Aiko WAP 30 full

They were unable to immediately depart. The Uchiha were ready to depart, but the Senju were struggling to get organized for travel. Normally he might take that opportunity to be smug about the superior discipline of the Uchiha. At the moment, one-upping Hashirama was far from Madara’s mind. The other clan head was too busy to notice any posturing regardless.

In the chaos, Madara leaned over to let his mouth hang near his brother’s ear. Sotto voice, he said, “You met a literal goddess in the rice farming village.” Somehow, he kept the outrage at his idiot brother’s audacity out of his tone.

Izuna nodded. He was utterly unbothered. The only thing going on in his terrible little birdbrain was petty amusement at how Senju Tobirama was trying to remove the holy woman’s blood from his face, eyeing her nervously all the while. She seemed to be enjoying his fear as well.

Madara valiantly resisted the urge to put his hands on his brother’s shoulders and shake him. They were in front of company and must maintain a united front. His next words came out as a hiss. “And you did not think to mention it?”

“I think I said something,” Izuna protested. He turned his head just enough that Madara could see him roll his eyes. “You wouldn’t have believed me without meeting her regardless.” He paused, expression turning troublesome as his horrible mouth turned up into a smile. “Ah, Madara?”

He felt dread.

“Aren’t you glad you accepted her hospitality?” Izuna’s murmur was full of mischief. “I think the Senju really annoyed her. She won’t forgive Tobirama for rejecting her tea,” he said, singsong.

…Faintly, Madara realized that cursing a human for a social misstep was exactly the kind of thing that a god might do. He looked back at her where she stood, a cold little statue watching the Senju rescue their people from the ground with faint amusement in the curl of her lips. Her only tell was her facial expression. She didn’t stand as if she was in any pain or betray impatience by shifting. Her mannerisms were eerily precise.

‘I did not wholly reject her hospitality. But I spat out some of that tea.’ Madara licked his lips. The taste on them was regret, most likely.

But she had seemed pleased with him later. She had released all of the Uchiha from her earthen trap with ease and an insincere apology to the Senju, who she had left in their vertical graves. Perhaps he had made up for his offense by fetching her arm.

Her arm. The arm that had been cut off mid-fight and simply placed back on the bone to reattach itself. He marveled at that again. It was absurd and inhuman. Her bright eyes and wild laughter as she threw herself at Senju Tobirama despite the injury…

He repressed a delighted shudder. She was so foreign and frightening and fantastic. Even the way that she spoke was other. He had met people from the furthest reaches of the continent and from islands, but he had never heard someone who spoke as she did. He was hearing the accent of heaven.

‘…She is a vengeful type of goddess,’ Madara decided. He noted it, respectfully. He certainly did not cast any judgment, even in the privacy of his own mind. ‘It would be extremely unwise to further provoke her. But she spent weeks with Izuna, and did not maim him. Her patience must be saintly.’

He had to rethink everything. The world was different now. There was a literal goddess walking the earth and murdering politicians. How were the Uchiha going to react to the revelation of a divine messenger in the elemental countries? Could they use this to infiltrate the new government? Could they adjust their tax rate if they reacted with agility?

Most likely. She was certainly being courted by the silly nobility. He had heard about the pilgrimages to her shrine to get the goddess Izanami’s blessing before attempting to succeed the Daimyo-

He paused, struck by a terrible foreboding. He slowly turned his face to look at the goddess incarnate. She had islander hair and a mainlander face. Her posture was more martial than graceful. Surely she was not the actual goddess Izanami? Surely? This was not the way the divine mother manifested, right? In ancient art, her hair was long and black, and often she was depicted to be a skeleton clad in silks.

He took a moment to sincerely hope that she was not. Izuna had flirted with her so severely that even if Izanami-no-mikoto was not offended, the sleeping Izanagi might wake and smite him for it.

No. Surely she was not. The holy woman was clad in genuine miko clothes and she did not spread her own name. This was some level of goddess subservient to Izanami-no-mikoto, perhaps one of her many children.

…Izuna had flirted with her. Madara turned that concept around in his mind, examining it from every angle. She had not found him visually offensive or been disgusted by his mortal audacity.

Perhaps she was even single. Could they make an alliance with her in that way? If someone as wildly insufficient as Hashirama could marry a well-educated island princess, he could court a minor goddess. If she found Izuna handsome enough to tolerate, then she would like his face, Madara wagered.

“What does she like?” Madara asked, keeping his tone just as quiet as before. His newfound determination came across in his iron tone. He had decided. He was going to woo this goddess. Who cared about the foolish Senju? They could bleat all they liked, but they were cowed now. After the priestess had stolen control of Hashirama’s supposedly impervious mokuton– well, they would bend the knee to avoid further conflict.

“Literate peasants, pretty metalworking, decorative ponds, and to steal from samurai,” Izuna said promptly.

Madara nodded slowly, taking it in. Those were the sorts of things that most people liked, aside from the weird thing about peasants. He could make all of that work. Perhaps he could throw books at the farmers she liked. But metalworking seemed like the best avenue of approach.  “Do you think she would like statues? Swords?”

“Yes,” called out a female voice.

Madara suppressed a flinch. He made eye contact with the priestess herself, who was watching him with fond amusement. Her hearing was very good, then. Inhumanly good. He managed a nod back at her in thanks.

“You are so bad at this,” Izuna snickered, and then stepped away before Madara could retort.

He stewed internally as they finally got going. The priestess’ acolytes were indeed still in the clearing, two old women and two young women accompanied by the very poorly disguised rogue shinobi with a permanently unpleasant facial expression. Madara momentarily considered the possibility that he was the priestess’ bodyguard. He dismissed the thought just as easily. The man might wish to be. But she hardly needed it.

Still, she did merit more of a household. Madara pinned the thought for later. Perhaps he might offer her some retainers. He could certainly improve her living situation– a simple wooden shrine was simply not enough for a woman of her station.