Where Every Scroll is a New Adventure
I love this fic
“Then let’s make a deal,” Tobirama said “You participate in the games, and I don’t take your brother to the underworld until the day after they’re done.”
Madara was still staring at the god, mouth agape.
On Ao3
Tobirama was pissed. His older brother's whining coupled with Kawarama and Itama's tries at cheering him up were grating on his nerves, as well as the thought that for once he had trusted Hashirama to not put himself in trouble if left to his own devices and he had been wrong…
But what he really couldn't stand was the memory of their father's face, impassible yet impossibly smug when, looking up to the mortal realm, he saw Hashirama's champion for the games.
The games. The idiotic games that saw the faithful to the God of Nature, his older brother, face against the faithful of the God of Death, his father. The humans seemed to believe that athletic pursuits were the best way to honor the conflict that saw the God of Nature dethrone his father and relegate him in the afterworld, thus gaining the title as God of the Gods. No god has ever divined why they thought that. In the Heavenly Planes every occurrence was sheer chaos and Tobirama, as the Messenger God Hiraishin, got the dubious honor of carrying the progressively more aggressive messages exchanged between his father and his brother, both banned from each other's realms.
But maybe that excruciatingly taxing ordeal had been yet another way devised by Fate for making him pay for being the one to trick his own father into his downfall. Because the one time he lets the two of them talk directly, his idiot older brother makes a bet: whoever wins the games gets a favor from the other. Which means their father could ask for anything, were he to win, Tobirama had pissedly pointed out when the idiot had told him. But Hashirama had laughed it off, because "Don't worry, my dear brother, my current champion is the strongest I've ever had, a man of honor who prays truly and yet doesn't rely on my benevolence. He’s hearty as an ox and strong as a lion. All in all, a great man!".
A great man, for sure, but one that is nowhere to be seen! thought Tobirama angrily while watching the substitute, a youngster who was hardly exceptional in any way, get ready for the games that were to start in the morning.
"I'm so sorry, little brothers!" cried Hashirama, now completely trapped in one of his gloomy moods. "I was so sure he'd come, he's always been so diligent about his religious duties..!"
"That's not the point!" Tobirama barked back, pulled from his observations of the lands below. "He's a human. Humans die with a whiff of wind, with nothing really! They're totally unreliable to us gods!"
"But he's not dead! Right?"
His older brother does him the favor of shutting it when Tobirama glares at him. But Hashirama does have a point, he thinks, turning his attention back on the humans. Tobirama had checked on the champion, Madara, in the days following the bet, and he was sure that the man's soul hadn't been carted to the underworld as he, the Psychopomp God Hiraishin, was the one who escorted the souls of the dead. And he had looked out for it, for Madara's soul, because he had totally been ready to cheat to make sure their father didn't win, because that would be a disaster. He could ask for anything and Hashirama was bound to do it. All they had fought for in their war against their father, all they'd lost; all Tobirama had sacrificed - his old domains, with the waters and the wars and the thunder that still remains in his namesake, and his honor, because since the war he has become Hiraishin, the Liar God. All in vain, lost in less than half an eon.
And all his work in preventing the man’s death had been for nothing too, apparently, because Hashirama's oh so dutiful, unbeatable champion had disappeared without dying. But not on Tobirama's watch. The games began at dawn and the sun had just set: that was plenty of time for him to try a little trick or twenty.
His mind made up, Tobirama left the view on the human realm and moved to leave.
"Whatever, I'll take care of this mess," he said as a goodbye. All of his brothers, even Hashirama, suddenly looked at him in alarm. Itama opened his mouth, face set as if to try and talk some sense into him, while Kawarama jumped up after him to physically catch him, but he evaded them both with ease. He was, after all, Hiraishin, the Fastest God.
In the seconds it took Tobirama to leave the Heavenly Planes he already had a thousand plans vorticating in his mind, but he settled on one just as fast.
It's night. Humans naturally sleep at night. Tobirama, as the Messenger God, was also the one who brought humans the dreams the God of Sleep paints for them. And he highly doubted that anyone would resent him if, for this once, he hijacked one to talk some sense in the traitorous champion.
So he waited, checking the innumerable dreams that passed through his hands until finally the right spark caught his attention. It was the middle of the night already, way later than the usual time mortals allowed themselves to sleep, so Tobirama didn’t hesitate to follow the dream to its intended recipient at top speed.
He barged in a bedroom, neither small nor particularly spacious, lighted by a single candle’s flame that made the shadows shift and jump and bathed the space in a soft warm light. Two men occupied the room: one was sleeping in the only bed, while the other was sitting on the floor with his head lying awkwardly on the edge of the mattress, face scowling in his repose as if offended by how sleep had taken him by surprise.
That one was Tobirama’s target. Scowling himself, Tobirama caught the spark of dream between his thumb and index finger and flicked it at the man’s face.
Immediately, Madara began waking, lifting his head as he tried and failed to keep his eyes open when faced with the silver light Tobirama knew mortals saw him emanate. When the errant champions finally got accustomed to the brightness, his eyes settled first on the wings on Tobirama’s sandals, floating on a level with his gaze, and then shot to the god’s face as the man blanched visibly.
“No,” Madara whispered, wide eyes full of terror. Tobirama refrained from narrowing his eyes just barely, because while he’s not known to be particularly benevolent, Hiraishin isn’t known as malignant either, so that reaction was definitely out of proportion. He waited in severe silence as the champion glanced at the bed and then shifted in a bow, joining his hands together in prayer.
“Please, it’s too soon,” the man begged desperately. “Nature temple’s priest said he still has at least two days to live, and she’s praying for his health at this very moment. Please wait. It’s still too soon. Please…”
Now that he was paying attention, Tobirama easily noticed that the room was pervaded by the phantom of violence and illness, emanating from the other mortal. Tobirama took in his wounded side and mauled eyes under carefully applied bandages, as pieces of the puzzle began clicking together in his mind.
“I see,” he answered evenly. “He was attacked, right? Why?”
“I don’t know,” Madara growled, voice full of grief and barely concealed anger. “The attackers arrived at the market the day before yesterday. They didn’t speak to anyone and didn’t buy anything. Then they attacked my brother without cause and ran, and their corpses were found a couple hours later just outside the city. Nobody recognized them, least of all Izuna.”
“And how did they die?” Tobirama asked, already knowing the answer, but preferring to be throughout.
“The healers don’t know, but there were no wounds on their body.”
Tobirama ummed, tilting his head to the side. Honestly it wasn’t a surprise that Father would move to make sure that he won the bet - Tobirama had learned how to behave underhandedly somewhere after all. However, he would have expected something less straightforward than this, and also better executed, though he had manage to pass under all of their notice.
Tobirama reached for the sleeping man, intent on checking the injuries himself even if he wasn’t much of a medic, but Madara’s hand caught his wrist before he could touch him.
“Please, he’s dearly beloved by everyone, and so kind. Don’t take him yet,” the insolent mortal begged. His fear of angering a god was obvious in the way his face had lost all color, but the grip on Tobirama’s wrist remained strong and his black eyes held a desperate determination that showed that he would fight, even knowing that he’d lose, if it meant giving his brother a chance.
“If you don’t want both your brother and yourself to become pitiful mortal pulp you will unhand me right now,” Tobirama commanded. Madara held on for a few more moments before freeing the god to capture Izuna’s hand instead.
Tobirama studied this unusual mortal as he stared back with lucid but burning eyes. Stocky but not ungraceful, obviously strong, imposing, with a handsome mane of black hair and healthy skin. He was past the age of beauty that gods maintained for their whole existence, but more entertaining because of it, with laugh lines and a wrinkle between well-defined eyebrows. In one word, interesting.
“You’re right,” he finally said, “now is not his time, but soon it will be.”
Madara tried to answer, but Tobirama caught his chin with one hand, stunning him into silence before he could respond unwisely.
“You stepped down from champion for the games because you want to be at your brother’s side for his last hours, is that correct?” he asked.
Madara nodded, his head bobbing in Tobirama’s hand.
“Then let’s make a deal,” he continued. “You participate in the games, and I don’t take your brother to the underworld until the day after they’re done. If you lose, you gain him a couple more days to live, but if you win, I’ll heal him to the best of my ability and make sure that he survives his wounds.”
Madara was still staring at him, mouth agape.
“Why are you offering me this?” he asked, voice a broken whisper.
“Don’t concern yourself with the motives of gods,” Tobirama answered, wiping away the first tear of relief falling from Madara’s beautiful eyes. “Do you accept my offer, then?”
“Yes,” he breathed, and this time when he gripped Tobirama’s wrists the god didn’t reprimand him.
“Thank you, thank you, thank you…” Madara repeated and then, with renewed fire in his eyes wet with tears, he kissed the palm of Tobirama’s hand still holding his face.
Well, far be it from me to turn down such a show of gratitude, Tobirama thought and crouched down for a kiss of his own.
“It’s not fair..!” Hashirama cried after the games, watching the mortal world from the Heavenly Planes. “I am the god of medicine!”
“Stop whining, brother!” Tobirama snapped half-heartedly, while Itama and Kawarama both snickered at their brother’s antics.
“No! You have so many domains already, but I only have two. Why did you have to steal it?”
“Technically life and nature count as different domains, so you actually have three,” Itama popped in, always the mediator. “Also, Tobirama only gained jurisdiction on recovering from wounds, so you still have power over healing from illness and such.”
“Yeah, brother, you only have to share!” Kawarama teased, and then cackled at Hashirama’s resulting whine.
“But why-”
“Well maybe this time you will finally learn,” Tobirama cut in, talking over his idiot older brother useless grumbles, “ and never, ever gamble again, brother.”
“But I-” Hashirama began to say before Tobirama cut him off again.
“I don’t want to hear it!” Tobirama roared. “Your luck is abysmal! When you bet, you lose, and even when you miraculously win a bet, you manage to lose something else still! Be glad that I only took part of your domain and learn your lesson.”
Hashirama sulked, pouting in a way unbecoming for gods, let alone their king.“...you also stole my champion,” he added with a defeated grumble.
Tobirama smiled smugly at that, remembering Madara’s gratitude on the night they met, as well at their own private celebration after the man had won the games and Tobirama had healed Izuna. Truly strong as a lion and hearty as an ox, Tobirama had to give his brother that.
“I didn’t steal him,” he said nonchalantly, “he came to me all on his own. Now, if you’ll excuse me, I have a mortal to meet.”
He left, surrounded by his brothers’ spluttering.
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@madatobiweek2022 <3