Author's Note: This first went up on the DW Fanfiction Archive under the name of Nynaeve. I thought I'd see how it fared here. XP I don't claim historical accuracy, and I humbly beg the forgiveness of purists. Not usually one for OC's, but the idea wouldn't go away and the story had to be told. So here's my piece. I hope you enjoy.
I lay no claim to Dynasty Warriors, the characters therein, or the song by which this fic was inspired - "The Long Way Home" by Norah Jones. Cheers!
1: Innocence
There he is again, with his friends across the road, running races, playing ball and fighting mock-battles as young boys are wont to do. She doesn't know his name, and has always been too timid to ask, but she calls him the Little Dragon. Why? Well, that's what he is. It's the way he moves, she thinks, graceful and strong and precise all at once. It's the proud set of his shoulders, and the fire in his eyes. You'd never think he was only a boy of ten from Chang Shan, set to live an ordinary life, marry an ordinary woman and do ordinary work.
Then again, he isn't. Not really. Many people have said that he's destined for great things, and many more agree. His parents must be very proud.
He turns his head, and their eyes meet for a brief period. Or, at least, she imagines they do. Her fragile, eight-year-old heart skips a beat. Or, at least, she imagines it does. She immediately chides herself for being silly and turns back to the book in her lap, content to glance at them every once in a while from her safe place under the peach tree.
Until the wicker-woven ball bounces off the top of her head. Stupid boys.
"Sorry!"
But who's come to retrieve the offending ball? None other than her Little Dragon himself.
She shakes her head, her long dark hair falling like a curtain over her face, and hands the ball over. He takes it up, nodding his thanks, yet does not leave as she expected him to. His head is inclined in quiet thought as he stands before her, as if he's never seen anything quite like her before.
"My name is Zhao Yun," he offers finally. "What's yours?
The dark curtain stirs, and beneath it vibrant green eyes blink once, twice, trying to process this query. The small voice that replies is little more than a whisper, the rustling of leaves and blossoms in the autumn wind.
"Li Xiang."
"It's nice to meet you, Li Xiang." Her Little Dragon - Zhao Yun - smiles. "I've seen you once or twice. Are you here every day?"
"Almost every day."
"What do you do?"
"I read."
"You read?" His tone is perplexed. It's not a common thing for women to know how to read, let alone little girls. "How'd you learn?"
"My father taught me."
"Is he a scholar?"
"He was. He's gone now."
He frowns. "I'm sorry."
"It's okay."
He quickly breaks the awkward pause with another question. "Not many girls around here like to read. You like books?"
"Very much." Her hair slips forward again, and she lifts her book, frowning into its pages. He's a strange one, this Zhao Yun. Most boys his age wouldn't go out of their way to talk to a little thing like her. Apparently, he's not most boys his age. "They're my only friends now."
"That's grand," he laughs. "You know, my father loves books. He has hordes of them, wonderful books from all over China. You should come and have a look at them sometime." The laughter dies, and his countenance sobers, though his eyes are still alight with hidden mirth. "And maybe they - and I - could be your friends too. Would you like that?"
The green eyes in the pale face behind the dark curtain blink once, twice. Then the thin lips twitch themselves into a smile. It's a restrained sort of smile, as if she's just learned how, but it suffices.
"If it's okay... Zhao Yun, I think I would like that."