the engagement

The final meeting place was set: Lady Chiasa's garden pavilion. It was, perhaps, a little informal, but given the two parties involved, it was the best Shinju could do on short notice. The gardens weren't really in bloom at this time of year, but Chiasa's gardener did marvelous work on shaping the pine trees, and the pavilion was sited right next to the lotus pond, which was practically the only plant that could bloom in the terrible summer heat. The Uchiha leader's brother had looked rather put-out about the setting for some reason, but, well, you couldn't make everyone happy.

Best of all, Shinju had barely needed to promise anything to Chiasa. The honorable head of the Takamura Silk Combine was still so grateful for the services Shinju had provided in finding a suitable wife for her idiot son, she was only too happy to provide the location for the culmination of a difficult negotiation. The chance to gloat of having been the formal witness for the engagement of the year - no, the decade- was reward enough for her. Of course, the vast majority of the work had been done prior to this meeting, but as every go-between learned - it wasn't over until the sake was drunk, and sometimes not even then. Even after this meeting, Shinju's services as a go-between and a negotiator would be necessary for quite some time.

At dawn, Shinju was already waiting in the pavilion, Lady Chiasa by her side. Nana had already helped her set out the table and put out the requisite number of cushions before retreating to the main house; as the honorable guests refused to take food or drink from a strange household, there was no need for a server. The sun had barely cleared the horizon before the guests arrived: silently, and all at once, as was their wont. Shinju didn't give any hint of surprise, but Lady Chiasa was less than circumspect. She flinched, and hissed nearly silently through her teeth.

"I always forget how quiet they are," the older woman said, eyes flickering from one group to another. Both groups, Shinju was happy to see, came in formal robes: black for the Uchiha, cream and brown for the Senju. It was a far cry from the earlier meetings, which had been fairly bristling with armor and weapons. Oh, Shinju was absolutely sure every member of the crowd had some kind of concealed weapon on them, but at least it wasn't visible, and that was the important thing.

"Welcome," Shinju said, projecting a warm, personal tone into her voice. It was so important to seem confident and assured in these moments! More than one negotiation had ended because the mediator had lost control of proceedings. Shinju was determined that wouldn't happen here. "Please, come inside; the table has already been set."

There was a brief pause, and then Lady Mito strode up the steps and walked into the pavilion, resplendent in her clean mint robes. Today her obi was a lovely teal - the exact shade of her inner collar, as happened. Not for the first time, Shinju wondered how such a cultured, educated woman had fallen in love with Senju Hashirama; truly, it was a mystery for the ages. Mito smiled a little when she reached the table, for she'd seen that her setting had already been assigned: the third chair, to the right of her brother-in-law and across from Uchiha Izuna, thorn that he was. Lady Mito had been invaluable in the previous meetings in quelling the younger man's objections, sometimes with just a single cutting glance. He absolutely would not be allowed to rile up either of the prospective grooms, at least not in her presence.

One by one, the other guests filed in and sat at their assigned settings: Hashirama Senju, who was an uncultured oaf with the power to destroy entire cities, if rumor was true; Uchiha Madara, no less infamous for his uncanny ability to get any requested job done on time and under budget, with the caveat that a great many people would be dead, some of whom you actually might want alive; Senju Tobirama, who cut the raindrops in the sky and still remained dry; Uchiha Izuna (the less said about him the better); and finally, Uchiha Miwa, who still seemed to observe the proceedings with a keen and discerning eye, for all that she was completely blind in her senescence.

Once they had settled, Shinju smiled once more. "Again, thank you for meeting me here. This should be quite quick; without the usual meal, we only need to exchange the betrothal gifts to make this arrangement official. Lord Madara, as the initiator of this process, why don't you begin?"

Lord Madara didn't bother to say anything to her, but by this point, Shinju was used to that: the man treated her like furniture most of the time. Puzzling, considering how insistent he'd been at the beginning that Shinju specifically represent him to the Senju clan, but perhaps that was just his way? He turned to his brother and held out his hand, and the other man put a simple box into it, a rather dubious expression on his face. Madara just huffed at him, before turning back to face Tobirama and sliding the box over the table to the white-haired man. Tobirama opened the box...

...and pulled out a kaiken. Of course. Shinju just sighed a little and adjusted her expectations once again. Most of her clients gave clothing or money, sometimes food if they were particularly wealthy or particularly poor. But then again, most of her clients were merchants or wealthy craftsmen; why would any of them bear a weapon when a shinobi could be hired instead?

Tobirama's face never changed expression, not as he inspected the scabbard, nor as he unsheathed the knife and turned it to and fro within his hands. Shinju could not tell on her own what the quality of the knife was, and she could not read any tells in Tobirama's face. In many ways, he was even more inscrutable than Madara. Madara had a temper, and he lost it quite frequently. Shinju had never seen Senju Tobirama smile, but nor had she seen him frown, either. His countenance remained as impassive as the surface of a still lake, at least in Shinju's presence. He resheathed the knife, nodded once, and put it back into the box before handing it to his brother. He then reached one hand into his own robes before pulling out a fan and holding it out, ribs first, towards Madara.

Mirroring Tobirama, Madara accepted the fan and opened it. It was, to Shinju's surprise, quite lovely: ivory slats covered with fine red paper. A pair of swallows flew across the paper, painted in black ink - an appropriate choice for a betrothal gift. Madara twisted something in the base and thin blades sprung up out of the ribs. Shinju valiantly suppressed a smile; if this didn't have Uzumaki Mito's careful hand in it, Shinju would eat her sash for dinner. Madara, at least, seemed to be pleased. There was the faint suggestion of a smile lingering on his lips, and he closed the fan briskly before tucking it away in his robes. Tobirama, in contrast, was still completely unreadable.

As if hearing some silent call, each of the shinobi present then turned their attention to Shinju. She didn't give any sign of intimidation at the uncanny synchronization, only rested her hands on the table before giving her closing statement. It simply did not do to show fear in front of such people.

"Lady Chiasa has witnessed this exchange, and I will note the engagement with the proper authorities. A marriage date will be set in the future, after consultation regarding auspicious dates with the sages. In the meantime, please return to your lands. I will visit each of you in turn to make the final arrangements," Shinju stated, then stood and bowed to the collected shinobi. All of them rose and returned her bow, before filing out of the pavilion once again. Less than a moment later, they were gone.

Shinju waited a moment more, just to be sure, then sighed heavily and dropped her head on the table in front of her, already feeling a tension headache sear through her skull.

"Well," Lady Chiasa said mildly. "That was something else, wasn't it?"

"Yes," Shinju said emphatically. "I'm honestly surprised it's even gotten this far; shinobi are far touchier than the most sensitive, secretive guildmaster. It's the most complicated, frustrating marriage I've ever arranged."

"My dear," Chiasa replied. "You're young, so you don't know this yet, but peace treaties often are."

My sort of low-pressure romance fic. Originally posted on AO3 on 8/13/16.