This is my Mulan fic, which I have been trying to get on paper for a while now. I might take this one in a completely differentdirection and rename it though…Thanks for reading, reviewing, commenting…I do not own Mulan.

Political blossom: the Start

I suppose my position began upon my time of revealing, and my return home. It had been a lovely day, with China safe, the garden at full bloom, and a wonderful potential future sitting to my father's right hand side. Relationships were blooming, as told by my grandfather somewhat embarrassingly open, and there was a very definite open bloom newly born. Upon turning red, I quickly excused myself to go get more tea. Once I was a normal color, I brought the now slightly cooler tea out and poured it with ease that I had not shown before. Judging by the surprised looks among my family, something amazing had happened. I sat down with the grace of a willow in the wind and met Shang's eyes. He was confused, and somewhat...amused by what just happened. We laughed. The rest of the family joined up shortly after.

When night had fallen and the sun was behind the mountains, it was insisted that I take the now General Shang to the gate, leading his horse. Shang had complied with the family, until they went inside and he was sure they were gone from spying. Promptly, he got off, and walked with me a little while longer. We talked, and that amused glint in his eye grew very warm. I noticed his glances at my dress that I had worn to the failure of the Matchmaker. My hair was down, and occasionally, the wind would blow it in my face. Before I could fix it, his hand brushed it out of my face. A pale pink adorned my cheeks much of the night until we finally did go to the gate, and he prepared to get on his horse. The wind again played with my hair, and this time I pushed it back. Shang laughed lightly with the breeze at the stubborn underlying emotion with my action.

His horse began to panic slightly, and I rested my hand on his mane. For some reason, as Shang did at the same time I did, the horse went to my hand. He nudged it almost urgently. The wind stopped after a dark course hair flew by in the wind and tickled my revealed forearm. Deep down in our thoughts, Shang and I had similar thoughts. Banishing them for the sake of happiness, we went back to each other for attention and the wind slowly picked up again. My hand was still on his horse and his covered mine. Watching in slight awe, he picked my hand up, turned it over, and gently kissed my palm. This time, the wind blew almost violently. It was ignored. Our eyes didn't leave contact till his horse reluctantly started forward, and General Li Shang started down the road. I watched him. He didn't turn back. He never did. It was just his way.

I stayed there, just watching the world around me in my garden, my town, and my country. I had hopped deep in my heart that it would stay this way. As soon as the thought crossed my mind, the wind stopped. Birds stopped chirping. The air became stale. Subconsciously, I felt for my sword. Tasting fear, I realized it was not there. With haste, I began to move to the house. A quick action on the distant road caught my attention. It sounded like heavy, stone tipped rain, and hoof prints. I ran full out to the house, now realizing that Shang's and my decision to ignore the dark course hair in the wind was not the wisest thing to have done.

The porch was upon me. In haste to duck from an arrow, I tripped, and slid. The air was now heavy with female screams, dying animals, and the crackling of fire. Smoke made the air dense and polluted. My old side wound did not like the action, as my leg did not like being run into the stone and rough wood porch. I saw my gown spark with fire as an extremely heavy rain of fire arrows flew above my head. They met their target in my home, and my family. The garden was already burnt to the ground for the most part. Ignoring potential wounds, I bolted into the house.

Fire was everywhere, and the roof was buckling. My mother was choking on her tears and the smoke over my father's fallen body. I could do nothing as a beam fell from the roof and took her out of her misery. Khan nearby was screaming, and I was willing him to destroy his stall to flee. I heard my grandmother's strong yet rapidly weaker calls against demons, Huns, and trying frantically to put out the fire in the training room. I do not know to this day how I made it there before that side of the house fell in. In the armory, I leapt over a fire barricade, burning both the dress and my body. My grandmother was trapped in the center of the room, surrounded by the war closet, two beams, and a wall of fire. Before the rest of the house fell in, I dove on top of her, and her pain filled eyes were closed shut as I shielded her body with my own. My jump had jarred the War closet and caused it to fall on us. I braced for the impact, and felt the house come down around us, burning all the way. One thing I did notice was that my grandmother never cried out, and even when hours had passed, the fire was out, and the village was destroyed, she never lost her faith in my ability to protect her. When the time was safe enough to push up out of the rubble, and she lay in my lap dying, her blue eyes took mine.

"Live…live for "- Her body began to spasm and tried to cough up the smoke that it inhaled. I squeezed her tighter, my tears not able to fall yet. I could say nothing, and she couldn't not say anything. "Live for your future." More coughs of final breaths went through her lungs. I'd had heard that sound all too much before to not recognize it. "Live for"-she gestured to the wind borne blossoms from the near by villages-"the blossoms…" Abovemy body wracking with silent sobs now, the flat ruins of my village, and my childhood, the sun began to shine through faint rain. Blossoms became heavy with rain now as they traveled far to fall upon the desolate condition of my village. The sun completely banished the rain then. I looked up into the all too hopeful sunrise. No birds could sing this close to the village.

An unopened blossom fell on my grandmother's chest, and then rolled onto my hand. With energy not my own, I gently laid my grandmother straight in respect, and pushed back the War closet from my back. It fell open with a thunk, and opened to reveal charred edged armor, and an ash covered sword. I glanced at it before looking again at the blossom. It was a perfect little bud in my calloused, dirty, and cut hand. The wind again took it and led it, and my sight, over the black rubble and destruction before it landed on where my parent's room would be. Climbing over the rubble, ignoring the pure silence and the pain of my body, I crawled to the blossom.

Upon picking it up again, I found it rested on something. Hazily, I recall pushed black off of the golden box buried deep in my childhood home, pulling it onto my ruined dress, and opening it. Light tears fell fresh again. There, amongst the blackness of my world, was the comb of the failed matchmaker, the comb of my old future, and the comb of my mothers. It was clean, and unharmed. I had a feeling there, with the perfect comb in my dirty hair, my hand holding the blessed unopened blossom and my image of destruction around me, that things would change.

The blossom seemed to open slightly. Tears dried, and a faint smile crossed my face. I stood up, with the intention of honoring the dead. A shovel was found for the only surviving villager, my grandmother, and she found a place among the cremated comrades she had called her family for 90 years. I remember digging up my hidden training gear amongst the unusable armor and belting the sword to my waist. A basket was found, and the armor went into it. The comb was still in my hair, and the blossom went into the basket. I began walking in my delicate slippers out of the village.

A short ways away from the village, near unscathed trees. I heard a familiar whinny. Khan respectfully walked out of the woods, and nudged me. I couldn't do anything but hold on to his neck, and just take in his familiarity. He was so warm. Slowly, I climbed onto his back. His trot was careful to not jog my injured body. We tried to avoid the piles of ash and took to the road. The broken dragon of my ancestors came up on our path. A familiar red dragon pushed his way out of the fallen stone. We nodded at each other, and he climbed on behind me. If it would have been appropriate, the sound of a cricket would have made me laugh.

Word began to spread of a single Hun unit that had not been aware of their master's fall. Word began to spread that a village had been decimated by them. I heard all of this, and said nothing, with my hair up again as Ping and my dress carefully replaced with my training cloths. Everyone knew I was Mulan, but to my great respect, acknowledged Ping and Khan only. I was now at a great set of crossroads. Down the road was the palace. My position of councilor was open still. The village I was in had offered me permanent residence. Politely, with reasons not my own thoughts, I had refused, taken a night's worth of food, and set to the road again. My injuries were crudely treated by my own doings and very painful, but ultimately, they were ignored. Once I knew what road to take, I would heal myself.

There was another road though, that seemed appealing. It was a small village in between my own, and the palace. It greeted me with warmth, respect, and the option of concealment. Only the leader knew who I was. He told no one else. There was where I wanted to stay, and I began to. For nearly a year, I let myself heal there, and aided in the prosperous farming village. More rumors of a search for the Hero Mulan escaped into the little alcove where I was located. Until that moment, I spoke little, ate only what I needed to, and rarely slept.

When that rumor came, I took more of a chance to work harder to avoid the rumors. It was a sunstroke ridden day until I realized what I was doing. Amidst the depression I had receded into, I was trying to kill myself. Under orders of the leader, I took to a simpler job of a tavern keep to heal my body and soul. It was in that tavern when I again was fated to meet the past that I had inadvertently pushed away, one night, on a cold, starry night, when the trees were in bloom…

Like? Hate? Do you like Pepsi or coke better? Or none? Will you review if I stop asking questions? He he, thanks people.

This is a blossoming story by Saturns Darkness