A/N: so my other shan yu/mulan story was surprisingly well-received? at the time i had started writing this longfic for those two as well, based on my sudden revelation back then that shan yu was the only character in the movie to not have looked down on mulan in any way... but then i ended up forgetting about it in my wips folder. oops.

hope you guys like this one as well, though! reviews are always welcome ;)

There is a woman.

Shan Yu has never put much stock in Han women - cowering things, all the rage and passion and other things that made one alive beaten out of them, suppressed until they cannot even speak unless someone else prompts them to. He would like to say he despises them, just as he despises the ones that have made them so, but this is the truth: in his eyes, they do not exist.

Invisible things, worthless things, as good as flowers and vases and paintings. This empire has bred them to have very little purpose beyond childbearing and decoration. They do not exist. They do not exist.

But, there is a woman.

She stands defiant, teeth bared in a snarl as she stands between one of his men and a child too young for war. "You won't take her," she defies, and does not yield when his man laughs.

He cannot help but watch.

"Who's going to stop me, little lady?" The soldier licks at his teeth, leering. "You?"

"Mulan," another woman whispers, clearly terrified. She tugs at the woman, at the silks adorning her, trying to pull her back without calling too much attention to herself. "Don't."

The woman frees herself from the other's grasp, never looking away. "If you're coward enough to try."

But she's now aware of her position, awoken from her bravery by the desperation in the other's voice. Aware of how his soldiers are staring, aware of the tears struggling not to spill on the face of the other woman - perhaps her mother? - aware of how she's a tiny slip of a girl, untrained for nothing beyond pouring tea and painting her face to please their men, aware of the danger she's putting all of them in. Her eyes flicker.

She hesitates.

His man does not.

He slaps her away with the back of his hand, sending her flying against a table with wares to sell. There's hairpins and colourful sashes of fabric and all kinds of other pretty, useless things that the Han people seem to enjoy so much they'd let their guard down for the opportunity to buy; his troops had planned the attack for this occasion exactly. There are no longer any men in this village, all taken for combat near the borders, near that disgraceful wall their cowardly emperor had built in his fear.

They had not imagined his forces had reached this far, and it is just as Shan Yu had predicted. How very shameful of them.

"Mulan!" the woman shouts, but she, too, is cowardly - she does not dare approach.

The Han people are all cowards, and the wide circle that opens when his man reaches to grab the girl by the hair is all the proof he needs. Shan Yu has seen all he needs to see, snarling as he gathers his personal guard to move on from this ridiculous place.

A howl of agony comes from behind him.

It is not from the girl.

Blood on the ground, blood on delicate hands with orchid-soft fingers, splattering ruby-red droplets everywhere like jewels from the emperor's treasure, and all he hears is this: warrior, warrior, warrior. She is a mighty thing, a wildcat cub struggling to stand up on weak legs, letting blood dribble from her split lip in a way that coats her teeth in red. The blood on the ground, however, isn't hers. His soldier is screaming, holding onto his face and batting wildly at anyone foolish enough to come close; the rest of the villagers are pale and terrified, even more so than before.

"Enough." One word. The chaos stops.

The woman spits her bloody saliva on the ground, viscous and pink against the dirt, and for once Shan Yu is hiding his pleasure rather than the opposite.

His dismount from his horse is slow, enough to buy him a few more moments of thoughtfulness; his personal guard knows not to interfere when it is so. But the other man is not one of his elite warriors - he is foolish, whimpering when told to be quiet, and Shan Yu can do nothing but raise an eyebrow at the meticulously crafted hair pin stuck into his eyeball when his hand moves enough to grant a glimpse at it.

The woman sways. Mulan, he thinks they had called her, and it is not a Hun name but it is much like her - strong, but not unyielding, soft enough to be deceitful. He takes three measured steps in her direction: one, and the villagers flinch back; two, and the child she had protected runs off; three, and there is no one there to hold her steady when she stumbles.

His hands are rough, but he does not let her fall. She is fearful, just like the others, and weak, and soft - there is no muscle tested underneath his hands, no hardness of steel beneath the fabric, no practised courage of a soldier in the way she stands - but there is something there. He can see it. From his shoulder, Hayabusa screeches her loud agreement, making the girl flick her eyes warily towards the falcon before she turns them back wide to meet his.

"You will tell me your name," he drawls, a pleasant smirk in place. "Or I shall only call you 'little Han woman' for as long as you shall live."

Her eyes are metal-cold, metal-harsh, metal-unforgiving. "I am Fa Mulan."

He laughs.

It is not a cheerful sound, and it has been crafted not to be. It's a laugh honed through years of battles and plans, of blood on his sword and of sweat on his horse's back; it is meant to frighten. There is no sound on this village beyond the whimpering of his wounded soldier, and his laughter.

His soldiers know to fear what comes next.

"Fa Mulan," he sneers. There is no forgiveness in his voice. "You have defied my men, and as such you have defied me."

There is a struggle in her gaze, one he has seen too many times in soldiers with far less courage than her. To drop her eyes and plead for mercy, to beg for her family to be spared, or to die with the kind of honor usually reserved only to men?

"Please." Another woman steps forward, silver-haired and hobbling on knobby limbs. "She forgets herself. Please, spare her."

"Are you volunteering in her place, then?" He does not bother to hide his cruel smirk. "She does not seem to be the only one to forget herself."

The old woman hesitates. "If it will spare her-"

"Grandmother, no!" Fa Mulan tries to jerk herself out of his grasp, to throw herself once more in the path of someone's sword. She then turns seething eyes upon him when he holds her in place instead of letting go, hands tight enough to bruise when she struggles. "Do you kill all innocents this easily? Is your honor threatened by so little?"

"Do tell me, Fa Mulan." He leans in close, bending down so there is no escaping his gaze. Her breath comes fast, in short, scared little gasps that have him wondering at how someone can be so brave and so terrified all at once. "Will you hide your eyes when I kill your family for your crimes? Will you bend to your knees and beg for them, knowing I am not a merciful man?"

Her upper lip curls, showing teeth stained with pink. "There is no point to begging if you will kill us anyway."

For a moment, there is nothing but the scent of her blood. His smirk widens, shifting into a fully animalistic grin. Lesser men have cowered.

She does not.

"I can be merciful, Fa Mulan." Her nostrils flare at his words. Afraid, so afraid of him like all wise men, but she does not look away. What a brave little Han, what a jewel he's found in this ridiculous excuse for a village. "So tell me: what are you willing to do to save your family?"

"If you give me your word?" Fa Mulan raises her head, meeting his gaze. "Whatever I must."

He hums in ponderation, studying her features - as if he had not decided this, as if he had not planned for this since the moment he saw her with defiance in her eyes and blood on her hands when no one else would step forth and help.

Shan Yu is extremely satisfied. "Very well. Prepare your things; we'll be leaving soon."

He drops her, letting gravity and the weakness of her limbs do the job of putting her on the ground. She splutters, coughing as the air is forced from her lungs by the impact.

"We?" she asks, disbelieving.

Shan Yu smiles.

It is not nice. Like his laugh, it's not meant to be.

Hayabusa takes flight when he raises his hand, signalling to his troops that this decision is final. "Patch up my soldier before you say your goodbyes, Fa Mulan. You will be coming with us."

He does not bother to look back.