, Madara’s brother yelping and diving for the dirt to avoid being hit by his own attack.  “Karma in action.”  Kuma snorted, shaking his head at the demonstration.  “A defense and offense rolled into one.”

Madara frowned in thought as he watched Takara practice several more times, all relatively trainee or novice-level shinobi ninjutsu being drunk in by her eye with a few fired back in kind, before Kuma-ji called a halt.

For good reason: Takara might not be bleeding from her eyes yet, but when she allowed them to fade back to her normal blue gaze, they were clearly irritated with red rimming her lash line and deepening at the corners.

The gathered shinobi either paired off to return to their homes for the evening, his brothers and Takara’s cousins all grouping up even as Arata-san took charge of his niece.

Madara fell in with his uncle and Kyō-san, the older men already discussing tactics of how to use Takara’s Mangekyō in battle.

“Does it only work for ninjutsu attacks?”  Madara asked what he felt was the most pertinent question.  It was very subtle for a Mangekyō technique, and yet he felt in the right hands it could be devastating - and from the words of the older shinobi, they agreed.  “Or does it have other applications?”

“Only jutsu.”  Kyō-san replied with a soft sigh of regret.  If Taka-chan’s Mangekyō could absorb any kind of chakra, now that would have been something indeed.  “She couldn’t take in the chakra from an exploding tag or absorb or redirect the flames from one’s blast.  Nor could she shut off Akihito-kun’s sharingan.”

“Limits?”

“Any form of cast jutsu she can see,” Kuma-ji commented with a grin.  “At least as far as we can tell.  More testing and practice is needed, of course, but the applications are promising.”

“Tou-san will be pleased.”  Was all Madara really had to say to that, even as he worried for his younger friend.  Powerful shinobi or not, Takara had never run missions or gone out on a battle call-up.

Her kills were always to protect: a matter of necessity, nothing less, nothing more.

And while she could be a vicious sparring partner, and a dangerous one as the singes on his clansmen who’d been helping her with her Mangekyō could attest, there was a vast chasm of reality between sparring and real combat.

He knew she was capable, that she wouldn’t falter.

He knew she was strong.

Madara merely worried over what it was going to cost her to continue to be so once his father had his way and Takara started serving as an Uchiha kunoichi in full instead of merely in training and title.

He worried for his friend the same as he worried for all his kin and clansmen.

If, maybe, just a little more than most.

She was his oldest friend outside of his brothers.

He didn’t want the realities of shinobi life to tear her apart or turn her cold and hard like it could do sometimes.

Madara and Izuna were shinobi to their bones.  The same as their father and uncles and cousins.  The same as their forefathers.  (And a few foremothers.)

While there were parts of their lives that they might choose to do without - Izuna couldn’t hear of a honeypot mission without grimacing like he had a bad taste in his mouth, too much a romantic - for the most part they enjoyed being shinobi.  Feeling chakra run through them.  The strength and speed it gave them.

(The odd spot of therapeutic murder.)

But he didn’t know if Takara was going to be like them or like those for whom being a working shinobi twisted and turned and changed them from the inside out.

Takara was powerful, there was no denying that.

That didn’t stop Madara from worrying over what that power was going to cost her or take from her in payment before everything was said and done.

Meanwhile, Takara was mentally cackling with glee over all the chaos she could cause with the new techniques under her belt thanks to her Mangekyō.

Don’t get her wrong: she wasn’t looking forward to finding out if a Mangekyō user really could go blind from using their eyes.

None of the Uchiha she used to know or Kakashi-sensei had ever had that problem or had vision issues, so she genuinely didn’t know if that was accurate or not - and she already knew that not everything she thought she knew about the world around her was correct.

For Amaterasu and the chance to kill Zetsu, she’d risk a lot more than a chance of blindness.  Her world could continue if she lost her sight.  The World wouldn’t if Zetsu survived her.

Those were the kind of odds she was more than willing to risk.

Add in the potential ability to vacuum up and fling back in his face one of Madara’s overpowered katon jutsus?  Or Izuna, like she’d done on the small scale with his Suiton: Water Needles attack?  Or doing the same to, say, Senju Butsuma?

Worth it.

Absolutely, despite the potential risk, 100% worth it.

Dealing with the council and the responsibilities of a line head…less so, but if it meant her father surviving and eventually waking up?

Still a deal she would’ve been willing to make.

For her family?

(Past or present?)

Takara would do anything at all.

Woe betide those who got in her way.

“It should be called Karuma no Fǎng!  It is a karmic mirroring that can mimic the attack!”

“No no no!  Karuma no Kagami is more appropriate.  Karmic mirroring in the sense of reflection not copying!”

“It is Kyūshū, none of this karmic nonsense!”  Another voice barked across the crowded confines of the inner ward of the Uchiha’s shrine to the kami, but foremost among them Amaterasu.  “Takara-chan’s ability is to absorb attacks and use the chakra from the attacking jutsu to fuel herself and her chakra reserves!”

“No, no you bloated old goat!”  Another shouted.  “It is Hansha, in the truest sense of inner reflection!  Her ability is to overpower and reflect jutsu back onto their caster.”

Uchiha Seiko sighed, rubbing small circles with her fingertips over her temples as her fellow miko and the priests alike all squabbled - again - over her niece.

Normal jutsu created by a master or a shinobi were the province of their creator to designate and name, but the sacred abilities of the Mangekyō passed down into the trust of an Uchiha by Indra no Uchiwa was another matter.

(It was the most excitement they’d had since Elder Matsunaga had threatened to trip Elder Mikoto down the shrine steps last Obon if she didn’t stop caterwauling over the ancestral tablets instead of cleaning them.)

At this rate, they’d be at it all night arguing over and over in circles whether Takara’s Mangekyō was karmic in nature, whether the ability was true absorption or more reflective.

If it was mirroring and if so to what degree and meaning.

At least it wouldn’t last longer than dawn.  (Though that was little comfort to her growing migraine.)  As the clan leaders had given the Shrine a deadline for naming Takara-chan’s abilities and lineage.

Small mercies.

Seiko had known that her niece was set to change the clan ever since she’d first felt her strong and flowing chakra when she was a newborn.  Nothing since had swayed her.  Certainly not her early onset of the Sharingan, nor how she had been the first woman in their known history to gain the Mangekyō.

Perhaps, one day, she might change matters enough that daughters were considered of enough value that they could no longer be claimed at birth like so much property by the Shrine in the same way that the Uchiha hesitated to marry their children off like civilian cattle.

“You’re all wrong…!”

Well, a miko could dream for the future.

Her path was already set.

Takara felt like a whole new kunoichi after a hot bath - she was tired from working with her Mangekyō but not to the point that she couldn’t katon herself heated water - and an evening spent spinning stories for her little sisters.

Miho-san had looked on in approval as Takara got out her mother’s backstrap loom, and continued working on a complex silk brocade pattern as she entertained her sisters - both with the words spilling from her lips as well as the quick and practiced work of her hands.

Weaving was a pleasure for Takara, not a duty or a chore, though she knew it could be both if she let it.

Certainly it could become that way if she was working on a utilitarian project - the infirmary never seemed to have enough bandages for instance - but what she was able to do for love of both the craft and the recipient was different.

Her sisters would be turning seven soon enough, and if Takara had it her way they would receive their first obi not from hand-me-downs or secondhand but from the work of Takara’s hands instead.

She’d traded with other clanswomen and even her aunties for the silk thread in the right colors, borrowed a few patterns for reference as well as searching through those her mother left behind, and had begun working on warping up her late mother’s loom before winter ever truly set in.  First: a pattern of pink, red, and white camellia - Tsubaki - flowers on a green background with yellow centers.  Which was, oddly enough, the simpler of the two she had planned.  Tsukiko’s mooncakes and bunnies on a blue background design would probably take twice the time with the added difficulty the bunny figures added.

Spending time weaving - both stories and cloth - for her sisters was exactly the break she needed.

As soon as Tajima-sama had the protocols arranged, she had a whole new battlefront to face in addition to the rest of the duties and plans on her plate.

Best to take restful moments as she could get them: if either the Elders or Tajima-sama got their ways, rest and peace would be in short supply.

Color Takara unsurprised that when she woke the next morning, it was to a new message to present herself at the clan hall for another meeting.

Another formal meeting, with the clan heads, their council, and the elders.

Looked like Tajima-sama had moved fast indeed, even for a shinobi.

Joy.

“You’ll take my sisters to check in on Father?”  Takara asked Miho-san absently as the older woman once more helped her wrap herself up like a present, especially as Takara had to scarf down a few rice balls and a cup of tea instead of sitting for a civilized breakfast while Miho-san tied her obi for her - as it was that or go hungry.

“Of course, Takara-chan.”  Miho soothed the worried teenager.  Such a dutiful girl.  “Do not concern yourself with that.  You worry about politics,” Miho pronounced the word like it dirtied her to even have it cross her lips.  “I will handle the household.”

“Thank you, Miho-san.”  Takara breathed out in heavy relief.  “You are a gift worth your weight in gold and grain.”

Miho merely clucked her tongue and straightened the obi musubi she’d tied in the iris style over the furisode that Takara had chosen to wear out of her mother’s collection of kimono.  It was usually a knot reserved for yukata or casual kimono, but in this case was useful as a silent signal regarding her age.  Both her underpinnings and obi were the same from the previous day: linen hadajuban, flannel sasuyoke, indigo sleeveless nagajuban, and wisteria silk nagajuban, plus the highly decorative dancing fans obi tied in a different knot from the previous day.  She’d traded her obi cords for black ones to add formality, along with the uchiwa brooch.  Takara would be well dressed and properly accessorized. 

Despite the warning this time regarding a “formal” audience, neither Takara nor Aiko had ever been so highly placed within the clan to need a black furisode.  They were so far removed from the main family of the Amaterasu bloodline that Minoru-obaa-sama and Tajima-sama might as well be distant stars when it came to the distance between their positions.  Which worked all-in-all as the lack of darker, more mature/somber colors was another reminder that even with all the politicking and maneuvering, Takara was still a teenager.

It was the donuki layer and final furisode overlayer that had been changed, which was a quiet sign of status that none of the elders would be able to ignore - that Takara either had the personal/familial wealth for multiple furisode, or that she had inherited such wealth of wardrobe.

Which was only right and proper as Takara-chan had filled in Miho regarding the sharp shift to the left that events had taken, including that it was only a matter of how quickly Tajima-sama could see it done before Takara-chan was made the head of a new line.

It hadn’t been done in at least two hundred years if Miho remembered her histories correctly.

It had never been done with a female new head at all.

These were auspicious days to be living in, and Miho had coaxed Takara-chan into wearing an equally auspicious furisode to recognize it.  

They would have to commission new kimono for Takara-chan to recognize her station as a line head.  Her garments inherited from Aiko-san or gifted by Hanzou-san were fine indeed, but none of them were of the proper formality or status required of her soon-to-be new station.  The twins and Hanzou-san as well.  They all would no longer be a mixed civilian-shinobi/born-in-married-in household far down the generational tree from the mainline Amaterasu.  Instead they would be a mainline family in their own right, and Miho would see to it that they were attired as was both fitting and required by their change in seniority.

The donuki woven in a pale green-on-green Bishamonten tortoiseshell pattern was fine enough to wear to a formal tea ceremony as an iromuji in its own right, but the painted silk furisode over it with its flying red-headed cranes over blue waves on a mist-grey background was even finer.

By virtue of having only minimal embroidery the flying crane furisode was less formal than the Three Friends of Winter from the previous day, but by a small margin - it was still more than suitable for an audience with the clan leadership.

More importantly - it contained enough lucky or auspicious symbolism to choke even Elder Mikoto’s most dire predictions of doom and gloom, and that was no small thing.

Wrapped once more in her gifted haori (hands swiftly wiped clean on a wet cloth) and a kanzashi of dangling fans in a trio of silver, copper, and gold placed in her braided side-bun, Takara was out the door and ready to face the dreaded elders once more - all before her sisters even rose for the day.

No small miracle, that.

Perhaps the day wouldn’t be a complete shit-show after all.

She’d been wrong.

This was horrible.

Someone send help.

Madara knew that Takara-chan would’ve appreciated both more notice than a messenger in the waking hours of the morning and more precise notice regarding what she was walking into than “formal meeting” but he had to admit:

Watching her glide as elegant as his hawks on the wing into the largest indoor clan meeting hall dressed in full kimono and obi and being one of the only people who knew her well enough to catch the surprise on her face - that might be worth having to dodge an extra jutsu or two in the training field.

Takara-chan was inordinately controlled.  Even when the edge of her tongue was sharpened to killing-steel, it was done with intent and precision.  Getting the drop on her - let alone to the point of her showing it - was hideously difficult as both he, his brothers, and her male cousins had all found out over the years as her main training cohort.

The slight widening of her eyes and the quickly-indrawn breath that she made at the sight of regimented rows of their clan spread in a fanned-array before the twin high seats of the clan leaders, arranged according to a convoluted combination of in-clan lineage, prominence, precedence?

Might as well be a shout of shock from another person.

Madara had always known that Takara would grow up pretty.  It was one of his memories from before his mother died, his mother talking (gossiping) with Obaa-sama about how “Aiko’s little one” was going to be a beauty when she grew up.  It was just known in the clan:

The sky was blue, the Senju were devils, Madara would be powerful, Aiko’s/Hanzou’s Takara was going to be pretty.

But in the rush of everything that had happened since his mother had taken note of her third cousin’s daughter, it was easy to forget that before the clan whispered and gossiped about Takara being a kunoichi and awakening the Sharingan, they talked about her being pretty, and dutiful, and everything a parent could wish for with her quiet, gentle, watchful demeanor.

Watching her strip away her kunoichi uniform and don full formal kimono for the second time in two days, instead of a simple festival kosode, with her hair pinned up and a delicate kanzashi dangling down drawing attention to the height of her cheekbones and the length of her neck, Madara found himself reminded.

Him, and the rest of those who saw her, if the way even the minor chakra reserves of some of the civilian clanspeople present were any sign.

Madara couldn’t read the chakra of everyone present who saw Takara-chan enter the meeting hall, anymore than he could the prior day, some of the clan were far more controlled than others like his father and grandmother, but those he could gave everything from a minor twinge to a full-on jolt of shock.

He could almost hear many of their thoughts, or predict their whispers that would be carried through the clan:

That/this was the half-feral kunoichi that Elder __ so disparaged?  No, it was impossible.  They couldn’t be speaking of the same person.  It made no sense, etc.

Madara didn’t know what to think about Izuna and Akira being among those who looked like they’d been slapped in the face with a wet carp when Takara walked into the clan hall, but he was prepared to tease them about it nonetheless.

As was his prerogative as their elder brother.

Takara’s surprise was far more understandable, as when his father had put a call out for a formal meeting of the clan leadership, he’d meant a formal meeting of the clan leadership.

Every lineage was represented by the majority - if not all - of their main family.

Including Madara and his brothers who were lined up and kneeling in seiza behind him.

High ranked clan members who held offices within the clan were seated after the main family and prominent elders of each lineage, with many of the clan’s shinobi - as well as the Amaterasu trading branch - standing along the walls.

Minoru-obaa-sama and the other female elders were all dressed in kurotomesode, kimono of the highest formality featuring highly decorative hems on a black background with narrower sleeves than worn by unmarried women, Minoru-obaa-sama’s having three Uchiha crests along the top-back of the kimono with another two on the front-chest while the other female elders wore only the mon on their backs.

His father and the male elders or heads of lineage were all in kuro-montsuki, the male counterpart to the female kurotomesode, all prominently displaying the Uchiha crest.

Lower-ranked women wore tomesode with sharingan red or darker azuki-bean maroon backgrounds depending on their status within the clan, while the men wore their most formal montsuki in deep grey, which to Madara’s eyes created a field of a lot of maroon or charcoal grey.

Takara was the only person present, no matter their age, dressed in a light color and she shone against the darker formality like a star in the night sky.

She strode up without so much as a hitch in her step, tabi-shod feet silent on the tatami, and made her bows before the clan leadership, not rising until his father gave her leave to do so:

“Uchiha Takara.”  Tajima’s voice nearly boomed out across the silent clan hall.  “Fuuinjutsu Master.  Adept Medic.  Kunoichi.”  He listed off her accomplishments before the gathered clan representatives - including her promotion to full-kunoichi instead of a trainee following her demolition of a second Senju squad.  “Sharingan Holder since the age of eight years.  Mangekyō Holder at the age of thirteen.”  He paused there and let the ages aligned with her dojutsu progression sink in.  “Blooded warrior of the Uchiha Clan.  Rise.”

Takara lifted herself up from where she had held her forehead without wavering to hover over the triangle of her hands, tanto once more beside her thigh, and sitting back into seiza looked up at the implacable faces of the co-leaders of the Uchiha, flanked on each side by their councils, though she noted Madara was lined up at the head of the Amaterasu call-out instead of seated behind his father.

Instead, one of the two official clan scribes was taking notes with soft swish-swish swish-swish sounds of his calligraphy brush while the other sat fully back from the long table and recorded events with his sharingan for later transcription, between them a line of priests and priestesses from the Uchiha shrine stood in state, several of them holding instruments and even an incense burner.

“By testimony and testing, it is confirmed that on the twentieth day of Shimotsuki, Uchiha Takara manifested a new spirit of the sacred Mangekyō.  A protective spirit, one that acts only when aggressed against, the power thereof shall henceforth be named, as chosen by the Shrine of Amaterasu, as Karuma no Kagami, or karmic mirroring.”

At what had to be a pre-arranged signal, the two flanking priests rang their gongs and then the head priest recited a scripture regarding the Mangekyō and the duties of those who wield it in defense of the clan.  After this first admonition, the priestesses who were next in the lineup to the gong-priests chanted a short prayer to the goddess Amaterasu and her blessed son Indra, the father of the Uchiha.  (Takara…didn’t think that’s how that went, but hey: if Indra’d been abandoned by the Sage of the Six Paths, then who’s to say whether he could’ve been adopted by a goddess or not.  This world was weird enough that she couldn’t rule it out.)  The gongs were rung again, then the high priest recited another scripture, this one covering all the various instances of the Mangekyō’s known powers, another round of gongs, another prayer, and then finally (for Takara) something familiar:

Her Seiko-ba descending from the raised dais to wave the incense burner/censer around her, purifying her in the smoke-symbolic flame, as the High Priestess called up a prayer to Amaterasu specifically on Takara’s behalf, asking for the goddess to guide and safekeep her as the newest blessed of the clan.

No pressure, or anything.

(She was so fucking glad that she was low enough - or used to be - ranked within the clan that she didn’t have to sit through this entire semi-religious semi-political drama when both Madara and Izuna manifested the Mangekyō.  Being the focus of it was bad enough.  Being a bystander and witness would’ve been the next-thing to torture.)

The gongs again, then it was Tajima-sama’s turn to speak once more:

“As Ishikori-dome no Mikoto, Kami of Mirrors, goddess of Casting and Metalworking, once crafted windchimes and the Yata-no-kagami to lure Amaterasu Ōmikami from her cave and return light to the world, so does the Uchiha Clan honor the works of Uchiha Takara, as the manifestor of a new Mangekyō spirit, and name her Lineage Head of the Ishikoridome bloodline.”

More gongs, a prayer to both Ishikori-dome and Amaterasu, gongs again, and then Tajima-sama once more:

“Uchiha Takara.  Daughter of the Uchiha.  Lineage Head of the Ishikoridome.  Stand and be recognized and known to your kin.”

“You’re an evil genius and I hate you, Madara.”

“You’re welcome, Takara.  Don’t forget to talk to Obaa-sama about moving house in the spring.”

“Hate you so much.”

Because everything was awful and fate had it out for her, no sooner had Takara escaped all the social-political bullshittery that followed her ascension ceremony, official patents of bloodline tucked into her sleeve, than a runner from the infirmary reached her:

Her father, after being unconscious and clinging to life for days, had awoken.

An entire day passed between Hanzou’s first awakening and when Takara was able to speak with him about more than that everyone was safe, that Takara had found him and kept him alive until he could be brought back to the compound.

Reassurances that his attack hadn’t truly harmed his daughters - though one look at the drawn expression on Takara’s sweet face and anyone with sense would know that that didn’t mean there hadn’t been hurt involved.

Simply nothing that, in Takara’s estimation, truly amounted to lasting damage.

Which, given Takara’s abilities as a kunoichi, was far less reassuring than the girl herself realized.  Hanzou knew that his daughter’s estimation of what was harm versus what happened to hurt or be painful in the moment, were two vastly different things.  In this, he could not trust her reports.  His treasure was often far more severe to herself than she would be to even an enemy - he required additional information before deciding if his ill-fated run-in with a Senju squad had harmed his eldest or not.

Fortunately - or unfortunately, depending on one’s perspective - Hanzou didn’t rely solely on Takara to be his source of information.

To the point that when Takara was at last allowed to see him for more than a few minutes between tests by the senior medics of the clan, he was already rather well informed about most of what she’d planned to tell him - and a few that she wasn’t.

“Head of the Ishikoridome, my treasure?”  Hanzou prompted when his daughter sat at his side and made as if to start-and-stop speaking several times.  “One of your ideas, or Tajima-sama plotting?”

“Neither.”  Takara blew out a heavy breath, her shoulders slumping a little in relief that gossip - however potentially twisted or inaccurate - had saved her the burden of figuring out exactly how to tell her father of all that had happened.  “Madara’s idea to protect you and the twins from being used against me by the elders.”

“Mmm.”  Hanzou hummed under his breath in surprise.  

Mada-kun, hmm?  

It wasn’t what he expected from the often taciturn clan heir, but in hindsight it wasn’t a shocking turn of events either.  The boy who loved hawks nearly as much as his family hid much and missed little behind those eyes of his.  If anything it was better, to his mind, to have such an idea come from Mada-kun than from either of the clan leaders.  At least with the boy, Hanzou knew that his motives were likely exactly as stated instead of having some concealed element that would bite Takara on the ass later.

“Tell me everything.”  He ordered, and she obeyed, leaving nothing out.

Well, not beyond what she kept to herself routinely anyway, like her real origins, but that was different.

Everything else was laid out succinctly: the Senju attack, her Mangekyō, the rescue squad.  That Takara kept Hanzou alive until he could be taken into the care of the Uchiha medics.  Then the aftermath: the rumors, the first meeting before the elders along with everything that was said and done there - including how she chose to present herself, which had Hanzou cracking a smile for the first time since she began.  The closed-door meeting with Tajima, Kuma, and Madara.  Their plan that Madara began and then was refined by his father.

Learning what her Mangekyō did, how she’d survived taking on an entire squad alone - she didn’t have to get into the implications of a “new” Mangekyō power, Hanzou may have married-in but he’d been given all the history lessons and was expected to know Uchiha Law just like any other member.

If anything, as an out-clan civilian who married in, Hanzou had always been expected to know the laws and traditions and histories better than many born Uchiha.

Then at last, when her throat was dry and her voice in danger of breaking if not for her father pressing a cold cup of water into her hands from the jar at his bedside, she came to the ascension ceremony that had been sprung on her without warning.

Takara had expected that it would take at least a few days for the main family to compile all the information in the archives, complete all the paperwork, cobble together a ceremony, etc.

Not having it handled in an evening and night before being sprung on her the very next morning.

“You did well to move to protect our family before the threat became more than a distant worry.”  Hanzou reassured his daughter, the tension in her face and body loosening at his words.  “While it is not what I wanted for you: to become embroiled in clan politics and having to make such decisions in the first place, I am proud of how you have acted and conducted yourself both as a kunoichi and as my daughter.”

Takara didn’t know why Hanzou’s assurances meant so much to her.  She wasn’t a child in truth.  And yet…  She could not deny that she was his child, and perhaps that reality of her third life had affected her more than she’d ever realized.

Much as she couldn’t help but become attached to the Uchiha and make them hers, having Hanzou proclaim himself proud of her warmed her inside.

“Protecting my family is all I want.”  Takara told him in a moment of raw and total honesty.  “Taking up a position that I have never wanted and wished hadn’t fallen to me is nothing in comparison to other things I might do - I have done - to protect those dear to me.”

She said nothing of the perks to her new position.  Ones that she wasn’t mad about having in her favor.  Even with what they cost her in terms of duties and responsibilities to family and clan that had grown far greater and heavier upon receiving her bloodline patent from Tajima-sama.

From Tajima-sama and not Minoru-obaa-sama because Takara was now the line head of a shinobi bloodline, not a civilian one, and that was starting to show in little ways from whose calligraphy decorated her bloodline patent to big ones like who bestowed it on her.

Takara had a voice now in clan governance.  One that couldn’t be brushed off or ignored coming from a lineage head the way a lone kunoichi with a minor connection to the main line Amaterasu could be dismissed.  One that went beyond friendship with the clan heirs or mentorship under the clan head’s brother.

No: she never would’ve sought the position she now possessed by dint of an active Mangekyō and the main line’s desire to keep training kunoichi.

But: now that she had it, she was far too good a shinobi to disdain using it to its fullest extent to her benefit.

“A more steadfast protector I, your sisters, and the clan could not ask for, my daughter.”  Hanzou smiled at her, even as he tired swiftly, the smile melting away under the push of his own mind to tell her many secrets he had kept from her, the realization of his own mortality spurring him into action far sooner than he ever planned.  “We will speak on the matter of your new position, and our family, once I have been freed from the clutches of Fumiko-sensei.”  He told her.  “Until then, worry no more of it.  We have weathered shifts in status before, and we will do so again.  Let it not trouble you, my treasure.”

“Yes, papa.”

“Good girl.”

Chapter Text

Karuma no Kagami

Chapter Fifteen: Take it to the Grave

It was a full ten days before Fumiko-sensei agreed to release Hanzou into the care of his housekeeper and daughters, and in that time Takara was kept busy indeed along with her young sisters.

A sudden shift in status and prominence among the clan was no small thing.

Both in how it changed matters for their immediate selves but also for the clan at large.

There were dozens of matters that required Takara’s attention and arrangement, some of which while she could handle herself without input from anyone else, she would not do so.  In part due to not wanting to strip all authority from her father and wishing to take his opinion into account.  In others, her innate sense of fairness when it came to those she cared about reared its head.

Takara had the ability and station to make all sorts of decisions in an unilateral, authoritarian manner now that she was a line head.

That didn’t mean she felt it was fair of her to do so, especially on Hanzou’s behalf but only marginally less so in regards to her sisters.

Her direct authority was limited to those within her own bloodline, which due to how Uchiha Law was structured only included her immediate family.  For the moment.  There were ways for the Ishikoridome to grow aside from the natural manner of having husbands marry-in and then producing children.  Or Hanzou choosing to take a second wife from among the Uchiha and doing the same (which would happen approximately when pigs flew.)  But none of those events had happened yet, so while Takara had a voice in the clan governance that couldn’t be ignored, as far as line-head privilege was concerned it was relatively limited compared to the others among the Uchiha.

Except for Matsunana-oji, but as he was an exception in almost every way when it came to the Uchiha leadership, Takara wasn’t about to use him as either an example or an ideal regarding behavior now that the main family had maneuvered her into her new position.

Putting in orders for new clothing for herself and her household - including Miho-san as her housekeeper - to raise their sartorial status to that of a lineage’s main family was one thing.  Though that “one thing” was markedly more complex than she’d anticipated.  Including working with the clan’s only true kimono artisan to design what Ishikoridome motifs were going to look like.  

Which meant in turn meeting with the main archivist to design three crests: one for the lineage head, one for the main family, and one for the lineage in general, so the kimono artisan could put the correct motifs and crests on the ordered garments.  Particularly Takara’s and Hanzou’s, who would each now need kimono of the highest levels of formality, even if they were only worn once a year, which by tradition would need to bear both the Uchiha mon as well as the crests of their line now that they were the main family of a bloodline.  Since the twins were still so young it wouldn’t be a concern until they were older that they wear the right crests and motifs, but it would say much to the rest of the clan to have the entire household properly attired as soon as possible regarding cohesion and a unified front.

Crests and motifs being separate but similar issues, and requiring input from both Minoru-obaa-sama and a representative from the Shrine regarding what would be considered appropriate and giving homage or thanks without overstepping or becoming sacrilegious.  That Takara was originally born into the Amaterasu and had the Amaterasu technique had to be considered and given acknowledgement without making it seem as if the Ishikoridome were merely another branch family.  Even that Hanzou was born out-clan came under discussion, with a few pointed questions for Takara that she couldn’t answer, as she didn’t actually know, regarding his origins from the Shrine rep.

It was a clusterfuck in other words, but one that embodied decisions she had no problem making on her own.

Having to discuss with Minoru-obaa-sama where the Ishikoridome head’s residence was going to be?  Or if they were going to utilize an existing house?  Or if they were going to build new?

All of that she wasn’t going to do without Hanzou able to put in his two-ryo regarding the decision, especially since it wasn’t a foregone conclusion that he or the twins were even going to want to move with her.

Takara would have to move out of her childhood home into one suitable for a lineage head - that didn’t mean Hanzou or her sisters had to as well, despite being part of the “main family.”

Minoru-obaa-sama certainly didn’t live in the clan’s main house with Tajima-sama and his sons, and neither did Kuma-ji and his own family.

And that was only the tip of the iceberg regarding decisions to be discussed between herself and her father - in real privacy, not the facade of it the infirmary provided - now that they were a bloodline’s main family with Takara as the head and Hanzou, potentially, as their elder.

If he wanted to take up the position and all the bullshit that came with it in regards to in-clan politics which wasn’t a guarantee.

It was expected, but not assured.

So when Hanzou was finally allowed to return to their home, and both Miho-san and the twins had gone off to bed, the two of them sat down at a chabudai next to the irori in the main room, Takara activating a privacy seal, and they at last had the discussion that they couldn’t broach while Hanzou was bedridden:

“The patent is beautiful.”  Hanzou admired the calligraphy on the scroll that was made of the finest paper, decorated with the best ink the Uchiha produced and in such detail that only a sharingan holder would've managed the necessary precision, as Takara prepared their tea and served it.  “It will be a keepsake of the family for generations to come.”

He rolled it back up and set it well-clear of potential sparks from the fire as they each knelt across from the other on their feather-stuffed leather pillows - the quiet sign of the type of household they were, had been, since before Takara was even born.

One that carried the mingled and often contrary marks of a huntsman’s and leatherwork’s trade alongside the luxurious fabrics and fine pottery of a trader’s daughter.

“They’re already making noises about moving into a ‘proper’ lineage head residence in the spring.”  Takara narrated her list of issues that she didn’t want to make unilateral decisions on for her father as Hanzou savored the first cup of his preferred strong black tea since before his hospitalization, merely sipping at her own to keep her lips wet as she spoke.  “Elder Mikoto is trying to insist that it wouldn’t be necessary for the Ishikoridome to have a place among the elders given our current census, but she’s facing pushback from Matsunaga-oji in turn given his status as the only Takeminakata alive.  Tajima-sama asked whether or not I intend to open the Ishikoridome to other members of the clan for adoption into the bloodline.” Which had the potential to raise their status within the clan if she accepted any of them, though it would have to be approved by their own bloodline heads and the clan leadership so was… iffy depending on who those “potential” new bloodline members might be.  “Questions about whether the twins will receive shinobi training have popped up again.”  She took a deep breath and then blew it out.  “And my future marriage and potential children has been put to question in a formal meeting of the clan by Elder Mikoto.”

“By Uchiha Law, the only other clan members who are viable for adoption into your bloodline are those who share a direct blood connection to you within the fourth degree.”  Hanzou rattled off without hesitation, tackling the simplest issue first.

In short: the only eligible members of the clan who might be interested in switching bloodlines would be her maternal grandparents, aunts/uncles, and first cousins.  Everyone else was either too distant in relation or too well-placed within the civilian trading branch to want to switch affiliation.  Especially as the Ishikoridome, despite having the cache that went with having a living Mangekyō wielder, were also the newest bloodline - and that mattered to some people, doubly so when one considered that the other two Mangekyō holders were also Amaterasu Uchiha.

If Takara had been a member of a different bloodline, one that didn’t have a living Mangekyō, that would be a much different situation, but as it was, realistically Hanzou only foresaw maybe his sister-in-law Chiyo, her husband Arata, and their sons wanting to join the Ishikoridome.  Arata was a good man, and an excellent shinobi, but he was a relatively minor relation to the Tsukuyomi main family much like Chiyo’s own connection to the Amaterasu.  His sons were yet another generation removed.

Yes, Hanzou could see the rise in respect that went with the status increase being an enticement to his brother-in-law, even if his honor didn’t demand that Arata make the request for adoption into another lineage, seeing it as yet another way to support Takara.

“Take your aunt, her husband, and their children if the request is made.”  Hanzou advised his daughter with care.  “But no matter whose voice it comes from: if the suggestion is made to have Arata serve as your proxy among the line heads in advising Tajima-sama, you should refuse lest the clan grow to see him as the head of our lineage and not you.”

“Arata-ji and not you?”  Takara tilted her head a bit to the side.  “Why do you think that’ll be the suggestion, papa?”

Hanzou gave a soft snort, giving his daughter a look.   “No one is going to try and nominate an out-clan hunter to serve as Tajima-sama’s counsel.”

“Good thing that I planned for you to advise Minoru-obaa-sama as the line elder instead, then.”  Takara smirked when Hanzou spluttered in shock, nearly bobbling his tea cup.  “If Elder Mikoto doesn’t get her way, that is.”

“I’m not Uchiha, my treasure.”  Hanzou pointed out the obvious once he’d recovered from his daughter’s sheer, brazen audacity.  “It would be inappropriate for me to serve as an Elder.”

“If not you, then who?”  Takara asked softly.  “Oji-san?”  She scoffed.  “Elder Mikoto has a direct line to him through Obaa-san.  There is no one else within the fourth degree,” she delineated carefully.  “That I would trust to protect our family with the elders and serve our interests against the likes of Elder Mikoto, let alone all the rest of the jackals that forced me into this position in the first place.”

“I cannot serve as a member of the Uchiha clan leadership in any capacity, my treasure.”  Hanzou set his tea aside, taking a breath and then meeting her eyes.  “Because, married-in or not, I was born Hatake, and that is what I will remain in blood and bone and heart until the day I die and join your mother in the Pure Lands.”

Oh that’s no problem he can still- wait.

Hold the phone, back the fuck up -

Did-

Did he just say Hatake?!

“Once is happenstance. Twice is coincidence. Three times is enemy action.”

Naruto…what the fuck did you do?!

She could have overlooked being reborn with the same amount of chakra as Takara at birth as Toshiko had had when she died.  The dead man’s switch had been tied into her eight gates and tenketsu points.  It could have been happenstance: a natural side-effect of the DMS that none of them had considered as a possibility.

Being born into the Uchiha could have been a coincidence.  Even being born into Amaterasu Uchiha with the potential to develop the signature Mangekyō technique if she manifested the Sharingan and then evolved it.  All of that could have been luck of the draw or Fate deciding to slip a wild card into the deck.

But… this?!

Hanzou, her patient, understanding biological father in her now-third life being Hatake?!

She couldn’t pretend that either Naruto had done more with the DMS than he ever admitted, had made a deal with a deity, (hey, he and Sasuke met Hagoromo, who was at least a demigod from a power perspective, it was possible.) or someone else (like Hagoromo or Hamura) had figured out what Naruto had done and Toshiko had allowed and decided to go that one step (or a dozen) further.

She had never figured out why she’d been reborn the first time.  Or, as reincarnation seemed to be an actual reality instead of a hypothesis, the real question might be why she’d been reborn with her memories relatively intact.  The what, where, and the when were self-evident, but she’d never discovered the answers to the other questions that went along with the standard set: who and why?

Someone out there had fucking Mary-Sue’d her, and she while she appreciated the link to her Kakashi-sensei, she was actually kinda pissed off about it because of all the extra bullshit she’d had to deal with compared to her last life.

Sure, sure: she had power that was almost incalculable compared to her first life and laughed at all the work she’d done to make up the deficit between her and those around her in her second, but at what cost?

What cost?

More than fifteen years had passed since her Kakashi-sensei had been killed and she still mourned him like an open wound that might never close.

The same as Naruto.

The same as her Nobu-ji.

Marginally more than Sasuke-kun and her summons.

Honestly the only reason she wasn’t constantly drowning in grief at first was because she had a job to do and a duty to her lost loved ones to fulfill.

Having an Uchiha’s perfect memory is not kind when someone has lost as much as she has: an entire life, her whole world, everyone and everything she’d ever loved.

She still couldn’t think too long or deeply about her lost partners, and even then that she managed it at all, was because they’d been clear that if/when they died, they didn’t want her ability to love and be loved in return to die with them.

Now her father was telling her that they’re Hatake as well as Uchiha, and Takara didn’t even know what to do with that as she’d built so much of her identity - this time around - centered on being an Uchiha.

Though, she took a breath, not all of it.

She was also Hanzou and Aiko’s daughter.

She was the older sister of Tsubaki and Tsukiko.

She was a cousin and a niece, a granddaughter and a friend.

If she was also Hatake above and beyond everything else, because someone had to have arranged that to give her all the possible weapons against Zetsu in the form of the Hatake White Chakra, (White Chakra which encompassed all the other forms of chakra and explained so fucking much about what was going on with both her affinity(s) and what a beast Kakashi had been) then that was only one more thing.

She could survive one more thing.

She was a shinobi of the Uchiha - and apparently the Hatake - who had once been an ANBU and a Huntress and the Ono Matriarch.

She could survive, she would endure, and at the end of it all by whatever kami or spirit or fucker had decided to mess with her latest incarnation so much, she would thrive.

And at the end of it all, she would hunt down her meddlesome little brother in the Pure Lands and give him his rightfully earned asskicking for doing this to her, and either playing with so many threads of fate or giving someone else the opportunity to do so.

Hell, if she played her cards right, she might even have an Uchiha or two on her side to help her with that well-earned asskicking.

Maybe a Tobirama.

Well.

They’d see, wouldn’t they?

First though: life, and untangling whatever hang-ups her father had so that she could make him a constant thorn in that old bat Mikoto’s side.

“How?”   Takara asked plaintively, eyes wide on her father’s solemn face.  She could have had no information about the Hatake Clan before being born as Uchiha Takara and even then, with the limited information the clans had about one another during the Warring States Era, she would know that the Hatake didn’t just have clans members wander off.  They weren’t like the Hyuuga, using brands and seals to keep control, it was the opposite:

The Hatake offered so much freedom to wander and act as an individual believed best for them, that no one wanted to forfeit their clan affiliation.

On the contrary: the Hatake were notorious for adoption into the clan and with far less strictures and vetting than what the Uchiha, for instance, practiced.

As long as one was of one heart with the pack, they could join the Hatake.

How, then, did at some point in the relatively recent past, did her father’s forebears walk away from the Hatake?

Why would they?

Especially with how dangerous the world around them was without the protection of a clan?

Families of shinobi could survive - her former family, the Ono, had done so without the clout that went with being an officially recognized clan - but anyone without the benefit of numbers, power, or money were at best vulnerable and at worst prey for slavers if they had the ability to use chakra.

Given that her father was the last of his family, a family of what Takara had always been told was one of hunters and affiliated trades: leatherworkers, bone carvers, tanners, furriers, butchers, trappers, etc.; the decision to split off from the Hatake clearly hadn’t worked if the issue was one of longevity and legacy.

So: what the actual fuck had happened, and why would Hanzou’s forebears decided to take such a disasterous gamble?

“What I am about to tell you, you cannot confide in another living soul, Takara.”  Hanzou told her unflinchingly in the face of her devastated, almost betrayed, expression.  An expression that if he knew his oldest daughter at all, she had no idea was showing so many of her inner thoughts or she would have clamped down on her rioting emotions and mind harder and faster than a snapping turtle on prey.  “It is a secret of our family that is only told to each successive son or daughter when they come of age and thereafter taken to the grave.  By telling you now, I am contradicting generations of tradition, you understand?”

“Yes, Father,” Takara straightened up and forcibly smoothed her expression, her hands untwisting and lowered to rest on her lap.  “I understand.”

She knew it wasn’t really a question.  Her father had never treated her like a child so much as his child.  As her first teacher in this life, he’d known more and sooner than anyone else that while her form was small her mind was not.

That he was being both formal (which he almost never was) and serious about the gravity of their connection to the Hatake, told her that whatever had happened, it was no petty dispute.

The strict silence on the subject was a huge fucking red flag in and of itself.

People gossiped all the time and no one gossiped more than shinobi to whom information was life and trade and currency.

For her to have never even gotten a hint with how some members of the clan whispered about her father being an out-clan civilian hunter who was too low-born to have married her mother who while civilian was wealthy and relatively well-connected, was…honestly breathtaking in the sheer amount of work and devotion that Hanzou had to have put in to ensure that no one spoke of his origins.

To the point that while in hindsight Takara knew that at least Tajima-sama and Kuma-ji had to know what bloodline Aiko had married into the Uchiha, not one breath of it had ever shown in how they tested, trained, or treated her.

There were hints, but without the major puzzle piece that Hanzou had kept tight and secret within him, she never would have put them together into an accurate picture.

“The sundering happened between your great-grandmother and her closest supporters along with a few direct relatives of my grandfather, and the main family of the Hatake.”  Hanzou took a bracing gulp of his tea then continued, hand clenching and then releasing on the cup.  “A dozen adults and four children in total split from blood, clan, and pack.”  He swallowed harshly.  “Not including the twins my grandmother carried, who would become my father and aunt.”

“Not your grandfather?”  Takara noted the discrepancy at once.  That Hanzou spoke of relatives of his grandfather, but not the man himself.  “Was it a divorce?”

It was almost unheard of in the Warring States Era, but divorce could happen by law, if shockingly rare by custom and tradition.

“It was envy.”  Hanzou corrected her assumption, though he couldn’t blame her for making it.  He was jumping around, he supposed, in his storytelling.  He’d never expected to have to tell the full story, not for years yet.  The Uchiha had even been content with the truthfulness of being told that his paternal grandparents had been Hatake but had left the clan under the agreement of secrecy regarding the specifics.  Since Hanzou had been the last of his line, and demonstrably a civilian, that had been enough despite his few, basic chakra techniques he used as a hunter and his chakra reserves.  The potential boons - has shown in Takara’s excellence - far outweighed any reservations they might have had regarding the scant background he was willing to speak of.  “Envy and ego and greed.”

Well fuck.

Takara knew she wasn’t going to like the rest of the story just based on that synopsis alone, especially when taken hand-in-hand with the heavy expectation of secrecy it came with.

“Your great-grandmother wasn’t born to a civilian family.”  Hanzou began.  “Her parents were Hatake shinobi, blood bound to a summoning contract in the Hatake way.  Only when her mother was pregnant, they were attacked during their summer roaming.  Her father was killed, her mother saved but went into premature labor.  Yūna-obaa-sama was born two months early and if it weren’t for the strong chakra of her mother and kin supporting her, she would have died as a baby.  That she survived was the only reason her own mother outlived the loss of her mate.”

“Two months early.”  She mused aloud.  “She was a civilian because her chakra system was underdeveloped.”

“From what I was told, she was never able to do more than meditate and feel her own chakra.”  Hanzou said, unsure, given the nature of hearsay and second/third-hand accounts, if that was reality, perception, or assumption.  “Not able to do even basic chakra exercises.  It wasn’t a problem - at first - and Yūna-obaa-sama simply grew up training to become a leatherworker and artisan rather than a kunoichi.  She was a quiet Hatake, rather than a boisterous one, but not anything they weren’t used to.”

“When did it change?”

Where did envy, ego, and greed come in?

“When her mother died and she was given into the care of her paternal family.  The sticking point, or so I was told,” he continued.  “Was her family contract.  When her father married her mother, he signed the contract of her maternal family, it was considered part of her mother’s dowry, supposedly.”

Ugh, yeah, Takara could already see where her father was going with the story.

“Her maternal family wanted it back because she didn’t have the chakra to sign it and bond with the summons, right?”  She asked, cynical and far too aware of how families and clans could jockey over a treasure like a summoning contract.

“Mm.”  Hanzou nodded, lips in a bitter twist.  “To keep the peace, the contract was given back to her maternal family by the clan head, granted into the keeping of her uncle and his own children rather than kept in trust for any children Yūna-obaa-sama might have with the ability to take up the charge of the summons.”

“Hatake practice absolute primogeniture?”  Takara was taken aback, as she legitimately hadn’t known that.  

Though why would she?  Kakashi and his father had both been only children, and Kakashi never had children - blood or adopted - before the Fourth Shinobi War broke out.  Her sensei may have taught her much when it came to being a shinobi, but that was different than teaching her clan or family secrets.  If he even knew them in the first place, considering how young he was when his father committed suicide.

“They do.”  Hanzou confirmed, nodding.  “With the exception of their pack/clan head, which goes to the heir chosen and raised to be the next Alpha by the previous one - and not always from within their own family or selected from among their children.”  Then he frowned, as it had never been entirely clear to him either, how that worked in practice.  “There might also be an aspect of the Wolf Sage selecting the next Hatake Alpha, but that might just be a folktale my father used to distract me when I was younger.”

Honestly, Takara wouldn’t be surprised if that was true, given what she did know from Kakashi-sensei about his (their?!) family and some of his stories from when Hatake were still wandering rangers rather than a shinobi village clan.

“Regardless,” Hanzou waved that bit of fanciful nonsense off, getting back to the point.  “The contract was given back to Yūna-obaa-sama’s maternal family and as a result, Yūna-obaa-sama began to focus more on building connections among her father’s kin and the civilian artisans among the clan.  That was the first break.  The next came when she was an eligible maiden.”

Takara wanted to groan, because now she abso-fucking-lutely knew where this was going given how utterly predictable humans - and their shitty fucking behavior - could be.

“Let me guess:” she interrupted the flow of her father’s story.  “Handsome, powerful, virile shinobi bachelor becomes enchanted with the delicate blossom of Yūna-obaa-sama instead of whatever fierce Hatake huntress had been pursuing him, they get married, his spurned admires are stupid and jealous.  He dies.”

“He’s killed.”  Hanzou corrected, taken aback by how…accurate his teenage daughter’s summary was, but…it was Takara.  She was a kunoichi at the end of the day, and from what he understood both from the stories passed down by his family before they died, and from his friends among the clan, his grandmother’s story wasn’t all that uncommon to shinobi.  Scorned and/or lost love was apparently a lucrative business when one could carry out a discreet assassination.  “Ambushed on a courier run.  Yūna-obaa-sama never really believed that his route just happened to be discovered, but her suspicions were dismissed out of hand.”

“The second break.”

“Mm.”  Hanzou nodded again.  “She asked his family and her late father’s kin to look into it, and if only to soothe her heart and mind after all she had lost by that point they agreed.  Eventually it was discovered that the same cousin who had been granted the right of her summoning contract had been the one to work with enemy shinobi to murder my grandfather.  The problem was one of proof.”

“It would be easy to cry foul.”  Takara wrinkled her nose.  “Or say that those who uncovered the traitor had an agenda.”

“Yūna-obaa-sama left the clan in protest when the Alpha refused to do more than question her cousin over her husband’s death.”  Hanzou narrated.  “The Alpha was willing to let her go without challenge, since as far as he knew, she was just a grieving widow with an axe to grind.  He was less pleased that others wanted to follow her.”  He grimaced.  “If he’d known she was pregnant, it was likely that he’d have refused to release her at all.”

“Papa…”  Takara narrowed her eyes on his face in suspicion.  “Who was Oji-sama within the Hatake?  What was his name?”

“My grandfather,” Hanzou said slowly, almost painfully, as if the admission was being pulled out from deep within him.  “Was named Kei at birth.”  His throat spasmed as he swallowed harshly.  “When he was chosen to be the Alpha Heir, he was granted a new name to take with him into leading the Hatake: Hatake Kazuhiko.”

One prince, she knew even without seeing the kanji how that name had been written.

“He was the youngest son of the Alpha’s only brother.”  Hanzou continued the sordid tale.  “But bright and powerful, fierce and intelligent.  One of the strongest warriors that Hatake had produced in years.  Everyone assumed he would want a fierce she-wolf for his mate, but instead he wanted - or so it was told to me,” he qualified, as he had been trying to do, lest his daughter take his words as utter truth rather than as a story that had been passed down to him.  “He wanted his home to be a place of comfort and rest and peace instead of another battlefield.”

“So he chose Yūna-obaa-sama.”  Takara concluded, and that tracked.

Her great-grandmother from what her father said and didn’t say, had been from a prominent family among the Hatake.  Prominent enough to own a summoning contract and those were even rarer in the Warring States Era than they were after the formation of the shinobi villages.  Skilled, well-bred, and no doubt beautiful given that she drew the attention of the clan heir.

It was a recipe for disaster, even with everything else regarding Yūna-obaa-sama.

“And was murdered for it.”  Hanzou sighed, mournful that such events happened enough for them to be seen as common and predictable rather than the tragedies of human nature they were.  “Yūna-obaa-sama hid her pregnancy with pungent herbs against the Hatake heightened sense of smell and clever padding of her clothes.  Then she and her supporters made their agreement with the grieving Alpha and stuck with wandering in the unclaimed territories between the Hyuuga and the Land of Whirlpools.”

“How’d she kill the murderous wench?”  Takara asked what seemed to her to be a pertinent question.  “I know she didn’t leave it like that.”  She clarified when her father just looked at her.  “Not if she’s anything like me, like us.”

Or was a Hatake, no matter what issues she faced growing up.

From everything her father told her and the missing pieces in the story, there was clearly nothing wrong with Yūna-obaa-sama’s brain: a little naive maybe to think she could just marry a clan heir without having to worry about opposition over disappointed hopes and jealous bitches, but not stupid.

“Poison and time, according to my great-aunt.”  Hanzou said, arching a brow at the implication that if his darling daughter were put into such a situation as Yūna-obaa-sama, that murder would be exactly her response.  “Watched the hunting grounds, listened to rumors, started predicting what sort of missions from past seasons her cousin had been sent on, and then laid a trap.  Took a few tries, apparently.”  He smirked.  “But it was done before my father and aunt were five years old.  It is the patient hunter, in the end, that is the most dangerous.”

Takara nodded, lips pursed as she considered the sheer logistics of what her Yūna-obaa-sama must have invested in time, information gathering, and soft interrogation to pull off assassinating a Hatake kunoichi - let alone get away clean afterwards when she or one of her supporters must have been a suspect to the Hatake in the fallout.

“What happened to the rest of our family?”  She asked, since for once - if only because he had recently stared down his own mortality, and abhorred the idea of being an Elder - he was willing to teach her more than techniques he’d inherited.  “Who was your mother, my oba-san, who were her people?”

What sort of cosmic dice had her beloved little brother played with in creating her as she now was?

He shrugged.  “Old age, illness, injury.”  He listed off, most of those wounds old and faded now, nothing but lingering scars.  “My aunt fell in love with an Inuzuka from the border of Wind Country, I would assume we still have cousins within that clan but she never sent word back before we moved after Tou-san met Kaa-san.”

“And?”  She prompted, seeing if she could finagle any other surprise revelations from her father before he clammed back up.  “Who was she, how’d they meet?”

“Now that,” Hanzou sighed.  “Is another story entirely, as far as Kaa-san goes…”

Chapter Text

Karuma no Kagami

Chapter Sixteen: If-Then

“Now that,” Hanzou sighed.  “Is another story entirely, as far as Kaasan goes…”

…

Takara desperately restrained the urge to shake her father like a maraca until family history fell out because he’d already dropped one fucker of a Hatake-shaped bombshell on her head and they hadn’t even covered half his heritage, let alone three of the issues she wanted his input on regarding her new position within the clan.

She’d assumed - erroneously, as it happened, which figured - that the reason Hanzou didn’t speak that much about who their family were beyond teaching her the skills that had been passed down to him, was so that she and her sisters could focus on integrating into and being fully Uchiha.

He’d chosen to marry-in, so it had seemed like a safe assumption to make.

Not so much, as it happened, as instead when it came to unburying the family history, it was more like unburying bodies hand-in-hand with assorted sordid secrets.

“You remind me so much of my father, Takara.”  Hanzou told her earnestly.  He had always seen the Hatake thriving within his eldest.  That wildness that had been passed down from parent to child since the first of their family decided to create a blood-pact with wolves and then later dogs and jackals and other canine spirits.  For all that her face was mostly Uchiha, and the blue of her eyes and the red hint of her hair his mother’s, everything else about Takara was Hatake.  She may not have the name, but Hatake had bred pure and true in her personality and even her chakra for all that she possessed the rarest of sharingan.  “You have never flinched in the face of protecting another, and that was him from his head to his feet.  We left shinobi life behind when we split from the pack, but that didn’t make him less of a hunter or a dangerous man in his own right.  Tousan met Kaasan when he saved her life.”

“Please don’t say it was from Senju, or I’m gonna flip this table.”  Takara almost groaned.

History repeating itself was what she was trying to avoid in this new life, not embody for fuck’s sake.

“No, not the Senju.”  Hanzou choked back a laugh at how exasperated his daughter appeared at that moment.  “Tousan never knew and Kaasan never said.  We knew she’d run from something, and that it left her deeply wounded inside, but she refused to speak of it, even on her deathbed.  Only that she was going to continue moving away from the coast, whether Tousan joined her or not.”

Which rather explained how her father was in place to meet her mother at all, Takara supposed.  As while the Uchiha traders traveled far and wide, they didn’t go near the Land of Whirlpools.  Far too risky given the historical alliances in place between the Uzumaki and the Senju, much for the same reasons that Takara had never been sent to Uzushio for fuuinjutsu training.

The Uchiha, whether they were actively warring with the Senju or not, were always feuding with them - which made their alliances suspect at best.

It was funny how the smallest events, the most innocent coincidences, could culminate in the most interesting or dangerous bits of the future.

If, if, if.

If after leaving the Hatake, her great-grandmother and her people had chosen a different part of northern Fire Country to wander.

If her grandmother hadn’t been running from whoever or whatever she’d left behind.

If they hadn’t headed west once her grandparents had met.

If, if, if, it would have ended in a future (now past) where Hanzou and Aiko had never met, let alone been in place to be the biological parents of Takara and her sisters.

All those ifs, leading to a place and time and person for Takara to become and create another event that would irrevocably change the future in turn: destroying Zetsu and the Gedō Mazō.

“You know what blue eyes, red hair, a fear of the eastern coast, and large chakra reserves,” the last based on an off-hand remark Hanzou had made years ago when Takara was struggling with chakra control.  “Equate to, don’t you, Papa?”

“Mm.”  Hanzou hummed, not concerned about what his daughter was alluding to.  “No one is ever going to look at you or your sisters and think Uzumaki, my treasure.”  He wasn’t being dismissive, but practical.  

Whatever that had happened to drive his mother away from her own people, it, unlike his family’s sundering from the Hatake, was dead and buried.  

They were safe from the Uzumaki.

While the perpetrator behind the sundering was long dead and the then-Alpha now gone, there was no way for him to know if the Hatake still spoke about his grandparents, or if they held a grudge.

His family certainly had done so, nurturing it at their breasts until the days they took their last breaths, and a wisp of it still lived on in him.

There were some slights, some wounds, some betrayals that one just could not forgive and would never forget.

He imagined such a situation wasn’t unlike what had sparked the feud between Senju and Uchiha - if on a far wider and more vicious scale.

“In that, the Sharingan is a blessing.”  She drawled sardonically, shaking her head.  “No one is ever going to look at me and think Hatake either, so long as I have tomoe waiting to spin into life inside my eyes.”

She would have a full breakdown over her father’s revelations later.   When she had the fullness of time to curse her meddling little brother - or Fate, or the gods - in peace and several languages.  For now, she had intra-clan issues to sort out before they morphed, grew fangs, and started chomping off pieces of herself and her loved ones.

Including her stubborn bastard of a father.

Sage, now that she knew, she could see it: Uchiha Hanzou was such a fucking Hatake…though granted her exposure had only ever been limited to one of their kind.

“I cannot serve as a clan elder, Takara.”  He came back around to his original point, conceding that his daughter had an excellent one in turn.  His lightning strike of a huntress aside, there was no better shield against being discovered as Hatake than such an obvious kekkei genkai as the Sharingan.  Maybe the mokuton, if only because from what he understood the Senju boy was so loud about it.  “Clan politics have been the undoing of our family before, if it was my choice none of us would have to deal with them again.”

“That is exactly why I need you to counter Elder Mikoto.”  She argued right back, sympathizing with his position but utterly unmoved by it.  “Again: if not you, then who?   If we are going to protect Tsukiko and Tsubaki from the same sort of manipulations and games I’ve been subjected to since I was eight years old, we need more than the support of our clan heads.  Minoru-obaa-sama and Tajima-sama are only two people, no matter how powerful.  I have the majority of the Uchiha warriors willing to support me, but the Uchiha aren’t only our warriors.  Every day I stand as a kunoichi, I risk Elder Mikoto and her agenda - for whatever reason she might have it - turning the clan’s civilians against me.”  She stared plaintively into her father’s eyes, then pulled out the big guns.  

Ha.  He was a Hatake.  Even if she didn’t know how to work him in the time-honored manner of beloved daughters everywhere, Kakashi-sensei had given her a kami-damned manual on how to do an end-run around Hanzou’s scruples.   

“Papa.  I cannot do this alone.” she waved a hand at the bloodline patent.  “I need your help.  Please.”  She asked.  “If the Ishikoridome are allowed a position among the Elders, I need it to be you that sits it.”

…

“If I accept.”  Hanzou closed his eyes and put aside his reservations for a moment in favor of practicality and what was best for his family now versus in the past.

He knew his daughter.

She didn’t need him as much as she thought she did.  In fact she’d proven that without question.  That she was sat before him as the head of a new, recognized, bloodline among the Uchiha instead of having been removed from her position as a kunoichi proved that while Elder Mikoto was a problem, it was one Takara was prepared to face and solve.

Alone if she had to, but with the support she had garnered over the years since she saved Tajima-sama’s younger sons and her cousin Haruki as well.

Takara didn’t need him.

He even suspected that she knew that and simply didn’t want to admit it.

Her sisters, however, needed them both, needed them working together rather than at odds, and more than anything the protection that they could offer them until they were old and wise enough to protect themselves.

Takara wasn’t wrong about that, for all that she’d not outright said it.

“I want your promise that you will do everything within your power and abilities to keep your sisters from being forced into becoming kunoichi.”  He opened his eyes and stared into Takara’s gaze unflinchingly, without fear that she would flash and flare her sharingan, let alone use it against him.  “If they want and choose it, as you did, then I will accept it and support them as unstintingly as I have done you.”  He explained when she remained silent for a beat too long.  “All I have ever wanted for any of my children was for them to live long and happy lives.  As our foremother’s story makes clear and you have seen for yourself among the Uchiha, that is often not the reality for shinobi.”

“As you wish.”  Takara nodded in concession to her father’s wish.

He was right: it wasn’t what she had chosen or would choose in his place.  It wasn’t aligned with her worldview to keep her sisters away from shinobi training when it could protect them.  But he was right in that the life of a shinobi was often short, violent, and filled with blood and there was only so much an individual who wanted more than that could do to prevent it - especially since every battle or mission could be the last for a shinobi no matter their age, strength, or skill set.

It was deadly and dangerous rather than safe or comfortable.

She couldn’t blame her father for wanting more for her and her sisters than the life of a kunoichi.

She understood his point of view all too well, even if she thought it wasn’t necessarily a realistic one.

Takara also couldn’t begrudge him it.  Hanzou’s good heart and his ideals regarding his loved ones were traits that made him such a good father to her and a great one to her sisters.  Hanzou wouldn’t be Hanzou if he didn’t have that wariness about shinobi life bred into his bones by what had happened to their foremother.

He was different in his views - that didn’t make him or either of them wrong.

“They will need chakra and self-defense training.”  She stipulated rather than give away entirely when it came to her sisters’ education.  “Tsukiko already wants to learn to embroider and the early reports from Chizuru-sensei are promising.  She might make a fuuinjutsu mistress.”  Takara paused, letting the reality of Tsubaki’s more energetic and active person rest unsaid between them.  If the elder twin might make a fuuinjutsu mistress, the younger might decide to follow the other example Takara had set into the ranks of Uchiha kunoichi.  But: as promised, Takara wouldn’t push it.  “If she’s interested, perhaps giving Tsubaki more hands-on work in learning what was passed down from the Hatake might not go amiss.”

Hanzou held in the urge to roll his eyes.  Yes.  Because training Takara to be a Hatake huntress and woodsman had worked out so well for him.

Even if, like Takara’s respectful lack of argument regarding his point of view, he also knew that his eldest daughter was only being logical when it came to her sisters and their differing temperaments.

“Perhaps she might learn falconry.”  Hanzou grumbled, which was as close to conceding to Takara’s point that he was willing to get so soon after a much larger concession regarding the Elders and their unofficial council.  “In a year or two.”

Takara held up her hands in surrender, not wanting to get into an actual argument rather than a debate with her father over her sisters’ futures.  There was years yet to really worry and scrap about it.  For the moment, she was willing to concede that particular battle in favor of all the rest that they needed to be unified regarding.

“We’re not giving up our house.”  Hanzou added, testily, knocking back the rest of his tea.  He was exhausted to his bones and more than ready to sleep after the turmoil of the evening.  “It was your mother’s and by right should pass to one of your sisters if you’re being forced into an official residence.”   He scowled at the bottom of his cup before setting it aside with a click.  “Neither would it be ideal for you to live alone…”  He sighed.  “Let me think on it.  I have the bones of an idea but the whole animal has yet to make itself known.”

At least he had the outline of an idea.  It was more than Takara had come up with in the wake of everything else that had arisen - not at all and then all at once - since her ascension ceremony.  She’d been more worried about what Elder Mikoto might get up to next in her campaign to abolish Uchiha kunoichi back to historical precedent to do more than get a headache thinking about having to have an Ishikoridome official residence.

The last time Takara had to really think about moving, it was a literal two lifetimes ago as if her relationship with Itachi and Shisui had continued along its original trajectory instead of being destroyed with her loves’ deaths in war, her moving into the Uchiha Compound was a foregone conclusion.

“Which really only leaves marriage and children - mine for now, but eventually my sisters as well - to discuss before Elder Mikoto continues hammering on it.”  Takara restrained the urge to slump, dejected, over the chabudai.  “My performance before the clan will have bought time, but not enough of it.”

Hanzou made a face, not eager to discuss any of his precious girls growing up and marrying, but especially under the gimlet eyes and judgment of the clan elders.

If they were careful with the negotiations, they could push out the date of actual marriage until Takara was at least eighteen, twenty if they were supremely lucky, but the normal ways to stave off interfering elders had been undercut - at least somewhat - by Takara’s new station.

It was hard to argue age and maturity as reasons to delay at least accepting suitors to spend time with Takara and see if they might suit when she had been promoted both as a full kunoichi of the clan, but more drastically as a line head.

Unfortunately, as she’d already had her first bleeding, her body being physically immature for childbearing was also off the table, though common wisdom would have her waiting until she was older to actually do so.

Her aunt Chiyo, as one of the most respected midwives of the clan, would have the balls of whoever suggested Takara marry and produce children immediately.  In that way Hanzou was comforted he wouldn’t be fighting this particular social battle alone.  That didn’t stop him from contemplating a few ways to make Elder Mikoto’s life more… irritating if not out-and-out difficult for being the catalyst behind him even having to have this conversation with his daughter before she was ever officially considered an eligible maiden.

“My sisters and I will not have the option to find a husband out-clan to marry-in.”  Takara began pragmatically.  

She’d had love before.  She didn’t know if she would ever feel for someone else the way she had for Itachi and Shisui.  She had loved them for different reasons, but she had loved them totally.  Being married to them would have been like a dream.  

But this wasn’t Konoha and she was wide awake now.

Better to have a partner she could respect and who would respect her, a man in her bed that she could enjoy, a good father to their children, than to wish for something that might never be and that she might never be able to feel again.

“Well-” she paused, mind running through various contingencies and what Uchiha Law actually stated.  “Not as a primary spouse.”

Hanzou made a sound as if wounded.  “Don’t speak of taking multiple spouses, my treasure.”  He wasn’t too proud to beg.  “Bad enough that I must entrust my daughters to another man’s protection one day, don’t make me think of you,” as logically Takara would be the only one likely to either have a husband die - due to him being a shinobi - or have the status to support more than one spouse.  “Stealing a husband from another clan to take as your secondary spouse.”

It said a lot that Hanzou had no doubts about his daughter’s ability to steal herself a husband if she genuinely ended up taken with an out-clan man.

It was how that theoretical son-in-law might react - let alone his own family and/or clan - that was the stuff of nightmares.

“I’m not exactly jumping at the chance to take a war-bride, papa.”  Takara pointed out dryly, as based on historical precedent, enemy shinobi who had been abducted and married-in made up ninety percent of the rare instances of multi-spouse households.  And certainly none in the last few hundred years.  The rest were pragmatic arrangements in times of scarcity to secure trade deals and feed the clan, or provide a needed level of influence among the nobility.  “Or some spoiled nobleman’s son.  I’m simply thinking through all my options, no matter how potentially distasteful.”

Hanzou was both proud and saddened that his eldest was speaking of herself alone, taking on the burden of making a “proper” marriage (as it would be seen by the clan) onto her own shoulders to free her sisters to marry for love.

He didn’t know what he’d done - in this life, or the past - to deserve such a daughter but he would give thanks for her in the Shrine until the day he died for such a blessing nonetheless.

She was so strong and wise and practical that at times he didn’t understand how such a being could have been born from himself or Aiko.

Then she would lose her temper and he would remember exactly who’s child she was.

“Are there any clan boys you at least like?”  Hanzou asked, changing the subject from distant possibilities to a more grounded discussion.  “Certain parents I might start making in-roads with for future negotiations?”

He didn’t think she realized, being far too focused on all of the issues of status and social position and hierarchy that she’d been forced to handle of late, but as far as the clan boys went…if they weren’t already in love with someone else, his treasure could have her pick if she wanted.

Leaving aside the politics of it, the reality that as a line head there wasn’t any better that most Uchiha sons could do except marrying into the head families of the older bloodlines: his Takara was going up to be a beautiful woman.

Just like her mother, and Hanzou’s own mother, Takara may not have the most vaunted lineage (directly) among the Uchiha, but she had a face that would be enough on its own to marry into even the highest echelons of civilian nobility.  Hanzou had spent his own marriage haunted by whispers that Aiko had ‘wasted’ her face by marrying him when she could have had Kuma-sama.  Or Daichi-sama, who was the heir of the trading branch.

Instead, Aiko had fallen in love with a woodsman and brought him into the clan, and there were those among the older generations who had never let either of them forget it.

Oh, not among Aiko’s direct family.

Hanzou had never felt unwelcome among them.

But there was a minority that now was watching his daughters, especially Takara, far too closely to see what they were going to do with Aiko’s beauty and Hanzou’s chakra reserves.

To see which family and bloodline was going to gain from the strength Hanzou’s fresh blood had brought into the clan.

Even if Takara had never had her social status raised so high, once she grew into the promise of beauty she currently possessed, she would have had her pick of suitors to fall in love with and marry.

Now she had the status too, but was far more constrained as a result.

“Not really.”  Takara sighed, making a face.

It was the same problem she’d faced as Toshiko but compounded by the fact that now she has felt what real, enduring, devoted love felt like and had a mind even older than before.

Boys her age were boys.

If she was going to have to marry, she wanted an actual man, and she definitely didn’t want there to be an ick factor - on either part - because of a large age disparity physically even if she knew there would always be a gap mentally.

She knew what Madara was going to look like as a grown man, and Uchiha as a whole tended to be attractive, but she wasn’t attracted to any of them now.

Add in the fact that she earnestly hoped that none of them were attracted to her, as she’d yet to do more than begin maturing into a grown woman, and it was a whole mess that was far worse than when she was Toshiko.

If only because she doesn’t have the option to take off for a couple years and hide in the Summons Lands until the age gap became less of an issue in her late teens.

Here and now she was going to have to play along and endure courtship and boyish fumblings before being tossed into marriage and having to make something work between herself and whoever she ended up with.

Ugh.

The whole situation felt more like a chore than what was supposed to be one of the best and happiest times of her life as a woman.

Probably because her sense of romance had, if not died with her lost loves, at least been put into deep-freeze.

She didn’t know if a man existed who could pull her out of that mindset, let alone storm her internal battlements and climb the walls, but she also didn’t know if she even wanted to let one close enough to even make an attempt.

Losing Itachi and Shisui at once had come the closest to breaking her as anything ever had.

She didn’t know if she could ever let herself risk such pain and…hollowness ever again.

Not when forming a working, congenial partnership with a spouse was so much safer - both for herself, and for ensuring that the world didn’t go to hell in a handbag because she took out Zetsu and thoroughly fucked over the timeline.

Which she hadn’t actually done yet, but now that she had the tools she needed, she was simply waiting for an opportunity.

Takara thought about the unattached young shinobi of the clan for a long moment through that lens.  Focusing on what would serve her purpose best.  Serve her family.  Mutual respect, patience, would probably make a good father…

Powerful enough not to be afraid of her.

It narrowed the list quite a bit, particularly since patience and power didn’t always go hand-in-hand.

“Hikaku, Kuma-ji’s son, maybe.”  She named a name, however reluctantly.  “As the son of a second son, he’s not in direct line for leading a bloodline or the clan, and I like him as a person well enough.”

He was certainly a lot calmer than Madara or Izuna, and with what she’d seen of him with his younger cousins there was a lot of potential there to make a good parent.

Hanzou nodded slowly, seeing her point even if he wasn’t sure about how their personalities might match up.  Well they were young.  This was only a preliminary discussion at the end of the day, Takara might fall in love before the elders really start pushing the matter.

“Anyone else?”

“Saburō, Kyō-taicho’s younger brother.”  Takara said, after a long moment.  “He’s eighteen or nineteen, if I remember correctly, but unmatched.  Main family Tsukuyomi, but his older brother and nephews all come before him to inherit.”

Age aside, Hanzou agreed that Saburō might make a very good match for Takara, and it at least gave him two different families to investigate.

Supporting Takara as a kunoichi was one thing.

Having Takara marrying their sons was another situation entirely.

He wasn’t about to allow his daughter to take a husband if the man’s family wouldn’t fully support her as their daughter in law, or would smile to her face and run her down behind her back.

“We have time.”  Hanzou reiterated, standing and then moving to crouch and hug his daughter who’d spoken more enthusiastically about household chores in the past than she had the prospect of choosing a husband.  “Your genpuku shiki won’t be until the New Year celebrations after your fifteenth birthday.  Even Elder Mikoto won’t hammer on about you getting married before then after her recent embarrassment.  Talk to the clan shinobi about more than techniques and missions, my treasure.”  He encouraged her.  “See if there’s one you like.  He doesn’t have to be perfect, only worth the effort of building a marriage with.”

“Yes, Papa.”  Takara allowed herself a moment’s weakness, snuggling into Hanzou’s embrace.  “It’s all just talk.”

“Exactly,” he squeezed her close.  “Just talk.  If I negotiate well enough, it will just be talk for years.  Remember that: you’re not just looking at who those boys are today or tomorrow, but who they might be in five, ten, fifteen years, yes?”  He pressed a kiss to her forehead.  “It’s one of the most important decisions you’ll ever make.  No need to rush - in fact, I insist you don’t.”

“The elders…”

“Pah!”  He sniffed.  “You leave them to me.  Council seat or no council seat, I’m not going to let Uchiha Mikoto and her cronies force you into a miserable marriage to soothe their sensibilities.”

Or the Uchiha would be reminded just why it was a bad idea to try and muzzle and chain a Hatake.

…

Tajima allowed matters to settle among the clan.  For the initial shock to fade over Takara-chan’s latest show of power and, to his own surprise, a rather deft understanding of social politics.  He waited for Hanzou-san to return to the care of his family and to begin getting his house in order.

Then, before the annual Tōji celebrations that also marked Takara-chan surviving another year towards her coming of age, he called his two eldest sons into his office with its fuuinjutsu privacy barriers.

And then he asked what was one of the most important questions he had ever posed to either of his immediate heirs:

“Which of you will be courting Takara-chan after she has her hair-pinning ceremony next year?”

…

What?!

Madara and Izuna shared a stunned look as their father simply watched them out of steady eyes, not a single flicker of his expression showing anything but the utmost seriousness.

“Pardon me, Tou-san.”  Madara said, despite being just as taken aback by his father’s shocking question as Izuna who was slowly turning so deep a red that Madara was concerned about him having a heart attack despite his young age.  “But…what?”

“Which of my sons,” Tajima rephrased, giving them both a look.  “Will ensure that the most powerful, talented, and intelligent woman to be born into the Uchiha in generations will be their wife and hopefully pass down those same traits to their children, hm?”  He tapped his fingers on the desk before him.  “Or are my sons, blind to all that Takara-chan has to offer as a bride?”  His tone turned scathing.  “And will let her fall into less worthy hands?  Your cousin Hikaku, perhaps?  Or one of the Tsukuyomi boys?”  He pressed his point forward relentlessly, drilling it down into the depths of their heads the way he used to drill them on Uchiha Law or jutsu.  “Because let me assure, my sons.”   His voice dropped to nearly a whisper but was no less threatening for it, from the fiery look in his eyes to the tension in his face and form.  “You might be young striplings fool enough to allow such a travesty, but I am not.”

Tajima supposed, if he had no other choice, that he could accept Takara-chan marrying his nephew as it would still be a blending of Amaterasu blood with her new bloodline, but that was the most he was willing to concede on the matter.

The Uchiha shirei-kan would not be surprised if he came to learn over the next months that he wasn’t the only parent or patriarch to have such a conversation with his heirs.

Takara-chan had been named exceedingly well and accurately for she was a treasure of the Uchiha indeed - and he was not going to allow her to waste herself on a less than ideal marriage.

“Hmm?”  He prompted again as it seemed both of his eldest sons had lost their voices.  “I am waiting for an answer.”

…

Chapter Text

Karuma no Kagami

Chapter Seventeen: The Uchiha Boys

Madara shared a mortified look with Izuna, who was slowly turning a less-worrisome color as the shock of his father’s question lost its newness.

Especially in the wake of everything that followed afterward:

A concise rendition of Takara-chan’s most valuable traits as seen by their father, and exactly what he expected of one of his sons in recognition of them.

Madara didn’t want to think too hard about why the idea of other shinobi pursuing Takara-chan for what they could get from marrying her bothered him.  He wasn’t a fool.  He simply didn’t want to entertain that line of thought for too long because…she was his friend.  His first friend who had started to turn beautiful before his eyes all while he’d been blind to the changes.

He’d noticed that she didn’t have to strain as hard to reach him in spars, that the disparity in their heights and the length of their limbs was starting to close.

Somehow he’d never equated the fact that Takara-chan was growing to Takara-chan growing up… and all that came with it.

Including the question of marriage which as his father had made clear was less of a question for Takara-chan and more of a certainty, as it was for any line-head or head’s heir.

Like Madara and Izuna, for all that Madara had never liked to flirt and have little romances like his younger brother.

He was too busy either training or going on missions or carving out rare snatches of time to himself to want to give any of his scant free time to the clan girls who giggled and fluttered at him all the while having more interest in his inheritance than himself.

Madara had been made well-aware of his shortcomings over the years by his family and even Takara-chan who never forfeited a chance to puncture his ego if she thought he was in danger of gaining an overweening sense of pride.

He was often surly, his bad temper and tendency to hold grudges had been often remarked upon by those around him.  He didn’t have the typical and sought-after slenderness of most Uchiha, being built broader and more heavily muscled than the majority of his kinsmen.  His face wasn’t as clean and sculpted as was preferred, his hair a constant messy struggle.  He was quiet as well, far more comfortable with keeping the counsel of himself and his hawks than other people.

His suspicion of others’ motives made him the furthest thing from charming - unless he had to be on a mission or at the daimyo’s court - and if he didn’t keep it under constant guard his chakra was overwhelming to most others.

As he’d grown into his teenage years and started to notice others around him in new ways, to gain an appreciation for aesthetic beauty and attractive appeal, it had occurred to him that he himself came profoundly short in such qualities.

He looked more like a brawler than the noble heir of a clan, hardly the sort of look that was made of maidenly fantasies - save for his fortune and position.

Madara had resigned himself around the same time he was promoted to squad-captain to a formal courtship with a maiden chosen by agreement between Obaa-sama and Tou-san.

Izuna would likely have all the luck in love that Madara had been denied, being everything that a dashing, handsome, gallant noble heir should be.

But in that moment, as his father asked which of them would be courting Takara-chan, Madara found himself fractious regarding the disparity between himself and his younger brother for the first time in years when it came to romance and love and young maidens.

He had never begrudged Izuna his pretty face or lean build before, let alone his charming manners or facile tongue.

But in that moment, with the thought of Izuna turning all those blessings he’d been granted onto Takara-chan - no.

Madara couldn’t stand the thought of it.

Izuna could have any maiden he wanted.

But not Takara-chan, even if Madara didn’t want to think in greater depth about why that possibility - of Izuna charming and wooing and winning Takara-chan’s hand and taking her as his bride - was so repugnant to him.

Madara knew himself too well.

If he thought too hard on the whys and the underneath-the-underneath, he wouldn’t be able to maintain his friendship with Takara-chan in the same manner.  And Takara-chan needed her friends to support her now.  Not a suitor, not some lovestruck idiot or manipulative asshole: her friends.

“Well?”  Tajima snapped, at the end of his patience with the young idiots sitting across from him.

“I will.”  Madara spoke up, rushing ahead when he saw something like resolve start to cross Izuna’s face.  If his little brother had a problem with Madara’s discussion they could talk about it - or fight it out, most likely - later.  Right now, he needed to answer his father before Tajima got angry with them and decided to push Kuma-ji about whether Hikaku-kun would be courting Takara-chan and what concessions Tajima would demand from his younger brother to allow it.  “Once Takara-chan becomes eligible for courtship, I will court her and if she is willing,” he tacked on before his father could jump too far ahead.  “Take her as my wife once we are both of age to marry.”

“Pah, the girl’s no fool.”  Tajima scoffed, waving off the notion that Takara-chan would want to wed anyone else when the clan heir was an option.  Though he took careful note of the looks that the brothers were exchanging.

He’d have to keep an eye on that.

It wouldn’t do to sow familial and fraternal discord over Takara-chan’s hand in marriage.

Young idiots competing over the hand of a pretty girl was a recipe for drama that was as old as the sky.  Playwrights and bards had written entire tragedies over such events.  The Uchiha would not be torn apart because of it, and if it seemed as if his sons couldn’t come to terms on their own over the matter, Tajima would have to step in to handle it before it could grow out of control.

A little fire of rivalry was healthy and would spur them on.

Too much and it would threaten to grow into a wildfire that would swallow them - and potentially the clan itself - whole, and that would never be allowed.

“Do I have your permission to keep this most important decision between us alone?”  Madara pressed, not wanting the way his reality had tilted on axis in a single conversation to affect Takara-chan before it had to.  “I would not want to importune Takara-chan whilst she is in the midst of creating the basis of her bloodline.”

“What of Takara-chan’s bloodline?”  Izuna asked, eyes narrowed on his father, deeply suspicious over what his father was after with all-but-forcing one of them into courting the wildcat instead of allowing Hikaku to take on the challenge.  

At least with Hikaku, Takara-chan hadn’t made it her life’s mission to torment him on the training field like she had done with him and Madara.  He was pissed that such an important decision was being all-but taken out of his friend’s hands.  No matter how much he had fought with her over the years, he wanted her to be happy like the rest of his precious people.  Now that Madara had let Tou-san pressure him - like an idiot - into making a declaration, there was no force on earth that would have Tou-san allowing Madara to walk it back and fail to follow through.

“Will it become subordinate to the Amaterasu if Takara-chan marries Madara?”

“No.”  Tajima answered immediately, soothing at least one worry that Izuna had and that hadn’t even occurred yet to Madara with how flummoxed over the whole conversation he was.  “I imagine when we negotiate the marriage contract that Takara-chan and Hanzou-san will insist on one of her sisters becoming the Heir of the Ishikoridome.”

Izuna wasn’t too sure about that - Takara-chan was tricky, nearly as tricky as that Senju White Demon bastard Tobirama - but let his father have his delusions.

The man would run head-first into one of Takara-chan’s traps or obstinate moments soon enough, especially if he was as set on having her as his daughter-in-law as it seemed he did, and when that day came Izuna would sit back and laugh when it blew up in Tou-san’s face.

“And yes, Madara, I will let you speak when and to whom you will regarding your decision.”  Tajima agreed magnanimously, in good humor now that he’d gotten his way and secured the promise of Takara-chan for his family and the future mother of his grandchildren.  He paused, then added before dismissing his sons: “Remember that some gifts may take longer than others to commission, Mada-kun.  As a line head in her own right and the future Lady Uchiha, your wife and mother of your children, Takara-chan deserves nothing but the best.”

That the best gifts might also snag the attention of whatever latent avaricious inclinations Takara-chan might have tucked aside in favor of duty, a silent reminder of what she stood to gain in wealth and status by marrying the clan heir…well.

That would merely be two targets with one kunai as far as Tajima was concerned.

“You may go.”

“Ow!”  Madara complained as his precious younger brother grabbed him by the back of his hair at the nape and hauled him away from their father’s office once they were dismissed and the shogi closed behind them.  “Izuna, what the fuck?”

“Not here!”  Izuna snapped, unrelenting as he pulled his brother away from the main portion of the Uchiha compound and over towards where he knew they could have at least a chance and privacy: the mews.

It said something about the antics of the clan heirs that no one even batted an eye at the sign of the fifteen and seventeen year olds bullying each other.

Just another day for the Uchiha.

Izuna finally let his idiot older brother go with a final slap to the back of the head and a shove.  Only half to get him far enough away that they didn’t devolve immediately into a brawl.  He was genuinely pissed off with Madara - who was usually so calculating and cautious - jumping in with both feet before taking the time to really consider the angles behind his father’s not-so-hidden demands.

“Izuna…”   Madara’s temper was well and truly roused by the one-two punch of his father’s words and his brother’s antics, the name spilling from his throat in more of a growl than human speech as his eyes kept flickering red.

“Shut up, aniki.”  Izuna glared back with equal viciousness.  “I’m debating whether I’m more pissed at you for being an idiot, or Tou-san for setting us up, or you again for being too blind to see what Tou-san was up to.  Give me a second.”

Madara reared back in shock, pulling his lunge and almost unbalancing in the process as his brother’s words hit him harder than any actual blow.

Eh?!

Immediately he fell back into his memory of the meeting with their father, years of partnership as shinobi and brothers leading him to trust Izuna implicitly when he got that tone.  Madara tried to see what Izuna was so certain he missed, and within moments Madara couldn’t help but make a low, wounded sound at what he had seen but not registered because his panic and emotions had drowned out his ability to be logical.  Oh kami-sama: Izuna was right.

Their father had set them up to play themselves and Madara, like an idiot, had fallen for it.

“Hanzou-san is going to kill me.”  Madara blanched.  The civilian hunter might not have the power of a shinobi, let alone one like Madara, but he was wily.   And a notoriously overprotective father since the death of his wife.  The mere notion that Takara-chan might be courted for what she could bring to a husband and his family and not for herself was a sure recipe to infuriate him.  “If Takara-chan doesn’t get me first.”

Izuna heaved a put-upon sigh and pinched the bridge of his nose between his forefinger and thumb, wondering to himself how his older brother could be such an infamously powerful shinobi warrior and such a fucking idiot all at the same time.

“Not if you’re sincere, moron.”  Izuna snapped, lowering his hand and fixing his beloved idiot aniki with a look so scathing Mikoto-baa would be proud.  “You are sincere, right?!”

He was pretty sure his beloved idiot older brother was sincere, which was the problem.  Madara barely managed to understand emotions when it came to his immediate family - aside from his baffling attachment to the murderous tree - asking him to figure out how he felt on the fly regarding Takara-chan was…not the best idea if they wanted him to keep functioning in a semi-normal manner.  His brother wasn’t emotionless like the Senju often derided him for, no Uchiha was, on the contrary: the most powerful Uchiha often were the most affected by emotions.

Madara felt so deeply that in order to get through his day-to-day duties, he tended to tuck it all away inside of him rather than spend much time focusing on it outside of meditation.

When Madara didn’t control his emotions, it tended to have a devastating effect: usually in response to loss and rage on the battlefield.

Or his unnatural attachment to the murderous tree that came about in the wake of their mother’s death.

Izuna had long thought that both Madara and the Uchiha as a whole would have been better off if Madara had spent more time learning meditation and emotional regulation from their mother rather than the bulk of his learning being restricted to heir duties and combat, but it was far too late to undo the past.

“Yes!”  Madara snapped back at his irritating little brother, before burying his face in his gloved hands.  “Yes, I’m sincere.”  He said more calmly, after taking a series of deep breaths to slow his temper (and panic.)  “There isn’t another among the clan that I can see standing beside me as my wife instead of as a mere decoration on my arm at court.”

“Because she’s your friend?”  Izuna poked and prodded, not content with his brother’s answer.

“Because she’s one of the only members of the clan who isn’t just as afraid of me, ” he snapped before sucking in another calming breath.  “As they are the Senju.”

“Madara.”  Izuna made a wounded noise at his brother’s admission.  “Our people don’t fear you, they love you.”

Madara scoffed.  “You’re not a sensor, otouto.”  He said dismissively, digging his hands into his hair and tugging to ground himself.  “You can’t feel the way they react to me like I can if I’m not guarding myself.  Even you and tou-san have been afraid of me in the past, let alone everyone else.”

The kicker was, that Izuna couldn’t exactly deny that.

His older brother had a massive well of chakra, devastating jutsu, and a sometimes-nasty temper.

There had been times, especially when Madara had been younger and less controlled, that being at least a little afraid that his brother was going to lose his temper and someone was going to get hurt was a reasonable worry to have.

But - and Izuna made sure to tell his brother this, no matter how he scoffed - that was in the past and had never been about Madara as much as it was the dangerous mix that was any powerful shinobi losing their shit.

“Be that as it may,” Madara shrugged off his brother’s assurances.  “Takara-chan has never been that way, even when we were little.  Long before I had control of my chakra.  She’s always treated me the same as she does everyone else rather than with obsequious formality or reserve over my abilities.  If there is a person within the clan that would treat me as an equal in my own marriage rather than as a figure of fear or authority, it’s Takara.”

Madara, even with his brother poking and prying at him, trying to uncover what he had buried down deep inside of himself, refused to look at it further than that.

It was the truth.

Just, not, all the truth.

As much truth as he could assess and confront in that moment and still keep himself together rather than having to deal with the other part of what he felt that had started rearing its head ever since he saw Takara covered in blood and keeping Hanzou-san alive out of pure chakra and stubbornness.

And then had grown exponentially at the sight of her in furisode and kanzashi.

“That’s a good reason to marry Takara.”  Izuna had to allow that much, for all that he thought his brother was overstating the issue.  There had to be others among the clan who weren’t intimidated by all that his brother was.  Madara was simply so introverted and only comfortable with his small group of friends that he’d never given others among the clan a chance to know him as more than the Clan Heir.  “But it can’t be the only reason, aniki.  Mn?  She deserves more than to be wanted for her power or that she’s not afraid of you.”  He pointed out, again.  “For all she’s done for the clan, for our family,” he brought the ghost of their mother and their living brothers into the forefront.  “She deserves to have a chance to choose her own husband instead of being pushed into a corner by tou-san and obaa-sama.”

Because make no mistake: if Tajima had started to press on this issue, it was with the agreement of his mother and counterpart in ruling the clan.

“Please don’t press me further, otouto.”  Madara sighed, shaking his head and then clenching and unclenching his jaw.  “There is more, but I’m not ready to say it, let alone to someone other than Takara.”

Izuna ruthlessly restrained the urge to smirk as he came close to pulling out a confession from his repressed older brother.

Madara didn’t flirt with women among the clan, let alone the maidens they meet out on missions - unless the mission parameters demanded it, or it was the most expedient way to obtain information or access to a target - to the point that Izuna wasn’t sure if his brother even liked the female sex or form.

Or any form, for that matter, as Madara was no more likely to flirt with a male civilian or clan shinobi than he was a girl.

The closest thing to a relationship his older brother had ever indulged in - as far as Izuna knew, and as his brother and heir, Izuna had made it his business to know - was his friendship with Takara and/or how he doted on his hawks.

To the point that the entire clan knew when one was talking about Madara’s “ladies” they were referring to ones with beaks and feathers, not draped in fine cotton and silk or wrapped in a kunoichi’s uniform and armor.

“Well good.”  Izuna nodded crisply once he had his expression under control after his brother’s not-admission.  “Takara deserves the best - both for what she’s done and who she is.”  He crossed his arms and arched his brows.  “Which means you, now that you let tou-san back her into a corner using you, are going to make sure that you’re the best suitor a maiden could ever wish for - right?!”

Madara swallowed harshly, glancing away from his brother’s demanding expression as he almost slumped to the ground in misery from having Izuna spell out his catastrophic misstep so clearly.

“Mn.”  He agreed with a clipped nod.  “She will not find me wanting,” he swore there and then to one of Takara’s most ardent supporters - in the form of her biggest rival on the training field - despite Izuna being his little brother.  “Either as a suitor or as her husband.”

“Good.”  Izuna’s distemper melted away now that he felted he’d thoroughly beat the sheer idiocy of Madara’s actions into his aniki’s thick head, and that Madara himself was being suitably repentant.  He grinned wickedly.  “So…”  He drawled.  “How are you planning to make your suit next year?  What gift will you present?”

Madara’s face went blank and white at the sheer scale of what trials lay before him - a year out or not - made themselves known.

“Oh kami-sama.”  The fierce, and foremost, warrior of the Uchiha whimpered, eyes wide with panic as he grabbed onto the collar of his brother’s haori and shook him frantically.  “Otouto, you have to help me!”  He yelped.  “I agreed to court Takara!   What am I even going to do?!   What does she even like?!”

“You mean besides the heads of Senju?”  Izuna asked wryly, openly laughing in his brother’s face.

“Would that work?!”  Madara took the joke seriously as his brain spun itself into a tangle.  “I could probably give her Butsuma’s head if she really wanted it and the White Demon was away on a mission and couldn’t sense me…”

“No.”   Izuna stopped him before his brother could really hook into the suggestion and got himself killed trying to assassinate the Senju Head.  “That’s a terrible idea.  No maiden, even one as fierce as Takara-chan, wants to receive the heads of her enemies for a courtship gift.”  He paused, thinking that all the way through, then allowed: “well, maybe Takara-chan might, but only if it was a target she couldn’t reasonably take out herself.  Otherwise she might see it as stepping on her sandals or saying she was too weak to kill them herself.”

“You’re right,” Madara sighed, slumping once more into misery.  “If she wanted to, with her skills as a huntress, Takara-chan could assassinate Butsuma much easier than I could.”  He paused, reviewing what he’d just said, then swore under his breath.  “We’re never repeating this conversation where Takara-chan or Tou-san might hear it.”  He demanded imperiously.  “Or next thing we know, tou-san will be sanctioning a hit on Butsuma and Takara-chan is too wrathful towards the Senju to say no to the potential suicide mission…”

Izuna nodded swiftly, agreeing completely with his brother:

Just because she might manage it and survive, didn’t mean they needed to put the idea out there to infect their father.

“Come on,” Izuna sighed, throwing an arm over his brother’s shoulders and leading him towards the mews themselves rather than the quiet field below them.  “Don’t brood.  You’re not in this alone.”  He tried to cheer Madara up.  “After all: if you fail, then tou-san will expect me to take over…and nobody wants that, Madara.”  He stared into the middle-distance, feeling the wash of a narrowly-dodged jutsu that would’ve obliterated him from the face of earth blow past him.  “Nobody.”

His ladies would serve to both calm and brighten Madara’s mood.  

Afterward they can start fleshing out a strategy and plan for Madara’s future courtship.

Izuna may not agree with his father, or his brother, but this was where they are now, it was done and couldn’t be undone.

For the happiness of his friend and brother alike, Izuna would ensure Madara succeeded if Takara had even a fraction of attraction towards or romantic interest in his brother.

If not…well…

Maybe Hikaku might like his women as fierce as any tigress and as stubborn as Madara on a bad day.

Because one thing in all this Izuna was certain of:

He and Takara would kill each other if his father pressed matters to the point of forcing a marriage between them, and he wouldn’t be willing to set odds on which of them would snap first and murder the other.

Rivals?

Yes, of course, absolutely, no one better even that white freak of a Senju.

Spouses?!

Absolutely not.

No, no.

Madara was perfectly welcome to pursue Takara-chan.

If anything it simply confirmed to Izuna that either due to his power levels or being dropped on his head as a child, his older brother didn’t have the same understanding and respect for danger that every other person on the planet did.

Not that Takara-chan was any better…

Which, now that he thought about it in conjunction with Madara’s words about being feared-

Wow.

Maybe he should root for Madara to crash and burn and Hikaku to step up, otherwise Izuna’s future nephews and nieces might end up with a very skewed sense of danger and fear.

That, or it was proof that they were perfect for each other, Izuna wasn’t sure which way he would fall on the subject.

First: Madara either had to win Takara-chan’s hand or fail horribly.

No point in worrying about a jutsu before the hand signs were done after all.

That night Madara looked up as the shogi to the room he shared in the main house with Izuna slid open as he laid back on his futon and plotted, only to find himself under imminent attack from his youngest brothers.

Izuna cackling all the while as Akira, Keita, and Takuya all pounced before Madara could even start climbing to his feet - or at least get off his back.

The shogi clicked shut behind Izuna as he stepped inside the shared room, and he swiftly pulled a privacy seal out of his sleeve and set it into place on the seam of the doorway before activating it, thankful he still had one from his last mission resupply so he didn’t have to go begging one off of Fumio-sensei.

Or worse: Takara-chan herself.

It wasn’t long before Madara rose up from under the onslaught with a soft roar of challenge, shinobi-swift hands reaching out to tickle soft bellies or lightly toss smaller frames onto one of the futons set up for the evening.

Izuna let it all play out as he leaned against the wall, not stepping in until Madara had all three of the boys lined up on the tatami and was tickling them mercilessly.

“Alright, aniki, I think they’ve had enough.”  Izuna reached out and helped Akira fish himself out from the line-up, the littler boys left to giggle as Madara rocked back onto his heels.  “No need to damage the runts.”

“Eh?”  Keita barked, sending an evil look at Izuna.  “Who’s a runt?”  

“You’re the one who asked us to come, ‘zuna-nii.”  Takuya pouted up at Izuna.

“Ah ah.”  Izuna shook a finger at the insufferably nosy twins as he plopped down next to Akira on his own futon.  “I asked Akira to come help, you two just didn’t want to be left behind.”

“Come help?”  Madara blinked for a long moment in confusion, then groaned.  “Izuna.”  He hissed, eyes narrowed on his meddlesome little brother.  “I don’t need help right now, I need to keep it quiet.”

“Maa.”  Izuna waved that off.  “The runts know how to keep a secret.”  He dismissed Madara’s objection.  “And Akira is going to be your best source of information on the target we have that won’t sound off any alarms before you’re ready.”

“What’s going on?”  The eleven-year-old middle son of Tajima asked suspiciously, not liking the sound of whatever-it-was that his older brothers were dancing around.

“An’ why would you need ‘kira-nii’s help but not ours?”  Keita tacked on, his eight-year-old pride wounded.  “We can help!”

“But can you keep a secret?”  Madara stared all the little brothers down - but especially Izuna, given that he was already working to ensure that the news spread beyond the two of them and their father.  “I mean, really keep a secret?”  He pressed.  “Even from Hikaku,” he glared at Izuna.  “Haruki,” a glance flicked at Akira.  “Or your little friends at training?”  He shot a look at the twins.

“Could you keep it secret from Obaa-sama?”  Izuna doubled down on emphasizing the importance of the question after making a face at Madara for including him in the inquisition.  “Or even Takara-chan? ”

“Oooh.”  The twins’ eyes grew wide with surprise.

Akira meanwhile, darted a look between his older brothers, suspicion growing teeth and claws at the sheer notion of having to keep a confidence of that level - whilst also noting that their father wasn’t included in the list.

“Takara-san would be angry if she knew about it, wouldn’t she?”  Akira asked perceptively, enjoying the way both of his older brothers blanched at the mere suggestion that the kunoichi would learn whatever-it-was they were trying to keep from her.

“She would murder me.”  Madara said, almost whining as he flopped onto his stomach, trying to smother himself in his bedding.  “If Hanzou-san didn’t get me first.”

Akira sent an unimpressed look at Madara, who was engaging in dramatics usually limited to Izuna’s idiocy.

Hn.

“What’d he do?”  Akira shot Madara’s usual partner-in-crime a look.  Mainly because Takara-san was too responsible to get involved in pranks and she wasn’t going on missions yet that might lead to mishaps outside of the compound.  “Something Hanzou’s twins got caught in and niisan wants to fix it before Takara-san kills him?”

Izuna and Madara exchanged a look as the elder lifted up from his flail.  That was a little impressive.  Their brother was gaining quite the talent for puzzles, one that would serve him well in the future.

“No, I’d have already begged tou-san for a mission that would keep me away until the rainy season if Takara-chan’s sisters had been caught in a prank backlash.”  Madara said off-hand, as if everyone's reaction to such an event would be to go into hiding.  “Something else happened today.”

“And?”  Akira prompted, their littlest brothers watching the byplay like it was a game.  “Either tell us so we can help - or laugh at your imminent demise,” his grin was all teeth at his older brothers.  “Or let us go to bed.”

“When did our precious Akira-kun get so sassy?”   Madara asked Izuna mournfully.

“Probably as soon as he started tagging along with Haruki-kun to hang out around Takara-chan.”  Izuna speculated, actually giving it a moment’s thought.  “She tends to have that effect on anyone who can tolerate spending more than a brief time around her when she's not feeling like playing the polite daughter.”

Madara nodded: that tracked.

“What’d you do to Takara-neesan?”  Takuya asked, all big eyes and wobbling lower lip, visibly melting his two oldest brothers where they sat.

“Nothing.”  Madara rushed to assure his littlest brother.  “Nothing happened to Takara-chan, I promise.”

“Not yet.”   Izuna muttered, still not fully at peace with either his father’s manipulations or his brother’s response to them.

Now the two older brothers had all of their youngers staring at them in mute, mingled, worry and appeal.

“Tou-san has decided,” Madara picked his words with care.  “That he wants nothing more than to have Takara-chan as his daughter-in-law.”

Like snapping his fingers, the mood of his youngest brothers flipped in an instant from apprehension to unbridled ecstasy as Madara’s meaning washed over them.

“Takara-neesan?!”  Keita and Takuya squealed in unison, bouncing in place.  “We’re going to get Takara-neesan as our sister for real?!”

Akira gave Madara a genuine smile, understanding far better the implications - not just of what they’d been told but also what had been flying between the older brothers - than the twins.

“Courting Takara-san, huh?”

“Yep.”

“You know that’s gonna be rough, right?”  Akira pressed, as Izuna was right: out of all the brothers, Akira probably spent the most time around Takara-san outside of training.

Sure, she was friends with his older brothers, but Akira got to see her at home and around her sisters and younger cousins, a far different side than the kunoichi she showed the rest of the clan - including his elder brothers.

“All the boys I know have a crush on her.”  Akira continued, rubbing reality into Madara’s face without care for his feelings.  Sucker.  From how Izuna was being, he had a feeling that there was far more going on than just their father wanting one of them to marry Takara-san, though they’d probably never admit it, especially not to him or the twins.  “And their brothers or cousins or uncles talk about her all the time.  Our cousins have talked about her.”

Not the ones they shared with Takara-san, obviously, but the other side of the family like Hikaku or the sons of their mother’s brothers on the civilian side who were more distantly related to Takara-san than Haruki and his brothers.

“Tou-san has made his will clear.”  Izuna allowed that much, even as he flicked a split-second glare at Madara.  “Next year when Takara-chan comes of age, Mada-nii will be expected to court Takara-chan.”

Akira shared a put-upon look with his Izuna-nii then gave a grudging nod.

“We’ll keep it a secret,” he poked the littles to include them in the encompassing “we.”  “And help.”  His smile quirked up on one side.  “It’s not like the twins are the only ones who’d like to call Takara-san sister and have it be real.”  He admitted.

Ancestors smile down upon them for luck, because even then Akira wasn’t sure if Madara would manage it without fucking it up.

They had a year to put together a plan, he supposed.

Kami-hoping it would be enough.

If Mada-nii screwed this up for Takuya in particular, Akira didn’t know if their household would ever know another moment’s peace, let alone how tou-san would react.

Chapter Text

Karuma no Kagami

Chapter Eighteen: Tōji

Tōji came every year in a slow crawl of preparations and then a sudden rush of nonstop celebration - or so it always seemed to Takara.

The Uchiha as a whole celebrated all the normal festivals of the Land of Fire, gave due reverence to Obon and greeted the New Year with vigor, but as the descendents of Indra no Uchiwa - and some said Amaterasu Ōmikami herself - Tōji held a special place in the collective Uchiha mindset.

As it was also Takara’s actual day of birth, which was only used for some traditions but not others in comparison to the annual turning of the year event that everyone participated in during the new year, it was one of her favorite festivals throughout the year.

It was a fuzzy line sometimes, what counted as her being a certain age between Tōji and the year-turning celebration, but in general her actual day of birth was taken into account when a celebration or tradition was strictly personal.  Her hair-pinning ceremony would take place on Tōji when she turned fifteen, as was Uchiha tradition.  But her official coming of age celebration would take place among the rest of the fifteen-year-old Uchiha maidens during the turning of the year celebrations.

The time period she was living in now once more rearing its head, as if she had been a boy, her genpuku shiki wouldn’t be until after she turned eighteen.

All the Uchiha would be celebrating Madara’s coming of age next year, and she already knew that both Tajima-sama and Minoru-obaa-sama were sure to make it a genpuku shiki for the whole clan to remember for years to come, second only to when he finally chooses a bride and gets married.

As her father was out-clan (and as she now knew Hatake, which she was still kicking herself over not seeing before) his traditions had always been a little different than the Uchiha ones that dominated Tōji and birthdays.

Hanzou had always celebrated his daughters, and when she was still alive his wife, on the day of their birth rather than letting it go by with only basic acknowledgement and maybe a special dish at dinner.

Kakashi-sensei had always been the same: gifts were a big deal to him. Takara would now tentatively say that was a Hatake-thing, since while Hanzou would give the appropriate and expected gifts during the year-turning celebrations to his girls, on birthdays they were just as lavish and meaningful.  Or potentially even a tradition originating outside of Fire Country, given the Hatake origins in the upper reaches of the continent and their tendency to roam.

That Tōji as Takara was both turning fourteen, which was like “little adulthood” for maidens where they weren’t considered women yet but were being prepared for it with additional responsibilities and freedoms, and had been sworn in as a line head, Hanzou despite being bed-bound went far above and beyond even Takara’s expectations.

While Takara shepherded her sisters to the family’s small bathhouse that was detached from the main building and tucked away in a corner of their land allotment for privacy, Hanzou worked with Miho-san to prepare Takara’s birthday surprises.

His daughters would no doubt spend quite a bit of time if he knew anything about them playing and soaking in the heated water with yuzu peel and a handful of whole fruit bobbing in it.  Takara in particular always loved the yuzu baths that were part of Tōji, almost as much as knowing Miho-san would use the flesh of the yuzu sacrificed for their peel to adorn the bath to make jam for sweets.  He knew he always appreciated the bath, as yuzu, despite being citrusy and sharp, never bothered his nose like some other strong scents could.

Later in the day he and his daughters would all go out and pay their respects to Amaterasu at the Shrine and then partake of the auspicious foods that had been prepared and watch the fire dancers.  Takara would light a bonfire as a line head, and likely once the youngest children were sent away to sleep would get into a katon duel with her cousins and shinobi friends.  Hanzou would sit with his in-laws and sip sake, idly judging the young idiots who leapt over the bonfire flames or who had the best katon demonstration.

The hours after the sunset would grow in joy and fervency as the Uchiha did their best every year to replicate the celebration of the gods designed to lure Ōhirume no Muchi no Kami from her cave and return light to the world.

As Takara had been blessed by the hand of Ishikori-dome according to the priests and priestesses of Amaterasu, Hanzou would not be surprised if his daughter was asked by Tajima-sama or Minoru-obaa-sama to lead the charge in raising the annual cacophony as Ishikori-dome no Mikoto had paid a vital role in tempting Amaterasu from returning to her isolation with her great works.

For now, however, the day was yet early and it was about his most precious of treasures, not the clan or even Amaterasu Ōhirume no Mikoto.

His Takara, and recognizing all she had done since her last birthday for her family.

When his girls returned it was to the sight of a table laden with Takara’s favorite foods that were available in winter, along with the now-traditional small stack of furoshiki wrapped gifts.  One each from the twins, one from Miho-san, and in order to prevent an unlucky number of presents, two from Hanzou.  In total, they were usually presented two-one for a set of three gifts, and then a pause before Hanzou’s set were given to bring the most luck to Takara as she opened them.

As traditional and formal gifts would be given during the New Year, those given on the actual day of birth were often far more personal and informal.

Often - but not this year, at least insofar as Hanzou’s gift to his daughter was concerned as well as what he thought his in-laws were planning since from now on much of Takara’s formal gifts would revolve around her station as a line head and not as a family member.

As a result two gifts were separated from the small stack of “usual” presents, both draped in cloth though simple cotton sheeting rather than traditional fukusa as he simply didn’t own any large enough for the original gift.  The second was an addition he had decided on after Takara saved his life.  He could no longer deceive himself regarding who and what his treasure was growing into, and wanted to give his Takara a gift that symbolised his acceptance and understanding of her chosen path.

Hanzou couldn’t help but smile and feel the warmth of love burn in his chest at the sight of his three daughters laughing and giggling together, Tsukiko and Tsubaki hanging onto and swinging their elder’s hands.  All of them wrapped warmly in quilted leather hanten lined in fur at the collar and cuffs over their cotton yukata, looking every inch the daughters of a huntsman.  Geta left behind on the engawa behind the house, tabi-shod feet pattering over the tatami, long ropes of hair braided down their backs and cheeks turned blushing red by the cold of the morning.

It was a scene that he had witnessed dozens if not hundreds of times over the years.

It was a scene that he had come far too close to never witnessing again.

If not for the young maiden standing tall and lithe between her little sisters, eyeing the two larger gifts speculatively and with no little amount of confusion.  His treasure.  His Takara that now all the Uchiha would recognize for the blessing she is and has always been.

Winter work coats were hung up and then his daughters all came and knelt at the chabudai, Miho and Hanzou waiting for Takara to help herself first - to her favorite warm rice porridge made creamy goat milk traded from Matsunaga-oji and spiced with cinnamon and nutmeg, topped with pumpkin seeds and candied ginger - before dishing up for themselves and helping the twins as needed.

In addition to the porridge, Miho-san had put together a spread of grilled salmon that Hanzou had traded for and that was as fresh as the day it’d been caught thanks to Takara’s sealing scrolls, as it was another favorite of his eldest.  Serow bone broth was served with spring onion and rehydrated mushrooms, along with the usual pickles and rice.  The rice and pickle mainly fell to the adults to eat, as the girls decimated the rare porridge preparation as they did every year without fail.

Hanzou had always found it telling regarding his daughter’s character that Takara greeted the specially prepared dishes with just as much, if not more, eagerness than the actual gifts on her birthday.

Gifts were beloved and appreciated, but Takara had always softened in a way she rarely did outside of spending time with her sisters or other littles at a genuine show of regard that proved thought and effort such as a favored meal or Hanzou going out of his way to trade for her favorite fish or fruit.

When all the food had been consumed and the dishes were tidied away, hands and faces cleaned, Takara knelt in a place of honor before the irori and the household took turns presenting her with their gifts and accepting her thanks in turn before she took them all away to open in private then returned for the more formal reveal of the large gifts in the main room.

Hanzou smiled into his teacup as he imagined the look on his daughter’s face when she saw what he had given her, and eagerly anticipated the storytelling that would come afterward, once she had gathered her thoughts.

Knowing from Chiyo-ba that her maternal female relatives were planning a takeover before her immediate family dressed for the festival and did their duties at the Shrine, Takara wasted no time with opening her gifts after breakfast and they were presented.

Her sisters were almost bouncing - as they often did with gift-giving, too young still to really maintain the expected serenity - as their father watched Takara gather up the five wrapped packages and took them away to her loft room.

She couldn’t deny that as much as she looked forward to seeing what her little sisters had chosen for her, or even made now that their craft skills were coming on more and more, or what Miho-san had made her, that the shape of the gifts from her father was intriguing.

A little worrisome, but intriguing.

After whisking the furoshiki-wrapped gifts up to the loft, Takara returned to the main room and studied the larger of the two gifts first at a prompting from her father.

“From myself and your uncles, my treasure.”  Hanzou told her, engaging the routine ceremony of demure refusal and insistent giving between them, and pointing out the almost-hidden furoshiki-package that went with it, though he directed her to pull away the concealing cloth on the large gift first.

Takara - and her sisters who were bouncing and whispering in excitement behind her - gasped in shocked delight at what was revealed when the last of the sheeting was pulled away from the frame underneath it.

It was a jibata, a type of weaving frame that combined the full-body weaving experience of a simple backstrap loom that could be used relatively anywhere with a large frame construction that allowed the weaver to create entire bolts of fabric rather than being limited to a relative narrow width of their shoulders and/or hips.  Such a gift was an heirloom-level present.  The sort of investment into a person that would also enrich a family as a whole and that Takara would pass down to one of her daughters or granddaughters.

She didn’t even know how to warp it or prepare it for weaving, let alone start weaving cloth on it - but she couldn’t deny she was excited to learn.

It took up a whole quarter-corner of the main room, but once Takara had learned how to use it and gained some skill would more than repay the expense and sacrifice in what Takara could produce with it as she genuinely loved to weave.

Hanzou smiled, delighted and satisfied to have stunned his treasure speechless, then prompted her again, this time to open the furoshiki that went with the jibata.

Takara marveled over the carved bone shuttles and shed sticks, beating combs and even needles that her father had to have carved by hand, as well as the fine steel snip-scissors to go with the loom, including bamboo box to keep everything neat and orderly and within reach when she was at the loom.

She recognized her father’s workmanship on the leather of the kneeling pad, as well as the padded backstrap that would hold the warp threads at tension once the loom was warped up.

Takara thanked her father effusively for the phenomenal gift, one that she believed would only be matched in expense and worth by her trousseau once she became engaged.

Neither Misao-ba or Chiyo-ba owned such a piece of workmanship, nor did her grandmother, and the only reason she knew it on sight was due to Seiko-ba having access to one for her own use - as well as that of the Shrine - as a miko in service to Amaterasu.

“Papa, how…?”  She stared in awe between the jibata and her father’s pleased expression.

Even with her uncles chipping in, all of her uncles, even the ones she rarely saw due to their travels with the trading caravans, she couldn’t understand how they could afford such a luxury.

It was the sort of gift presented to a daughter of a main line not a huntsman.

“You underestimate the regard your kin have for you, my treasure.”  Hanzou lightly scolded her.  “Your cousin Kaede received silk worms, boxes and trays to keep them in, her own reel, drying rack, and spindle, as well as a new backstrap loom and marudai at your age.  Your jibata is of similar value if only one large gift rather than a selection.”

Takara had to concede the point then, as while a simple backstrap loom wasn’t expensive at all depending on what it was made out of, a marudai for braiding kumihimo along with all the rest - especially the silk worms - added up quickly when taken as a gift in totality instead of spread out between several gift-givers and gifting holidays.

In comparison, with the exception of the jibata itself, all the accessories looked to have been made by Hanzou himself which cost nothing but his time and expertise.

“Your Seiko-ba will start giving you lessons after the New Year.”  Hanzou told her once he’d spiked her - gentle, but nonetheless extent - protests that were far less rote and ceremonial and trod the line of genuine.  Ah, his daughter.  “You still have one more gift before you open the others in private, and I will accept no protests as it is an heirloom that is rightfully passing into your hands.”

Takara climbed the ladder to the loft in a daze, Kusanagi and its stand cuddled in her arms like a beloved child.

Stunned by the sheer overwhelming generosity of her father - while also seeing the resemblance to Kakashi-sensei grow ever-stronger.

She set the chokutō and its stand with great care on top of her tansu dresser that held her kunoichi uniforms and hunter’s work clothes as well as the few yukata and kosode she occasionally wore now that she was getting older.

Taking a step back she just stared at it for long moments, fiercely restraining the urge to scream into a pillow and cry at the ways life or fate seemed determined to both bless and curse her with reminders of her past lives.

Kusanagi.   She choked back a hysterical giggle.  Her father, who had never wanted her to become a kunoichi and the dangerous lifestyle it entailed, had given her a legendary sword.

One that, apparently, was a motherfucking heirloom of her paternal family.

Of Hanzou’s paternal family, or so he claimed it: his grandfather’s sword that had been fiercely fought for by his grandmother rather than giving it to a cousin, and then passed first to his father and then his own hands - for all that neither of them had ever touched it beyond ensuring it received proper care.

Kusanagi was a deceptively simple appearing blade.  There was nothing about the blade itself or any of the parts-and-pieces of the greater sword to reveal it as a masterpiece of craftsmanship on first look.  Only the two kanji etched into the collar where the blade met the sword handle: 草薙

While Takara had stared in shock, hesitant to even move once she pulled the sword from its black-laquered sheath and saw the kanji, Hanzou had explained the origin of the sword and the freshening-up he’d given it once he decided to gift it to her.

Both the handle-wrapping and the ties on the sheath were replacements: some of Hanzou’s finest leather dyed dark red and tightly braided flat.  The plain sheath was likewise new, and discreetly inlaid with tiny mother-of-pearl fans.  And the big one that was almost desecration to Takara: on the opposite side of the sword collar from the engraved kanji, Hanzou had had Misao-ba’s husband Hajime-ji engrave the Uchiha mon.

Takara didn’t know how to deal with any of that, and as a result turned her back on the chokutō and its paulownia stand carved with the same lightning and flame motifs of her rosewood bow, turning instead to something she could handle in that moment:

The (please kami-sama) much simpler gifts from the rest of the household.

Tsubaki and Tsukiko’s gifts were both wrapped in furoshiki that were of the right size and weave to be used as obiage making them a gift within a gift.

Tsubaki’s showed her recent advancement in her homecraft lessons with their Misao-ba, being an indigo-dyed stitched-shibori that was one of the first lessons that started teaching dyeing techniques beyond basic bulk dyeing.  Tsubaki had done a mokume pattern that looked like a lovely wood grain of blue on white with a border of solid indigo.  Wrapped inside Takara found another piece of her youngest sister’s work, one that quite suited her more energetic personality of a handful of braided ties in various patterns and bright colors.  Not quite kumihimo due to the length and width, they were hair ties similar to the friendship bracelets Takara remembered from her first life, and the sort of activity due to only needing eight wraps and short length that would appeal to Tsubaki’s short attention span, kumihimo being the sort of craft that one could start-and-stop with little harm to the finished product.

From Tsukiko was another shibori indigo and white obiage being used as furoshiki, though Tsukiko’s was arashi style of diagonal alternating stripes that mimicked falling rain done by wrapping and tying cloth around a pole.  Both were beautiful in their imperfections as far as Takara was concerned, whether the uneven widths of Tsukiko’s arashi or the places where a stitch had been missed in Tsubaki’s mokume.  The older twin’s patience and more still manner showed in what Takara found wrapped inside the furoshiki.  Much as braiding kumihimo - or starting to - suited Tsubaki down to the ground, Tsukiko’s personality and steady hand shone in the simple calligraphy scroll with its inked decoration of three bamboo stalks with leaves.

Takara was starting to see a theme - as well as collusion - as Miho-san’s furoshiki was larger than those of the twins, but likewise of a size to be used as obiage…only when Takara was older, and in a soft ombre of pale-to-mid orange along the width of the fabric that could be worn all year round.

Miho-san had folded the larger obiage in half before using it as furoshiki to disguise the true length of it, and also help better conceal what it contained as unlike the cotton of her sisters, Miho-san’s furoshiki was a lighter silk-cotton blend.

Tightly folded down inside the furoshiki was another silent signal regarding Takara’s oncoming “womanhood” in a set of house-apron and headscarf worn by women to protect their kimono and hairstyles during household chores.  Takara wanted to make a face, but as much as she didn’t appreciate the reminder of her future that was coming on far too fast for her preference, she very much did appreciate the thought, care, and work that went into the gift.  It even took Takara’s textile preferences into account, made of a linen-cotton blend that was a little rough to the touch at the moment but would soften considerably after washing.  It was one of her favorite things about linen and why she was so fond of it: not only did it not trap wetness like cotton could, but it also softened beautifully on laundering.

Miho-san had dyed the fabric in working-indigo but embroidered yellow yuzu fruit - whole and cut in half to show the flesh - and green leaves around the hem and collar of the apron and along the headband of the headscarf.

Feeling much more stable after not having anymore out-of-the-blue shocks dumped on her head, and grounding herself in the simple appreciation and care of her sisters and Miho-san, Takara rose and tidied away the various gifts, then settled in for a bit of meditation.

If her female relatives were coming over for another round of who-knew-what, Takara figured she could use a bit more time to center herself.

Just in case.

Thankfully for Takara’s sanity, her female relatives didn’t have any real surprises in store beyond the semi-ceremonial presentation of a mogi.

A short wrap skirt in cotton, it was the most basic sign of a girl maturing into a woman.  Worn as the bottommost layer under kimono, it was essentially the era-appropriate version of transitioning from a training bra to the real deal.  Going forward Takara would be expected to wear a mogi as a modesty layer whenever she visited the clan hot springs with the other women and maidens of the clan, as well as under kimono.

Takara didn’t actually intend to wear mogi under kimono, being vastly more a fan of her drawstring linen bottoms, but as that was currently a matter between herself and the kami, it didn’t really matter as long as she publicly complied with convention.

The mogi her grandmother presented to her was very fine cotton in a snowy white, both wider and longer than it would normally be as it was intended for Takara to grow into it, hitting as it did at the knee rather than further up her thigh.

Everything else her grandmother, aunts, and even cousins presented and then Takara later unwrapped showed how much collusion went into her jibata - as well as that her family was better at keeping secrets than she suspected.

More obiage were wrapped as furoshiki, which might as well be blunt-force-trauma levels of alluding to how much time Takara was going to have to start spending in kimono instead of uniform to need so many new obiage.

Despite not being present, her grandmother made it clear that her grandfather was involved in the process, as while they might have their differences when it came to social conduct and appropriateness, her grandparents did love their grandchildren including Takara.

And spoiled all of them to prove it when they weren’t encouraging them to marry well and work hard in order to have happy, successful lives.

Her grandparents gave her a selection of three obiage in silk: Uchiha-crimson (solid dye), a white-and-indigo polka dot, and a delicate sakura-petal pink painted with wisteria-purple peonies.  Tucked inside the decoratively wrapped obiage were a selection of dyed silk thread for embroidery, a new enameled plum blossom obidome, and last (but not least) a paulownia box inlaid with the Three Friends of Winter motif and the Uchiha mon that contained a thimble engraved with more plum blossoms and a card of fine steel embroidery needles.  With the clues in front of her, and based on previous years, she was expecting that her formal gift during the new year would probably be cloth for new kimono or yukata, and likely with winter motifs and/or a spring kosode or cloth to make one.

Subtle her grandparents were not.

Each of her three aunts gave her cotton obiage: pale yellow with white kara-kusa swirls from Misao-ba, pale blue with darker blue waves from Chiyo-ba, and an actual true black from Seiko-ba.

They all contained the same gift only in different aspects: Misao-ba a selection of dye-stock, Seiko-ba enough undyed spun hemp for a short-bolt of woven ramie, and Chiyo-ba the same amount of prepared fiber but in undyed spun flax for weaving linen.

Her aunties gave her practice materials so she could learn weaving with her jibata before venturing into the more expensive cotton and silk.

Cousin Kaede had likewise clearly plotted along with her mother Misao, and gave her a set of wood blocks and ties for dyeing shibori.

Her uncles’ wives, Shiori-ba and Sakura-ba, were the wives of traders and gifted Takara with new washi and a brush set wrapped in silk furoshiki that had been vibrantly dyed in the shades of sunset and sunrise as a result.

Shiori’s daughters Akemi and Hana, like their mother, had greater access to good on the caravans than the Uchiha who remained stationary within the compound, and together presented a small fine porcelain jar filled with a hand cream from the capital scented with sandalwood and rose.

When she was done and had once more tidied everything away, Takara finally rose to her feet and prepared to dress for the shrine visit and enjoy the festival itself.

Not even noon and she already felt like the day had lasted forever, but that was the way it went sometimes.

Tajima took in the sight of Takara-chan in her red festival kosode with its orange, yellow, and white flame motifs with approval as she found her way to the group containing many of the most powerful young shinobi of the clan as the sunset and the flames of the Uchiha started reaching towards the sky.

She was greeted with cheers by the young men and a couple of her fellow kunoichi, and from what he could tell fell quickly into heckling back-and-forth with the rest of them.

Good, good.

His sons were acting normal with her, rather than Madara suddenly shunning her company as he feared might happen, and Takara herself seemed in good spirits after all the changes and upheavals since winter began.

“C’mon Taka-chan!”  Her cousin Akihito-kun urged her on as the sun kissed the horizon, lighting up the world in crimson and gold.  “Your turn!”

Takara’s bell-like laugh chimed over the crowd, and then she made a few hurried signs with Madara before backing up and then sprinting forward.  The kunoichi showed off her skills superbly before the clan as she sprang onto the waiting cradle of Madara’s hands, his oldest son launching the kunoichi into the air.  Then as she reached the apex of the throw - which was a considerable distance into the air given both her own skills and Madara’s strength - she made a quick series of handsigns, then fire and flame poured out from her.

High above the Uchiha Compound, high enough to be seen from a great distance away, flowers of pure flame bloomed in the sky, moments later joined by a pair of colliding fire dragons:

One cast by Madara, the other Izuna.

Together, the three most powerful shinobi of the Uchiha lit up the sky.

And all through the night the fires roared, and the clan celebrated, until they welcomed the dawn and Amaterasu back to the world once more.

Far away in an enemy stronghold, an albino teenager stood watch on the wall and faced the West, unable to settle with the dancing and joy and shear warmth of the Uchiha so bright and clear to his sensing.

Here was the roiling wildfire of Madara, the walking calamity, his brother’s beloved adversary.

On its heels the sharper, biting fire and burning coals of Izuna, Tobirama’s own battlefield target.

Then there it was: the firestorm who had both given and taken so much to-and-from the Senju, even if Tobirama was the only one who really knew it.

When spring came again, Tobirama would have to gird himself and fight the Uchiha as fiercely as ever: there was no other choice.  Only the fight, or annihilation.  At least according to his father and the elders, for all that Hashi-nii had a different idea of things.

Now, in that moment however, the fight was both past and the future.

For now, he could rest his senses on the warmth and joy of his historical enemies and enjoy the momentary peace.

However short it may turn out to be, as it always was.

Chapter Text

Karuma no Kagami

Chapter Nineteen: We are Uchiha.

New Years was the foremost celebration in the Elemental Nations, and everyone wore their finest clothing to the first shrine visit of the year.

The day before New Years, all the members of the Ishikoridome gathered in Hanzou’s back garden to pound and make mochi - which was a larger gathering that Takara initially prepared for.

Her father had been right, as it happened.

No sooner had the rush of the solstice worn away than had Arata-ji, Chiyo-ba, and her cousins (all with the approval of her grandparents) made their official appeal to be adopted into the Ishikoridome.

What she didn’t expect and had no way of anticipating was that they weren’t alone.

The time between the end of the solar year - Tōji - and the lunar new year was one of finishing business for the year and ensuring that plans were finalized for the upcoming year.  To that end, she’d been expecting to speak with Arata-ji and Chiyo-ba (if her father was right in his suspicions) regarding the change of bloodline and adopting them into the Ishikoridome - but she also wouldn’t have been surprised if it never happened at all.  Akihito and Chikara were both blooded shinobi, so they could choose for themselves if they wished to change from being low-ranked Amaterasu to high-ranked Ishikoridome, but Haruki was young enough that whatever decision his parents made would apply to him as well.

And as her father had made clear over the years, choosing the path for a child to walk was no easy thing or a decision to be made lightly.

As Takara greeted her family in the main room of her home, she found that she had miscalculated.  Her assumptions had been based on logic and fact.  Logically there was no benefit to most of her close-kin to leave the Amaterasu bloodline and join the Ishikoridome.  The Amaterasu was the foremost bloodline of the Uchiha, it was the bloodline of the main family and from which the co-leaders of the clan were always selected.  There were some like Elder Mikoto who believed it was better to be low-ranked Amaterasu than high-ranked in another bloodline, even the next-most-powerful in the Tsukuyomi.

Proven by the fact that Elder Mikoto had returned to the Amaterasu rather than remain with her husband’s bloodline after his death.

The fact was that the Ishikoridome despite being the newest bloodline formed to honor Takara’s new Mangekyou pattern, having a living Mangekyou in Takara didn’t automatically elevate them within the clan hierarchy to second to the Amaterasu with the other bloodlines lacking a living Mangekyou holder.

Takara had significant sway as a Mangekyou holder, but that didn’t mean that everyone among the Ishikoridome were equally uplifted.

Yes, the Ishikoridome did have Takara’s Mangekyou as a mark of influence, but it still had to be carefully managed to avoid causing offense among the bloodlines who didn’t have a Mangekyou holder.

Especially since Takara was originally Amaterasu, and the other bloodlines might look askance at her being granted a patent of bloodline if they thought it was a power-grab from the Amaterasu.  Takara wasn’t about to allow herself or her family to be pawns in inner-clan politics, seen merely as an extension of Tajima-sama, Minoru-obaa-sama, or the Amaterasu elders.  She intended for them to be distinct from the Amaterasu in more than her Mangekyou - but that would take time to enact.

At the moment, while there was much potential for the future of the Ishikoridome, in the present there was an incredible amount of work to be done.

So it was something of a shock to see not only her Arata-ji and Chiyo-ba with their sons coming to request adoption as Ishikoridome, but her mother’s brothers with their wives and children as well.

The same who she had once traveled with during a trading season to both train her in the ways of her civilian trading kin, but also to relieve the burden of her care from her mother’s shoulders.

Family had taken precedence - as her uncles made clear - over worries about clan hierarchy, especially as it didn’t affect them the same as clan members who remained at the compound year-round.  Takara was their niece.  The daughter of their beloved youngest sister, and they would follow her and support her as they believed Aiko would have wanted.

It was a notion, a sentiment, that almost made her cry.

As Takara made clear to Tajima-sama, despite what the clan assumed, she had - privately - designated her cousin Akihito as her heir to the Ishikoridome.  Privately, as in even her cousin himself didn't know that he was her nominal heir.  She was able to withstand having a bloodline crashing onto her shoulders despite her physically young age.  She would never choose to leave such a burden to her younger sisters if she could help it.  Which, with the inheritance laws of the Uchiha being what they were, as she legally had another option, it was one she grabbed hold of with both hands.  Eventually she might make the line of inheritance clear, if only to ward off fortune-hunters trying to advance themselves through her sisters, but for the moment no one but her, her father, and Tajima-sama needed to know that Takara had actively taken steps to avoid a regency over the Ishikoridome if at all possible.

Her uncles Tadashi and Satoshi had brought with them their wives, children, and their children’s spouses and their own children, more than doubling the census of the Ishikoridome overnight - as well as increasing their wealth.

Tadashi and Satoshi had been their father’s heirs, and still led the trade caravan to the Land of Iron every year with the help of their sons and a few cousins.

With the change of bloodline to the Ishikoridome, that made Takara’s bloodline responsible for one of the foremost trade routes among the Uchiha.

It was a heavy responsibility to add onto everything else that came hand-in-hand with the bloodline patent, but at least with her education carrying over now into her third life, she didn’t feel entirely unprepared to deal with it - once Zetsu was brought down once and for all.

As she brought her relatives into the bloodline, she had given each new household a scroll that contained the designated motifs and crests of the Ishikoridome, but she hadn’t been prepared with enough gifts to account for the unexpected number of adopted members she ended up writing into the Ishikoridome register.

She fixed that oversight when they gathered to make mochi, as she and her father raided their combined stocks of fine leather and their whitest bone and burnished or carved them with the Ishikoridome crest.

Whether they chose to wear it to the shrine or not was up to them, but every new member - more than twenty strong - by New Years had either a leather obi, haori-himo, or a carved bone obidome that they were given by their new line head.

Takara couldn’t help but smile at the sight of her father wearing his new black montsuki as a clan elder with the Uchiha crest and those marking him as the bloodline elder on his back while centered on each front panel was the Ishikoridome crest.  Silk striped hakama in black and indigo, and a black haori with the same crests went on over Hanzou’s white hanjuban and his black montsuki.  His haori-himo was made of braided white cord and was strung with a white bone carved Ishikoridome crest.

It was the most formal she had ever seen him, as previously his montsuki-hakama-haori outfit was done entirely in indigo and white cotton except for the red from the Uchiha mon.

Since the first day of the New Year was the “age-turning” day as well for everyone who had had a birthday over the previous year, her sisters were officially six years old but still a year away from being given their first obi.

As a result, their outfits for the shrine visit were much less formal than they would be otherwise, even with the gift of new outfits in the Ishikoridome motifs of the Yata Mirror, magatama windchimes, and flames.

Mirrors and windchimes danced down sleeves and along hems of indigo, twining around red flames in a smaller mimic of Takara’s new black furisode.  

Along the panels of said furisode, Ishikori-dome was painted in the process of smithing the Yata Mirror and then hanging it and the magatama windchimes in trees on the back of the furisode.  Mirrors, windchimes, and flames danced along the sleeves.  And on the back of the shoulders, Takara wore three crests: the Uchiha mon largest in the center, flanked by a pair of the Ishikoridome crest, and on the front left-and-right panels in pride of place was her personal crest as the head of the Ishikoridome.

What else could Takara have chosen for the crest than the Yata Mirror?

Various elements were changed so that it didn’t hinge on blasphemy, with the more detailed changes showing in Takara’s “head” crest and the least details on the standard Ishikoridome crest.

Takara’s crest began as the circle of the Yata Mirror, but replaced the concentric wide-dark and thin-light circles ringing the outer-ring of the mirror with a ring of flames.  Inside the ring of flames after an empty border came the double-motif inner-ring.  The eight-point star that represented the sun was left in place in honor of Amaterasu.  The innermost layer of design was replaced, with the eight spade-like protections swapped for the three-arrowhead design of Takara’s Mangekyou.  In the empty center of the design, an Uchiwa was added.

For her father as the elder of the of the bloodline, the flame motif was removed, leaving the concentric ring motif of the mirror, while for the “standard” Ishikoridome crest, only the pattern of Takara’s Mangekyou remained to alter the Yata mirror motif into a crest.

Takara’s new obi to go with her line head’s black furisode was heavy silk in a pure crimson, with golden flames and silver uchiwa embroidery making a striking design.

Knowing that Takara would have to wear formal kimono far more often now that she was a line head, her grandmother, aunties, and elder female cousins (including those married to her male cousins) had all come during the annual cleaning and airing of the house to take stock of what Takara owned - and what she didn’t.

Which, by necessity, included her clothing inheritance from her mother.

“Are you alright, Hana?”  Takara asked in concern as they climbed down from the storage-portion of the loft and she caught her cousin wincing.

The other women who’d gathered to go through Takara’s wardrobe (and as a result help air and clean the household’s kimono) turned to look at them in concern, though none of their hands stopped draping silk and cotton over kimono hangers and finding places for them to air out.

Hanzou was out with the other men of the clan sweeping walkways and doing other maintenance to make a fresh start of the year, while the twins were off with Miho-san going through their own wardrobes and sorting what was still fitting from what was not, and airing everything out in their room.

The winter thus far had been bitter and crisp but not wet or laden with snow, allowing them to open the house to the air without having to risk the damp invading or as often happened with a rare wet-winter, waiting to air the house and their textiles until the rains or snows had stopped.

“Fine, Takara.”  Hana set down the last of the kimono storage boxes with a sigh, then gestured towards her neck.  “The seal is still healing.”  She explained when her demurral didn’t reassure their audience.  “I don’t know how you stand it, Takara.”

“Needs-must.”  Takara admitted.  “I think the itching as a tattoo heals is the worst part, more so than the pain of the inking.”

Several of the women all nodded, as the matriarch, Takara’s grandmother, watched in amusement alongside her eldest daughter and Kaede-chan.

As the only three present who weren’t formally adopted into the Ishikoridome, none of them had undergone the seal-tattoo process that Takara had insisted on for the bloodline - at least, not yet, as they all knew once it was revealed to the larger clan that Tajima-sama was sure to insist on it.

A mind-protection seal was no small thing to refuse, and if the clan leadership sponsored it, they would accept it.

For the moment, they didn’t truly see a need to have one for themselves as they rarely left the compound and therefore weren’t under such a threat.

Unlike their relatives who either traveled with the trading caravans, like Hana, or were otherwise active outside the compound such as Takara.

Takara blinked as she cataloged the garments hanging - on more hangers than she owned - in the main room, with kosode and juban of varying make and formality draping or properly hung on every surface.  Obi and accessories were organized into boxes.  Even kanzashi, hair pins, and other jewelry were laid out.

That…was more clothing than she and her late mother owned combined, she couldn’t help but notice as she caught sight of a su'ō, or sappanwood violet, hōmongi that she didn’t immediately recognize along with a murasaki purple furisode that she knew wasn’t hers or her mother’s.

Looking closely and simply counting in her head, she estimated that altogether the amount of various kimono layers, both kosode and underlayers, had doubled - which meant that they were all in on it as they were of varying sizes as well.

“What is going on?”  She finally asked as she finished spinning in a circle and taking in the scene.  She hadn’t seen any of her female relatives arrive with kimono boxes in tow, but then as they were her relatives, they’d all been able to either purchase or barter for some of Takara’s new sealing scrolls directly.  Where others had to wait until she and the other sealing adepts were finished supplying the shinobi forces and the clan quartermasters before bartering for sealing scrolls from the general supply.  Much as how Takara and her family had to wait their turn for new pottery or a fresh stock of tea since none of her relatives were involved in either of those trades or on the tea caravans.  “What’s happening?”

“You are a line head now, my girl.”  Her grandmother told her bluntly from where she was seated in state next to the irori with a fresh pot of tea next to her.  “You will have to dress as such instead of living in your kunoichi uniform, at least when going about your bloodline business or meeting with the clan leadership.  It would be unfamilial if we,” she gestured, encompassing all the gathered women.  “Forced you to supplement your wardrobe from your own purse when another option exists.”

“All of us have brought options from our own wardrobes or that we had previously set aside.”  Chiyo-ba told her gently.  “Whatever you choose, we will divide into what to tailor immediately and what to reserve for when you’re older.”  She hesitated, sharing a glance with her mother and sisters, then added: “You will also need to choose which of your mother’s garments you will keep for yourself and which your sisters will have to choose from for their own inheritance when they are older.”

Takara sucked in a wounded breath, as traditionally she would have another year before she had to see to that particular rite of passage, but she couldn’t deny the sensibility of what they were saying.

Hadn’t she already dug into her mother’s wardrobe in order to face off with the elders?

This would merely be formalizing what necessity had previously forced upon her.

“We shall start with your own things, Takara-chan.”  Her grandmother said, no-nonsense as ever.  “Come girl, strip to your undergarments.”  She clicked her tongue, and waved at her other granddaughters to snap-to in helping their younger cousin.  “We have much to do and not that long to do it.”

“Yes, grandmother.”  The younger women all murmured, almost in unison, and then their eyes met and laughed.

Her cousins weren’t much help with her kunoichi uniforms - either helping her into them or getting her out of them - but that was only to be expected.

Mostly they were doing a quick check of fit to see if any of them needed let out, repaired, or handed down to Haruki-kun since they were only kunoichi uniforms because Takara was the one wearing them - in function they were the exact same as what any other Uchiha shinobi wore.

Takara’s actual wardrobe also went fast.  Almost everything was still in good repair as both Takara and Miho-san had excellent skill with a needle, but several items were set aside to be handed down.  She found when trying on her summer festival kosode that it had grown too tight in the bust and hips, along with most of her other summer-weight layers.

Haruki-kun and the twins would benefit from her blossoming figure forcing the matter of a wardrobe purge, and before long they’d torn through Takara’s small collection of non-uniform garments and were moving on to one that was much harder: Aiko’s wardrobe.

Draped in her indigo and white windowpane (at least, that was how she thought of the shibori pattern) yukata, Takara moved to the next section of garments as her cousins efficiently stacked the give-away pile into Haruki-kun and twin sections, separate from Takara’s alter/repair pile.

And then she just… froze as she stared at the wealth of wardrobe that her mother had either brought with her into her marriage or had been given to her by her husband or parents afterward, that her aunts had moved to the forefront of the room.

“You have to keep the Three Friends of Winter furisode.”  Her grandmother’s voice broke her out of her frozen state.  “The entire outfit, including the wisteria nagajuban and the dancing fan obi.”  The matriarch decreed, her eldest daughter moving to collect the parts-and-pieces of the outfit Takara had worn before the clan elders and made such a statement that tongues were still wagging almost a full month later.

“Then the flying crane furisode,” the same that she wore during her ascension ceremony as the head of the Ishikoridome, “and the tsubaki furisode should be set aside for my sisters.”

Her grandmother pursed her lips but then nodded in agreement.  “The butterfly furisode will be yours then.”  She gestured for Chiyo to hold up the furisode with its light willow-dyed green background and woven vibrant butterflies in blues, reds, oranges, and yellows with their embroidered embellishments.

Grandmother Uchiha nodded, pleased at how the colors complemented Takara-chan’s features, and gestured for it to be added to the “to-tailor” pile.  It was light enough in color that it was suitable for a young maiden.  Miho-san would have to change out the short-sleeves for the longer maiden-length swinging sleeves, but that wouldn’t be much work compared to what sewing a furisode from new cloth would entail.

Sorting through the rest of Aiko’s kosode was less fraught than her furisode, as her grandmother was less apt to argue with her over setting the bulk of Aiko’s wardrobe aside since she was taking two of the most expensive outfits out of consideration for either Tsubaki or Tsukiko to have for their own.

Including all the accessories and underpinnings, which included a nagoya obi with silver embroidered clouds on lapis-lazuli blue tsumugi silk to go with the butterfly furisode.

Aiko’s two irotomesode, one in indigo and the other crimson, were set aside for the twins to choose from, as well as a pair of painted-figure visiting kimono.

Misao-ba was the one who insisted on Takara keeping Aiko’s tea ceremony iromuji for herself as the monochromatic celadon silk woven in a water chestnut pattern looked very fine against Takara’s coloring.  Which in turn meant that the checkered-woven celadon hanhaba obi was set in Takara’s “keep” pile as well, along with the matching obijime and obiage.  Monochrome was considered respectful for tea ceremony as it was unobtrusive, so there was no point in dividing up that set once Misao-ba decided that Takara should have it.

Aiko’s half-dozen “everyday” kosode were all cotton rather than silk, and as a result her grandmother let her sort out two for herself without argument, Takara choosing one with a turtle pattern in green-on-green and a large koi-print on blue with the rest set aside for the twins.

The same with Aiko’s juban collection, as she’d owned another half-dozen when she died, in an even split of cotton and silk.

Takara wanted the two-piece hanjuban/sasuyoke sets, both were cotton (which made her grandmother make a face), one Uchiha-crimson and the other a pale aqua blue.

Aiko’s kimono ties, removable collars, obiage, and obijime were all divided evenly, with her aunties debating which options matched which kosode that Takara had chosen even as Takara found herself thrown into Aiko’s kimono padding to see if it would work for her, the same with her obi-ita and obi musubi padding.

As always, her grandmother had the final verdict with her precise eye, and while the obi-ita and obi musubi padding for tying proper knots were determined to suit Takara well enough at the moment, the kimono padding was a loss.

Even as a teenager, Takara was shaping up to have a very different body shape than her mother.  It was assumed between her grandmother and aunties to be due to her kunoichi training but Takara wasn’t so sure about that.  She had taken after her father in so many other ways, it was hard for her to discount that she might’ve taken a different-than-typical-Uchiha body type from him as well.

Rather than mourn that she likely wouldn’t be as willowy as Aiko had been, Takara instead offered up the kimono padding to her cousin Akemi.  Of the women present, her uncle Tadashi’s eldest daughter had the closest body type to her late aunt.  Takara preferred it be used instead of putting it back into storage when they had no guarantee that either Tsubaki or Tsukiko would be any more “Uchiha” in their body than Takara was turning out to be.

Her aunts and cousins had moved the articles that Takara was keeping to one side of the room surrounding her loom, while the others were either packed back away or were sent to hang in the drying room off the kitchen for airing.

Takara and Miho-san would pack the various kimono layers back away - those that were returning to storage - while those that were now Takara’s would be either tailored or stored in her room rather than with the rest of Aiko’s belongings.

Turning, she eyed the remainder, what had to be garments and accessories belonging to her female relatives, and then sighed.

“What’s next?”  She asked the steely-eyed general masquerading as her benevolent grandmother, resigned to her fate as a doll to dress and fuss over which colors and motifs suited her best.

Which…might get nasty.

If sorting through her own garments opened her up to scolding from her grandmother at the state of them, and her mother’s was poking the healed scar of her death, then choosing among the garments provided by her female relatives ran the risk of starting bloodshed.

Or a family feud.

Neither of which sounded appealing as once the new year's festivities were done-and-dusted, Takara would be approaching Tajima-sama about needing to leave the compound to “see to her duty” aka try and kill Zetsu and destroy the husk of the Ten-Tails to prevent Kaguya’s escape from her prison.

She didn’t have time to mediate a dispute between her aunts or cousins.

Which effectively painted her into a corner: if she couldn’t risk offending any of them lest it balloon out of control, then she would have to rely on her grandmother to play the heavy if an item truly didn’t suit her.

Where they started, as it happened, was with a pair of nagajuban from the younger of her cousins in Kaede and Hana: one a pale pink the color of cherry blossoms, and one with a more coral tone.  Both were silk and had been barely worn.  Still, Takara knew better than to seem ungrateful by refusing the gifts, and instead thanked both of her cousins effusively for the garments.

The nagajuban weren’t set fully aside, however, instead measured and quick-basted for later tailoring as her grandmother instructed her to put the pure-white silk nagajuban from her mother’s things on to wear under the rest of the try-on process.

Akemi helped her into a lined spring kosode of tsumugi silk.  The outer layer was a woven design of asanoha, or geometric hemp leaves, in ukon-iro or tumeric-colored yellow against the plain-woven midori green background.  The tsumugi’s lining was a lighter green silk the color of young bamboo.

A nod from their grandmother was all it took for the tsumugi to be added to the tailoring pile, and then the next kosode was draped onto her.

And then another.

And then another.

To some relief on Takara’s part, not everything that had been brought over - entirely kosode or underlayers, not an obi or accessory in sight, thankfully - was either large enough as she might not be lithe but she was on her way to being tall, or suited her coloring.

The red in her hair caused her grandmother no little amount of consternation, to Takara’s amusement, even as the blue of her eyes was rhapsodized over with how the cool tones of summer wear made them pop.

Eventually they began to run out of garments for Takara to try on, and came to the pair of items that had clued her into there being games afoot in the first place: the su'ō hōmongi and the murasaki furisode.

Both of which, apparently, had belonged to her grandmother when she was a much younger woman and not been passed down to any of her own daughters - likely because of reasons to do with status.

While no one could say that her grandmother’s daughters married inappropriately, none of them had married men who were particularly high-ranked within the Uchiha.

Misao-ba’s husband Hajime was a skilled blacksmith, but was relatively the same generational distance from the Amaterasu main family as Misao herself.

Chiyo-ba married Arata-ji, who as a shinobi had good income, but again wasn’t highly placed.

Seiko-ba was given to the Shrine of Amaterasu.

And, of course, Takara was more than familiar with how some people within the clan spoke about the marriage of her own mother and father.

Not one of them advanced to either the same social status of their mother who was first cousin to Elder Mikoto and only two generations from the main line, let alone exceeded it, and therefore had no need of kosode in shades of noble violet.

Underlayers, like with Aiko’s wisteria-colored nagajuban that was now Takara’s, were acceptable, but wearing a purple outer layer of any shade would be a different matter and might make them subject to censure from their elders.

The sappanwood visiting kimono was a redder violet than the true purple of the murasaki furisode, and was gorgeous.

Takara truly didn’t know if she would’ve been able to refuse it, even if it weren’t her grandmother offering it.  Lined figured silk brocade, it featured the akikusa motif of seven autumnal flowers and plants including chrysthanthemums, bellflower, carnations, eulalie grasses, and maple leaves.  Additionally green and blue embroidered dragonflies both rested or flew through the woven foliage.

Paired with the sappanwood hōmongi was a hakata-ori obi that stunned Takara speechless when her grandmother rose and wrapped it around her waist.

Dove feather grey as a base, it alternated larger color-block grey stripes with slim lines of sappanwood/grey/white in sets of five, as well as five sections of patterned stripes on the dove grey base in a lighter grey, navy, and dark mulberry purple.

The obi alone was a treasured heirloom, let alone the matching kimono, obiage in pure white silk, or the braided kumihimo in navy with faint hints of dove grey and white.

“Never forget who we are, dear girl.”  Her grandmother murmured as she stepped back from tying the obi behind her back.  “We are of the blood of Indra.  We are kuge.   We are Uchiha.   Never forget that when others might sneer at your father’s blood or lift their noses at you being the head of a new bloodline.”

“Yes, grandmother.”  Takara blinked away a tear as she lightly brushed her fingertips over the priceless brocade obi.  “I hear you.”

“Good.”  She nodded crisply, circling Takara with a pleased look in her dark eyes.  “Now the murasaki.”

That night, Hanzou found himself staring with amusement at the overwhelmed face of his daughter as Takara ate by rote.

He’d known what his in-laws had planned and had approved.

Takara had been entirely too shocked over how many of her relatives had been eager and willing to join the Ishikoridome, a reminder of how she was loved and esteemed by those closest to her, had been in order.

The next day was likely to reinforce the day’s lessons as gifts were exchanged.

With few exceptions, he knew that their family members were planning gifts of bolts of fabric for making kimono, either for Takara and Miho-san to sew and tailor or to take to one of the two kimono artisans within the clan.

Some of them, Hanzou included, had gotten her silk for her new loom, but for the most part her family was rectifying the issue of Takara not having a wardrobe suitable for a line head or a young maiden approaching the age of courtship.

“Are you alright, Takara-chan?”  Hanzou asked with a laugh in his voice.

“I’m never doing that again.”  Takara hissed, stretching her neck with a soft groan.  “I’m exhausted in a way that has nothing to do with physical activity and everything to do with being picked apart all day by a dozen other women.”

“You’ll have to,” Hanzou told her mercilessly, swallowing a laugh at the glare his precious daughter shot him from under lidded eyes at the reminder.  “When it comes time to take stock of your wardrobe to plan your trousseau.”

“Years from now, when I actually become engaged.”  Takara huffed, slumping.  “Not anywhen soon, thank Amaterasu-sama.”

Not that she wanted to think fatalistically, but there was something to the notion that if she died between then-and-now, she’d never have to run the wardrobe gauntlet with all her older female relatives ever again.

It was a hidden blessing, but when it came to facing Zetsu, any bright side had to be taken into account.

Granted: she’d never intentionally allow herself to be killed.

But on the other hand…there were genuinely some fates worse than death and perhaps what Takara had just been through might be one of them.

It had been a good day, a necessary day, for certain.

She felt closer to her grandmother and her uncle’s wives than she had for years.

But at what cost???

Chapter Text

Karuma no Kagami

Chapter Twenty: Precipice

“Takara-chan.”  Uchiha Tajima greeted the young head of the Ishikoridome bloodline as she entered his office in the Warrior’s Hall.  He couldn’t help but eye the new sword that hung from the expertly crafted wide leather belt that she wore over her uniform.  Words about that sword, an heirloom of Hanzou-san’s, had met his ears in recent days, though the clan had yet to see it in action.  “Please: be welcome here.”

“Thank you, Tajima-sama.”  She bowed as gracefully in her kunoichi uniform of indigo kendogi and trousers over a round-collared shirt with the Uchiha mon upon the back as she did in full furisode.  No reason to walk-back her abilities now, especially as a line-head.  “I have several issues in need of discussion with the shirei-kan.”

“Oh?”  He asked, leaning back a bit on his heels.

“There is a…” she worded her request carefully, playing heavily on allusion without actually outright stating anything to keep from being accused - if she survived - of lying to the clan’s co-leader and commandant of their warriors.  “Duty that I must carry out, now that I am a shinobi by training and custom in addition to being blooded.”  She stared Tajima-sama dead in the eye, not willing to show even an ounce of weakness that the old war hawk might pounce upon.  “One that must be done,” she allowed her hand to rest on the handle of Kusanagi.  “Or else my family will never be safe.”

“What can you tell me of it?”  Tajima asked less-than-thrilled with the idea of sending out one of the most powerful shinobi of the clan on little more than the words of a teenager, but at the same time all-too-aware of how secretive Hanzou-san had always been about his origins as a Hatake.  There was a reason for that, and if that reason still dogged them generations down the line…  He could see the logic of Takara, the first shinobi in generations from her paternal bloodline, setting out to settle that score before it could lash out onto her father or sisters…or potentially her children, if whatever sent Hanzou’s people fleeing from the Hatake might haunt them if Takara’s heritage was ever discovered.  She had always been a dutiful child.

And with enemies like the Senju ever-present in both the forefront and the background of Tajima’s worries, if he could keep another situation like that blood feud from arising, he would.

Even if it meant sending out Takara-chan to complete her “duty” to her family without as full of an explanation as he would otherwise require.

“Little, it is a matter of duty and honor to my family.”  Takara answered in total honesty - she simply didn’t say which family - then continued.  “A debt that must be paid.”

“One of blood, no doubt?”  Tajima asked wryly then waved his hand when Takara visibly hesitated on how to answer him.  “How long will you be gone?”

“It is difficult to predict.”  Takara told him.  “If my target isn’t where I expect them, then I will have to track them, all over the Elemental Countries if need be, in order to fulfill my duty to my family.”

“The Uchiha cannot afford to lose you, Takara-chan.”  Tajima reminded her bluntly.  “Not only your power, or your position at the head of a new bloodline.  Your death would be a blow to all those who know and care for you.”

Reaching into her leather belt, Takara took out a trio of scrolls and offered them flat upon her palms, to her clan leader.

“Then it is good that I have taken time to create a few gifts for the clan.”  She said, hiding how important the work she was offering - no strings attached beyond her wish that they be used - to Tajima-sama was to the future of the clan as she saw it, especially if she failed.  “To keep them safe - both in my absence, and in the event of my death, should my filial duty take me from them.”

“Takara, Takara,” Tajima sighed and shook his head, but didn’t hesitate to take the scrolls of her sealing work from her hands.  Not even bothering with the traditional ceremony of refusal and insistence that was polite.  “What have you done now, you impossible creature?”

Lifting from her offering-bow, she shot a sly smile at him, pleased as punch at the implicit permission for her to carry out her “duty” that came with Tajima accepting what amounted to a bribe.

Though neither of them would be so uncouth as to call it that, or ever draw attention to the circumstances behind Takara’s “gift” of her work.

“Two new barrier seals.”  She chirped, rightfully smug.  “One that’s a warning array for the outer reaches of our immediate compound grounds.”  Such as the edges of the forest that marked the end of the farming lands and the start of the Uchiha wildlands.  “As well as an actual barrier array that requires a passkey for the barrier to allow movement in-and-out and needs to be embedded in a solid structure like walls and a gate.”

She might have based that one on the jade tokens and barriers of the Cloud Recesses from The Grandmaster of Demonic Cultivation, but that was between her and the kami, while the weaker one was similar to the barrier alarms that Konoha had utilized.

“The third impossibility you’ve decided to make possible?”  Tajima asked drily, pushing beyond his shock and awe at what one girl with a gift for fuuinjutsu had made.  No wonder Uzushio had a reputation for both power and insanity if such was common among those with the fuuinjutsu gift.

Once unnamed other than as the Uzumaki Clan’s stronghold, Uzushio has become a village over the last century.  A mixture of civilian and shinobi.  All of whom have a single trait in common: all were sworn in service or vassalage to the Uzumaki Clan who ruled there as daimyo over their lands, refusing to bow their heads to the nearest powers either on the mainland or the Land of Water.

Tajima had refused more than one assassination request for the Uzumaki Daimyo, as well as his daughters, in his time as shirei-kan.

Madmen and geniuses, it wasn’t worth the headache of drawing the ire of the fuuinjutsu masters of Uzushio to take the bounty, no matter how generous.

Or how much having their dearest allies crippled would hurt the Senju in turn.

“A seal to prevent genjutsu and, I suspect but have no way to test it,” though she didn’t need to since it was the anti-possession seal that she had created with Naruto during the Fourth Shinobi War and Yamanaka Ino had proved that it worked against the Yamanaka techniques as well.  “Other mind-based attacks from working on a target.”

Tajima just blinked at her for a moment, then looked down at the third, innocuous-appearing, scroll of fuuinjutsu.

“You…you created what?”

“A fuuinjutsu shield against mental intrusion, at its core.”  Takara explained succinctly, then turned a bit on her knees so she could show the bottom of her head near her ear.  With one hand, she pulled up her hair tight against her head and made a part so that it no longer swooped down into her braid and revealed a patch of hair that had been shaved but was regrowing.  “All the Ishikoridome now bear it.”

There, about an inch-and-a-half square, was the seal in question tattooed onto her skin in a pure black ink over the bone of her skull.  From a distance it appeared simple: the backwards-S kanji for ‘self’ that, again, had been an idea from a story.  In reality those simple black lines hid a series of seal components that were so small it was only with the sharingan she’d managed to shrink it down so a shadow clone could tattoo it in place.

A much better location than the original as well due to the smaller size, as it was impossible to destroy a seal tattoo that an opponent didn’t even know she bore.

Originally, during the War, the seal had taken up an entire side of her neck and been flagrantly obvious unless constantly hidden by henge or clothing.

Some had grumbled about it, but as no one was eager to find themselves being puppeted around by Zetsu, or with Madara or Obito in their heads, they’d worn the seal all the same.

This way, at least if she died in her attempt to rid the world of Zetsu, those she loved might have protection against him.

The thought of Zetsu burrowing into Madara’s heart and soul like a worm and making himself at home inside her friend filled her with a kind of rage that burned low and strong and eternal.

Zetsu had had his way with the Uchiha for far too long.

It was time he paid for it - with interest.

“We will use them, Takara-chan.”  Tajima promised her, seeing her resolve in her eyes.  “We would be fools not to.   While I cannot force your mental shield on the civilians,” he held back a sigh.  That was going to be a battle, he could already see it, as while no one looked twice at a shinobi who chose to have fuuinjutsu tattoos, or even decorative ones covering scars, the civilians had strange notions at times.  Not everyone was going to be willing to shave a portion of their head - even temporarily - to hide the seal either.  “I can ensure that by the time spring is upon us and we are taking missions once more, that our shinobi forces are all thus equipped.”

“Then I will entrust these designs to you, Tajima-sama.”  Takara bowed low, then rose once more to rest on her heels.  “Along with the knowledge that my wishes for my belongings and the future of the Ishikoridome have been left in a seal-locked scroll with my father.”  She told him explicitly.  “It will only open in the event of my death.  It states my wishes quite clearly, but I will make this much known to you now: if I should die, whether carrying out my duty or some time in the future, my cousin Akihito should become the Line Head in my place.”

“Not held for one of your sisters?”  Tajima frowned.  “They are considered your heirs within the clan.”

She shook her head.  “Losing one daughter to the life of a kunoichi has been hard enough on my father.  I would not force one of my sisters to follow my path if they do not choose it of their own accord.  Akihito is a strong shinobi and has a good head on his shoulders.  Moreover, he is a legal adult despite his coming of age ceremony being next year.  Better him than a small child to wade through the turmoil that my death would make.”

Tajima couldn’t argue that her logic was anything but sound, little as he liked it.

Whilst on the other hand, he did starkly appreciate that Takara-chan had a strong enough grasp on reality to even make plans in case of her death.

He had seen too many young shinobi over the years that thought themselves immortal and invincible - kami-sama, at her age he’d been one such young shinobi.

She would make Madara an excellent wife to help balance his own traits.

If she survived this secret duty that was so dangerous she had put no-little time and effort into ensuring the safety of those she left behind should the worst happen.

Oh, Tajima didn’t doubt that Takara would have given over the fuuinjutsu designs regardless - but if she hadn’t needed them for a bribe, he shuddered to think of what concessions she would have wrung out of the clan during the negotiations over them and how much they would have had to pay her in perpetuity to use them.

He was already braced for the negotiations that would come once she finished the Stasis Seal she’d been working on for years now, the thought of additional negotiations made him want to retire and make Madara deal with Takara-chan and Hanzou-san’s joint ability to wring blood from stone.

Whenever he might have been inclined to forget which branch of the Amaterasu Takara-chan was descended from, negotiations with her always reminded him that she carried trade deep within her blood and bone.

“You will teach your new fuuinjutsu to the other sealing experts of the clan.”  Tajima pronounced.  “Then, once Elder Eiji and Fumio-san have grasped them, you may take your leave to fulfill your duty, Takara-chan.”

“Thank you, Tajima-sama.”  Takara made a low bow of thanks to the shirei-kan.   “I would never have been able to rest until this duty was carried out.”

“Be sure you do all in your power to return to us, Takara-chan.”  Tajima demanded.  “The Uchiha would be much the poorer for your loss: never forget that.”

“Yes, Tajima-sama.”

As it happened, while it took a bit of time to teach her new barrier seal arrays to the other sealing adepts including Eiji-sensei, when it came to putting the mind-protection in place she ran into the same issue as from the Fourth Shinobi War:

Without the sharingan, whoever was attempting to tattoo the protection seal on a subject had to enlarge the design as they didn’t have detailed enough vision as well as precision of hand to make it as small as the tattoo on the edge of Takara’s skull.

Which meant while the theory was taught to Eiji-sensei and Fumio-san, it was actually those among the shinobi that Takara knew and had worked with in the past on improving their fuuinjutsu, as well as who had active sharingan, who helped her tattoo the seal into place on their fellow shinobi.

Including Madara, Izuna, and Akihito, Arata-ji and Kuma-ji, Tajima-sama, and others.

All told, they ended up with about a dozen Uchiha who could copy and repeat the mind-protection seal with enough precision for it to work when tattooed - and even then it took almost an entire month for all the clan’s warriors to receive it and to start on the civilians who were willing to take it on to protect themselves.

Then, with Eiji-sensei and Fumio-san preparing to put the new barrier arrays into effect come spring when the ground thawed for the anchor stones to be buried for the outer-array, Takara was finally able to set out on her mission.

To track and, hopefully, destroy Zetsu - but no matter what to first demolish the Gedō Mazō so that the obvious route to Kaguya’s return was wiped from the playing field entirely.

The figure that slipped silent and unseen from the Uchiha Compound in the bitter depths of winter looked nothing like a kunoichi of the Uchiha.

Everything that could identify her as Uchiha had been stripped away and left behind, even her rosewood bow and Kusanagi.

Weapons wouldn’t do her much good where she was going anyway.

Getting there, yes.

But she didn’t need a custom bow or a legendary sword to travel to Mountain’s Graveyard, even - or perhaps especially - in the depths of winter when everyone with sense remained tucked away with their families.  Even animals wouldn’t be roaming the wilds if they had any other choice.  No, she wasn’t concerned with the trip.

It was bringing down the wrath of Zetsu, even more so than what the construct of malice and greed already felt, onto her people.  It was to that end, keeping her people as safe as possible even if she failed, that she shed the Uchiha.  Leaving behind everything but herself that could mark her for what and who she was.

Comfortable grey civilian hunting leather kendogi and trousers, leggings and a shirt for winter lined in fur as a middle layer over her linen underthings, soft plain-soled boots and unmarked weapons were the order of the day.

Her hair was coiled and bound down tight to her skull, a woven cap tied into place to cover it and conceal even a hint of its coloring.

Takara’s face, with the stamp of the Uchiha so clear upon it, she hid completely.

Not behind the face masks of Konoha.  Neither the soft mask of Kakashi’s apprentice nor the porcelain of her ANBU identity.  The simple answer to the deviation from her Huntress persona was access:

Knit wasn’t readily available yet beyond the industry of places like the Land of Iron and the Land of Silk.  Porcelain was rarely used where it was manufactured for something as frivolous as a mask.  Widespread industry was still limited to countries or regions that were, if not entirely peaceful, at least didn’t have constant conflict to deal with beyond the normal petty squabbles that came with simply being human.

The Land of Fire predominantly relied on their shinobi when it came to exports.  Shinobi, ironically, for being a war-bred people after hundreds of years of feuds and conflict in and among the five major world powers, were also one of the greatest economic drivers of those same conflict-torn lands.  Either their shinobi being hired out to smaller lands that had less active or simply less powerful shinobi clans and families, or the goods that they could make with chakra that no one else could manage.

The complex answer behind the change when Takara could have commissioned a porcelain mask similar to her ANBU identity, or made her own knit tube face mask was that it felt far too much like trying to bury herself in her past rather than moving towards her future.

Instead, hanging from her hip was a molded-leather construction.  Burnished, dyed, and even embroidered, it was her masterwork, even more than the light armor she had made with her father and that waited for a mission call-out in an alcove of her loft bedroom.  Shaped like a fox head, lined with the softest silk and embedded with chakra from the moment she tanned the leather with her own hands, she looked like a kitsune given life and flesh with it on.

All she was missing was the tails.

She already had claws and fangs of steel in her knives, arrows, and senbon.

In a moment of nostalgia she hadn’t been able to resist, she had embroidered a fire-swirl on the center of the fox mask’s forehead, and three whiskers on each cheek.

Taking a breath once she entered the forest north of the compound with the moon shining bright overhead, she removed the mask from her belt and sealed it into place with a flicker of chakra to activate the fuuinjutsu she had painstakingly embedded in the leather and silk.

She tilted her head a bit side-to-side to check the range of motion, her eyes sweeping the moon-drenched shadows of the forest.

Then, satisfied, she sent her chakra sense darting forward towards the northernmost Hiraishin marker she had started littering around the forest once she regained the needed chakra control to do so, and in an instant she was gone, reappearing more than a day’s travel from her home.

Mountain’s Graveyard was straight north from the Land of Fire, tucked away high in the mountains between what would one day be the Land of Sound but was as-yet unclaimed and mostly unpopulated territory, and the Land of Evergreen with its vast coniferous forests and small streams that all led to the enormous waterfall that would one day conceal a hidden village.

At her highest speed she could maintain over long distances, it would take her at least a week to travel to the caverns that contained the Gedō Mazō - hopefully.

Takara hoped that the statue was there, since otherwise she’d have to trek all the way to the Land of Iron and then beyond to the Land of Ancestors where the ancient home of the Sage of the Six Paths and his sons lay in ruins.

Family duty or not, Tajima-sama would have an entire bijuu if Takara was gone as long as that trip would take.

She really hoped that the vague knowledge they’d gained in her first life about the whole progression of events to do with Kaguya, Zetsu, and Madara was accurate.

Tracking not only a nearly-impossible-to-track shadow demon (as she couldn’t think of a better or more accurate description of a chakra construct given life, malice, and purpose) but also the Demonic Statue of the Outer Path was not how she wanted to spend the rest of winter.

Winter was supposed to be her down-time.

Where she could focus on creating or refining fuuinjutsu, teaching her sisters various crafts and skills, and just enjoy being alive.

Her duty must be done.

She was ready, she had the skills and tools she would need, and even a legendary power in her Mangekyō: Amaterasu to serve as backup if necessary.

Delaying would serve no purpose beyond giving Zetsu a chance to learn of her and her mission to completely fuck over his own - by any means necessary.

Takara was no Shimura Danzō: there was a limit to the amount of damage she was willing to inflict in the pursuit of a greater good.

If she failed to destroy Zetsu, her “any means necessary” didn’t entail wide-scale slaughter or the destruction of entire clans.

Senju Hashirama on the other hand…with all the damage that sonuvabitch had done to those she loved, she would have no fucking problem wiping him off the map so completely that not even a single cell would survive for Zetsu to get his oily hands on.

Which, with Amaterasu, was well within her power if she had the opportunity to light his ass up.

Takara ran north for days.

She hadn’t sunk so deeply into her huntress training since Konoha, but it felt like coming home regardless.  Moving silently as a ghost through trees and fields, not even a single footprint left behind to track her path.  The sharingan allowed her to see as clearly in the gloaming hours as she did at high noon, Takara able to travel longer before stopping and resting for the night as a result.

It wasn’t the relentless speed that returning from a mission with wounded - or enemies on her tail - would’ve required, but she wasn’t lollygagging either.

Eating on the trail, stopping every handful of hours to embed a new Hiraishin marker and extend her reach with the teleportation jutsu, she made the sort of time across the breadth of the Land of Fire that would give most shinobi a heart attack.

Not a speedster like Izuna, or her own little brother, or even Kakashi-sensei when properly motivated, but most?

Yeah, even most high-level shinobi would struggle to keep up and keep going in step with a focused Takara.

As they had done when she was Toshiko.

If it weren’t for the bitter cold that added in freezing rain or snow the farther north she traveled, she wouldn’t have bothered to even make full-camp, but she was goal-oriented not idiotic:

It would serve nothing for her to come so far and to have worked herself to the edge of her endurance over and over again for years as she refined and regained her chakra precision and learned how to handle her new reserves and abilities - only to die of hypothermia because she didn’t want to set up a tent.

Her multi-compartment storage scrolls were a blessing to a shinobi on a mission that required speed, as she didn’t have to sacrifice supplies to save weight.  She would have to introduce them soon to the clan.  Maybe next year?

Yeah, maybe next year… if she survived Zetsu.

Eight days after she left the Uchiha Compound, Uchiha Takara crested a frozen peak and took in the stark contrasts of the valley below:

Tall conifers still standing proud and green despite the frigid winter, the green blanket of the canopy broken up by spears of bleached white bone of what was, effectively, an ancient megafauna graveyard that time and nature and weather shifts had brought the edges of the massive temperate rainforest beyond the valley’s western ridgeline encroaching on the boneyard.

Taking a slow, steadying breath, Takara gave one last check of her chakra.  She couldn’t afford to be spotted by Zetsu’s sensory abilities before she laid down her last-resort, forcing her to keep her chakra completely tamped down until she completed the first leg of her plan.  In this, Takara was much like her Naruto: if she was destined to die in an attempt to save what she loved, she was going to make it worth it.

Traps upon seals, plots upon schemes: it had all come down to whether what Takara thought she knew was true, and if she could actually succeed at the mission she’d been charged with.

Were the pieces in place - yes or no?

Would her plan work - yes or no?

That was what it came down to: she would succeed.

Or not.

Everything that came after, what would happen in the future, how the death of either her or Zetsu would affect not just what she remembered of a future-that-was but the world itself: none of it mattered.

All Takara could allow to matter now that she had come so far and fought so hard was the mission.

Success was the only allowed path forward, failure was not an option: she banished the very word from her mind.

Takara would do what must be done.

No matter what it costs her, in the end, if it meant that finally - finally - it was over.

Takara would die in peace and with a smile upon her face if it meant she knew she’d taken Zetsu, who had cost her and everyone she loved so much, with her.

But first: infiltrating the cave system and finding the Gedō Mazō.

Kaguya’s Will had existed and served its Mother’s purpose for more than a thousand years.

It was a construct of chakra given life and will all towards a singular purpose: to free its Mother from her imprisonment wrought by her ungrateful sons.

Kaguya’s Will was not alive in the sense of the low creatures around it.  It did not bleed.  It did not require air or water or food.

Malice and chakra birthed it, its mission and duty to its Mother were its midwives.

It could not use chakra, however, for all that it was chakra.

Instead, for centuries, it had been forced to fulfill its Mother’s mission by deceit, and manipulation, and even possession.  Moving in the shadows.  A whisper here, an intrusive thought there.

It thought Indra was what it needed to free its Mother: but in the end, Indra was a failure, lacking an inestimable something in his chakra that would have made freeing the Mother from her prison possible.

Kaguya’s Will had to start again, this time focusing on both Indra and Ashura’s descendants.  Pushing events here to ensure the bloodlines didn’t die out.  Maneuvering there so that enmity remained strong and unyielding between them.

So that when the time was right, Indra’s descendants wouldn’t quail at the thought of killing Ashura’s and absorbing their necessary chakra for themselves.

That was what Kaguya’s Will originally overlooked in its eagerness to fulfill its duty to its Mother: her ungrateful elder son and the architect of her imprisonment had divided his chakra between his own sons.  Neither Indra or Ashura, nor any of their descendants in all the centuries that Kaguya’s Will had been toying with them, contained both parts of Hagoromo’s needed chakra nature to recreate the Juubi and free Kaguya.  Even when Kaguya’s Will had arranged matters for both bloodlines to breed into a singular vessel: it proved impossible to occur naturally.  One bloodline always dominated the other rather than coexist in the same vessel.

Hagoromo, despite his failures of understanding the nature of the creatures around him, knew that of his mother all too well - and had ensured that her freedom was impossible to attain through a natural confluence of events.

No, one of the bloodline descendants would have to consume the chakra of the other.

They would have to hate their brother bloodline so deeply that what had become one of the deepest and most abiding taboos would seem like a righteous act as well as be one of the avatars of either Indra or Ashura.

After a thousand years, he’d managed once or twice to manage the first, but finding the second needed component to create the perfect vessel for its Mother’s return: not only Ashura’s chakra but the gift Hagoromo passed down, the ability to manipulate life itself.

For a time.

But now, for the first time in countless generations, there was a Senju with Mokuton in addition to an Uchiha with Indra’s own flawless control of fire and his six-pointed star eyes.

Its pieces were set, Kaguya’s Will only needed to nudge here-and-there, to at last succeed.

The current incarnations of Hagoromo’s heirs only needed a push.

It had even selected the weapons it would use, though it would need to harvest more chakra from the Gedō Mazō to possess and whisper into the minds of multiple targets in succession, forcing Kaguay’s Will to return to the husk of the Juubi for the first time in years.

There was no need to guard it: why waste the time and resources on securing a device that no living soul knew existed in the first place?

Kaguya’s Will slipped through the shadows it had learned to manipulate with chakra, flowing through the earth with the ease of a shark through waves, the Gedō Mazō like a lodestone to its senses as it crossed the length and breadth of Fire Country in little more than moments.

Until it was slipping up from the cavern floor of the hidden Ōtsutsuki base that once was controlled by both Kaguya and Isshiki on their mission to their chosen dirtball of a planet.

Before Kaguya betrayed and killed Isshiki, taking the God Fruit and the natural chakra of this world for herself.

Kaguya’s Will, it should be said, was a construct of malice and chakra and will.  One that grew arrogant and bold as well as wrathful after more than a thousand years of being able to play with the creatures of the world around it with impunity.  Nothing had ever stood against it and succeeded.

Not even Indra no Uchiwa, the most powerful shinobi to ever live.

Nothing had ever stood against it, and as far as Kaguya’s Will was concerned, nothing ever would.

It stood on the precipice of success.

Soon, its Mother would be freed and the world once more made right.

All it would take was time.

“Fuuin.”

With a snap of chakra that blazed like lightning and burned like superheated metal in an Uchiha forge, Takara’s main trap for Zetsu sprung and clamped into place around the chakra construct like a bell jar around an invading spider.

Only unlike the open end of a jar or glass slammed down over a flat surface to trap an insect or other vermin within its confines: Takara’s trap worked in totality, an endless sphere of solid chakra sealed around its target.

Trapping Zetsu’s oily, black, shadow-demon self within it like a mosquito in amber.

If there was a singular trait in both allies and enemies that Takara appreciated more than any other, it was predictability.

It was what had driven her nuts the most about Naruto: being unable to fully predict what he would do, much like their sensei.  For a shinobi who was successful because she was able to see and predict the actions of others several steps ahead due to knowing how people behaved and reacted, it was aggravating as all hell that her own brother and sensei had continuously wrecked her plans with their antics.  But her targets?  Those she could predict with a facility that was almost uncanny to everyone around her.

Except Shikaku-sama.

The Godaime recognized his own sort of assholery when it was being acted out live and in technicolor in front of him, and ever after had treated her the same as any of his Nara clanspeople for sheer ability to know what moves to make and which to avoid.

Zetsu was no Shikaku-sama, and could always be predicted to act as if everyone else were ants cowering under his boot or puppets dancing to his tune.

He’d been running the game that was the shinobi world for so long, before Uzumaki Mito and then Naruto, he’d never run into a real roadblock to his plans.

So focused on the endgame and his ‘Mother’ that it made him blind to everything else.

Takara hadn’t been nearly as quiet about her abilities and skills as she really should have been.  If she’d managed to do what she should have, she wouldn’t have acted to do anything but save her own skin until she was in a position to act against Zetsu.  Kept, like him, to the shadows and behind the scenes, not stepped into the light to save Tajima-sama’s sons or that Senju boy, or even her own father.

If Zetsu hadn’t been so target-locked on putting the correct pieces into play at the exact moment he needed them, he would’ve seen her for the anomaly she was.

But at the end of the day: she knew him, he was blind to her, and Zetsu was the one trapped like a fly in syrup instead of her being just another Uchiha sacrificed for the glory of Kaguya.

Stepping forward out of the shadows, Takara was pleased by the glow of the sprung trap that illuminated the once-ink black depths of the Gedō Mazō’s chamber beneath the Mountain’s Graveyard.

Light flared off the intricate web of seal work that she’d wrought, some in chakra-conductive ink, some in her own blood, covering the entire inner surfaces of the cavern that had long ago been machined-smooth by the Ōtsutsuki.

It was everywhere.

The culmination of decades of fuuinjutsu study, mastery, and experimentation.  A tangled web of plan, and contingency, and what-ifs.  More than a dozen different shinobi had contributed to this array or that sigil.  All for a singular distilled purpose:

To make what was become what will never be.

The light gleamed off of her mask, and in the oil-slick form of Black Zetsu as they stared at each other, the creature snapping around to face her with its eerie frosted-white eye holes as soon as she’d dropped the seal concealing her chakra and stepped forward to toe the edge of the trap’s now-physical state.

Takara imagined she made quite the sight.

Bloody sigils and seals painted on her bare arms, the back of her hands, and even her neck and the tops of her bare feet.

All she wore were her linen underclothes and kitsune mask, everything else packed away and sealed into a storage array she’d tattooed onto her left forearm as she waited for Zetsu to return.

Armor, even the light hunting leathers she’d left the Uchiha compound in, was useless against Zetsu much like conventional weapons.

Which had forced her to learn - or make - unconventional ones.

An anti-possession seal.

A seamless trap, without the slightest flaw for a chakra construct to exploit for escape.

A chakra sink worked into the same trap, one that purified even the unrestrained hate and malice of the Kyuubi and then filtered it back to strengthen the trap itself in a neverending feedback loop.

One that was working quite well as the light of the trap’s prison-orb, modeled off of Kirigakure’s Water Prison technique, gleamed and glowed as Zetsu tried to shatter the trap from the inside out, all without taking his attention from her.

Zetsu clucked, as he turned in place, studying the fuuinjutsu arrays revealed by the light of the white-chakra prison.

“Should have worked to destroy the Hatake.”  Kaguya’s Will acknowledged its mistake as it tested and tasted at the chakra that had been wrought to trap it.  “They remember too much and their link to the spirits of this realm is too strong.”

“Perhaps.”  Takara admitted, as the trap would still have worked without her having access to the Hatake White Chakra, she just would have had to power it directly instead of utilizing the purification aspects to create the feedback loop.  “Perhaps not.”  She smiled behind her mask, knowing, as Zetsu could not, that even if the Hatake had been wiped out, or her initial trap hadn’t worked, that there were at least a half-dozen other plans she’d readied as she’d waited for Zetsu to appear that would have stymied Kaguya’s attempts to free herself through her embodied will.  “Now we’ll never know.”

“Are you certain?”   Zetsu asked as it twisted within the prison, reaching out with feelers of oil-slick chakra only to hiss as they brushed against the smooth spherical walls and hissed at the burn and tug, the walls merely glowing brighter at the attempt to suss out their make.  “Have you no wish for peace, no hope to end the interminable fighting?”   It tried to tempt her.

Takara laughed gaily, reaching out herself and pressing one hand to one of more than a score of sigils that powered the orb-prison.

“That won’t work on me.”  Her tone was mocking.  “I know what you are and what you’re after.”  With a slow pulse of her chakra, she began feeding the prison, switching it from passive chakra drainage and purification to active.

Sure, there was something poetic about leaving Zetsu there:

Staring at the Gedō Mazō.

Powerless and helpless as the arrays of Zetsu’s prison slowly siphoned away his chakra and fed it into the arrays that, once complete, would pulverize the Gedō Mazō into nothing more than so much ash and dust.

Poetics were for the likes of her lost loves.

Loves lost to Zetsu, and Akatsuki, and Kaguya’s mad lust for unquestioned and unequaled power.

Takara wanted it finished.

To put all she’d lost to rest, and let their souls at last have peace knowing that she’d done as she was charged all those years ago.

If she’d died in activating the prison, if she’d miscalculated the drain and the chakra necessary to trap Zetsu, that’s exactly what the prison arrays and destructive fuuinjutsu she’d laid down layer after layer in the hidden cavern would have done.

If Zetsu had avoided the trap altogether, then either the refashioned dead man’s switch or her suicide jutsu would have triggered depending on how an actual confrontation between them would have gone.

Would have.

Could have.

Instead, there they were: Zetsu trapped as much by his own hubris than Takara’s fuuinjutsu, and her surviving because of one impossible, knuckle-headed ninja and Naruto’s intransigent ability to beat the odds.

Zetsu’s scream of agony as the chakra Kaguya had given him when breathing life and purpose into his shell would ring in her memory all her life.

As she tore him apart with cold eyes and chakra that burned with all the wrath of two lifetimes.

“If you see Hagoromo wherever you’re going.”  She told Zetsu idly as it slowly gasped, little more than a flicker of ink-mist and fear.  “Tell him to go meddle with some other world like the rest of the Ōtsutsuki.”  Her lip lifted in a sneer beneath her mask.  “This one’s off limits.”

Smoke billowed high above Mountain’s Graveyard, drifting miles up into the stratosphere.

Inhabitants of the nearest lands commented on the strange bloody sunset that followed for several nights, culminating in an unseasonal bloodmoon, but no one thought much of it.

It was out of season for wildfires, and there were no flames on the horizon, only a strangeness to the sky.

And life carried on, all unknowing that the very course of their world had been changed in a cavern buried miles below the earth with a gasp rather than a scream.

Takara pulled in great heaving breaths of air as she appeared out of hiraishin on the far ridge overlooking Mountain’s Graveyard and the main entrance of the caverns.

She’d almost cut it too close, triggering her teleportation jutsu mere moments before the barrier seals she’d traced out on her skin to protect her against being consumed by her own Amaterasu had guttered out against the fury of the flames - to say nothing of the sheer heat and lack of oxygen.

But she hadn’t wanted to assume.

She needed to be sure.

To know that Zetsu was gone, that the Ōtsutsuki’s path to freedom had been destroyed along with the Gedō Mazō.

Her trap had left nothing of Zetsu behind - not even ooze or ash.

Ashes to ashes: dust to dust.

At the end of the day, Zetsu had been a chakra construct and without chakra to sustain him, he’d been nothing at all.  Less than a will o’ the wisp on the air.  Takara closed her eyes and shook as her knees buckled.

So much pain and grief.

All because of an alien bitch with a god complex and her chakra puppet.

She’d barred the caverns with fuuinjutsu.  Not content to leave it at just the Gedō Mazō.  Her Amaterasu would tear through and burn the former Ōtsutsuki base to nothing but bare rock for seven days and seven nights.

Kneeling on the ground, watching as smoke poured from the exit points of the warren of caves, Takara let out a gasping sob, tearing the mask from her face and throwing it down at her side as she buried her face in her shaking hands.

“It’s done.”  She cried out, tears and screams alike tearing their way out of her.  “Naruto!  Sensei!  Nobu-ji!  Sasuke!”  She screamed to the heavens, hoping that they would hear her in the Pure Lands.  “It’s done!”

In her mind, whispered the thought: I’m done.

Her duty was carried out.

Mission complete.

The crippling fear and terror that she would fail washed away, carrying her unrelenting grief - and guilt - with it.

Leaving her…hollow.

She was done.

There was nothing left of what came before.

Only her.

(Only the rest of her life.)