Early Illusions

The first time they'd met, he'd thought her an illusion.

It was fifteen-seventy-three, and the snowfall continued into late January, the now-peaceful country turning into a blanket of white. She had been stood in the centre of the snowfall, at the very edge of a frozen, sparkling lake; her feet were bare, body covered in nothing more than a flimsy piece of cotton that barely passed as a dress. Her hair was long, a beautiful auburn that reflected the feeble light of the sun, falling down her back in tumultuous waves.

He froze where he stood, at the end of the path that went in her direction; the trees either side of him groaned under the weight of the snow on their branches, bending towards him almost as if they were welcoming him. One of his hands rested on the cool, frozen bark of the tree nearest to him, a precaution to help him keep his balance.

The girl was perfectly motionless in her body; the window pulled and tugged at her dress and hair, and like fire existing on ice they flared behind her, dancing, violent. Her expression – or what little of it he could see – remained curiously blank, eyes closed as she let the wind rush past her face. Her cheeks were already mildly pink with the cold.

It was as if she could sense his presence: after another moment of nothing, she turned, the snow seeming to melt beneath her frozen feet. Her eyes flashed open, so vividly green that he could see them from here, wide in fear and surprise. Her mouth opened into a small "o" of surprise; and then she took off, dancing over the top of the snow as she hastened towards the trees.

'Wait!' he called out, but to no avail. She'd disappeared, even as he moved to follow her trail. Only her footprints, already half-covered with snow from trees as they gave under the weight, remained.

Though the months passed, he kept looking for her. Each month, on the same day, he would return and wait by the side of the lake. No one had seen a girl with her description, he had discovered: she seemed to be nothing more than a trick of the mind. But what mind could create such beauty, despite the flaws that were sure to exist, were he able to see her closely?

It was sundown, and the dying sun cast a bloody tinge upon the river, a tinge that reflected onto his face. He stared upwards, towards the darkening sky, and thought upon her elfin beauty. He hadn't heard a whisper of her since that night, except for in his dreams, when she danced forever in the snow, a pixie brought to give him joy. And every night, he'd wake, desperate to see her again, desire stirring in the pit of his stomach, desire he could never truly eradicate no matter who he used for his relief.

He could almost imagine her soft hand whenever another woman's hand touched him. It was her soft hand he felt on his cheek, skin so velvety that he wasn't truly touching skin, but perfection. So soft, like gentle snowflakes falling, kissing his cheeks, the same colour as her skin. He imagined it all whenever he was with another woman – and he imagined it now, as he stared out at the dying sun, thoughts lost in the chasm of confusion.

Something soft brushed his cheek, so vivid it cancelled out the thought of the maiden's hand. He started, automatically ducking to the left; with an undignified call, the bird flew from his shoulder, hovering in midair. If birds had expressions, he would most certainly be disgruntled.

Someone whistled while he regained his control, taking a few deep breaths to calm his heart, which was racing with surprise. The bird, giving one last indignant squawk in his direction, flew back to its owner. He watched as the curiously yellow feathers settled where the animal perched, and then – after a moment – turned his attention in that direction.

It was her.

Her hair wasn't loose today, but pulled back elegantly into a bridal bun. As he watched, she gently brushed her fingers down the back of the bird's body; it calmed instantly, curling its head under a wing and pushing against her neck softly.

'I'm sorry.' Her voice was a musical sound as she crossed over to him. The grass stems caught the end of her dress, pulling the train out to follow her as she moved. What had been off-white was now stained with green and brown and black, and he reached out from where he was sat to brush a single blade off the front of her skirt.

'Such beauty shouldn't be ruined.' His voice wasn't as choked as he'd imagined it should have been. 'Does your husband know where you are?' He worked to remove the sarcasm from his voice, but he couldn't completely hide it – thankfully, she seemed not to notice as she stood in front of him, beauty brought to life. Her expression was slightly pained, but, for the most part, relaxed.

'I ran away from my ceremony.' Her admission was quiet as she turned her head to face the bird. 'My father is a ruined man, and chose a suitor for me so he could regain his wealth. It was not my choice to be wed, and so I ran away from it.' Her voice turned bitter, eyes hard. 'You're the man who saw me this winter in this same spot.' She turned back to him, her head cocked slightly. 'You seem different now – less lucid, more desperate for something.' Carefully, she knelt amongst the grass, letting the white fabric pool around her. 'Maybe I can help you?'

He shook his head, but whenever he closed his eyes to avert them from her beauty, those beautiful green eyes were imprinted on the back of his lids. It did nothing to help him as he rejected her help; he wanted to sound out his desire for her, give over to the want that built up in his body. It was only with the utmost control was he able to keep from taking her with him.

'You should go. Even if you dislike the man, a woman must save her father's pride.' He stood, offering one hand to her. 'I can escort you back, if you wish.' He gave her a warm smile: hesitantly, she reached up and took his hand, cool, soft fingers so like those he dreamt of that – for a moment – he was tempted to give in to those dark wishes trying to force their way to the surface.

'You don't even know my name, and you're so kind?' She sounded confused. 'And I know not yours.'

'My name is Syaoran.' He reached up with his free hand to the clip that held her hair up, and gently removed it. 'When I saw you, you were so beautiful that I thought I was dreaming – please, do not change that beauty.' He captured a tendril with his fingers and lifted it to his lips, pressing a soft kiss to the hair. 'And your name, fair maiden, is what, might I inquire?'

'They call me Sakura.' Her perky smile was enough to make his heart halt momentarily as he released the strands of beautiful auburn hair. 'Can I ask how long you will be staying in our small town?' She cast a pointed glance around her, at the few buildings that made up the homes of the fifty-seven residents. There was only one building that seemed as if it were not yet ready to fall apart, one that had not yet been finished: workmen hastily fixed doors and windows.

He looked down at her as she walked along beside him. Really, she seemed more like a little girl than anything, so perky, still clutching his hand tightly. 'I'm here for the next season. My men were told they had four seasons to train in the country side, and we have completed three.'

'I see.' She cast her eyes down, gathering the fabric of her train in one arm as she stepped delicately over a muddy puddle. 'Then, while you are here, you must promise to visit me and my soon-to-be husband.' Her expression was pleading: before he knew what he was doing, he had nodded. 'We shall be living in the house being built, the one we passed just a minute ago. Please, visit us in seven days.' Her expression was beseeching as her other hand wrapped around his, overlapping with the fingers of her first. 'Promise me, please, Syaoran. I wish to see you again.'

'I promise,' he heard his own voice whisper as they rounded the corner. Reluctantly, she pulled her hands from his. 'Might I see the ceremony, at least?' He brushed the back of one finger down her soft, rosy cheek; she blushed, but nodded as she dashed off again.

His heart strained as a man – clearly her intended, by the fanciness of his outfit – took her by the arm, out of the way of the public. Half an hour later, the ceremony carried on, as if there had been no interruption: and, soon enough, they were pronounced man and wife.

Syaoran never kept his promise to visit them.

-------

The years passed; before he knew it, it had been ten years since he'd seen that illusion of beauty, though – once again – he was in the village. It was peaceful, much larger than it had been when he had last visited, but none of the inhabitants – save for the children – seemed to be in a rush.

As he passed the various stallholders, he heard their awe at the sight of the scar that ran across his cheek, still red and ridged. Grimly, he allowed himself to smile, strolling forward through those who moved out of his path easily.

The lake was as he remembered it, calm and inviting as he took his seat beside it. He dipped one hand into the cool water, admiring the serenity of the area he was in. It hadn't changed at all, save for the flowers planted by the opposite edge of the lake. They fluttered in the soft breeze, buds peeking through the already open petals.

Two children danced across next to the flowers, dark hair swaying in the wind. He watched them, watched their angelic faces light up in delight as they played together. The girl grabbed the boy's hands, pulling him with her. She could be no older than seven, Syaoran mused, and the boy perhaps five. Their hair was the same dark raven shade, their eyes the same azure blue. Siblings, obviously; he watched as they laughed, the girl gently plucking some of the opened flowers, weaving them delicately.

'Tomokazu, you know Mama said not to go into the water!' The girl looked up, eyes wide: Syaoran looked towards the boy too, who was in the centre of the lake, clutching a random log that had floated down, a gentle tweeting from inside it. A trapped bird, but the boy himself was becoming trapped as he moved to straddle the log.

'I fine!' he called back to his sister, gently inching his way across. 'Me help birdy!' He grinned at his sister as he reached into the small hole; the shift in his weight caused the log to topple dangerously, but he seemed entirely unaffected. 'Here, little birdy,' he cooed, bending slightly further forward.

Before he knew what he was doing, Syaoran was in the centre of the lake beside him, holding the log steady. The boy barely threw him a smile of gratitude before he splashed away again, cupping the bird with gentle hands to show his sister. The bird chirped merrily in Tomokazu's hands, but his sister looked up warily and met Syaoran's watching gaze with a cold, steely one that made him frown.

'Who are you?' she demanded in a foreign tongue it took him a moment to understand; then his gaze softened, and he smiled.

'My name is Syaoran,' he replied in their home language. 'I head a small portion of the army passing through, but I wish to find a maiden I met ten years ago on her wedding day. Sakura, she said her name was.' He waded across the water to join the two siblings; Tomokazu looked up with admiration, while the girl watched, eyes still wary.

She looked around briefly, and then wrapped one arm around her brother's shoulders. 'I know who you speak of, and she no longer lives here. She was my mother's best friend – but she left nine years ago, and returns only once every year.'

She was gone? Syaoran resisted the urge to frown as he shook out his wet boots. 'Do you know where she went?'

'To look for the man who broke his promise.'

He started. 'The man who broke his promise? Do you know which promise it was she spoke of?' Was she looking for him? They had met for less than ten minutes, all those years ago – surely she would not abandon her family and friends to look for someone she had known for simply ten minutes?

'Mama never says.' The girl shuffled. 'We must return home. Come with us – Sakura's brother is sharing our meal tonight. He may know more than we do.' She turned her brother, who carefully let the bird down to the ground, where it gave a soft chirp, pecked his bare leg, and hopped off. 'Tomokazu, hurry home and tell Mama we have a guest, okay?'

Tomokazu nodded eagerly, and – without a word – dashed off back towards the village. Syaoran chuckled softly at his exuberance. 'He is active, that boy,' he joked, and his sister looked up with one raised eyebrow. 'How old is he?'

'He turned five two days ago.' She clasped her hands behind her, letting her hair fan out down her back. 'Sakura left the same day after a seven-day visit.' She cast a sly glance to Syaoran, who had frozen momentarily. 'Her brother knows where she is headed.'

He nodded once, following the little girl without another word.

They arrived at the very house Syaoran remembered Sakura telling him would be hers. He looked up at the plant box by the master bedroom's window, and felt his heart twinge in a painful reminder. He took a deep breath, looked at the girl's disappearing back, and then followed her inside.

It was a modest house, with few valuables on show. He looked around him hesitantly, seeing what he imagined was her taste every here and there: the soft lace curtains across the window seat, and the gentle frame of the mirror that hung by the door. He took it all in, and felt his heart hurt again.

It had been just ten minutes, ten years ago – so why did it still affect him so? He pushed his feelings down as a young woman exited the living room, smiling broadly at him.

'You must be the man our Chieko brought back.' She curtseyed softly. 'Hiiragizawa Tomoyo, wife of Eriol.' She straightened after a moment, and gestured for him to follow before he could introduce himself. 'She says you were asking about Sakura.'

'I was.' He was uncomfortable with the fact he hadn't actually given his name, but Tomoyo didn't seem to mind. 'We met ten years ago, and I made a promise to meet her, but my duty waylaid me,' he lied. 'I wish to meet her now, to apologise and see how well she is getting on – but your daughter tells me she visits but once a year.'

'She does.' The woman secured her hair with a single piece of frayed ribbon before reaching for some bread dough and beginning to knead it into shape with practiced hands. 'After her husband died, she left to look for the man who promised to meet her – you.' Amethyst eyes met his, and he gulped loudly. 'You missed her by two days. She left on horseback two mornings ago, headed North.'

He raised one eyebrow. 'You would tell a stranger where she is headed?' Disbelief coloured his voice. 'You have yet to learn my name and you tell me where Sakura is headed?'

'I saw you with her on the day of her wedding. You were the man that led her back; therefore, I know I can trust you. I have watched over her a long time, and when she came with you she was happy. Every time she thought of you, her face lit up. But every time she returns after another year of failure, the light in her eyes seems to dim slightly more. She wants to see you – for nine years she's searched for you, and you never once met her.' Her gaze and tone were both accusatory, and he found himself taking a step back in defiance. 'Every time I see her, I feel just that little bit more hatred to you for breaking the promise you made to her.'

He clutched the edge of the table tightly. 'It might have only been ten minutes, but those ten minutes were enough to make it too difficult for me to see them together! How can I promise to visit them in their home together after experiencing what I experienced in those ten minutes?'

'Because love never works straight away. You have to give it time, Syaoran.'

He started at the sound of her name, but she merely gave him a mischievous smile. 'Sakura's brother Toya knows more about her plans than I do. He is eating with us tonight. Will you join us?'

'Can I?'

She nodded. 'My husband is away at present, and so it is only the children, Toya and myself. Join us, please. There is plenty of room and we have plenty of food to share between us.' She gave the dough a final pat, shaped it expertly, and nodded to one of the women who came rushing through the doorway to the garden. 'If there is anything you wish to know about Sakura, Toya can tell you.'

-------

'I don't like you.'

Syaoran raised one eyebrow politely over the soup that one of the maids set in front of him. Sakura's older brother, who had been introduced as Kinomoto Toya, sat across the table from him, gave him a disapproving frown. 'I never expected you to, sir,' he replied, smiling his thanks to the maid when she returned a second time with some bread on a small plate.

She gave a hesitant smile in return, gave a small curtsey, and hurried away again. He turned back to Toya, who was now glaring at him. 'I know who you are,' he muttered, ignoring the woman who set down his own meal. 'You're the one who made my sister run off to find some guy she didn't know.'

'How was I supposed to know she would try to find me when I was detained from keeping my promise to meet her?' He scowled, looking down at his food as the last few meals were served. 'For all I knew, in these ten years passed she had died. Until today I knew nothing more of her – no whisper of her existence. If I had heard anything, I would have raced to find her immediately.'

'No one is saying you wouldn't, Syaoran.' Tomoyo placed a reassuring hand on his arm. 'Toya simply means that because he is insanely over protective, he dislikes you for teaching his baby sister more about the world. Right?' She fixed him with her piercing glare, and he shuffled slightly in his seat, awkward. 'All that matters is you must find her now. She is headed north, some fifty miles: she plans to stay at a small village there. Meet her in that village.'

He nodded, just once, jaw steely: and then, with determination, swept from the house. By the time anyone else had realised he had visited, he was a mile away on horseback.

-------

The inn he stopped at in the village the woman had mentioned was small and cosy. He booked himself a room for the night, stabling his horse behind the inn. For a while, he sat with her: she was a sturdy horse, some sixteen feet, with endurance more than he'd ever expected when he had first been given her, almost a year ago. Imi, he had called her, her first name by human tongue.

As he brushed his hands down her neck gently, she snorted, shuffling slightly closer to him and butting him with her muzzle. In that year, they had become closer, forming a bond he couldn't have said he ever had formed with a horse before. When riding, she knew what he wanted with the tiniest squeeze of his calves, the softest tug on the reins: her very mind seemed to be linked, somehow, to his.

'There's a good girl.' He chuckled, raising one hand to gently stroke her muzzle. It had been two days hard journeying to travel the fifty miles, and she had not complained at all. They had found several small streams in which to drink and cool down, and she had found the grass on the journey to be to her satisfaction. Now, she blew at him softly and turned her head again to begin to eat at the oats that the inn keeper had given her. 'You've done well, Imi.'

Another horse nearby neighed, and he gave Imi a final pat before leaving. It was pass nightfall, anyway: perhaps another hour until midnight. He gently latched the gate to Imi's stall shut behind him, and headed back towards the doors – two stalls before them, he stopped.

Hanging his head over the stall door was a great, powerful stallion, as black as night. He whickered at the sight of Syaoran, who held out one hand for the horse's inspection; when it seemed he had passed, he gently stroked the stallion's muzzle as he had done Imi's.

'You know, not many people like my Seki.' A female voice came from behind him, amused, and he permitted himself a small smirk. 'Seki doesn't like many people either, so it tends to work out for him. You're the first person he's shown interest in for two years.'

'My sisters used to kid me, saying I had a way with horses.' He didn't look away, although the voice sounded slightly familiar: he couldn't place it, and instead focused his attention on the great horse. 'I never have had, but I am greatly fond of them.'

There were soft, slight footsteps, and then an auburn beauty appeared beside him, hair shielding her face. Seki whickered again, turning his attention instead to the female, who laughed and butted her forehead against his muzzle affectionately. 'You're a big sap, really, aren't you?'

Her beauty shot straight down to his core again: even though she hadn't recognised him, he now recognised her. Ten years of longing built up inside of him, ten years of pain and wishes and desires and anger, anger at himself for never having kept his promise. He watched with wide eyes as she laughed, entering a quiet game with the horse that he couldn't seem to understand; her movement, to him, was more graceful than ever, reminding him of the way she had appeared when he had first seen her. Her appearance still matched that: her hair still fell in tumultuous auburn curls, and the pale green dress she wore brought out the soft, pale colour of her skin, and – he knew – her eyes.

She turned to him in laughter, not once faltering as her eyes swept across his body. Perhaps she had been watching him for a while, he mused as she took a few steps closer, laughter slowly dissipating into the air around them. Silence fell over them as they stared: she looked up towards him, raising one hand tentatively to rest on his chest, as if to reassure herself that he was solid, there.

He wanted to crush her against his body, plunder her mouth with his own; but he held back, his own restraint surprising him. After all the desire over the past ten years, his will had strengthened beyond what he expected. He simply watched her hesitantly as her eyes dropped to her hand, resting so close to where his shirt fell open, cotton moved to expose toughened, scarred skin.

The tip of her finger brushed across his skin, and he fought back a shiver. Still no sound passed between the two – even breath was so quiet it was as if neither took one. His eyes closed as, ever so carefully, she slid her hand through the opening in his shirt, resting her entire palm against his chest. One of his more recent scars tingled at the feel.

He could feel her hesitant movements as her other hand rose to push back his shirt further, giving her more of a glimpse: before it could go too far, he caged both of her hands with his own, eyes flashing open again. 'You shouldn't,' he said, voice deep with lust and desire that he had held so well for so long.

'I want to,' she responded in the same tone, looking up at him defiantly. Now that the spell of silence had been broken, he was free to realise that his breathing had grown heavy with her actions, betraying his emotions more than his words. 'You promised to visit me ten years ago, but never did. Now, I wish to be with you. That is what I have been searching for over these nine, long years – you, and only you.'

'You don't know me, Sakura.'

'I'm only asking for one night. One night, after ten years – not a fair exchange, but it is enough to settle me.' She fought to break his iron grip, but he was too strong for her. After a few moments of useful struggles, she stopped, slumping against his chest in defeat. 'One night after ten years of wanting, ten years of searching. Please, just one night.'

How could he resist her pleading? He pushed her back softly, ignoring the watching eyes of Seki, and looked down at her, at those emerald eyes, swirling with desire – and, unable to stop it, lowered his mouth to hers, claiming the kiss he had been wanting to claim for ten long, miserable years.

How they ever returned to his room, he would never be able to tell: but, sometime later, he lay beside her, watching as she slept, face peaceful and radiant in its beauty. The moon that filtered through the window gave her a luminescent glow, making her seem even more angelic than normal, and he traced his fingers across her skin softly, feeling the heat of the blood than ran just under the surface. She stirred, muttering softly under her breath, and turned over, presenting her back to him instead. The sheets tangled around her body, sliding down far enough for him to be able to see most of her back: as he had done during the active hours of their night, he traced his fingers down her spine, varying the pressure, listening to her breathing as it increased just softly.

'You shouldn't do that.' Her sleep-filled voice startled him. With a yawn, she turned over again: the stagnant night air was warming her, and she kicked the sheets away, revealing her body in all its glory to him. He let his eyes roam greedily, and she giggled, a gentle blush rising to her face. 'I'm sure you were more than satiated earlier.'

'Nothing can ever control my lust for you.' He reached for her, intending to draw her into his embrace, but she slid over the side of the bed and stood, letting the moonlight dance across her naked body. He watched, fascinated with her again. She moved slowly, always making sure to let the moon play across parts that particularly attracted his attention: the expanse of her neck, her bosom, below her waist – anywhere his eyes were likely to fall to as she moved to his side of the bed. She stopped beside him, bending, careful not to touch him anywhere except his lips as her own feathered across them. He reached for her again, gathering her slender body in his arms as he pulled her down to him, deepening the kiss as he gently pressed his tongue past her lips.

She repositioned herself until she straddled him; he was sat against the headboard, so it was like a small child sitting in a parent's lap. Only, Syaoran had to remind himself continuously, this was most definitely not that sort of case. He lifted her body eagerly, and then gently slid her back down, her warmth encasing him, protecting him. Never once did his lips leave hers.

They stayed in that position, not moving except in their lips and tongues, for a few minutes; and then, she set a gentle pace that built them up slowly, desperately, until – together – they fell from that peak that had been begging them, enticing them. Her back arched into him, chest pressing forward as their lips separated. Hers opened in a gasp of pure desire, and he growled, lifting her quickly, quicker and quicker until he joined her in that blissful ecstasy that came.

Sakura slumped against him, her head turning into the crook of his neck. Syaoran's arms encircled her, holding her against him: in that position they slept until the sun rose again, feeling the blissful peace that fell on both of them like the warmest cloak, protecting them from the harsh reality of life. In those moments together, they forgot about the real world, and thought only of each other, and the blissful, perfect happiness they shared together.

Never, Syaoran thought as he kissed her brow softly. Never again will I fail her. Never again.

-------

Just a random little something done over the past month or so in my free time. Sorry about the lemon-y content at the end - I felt that if I didn't show how much they felt about each other even after a meeting so brief, then it didn't feel complete. So this is my little side-work hidden beneath my history coursework. I don't think my teacher noticed. Much.

I won't load anything else for a while now - these exams are already doing my nut in and I haven't even started them! Thank you again for your patience :)

Tears x