Archive of Our Own ^beta

Chapter Text

This world is weird, Itachi surmises. He’s lived in these woods for years now – they’re nicely isolated, patrols are usually around the edge and only rarely through the forest, but he’s still spent time at first investigating this new world.

No chakra, was the first thing he discovered. The discovery that he doesn’t have the Sharingan anymore isn’t so much a surprise after that, but rather expected.

What wasn’t expected was the tiny hands and delicate face he sees mirrored back in the water – nor the pointed ears.

Or that he glows in the dark now – not a great thing, in a shinobi profession, being your own personal glowlight and perfectly visible at night.

But he can compensate, Itachi knows, he’s good enough, skilled enough, clever enough, to find ways to compensate for his soft, untrained child-body and glow.

He just doesn’t understand why he has to.

Itachi died. He committed suicide via his brother to set everything right. And his soul was called back to help in the Fourth war. So why is he now in this new body in this new world?

Itachi was tired of life – he’d been tired of life when he was four years old and shown a battlefield of the dead and dying. He’d been tired of life when the councilman ripped out his cousin’s – and best friend’s – eye and Shisui committed suicide. If it hadn’t been Shisui’s last wish and if Sasuke hadn’t been caught in the middle, Itachi would have followed him without hesitation.

So why is he here? In this new world with a new life?

And such a weird world, too.

No shinobi but there are warriors. Like Samurai only not as skilled – except for the adults glowing like him. And the creatures they fight are misshapen, ugly little things. It’s almost nice – easy. In the shinobi world, the prettier you are, the stronger your breeding likely was and also the most likely to be mentally screwed up. (Danzo was an outlier.)

Minato, who slaughtered thousands in seconds, was beautiful, as was his wife whose kill count was only slightly below her husband’s. Kakashi fell into the fold, as did Obito pre-accident. Orochimaru was definitely beautiful – and oh so very deadly. As was Tsunade – really the odds were far more likely that if a person was attractive in their world, they were also rather deadly with little hesitation as most contract killers had few qualms.

And, of course, Itachi counted himself among that number.

But not in this world – in this world the evil was contained in something that looked like it, too. He suspected there’d be outliers too – people who collaborated for power, money, or any number of things they’d wished for or been promised.

There were civilian-people everywhere as well, but the most interesting thing Itachi found was that it wasn’t just humans in this world (quite apart from the evil looking things). There were so-called hobbits (hairy small humans with elf ears), elves (like him only taller, right down to the glow and unearthly pretty-ness), dwarves (also tiny, hairy humans but more likely to be found in caves, mining or smithing) and humans. No Kyubi or other tailed beasts, presumably due to the lack of chakra. Different religion and world history, too, which was interesting.

He'd investigated only casually, having little interest in the history, language or affairs of the people here. Itachi saw battles and farmsteads with families slaughtered by the evil creatures and neither blinked nor moved to intervene. This was not his world.

He contemplated jumping or killing himself, but ended up with a small nest he built for himself inside this forest near Rivendell and just couldn’t bring himself to end it by that point, not when he finally found some peace. Who knew what would happen after his death – would he land in the afterlife here or back home? Or another new-new world, one which may not let him live as peacefully as he is now?

There was only wildlife and the nearby river. No person near him.

No one who would find out just how excellent a killer Itachi made and send him to the frontline, point him at target after target over the next, well, however long he lived for.

Being part of Akatsuki meant that Itachi had grown accustomed to long stretches of silence, of no contact with other people.

This was like that only without waiting for the other stone to drop, without waiting for ANBU to burst in for assassinations or ambitious missing-nin seeking his bounty. Without worrying over Sasuke and fretting every other second. Without loving and loathing Konoha simultaneously with every breath.

It was nice.

Not perfect, but Itachi would have mistrusted anything that was or appeared perfect anyway. So, scraping his soft hands when built a lean to, when he devised a method without chakra for filtering water and borrowed knowledge from his travels all over the Elemental nations, was perfect by its very imperfect nature.

Nevertheless, despite the lack of chakra, it appears he needs to eat more than he currently does, Itachi notes, detachedly poking at his gaunt cheeks. He’d adjusted for average civilian child nutritional intake but apparently an elven child needed more.

His body was unfamiliar and felt constantly like it wasn’t quite part of him. Even in the before, Itachi was a trained shinobi who had learned to shut off annoying responses from his body. He didn’t notice hunger when pain was muted; Itachi’s life was pain. From this strained eyes, his throat rough and sore from repeated coughing, his chest tired and sore, lungs flooding with liquid and even shallow breaths were agonising. He wasn’t sure he remembered what it was like to be without pain. Even before the fatal illness there had been the constant exhaustion tugging at him, drawing him ever closer to the edge, the bruise, burns and other injuries from both missions and constant training (keeping up with twenty-year-olds when you’re eleven physically is, unsurprisingly, hard work).

What Itachi hadn’t expected or planned for was the illness ravaging him midwinter, despite the furs. His body, worn from malnutrition, shudders and is wrecked by shivers and coughs. Shinobi children rarely fall ill as the active chakra system usually helps keep down sickness far more than in civilian children. Itachi doesn’t remember being sick other than the long-term illness with his lungs and is unsure how to proceed.

By the next day, the thought is useless as everything vanishes in a fevered haze. Itachi wonders mildly whether this time he will finally pass on and finds himself indifferent, which, he supposes, is an improvement to actively seeking out his own death as he did in the Elemental Nations.

There’s a vague recollection of a shout and soft, warm hands gathering him up, removing the knife from his wildly swinging hands with ease. He doesn’t have enough knifes to throw, unfortunately, and decides he will deal with the new situation if he survives, giving in and letting himself go slack in the arms holding him.

The person speeds up even more.

The next time Itachi comes to, he’s in a white bed, in a white room – a hospital, he muses idly, reaching a shaking hand out to the water at his bedside. He sniffs it suspiciously before putting a drop on his finger, analysing and finally allowing a small amount in his mouth, swirling it back and forth, trying to discern any poisons or paralytics. Finally, satisfied, he swallows the mouthful and waits. Only after some time has elapsed without additional symptoms does he drain the cup. He puts it back and lies back down.

Sure, he could escape now, but for the moment they don’t appear to have bad intentions, and he’s still fairly hazy, so it would be better to run away when he is in a good enough condition to manage and prolonged evasion and escape.

Itachi drops off fairly quickly after he’s drawn that conclusion, only further reinforcing that he made the right call.

The next time he wakes up, Itachi is not alone anymore. There are two adults near him; one with shiny golden hair which Itachi covets. He would murder quite a number of people to be allowed to touch that hair. He would murder hundreds to ensure the person stays near him.

Hey, no one ever said the Uchiha were a sane clan; there have been many accusations made against them – sanity or lack of obsession has never been one of them. And, well, Itachi was the clan heir, the genius and pride of their clan; he was indulged throughout his childhood with many nice, pretty, shiny things. It’s really a small obsession as far as shinobi – and Uchiha – go, but he has never seen a person with golden hair. Blonde, yes, but not this golden glowing hair.

Itachi wants it.

Still, obsession has never affected his focus before and it doesn’t now (well, not quite, anyway).

Neither of them carry a weapon, both relaxed but both are trained warriors – that much he can tell even at a glance. The golden one (despite being clearly superior in every way as far as Itachi is concerned), is still subordinate to the one with the small crown in his hair. Itachi would call it ostentatious but to be honest he far prefers it to that stupid hat the Hokage wore; much more dignified – so he realises he really doesn’t have much room to talk.

The crowned one is now more focussed on writing in his career (obvious by the faint stains and callouses on his hand) but still trains regularly. Both move quietly and are talking to (at) him. Itachi wonders if maybe he should have put some of his intellect towards learning the language but shrugs it off just as quickly. Who cares what they are saying? Not Itachi. As long as he doesn’t understand what they’re saying he won’t be sent to the frontlines of whatever war they’re waging (one thing Itachi learned at age 4 – there is always a war of some kind he could be sent out to fight in, always).

Be a child, Itachi reminds himself, when he noticed the adoring, indulgent look in their eyes that he had only seen from a few civilians towards himself – the same one he’d undoubtedly given Sasuke often when he was younger himself. So he indulged, for what felt like the first time in his life, and made grabby hands to the blonde one, like he remembered Sasuke doing before Mother rid him of the habit (either that or Father’s harsh reprimands – he isn’t sure, only knows that Itachi came home one day and Sasuke didn’t reach for him anymore. That was not a good day).

After barely a moment’s hesitation, the golden-haired warrior steps towards him, lowering himself into the chair by the bed. Itachi’s already reaching for his hair when he notes the dirt on his hands.

Amaterasu burn him! He nearly touched that perfect hair with hands like this! Although both elves reach for him, Itachi ducks underneath quickly, having already spotted a bowl set out for washing hands and quickly but thoroughly cleans every finger before drying himself off. Both elves are standing within reach but not touching, just watching.

It’s easy enough to grab the sleeves of the golden-haired one and direct him to the chair. Itachi turns the chair away, noticing the stiffness and surprise at the strength of Itachi’s arms and makes a mental note to be more careful with his before losing himself to the obsession.

The hair is so soft, even softer than he had thought it would be, and each strand is perfect and shiny. Itachi loves it. No one intervenes, not even after hours brushing the hair, trying out gentle braids his picture-perfect Sharingan memory remembers his mother tying her own hair into. The elf just sits there patient, motionless, as Itachi indulges in every whimsical thought that flitters across his mind. It’s only when the sun lowers itself towards the horizon and bathes the golden hair in amber, like silken, liquid gold, that Itachi comes back to himself.

It's not the impending darkness but rather the other elf approaching carefully with food and juice for him. Itachi continues his hair adventures – he hasn’t needed to see to know what his hands are doing in a long, long time. A shinobi knows their body. So his face is turned to the newcomer – female this time, also glowing and pointed ears – elf – but with boring brown hair. Not a warrior either, he notes, but a maid of some kind. Unsurprising to any clan brat, Itachi is not familiar enough with their work to tell the difference between a laundry and a cleaning maid. He can tell a cooking one, though, but that’s because of his familiarity with knifes rather than anything else and the smells, like onion, which stick sometimes for days depending on their personal hygiene routine (also an indicator of whether he would ever even touch their food). His eyes don’t leave her, and she looks at him like he’s an adorable baby rather than a shinobi – something he wants, admittedly, and something he used to his benefit more often than not throughout his career, but still something he dislikes.

He worked hard and is known across the Elemental Nations for his prodigious talents and ability to skilfully assassinate even difficult targets. To be regarded as a baby and talked down to, while useful, galls him. Itachi keeps watching her as she leaves, before turning back to the elf in front of him. He can see well enough in the dark. He’s not stopping until the elf makes him.

Unfortunately, that moment comes sooner than expected. Apparently, the food for him means he’s expected to eat it and then go to sleep. Itachi huffs but he does need the facilities – has, in fact, been holding off for some hours because, well, Uchiha obsession are far higher in priority than simple bodily needs – as if Itachi would sink so low as to give in to what his body needs whenever it wants; that’s ludicrous. He doesn’t know how civilians even function subject to the whims of their body at all times.

Regardless, he acquiesces easily hoping that will earn him more time with the golden hair tomorrow – compliance was usually rewarded in shinobi society. He doesn’t know about here, but hopes it holds true nonetheless as he slips into the room he expects is designated as a bathroom.

Figuring out the facilities takes but a moment – it’s similar and yet slightly different from the Elemental Nations. Not as efficient but much more refined. After washing his face and hands thoroughly, Itachi returns to the room to eat. He suspects at this point they are unlikely to poison him given the lack of weapons around him (he is dangerous, damnit) and the general indulgent adoration he receives even for just breathing.

Maybe he will stay for a bit, Itachi decides. Although he had thought he had no chakra, now Itachi is wondering if maybe he has a little, at least internally, given how surprised they were that he would – and could – move the golden-haired warrior while on the chair.

But the moment they try and make him socialise with other children, he’s gone, Itachi decides. For now, it will be nice to be a bit pampered. He does need more flesh around his bones, especially around his wrist. It looks tiny and imminently snappable. If he were an opponent, that’s what he’d go for – that and the heel, of course.

They keep saying things and because it’s golden-hair talking, Itachi listens, but doesn’t understand (not that he tries very hard to). His incomprehension must be visible as the warrior tries other languages and dialects. None of which Itachi understands, or cares to understand. Still, nice effort. After finishing the food, he pats the sleeve of the warrior’s upper arm in consolation.

When the warrior tries to pat Itachi’s hair (or face, he isn’t actually sure), the young elven child scoots back in the bed until he’s well out of reach. The golden-haired warrior’s face grows sad again and Itachi rolls his eyes. So emotional, how did they even survive this long as a species?

“Itachi,” he says, conceding slightly to ensure his golden-haired warrior is happy (and therefore will return tomorrow), pointing at himself.

He chose a good warrior to obsess over, Itachi notes absently, when the man catches on quickly, pointing to Itachi to repeat his name, then himself and introducing himself as “Glorfindel”.

Itachi nods and memorises the name.

Poor golden-haired warrior, he had no idea what he was in for. Uchiha’s were stubborn and Itachi, while following orders obediently, had learned from Sasuke just how to dig his heels in.

Naturally, that’s exactly what he does the next day.

They want him to eat? Well, then.

“Glorfindel,” he says clearly and firmly watching the man with the crown be surprised, then shake his head, introduce himself only to be ignored. Crown guy is not important in the large scheme of things – his obsession is. Itachi will remain as long as he is indulged – when they stop indulging him, he will leave. Easy as that.

Making it clear isn’t that hard, either. Itachi shakes his head firmly, pushes the food away and repeats “Glorfindel” clearly and firmly, holding steady eye contact (foolish back when he had the Sharingan, but they have no way of knowing that).

The crown guy sits back in surprise but then amused fondness ripples across his face and he steps out and talks to one of the people outside, mentioning “Glorfindel” and Itachi smiles, knowing they are conceding to his demands already.

It is ridiculously easy to play these people – admittedly Itachi knows they are letting themselves be played, indulging in what they view as a child, but Itachi has no intention of disabusing them of that notion.

It only takes a few moments for his golden-haired warrior to arrive and Itachi, deliberately making eye contact with crown guy, pulls the food tray towards himself. Both elves laugh, quick and bright, and golden hair sits down next to Itachi in the same position as yesterday. He allows himself a quick touch of the hair (still just as soft and silky and golden as yesterday, Itachi swoons) before turning to the food. He eats everything on the plate and when crown-guy sends him more, Itachi eats that too.

See? He knows how to take orders and as long as they indulge him, he will follow orders. Frankly, he’s killed for a lot less. Eating well beyond capacity is nothing. He suffers the aches and pains and uses the trick Hound taught him for stopping producing sweat – he’s not allowed to use it for long, not in a body this young, but it’s handy. His control over his body is masterful and if Itachi doesn’t want to throw up, he won’t. Simple as that. Once he finishes everything in front of him, he washes his hands and returns to the golden haired obsession, ignoring the concerned looks they are exchanging.

Who cares about that? Gold-hair is his for the rest of the day, as far as Itachi is concerned.

Itachi hadn’t expected them to turn up a few scant hours later with more food – food for both of them, he hopes and turns luckily out to be right. Both eat this time and use the facility. Gold-hair manages to coax him to sit in the sunlight by virtue of putting his own chair out there and setting another one just up behind him with plenty of cushions and ease of access for Itachi to indulge.

He continues braiding and unbraiding, brushing the hair in front of him, but he doesn’t relax anymore. Quite aside from how filled up he is and concentrating on not throwing up (he’s sure that would be the end of their deal – it’s a small challenge but not one Itachi intends to fail. He’s sure they will up the challenge by the next day but that’s tomorrow’s problem), there are so many noises and elves everywhere. And everyone is looking at him.

They’re pretending not to and he doesn’t understand the words, but he sees the glances, the quick smiles, like they all think he will fail. Itachi doesn’t fail is what they don’t understand. Not yet. That’s alright – it will give him more time with gold hair.

Still, his eyes and senses are on high alert, every brush of the wind a shuriken, every birdcall a summons set to attack, every elf walking past a potential opponent or obstacle. From the balcony he can only go back in the room or the ground. Maybe the roof. But he doesn’t know the terrain, doesn’t know how to get out, to get away. He’s uncomfortable until he’s had time to scout and his limbs are still weak and shaky. He’s not fit enough to take on the mass of people walking past. There’s an elf everywhere – further away, close by, Itachi has not felt this defenceless in a long time, not without someone he can rely on by his side.

Gold-hair is many things, but Itachi doesn’t think the man will fight on Itachi’s side if he were to try and fight his way out. Never mind, though, after what he’s done to Sasuke, a brother he loved beyond all reason, killing Gold-hair would be a simple thing should he oppose him. He’d rather not, but there are many things he’d rather not have done and been forced or told to do anyway. It’s honestly low on his list of sins, real and planned.

Gold-hair notices Itachi’s alertness and refusal to relax and is finally sensible enough to return inside. Or maybe Itachi got enough sunshine for Gold-hair’s tastes. Who knows. Then Gold-hair turns to the next foolish endeavour – trying to engage with Itachi over anything but his frankly awe-inspiring hair. He points and tries to name things.

Itachi is frustrated because although he might try to ignore the man, his brain is far too used to taking in many inputs at once so although his main focus is on the hair in his hands, his brain is making note of every word said and Itachi learns, against his will, their language. Gold-hair is disappointed when Itachi doesn’t repeat the words back but seems to notice it sticking regardless as he continues with his efforts to educate Itachi.

Itachi escaped during the night, despite the weakness he still feels. He is tiny and despite glowing, hiding is easy enough as he scouts out the location and perimeter of their city. He spends hours mapping out escape paths before returning to bed just before sunrise.

What is surprising is that instead of upping the amount Itachi has to eat, they reduce it to a semi-comfortable amount and just make sure he eats snacks with high calorific value at regular intervals. Gold-hair is sent to him, so Itachi obeys. He wonders what Gold-hair was bribed with to sit there so calmly and just list words or get him a few hours of sunshine every day, but doesn’t ask.

Weeks pass. To his surprise Itachi learns he has to revise his earlier thoughts – they appeared to have expected Itachi to stop eating on his own accord at some point and have now determined they will decide when that nebulous point between full enough and too full is. Itachi has grown up learning the amount of calories he needs depending on his age and expected exertion level; he has no frame of reference for elves, as he's already seen, and especially none for 'being full'. It's a weird thing to measure, Itachi finds but there never seem to be any bad intentions towards him, no training or pushing him and he doesn’t understand it, doesn’t know how to process it, so it just remains a vague inkling in the back of his mind for interpreting but not touched upon otherwise because since Shisui’s death, and even before it, he doesn’t remember enough to know what kindness is.

On the other hand, Itachi’s strength is back and he could escape, despite the whirlwind of snow outside, and find a new place to survive in. That’s not ever going to be a problem. No, the issue is that Itachi plain doesn’t want to.

It’s new this want-thing – well, no, that’s a lie. Itachi has wanted his entire life, but usually those things are dangled in front of him and then ripped away along with some punishment for wanting in the first place (safety, love, Shisui, Sasuke). But Glorfindel remains. The food increases steadily but remains within increasing comfort levels. He’s given a new room – his own room. And clothing – so much clothing. It’s nothing like the Elemental Nations and yet some parts are oddly reminiscent. Most of his clothing have golden, shiny threads through them and silver, shiny threads. He adores them.

Shinobi clothing was eminently practical, ready to be torn, discarded and replaced at a moment’s notice with an identical one.

This is not that.

Each item is handmade and each individual and pretty. There’s no accounting for fighting, mud or ripping the cloth. There are beautiful flowers and birds etched into his clothing, each so soft and comfortable Itachi would loathe to take them off at night if his sleeping gown didn’t feel like a piece of clouds and heaven. It’s indulgence and luxury at its finest and Itachi loves luxury and is growing to enjoy indulging himself, as well.

He adores and loves them. It is the height of luxury to wear a new one each day, careful and conscious of every move to ensure the cloth is not stained with food or by the ground before cautiously hanging it back up in his wardrobe. His room is even larger than it was at the Uchiha compound and he has his own balcony.

He takes back every negative thing he ever said about this world, Itachi thinks, stroking the golden hair in front of him, eyes admiring the golden threads at his arm leading to a large tree and leaves. He’s glad this one didn’t have the roots painted on it. It’s been two weeks and he has yet to wear a single outfit twice. The shoes he has to wear are a bit weird, but he can accommodate that for the clothes.

Glorfindel brought new picture books with him every day and had yet to coax him out to mingle. Itachi tilted his head, contemplating the new thought. He knows how reciprocity works, but it’s interesting that it’s working on him as well. With no eminently visible motive and only fondness visible on the elves’ faces, Itachi thinks, they have actually made it work. They have given him food, a room, clothing, are teaching him their language and giving him Glorfindel on a daily basis. And Itachi feels the pressing need to return that favour.

The big question, however, is how?

The first attempt – going to the training grounds fails before it even starts when Glorfindel looks like a nervous civilian mother and attempts to scoop him up off the ground and far away from all those pretty, shiny weapons (seriously, he understands why they don’t throw them – Itachi would loathe to loose that prettiness too, but they should invest in utilitarian weapons as well.). The second attempt – helping in the kitchen because Itachi knows how to cook after years in the other world and this world both on his own, but the moment he makes to clamber onto the table towards the cutting boards he’s told to stop. He asks for a cutting board, which he is given, but not the knife. And while Itachi can improvise the moment he tries to do so it’s made clear to him that he is not supposed to cook in any way, shape or form (albeit very, very gently and kindly with very sad eyes).

Thus fails attempt two. Attempt three goes better – until the actual execution, that is.

Uchiha liked pretty things – and dances by and over fire were well-loved but Itachi had already deduced that any jumping over or interacting near fire would send the elves into a collective heart attack. But dancing was pretty and Itachi was pretty and very good at dancing. He’d been sent to more than one geisha for training – it was not just flexibility training but blending in and smoothness. Geisha made for very good shinobi.

Teaching the musicians was easy and they had the rhythm down within moments. Obviously when he told Glorfindel he wanted to dance for them, Gold-hair got overly excited and, Itachi surmised, invited half of Imladris, eyeing the growing crowd. For his comfort, everyone kept well away, the entrances and exits (windows and balconies included) were kept clear and no one had a single weapon (other than the strings on the instruments used by the musicians; not that Itachi hadn’t already found several dozen items which could easily be repurposed into a weapon). But either way, he notices the consideration towards him and gives Gold-hair a regal nod in acknowledgment (ignoring the way crown guy’s face falls when he continues to be ignored).

Itachi knows crown guy is likely responsible for the many and varied indulgences, but as an Uchiha has no intention of not making it clear with whom his allegiance lies (himself, first, then Gold-Hair, that’s it; he’s grateful but he refuses to be indebted – the gifts were freely given, as is this dance, but it is for Gold-Hair mainly, not crown guy (Elrond, his mind says but he ignores it).

What follows is, naturally, a disaster of epic proportions.

Itachi dances beautifully to the song but he is barely half-way through, giving half-lidded eyes and another enticing, gentle sweep of his arm before the music stops and Gold-hair is in front of him, tears shining in his eyes.

Itachi is baffled. What problem do they have with dancing? Glorfindel is carefully not touching him but seems eminently upset as is the rest of the crowd, some even running away to throw up, others blanched, staring dead-eyed at Itachi. Crown guy is shaking with his children touching him gently, still throwing horrified glances at Itachi.

This was meant to be a nice thing. A thank you for all the things they had done. And thing is, Itachi knows his dancing isn’t bad; he’s been sent on repeat missions for it because he is that pretty and that good.

In an effort, because he can see that they are upset (even if he doesn’t understand why), he pats Glorfindel on his head.

Itachi knows it’s a mistake the moment he does it – Gold-hair sees it as tacit acceptance of touch and goes to hug him.

Yeah, no.

Itachi is out.

He jumps and runs to the nearest balcony, easily evading the musicians and scrambling elves, despite still being careful with his lovely (so lovely) garments. He makes it to the most obvious escape route and waits.

It doesn’t take long before Glorfindel shows up, with weapons and bareback on a beautiful, magnificent white shining creature. He’s been missing out, Itachi realises, stepping forward and every eye falls on him and the horses are stopped.

Glorfindel lowers himself to his knees to talk to him but for once Itachi isn’t distracted by the golden shine. It makes sense, Itachi notes absentmindedly, a golden-haired warrior in daylight and a magnificent steed which reflects and shines silver like the moon.

He’s in love, Itachi thinks – not the kind of love like he had for Sasuke, but the affection he had for Kisame. He’d still run him through with a sword without hesitation for Sasuke, but he was held above the other mortal creatures scurrying about.

He approaches slowly, gently, eyes still on the horse which eyes him cautiously. Luckily, Itachi’s pockets are always full these days – he is given more snacks than he is told to eat in case he gets hungry overnight. Itachi is still baffled by the concept, but is grateful now that he can make a proper offering to the magnificent creature.

Glorfindel seems surprised when Itachi ignores him, but is indulgent when he notices where Itachi is headed and shows him by example how to shape his hands. Itachi follows suit, telling the horse how beautiful and shiny and wonderful he is. Magnificent is not quite in his vocabulary, but Itachi resolves to learn it now, noticing how the horse is listening.

So there are clever animals, like the Inuzuka’s dogs, almost, except not capable of human speech. But this brilliant horse is definitely cleverer by half than any others he’s encountered so far, Itachi would wager. The elves all seem to relax now that Itachi is back in sight and disperse (for a given meaning of the word – they spread the word that he’s found and suddenly the streets are filled with elves who make no eye contact but make quick glances, just to assure themselves that he’s still here).

The lips of the horse run searchingly along his hand and Itachi giggles lightly, a sound which echoes in the suddenly quiet Imladris. Then some of the elves have hands over their hearts and tears in their eyes.

So damn emotional, Itachi thinks, rolling his eyes at them, before pressing a gentle kiss to the horse’s face.

That’s it, he decides, he’s sleeping in the barn tonight.

With the horse, of course.

He’s almost sure he can convince the horse – Asfaloth as it turns out – not to kick him during the night.

Besides, shinobi life is dangerous and this- well, Itachi can now decide for himself what is worth the danger and this is.

Unfortunately, that’s not something he can convince Glorfindel of. Despite their indulgence, they are not willing for him to stay in the stables overnight nor for the horse to join him.

Itachi may or not be pouting when he turns into bed, but that only seems to make the elves happier. He still doesn’t know why the dancing made them sad and his vocabulary is dreadfully limited. But tomorrow Itachi will turn his not inconsiderable focus towards learning the language, he has decided and resolve this once and for all.

And to offer proper praise for the darling creature languishing away in the stables without the proper adoration it is due, naturally.

Chapter Text

The elves are surprised by how rapidly Itachi is suddenly advancing in his language skills but he is still a genius and now that he intends to do well, it’s easy. Writing can come later, if he still wants to, the key for now is being able to communicate properly and clearly. He even gets paper to draw on so he can figure out words for things not in his vicinity (like swords, because Glorfindel and all the other elves are in cahoots to stop him from coming near the training fields).

But Itachi also quickly realises that Glorfindel – or Gold-Hair – is just as important as crown guy. Now that Itachi is in the public eye and, while still shying away from touch, is within other elves’ vicinity without fuss, Glorfindel is in high demand. Or they all want to eye Itachi (possibly both, he isn’t actually sure since every single one of them spends at least a few moments cooing over him, no matter how frequent their visit).

Some of them even show interest in some of the hair braids Itachi uses on Glorfindel, ones he remembers his mother using before she went into battle during the war – before Sasuke was born. She became a full-time mother, then, but before that she was still called upon due to her prodigious talents with the katana. He has a vague memory of Kushina, his mother’s friend, teasingly saying that the Samurai cry when they see her because she is using her skills as a shinobi rather than following their code and she was beating them. Given the breadth of skills a shinobi has to learn whereas samurai focus on just one, that’s a remarkable compliment.

Of course, Itachi has no idea if it’s even true. Regardless, the braids are tight, efficient and look good, so he shows them off on Glorfindel and earns praise for it. Not that he’s become used to this kind of praise yet; back in Konoha praise always came with multiple suggestions for improvement or, if there were no suggestions made, it was almost always someone trying to get into the good books with the clan heir. This is not like that; the elves seem genuinely impressed and admire the braids and he’s seen more than one of them replicate it since. It’s frighteningly genuine and honest without ulterior motive and what in Madara’s name is Itachi meant to do with that?

On top of all that, Itachi still hasn’t figured out how to repay them, especially with paper and pen now added in along with lessons, but once he is able to communicate, he intends to repay them. The Uchiha clan honours its debts (yes, he acknowledges that there is a debt now).

But Glorfindel’s increase in popularity allows Itachi to slip away and lavish the beautiful Asfaloth with a lot of attention (and food). He’s taken to going for walks with the beautiful creature and finding empty green spaces where he can stroke the horse to his heart’s content and the horse can graze. The elf helping out in the stables had originally tried to give him a halter and lead but Itachi had only returned that with a scathing look and scrambled up the stable’s door to undo the weird contraption. That was like putting an Inuzuka dog on a leash.

This was a free creature and could do as it wished. Itachi hoped it would follow him but he wouldn’t stop it if it were to refuse. Although he does offer it plenty of snacks which, once noticed, means he gets plied with even more snacks and a small bag as Itachi thinks his pockets were close to ripping under their combined weight. Everyone is still very concerned – all capitals – about Itachi’s weight. And he is trying – he eats when told to and tries to remember to eat the snacks and compensate for his late night training, but weight gain is slow going.

Still, despite being somewhat free, Itachi is very aware that there are at least always two elves somewhere nearby – close enough to intervene in case of emergency but far enough to give the illusion of privacy. Itachi’s not too bothered, he’s used to being watched and scrutinised; and it’s easier now that he knows there is no malicious intent, no looking for weak spots like there was at Akatsuki.

It's nice, safe. The way the village walls used to feel safe when he was very young, before he knew and saw the illusion destroyed in an instant.

Sometimes Asfaloth even lies down just so Itachi can touch its beautiful mane or braid it and stroke its back. Itachi doesn’t know what else to do with his free time, but he is learning. He repeats everything he learns to Asfaloth, but mostly he is learning how to relax, to be what they all want him to be here: a child. Sometimes he even curls up and sleeps with the horse; and it occasionally pulls on his hair when it wants him to wake up and give it attention. It’s easy and reciprocal and a relationship Itachi understands. He offers food, affection and freedom and it takes them as is its due, occasionally reciprocating by lying down with him.

He still wakes up in the middle of the night and completes his training, wondering if he will ever be allowed on training grounds. He has absconded with several of the knives (kept on top of his wardrobe, a spot rarely looked at in a child’s room – in this world, at least, where people cannot walk up walls) and practises his throwing – he’s still good but needs to improve his muscle memory to get back to exceptional. His mind is good at calculating angles but the force needed and angle are partially reliant on muscle memory, so he is training and learning.

But he always goes back before sunrise.

Then comes the time when Itachi has learnt enough to be able to communicate; he seeks out Glorfindel, who, just hearing his steps nearing, scrambles away from the training field in haste to stop him coming near.

Itachi sighs but figures that will soon stop anyway, so it’s not something which needs to be dealt with. Not right now anyway.

“I would like to talk with you and Elrond as well as whoever you want about my past.”

Glorfindel lights up. “I’ll find him right now – there is nothing urgent at the moment which cannot be waylaid for your story,” he tells him, without even consulting aforementioned Lord.

Yes, Itachi thinks, definitely very, very important elf this Glorfindel of the Golden Hair. Having no intention of protesting getting this all over with quickly, Itachi follows as Glorfindel fetches runners and tells them to gather several people – he doesn’t know who they are, although he concedes it’s possible he has already been introduced to them. Possibly even more than once.

But unless it’s the seamstress who makes his clothing, Itachi hasn’t really been interested in learning names. Naturally, around fifteen people are in attendance. Itachi sighs, throwing Glorfindel a woeful look, but obediently takes the seat with the pillows which is clearly intended for him.

“Welcome, Itachi. We heard you are willing to share your story?” Elrond asks and Itachi nods curtly. “I know there are a lot of us here today. If that is uncomfortable for you, if you’d like a smaller group or even just Glorfindel, we can arrange that. Your comfort is what’s important here,” Elrond says clearly, keeping his eyes on Itachi to make sure he sees that the ellon is being honest. Yeah, things like that are still hard to swallow. ANBU or the Hokage could call anyone they liked – as had his father – for when Itachi gave his reports and his input had never been sought. Itachi’s comfort was low even on his own priority list! Still, he swallows and shakes his head quickly to let him know they can all stay.

“Would you like me to introduce you to the people gathered here today,” he asks kindly and Itachi tilts his head. “Is the seamstress here today?” he asks and, when denied, shakes his head at the prior offer. Elrond blinks in surprise.

“You know them all?” he asks, brows furrowed slightly and Itachi shakes his head again.

“Glorfindel,” he says, pointing at the golden-haired warrior and then at crown guy and states “Elrond,” blankly before putting his hands down, making it clear that’s the limit of the people he can identify. He hears Glorfindel sigh fondly beside him.

“I know for a fact that I have introduced you to Erestor at least three times already,” he says, prodding Itachi gently. The former shinobi glances across the circle twice but finally gives up, shrugging. Yes, he has learnt to memorise faces and names quickly for several missions, but he has also learnt the value in forgetting faces and names, even prior to his Sharingan activating, because they no longer matter once the mission is complete. Glorfindel doesn’t protest further and Elrond introduces the people around them and their profession or relation. The pretty lady with curly hair is apparently his daughter and the two twins are his sons; interesting. He had seen them during the dance and guesses as much considering their interactions were of a filial nature rather than intimate, but it was always nice to have his suppositions confirmed. He’d met the twins a few times back when he refused to learn the language, which is why they’re familiar – he offers them a small glare; even without understanding the words he’d known they were teasing Glorfindel about letting Itachi handle his hair. If it were to have resulted in Gold-hair abandoning his daily task of sitting there and being pretty and shiny, Itachi would have done much worse.

Not that they need to know that. Erestor turns out to be the librarian he has met several times already. There is one from the kitchen (likely trying to glean more details of Itachi’s nutrition), a healer apprenticed to Elrond (how refreshingly familiar; he’d never worked under Tsunade but a Hokage who wasn’t solely oriented on bloodshed but also how to handle the aftermath seemed like a much better proposition). Six of the elves are the ones he has noticed on rotation to protect him (and keep him within Imladris, most likely, but as long as it aligns with his own goals, Itachi will not begrudge them for it).

None of them seem important enough to take note, but Itachi memorises the faces and names anyway, because these people will, after tonight, know who or what Itachi is and he needs to know who has access to that information and who is likely to send him on missions.

“My name is Itachi Uchiha,” he starts after the introductions are complete, not a little impatiently. He would rather like to sort out his debt now before he accrues more. “I died in my world and woke up alive like this,” he gestures to his child-like body, “in this world.”

“How did you die?” Glorfindel asks, voice detached but eyes wide and genuinely concerned. But Itachi can tell when he’s touched a nerve, although he wonders which one.

“At my brother’s hand.”

The elves hiss and grimace and Itachi frowns.

“It was a good death,” he tells them sternly and they only exchange looks.

“How old were you?” Erestor asks and Itachi tilts his head. He hasn’t celebrated his birthday in so long, he had learnt to estimate his age by his brother’s (because he will always remember when Sasuke was born, that moment when that tiny, ugly little creature opened its eyes to look at him and his heart was suddenly rendered in two, one part no longer belonging to him but to the baby who became the most important, most beautiful thing in the entire world in that instant).

“Twenty-one, I believe,” he states after a moment of calculation. They exchange more looks like he couldn’t see them. Although Itachi thinks maybe he should have learnt more about their culture before pushing this talk on them as he still doesn’t understand why. Oh well; too late now.

“You said your world and this world; are they really that different? What was your world like?” Elrohir asks curiously and Itachi tilts his head, wondering how to describe it.

“We have chakra,” he began, a moment later. “it is energy, both physical and mental, which can be used to manipulate our environment – spew fire, create walls, move trees, manipulate water and wind, walk up walls. The ones who learn how to use it, are clever enough, strong enough and have enough chakra – they become shinobi. The others are civilian. Civilians are like the seamstress, the chef and smith. Shinobi are weapons akin to warriors – they learn to fight by hand, with weapons and with chakra. They start at genin – beginner level, if they graduate school. They take on small missions – message delivery between city and outposts or delivering objects with only bandits as possible opponents. And missions around their home village. Then there is an exam in competition with other countries – lands – where you can be granted the next higher ranking of chunin if you perform well enough. The next one up is Tokubetsu Jonin which means you are exceptional in your speciality but not good enough to make Jounin across the board. Jounin means the best of the best, although they too are ranked like missions from B through to S rank depending on missions and skill levels.”

Itachi takes a deep breath before continuing. It’s difficult to explain all this when the world here is so very different.

“And then there is ANBU, which is the elite. They go on secret missions only authorised by the leader of ANBU and which comes from the Hokage, who is the village leader. The Hokage is always a shinobi – the strongest with the best connections, essentially, and reputation to deter the other villages and lands from invading. The missions ANBU get tend to be higher-risk where association may be disavowed if discovered or with high risk of combat with other highly skilled shinobi.”

At least these elves are all very bright, quickly absorbing the information and processing it.

“What kind of missions were there?” Asks Elrond.

“I’ve mentioned C-ranks for genin teams. D-ranks for genin involve things like weeding, fence painting, shopping and similarly trivial tasks. It’s mainly used to connect the shinobi and civilians in a non-combative scenario. B-ranks involve combat with other shinobi not of jounin rank. A-rank is jounin combat possible and S-rank is high-ranking jounin combat or disavowal. ANBU missions are almost exclusively S-rank. There is a mission board and missions can be chosen from those available. ANBU missions, however, are assigned. Even in the normal course of your shinobi life you may be assigned missions – there rarely is the option to deny these unless you have backing from other sources but you may struggle for the next few years before you raise your reputation back up again. And there will be a note on record, of course. And you may be sabotaged in future missions or by your teammates. Essentially, don’t refuse a mission unless you’re a clan head or heir or have clan backing.”

When asked about the lands that exist, Itachi explains but gains more looks when he says he is from the land of fire. He sighs again, but continues on regardless, explaining genin teams.

“You were a shinobi, weren’t you?” Glorfindel asks and Itachi nods.

“Yes. I climbed ranks quickly after graduation and was inducted into ANBU early,” he affirms easily.

Elrond’s brows are not the only one that furrow at that information.

“At what age due you normally graduate between stages?” Glorfindel asks, voice hard.

Itachi isn’t sure what upset the elves now (they are so emotional, everyone is tense now and frowning, looking sad already).

“Well, Academy lasts until you’re twelve. Chunin is normally when you’re fourteen or fifteen, and Jounin when you are nineteen or twenty, if you make it that far. Many don’t. ANBU is by invitation and recommendation only.”

“And how old were you for each of these stages?” Elrond asks and Itachi shrugs.

“I graduated at age seven, chunin at age ten but I entered solo without a team. Jonin a year later and ANBU that same year.”

The elves are pale and a few of them look near-tears others look as though they are about to throw up and some really look like they want to cuddle him.

Again.

Itachi keeps his sigh internal this time and makes sure that no one is making any motions towards reaching for him. How did this species even survive when they’re so damn emotional all the time?

“I- what did your parents say?” Asks the apprentice healer quietly, looking concerned, hands shaking slightly.

Itachi frowns for a moment, trying to recall – he mostly remembers Sasuke being upset that day when he found out his older brother would have less time for him and throwing a tantrum. Oh, right, yes.

“My clan was proud as I was hailed as a genius. My father congratulated me and expressed his disappointment that I only graduated at seven as another child  had graduated at age six a few years prior. My mother advised that I would have to train hard to make sure I could keep up the speed of progression without neglecting my duties as clan heir.”

The upset and grief-stricken faces are starting to get to him, Itachi notes absently, watching their open mouths and the many hands wiping away tears as well as the set shoulders and angry expressions on a few. He really should have learned more about the culture before initiating this talk, Itachi decides.

“When was your first battlefield?” Elrohir asks with wide eyes and shaky hands. Itachi tilts his head, thinking over the question for a moment.

“When I was around four, I think, was the first time I saw a battlefield. My father took me out so I could see the war first-hand.” He explains about the soldier he helped only for that man to turn around and nearly kill him. He doesn’t mention the aborted suicide; the subject is a touchy one in his culture and he has no idea whether they’d view it with a similar amount of dishonour or whether they would get even more upset (he has not figured out a common denominator other than himself in what makes them upset – but he also makes them laugh, so it’s clearly something he is saying or doing which clashes with their cultural norms which no one has taken the time to explain to him.

There’s anger now along with the sorrow on every face.

“And when did you learn how to fight?”

Well, that’s a more difficult question, Itachi thinks.

“I received flexibility training and stretching as soon as I could walk, but didn’t learn formal kata until I was around two years old, I think. We are familiarised with weapons, how to hold them and care for them from the moment we have enough finger dexterity and understand enough to follow orders but actual weapons training didn’t start until after I turned three.”

They’re aghast, but he is not sure why. It’s an efficient system and has worked well for the clan for the past hundred years – even during the clan wars; but he doesn’t say that. He suspects it would only upset them more – they always seem upset when he talks about his world, so far.

To speed things up, Itachi gives a quick rundown of how the villages came to be, loyalty and missing-nin and clans. He talks about Sasuke being born, and then skips right to his family trying to overthrow the Kage and his cousin dying trying to stop it.

Itachi shrugs.

“I was given the option. All Uchiha wiped out or Sasuke survives so long as I am the one killing them.” Itachi looks up, making eye contact with Elrond.

“So I did. I killed every man, woman and child in the compound and told Sasuke to seek me out when he was strong enough. It was a good death,” he repeats firmly. It’s not quite the truth, but he has no intention of involving his ghostly resurrection, the fourth war, fighting a god or Obito, to be honest. Or Danzo’s manipulation and eye theft. Or the Sharingan – it’s information irrelevant to the current situation, Itachi decided.

“Would you like a break?” He asks when he notices the fear and anger warring with sadness on their faces but Elrond shakes his head.

“I would rather finish it all at once,” he states quietly, and the others nod. Itachi nods his agreement and continues.

“I was told to join and investigate a group of missing nin gathering somewhere in the Land of Rain. I did as I was bid and spent the next few years running missions for them. The rest you know. Now you have fed me, clothed me, indulged me and given me a room. I would like to offer my services as recompense. I am one of the best assassins and I doubt there is anyone of equal skill who will give me trouble in the other lands. I can also offer my services for protection, information gathering or retrieval missions. Although I would like to know why my dancing offended you.”

“Why your-“ Elrond gasps, tears mixing with his laughter, “Why your dancing offended us, Illuvatar above, grant me strength.” His children are hovering around him with similarly sorrowful expressions. By Amaterasu, they have no hold on their emotions.

“Permit me one more question, before we answer yours, young one,” requests Glorfindel and Itachi nods.

“How old were you when your Kage turned you against your family?”

“Nearly thirteen,” Itachi says, wondering what this has to do with anything.

“Ah,” Glorfindel says, voice raspy, “thank you for that clarification.”

“Actually, one more question if you will indulge me,” Elrond says, “it may help answer yours. Where did you learn that dance?”

Itachi sighs but obediently explains Geisha, Maiko and their profession and his clan and ANBU sending him there for training.

“And just one more, please. Did you ever use those skills as they do in that profession?”

Itachi’s brows furrow momentarily before understanding dawns.

“Oh, yes, forgive me, ‘honeypot’ missions often fall under information gathering or assassination missions but I should have realised and clarified. Yes, I can run seduction missions as well. And yes, I have run those missions before. ANBU handle all missions, as assigned, as I mentioned before, which includes seduction missions.”

They look like they might definitely throw up this time to Itachi’s growing concern. Then he realises what the issue is – he’d wondered why there were no children here and his first hypothesis had been that the kids were all sequestered away somewhere in a safe, secret location but that had quickly been disproven because Itachi realised that not a single one of the elves living here would have ever let their child leave their eyesight. So trouble conceiving is his current guess because they definitely love children enough and he’s seen plenty of couples, that Imladris would be overrun with children if they could.

“Oh, don’t worry. I was a clan heir – I was protected from any missions which could put our clan lineage in jeopardy. My only missions of that type were with men.”

“Ah,” Elrond says again, looking drawn and exhausted beyond measure after a large pause in which the elves try to gather themselves. “That explains… a lot, to be honest. I will be frank with you, Itachi, as I normally wouldn’t be with a child your age.”

He holds up a hand to stop Itachi’s inevitable protest at calling him a child.

“You probably don’t know much about elves, just like we know very little about you. Indulge me for a moment, if you would, what is the average lifespan of Shinobi and civilians in your world?”

“I am not sure – I’d guess shinobi early twenties and civilians probably in their fifties?”

Elrond sighs.

“That’s – well, to be honest, that’s even worse than I thought. Humans here live to their eighties and the Numenorean live to around three hundred or even four hundred years old. Elves, on the other hand, are immortal. We will perish from injury to our body or spirit, but otherwise we live forever. I myself am just past six thousand years old. Your friend Glorfindel is likely around seven thousand years old although with his death and subsequent rebirth it makes calculating his actual age a bit more difficult an exercise than for most.”

Itachi whirls around and stares.

“You were reborn too?”

“Yes, dear one, but I was sent back by the Gods and lived in this world before, not sent to a different one,” Glorfindel explains softly and Itachi’s shoulders sag as he turns around again.

So… immortality. That’s new.

“What’s an injury to the spirit?” Itachi asks, curious, head tilted and watches the elves exchange looks again.

“Your fea, your soul, is bound to your earthly vessel, your body. But if you… If you were injured in your soul, you may not wish to stay in this world and your body will begin what we call ‘fading’, like an illness.”

A pause as Itachi turns that idea over in his head – it kind of makes sense and almost sounds like suicide – as if you can will your body to die when you have had enough.

“Alright. And what can cause injuries to the fea?” He asks to clarify and ascertain whether he has understood their explanations correctly.

Glorfindel speak up this time, giving a slight nod at Elrond who sinks back into his seat gratefully – so a friend or family member of Elrond likely died from this, at least that’s what he understands from their silent communication.

“When your bonded partner dies, it is difficult for elves to remain and hold on unless they have something holding them back, such as children or their duties. And they will likely choose to stay just long on enough to pass on their duties before fading, if they are important enough for them to choose to remain. The… the other things that injure the spirit are when elves have been captured by the enemy or… Or violated.”

Glorfindel keeps firm eye contact, a grim twist to his mouth, lips pressed together tightly.

“Oh,” Itachi finds himself saying, “I’m sorry for raising such a touchy subject,” he further says to Elrond – he’s still not sure what happened but he’s guessing his wife is the one who faded.

“She moved on to Valinor,” Arwen explains correctly guessing his expression. “If we tire of this world, or the sea calls to us with its song, we will not find rest here anymore and sail to Valinor.”

… Alright. That explains nothing. A sort of heaven for the immortals, Itachi guesses, but one you can physically sail to? He’s not sure he wants to understand quite how that works because this has godly interference written all over it and he’s had enough of gods or beings pretending to be one.

“If you feel comfortable, when we found you, your fea was barely holding onto your body,” Glorfindel says without outright asking and Itachi blinks for a moment before he’s translated it in his head in something that makes sense.

“Ah, that will be because I am not quite comfortable in this body – it’s so young. And, well, I had fulfilled my purpose. If I knew with certainty I wouldn’t just wake up in yet another world, I’m not sure I would have stayed alive long enough for us to meet,” Itachi says easily and one of the elves makes a whining noise and Glorfindel’s face had dropped as well.

“I- I had already guessed,” he says, “but to hear you say it. I am so very sorry, Itachi, for what was done to you and the life you have lived so far.” The apology is earnest and genuine – Itachi has spent months with the golden-haired warrior, he can tell, but it makes no sense.

“I did my duty and I died well. There is nothing to be sorry for,” Itachi explains, still baffled, but once more it only makes things worse for the others.

After a moment, Elrond clears his throat. “I believe one of the issues you mentioned was the youth of this body – I would like to explain that. For elves, you do look like you are in your early twenties or just before. Given the length of time you clearly lived in the forest, and your age before coming here, I would have normally expected you to look a bit older in your early thirties, but the lack of nutrition is likely holding you back. Sometime in the next decade or two you will undergo puberty which ends at around age fifty. You will not be considered a full adult until you are about a hundred years old, though.”

Itachi blinks in genuine surprise, staring at the ellon. That… that can’t be right?

“I- I wouldn’t be an adult until I’m one hundred years old?” He asks and the elves all nod.

Wow. That’s – Itachi never expected to live that long. Ever. To consider that a threshold for even being called an adult? Mindboggling. He knows that they’re old – six thousand and seven thousand years are an unfathomable amount of years to Itachi. Konoha was only around eighty years old when he died and had already had five leaders by that point. He honestly isn’t sure his mind can understand the concept of that kind of longevity. Why the hell had Orochimaru wanted this so bad, he wonders.

“What if I become a warrior?”

Glorfindel sighs.

“We do not accept anyone under the age of one hundred,” he says clearly and Itachi’s eyes widen.

“What about exceptional circumstances?” He asks and Glorfindel shakes his head.

“No. There are no exceptions. Nothing could possibly justify it,” the golden haired warrior says firmly and Elrond nods just as sternly.

Still puzzled, Itachi stares at them. “But what about war?”

“What about it?” They look surprised at the question and Itachi looks uncertainly between them.

“But don’t you need everyone to pitch in during war? So wouldn’t it make sense to recruit younger and train – they may keep the fire off the more trained soldiers and give them a reprieve before they’re cut down,” Itachi clarifies, used to warfare and the lowering of the graduation age across the Elemental Nations whenever one occurred.

The elves are aghast; Elrond’s daughter exclaims ‘Ai! Elbereth’ and turns to hide her face in one of the twins shoulders to cry. The other elves are not much better off.

This world is so hard to understand, Itachi thinks with an internal sigh, feeling guilty for upsetting these people repeatedly. It seems he keeps saying the wrong things; his mother would be upset that the clan heir training which included politics and diplomacy he’s sat through since he was two years old was not helping him. In his defence, they are still on his side, he thinks, just really, really upset about, well, everything, as far as he can tell.

“Never,” Glorfindel says with hardened eyes and shoulders firmed. Elrond echoes it just as firmly so Itachi concedes more or less gracefully.

With a shrug he explains himself. “In my world you are an adult the moment you graduate.”

The other twin gapes, “at age seven?”

Itachi nods when he realises a response is actually expected.

Elrond heaves a deep sigh.

“Given the differences between our worlds, I would like to make a few things clear, and as I mentioned, I will be talking to you more explicitly than I normally would to a child your age as I understand you have very different experiences which have shaped you” he says, the exhaustion carving deep lines across his face.

“That being said, neither I nor anyone here or anywhere else will be sending you on missions. Ever. You may refuse or ask for an explanation for any order given to you while you are in Imladris. If you travel, this may exclude moments when your guard is asking you to move to safety, but other than this, it is your free choice on whether you decide to follow an order or not. Once you are over a hundred years old, you may choose to become a warrior, but you will never need to. Every single warrior and guard is there by choice. And even if you do decide to become one, you may still change your mind at any point and choose a different profession. You may choose to become a chef, musician or potterer or any other path which takes your fancy. Anything you choose, you will have our unqualified support in all your endeavours. If you never take the sword or any other weapon up again, then we will – well, to be perfectly honest, we will probably celebrate for a month if you choose not to ever do that, but it is out of worry for you. If you do decide, we will not hinder you and support you just as well but there will never be any missions like you are used to. And never any kind of honeypot,” he grits out between clenched teeth, the words a scathing hiss.

“Adar,” one of the twins interrupted, laying a hand on Elrond’s shoulder and the man took another deep breath.

“My apologies, Itachi. I am more emotional about the subject than I expected,” he states more calmly. “Either way, you will have seven decades at least to decide. In the meantime, your one and only job is to be a child and do nothing but play, relax, eat and sleep. That’s all we ask of you.”

“But, I- my debt,” Itachi begins but is interrupted by Glorfindel shaking his head.

“There is no debt. It is our pleasure, nay, our privilege to supply you with anything and everything you could possibly ever want or desire,” he says earnestly and Itachi falters. “And you are a child to us, Itachi. A few decades is a very short timeframe to us. Please allow us to indulge and spoil you.”

Itachi knows he looks hesitant, and clearly the golden-haired warrior has come to read him well in their time together, too, as he continues. “Conception is difficult for elves,” he confesses, “a price, if you will, for our immortality. Children are therefore very, very rare and prized above all else. We will always want to make sure that you will want for nothing. There has not been an elven child since Arwen and she is over two thousand years old now.”

Itachi frowns. “Not even any out-of-wedlock children over that entire time?”

Glorfindel blinks, surprised for a moment, before shaking his head.

“There is no such thing. Elves bond only once in their entire lives to one person. That bond is not broken after death, which is why they often follow each other into death if one perishes. We do not lay with others outside of our bond – which is why a – a violation of our body is enough to break our fea.”

Wow, alright, that was definitely different.

“And that is also the reason why the dance upset us,” one of the twins chimes in. “You are a child – we would be taken aback by an adult dancing like that but a child? And the implications, well, it’s the reason there’s so many of us here, actually. We really wanted someone we could hunt down and make them pay for teaching you that.” It’s the first time he’s seen not just fury but the kind of dark desire for a bloodthirsty revenge colour an elf’s face – it actually serves to make him relax as these are sentiments and expressions of affection he is far more familiar with.

“Oh. Thank you,” he says clearly. “What was your name again?”

The twin laughs brightly and re-introduces himself, clearly amused by Itachi’s nonchalance about his disinterest in memorising names until they make themselves remarkable enough he wants to remember them. “Elrohir,” he says.

Itachi suspects he will now have to buckle down and actually learn people’s names if he is expected to stay here for centuries or even millennia (what do the elves do for that amount of time even?).

“And no missions?” He asks Elrond again. “I can show you, I really am exceptionally good.”

Elrond nods.

“I do not doubt that you are, that you must be to survive as long as you have in the world you lived in. But I would honestly prefer if you never take a weapon up again in your entire life.”

Itachi hesitates and eyes the lord before him, assessing him for a moment before confessing quietly, “I don’t like fighting.”

Glorfindel gives Itachi a pained grimace and Elrond closes his eyes for a moment, gathering himself before kneeling before Itachi, fixing him with earnest eyes.

“Then you will never have to again,” he promises with a fierceness that still surprises Itachi.

He stares at the other fourteen elves gathered around and they all reaffirm what Elrond told him.

He is Itachi Uchiha and he would never have to lay his hand on another weapon, wouldn’t have to force himself awake in the middle of the night to train, wouldn’t need to make sure his hands grew callouses and his body learned all-too familiar motions. He would never have to feel the hot spray of blood splattering his face.

“I killed children,” he tell him, despite knowing it is a foolish thing to say – they clearly place a high value on the lives of their young and he doesn’t want to be kicked out, but half-expects they might.

“I know, child. And I am sorry that you had to go through that,” the ellon tells him, crown in his hair and still kneeling in front of Itachi. The Hokage, he can’t help but think, would never kneel in front of a child just to console him and make him understand how serious he is.

“I don’t know how many people I killed, hundreds, possibly over a thousand.”

The gaze grows even sadder.

“I know,” the man says, “but that is not on you, sweet child. The blame lies solely with men older than you who failed to give you the life you deserve and forced your hand. Your first choice, your own choice, was made here, just moments ago, to lay down your weapons. Do not let these deaths weigh on your conscience for the fault lies not with you, my darling. We will make sure you will never have to take up weapons again,” he promises again and this time Itachi feels the tears run down his own face and before he can reign in his impulses, he’s thrown his arms around the gentle and kind elf lord before him, crying bitterly into his shoulder.

Itachi isn’t sure he understands – or even agrees – with Elrond, but it feels like his heart has unclenched slightly and the sharp pain of relief running through him will only be quieted by the heart-wrenching tears running down his face.

It’s been so long since he has touched another person – other than when he was carried while unconscious – and the warmth of Elrond’s body and his slow heartbeat are more soothing than he remembers. Even in his old world, he isn’t sure when he last had this kind of comforting touch with anyone. Maybe Shisui? But even then it had usually just been spars, not hugs. Hound had given him pats on the hand or clasped his shoulder in pride. His mother used to hug him, when he was younger – before he graduated and became an adult. Does this mean for the next seventy years he will be indulged with hugs and cuddles and never be rejected because he is still a child? Without expectations of more?

Itachi sniffles slightly and can feel himself dropping off into sleep – and allows it. He doesn’t need to fight anymore.

For the first time since the Kyubi attack, since he saw what war was, Itachi feels safe. He hopes Sasuke has found something like this, but even if he hasn’t, there is nothing he can do about it from here, and there is some peace to be found in that.

Because that means Itachi needs to only concentrate on himself – not a clan to represent, not the family heir, a shinobi of Konoha or a brother.

Just Itachi.

And for everyone he has met in Imladris so far, that seems to be enough.

Even knowing the worst of him, it’s enough. He is enough.

Even knowing his skills and talents, they don’t want him to fight.

Itachi doesn’t know if he does know how to play or be a child, but by Madara, he certainly wants to try.