A/N: As promised, here's another one c:

Theme number seventeen - Safe. Enjoy.

"I'm hungry," Ling moaned. "Really, really hungry. I feel like I haven't eaten for two weeks…I want rice cakes, sweetened with honey. Food…food…"

Lan Fan didn't answer. She would have gladly gone to the kitchens to fetch her master something to eat, but Fu had warned her not to give in to the Young Master's silly desires. "There are some you must obey, and some that are optional," he had warned. "Don't let the Young Master make you do everything."

"Lan Fan…I'm so, so hungry…I really, really want some food…"

"I understand," she quietly interjected, and bowed her head. Sorry, Grandfather. I'm sure you understand. "If the Young Master feels hungry, then I will get some sustenance for him." She slipped off her tree branch and bounded away, heading for the palace kitchens.

"Thank you!" Ling called as she disappeared from view.

Once she entered the kitchens, Lan Fan began to scan the vast counters for any food. Spotting a steaming mass of hot cakes, she picked up a pair of chopsticks and began dropping the delicacies onto a plate. She had almost picked up enough to sate Ling's appetite when a loud, booming voice made her drop the wooden sticks. "What commoner is in the royal kitchens stealing food?"
Lan Fan spun around, and bowed deeply. "Head Chef, please accept my apologies and explanation. You see, the Young—"

"Thief! Scoundrel! Disgusting, low-class guard," the cook snapped. "You're useless. Pinching the emperor's dinner for yourself, aren't you? Disgusting creature. I'll be sure to report you."

The emperor's dinner? Lan Fan cursed herself inwardly. How could she not have known? She kept her eyes to the floor. "Head Chef, please listen. I am a guard of the Yao Clan, and—"

She paused, confusion suddenly clouding her mind. Lan Fan knew the Head Chef extremely well, almost as well as her grandfather. The Head Chef was extremely kind to her, and had understood the Young Master's voracious appetite. And as she paused, her thoughts swarming, she realized that all of the servant girls were missing.
Lan Fan glanced upward, her hand already slipping to her belt. The face was different. The tattooed anklet was not a symbol of a kitchen staff member, but of a guard in another Clan. And it definitely wasn't the Yao Clan.

The woman lunged.

Lan Fan slid out of the way, and yanked her knives out from her sash. "The Yang Clan," she hissed. "How dare you."

"Yao Clan dog. That is what you are called aren't you?" The woman threw off her apron to reveal an abundance of knives and bombs tucked into her sash. "Let's make this a good fight, little girl."

"We shall," Lan Fan responded, although fear pounded in her heart.

She knew that this Yang woman's abilities were beyond her own.

And if Lan Fan was going to beat her, she was not going to come out unscathed.

When Ling realized that Lan Fan had not returned, he curiously ran over to the kitchens, only to find her bowing to another guard, who was tying up a woman covered in battle scars. Lan Fan took a quick glance at him before giving one last bow to the man and hurrying away.

Her hood was draped over her head, and the shadows completely hid her face from view. She held a small rice cake in her right hand, which he devoured with rapid speed. "It's soooo yummy~," he exclaimed through a mouthful of cake. "Thank you, Lan Fan!"

"You're welcome," she murmured quietly, before silently following Ling back to the training grounds.

Had Ling been less occupied with eating the rice cake, he might have noticed that Lan Fan was limping, although she barely showed it. And if he had not overlooked the limp, he might have seen the dark droplets that slicked off her left hand and fell onto the dusty earth.

After Lan Fan lost to Ling for the fourth time in a row, Ling stood over her, looking worried. "Hey, Lan Fan. Are you okay? You haven't lost to me in six years."

"Yes, the last time I lost to you was when I was but a little child," she muttered crossly, before painfully pulling herself up. "I apologize for my incompetency, Young Master. I have disappointed you."

"Nah, don't worry about it. This is training. We're supposed to get better." Ling waved his hand as if it were a trivial matter, before clenching his fists one more and hurtling towards Lan Fan again. "Here we go!"

She immediately became on her defensive and blocked, but Ling easily came past her and managed to smash one of his fists into her stomach, causing her to be thrown ten feet, all the while cursing for forgetting her armor.

"Again?" Ling uncurled his fists, and jogged over to her side. "Come on, Lan Fan. You're no fun today. You're okay…right?"

Her mask had slid off her face, revealing a dark half-dried gash along her cheek, the scar forming still soft and breakable. Bruises surrounded it, and as Ling gently pulled the mask completely off, he realized that her entire face was ruined.

Goddamn, her beautiful face was ruined.

Her high cheekbones were obscured by yellow bruises, and her eye was puffy and sore, as if someone had landed a punch on it. Ling realized that the gash roped all the way down to her chin, where it turned into a slender welt. He rolled up her sleeve, and saw a dark welt winding around her wrist.

Whoever had done this to her had been thorough. So thorough that it was disgusting.

Lan Fan stirred a little. "Young Master…" she murmured.

"Don't talk." Ling pressed his hand to her forehead, and almost jerked it away from the searing fever. "Why didn't you tell me this? Shit," he swore a cut on her forehead smeared and began to bleed again.

"Young Master, using foul language is wrong," Lan Fan scolded, but in weaker tone. "It's not proper."

"Right now, I couldn't care less. We've got to get you some medical treatment." Ling placed a hand under her shoulder. "Can you walk?"

"I believe so." She struggled up, with the help of the prince, before almost collapsing again. Ling secured her arm firmly around his shoulder. "Fu will have some medical supplies, won't he?"

"At my house. Close to the outer wall of the palace, near the ring of trees." Lan Fan stumbled, and Ling pulled her arm tighter around his shoulder.

"I know where it is," he said. "I went there all the time when I was a kid."

"I remember," she said faintly, looking paler by the second.

"Hey! Lan Fan!"

"I'm…fine," she said unconvincingly, before leaning over and vomiting onto the ground.

Ling swore again. "Damn." He scooped her up and began to run.

"She'll live," Fu sighed after dropping the last swab of antiseptic-soaked cotton into a pan next to him. The old man then reached for a small vial of oil and began to rub it into the injuries. "Whoever did it must have hated the Yaos very much."

"No, I don't think it could have been like that—" Ling began but Fu cut him off.

"Face it, Young Master. Your life is in danger at all times. People hate you. The only reason my granddaughter and I exist is to protect you. That is all." Fu screwed the lid back onto the vial and placed it back next to him. "Lan Fan was trying to save your life."

"But…" Ling stared down at the floor, and caught glance of Lan Fan's hand, which was wrapped tightly in bandages already stained a pale red. He clenched his own fists. "I hate watching people close to me get hurt," he muttered. "Watching Lan Fan get hurt…or you, Fu…or maybe even one of my servants get beaten. I hate every single bit of it."

Fu patted his shoulder. "That, Young Master," he said, "is a very good trait for you to have as an emperor. You want to care for your people. But Lan Fan protected you not only because it was her duty, but because she cares for you. You should understand that. You need not take take all the blame and shame on yourself."

"Fu…" Ling glanced up at the old man, who was giving one of his very rare smiles to the young prince.

"I'm sure Lan Fan wouldn't want you to feel that way," Fu said. He rose, and began to clear up all of his medicines. "You need some rest, Young Master. You've been out for a long day, and carrying my granddaughter back must have been exhausting." The man lowered his head and bowed. "I am indebted to you for helping Lan Fan, Young Master. Thank you."

"No, no," Ling stammered. "It was my…"

But Fu had left. Sighing, he sat down next to Lan Fan, watching her sleep. Ling glanced at the white strips bound over her arm, and his stomach turned. Why…

"Young…Master?"

"Lan Fan!"

"Sorry…" she sighed, raising one bandaged hand and taking a look at the linen strips covering her fingers. "I couldn't protect you properly."

"You did. You definitely, definitely did," Ling assured, gently bringing her hand back down to her side. "But you need to rest now. Come on."

"Thank you," she whispered, before closing her eyes. "I'm glad you're safe, master….Ling…I'm happy…"

And as he watched the peacefully sleeping form of his bodyguard, Ling believed Fu's words.

Words: 1,656

Additional Notes: None

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