Glass Trinity, Chapter 1: When We Were Young
Disclaimer: I don't own Naruto.
Rating: T
World: Narutoverse prequel

Notes: This is a prequel to Naruto, meaning we all know where this story will end. But I always wondered how the Konoha Founders became the characters we saw resurrected in the Fourth War, and what decisions led them to that place. This story is my attempt to paint that picture as one version of how things could have been. The characters here will not be entirely the same characters we see in the Fourth War because they were not born being who they ended up becoming. Life is a journey for all humans, including fictional ones. So please keep that in mind as you read and think something is OOC. The natural consequence of life and growing up is experience, and experience affects people in profound, wonderful, and sometimes very terrible ways. It changes them, and here it will change the Founders into the characters we saw at the end of their lives in canon. Slowly, and over many chapters.

Please be aware that I wrote through chapter 3 before we saw Hashirama's canon flashback, so some small details will not line up with canon.I've tried to resolve those inconsistencies in later chapters, but I won't go back and change anything since there's no real point in confusing anyone. I have incorporated canon events as they came to light over the course of the manga. Additionally, I have incorporated many references to feudal Japan into this fic, both history and myth, to flesh out the Founder's Era setting a bit. It is not my goal to write a bulletproof historical account here, so I will be changing things around wherever necessary to fit this story. However, any references you recognize are probably intentional, and I'll do my best to be faithful to the source material insofar as it is possible and interesting.

Part I

Salt drew stubborn tears that melted into the ocean and swept out to sea to become one with the endless blue. To see the pink and red and yellow coral formations, she would have to brave the corrosive salt and ignore the pruning at her fingertips that told her she'd been at this a little too long. But Mito Uzumaki had never been one to let such deterrents get the better of her. She smiled through her undulating red hair as a puffer fish she'd gotten too close to inflated to five times its size and tried to jettison away from her on too-tiny fins. Bubbles rose and clouded her view as she burst out laughing. She would have to surface for air.

Through dripping, red tangles and salt-kissed skin, she saw him. Mito would never forget that very first time she ever laid eyes on him, so deceptively small and unimposing at the time. But the eyes betrayed him. There was fire and blood in those eyes.

"Who are you?" he demanded.

Mito brought a hand to her face to push the red mop from her eyes. "I'm Mito."

He stood on the shore, the waves lapping lightly at his sandaled feet. He wore mismatched armor made of splotchy, studded leather that spoke of low birth and a hard life. But the scarlet of his eyes made him look more like a devilish warrior exorcised from the depths of hell than some lowborn soldier. Mito bent her knees to keep her chakra-powered balance atop the uneven water as a gentle wave passed underfoot.

"Mito," he repeated. "You shouldn't be here."

"This isn't your beach."

He frowned like it was his beach, and she was intruding. "Women these days don't know their place."

Mito clenched a bony fist. How dare he talk to her like that? He obviously didn't know who she was, not that she looked like much dressed like this and sopping wet. At twelve years old, Mito was no woman, to be sure, but she was definitely a lady, thank you very much.

"And men these days forget their manners," she said.

The smirk faded as he scrutinized her like one would a coded message. For a moment, Mito thought perhaps she'd said too much. That sword he carried looked sharp...

"Bold words," he said, as if 'bold' and 'Mito' were mutually exclusive.

"Who do you think you are, coming out here and picking a fight?" Mito said, careful to keep any hostility out of her tone. She didn't know who this person was, and in the world they lived in, the wrong words could be one's last.

"I don't fight girls," he continued. "But you're...playing too close to our camp. I won't be responsible if something happens to you and your family raises a complaint."

Mito was about inform him that she'd been training during what precious little free time she had from her political duties for her clan's current mission—she wasn't some child who wasted time playing—when another presence interrupted them.

"Brother!" a young voice called, drawing both of their attentions.

A boy visibly younger than Mito burst onto the beach and drew up next to her would-be foe. He, too, was clad in battered, hand-me-down armor despite his young age. In this world death, did not play favorites, and little boys and girls were a luxury barely afforded to the wealthy few.

"Izuna, I told you to wait for me back at camp," the unnamed boy addressed his little brother.

"The general wants to speak to you. It sounded important."

The boy ruffled his brother's hair, an odd gesture, out of place. The simple intimacy of it contrasted with his battle worn attire and previous borderline animosity toward her. She found herself smiling at the sight despite herself.

"Who's she?" the younger boy whispered in an effort to be discreet.

The older boy turned back to Mito, and cold crimson met stormy green once more. She held herself proudly, as if this were a small defiance in itself. Even clad only in a soaked fisher girl's dress and barefoot, she did not want to appear weak and frail before this boy. She couldn't explain it, really, but the way he held himself, the way he regarded her... To show weakness would have been an affront, to him and to her.

He took in the sight of her for a moment, observing how she balanced on the surface of the water with the aid of chakra. She was trained in the ninja arts to some meager extent. He didn't know who she was—probably just some fisherman's daughter of an irrelevant seaside clan—and she was no threat. Most people he encountered were trained in chakra manipulation in some rudimentary capacity, at least. In this world, only the strong survived.

Mito's eyes widened when the searing red of his eyes melted to charcoal grey. He looked younger all of a sudden, and she found herself wondering if they were of an age. With a final tilt of his head in her direction, as if in parting, he turned to leave with Izuna.

"Wait!" she called out.

Why she had called out, Mito would never know. She ran across the waves toward the two of them as the unnamed boy turned once more to regard her with barely concealed annoyance. Izuna just watched her with a wrinkled nose that spoke of his confusion.

Mito drew up to them, still dripping chilled sea water as she peered up at the boy with winter in his eyes. "What's your name?"

He didn't answer, but Izuna did. "Madara's my big brother," he said, as if this were some great accomplishment rather than a chance of kinship.

"Madara," Mito repeated.

"Madara Uchiha," he corrected her, as if 'Madara' alone was not enough for him.

"Brother, the general said to hurry," Izuna said, tugging on Madara's hand.

Madara nodded to his younger brother and started to walk away. At the edge of the woods where the rocky shore gave way to green forest, he turned one last time to regard her, but he said nothing. Madara and Izuna disappeared then, and Mito was alone on the beach. The sky was overcast, and she figured it would storm later.

"Madara Uchiha," she repeated his name. It had a smooth ring to it, like polished ebony.

She decided to return to her father's quarters earlier than planned. Offensive or no, Mito did not want to wait around for any other Uchiha shinobi to come sniffing around and try to kill her.

The next time she saw him he, was waiting for her.

"I told you to stay away from here," he said, although he didn't sound angry; just cold and indifferent, like he couldn't really care one way or the other.

"And I told you, this isn't your beach," Mito reminded him as she approached with caution.

He was seated on a boulder sharpening a dagger with a whetstone. The scraping sound was oddly comforting to Mito's ears, rhythmic like the lull of the waves. Madara held up the weapon, and it gleamed in the morning sunlight.

"Now who's picking a fight?" he said as he examined his blade.

"I only come here to work on my sealing techniques when I'm not busy." To prove her point, she picked up a small, white seashell and held it out for him to see.

Madara watched her with unreadable, dark eyes. "Fūinjutsu?"

Mito cracked a smile at what could have been construed as mild interest in his voice. To prove her point, she motioned to the dagger he held. "I'll show you."

Madara looked like the last thing he wanted to do was hand over his weapon, but decided she was no threat anyway. She was just some fisherman's daughter, after all. "Don't cut yourself."

Mito accepted the short blade by the hilt. "I'll give it back when I'm finished."

Madara opened his mouth to say something to that, but Mito ignored him and performed a round of practiced hand seals. Swirling, black calligraphy danced across the dagger in one hand as the small seashell glowed blue in her other hand. The dagger melted before their eyes until only the black markings were left, as though they had absorbed the dagger's shape and power. They floated off of Mito's palm and were sucked inside the seashell. After only a moment, the shell lost its ethereal glow.

"Here," Mito said, holding out the shell for him to take. "You can have it back now."

Madara blinked at the offered shell before looking back at her with a look that said, 'seriously?' He took the shell.

"Who are you?" he asked as he examined the shell.

Mito got the feeling that there was a right answer to this question. He glared at the shell as though trying to divine the secret of her technique, and he did not seem like the type often left guessing. Shinobi versed in sealing techniques were fairly rare.

"I'm Mito," she said, smiling. "The girl on the beach. Who are you?"

He looked up at her, Sharingan gleaming. Something in the way he looked at her made her feel exposed, like she could not hide from him no matter how far she ran.

"I'm the boy who could've killed you."

Years and years later, when Mito looked back on these precious moments in time before everything crashed and broke and went up in flames, she would know the truth of his words. Madara would always be the boy who could have killed her.

But he didn't.

"Keep your wrist steady."

Mito tried concentrating on doing just that, but she knew this was a fruitless effort. Her mind was elsewhere as she thought about the earlier conversation with the feudal lord, Harukage Nagao.

"Father," she said, pausing from her calligraphy, "will the feudal lord really set aside the land you requested?"

Harukage Nagao commanded a vast stretch of land in this part of the world from the edge of the sea and stretching hundreds of miles inland. He had a large army of samurai warriors to defend and patrol the land, and to collect taxes from anyone who happened to be living within his borders. Of course, he had only claimed this land a mere three decades ago when he invaded with his army from the far west. The people previously settled here woke up one morning to find that all of a sudden they had a liege lord to whom they owed taxes and able-bodied sons if they expected to continue living and working on the land.

Mito didn't like the idea of such an unwarranted invasion against common folk without the means to properly defend themselves, but this was reality. The strong conquered the weak, and those who fought back were met with violence and death. That is, unless the would-be conquered had the firepower to resist.

"Yes, Mito," came her father's reply. "He understands that the benefit of creating a sedentary settlement populated by a shinobi clan would be to his benefit in the long run. The world is changing. The shinobi way of life will soon become ubiquitous at the expense of traditional samurai."

Ensui Uzumaki scraped his brush across Mito's ink block and traced over the sweeping lines she'd made on her scroll. Up, down, loop to the left, down again.

"But something like this hasn't been done before. Shinobi don't stay in one place," Mito said as she studied her father's steady brush strokes.

"Just because there is no precedent does not make something inherently wrong. And in exchange for land, Lord Harukage has the right to call upon our shinobi for their services when necessary."

"For a fee," Mito added. She had personally reminded her father to make the case for compensation. He had always been a little too generous with their buyers, if the whispers among the soldiers were to be believed.

Ensui nodded. "Yes, for a fee. But a reasonable fee. It will be the start of a new era. Shinobi have known only the nomadic life of wanderers, constantly searching for new prospects, better pay, and fresh blood. Our kind have never had the means to sustain life without working for and relying upon others for our very livelihood. It works well enough for the larger clans, but our small numbers are our weakness. With this, we will till our own land and build our own houses. We can sell our wares in addition to our services. Uzushiogakure will be a safe haven for our family's farmers and merchants, as well as a home base for our shinobi forces. We will be truly self-sufficient, beholden to none."

None but the feudal lord, you mean. But Mito kept this perilous thought to herself. Her father was a man of patience and reason, but even he had his limits. And he did not tolerate whining of any kind, ever.

"But this village will put us on the map. Enemy clans will be able to invade, and we'll have nowhere to hide," Mito said as she swept her brush across the scroll, this time much more satisfied with the smoothness of her strokes.

"That's why we must seek a positive alliance with the feudal lord and his vassals. The sun may evaporate a single drop of rain, but it stands no chance against a mighty ocean."

Mito frowned at her calligraphy. Usually, she found the art to be relaxing, but today she felt that her time might be better spent in the library. The Uzumaki clan was notoriously adept at fūinjutsu, and Mito had found that she had a flair for it at an early age. Their clan was small, but they knew their trade well.

"It makes sense, Father. I'd like a place to call 'home' for once. I think it'll make everyone happy to settle down. But I still worry about other shinobi and what they might do."

Ensui smiled knowingly at his only daughter. Truly, she was precocious beyond her mere twelve years. She had to be—as the daughter of the regent clan leader, her future development as a woman was of supreme importance. Ensui predicted that he would have a fine selection of potential husbands for her, which was more than any father could ask for a highborn daughter. She would play an integral part in the future Uzushiogakure's political and military advancement.

Still, he lamented at times that she had not been born male. With her extraordinary gift for their clan's fūinjutsu and her sharp, analytical mind, she could have made an excellent strategist and political leader. Ensui could only hope that her sons would inherit her admirable qualities. This alone was reason enough to allow Mito to study and train with the soldier women of their clan, for now.

"The Uzumaki clan has long prided itself on its neutrality. We're not warmongers and never will be. Our sealing techniques are not usually meant for death and destruction on the battlefield. And you know that shinobi rarely act without commission. The chances of an unprovoked, hostile attack from another family against us are low."

Mito set down her brush and surveyed the scroll before her without really seeing it. Her thoughts brought her back to her time spent at the rocky beach where she'd encountered that Uchiha boy.

"The Uchiha clan could wipe us out," she said quietly. "My history books praise their valor and cunning in war and their bloodline limit."

"The Uchiha clan is relatively small. Their Sharingan is formidable, true enough, but they have no reason to consider us their enemy. We don't typically accept missions that would pit us against them."

"I met one the other day," Mito found herself saying. She'd neglected to tell her father about Madara and Izuna not because she was afraid of his reaction, but because the political affairs with the feudal lord and the negotiations that stretched into the wee hours of the morning for the past few days had made her all but forget about the encounter.

"An Uchiha?" her father said, sounding surprised. "I did hear that some are stationed here on a mission for Lord Harukage. Still, they don't have a habit of socializing with non-Uchiha unless the matter is a business concern."

"He was just a boy, maybe my age. He had his little brother with him. He looked like a lowborn soldier."

Ensui sighed. "The Uchiha are a clan who structure themselves around a rigid social and military hierarchy with little room for advancement. Their class and station depend almost entirely upon their birth. Civilians and those who fail to activate the Sharingan are disallowed to bear the Uchiha clan name. It's an unforgiving system, but it's effective. There's a reason they are among the strongest shinobi clans on the continent."

Mito raised a hand to her lips and and tapped as she thought about that. "Birth doesn't necessarily determine strength or skill."

"That's true, but the Uchiha are an old, proud family. Tradition is as natural to them as death. These things don't change."

That thought was unsettling. In the Uzumaki clan, as in most ninja families, birth was an important indicator of status and future potential. As the daughter of the regent clan head, she was held to certain expectations. But the Uzumaki also believed that the nature of shinobi was to work hard and rise above the previous generation. Even a lowly serf could fight shoulder to shoulder with the son of a noble if he had the talent and the training. If what her father said was true, then Izuna and Madara would forever be at the bottom looking up through the glass ceiling.

She wasn't personally bothered by this; she didn't even know them. But Madara's blood red eyes spoke of a power roiling beneath the surface just waiting to be unleashed. Those were not the eyes of a commoner. She wondered if he knew that, too.

"Come, my daughter," Ensui said, standing. "You need to dress for tonight's feast. The feudal lord will be honoring us, and I expect you to set an example for the other women."

Mito caught herself before making a face. Her father meant well and she was proud that he trusted her enough to represent the Uzumaki clan at important political events, but she'd never felt comfortable with the undertone of these things. At twelve, it wasn't something she needed to concern herself with too much; most men did not look at children. But one day, they would look. One day she would be a woman, a true lady of the Uzumaki clan. A prize to be won.

It was her duty as a woman, and it tore her up inside.

"Yes, Father," she said.

The elegant kimono was a beautiful cream color fastened about her waist with a thick, forest green obi. Prickly holly leaves and blood red berries the same shade as Mito's hair decorated the bodice in winding patterns, and tiny blue birds danced across the fabric as if frozen in mid-flight. The garment was exquisite, something fit for royalty, but Mito felt awkward under the weight of it. She was a spindly girl with no curves and too many angles. Her cousins always poked fun at her for being too skinny no matter how much she ate, hurtful words that cut deeper than any kunai. It wasn't her fault she was so scrawny. The kimono hid her body well, though, and only her cherubic face betrayed her extreme youth.

"Please hold still, my lady," her elderly handmaiden said as she attempted to brush the tangles out of Mito's short hair.

"Ow," Mito said, biting her lip. She wondered if the attendant had ripped out a chunk of hair and left a bald spot. The thought made her want to laugh despite the pain. A princess with a bald spot? The feudal lord would have a fit!

"There we are," the handmaiden said as the brush ran smoothly through her chin-length locks. "Let's pin it back a bit so we can see that pretty face of yours."

Mito wanted to protest that she could care less about what her face looked like, but she refrained. Her father would want her to look nice on an important occasion, and she was not one to disappoint him. Resigned, she allowed the elderly handmaiden to secure her bangs with three yellow bone clips. The rest was too short to style in any way, so it was left hanging just past her ears.

"There, all done! Would you like to look in the mirror?"

"No, thank you. I'm sure it looks fine," Mito said. "Please tell my lord father that I'm ready."

The handmaiden bowed low and excused herself. An hour later, Mito found herself being led to the great banquet hall in the feudal lord's looming castle. She hadn't been in here before, but decorum reminded her to keep her face serene and composed even though on the inside she was amazed at the lavish setup. Long tables stretched from one end of the great room to the other, leaving only a red-carpeted, stone walkway down the center about two bodies wide. As Mito walked down it, she tried to concentrate on not tripping over her feet on the uneven floor while keeping her posture straight. Shinobi, lesser leal lords, and their various retainers and vassals already sat at the long tables. They rose as the whole procession, comprised of Harukage and his guests, made their way past.

Ensui, dressed in his full combat armor and gleaming silver and red like a tree ornament, walked just ahead of Mito with a small boy next to him. As his deceased elder brother's only living child, the boy was next in line to lead the clan. But he was only four years old and unfit to lead anyone for many years, so leadership had passed to Ensui as regent for the time being.

Several high-ranking shinobi passed behind them—Ensui's personal guard—followed by Mito and her own guard.

"You look very nice tonight, my lady. Like a princess."

The man whose arm she held—Satto, the general of Ensui's shinobi forces—smiled warmly at her. He was an older man, a little older than her father, but he had crow's feet from smiling too much. Mito liked that about him. The Uzumaki were not known as an all-out combative clan, but even fūinjutsu had its violent side. This man headed the offensive forces in the rare cases in which the Uzumaki clan clashed with another hired clan.

"Thank you, General," Mito replied. Unlike the handmaidens and other members of her clan who felt it necessary to comment on her looks and attire out of obligation, she knew the General meant it as a genuine compliment. After all, he was always pestering her about how bony she was. If she wanted to be a fierce warrior, and she did, she would have to beef up a bit. The General, unlike her father, wanted to train her as a full-fledged kunoichi. It was his persuasive efforts that had prevailed upon her father to allow her to train as a kunoichi. A talent such as Mito's ought not to be wasted, and any highborn shinobi lordling would be proud to have such a strong, intelligent, beautiful wife on his arm one day to bear him strapping sons. At least, this was what Satto had told Ensui, and it was exactly what Ensui had wanted to hear.

Satto smiled again and walked her forward. They passed by nameless faces for what seemed like far longer than it probably was. Mito kept her eyes glued ahead. It would be a long night, and the last thing she wanted was a distraction to let her mind wander from the important, though tiresome, ritual of dining with the person on whom the future of her clan depended. She would have to be on her best behavior. Finally arriving at the dais at the end of the great hall, Mito took a seat on a cushion behind a low table. She left her shoes at the foot of the dais and folded her legs beneath her. Grey-green eyes stared into the distance as the feudal lord began to speak.

"Welcome, my honored guests. It is my great pleasure to feast you all tonight. I would like to take this moment to acknowledge Ensui Uzumaki, my guest of honor for the evening. We have come to a mutually beneficial agreement, and I am thrilled to announce that construction of this great country's first permanent shinobi settlement will begin on the morrow." Turning to her father, Harukage made a swishing sound under the heavily-layered silk and samite he wore to toast to the agreement. His trimmed beard, streaked with grey, did little to cover the double chin he was growing.

"Thank you, Lord Harukage, but it is I who should be expressing my deepest gratitude to you. I am confident that this is the start of a long and prosperous relationship between us," Ensui said.

"Ah yes, very prosperous indeed. I'm sure our mutual benefits will continue far into the future, especially with such a comely young lady for your daughter," he said, turning to Mito then. "Mito Uzumaki."

The crowd of guests took this as their cue to sit down and await the night's meals and festivities. Mito smiled and allowed Harukage to kiss her hand, ignoring the dampness of his swollen lips, but on the inside she wished she could throw her wine in his face. It was always the same story with these noble types. The men used every means to outwit and manipulate each other, while feasts and balls and tournaments sparkled so brightly that they blinded everyone from the operations happening under the table. Today, two men might dine and be merry; tomorrow, they may hire shinobi forces to pillage each other's strongholds and make off with unwed daughters. The entire system was a farce, but Ensui had drilled into her from a young age that the system could not be beaten; it could only be navigated. And so, Mito vowed that she would learn to navigate it better than the vilest lords around.

"May I pour you more wine, my lord?" Mito said, indicating Harukage's half-empty goblet.

He seemed quite pleased by this prospect, as Mito knew he would be. "Such an obedient child," he said, grasping his goblet with fleshy fingers and extending it. "Mm, yes, you'll make some great lord an excellent wife one day. I must say, I envy the man!"

Mito pulled the heavy sleeve of her kimono back a bit so as not to splash any wine on it and filled his cup, smiling graciously. He took a drink and all but forgot about her, which was just fine with Mito. She was not sure she could keep up the act in front of him for much longer. The food picked that time to arrive, and she could not have been more grateful for the reprieve.

Sometime just before dessert was brought out and while Ensui occupied Harukage's attention with talk of infrastructure, Mito let her eyes wander a bit. The long tables were filled with people, mostly men from the looks of it. The serving girls and boys bustled about between tables retrieving dirty dishes and replacing them with new ones, refilling wine cups, and avoiding grabby hands against their rears. Some succeeded, most did not. Mito sometimes wished she were a man instead of a woman, but at least she had the best shot going for her as a woman of high birth. If any man tried to grope her the way they did those poor serving girls, he would have a small army to answer to.

There were no familiar faces to be seen in the crowd. She thought about Madara and his little brother and wondered if they were somewhere amongst the crowd below. There were Uchiha shinobi dining here now—their red and white fan insignia was hard to overlook—but Mito knew this was no place for lowly soldiers. She gave up her search. It was times like these she wished she had a sibling of her own.

After nearly four hours of feasting, drinking, dancing, and general merry-making, Mito detected that the banquet was coming to an end. There would certainly be more drinking and dancing well into the night, but the formalities were coming to a close, and she would soon be dismissed.

"Mito, why don't you retire early?" her father's voice called to her.

Mito turned and met his eyes. He'd had a bit to drink, but not too much. Her father had always been a cautious and prudent man. She smiled.

"Yes, thank you, Father. Please excuse me," she said as a handmaiden moved to help her stand.

Mito wanted nothing more than to curl up in bed and stretch out the kinks in her legs after long hours of sitting and looking elegant. She felt like an act in a circus show. It was queer how people insisted on formalities, yet complained of them constantly. Why have them in the first place?

She smoothed the front of her rich kimono as she made her way to a door behind the dais. The feudal lord had at least had the foresight to set up a back exit so as not to force the noble ladies to navigate the drunken crowd of guests on their way out. She slipped away and stole back to her chambers.

When she was finally alone in her temporary room, Mito undressed and left the kimono in a messy heap for the handmaidens to retrieve later. She pulled on her pajamas and retrieved a thick tome from the closet. It was a comprehensive text about the properties of various seals and how to place them, everything from simple, inanimate objects to more complex, living organisms. The tome had been passed down through her family for generations, with each inheritor adding to it in his own style of handwriting. Mito loved the personalized history of it; she felt like she'd inherited the spirit of her ancestors' strength to get her through even the harshest of trials. She'd read it through five times already, but she hadn't quite memorized all the nuanced techniques. More importantly, she needed to drill herself on the theory behind the sealings until it was second nature. It was a necessary step before she could hope to create her own complex seals for anything and everything under the sun.

Smiling, Mito opened the book to the earmarked page and immersed herself in a world more enthralling than opulent feasts and drunken warlords.

"You lied."

Mito nearly jumped out of her skin at the sound of someone's voice behind her. She spun around and came face to face with a boy she secretly hoped she would meet here again.

"Madara."

His eyes were their normal, charcoal color, but he looked a bit haggard, as if he'd been fighting recently. Once again, he wore his full set of worn, leather armor over a navy blue gi.

"You're not who you said you were," he pressed.

They were back at the beach where she'd first met him, but this time her fisher's dress was dry and her hair was not quite the rat's nest it usually was when she was left to her own devices. Seawater tickled her toes as a gentle wave lapped at the shore.

"I'm Mito, just like I told you," she said.

"Mito Uzumaki, the Princess of the Uzumaki clan." He took a moment to look her up and down. "You were dressed as befits your station last night."

Mito's eyes widened. "You were there? I looked, but I didn't see you."

"You looked for me?"

Mito bit the inside of her cheek, embarrassed. "Um, just a little bit. I figured you wouldn't be there since it was a formal dinner."

Madara gazed out to sea, and after a protracted silence he said, "Ah, I'm just a lowborn soldier. But I won't be like this forever."

A sea breeze blew his spiky black hair, and Mito wondered why she hadn't really noticed it before. He was close to her age, she was sure of it, but the high cheekbones and firmly-set jaw line gave him an air of nobility that transcended his birth. It was no wonder she'd thought him older than her with his Sharingan activated. There was something unmistakably regal about his profile, aquiline and granite, that contrasted starkly with his rank and dress.

"I'm sorry I didn't give my clan name," she said. "I didn't think it was important."

"A man's name is his identity; it's everything."

"I'm not a man."

He turned to look at her then. "No, you're not, but you're the daughter of a regent clan lord. Although...you could learn to dress more like one." He eyed her ratty, roughspun dress, but there was no contempt in his tone, merely casual observation.

Something about him intrigued her. He looked her in the eye as he spoke to her, the way her father or the General did. Most people kept their eyes downcast out of respect, but he held no such reservations. And even after he'd revealed that he knew who she really was, he didn't look at her any differently than he had before. There was confidence there, but there was no disdain. She felt a bit more like a person in his eyes rather than a china doll.

"What do you mean that you won't be like this forever?" she asked.

"One day, I'll lead the Uchiha clan. Together, Izuna and I will reinvent them," Madara said.

"Oh... My father told me that the Uchiha clan has a social hierarchy that makes upward mobility pretty much impossible. Is that really true?"

Madara set his jaw. "Yeah, but I'll be the one to change that."

"Traditions are meant to last. It's kind of the point."

If he was angry, he didn't let on. In fact, he seemed empowered by her words. "I'm stronger than some dusty old tradition, and I'll keep getting stronger. The Uchiha respect power and nothing else. Izuna and I will take control from those corrupt nobles, and they won't be able to stop us. Nothing's impossible for an Uchiha."

Mito smiled a genuine smile. His words made her want to believe that somewhere in this wretched, war-torn world of political schemes and petty border disputes and arranged marriages, there was a higher, noble ideal worth fighting for. That it was achievable. If Madara could do it, then maybe she could, too.

"I believe you," she said.

At the sight of her smile, he did look a bit put off. "It's not a question of faith. I'll accomplish my goal because I'm good enough."

"It's that kind of attitude that inspires faith in others."

He stayed silent for a moment and they stared at each other, she in the bedraggled fisher dress looking like a castaway, and he in his second-hand boiled leather. Just two children brought together by a whim of fate, children who weren't children at all.

"Come find me when you've accomplished your goal," Mito said before her courage left her. "I'd like to congratulate you."

He looked surprised, even more so than when she'd sealed his knife in the seashell. A crashing wave sent sea spray into their faces, and he turned to gaze out over the distant horizon once more.

"Ah. Until then, Princess."