The men were not singing now. If they spoke amidst themselves, he could barely hear them. He was only faintly aware of Chi Fu muttered threats. He wanted to dash himself to the ground and beat his fists on it like a small, disappointed child. He wanted to weep. But he wasn't free, even though the war was won; he was still a commanding officer. Duty forced him to remain an example to the troops.

An example of what, exactly?

What would the ancestors say of a man who left anyone, his affianced wife, alone on a mountain, still injured and bleeding, to be eaten by wolves, beaten and left for dead by bandits or stray Huns or… worse. There were worse things a group of outlaw bandits could do to a woman. Shang shuddered involuntarily, so violently that his horse began to turn round. Where it not for his father's good name, he decided bitterly, he would have run back, under cover of darkness at least. He had never thought he would curse honour as if it were a lie. That, he thought suddenly, was how Mulan must have felt when her dying father was commanded to fight. He was angry with her for including him in her disgrace, this great unravelling of all that he held sacred. And yet… it was true he could no longer assume honour and the law was the same thing. Even if he was angry… had been angry… she had been right…

He yawned. With no present threat of danger, he was suddenly free to be exhausted. No… he must stay awake… what if the Hun… he yawned again. They weren't here. He fought desperately to keep his eyes open, but it was no use. They were growing steadily heavier and heavier, and the voices of the men more and more faint. When he fell asleep on his plodding horse, there was no escape. He was alone on the mountain, crawling towards a kneeling figure, naked beneath her cloak, weeping and shivering in the fading light. He caught her in his arms and kissed her hair, murmuring her name … Mulan…Mulan… my love, my darling…hush, hush now, I'm here now, trust in me… he awoke with a start. There was no escape from the truth, he admitted almost angrily. He was falling in love with Mulan.

The poets would have been happy. In love with a woman he could no longer marry. Love, he understood now, was not a pleasant emotion. It was brutal, attacking him at his weakest point – a war with his own self, a war he could not win. He realised with some dismay that he had thought only of Mulan for all those long hours of the march back to the Emperor's palace. He could barely think of anything else as they entered the city walls. There was music and dancing, feasting, even banners with his name curling in the wind. They shouldn't bear his name, he thought. They should be for Mulan.

He tried to imagine what his father would think. Here he was, his first, his only victory parade – he intended to resign his military commission after the campaign was over, he had lost all taste for the military – and he was pining over some girl. Mulan had taken risks. She knew the consequences. He could marry some other woman in due course.

No, he thought firmly, his father would be wrong. He could never marry, now, regardless of the dishonour. The dishonour was his to bear alone.

He had never asked the ancestors for anything, but he begged them now to protect Mulan. May she be brought home safe. May she be happy. May she –yes!- forget him. Forget the man who had demeaned her so, threatened her with death when she should have had kindness. Kindness…Shang could still feel her presence in his arms from his dreams, the touch of her hair and the lilt in her voice… how could she marry such a cruel, ungrateful…

Mulan!

There she was, alive. He gasped, in spite of himself. He had not truly seen her before, as she truthfully was. Beautiful and determined and free… He should be grateful, he thought, for that small miracle, that he had not killed her.

He remembered himself, at once. It was imperative that he not be seen to recognise her. Chi Fu could still report them, report him – if he had berated himself for being cruel, Chi Fu had disowned him for cowardice. They could still all be sentenced to death. Mulan, of course, couldn't understand … she was telling him something about the Huns. They were alive? It was a very real possibility. Publically, he had to belittle her concerns, to convince the men, and Chi Fu, that he was in no way corrupted by sentiment, that he would not break the law. The crowds must not believe she had been involved. Her reputation, such as it was back home, must also be preserved.

He had made too good a job of it, he sighed ruefully. If she had been dishonoured by him on the mountain, now she must despise him as a coward and a childish fool, like Chi Fu. Better that she was angry and alive, he thought, always better that. In her anger, she hurt him as badly as if she had physically struck him. Of course he trusted her, of course he did, even if she must in due course believe otherwise… he loved her, though she must never know, never be tempted to ally herself with him and publicize her disgrace. No-one need ever know anything about this, still, if her parents kept it quiet as they ought to do. She could go home a free woman. He was the one who was trapped, who could never forget her, never take credit for her triumphs and continue in the army. He would have to run away, once the ceremony was over. His shame must not be allowed to blight her by marriage. He would be publically disgraced, but that, he surprised himself, didn't matter. Nothing mattered except Mulan.