Chapter Text
In Madara's opinion, the problems all started the moment the Onmyōji hobbled through the doors of the Grand Hall, interrupting the Daimyo’s feast to deliver a message from the Gods themselves.
“The Gods above have spoken, my Lord!”
“Well? What is the news?” The Diamyo had asked the Onmyōji in his booming voice, leaning forward in eagerness. This Daimyo had always been particularly religious, treating those with connections to the supernatural with particular reverence. Under him, Madara sat by his side in court, a man descended from the Sun herself. Below him, those in the Grand Hall had kept their heads low and held their breath, waiting for the answer.
A message from the Gods could be about anything, but often indicated one particular thing in general. Good or bad, the divine’s sudden interest in the affairs of men meant that something major was about to occur. Something that would change the course of history, meant for those who were great or destined to be remembered.
“It is wonderful news indeed, my Lord, and I’m certain your honourable cousin, Lord Uchiha, would agree.”
Madara remembered looking up from where he had been prostrating himself on the polished cypress floor, meeting the eyes of the old Onmyōji. His ancient, milky eyes were unusually bright, glittering with the sacred knowledge that the heavens had deigned to share with him, knowledge that their subjects in the land below coveted and prayed for with religious fervour.
Eyes that had been looking right at him.
Unconsciously, Madara’s Sharingan had activated, black swirling to red as he recorded the Onmyōji’s words for the rest of his life.
“The coming days are auspicious! Amaterasu Ōmikami favours a match for her blessed child.”
And so for Uchiha Madara, descendant of the sun, head of the Uchiha Clan, his fate as a married man was set.
Three days later, Madara stared blankly at the stacks of scrolls before him.
“Izuna, I can’t do this.”
The Diamyo upon hearing the good news had moved fast, eager to garner the Queen of Heaven’s favour by being the ideal host for her child’s matchmaking and eventual wedding. A missive had been sent by messengers to clans and towns throughout the Land of Fire, inviting anyone of good breeding and health to offer themselves up as a potential future consort of the Uchiha head.
Now, Madara’s task was to sift through hundreds of applications, choosing a mere dozen to meet him in the Diamyo’s palace for an Omiai in the coming days. He was honoured, truly, to be given such an opportunity, but... a week? To be married?
At least he had Izuna to help him work through the mountain of scrolls, but the younger was slowly driving him insane too, reveling in Madara’s dismay over his situation as he cackled and tossed another scroll at him. Madara took it to the face and went down, flopping onto his back as he stared at the ceiling of his new, overly luxurious quarters in the Daimyo’s inner courtyard.
“Too bad nii-san, destiny calls! And so does your Goddess-ordained wife to keep your bed warm and your belly fed in domestic, marital bliss, so hurry up and narrow it down before I do it for you.” Izuna shook open a scroll, clearing his throat before reading it outloud in a poor imitation of the Daimyo himself. “Ah, Inuzuka Ashi--wow, unfortunate name right there--, 19, close cousin branch to the Inuzuka’s main family, five dogs?! Geez. Nope. They’d terrorise the birds. Has a nice ass in this painting though.”
“I don’t even know if I want to get married,” Madara mumbled, puffing his cheeks up as he blew a lock of hair out of his face.
Izuna hummed thoughtfully. “You know, that old Senju friend of yours is married to an Uzushio princess.”
“I know, he sent me a wedding invite.” And a way too detailed letter dictating the events of the day after Madara had written back to say that he couldn’t possibly turn up to the Senju head’s wedding.
“I heard she’s pregnant.” Izuna put down the scroll he had been admiring Inuzuka Ashi’s assets from, raising an eyebrow. “The elders have started coming to me and asking if I thought of having kids.”
Kids…
Madara would like kids, he thought. If he could have any. None of the girls the elders had tried to match to him in his youth had wanted to continue with the matchmaking process after the first meeting. They were lovely girls for sure, pretty to the Uchiha eye with soft voices and gentle demeanours that perfectly balanced out his roughness in the elder’s eyes.
But they were just so delicate.
Madara grew up shaped by war, bearing his rough, destructive reputation on the battlefield with pride. Sure, he spent many winters in the court of the Daimyo, writing poetry and having etiquette classes forced upon him by his mother’s gaggle of noble relatives, but it wasn't like that was something he bothered with outside of court.
Travelling to the Uchiha compound to meet Madara, who liked to disregard his high standing and learning in favour of being a general bastard, had been too much for any of these high-born girls to bear. He’d be baffled if any of them had joined the application pool to be his future bride.
“I think that depends on my future spouse.” He said tiredly.
A spouse.
What did Madara want in a spouse? He’d been too busy with the war and running the clan to think about that, really. Sure, he was well past the age his own father had married his mother, but carefully planned explorations and teenage fantasies aside, he never quite gave the idea of a partner any thought.
Practically speaking, a wealthy spouse would be good, or someone powerful and well connected. But… that would be a good chunk of most of the people applying, circumstances considered.
Madara-chan, those are clan-considerations! He could hear his mother scolding him from beyond the grave. How about your considerations?
His preferences… Of a similar age, hopefully, and not some teenager signed up by their ambitious parents. Strong, and able to take and dish out shit because Madara knew he could no less stop being an ass than a leopard could change their spots.
Pretty, because he was an Uchiha and they coveted beautiful things. Smart, if they had to deal with the burden of running the clan with him, because you couldn’t separate Madara from the Uchiha clan if you tried.
Okay, that was a start. It probably wasn’t impossible to find people fitting that criteria in the hundreds of applications they were looking at. Probably. What else?
A memory of his mother’s laugh as Tajima danced with her in the tatami room. Silly Madara-chan. In a relationship, you needed--
Well.
His traitorous heart whispered the one thing he had been consciously trying not to think about.
Madara wanted his match to like—no, love him. He wanted love, even if this was a hastily arranged match where Madara wasn’t even sure he wanted to be married. Someone who would cuddle up to him at night and be there in the morning to break fast and all the things the poets had alluded to as what being in love was like.
There you go! The voice of his mother said.
Unwittingly, a memory of the last time he was involved in a matchmaking session came to mind. Hey, remember that last omiai’s match where they screamed that you were an impossible man and threw tea on you? His hindbrain piped up.
Even by his own admission, Madara was a pretty unlovable bastard.
Goddess, he was fucked.
“Awh, cheer up, nii-san. This match is blessed by Amaterasu! I’m sure whoever it is will be no less than perfect for you.”
Madara was about to be the first person in history to fail even with divine intervention on his side. He—“Mmph!” Well-honed instincts kicked in as his body jerked to the side, barely dodging Izuna’s swipe at his head with a kunai.
A foot settled squarely in the centre of his chest, Izuna crouching threateningly over him, gripping a lock of hair in one and the kunai in the other. “Nii-san, please. Stop moping. Do you really have that little faith in our Goddess? I’m going to shave you bald if you say yes. You’re blessed. Goddess’ favourite. Act like it.”
Izuna was right. He should trust in his Goddess to guide them together. Taking a breath, Madara slowly sat up, watching Izuna warily until he lowered the kunai away from his precious locks. “Amaterasu honours me with this match. I should do my part to be worthy of it.”
“That’s the spirit! We better find a good one for you then, I don’t know how you ended up not inheriting a single one of our clan’s good features. You look and act like an oni.”
“Oi!” Groping around, Madara grabbed a scroll from the table and tossed it at his younger brother. Izuna dodged with ease and caught it in his hand instead, snickering as he broke the gaudy, golden seal and flicked it open.
“Oo, is this a sign you like this one—Wait no, that’s a Hyuuga. Vetoed. Why are they even applying?!”
Elsewhere in the Daimyo’s royal library, Satoyama Tora gritted his teeth as the junior scholars who had walked in and sat at the table behind him wouldn’t shut up about some noble’s omiai or other.
“I heard there were thousands of applications! Including a prince from Uzushio and the Hyuuga heiress too!”
“Nonsense, why would the Hyuuga want to marry him ? That makes no sense whatsoever.”
“Well, then who did you think will be selected?”
“Dunno. Oh hey, is that Satoyama? Haven’t seen you around in a while, man! Finally made it out of the medical halls?”
Satoyama Tora, like any self-respecting scholar, wasn’t here for trivial gossip and courtly drama. Politics wasn’t his concern, and neither were the social dealings of the rich and powerful. No, Satoyama was here to learn, specifically from the great physician Hanaoka Seishū. Hanaoka was only visiting for a week or so, and the lanky, brown haired man was determined to soak in every bit of surgical wisdom he could from the physician before Hanaoka set off on another journey to the western lands.
It was all too bad that his peers didn’t think the same.
“Satoyama? Satoyama! What’s your thoughts on the Omiai?” The scholar who had unfortunately noticed his presence waved a hand in his face, interrupting his reading of how Hanaoka had devised his general anaesthetic for surgery. With an irritated growl, Satoyama slapped it away.
“I don’t see why you are asking him, Minaki,” Another one of the group scoffed, tucking a loose strand of hair behind her ear. “I bet he doesn’t even know it is happening.”
“I simply do not care.” Satoyama muttered, rolling his brown eyes as he twirled his brush between slender fingers. “Can you leave me alone?”
“But you’re from around the Senju lands, right?” The first one exclaimed. “Come on man,” he said, leaning closer. “You gotta have some opinion on the fact the Lord Uchiha is getting married, considering how those two clans are like.”
Wait a minute.
Satoyama blinked. “Uchiha Madara is getting married?”
“Wait, you seriously didn't know?”
“Hmph. I told you he didn’t know.”
That. That could be a problem.
His chair screeched loudly against the wooden floor as Satoyama suddenly stood up, gathering the mess of scrolls on the table and nodding stiffly at the group before him. “Thank you for that information. I’ll be leaving now.”
With that, Satoyama Tora, a simple scholar from a family of minor nobles, stalked out of the library, lost in thought.
If the Uchiha clan head was to be wed, that could very well change the balance of power in the Land of Fire. It could change the war itself. He had to inform anija immediately.
Senju Tobirama had no time to waste.