You're in my dreams, what's that supposed to mean? These dreams of you.
catastrophe - year 1, china.
The clank of metal, a flash of light --
"Soft, huh?"
The dripping of heavy sweat,
"Not so soft -- " clang.
Eight pairs of crow's feet-slanted eyes stared on listlessly. The thought would be that apathy lay within the regal Li Clan gaze; they remained unmoved, but with concentration instead; the deep brown of Syaoran's family was a forretress of a look that disguised itself as a glance, yet proved to be an analytical, scrutinizing stare. It unnerved him; it aggravated him.
It distracted him.
There was the rip of cloth, and a gasp as Syaoran's knee hit the tile of the training room. Blood sputtered, aflame with life, from the nerve-endings of his dermis.
His opponent kept the blade grazing the once-white tunic that seemed to grow, expanding with Syaoran's very essence. Yelan Li fought against her better judgement to stand for her son's sake. To end a fight was not a woman's place, and not her's, most assuredly. This was his battle.
And this was her pride.
"He hasn't seen battle since Kinomoto re-sealed the cards," an elder said from behind her, "He's holding up exceptionally against Lizhan. Considering."
"Lizhan -- of the Han line?" Another asked, mutely. Yelan's eyes sat centered on Syaoran; neither boy had moved.
"Yes. After the fall of their dynasty, a remaining few of the royal family retreated into the South Eastern region of Wu. The men left to fight for their failing dynasty, and from there the women and a handful of loyal eunuchs remained and studied in the Japanese art of ninjutsu --"
"Ssst," Honorable Grandfather snorted, "The Japanese."
"-- as well as taijutsu and ju-jitsu. Yet the Li boy is holding up."
"Considering," an elder acquiesced.
"Yes, considering."
Behind the adults and elders, a young girl's voiced echoed through the hall:
"Take him out!"
Syaoran smirked.
Yelan's brow furrowed, embarrassed.
Honorable Grandfather looked thoroughly annoyed.
Lizhan didn't move.
With a flash of the Chinese sun grazing off his sword, Syaoran dodged beneath Lizhan's hold, rolling from the tiled floor just as Lizhan sliced one fatal swoop down ---
Blood remained where Syaoran did not. The tile cracked ("Our best!" an elder snapped) and Lizhan's sword dug deep into the floor.
He'd aimed to kill, hadn't he?-- Syaoran countered in one brilliant flash of orange that reflected from his blade, and in the one second that the fight resumed, Syaoran regained the upper hand: he stood with his knee at a ninety degree angle, the other bent agilely behind him, his arms poised in mid-thrust, aimed at Lizhan's jugular.
"Finished!" Honorable Grandfather said, pleasantly surprised and suddenly pleased.
The Han elders looked around quietly.
"Not yet," Lizhan's mother said passionately. She smiled to Yelan.
Suddenly there was another loud crash against the floor as Lizhan kicked against Syaoran's stationary knee, and leaned away from the Li's cherished blade; Lizhan's dark hair tousled against his forehead as he swept Syaoran off his feet.
The Li sword clanged against ruptured tile. Syaoran let out and agonizing "oof!", landing on his back with his arms splayed, wide, on either side of him. Lizhan stood, his dark green eyes treacherous, with the blade tip aimed dangerously, slanted perfectly, over Syaoran's throat.
The girl in the back stomped her foot loudly.
Honorable Grandfather returned to being thoroughly annoyed.
"Finished!" Lizhan's mothered called. The Han elders stood quickly, for their age, and began the precise clapping to congratulate their eldest warrior. Lizhan seemed un phased.
Syaoran seemed pissed.
"It is done," Yelan Li murmured, standing, beginning the slow, methodical clap of her palms. Syaoran's lips pursed into a tight line, realizing suddenly -- pain. Pulsing pain. Lizhan stood, unmoving; it was an uncomfortable position, Syaoran thought darkly, to be defenseless at sword point. Syaoran, who had indeed become much more outspoken during his stay along side Sakura, remained silent: his pride was bleeding more than the deep wound on his side. Had it pierced anything vital? No, and yet, it felt as if his very lifeblood was gushing from him: he had never lost.
When, in his peripheral vision, he caught the glares from his clansmen -- and his silent mother -- he realized it should have remained that way.
"Losing! To the Japanese style!" Honorable Grandfather commented. "What is becoming of China? What is becoming of the Li Clan!"
"He will improve," Yelan said dispassionately.
The young girl snorted elaborately. "'Improve'? Syaoran's fine. He needs his own blade, not that archaic heirloom."
Honorable Grandfather turned on her so suddenly the girl's long, raven hair whipped around her body: "You. .. You will act as a woman of your status should and hold your tongue. You are not to be heard. You are not to be heard.
"Do you even know what this means for us, you sad little wretch? That boy has lost much for our family!---"
It was quiet in the Empire for a moment. Lizhan's sword lowered, coming to hang loosely in his hand that rested against the jutting bones of his bare hips. The fight had been long, and the early morning sun had been warm; both boys had sliced their families' sparring garb to pieces.
Syaoran, sticking to the tile in his own blood, sighed as he began to lift himself to his elbows.
"Your elders are right," Lizhan said in such a way that did much to cool Syaoran's temper; his voice was icy and chilled, "You have lost much for the Li family." Aa, but the temper resurfaces,
"It will be regained," Syaoran slurred, engaging his quadriceps to lift from the smeared, shattered tile.
Lizhan only leaned his head to the side. Syaoran swore there was a smile slowly lifting in the edges of his cracked lips. But he felt dizzy with the concentration, swimming in a see of trailing light and visible sounds.
Meiling had wiggled free from Grandfather's fit of rage and found her way to her cousin's wounded side; Lizhan took a slow step back as her cool hands found Syaoran's wound.
She caught the Han's gaze.
"Don't flatter yourself," Meiling spat, indignant.
Syaoran's eyes were out of focus. Meiling's gaze snapped back to her wounded soldier; searching his face, she became increasingly frightened. Why had this gone on for so long?--
Blood slid down the wrinkles of Meiling's palm. Well, didn't Lizhan look smug, she thought. Her anger piqued, or else that treacherous fear, her mouth began to open once more --
when Syaoran silenced her with a breathless gasp. For a moment the clarity of the air was upon him, and he swore, as he caught a last sight of Lizhan's jade glare, that the overwhelming scent of cherry blossoms had permeated his entire being.
".. Sakura--"
The white of his eyes overtook the once-intense brown; he became limp in his cousin's arms.
The silence was astounding.
And then she screamed.
Historical inaccuracy, yes. Lizhan also means something along the lines of "praise of strength". That's a loose translation.
Well? ; R&R.