WAP 33 Aiko has meetings and gets outmaneuvered by everyone

CHAPTER 33

She found herself being welcomed into the Uchiha’s territory by one of the same female home guards from the last time. They led her to the main house. It was true morning. Aiko deeply breathed in the scent wafting off of the dew-wet grass. Birdsong twittered all around them. It was a beautiful morning and the dawn was still splashing pale orange and yellow across the sky as she crossed the Uchiha stronghold.

Madara was waiting inside, and he looked particularly pretty. No one could call his hair tame, but something had been done to it. He had kohl around his eyes and more than a hint of collarbones showing underneath what appeared to be pure silk.

‘Is that from Izuna’s Daimyo dress-up wardrobe or does Madara actually like luxury goods?’

Aiko felt her eyebrows shoot up. “I am underdressed,” she said, and got on her knees to make the polite body language at the door. “Please excuse me.”

“You could never be anything less than the standard to judge a room,” Madara purred. “Please, enter.”

She put her hands together on the floor so that her thumbs touched and did the little bow before shuffling in and pulling the shoji shut behind her. The motion brought up an intense memory of tea ceremony classes with Ino long, long ago, in a future that might never happen.

Aiko shook off the danger of homesickness. She glanced over at the whisper of skin over tatami to see that Madara had his bare feet out and he was stretching his legs across the straw mats faux-carelessly. He had fine bone structure and there was something incongruously shocking about seeing them. It felt like he had just come out of the bath– ah, that was what he was aiming for, wasn’t it?

‘...Okay, he is trying a bit hard.’

She was too controlled to let her face twitch with the amusement that she felt. He was making an awfully good showing, he really was. But he couldn’t shock and awe her. She had spent years in close proximity with Utakata, the insufferably gorgeous showoff. She had been immunized against pretty men with sexy eyes deliberately hanging around half dressed to inspire feelings of intimacy. Madara was definitely handsome, but Utakata had weaponized that shit on the daily.

“I am honored to be invited in.” Aiko made her way to the cushion that was obviously her seat. She had meant what she’d said about feeling underdressed, unfortunately. She would have pulled out some of her fancy kimono and accessories if she had known this wasn’t going to be conducted in daily wear. She adjusted her priestess outfit a little unhappily. 

Madara’s eyes followed the motion.

Oh. Oh, Aiko realized.

‘I have enticed him with my incredible charms,’ she thought a bit smugly to herself. ‘I think I’m going to break his heart.’

It was nice to have a plan.

“We have spent much time deliberating over yesterday’s proposals,” Madara said, after all the required pleasantries. He batted his eyes with the word. Aiko immediately marked the current topic as somehow suspicious. He felt the need to put on extra charm: it had to be a feint or distraction. “The Elders have raised a point of concern.”

“Oh?” Aiko said, because she was clearly meant to pretend she gave a damn what they thought. 

Madara nodded without taking his gaze off of her. She lifted one shoulder ever so slightly just so her loose hair feel back and she could enjoy catching him sneak a look at her exposed neck. She was a siren. She was unstoppable. “The concept of an Uchiha Daimyo does imply a desirable sort of stability. However, this would be controversial with the rest of Fire Country.”

“It would.” That was an understatement. The civilian court was going to have a fit and any of the civilians and shinobi who thought the Daimyo was heavenly ordained was gonna think it was uhhh… What was the word?

Sacrilege. That was the one. Heresy, that was another. Aiko puffed up a little bit with satisfaction at the thought. Those were entirely new categories of misdeed for her. She was rather pleased with herself for expanding her repertoire.

That was putting aside all the reasons of power and influence and survival that would make people hate the idea of rich, beautiful warmongers attaining untouchable political status.

“It is true that if the Uchiha and the Senju were to combine, none could stand against our coalition.” Madara pouted his lips ever so slightly, as if he was experiencing a real feeling and not posing himself like a lifesize doll as he recited lines. “The Elders fear treachery.”

“They think that the Senju might change their minds or disavow the plan, and Fire Country will band against the Uchiha,” Aiko summarized. That would be a pretty good way to get the Uchiha murdered, if she was honest. Could she be sure that the Senju would not do that? Hashirama would not want to, but he was hardly the only power in his clan.

“Keenly said,” Madara praised. 

The look she gave him was more amused than flattered, but he might not have been able to tell the difference. “Are you asking for a solution to guarantee your security, or would you like to share a suggestion from your clan?”

“If it is not too presumptuous, we have prepared something.” Madara rose in an elegant motion to retrieve a scroll that she had assumed was decorative. He spread it open on the table. She couldn’t help but notice that he had long, well-proportioned fingers. When he leaned forward, she caught the scents of smoke and soap from his hair and clothes.

It was a proclamation.

“It would comfort my clan members if the Senju were to disseminate this message or a similar one to their allies,” Madara said silkily. 

Aiko readied herself to read the most obnoxious shit in her life to date. She set to reading the short missive, and-

Let it be known that the Ancient and Noble Senju declare a peaceful resolution to their feud with the Honorable and Powerful Uchiha. It is humbly hoped that these actions will usher in a new era of peace and cooperation in Fire Country.

There was a second section. It was the same declaration, from the perspective of the Uchiha to their own allies. 

“We will of course disseminate this message, if the Senju agree to send theirs,” Madara said. “If it pleases the priestess, you may accompany our first messengers before asking the Senju to contact their vassal clans.”

It seemed extremely reasonable. She blinked and cast a suspicious look at Madara. He blinked back, feline and slyly pleased.

Hmm. Aiko hid a frown. 

‘I really thought that they were trying something with this. If there’s an insult hidden, I don’t see it.’

Maybe it wasn’t an insult. Maybe it was a trap? She still didn’t see it, but that didn’t mean anything. They couldn’t actually just be protecting their own interests in a straight-forward manner. Aiko had met Uchiha before. It just didn’t seem right. They were just bastards, every last one.

“I will take this to them,” Aiko said, mild as milk. She deliberately touched Madara’s hand as she rolled the scroll back up. “Perhaps they will agree. Thank you for your thoughtful preparations.”

Her visit to the Senju was less sultry. Aiko found herself squeezing through the tiny opening to a traditional tea hut and got her first look at Uzumaki Mito in the flesh. The other woman was the master of the ceremony, perfectly impassive. Aiko took her position and grimly accepted how this was going to go.

‘This is why he made me come here in the afternoon,’ Aiko thought, grimly recognizing the play, far too late to avoid it. The sunlight coming in through the slatted roof hit her skin in lines and heated the space to an unbearable heat. It was normal to do tea ceremony in early mornings or evenings to avoid baking your guests. But Hashirama was communicating that she was a dickhead and could cook alive for all he cared.

On a distant level, she admired both the spite and the commitment that it took for the Senju to bake alive with her in order to make her uncomfortable while technically offering perfect hospitality.

Hashirama was the first guest, seated on a cushion furthest from the entrance. Some elderly female relative was the second, and Aiko took position before a middle-aged man who must have been some uncle.

The format of the tea ceremony gave Mito control over the flow of conversation, which was certainly why they had chosen this format. They were not allowed to approach the actual topic until Mito had finished whisking high quality matcha powder into a fragrant froth and started distributing cups. 

“One’s husband has shared a proposal for a lasting peace.” Mito’s voice had a raspy quality to it that made it nearly hypnotic. Aiko had to focus to parse her hyper-formal speaking patterns. “Nothing could be more agreeable, but there is no wisdom in hasty action.”

…Aiko pressed her lips together with the effort of keeping in the genuine question, ‘Are you quite certain you’re an Uzumaki?’

Instead, she said, “Prudence is a kingly virtue, and the good qualities that belong to kings should be emulated by the virtuous.” Sweat dripped down from her hair. She did not react to it.

Mito was too good to crack at the faux-pious justification for installing a handsome idiot as the Daimyo. She merely handed her husband his teacup, which forcefully paused that topic as he started the obligatory compliments to the pottery.

Once he was done remarking that the inner and outer glaze was sublime for some reason, Hashirama came out swinging with, “A war lasting the course of generations can not be said to end in a single day.” He said this to his tea, posture and manners perfect. “There has never been a city built without a plan.”

‘If there’s no plan, that’s on you,’ she thought scornfully. ‘You’ve supposedly been thinking about this since childhood, empty-headed hair-model-wannabe.’ She subtly adjusted to pull the sweaty fabric away from her back to buy the slightest bit of air against her skin.

Her voice came out as poised as anyone else’s. “Most cities are built over time, as villages unconsciously grow together,” Aiko remarked, because she knew more about city planning than Hashirama did. “But a city can be metaphorically built in a day, when a map is redrawn and a new name given to once disparate groups. It takes only the stroke of a powerful woman’s pen.”

Mito gave the elderly lady her cup before Aiko could say anything else. It felt like a deliberate insult to cut her off.

Aiko stewed a little bit and paid just enough attention to the Senju lady’s admiration of the foam and the heavenly impact of the first taste of the tea. Aiko fought down her irritation. It was just fucking tea. Aiko could smell it: it was clearly expensive tea, but it was just matcha. The time-wasting compliments were crawling up Aiko’s last nerves. She could hear every thudding heartbeat in her chest. She was so goddamn hot her skin was on fire.

“Mito-sama, your selection is perfectly suited to the day,” said the elderly lady, before she thankfully allowed the actual conversation to begin. The next volley was hers, of course, as she had the floor. “Rather than building a city, the topic is healing a wound with one hand and reaching for power with the other. We possess two arms, but I need them both to soothe and mend. Is this plan not ambitious?” Her tone implied that she wanted to use a less polite word than ‘ambitious.’

Aiko missed Madara so much that it hurt a little bit. She hated this type of formal politicking and politely hidden argument. Argument and rebuttal, argument and rebuttal. Ugh. He would never do this to her. He would just pose at her. If she said she was too hot, he would probably fan her, even. Why had she not appreciated him enough when she had him within reach?

Her answer was a little less sincere than it would have been if she wasn't sticky and miserable. “How lucky we are to possess the two arms of the Senju and the two arms offered by the Uchiha, so that we may address two problems at once. There is so much benefit and wisdom in combining the efforts of the noble and skilled.”

It went on and on in that way. Nothing ever came to a satisfying resolution. No one offered substantial criticism of anything or what they thought about Aiko’s answers. If they left things to this format, it would be generations before anything changed. Aiko felt stifled and irritated. She knew that had to be the point. Hashirama was both honoring his elders and punishing her for trying to drag him into a hasty and drastic action. 

She barely managed to work in the chance to offer them the Uchiha’s suggested proclamation. Irritatingly, it was the only thing that got a positive reaction out of the Senju delegation. The elderly lady seemed reluctantly impressed by the idea of the guarantee. 

“As a preliminary measure, there would be some guarantee of mutual integrity,” she warbled. “The Senju could never send this first. If, however, we were to observe the Uchiha delivering copies to their allies, it would be a demonstration of commitment that may give peace to minds and hearts.”

Aiko should probably remember the lady’s name and face. She spoke enough that she must have been important. 

“Your kind words will be remembered, Senju-sama,” Aiko said, because that was the correct form of address for everyone here besides herself. The Uchiha had not said they will willing to have a Senju accompany their messenger, but they might if Aiko was also there as a guarantor.

She got back to her shrine exhausted and irritated. She never wanted to see another cursed tea hut again overlooking a beautiful garden in her life. 

‘I have to think of something even worse to do to the Senju. They're apparently heat-resistant. That makes sense, given that they fight with the Uchiha all the time.’

It might not be wise to balance ‘brokering a peace’ with ‘spite the Senju’, but Aiko didn’t have a personal commitment to the ethics of it all.