Chapter Text
Iruka had always known he’d wind up in a loveless marriage.
Born into minor nobility, only to be later orphaned by war and made a ward of Uzushio’s Sovereign House—House Uzumaki—it was to be expected that he would be nothing more than a pawn in the eyes of the upper noble Houses, tossed about in their strategic games of politics and succession; to be, at best, used to secure a strong alliance with another province or kingdom, and at worst, soothe hostilities between House Uzumaki and one of its many rivals, all through the union of marriage. To expect anything more was a fantasy, one he had not entertained since he was young—still only just waist-high and clinging to his mother’s skirts.
Would he like to marry for love? Yes, of course he would. He would have liked that very much, indeed. Yet, he also liked to read stories about frog princes and glass slippers, but they were just as, if not more believable than being permitted to find himself a love match. A match where he could be free to choose and cherish someone, and be cherished by them in return. Instead, at most he could hope was that he and his future spouse would be at least amenable to one another; or that they be of tolerable temperament and wise enough to know how to make their marriage benefit one another. Politically speaking. Though even if they were anything less—Iruka dreaded to entertain the idea of anything less, if he was being honest—he knew that if his Sovereign demanded it, Iruka would have no choice but to fulfill his duty to his surrogate House and marry whomever his Sovereign had pointed at.
However, Iruka never expected, nor ever considered to entertain the idea, that by some sick twist of fate, that when House Uzumaki fell, would not only he be appointed Regent of the Principality of Uzushio, but he would also in turn be the very acting Sovereign doing the pointing and forcing his own hand into a political marriage.
And yet here he was, still dressed in his soft bedclothes and his robe hanging loosely from his shoulders, staring down at a letter that would either be his ultimate undoing, or his timely salvation.
It had arrived earlier in the darkness, long before the first morning light: A pristine, parchment yellow letter sealed with red wax and stamped with the leaf-shaped swirling signet of the Kingdom of Konoha, bearing the emblem of House Senju just above the wax.
Iruka knew it was a reply to the secret missive he had sent with a trading caravan near a fortnight ago, that had been headed toward the neighbouring kingdom of Konoha. Light in weight, yet heavy in substance, Iruka had been both eagerly anticipating and downright dreading its arrival since the initial missive left his fingertips. Iruka stared at the letter for another moment longer before he closed his eyes and sighed.
How could something so small, be so heavy on the heart and mind, Iruka thought as he leaned forward in his chair. He pinched two fingers to the bridge of his nose and fanned them out outward over the scar that spread across cheek-to-cheek, then back again.
He had barely gotten a wink of sleep that night, before he was roused from slumber by the arrival of Konoha’s messenger as they had slipped into his bed chambers, giving him an awful fright. Shuffling out of his bed, hair down and a mess, he had taken both the letter and its messenger by the hand and down the hall to his personal study, so as to not wake the rest of the house. It had been an hour since then, and he’d spent the entire time doing nothing but humming-and-harring over whether to just bite the knuckle and open the damned thing or throw it into the lit hearth in his study, watching the crackling flames burn it to ashes and act as it had never existed.
It hadn’t been a serious consideration by any means. It would be the former, of course; but he’d be lying if the latter didn’t tempt to scratch the little chaotic itch that seemed to always lay just underneath the surface of his consciousness.
He rubbed at the bags threatening to puff up under his eyes. I’ll just wait till sunrise, he told himself. Then I’ll grin and bear it, and open it. Nothing wrong with basking in my blissful ignorance for just a little while longer—
“So, are you going to open it?” Anko called from her perch up on high, “or am I going to have to tear it open for you?”
Iruka opened his eyes and turned his head to find her nestled against the wooden frame of the study’s highest window, one hand on an upright knee, while her other leg dangled towards the floor. Dressed in dark leathers and travelling clothes, and draped in a raven-black cape, Mitarashi Anko blended in with the shadows as if she belonged there. She hadn’t been looking at him as she spoke; her gaze set on the darkened ocean view beyond the windowpane. Early morning rain pitter-pattered against the glass as the waves of high tide had started to recede outside, revealing clusters of tide pools and muted sandbanks along the shore. “Don’t tell me you’re scared of a little piece of parchment, Umino,” she teased.
“I’m not scared,” Iruka chided. “Just a little… apprehensive.”
Anko let out a snort. “Why? You’re the one who reached out to Her Majesty first, remember?”
Iruka rested his elbows on his desk and pressed his hands to his face. His hair fell forward, swathing his face like a curtain. “I am aware of that, thank you Anko,” he said, voice muffled. In one fluid motion, he drew his hands up and through his hair, pushing the loose strands back and out of his face. He left his hands pressing on the nape of his neck, and rested his elbows on his desk. He sighed. “There is just a lot riding on the contents of this missive and I—” Iruka swallowed. “—I don’t think I’m actually as prepared as I thought I was.”
He gestured to the pile of papers and missives that had been left haphazardly on his desk, all pushed to one side. “I mean, securing trade routes with another kingdom is one thing, and settling a disagreement with another House is another, but this—" he waved at the envelope, “—this is another thing entirely. The nationalist leaning Houses would deem this beyond treasonous if they knew what I’d done and whom I’ve contacted, and if this gets out to the rest of the peerage, and the Assembly finds out I went over their heads before this is all set in stone, then—”
“The longer you wait to open it, the longer this will all weigh on you. So, you should just hurry up and open it and save yourself the grief,” Anko said with a sing-sung drawl.
Iruka scoffed. “You’re surprisingly pushy this early in the morning. What? Don’t tell me you’re really that upset that Ibiki made you play messenger again.” He huffed as he turned his head to look up at her with a coy smile tugging at his lip. “And here I thought you would be chomping at the bit for the chance to see your dear friend.”
Anko shrugged, her frayed black cloak shifting against her shoulders with the motion. “Maybe I’m just sick of my dear friend pussyfooting around about opening a damn letter.” Her brown eyes met his pointed gaze and she smirked. “What? I’ve been carrying that letter for five whole days, mind you, and my fingers have been itching to open it ever since I left Konoha.” Her smile widened, “You know me, Umino. I live for secrets like this.”
“Yes, well, I’m so very glad that the source of my agony is so entertaining to you,” he deadpanned.
The Konoha messenger swung her leg over the edge and kicked off the wall, landing gracefully to the floor without making a sound. On quiet feet she rounded the desk, picking up the letter as she went, and withdrew a small knife from beneath her cloak. She ran a gloved finger down its blade, igniting the now glowing incantation engraved in the steel, before taking the knife and poking it delicately in the gap between red wax seal and parchment.
With a swift flick of her wrist, she opened the letter without breaking the seal. If it had broken and the hands holding it hadn’t been its intended reader, the letter would have immediately burned to ash, preventing any sensitive information from being leaked, but would have left the perpetrator with singed black fingertips; a typical, yet painful, failsafe measure for items of a particular sensitive information such as this.
Anko ran her finger back along the blade to end the incantation, twirled it in her hand once for show, then slipped the knife back into its sheath hidden under her cloak with practised ease—just as one should expect from one of Konoha’s elusive Anbu Assets, especially one with a penchant for hunting for secrets like Anko.
"Just shut up and read the damn letter already, Umino,” she said, shoving the parchment into his hands. Iruka gave her a half-hearted scowl but took the letter from her, unfolded it and began to read.
Silence filled the room as he read. His face morphing and shifting through an array of emotions as he flipped the letter over to read it again, front to back. Upon finishing it a second time, his face settled into an absent, blank stare and he let the letter slip from his fingertips.
Not even Anko, who snatched the letter before it could fall to the stone tiled floor, seemed to startle him; he simply sat in his chair, staying very, very still.
When Anko read the letter, her eyes darting across each line, she too read in silence. Save for a small mutter of ‘by the Nine, you can really tell bushy brows penned this one’ as she made her way through its contents, she didn't speak until she was done.
“Oh shit,” she said.
She blinked, turned the letter over and read it again. She read it again for a third, and then a fourth time. She stopped finally after the fifth read, and said, “oh, shit.”
Anko placed the letter back out into Iruka’s open hands. With shaking fingers, he took the letter back, though his eyes remained trained but unfocused on no particular point on the far wall. The words of the letter haunted him, replaying over in his mind:
Esteemed Greetings and Warmest of Salutations to Your Grace, The Honourable Umino Iruka: Keeper of Tides, and Regent of the Principality of Uzushio,
On behalf of Her Majesty, Lady Senju Tsunade: Princess of Slugs, Esteemed Fifth Stoker of the Will of Fire, and Queen of Konoha, We thank Your Grace for Your Grace's well wishes and hope this letter finds Your Grace in kind.
As discussed in Your Grace's last correspondence with Her Majesty, Lady Senju Tsunade has since reflected on Your Grace's proposal and found it to be satisfactory. Her Majesty has since been in talks with Her Esteemed Counsel of Advisors to find a suitable suitor amongst the Konoha nobility whom would best fit the needs for both the Principality of Uzushio and Your Grace as a potential Regent Consort. After much deliberation, Her Majesty, Lady Senju Tsunade, would like to honour Your Grace by extending to Your Grace the following offer of marriage:
In accordance with the Konoha-Uzushio Accord of Marital Union, first established in the reign of His Majesty, Lord Senju Hashirama: Igniter of the Will of Fire, Its Esteemed First Stoker, and Propagator of Its Flames, and the First King of Konoha, upon His Majesty’s marriage to Her Majesty Lady Uzumaki Mito: the First Sealed Vessel of the Nine, Honourable Vessel of the Ninth, and the First Queen Consort of Konoha: the Kingdom of Konoha, the Eternal Hearth of the Will of Fire, formally offers the hand of Its Honoured Flame, Lord Hatake Kakashi: Lord of the Eight Fangs, and Captain of Her Majesty’s Honourable Anbu Guard, in Blessed Union to The Honourable Umino Iruka: Keeper of Tides, and Regent of the Principality of Uzushio.
Should this offer of marriage be amenable to Your Grace, Her Majesty, has advised a small delegation will be sent to the Principality of Uzushio within a fortnight of receiving Your Grace's reply of acceptance, in order to finalise negotiations and start necessary preparations for this most Joyous of Unions. Should Your Grace wish to decline, Her Majesty will seek out another potential suitor and send word once another potential match is found and Their consent is acquired.
On behalf of Her Majesty, Lady Senju Tsunade: Princess of Slugs, Esteemed Fifth Stoker of the Will of Fire, and Queen of Konoha, and the Kingdom of Konoha, We eagerly await Your Grace's reply and hope Your Grace will send it forth posthaste!
Warmest of Regards,
Sir Might Guy,
The Noble Green Beast of Konoha, Youthful Protector of the Will of Fire.
“Oho-ho-ly shit,” seemed to be all Anko had to say about that.
She placed a black worn-leather gloved hand on his shoulder and gave it a small squeeze. “Well, that’s---By the Nine. I can’t believe I actually got to live to see the day that Hatake offered anyone, least of all you, his hand in marriage. I mean, I’d have bet the Nine would’ve broken from their Vessels first and brought about the Infinite Moon, but yet here we are.”
If he were anyone else, Iruka supposed he would be at least mildly offended by that remark and its implications; it was, however, not without merit. Lord Hatake Kakashi was renowned across the Five Kingdoms for many things: being a respected war hero; as a trusted ear and right hand to his Sovereign; having an intellect that rivalled that of Konoha's House Nara; and being devastatingly wealthy, among other things.
To Iruka, however, these facets did very little to change his opinion of Lord Hatake. His opinion of the man was as steadfast and resolute as it had been the night they first met. Back when a younger and still starry-eyed Iruka attended his first social event as an eligible bachelor; he had found the man completely, and utterly intolerable.
Iruka stood abruptly from his chair and slammed the letter to his desk, the chair legs squeaked shrilly as they pushed against the wooden floor. He walked into the middle of the room, his bed robe swaying as he moved. There he paused for but a moment, hands squarely on his hips, before spinning quickly on his heels to face his friend.
“Anko,” he said with a most serious expression. “Lord Hatake Kakashi, Anko. Lord Hatake Kakashi!—"
“Umino, think about this for a moment—” Anko had tried to interject, but was swiftly overspoken.
“—That man is rude; he is conceited; and he is cold and unfeeling; in fact, I don’t think I have ever once seen him smile—"
“That would be due to the mask,” Anko said with a roll of her eyes. She had since rounded back to the front of his desk and was now leaning against it, her ankles crossed over one another. “Look, personal grievances aside, Umino—"
“Oh, this is more than just mere personal grievances, Anko," Iruka said, throwing his hands in the air as he began to pace in small, maddening circles. “That man’s reputation precedes him like a harbinger. His name is known across the Five Kingdoms; there isn’t a House, Sovereign or otherwise, that does not know it!”
Anko pointed out, “most wouldn’t consider that a negative—"
“It is for what I have planned! By the Nine; he’s known as a ‘Friend-Killer’, Anko. Any time I speak again at the Assembly, the other Houses are all collectively going to wonder ‘when’ I will stab them in the back,” he said, huffing out a hard mirthless laugh. “Not ‘if’, but ‘when’! It’s hard enough already to distinguish sharks from porpoises during counsel as it is; I don’t need that man’s moniker hanging over my head to make the waters murkier than they already are!”
“I didn’t think you were one to put much stock into names and titles.”
“I don’t—at least I would like to think I don't—but other Houses do, Anko; it is all they care about.” He paused, cocked a hand on his hip and sighed dramatically. “Well, that and maintaining blood ties or tracing back genealogy histories leading all the way back to the Foundation Era and beyond. They picked mine over with a fine-tooth comb and found me lacking already, I am certain they are going to have an absolute field day with Lord Hatake’s. Lord Shimura especially. That sick fucking bastard,” Iruka all but spat.
Her eyebrows raised at the spirited language that not so often coloured the Regent’s vocabulary. “Hm. Well, at least that’s a sentiment that you and Hatake share; there is certainly no love lost between himself and Danzō, that I can assure you of,” Anko said.
“Ha! Well, at least that is some comfort,” Iruka said, voice laced in snide cynicism. “Bonding over a mutual hate for pompous old gits than a shared taste in wine or decent literature is hardly a good start to a marriage, but there are worse things I suppose.”
Anko chuckled. “You know I just hate to be the Nine’s advocate, but I’ve seen the books you read, Umino and they aren’t that far off from the material Hatake reads—"
Iruka paused, eyeing his friend with an offended look. “I am going to overlook that horrible slander directed at my sensibilities, purely due to my fondness for you Anko, and only say that Lord Hatake is a certified deviant and his taste in literature—if you could even call it that—is absolute filth while mine is impeccable in comparison,” he said, placing his hands firmly on his hips, ignoring the soft gibe of ‘pfft, maybe by default; they’re not all that different from the kissing books you read, Umino’ she uttered under her breath. He gave a firm nod. “That’s it! I’ve made up my mind. I’m going to write back a very polite but terse letter of rejection, and ask Lady Tsunade to find another—”
“No, you won’t.”
He pursed his lips and looked to Anko. “Yes, I will.”
“No,” she said flatly. “You won’t.”
“I could though,” he replied. “I should.”
“You could, but you shouldn’t, and again, you won’t,” she retorted.
“There could be someone better; a more suitable match!”
Anko gave him a pointed stare as she countered with, “There is no one better. You know this by far the best outcome you could have hoped for, Umino.”
“That’s not true,” Iruka said with an indignant huff. He paused, looked her up and down, then he strode over to her, taking her hands in his. “You’re part of the Konoha nobility; you could marry me instead—”
Anko simply threw back her head and laughed, loud and long. When she was done, her laughter having simmered down to breathless chuckling, she gave his hands a pitying pat. “By the Nine, I can’t believe I’m being made the voice of reason here,” she said with a shake of her head. “Look, as flattered as I am for the sudden interest Umino, there are a few points of contention I feel I need to raise.” She pried a hand from his grasp, lifted it and raised a single finger. “First of all: we have very different tastes in partners—”
“We could make it work! I’ll be such a good husband on parchment!” he pleaded, clutching at her other hand.
“—Umino, not get into semantics, but you are missing a pair of assets I am quite partial to in a lover, and I have never thought you as someone who shares my appreciation for the female form—"
Iruka shook his head. “It would be a marriage of convenience! We wouldn’t ever have to consummate it!—”
“Obviously.”
“—You can have a whole string of secret lovers, I won’t mind!”
She held up another finger. “Secondly—and I can’t believe you’re making me sing that man’s praises like this—but Hatake would make a great husband on parchment too. At least in everything but temperament.” Iruka had opened his mouth to agree and bemoan about what else Hatake was lacking, but Anko shushed him by pressing her fingers to his lips. “Listen: He’s from good stock; he’s a recognised war hero with enough commendations to make any of the Great Three blush; and not to mention—"
“See, I am clearly pushing above my station! If you look at it a certain way, I’d be helping him save face. I’d be doing him a great service by rejecting him,” he argued.
“—he has a hellish reputation on the battlefield with both the physical prowess and strategic chops to prove it. He’s known as a generational genius for a reason, and he is exactly the kind of consort you need. Marrying him will be making a statement; a show of strength. That you are not to be trifled with. Which is something you need right now.” Then she added, her voice a touch gentler, “especially for him, Iruka.” She tipped her head towards the nearest wall. Iruka’s eyes instinctively followed the gesture.
On the wall hung old missives and yellowed research notes, and a large map of the Five Kingdoms and the small provinces that were littered in between, marked and adorned with string and scribbled notes. There was also a small collection of drawings and fingerpaintings toward the middle of the wall, each made with charcoal and ink on old, discarded pages of parchment; each piece was crudely crafted, their artistic meaning left a mystery to all, save for the artist with the tiny hands who made them. At the centre of the arrangement, framed by all the others, hung Iruka’s favourite: a series of tiny handprints in bright, colourful paint, with no particular rhyme or reason to their placement.
A memory of ruddy, whisker-marked cheeks and wide baby blue eyes, stained hands and a beaming smile came to mind, causing his heart to swell—as it did every time he caught sight of it when he looked up from his desk.
Especially for him, he repeated to himself like a mantra. Always for him.
With the fall and destabilisation of House Uzumaki, there were very little among the Uzushio peerage that Iruka felt he could trust. In fact, it had been why Iruka had reached out to the Kingdom of Konoha for support; had been why he had proposed to secure an alliance with its Queen, Lady Senju Tsunade, no matter the cost to his reputation or dignity.
He needed allies, desperately, and if he couldn’t find them in his homeland, then by hell or highwater, he would even agree to marry a man like Lord Hatake Kakashi if it meant securing the Kingdom of Konoha’s mighty House Senju as a lifeline.
Especially for him. Always for him. Anything for him.
“I know you know that, and I know you know that is exactly why you sent the proposal for an alliance to Tsunade in the first place,” Anko continued as she squeezed his hands. “And I know you know that is why you won’t say no to this offer.”
With a groan, Iruka fell forward, pressing his head against her shoulder, the bridge of his nose pressed to the damp cloth of her cloak. It smelled of sweat, rotting leaves and mud; a sign of how rough the journey to Uzushio had been for her. Iruka was just thankful there wasn’t a whiff of blood, though if there had been he was sure the rain would have washed it away by the time she had made it to the estate. “I know, it’s just—” he let out a soft grunt as he turned his head slightly so he could look up at her. “Are you sure there’s nothing I could say to change your mind?”
Anko met his eye and gave him a small smile. “Even if I were so inclined, you know I’m not a noble, not even in Konoha,” she said. She reached up to her other shoulder and rubbed absently at the back of her neck. Her eyes darted away and she swallowed. “Never really was, technically, and I haven’t been out in society since… well, you know.”
Guilt racked Iruka, showing on his features as clear as the scar on his face. He gave her hand a little squeeze in return. “I know,” was all he said.
They stayed like that for a long moment: Iruka resting his head on her shoulder, while Anko let him—besides his desk, he was the only other support keeping her bone-tired body standing upright—until the overcast morning light began to stream through the windows. Iruka raised his head. He stepped back, but being sure to keep his friend from sleepily swaying by holding her up by her arms.
“Alright, I’m tired, and you’re clearly all but dead on your feet and smell like compost: We have approximately two hours before the little prince wakes up—maybe three if we’re lucky,” he said as he clapped his hands. “So, I propose we run you a bath, put you in some fresh clothes, and then take a nap. Does that sound agreeable to you?”
The messenger closed her eyes. “By the Nine, yes, that sounds heavenly, Iruka,” Anko groaned, her shoulders sagging with relief, “you’ll make a fine husband yet.” She took the arm that had been offered out to her and Iruka led her out of his study, but not before she added with a cheeky grin, “still won’t marry you though.”
****
It wasn’t until later, after Anko had finished with her bath; and Iruka had walked the length of the first and second floors, and the entirety of the open foyer on the ground floor, checking the embedded wards that ran along the walls and windowsills; and when they had finally settled among the soft furnishings and cushions on Iruka’s bed, that Anko spoke up:
“There is still something I don’t quite get,” she said. Her violet grey hair fanned out on the pillow beneath her head as she stared up at the ceiling. The ends of the strands of her hair still wet from her bath. “I just can’t fathom how Tsunade—”
“Lady Tsunade,” Iruka said around a yawn.
Anko rolled her eyes, quickly muttering a ‘so much for not caring about titles’ before continuing, “—how ‘Lady Tsunade’ was able to coerce Hatake into offering his hand to you. He is doing this for the young prince, that much is clear, but to think he’d agree to marriage so easily is another. No offense, friend.”
“No offense taken, friend,” Iruka chuffed. He had a pensive look as he too rolled to lay his back and turned his gaze toward the ceiling. “Well, it would be a terribly convenient way to cross into Uzushio’s lands without inciting any major conflict between the Kingdom and the Principality; it will undoubtedly upset a number of Uzushio Houses, but it isn’t as if marrying other Houses outside of a kingdom or province has never been heard of,” he explained. “It’s why I had proposed it in the first place. It’s surely faster rather than waiting for months for the Assembly to grant an appeal for a temporary stay: A marriage would bypass all that and give my consort-to-be a legal right of abode for as long as we’re wedded.”
Anko shook her head. “True, but I have this feeling there’s something else. He could have easily accomplished something similar through obtaining an Ambassadorship if he so chose—it wouldn’t be as enduring or equal, but it is something more his manner. And certainly not something so binding as marriage; of that I’m sure. There has to be another reason as to why Hatake agreed so willingly.”
Iruka thought for a moment, then with a smile, he nudged her side. “Oh, I think I know. I would wager Lady Tsunade threatened to burn those filthy books he loves if he didn’t agree.”
His friend blinked slowly, matching his smile with a grin of her own. “Probably. Only she hates them more than you! By the Nine, I’d have loved to have seen him squirm when she gave him that ultimatum!”
They broke out into quiet, tired giggles, and when they had subsided, Iruka added, “How true! I mean, this is Lord Hatake; I fear there could be little else that could persuade him.”