For the longest time my country was covered in blood. My ancestors raged against each other, tribes waged countless conflicts as Khan after Khan came and went, their only legacy the blood stained soil of our homeland. From the wars and death emerged a single man; my father, the Mongol Empire. Lead by Genghis Khan, he cut a bloody swathe across half the known world, his empire stretching from the Pacific Ocean in the east to the heart of central Europe. Memories and scars from his conquests can still be found those lands, but what is now mostly forgotten is that he left peace in his wake. It was said that 'a maiden bearing a nugget of gold on her head could wander safely throughout the realm' without fear for her life.
My father was a strange man. He could behead an entire army without stopping, his sabre a chilling blur, then he would sit down to eat with my siblings and I, tearing his way through meaty carcasses as he asked us about our day. Then he would return to the battlefield, his horse as hungry for a fight as he was.
I wanted to be just like him. He gave me my first sword when I just a small child, and I ran around beheading flowers. I can still hear him laughing uproariously as I hitched up the hem of my deel and charged into imaginary battles, his large helmet slipping over my eyes.
The day I noticed the tired look in his eyes was the day my childhood came to an end. I watched from the shadows as he stumbled, exhausted, into our yurt, swiping a massive hand across his worn face. I saw him place his sword upon the floor beside him. He would never pick it up again.
I knew then that he was finished. In my youthful arrogance I spat in his face, proclaiming him weak and laughable. He took it with a tired smile. Then he called my three siblings inside and told us that he was going away. He would leave us his empire, to do with as we pleased. We looked at each other, shocked. Father was... leaving us?
Then the responsibility hit us. We realised that we would have to continue the Empire, for our father's pride and our own. While my siblings glanced at each other in worry, my hands curled into fists and I smiled to myself. I would make my father proud. I would make the entire world fear our family. Those that didn't fear us... would fall.
I threw myself into the task of maintaining my father's legacy. I barely noticed my siblings fading away beside my might and I hardly cared; too focussed was I on the lands to the south. Helmed by the glorious Borjigin clan I charged head first into any battle, the singing of my sabre as it cleaved great armies music to my ears, my blue deel trimmed with the gold I pried from the cold hands of those who opposed me.
I began to hear rumours of a young boy, delicate and gentle, residing in a grand palace far to the south. His appearance belied his steely resolve, and many lesser countries had fallen to his blade. I resolved to bring this insolent boy to heel.
With an army of savage killers behind me, I galloped across the steppes, storming the palace to the south. I tore my way through body after body, barely stopping to flick the blood from my blade as I went on to the next kill, letting out an ear shattering yell of fierce joy at the carnage I wrought. As I strode into the throne room the young boy stepped up to meet me, his beautiful red robes swirling about him. He was a few inches shorter than I was, but his eyes radiated a fierce pride at odds with his gentle expression. I was startled by the fire in those eyes, more than I would have admitted back then.
I took him home with me. He said nothing as we rode back into my encampment, ignoring the thunderous cries of victory from my army. He remained silent as I led him into my yurt and showed him where he would be living. He continued to say nothing as he cooked me wonderful food and cleaned my armour. I took to tousling his dark brown hair as I passed him, and he gave no indication that he even noticed my touch.
He would frown at me as I returned from my many battles and I would laugh openly at his displeasure at my barbaric actions. But afterwards I would shuck my filthy armour quietly before joining him by the fireside.
On the rare occasions we ventured from my yurt at night I would make sure to mark his forehead with soot in order to fool any bad spirits that would try to take him from me. He would always wait until he thought I wasn't looking before furiously wiping it off. His proud, serious nature always amused me.
In time I found that my brother in the North had sired his own brood of children. They came to be known as the Golden Horde and they were disobedient and savage, bringing me no joy. In an effort to rid myself of them I sent them away, tasking them with conquering more of Asia in my name. Meanwhile I breathed a sigh of relief, and continued the running of my vast empire in peace.
I discovered from one of my soldiers that while I was away my young boy would sing. Beautiful, lilting, sad songs that were far different from my own low, throaty drone. When I asked him to sing for me, he turned his fierce eyes to me and remained silent. He was as fragile looking as ever, but the steely resolve on his face told me he would never submit to my wishes. For some reason I didn't push him.
I took to calling him my little songbird, asking him to sing for me at every opportunity, always with the same result. He wouldn't resist when I pulled him into my lap and stroked his head. Sometimes I felt him lean into my hand, though perhaps I only wished he would.
Word soon reached me that my brother's children had fought amongst themselves, killing each other. I didn't mourn their passing, though I did hold my young boy a little tighter that night, burying my face in his soft, brown hair. His hands, not much smaller than my own, reached up to stroke my head, though he remained silent as always.
The day I finally heard my young boy speak, his voice was raised in a furious cry, his elegant dao held high as he lead an army against me. Years of simmering aggression had finally boiled over, scalding me. I barely had time to grab my blade to meet him.
I rode at the head of my first wave soldiers as they charged my disobedient serving boy. Covered by a second wave of mounted archers behind us, we dealt his force a swift blow but fortune was not on our side that night. His army overwhelmed my foot soldiers, and as I stared around me at my fallen men I had no choice but to call a retreat. Plunging the blade of my lance into the blood stained ground beside me with a frustrated roar, I rallied my remaining men and we stumbled behind the remains of my archers. China's swollen army pushed forward relentlessly, and my mounted archers were no match for his swarming, short sword wielding soldiers. I was forced back further and further, my army drifting unwillingly northward.
I followed behind my men as they staunched their wounds, pulling our remaining horses along. As I turned back to get one final glimpse of my young boy I felt something pierce my heart. I looked down at the blade protruding from my chest, following the steady hands that wielded it, looking up to meet a pair of fierce, brown eyes.
With a painful lurch I drew myself from his blade and stumbled backwards. He stood, silhouetted against the night sky, his hands stained the same blood red as his robes, his face triumphant.
'I have long been waiting patiently for this day. I am your songbird no longer.' He said, his voice surprisingly low and husky. My men dragged my flagging body away, and bandaged the wound, though it never fully healed. To this day I can still see the long scar above my heart, pale against my tanned skin, where I was betrayed by my songbird. My proud, little China.
In the years that followed we waged many wars, though with every battle I took a little longer to regain my strength. The pain in my chest faded to a dull ache, but it was slowly replaced with something else. There was much fighting within my own rapidly shrinking empire. Each shallow breath I sucked into my lungs was another internal conflict that threatened to tear me apart.
As I clashed blades with my songbird I couldn't suppress a rattling cough. He drew back, watching as I spat on the ground, wiping a few flecks of blood from my chin.
'I'm ready. Come at me.' I said, renewing my grip on my sabre hilt. He maintained his position, staring at me. His expression was unreadable but I thought I detected a hint of pity in his eyes. My blood boiled and I lunged at him, only for him to sidestep, avoiding my blade easily. I dissolved into another coughing fit, and I felt a hand on my back.
'How can you fight me when you're too busy fighting yourself?' he asked quietly. I shook him off; I didn't need sympathy from my old serving boy. He sighed and reached into his pocket.
'Here. I'll give you this.' He slipped a small and surprisingly heavy object into my hand before walking away. He paused briefly, as though remembering something, then turned back to me.
'Now hurry up and get better, I want to beat you in a fair fight.' He licked his lips in anticipation. 'Then I'll make you my slave as you once made me yours.' He shot me a joyless smile, and then he was gone. I was alone on the battlefield. My mind reeled.
'Is that all he thought he was to me? A slave?' I thought back to those days we spent quietly in my yurt. As I sat before the fire polishing my sabre to a blinding sheen he would occasionally pass me something, stony faced, and I would stroke his head affectionately in return. I could still remember the slight blush on his proud, delicate features. With a sigh I opened my hand and inspected his gift. It was a statue of a bald, fat man sitting cross-legged, a small container resting in one hand. A thin ribbon, the same colour as China's scarlet robes, was wrapped loosely around the base of it, fluttering gently in the breeze.
I stared at the statue, nonplussed. With a shrug, followed by another coughing fit, I returned to my yurt, placing the statue beside me as I slept.
Buddhism brought with it new life. My warring country embraced the new religion, and I was united again, for a time at least. With my renewed health, I began to focus on rebuilding my empire from the ruin China had wrought. For once I had no desire to engage my old serving boy, wanting only to tend to my people. My countrymen had other ideas.
My leader insisted on sending troops to loot China's cities. I dissuaded him as much as I could, knowing that with each loss in battle I took a little longer to recover. I was loath to admit it, but I secretly wondered if I would ever recover from the blows I had been dealt by the diminutive young boy. My leader persisted, and in the end I was powerless to stop him. I thought if my father could see what his glorious empire had become under my failing command, he would have struck me down in shame, then and there.
China retaliated and once more I was overwhelmed by him. He had grown since he had betrayed me, and he was now less than an inch shorter. His eyes still held the same unwavering resolve, and he strode forward with his head held high. As I watched him decimate my country once more, my pride at his new strength warred with the disgust I felt at myself for having grown so weak in response.
Between my own countrymen disobeying me and China's constant retaliations I had fallen ill again. When he stormed my encampment he took one look at me as I curled up feverishly on the dirt floor of my yurt, and ordered a stretcher. I didn't resist as he brought me back to his house.
I awoke in a large room, a soft bedroll beneath me and a damp towel on my brow. As I tried to sit up a small hand gently pressed me back down. China's delicate face swam above me, and he gave me a soft smile. My mind stalled; the smile was real.
China tended to my wounds, repairing my shattered body. I slowly regained my strength, though I remained in that room, in truth little more than a well furnished prison cell, alone for long periods of time while China was away on business. I tried the door a few times, but it was securely locked. It seemed I was at the mercy of my old serving boy.
When China visited me he would claim the large chair at one end of the room. Then he would gesture at me to come closer, patting the ground by his feet. My face burned as I knelt beside him, scowling and turning my head as he mockingly stroked my hair. Though he would never say it, I knew what he was doing. This was payback for keeping him beside me in the past.
I struggled to keep my pride and anger in check. Had I not cared for him? Had I not protected him, provided him with food and shelter? At the time I refused to recognise that he had also done the same for me.
To pass the time I would quietly sing the songs of my homeland so I would not forget them, but they rarely brought me any joy. I had never realised before that moment how many of my favourite ballads were about homesickness and the love of one's parents, about returning to the place where one was born. I longed to ride freely over the steppes of my country as I had once done, a swift horse beneath me, the wind in my hair.
I took to staring out of the barred windows that faced to the east of China's great palace. I could catch glimpses of other nations as they passed by; a serious, raven-haired boy, who I recognised as China's younger brother Japan, would visit frequently, and occasionally a blonde man in strange clothes would pass by, talking loudly and excitedly.
Idly I would try to get their attention, but China would always appear like magic, scolding me with his mocking yet kind smile. He made sure I was provided with anything I needed, and treated kindly by his men, but I was still a prisoner. What did food and clothes matter if I couldn't be free? I realised with a sickening jolt how China must have felt, confined to my encampment all those years ago.
One day China appeared my room, his face ashen. He stumbled over to his usual chair and I rushed to help him, bringing him some tea. He told me, in halting tones, of the painful revolution he was experiencing. As I helped cool his fevered brow my mind was racing.
Keeping a watchful eye on him as he slumped weakly on the chair, his chest rising and falling erratically, I slipped out through the door and into the palace proper. I hid in the shadows as legions of guards patrolled, hoping desperately to avoid a fight I was certain I would lose, though I scarcely had any idea where I was going. All I knew was that I had to get away from China now, while he was weak.
I'm not sure how long I wandered, lost, in China's sprawling palace before I was caught. The guards dragged me back to my room in chains, roughly throwing me inside before slamming the door. China was still inside, occupying his usual chair, but there was something different about him. He stood silently and stalked toward me, his usually elegant and kind demeanour gone.
I couldn't suppress a shiver at his oddly blank look.
'Set me free. I no longer wish to be a part of your empire.' I said, trying to hold my head high and hide the uneasiness I was suddenly plagued with. I couldn't stop myself letting out a grunt of pain as he raised his hand and struck me across the face. I stared at him in shock.
'The People's Republic of China still considers you a part of our territory.' He said distantly. 'You will remain here with me.' His speech and movements were halting, as though he had suddenly become unused to his own body.
A change of government, I realised in horror. It was always a harsh blow to a nation. I remembered seeing other countries torn apart by the conflicting ideas and rules. If they were lucky, they would slowly piece themselves back together, though they were never truly the same. If they were unlucky, they would crumble, their remains of their once proud nations forgotten. I watched with sadness as my once kind and gentle songbird left my room in a daze and my cheek stung dully.
He appeared less frequently after that. The times I saw him he would pat my head distractedly, speaking of his latest military campaign, then leave again. His moods became steadily more childish. He would tug idly on my bound hands as he spoke, though he hardly seemed aware of his actions. He refused to remove my chains, and I grew sore and hunched.
In desperation, I managed to scrounge a piece of paper and a pen, and I wrote a letter to the strong country in the north, asking for help. After sending it off, I remembered sending my Horde to attack him years ago, and I despaired of ever being free again.
China had taken to dragging me behind him on walks about his palace. I think he meant to be kind, but there was nothing gentle about the way he pulled at my chained hands, maintaining a brisk pace. As he strode through the halls and I trailed after him, we were suddenly bombarded by the sounds of fighting. A soldier ran past us, and China grabbed him, forcing him to explain what was happening.
Before he could answer, a mountain of a man burst through the palace doors. I stared in shock as he strode through legions of soldiers, seemingly oblivious to the damage he was taking. Beside me China drew his dao, it's wickedly curved blade flashing in the sunlight that poured in through the broken doors and charged.
His opponent squared his broad shoulders and met the charge head on, his fists raised across his face. China's blade glanced off the wide forearms and he leapt away nimbly, readying another attack. The large man's bold features were fixed in a childish grin as he rained down a storm of powerful punches. His swings were wild however, and China easily evaded them before ducking underneath to slash and hack at the sturdy body.
I stood frozen and helpless, my eyes fixed on the pair as they circled each other, both searching for an opening in the other's defence. I noticed that although the stranger seemed to be flailing uncontrollably without technique or forethought, his violet eyes were calm and calculating, carefully taking note of every move China made as he flitted expertly around him.
Finally the large man drew his fist back and gave an apparently desperate lunge. China quickly sidestepped and the man stumbled forward unsteadily. Then without warning he snapped his outstretched forearm back, catching China under the jaw and sending him crashing into the wall.
I couldn't stifle a gasp of worry as China's limp body slumped to the floor, his impact leaving a sickeningly large dent in the wall behind him. His eyes fluttered as he struggled to regain his breath. He was still alive, at least. The large man approached me, the benign smile on his face a stark contrast to the devastation he had left in his wake.
'You are Mongolia?' he asked, his voice surprisingly high. I hesitated before nodding.
He reached down and took my chains in his hands. With a small grunt he tore the links apart, freeing me. I rubbed my wrists warily, unsure of my rescuer's intentions. I had a nagging feeling I recognised him from somewhere.
'Russia?' I asked. He smiled again.
'Da. Come with me, I'll take care of you.' His huge hand completely enveloped mine and he dragged me from the palace. I cast one final look back at my prison and saw China standing amid the debris, his expression unreadable.
It took a while for me to recognise my surroundings. The Chinese countryside gradually became grasslands, the endless steppes of my homeland welcoming me back. My heart sang as I drew in breath after breath of fresh air. The cramps in my legs slowly shook themselves loose, and my long braid whipping about in the breeze. A single, indiscernible shape broke the endless horizon and we headed for it.
As we got closer I realised we were heading for my home.
'You're not taking me back with you?' I asked, confused. In front of me Russia shook his head.
'Nyet. I have much to attend to back home, so I'm just going to leave you here with some of my soldiers.'
I frowned at the thought of foreign soldiers in my land, but I rationalised that anything was better than being locked up by China.
My men welcomed me back with open arms and there was much drinking and singing. Russia sat in the corner of my yurt, drinking anything offered to him but otherwise remaining silent. I joined him, and we watched my countrymen rejoicing in silence for a moment.
'How can I repay your kindness?' I eventually asked, my tone polite and formal. Russia said nothing, apparently lost in thought, though I was beginning to sense something unnerving about him. I recalled the rumours I had heard while in China's palace of the terrifying power he wielded, but I pushed them aside. Russia had helped me and I was honour bound to return the favour.
'I will help you retake the rest of your lands from China, and I will help improve your government,' Russia's voice was quiet. I frowned as he avoided my question.
'And in return?' I asked again, becoming more and more worried of what he would answer. He gave a forced smile.
'As long as you stay away from China, my leaders and I will happily do these things for you.' He said, his tone placating. I narrowed my eyes. There was something he wasn't telling me. He must have caught my look of disbelief, as he turned away, hiding his face from me.
'In return you must promise to be my friend.' He whispered, his voice low and surprisingly vulnerable. My mind froze in shock. He stared back at me through his shaggy fringe and I looked deep into his violet eyes, nodding dumbly. We stared at each other for a moment, and then his face broke out in a childish grin.
From that day on, Russia fought by my side as I reclaimed my lands from my former captor. He helped me rebuild my government, and aided me as I slowly repaired my country following China's harsh rule. He never displayed his vulnerable side to me again, instead maintaining a constant, calculated smile whenever we met.
In time I replaced my traditional deel with a more modern, military uniform, though I refused to cut my long braid. I moved my base of operations into the city, to my beautiful Ulaan Baatar. I missed the open spaces of the steppes and my horses, but my time was almost completely occupied with the Soviet Union and my own emerging communist government.
It felt good to be free again, but for some reason I no longer felt the exhilaration I had once felt, riding into battle. I dirtied my hands for the sake of my people, but killing no longer brought me the same, savage joy it had once done. There was no more glory to be found in war.
In addition, I felt an increasing pressure from my northern neighbour. Sometimes he would catch me praying to Buddha and he would frown disapprovingly. I would visit his house occasionally and I met some of the other members of the Soviet Union besides my childish ally. They all had the same, harried expressions, and his whole house gave off an air of oppression.
More often than not however, he would visit me. He wandered through my streets, taking in the monks as they went about their business, the statues of my religion everywhere, and then he would return to my home and urge me to lessen my devotion. He seemed preoccupied by something on these occasions, but he refused to tell me what.
His demands become more and more urgent, and more than once he raised his hand to me in frustration. When he became like that I would carefully eradicate all emotion from my face, and stare at him coldly. He seemed to take the hint the first few times, leaving hurriedly, but he would return soon after to try again. I became increasingly worried that I would not be able to hold him off for long, and I was right.
The next day he burst into my house. His violet eyes were shadowed as he seized the large statue of Buddha I kept on a shelf beside my desk, hurling it to the floor where it shattered into a thousand pieces. He then strode toward me as I stood, frozen in mid conversation with several advisors. Pushing them out of the way, he grabbed my shoulder and threw me down on the table. He pulled a paring knife from his coat pocket and pressed it to my throat, a desperate look in his eyes.
I stared up at him, refusing to show him the fear that was bubbling up inside me. He was undeterred by my scowl, reaching down to rip open my shirt with his free hand. I met his gaze unwaveringly as he held me down and ran the blade along my side, sliding it under my skin. I winced but remained silent. He stared as blood welled up from the wound, a foreign, hungry look in his eyes. He seemed unable to control himself.
'I warned you about your religion... He won't allow it...' His voice was distant as he cast a strangely pleading look in my direction.
Suddenly he began to slash wildly at my stomach, sending blood splashing everywhere. My advisors cowered in the corner, too terrified to intervene. Agony coursed through me, and I blacked out, the sounds of his frenzied apologies fading from my mind.
When I awoke I had been bandaged, though attempting to sit up caused my vision to blur nauseatingly. My advisors told me that after leaving me unconscious in a pool of blood Russia had stormed through my country, destroying many of my monasteries. They pleaded with me to sever ties with him; he was killing my countrymen and my country. I shook my head, angry at my helplessness. Without Russia, I was in danger from both China and Japan; my country was poor enough as it was without the added cost of yet more war.
As my advisors left I clenched my fists, bringing them crashing into the wall beside me. Once again I was reduced to a pathetic, dependent, obedient servant. I, who had once been the most powerful empire in Asia. At one time I could have taken both China and his brother; now I could do nothing but hide behind my insane saviour.
The threat of Japan loomed to the east, the sun rising behind him casting his serious face into deep shadows. I faced him on the banks of the Khalkhyn Gol, though I felt ill prepared for the battle. I was still reeling from the losses I'd incurred during the recent purges, but I wasn't about to back down.
My sabre met Japan's katana with a resounding clash. His movements were quick and precise, though I sensed a hesitance behind them. I pressed forward, using my slightly curvier sword to my advantage, keeping him at a distance. He deflected my strikes, though he seemed to be conserving his energy. Encouraged by his caution, I stepped in closer.
As soon as I had I realised what a mistake it was. My long sabre was unwieldy at close quarters, and I was unable to raise it fast enough as he moved in swiftly under my swing, tossing his katana aside and whipping out a tantō he'd concealed.
I let out a grunt of pain as he reached up, yanking down on my long braid and bringing his tantō up to rest against my exposed throat.
Japan's face held no joy at his approaching victory. In fact it showed nothing at all. Suddenly a loud voice rang across the battlefield.
'Leave Mongolia alone!'
I glanced around, disgusted at the relief that coursed through me. Russia charged through the fighting, scattering the ground around us with gunfire. As Japan leapt back to avoid the bullets I did the same, hoping Russia would have the presence of mind not to shoot me as well.
He threw himself between us, reaching down to help me to my feet. Even in the midst of war he kept his fake smile plastered across his face. Japan hung back, watching us carefully as he sensed the mood of the battle, searching for the right moment to renew the attack as he retrieved his discarded weapon.
'You can't lose to this guy,' Russia giggled. I scowled at his tone, brushing myself down and picking up my sabre from the ground beside me. As I met his gaze I saw that his smile had vanished. It was replaced with the same vulnerable look he'd given me, back in my yurt after he'd brought me home.
'You promised you'd stay with me, remember?' He sounded so different from his usual, carelessly sadistic self. With a sigh I nodded in agreement.
'I always keep my promises.' I said quietly. My words seemed to galvanise him, and for a second I glimpsed his true smile, the one he always kept hidden. Then he was himself again, and we turned to face Japan together.
In the aftermath of the battle I sat alone by the river, it's banks churned with the footprints of battalions of soldiers. With Russia by my side I had successfully driven back my opponent, but though he had retreated, I still caught a glimpse of fierce determination on Japan's usually emotionless face as he had fled.
His expression reminded me of his brother. I remembered the first day I set eyes upon him, his small form silhouetted against the carnage I had wrought upon his lands. I closed my eyes in shame as I remembered how I had selfishly taken him home with me, keeping him beside me as I ruled my swollen empire with an iron fist.
Absently I reached into my pocket, taking out the small statue I carried with me everywhere, turning it over in my hands I sat lost in thought.
I felt the fallen tree I was resting on dip slightly, and I opened my eyes to find Russia perched beside me. He said nothing, and I was grateful for both the silence and the company. I marvelled to myself at how these times were far different from the age of my father and our ancestors. It seemed the future was a time for making allies, not conquests.
My father's tired face swam before my mind's eye, and I knew that I must have the same expression on my own face. I silently promised him that I would not fade away, as he had. I would adapt.
I looked back down at the statue in my hands. The details were worn from years of being held, the bronze tarnished and aged, but Buddha's gentle face still stared up at me. China's red ribbon, though faded and fraying, still sat wrapped about the base. Out of the corner of my eye I saw Russia glance at the statue before hurriedly averting his eyes. I think he still felt guilty over the purges he had been forced to commit, and though I still felt the losses deeply I understood that sometimes a soldier must follow orders even if they don't want to.
I closed my eyes and prayed to Buddha to give me strength in the days ahead.
At last the moment I had been both dreading and hungrily anticipating arrived. Across the field stood China, his diminutive form silhouetted against the pale dawn. Beside me stood Russia, though that fact didn't reassure me as much as I would have liked. He was as likely to maim me as he was to help. Nevertheless, the time had come for me to take back what was mine. I would not fall to my old serving boy again.
I held out my hand for Russia to hang back as I strode out to meet China. I drew my sabre, levelling it at his head and he mirrored my action with his dao.
'Give me my independence.' I demanded, my voice quiet, my hand steady.
'You still think you're better off without me? You need me; you always have, and you always will.' China replied mockingly. My eyes narrowed. Every muscle in my body tensed for what seemed like a lifetime then I was charging forward, letting loose a blood curdling cry that would have made my father proud.
China's blade met mine, and though the impact jarred me all the way down my arm my grip remained steady. China flicked his wrist and attempted to twist my sword out of my hands, but I let my grip loosen slightly and his dao glanced off the blade. He came at me again, his blade a blur as repeatedly tried to disarm me.
His non-lethal tactics would once have infuriated me, but I'd suffered too many losses in the past to let my pride rule my mind as it once had. Remaining focussed on the fight I saw an opening and lunged forward and was rewarded with a grunt of pain as China was forced to defend.
'Stop this! Just come back to me and things will be better, I promise!' he yelled to me as he twisted away, taking a step back recover from the blow.
'You're begging me now, are you?' I yelled back, unwilling to show even a hint of weakness in my resolve. He roared in rage and charged toward me again. I raised my blade to defend myself as his dao came sweeping dangerously past my head.
A fire blazed in his eyes as he rained down blow after blow. I was barely able to raise my sabre quick enough to defend, and I was forced backward, reduced to deflecting slashes I had earlier been able to block completely.
Giving a terrible cry, his eyes blind with rage, he raised his dao and brought it down in a deadly arc, aiming for the base of my neck. I brought my blade up to defend but the anger behind his strike gave him added strength and I heard a sickening crack as the impact fractured my wrist. With my sabre hanging limply from my now useless hand I ducked desperately. I felt his dao sink deep into my shoulder instead, missing my neck by a mere inch.
With a cry of pain I fell to my knees, staunching the red river that flowed from the gash in my shoulder. My sabre tumbled to the ground from my limp hand, rolling away and coming to a stop a few yards away.
He levelled his blade at me, his chest heaving, the fire still burning in his eyes. I stared into them, ignoring the waves of pain that threatened to engulf me. They were still as fierce and proud as the day I had stolen him from his palace. I gritted my teeth angrily. I had fought so long and so hard; I refused to fall here, and be forever remembered as China's disobedient slave. I swallowed my pride.
'Russia! I need you!' I called to him, hating my reliance but knowing the alternative was unacceptable. As he came charging into our midst I caught a glimpse of China's face as the colour fled from it and the fire in his eyes died, and a realisation that I was not privy to washed over him.
Russia helped me to my feet, slipping an arm under my uninjured shoulder to support me. I suppressed a groan of pain as a fresh wave of blood poured from the wound when I heard a sound that no soldier expects to hear on the battlefield.
I looked up to find China laughing quietly, his face streaked with sweat and exhaustion. I stared at him as though he'd lost his mind.
'What?' I asked angrily, my expression warring between defensiveness and wounded pride.
'It's not you, I just...' He wiped a tear from his eye. 'All this time I've spent trying to hold onto you, all I've done is push you further into his arms...' His shoulders continued to shake, though I had a feeling it was no longer from laughter. I glanced at Russia. He was staring at China, the merest hint of sympathy visible on his bold features, his usual ambiguous smile gone for the moment.
I suddenly understood what China was telling me. Ignoring another jolt of pain in my shoulder, I slowly pushed Russia away from me and took a wavering step toward my old rival.
'I don't want to be dependent on either of you,' I said softly. Russia and China were silent as they stared at me. 'I only want my freedom.' My voice shook but I held their gaze without faltering. They glanced at each other and back to me.
'Then I will return your lands to you.' China whispered, closing his eyes.
'Your country is yours to command once more.' Russia said, unable to keep the rueful hint from his voice.
The pain from my wounds faded away as I breathed a sigh of relief. I felt lighter than I had for centuries. With a peaceful smile I extended my uninjured hand toward China and he took it, returning my smile with a small one of his own.
'I knew I wouldn't be able to hold onto you forever...' He said, his voice soft as he turned and strode away, leaving the battlefield and our centuries old enmity behind.
I watched his retreating back in silence before turning to Russia. He shuffled his feet, fiddling with his scarf distractedly as he studied the knitted weave. I sighed and stepped toward him.
'Thank you for your help. I could never have been free if it weren't for you.' My voice was gruff, but I truly meant it. He met my gaze, nervously at first. I allowed him a small smile and he grinned in response, giving me a small, friendly shove. Unfortunately his friendly shove caught me in the shoulder and I gave a shuddering moan as my wound reminded me of its presence.
Russia continued to beam at me obliviously. I clutched my arm to my side and managed a pained smile in response. He offered his hand, gently, this time. 'Do you need help getting home?'
I stared at his proffered hand. There was no pity or charity in the gesture and I appreciated that. I gently pushed it away and strode haltingly from the battlefield.
'No thanks. I can walk.'
A/N The Mongolia in this story is an odd mix of any canon details I could scrounge up and me filling in the details. If anyone is interested, I will be uploading a short bio and some sketches of him to deviantart at a later date. I would love to know what you think of him.