A/N: Originally done as a request, this story is a series of short moments that, together, show the transformation of Zhao Yun and Jiang Wei’s relationship from friendship to romance. The emphasis in this story’s creation was on imagery and emotion, which is why the plot remained extremely simple throughout. In either case—my first time experimenting with this pairing, and though I don’t foresee writing about them again in the near future, I suppose it’s not impossible. This is the last chapter; I hope the story was enjoyable.

Pairing: Zhao Yun x Jiang Wei

Warnings: None.

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Falling Flowers

First Line

There was something dynamic about the face of the moon tonight.

Zhao Yun had always held an appreciation for the night sky, and for the moon especially. The alternating light and dark patches, shining out of the black sky like a mirror losing surface, seemed to him a reflection also of the feelings in his own heart, each delicate shift of emotion playing out on the great white countenance just as clearly.

Nonetheless, this was the first time in the Dragon officer’s memory that the moon had worn a readable expression, the honest curve of mottled shadow turned up at the edge like a secret smile. The full moon was bright enough in the cold, clear air that it almost extinguished the moody gray curled across its surface—but not quite, and the threat of demolition had brought a new intensity to its face, showing the Little Dragon its smile as clearly as if the expression had been drawn with ink.

Then again, perhaps the moon wasn’t truly responsible for the change in its image. Perhaps the clarity of that smile was just another reflection of the man who stood beneath it.

Zhao Yun wasn’t quite smiling, but there was a growing light in his eyes, and it had little to do with the moon, which his restless glance shortly abandoned to the folds of the sky. The renowned general had found something more interesting to look at away to his left, and it was here that his dark gaze settled, following the conversation of the warriors who had gathered at the door to the mess tent in a small, unintentional huddle.

A few of Liu Bei’s finest soldiers were tipping back their flasks and drinking cups, silhouetted against the light of the tent’s jovial interior, and it was the young man at their center who had caught Zhao Yun’s attention, his ponytail tossed by the force of Zhang Fei’s friendly hand on his shoulder. Jiang Wei opened his mouth to speak, but his words were swallowed by another pronouncement from the drunken oath brother, and the strategist pushed them back, too busy keeping him balance to notice the eyes that watched him from across the campground, a chuckle now matching the amused stare.

Zhao Yun leaned back on his heels, silently exploring the feeling that had settled in his chest like windblown flower petals. Every beat of his contented heart seemed to stir the scattered petals a little—or perhaps it wasn’t his pulse that caused the shifting. Perhaps it was a heartbeat a little farther away, though still present in his mind…

“Ah. So that is where my pupil has gone.”

The Dragon officer started a little to find that Shu’s great strategist had appeared beside him, steps all but noiseless in the darkness. Zhao Yun’s bow was abrupt with his surprise, the slight jerk chasing a few words from his lips.

“Lord Zhuge Liang… forgive me. I did not notice you.”

Zhuge Liang’s war fan flickered across his face as though taking the place of his hand in brushing the apology aside, the white feathers radiant with the thick moonlight.

“No harm done, Zhao Yun. Perhaps quite the contrary.”

The Prime Minister’s eyes were deep black behind his unchanging smile, and all of a sudden the moon’s gentle smirk did not seem as welcome to the Little Dragon, bearing such resemblance as it did to Zhuge Liang’s expression.

Unnerved by the other man’s eternally enigmatic mind, Zhao Yun turned back toward the mess tent, his eyes settling once more on the cheerful brigade surrounding his companion. It was left to Zhuge Liang to break the silence, which he did after a minute had passed between them without remark, a chuckle that sounded somehow condescending preceding his words.

“I was a bit concerned at first about his aptitude for life here. But it appears that Jiang Wei has found his place in Shu very well, after all.”

Zhao Yun exhaled softly and a nod went with his breath, the subject of conversation softening his countenance.

“He is certainly a worthy addition to our army. And it seems the generals are rather fond of him as well.”

His comment coincided almost perfectly with Zhang Fei’s half-empty flask of wine spilling all across the young strategist’s shirt, and Zhuge Liang arched a thin eyebrow, his smile seeming to gain an aspect of honest amusement for a moment before secrecy once more shrouded his expression. Zhao Yun chuckled in spite of himself, watching as Jiang Wei tried to stop Zhang Fei’s apologetic hands from making the stain worse, and the Prime Minister tapped his chin, his gaze passing between the young warrior and Liu Bei’s famous Dragon general in equal measure.

“Fond may not be a strong enough word, it would seem. He does suit the ranks impressively, nonetheless. I confess I was not initially convinced that he would prove an asset to the more intellectual side of our endeavor, as he can be unfortunately shy at times. But of course my fears have been laid to rest; he is becoming a remarkable strategist.”

Zhao Yun glanced at the man beside him, trying to decipher the undercurrent of amusement lurking like a shadow beneath the compliment. In the end, he could not establish its cause, and settled for a reply, sending the man a shallow bow in conjunction with his words.

“I am sure his advancement stems from your instruction, Zhuge Liang.”

Zhuge Liang only tipped his head, black hair flickering down his back like a restless sheet of silk. “Not at all, Zhao Yun. He is as much indebted to you, for taking him under your wing all this time.”

This time the Dragon officer couldn’t help his smile, any more than he could help the brightness of his eyes as he glanced back to the wine-washed warrior before them. Zhao Yun shook his head, watching the commotion with a sigh.

“In truth, he’s had little need of me, Prime Minister. Most of his skills were only lacking confidence when he came. There’s been very little for me to give him.”

“Oh? And here I thought he went to you for everything.”

A chill made its way down Zhao Yun’s spine, and he straightened in his stance, eyes narrowing as they came back to the strategist’s patient face. Something about the man’s expression, now just one shade shy of an outright smirk, set the flower petals in the Dragon officer’s chest swirling again, and his pulse increased with them, louder in his wary ears than it had been before.

“What are you talking about?” Zhao Yun asked at last, receiving one softly lifted shoulder in response.

“Nothing of particular importance, Lord Zhao Yun. Only the… shall we say… closer association Jiang Wei has developed with you than with any of the other warriors.”

Now the general could feel that all his muscles had gone tight, sharply at attention as though Zhuge Liang had looked ready to strike him with a hand instead of his voice. Zhao Yun turned to face the other man fully, losing sight of the mess tent crowd with his pivot, and the Prime Minister’s fan shot to his lips at the sudden motion, mocking surprise as effectively as his face.

“My, my… you will have to forgive me. I certainly had no intention of startling you.”

The Dragon officer frowned, listening more closely to the strategist’s tone than his to words. There was a kind of laughter in Zhuge Liang’s steady voice, but it was not open, genial laughter—rather, the manner of laugh that was suited only to dark places, when there was no one around to hear it. The impression hardened Zhao Yun’s features, and he watched his comrade’s face with stern focus, trying to gauge the level of threat in Zhuge Liang’s quirked lips.

How long had the Prime Minister known? And how had he come to his conclusions in the first place? There was no denying the man’s sharp mind, but to make such a drastic assumption with so little information…

Zhuge Liang’s eyebrows rose slowly in his face, though to Zhao Yun’s gaze the change did not make his countenance more pleasant.

“Well… I see that I am no longer welcome to your company. That being the case, I will take my leave of you, General.”

The Prime Minister stepped back a pace and turned toward the tents, but he paused there, his fan slipping just far enough down his face to reveal a deepening smirk.

“Before I go, however… I may as well inform you how futile it is to try to hide things from me, and advise you against doing so in the future. I suppose for now I shall keep my knowledge of these matters a secret, as I see no particular advantage to revealing them… of course, I make no promises as to my future endeavors. Do sleep well, Zilong.”

And with that he was gone, sliding between the barrack tents and the supply crates with a grace that defied his measured footsteps.

Zhao Yun watched his departure with the same guarded frown, listening to his quickened pulse against the skin of his ears and slowly releasing the fists that his hands had wound themselves into. The echo of Zhuge Liang’s words, inaudible to all but the general, prickled the back of his neck long after the man himself had disappeared, and whatever sense of peace had captivated the Little Dragon before had vanished as well, leaving the flower petals unsettled inside of him.

Zhao Yun glanced back to the mess tent. Jiang Wei was gone, no doubt released to change out of his accident-stained shirt. The disquiet in his heart rose up once again, and without forethought the Dragon officer found that he was moving, his pace increasing as he moved into the forest of scattered tents on all sides.

He did not look up at Zhang Fei’s shout of greeting. He didn’t stop to apologize to the soldier whose shoulder he bumped as he moved east through the camp. In truth, the general neither heard nor saw anything until he reached the front of Jiang Wei’s tent, and there he paused only long enough to thrust the flap aside, stepping uninvited into the quiet lamplight.

His abrupt entrance startled the young strategist, who had just finished pulling a clean garment over his head and was still smoothing it down. Jiang Wei’s hands leapt into a defensive position, and then relaxed with his exhale, confusion replacing surprise in coloring his smooth features.

“Zilong, you startled me. Is something wrong?”

Zhao Yun chose not to answer with his words, instead closing the distance between them and pulling the younger man without warning against his chest. Jiang Wei stiffened a little at the sudden embrace, and for a moment his hands were tight in the Dragon officer’s shirt. But Zhao Yun was conscious only his heartbeat, strong and vibrant through the fabric of their clothes. The feeling alone sustained him until the young warrior calmed down enough to press his face against the general’s neck, whispering to match the silence that surrounded them.

“Has something happened, Zilong?”

His voice was more urgent this time, in spite its softness, and his fingers tensed with the question. Zhao Yun shook his head in return, smoothing Jiang Wei’s hair down against his back.

“No. Only I… I want to stay here for a moment. Just a moment, Boyue—you have my word.”

Jiang Wei shifted in his arms, and the Little Dragon could feel the movement all through his companion’s body, close enough that they might have shared one heartbeat without noticing the loss of the other. The young strategist sighed, his hands tangling absently into the general’s long ponytail.

“Why here?” he asked, his voice soft like falling flowers. Zhao Yun shook his head.

“Everywhere but here, there is the world,” he replied. “And the world will stand between you and I, if we let it.”

Jiang Wei was silent for a long time—long enough that Zhao Yun’s hands began to move over his back, brushing indefinite circles into his loose-hanging shirt. The fabric sliding across his skin made the Dragon officer’s fingertips tingle, as though they had become raw with the slight contact alone. At last the young strategist stepped back far enough to look up at him, curious fingers rising to trace Zhao Yun’s lips.

“Why stay only a moment, then? Why not stay for a lifetime?”

The Little Dragon smiled. “I fear you may tire of me before then, Boyue.” Jiang Wei opened his mouth to protest, but a hand stopped him, light as the chuckle falling from Zhao Yun’s lips. “And in any case, do they not expect you back as soon as you’ve found a clean shirt? I would hate to intrude upon your celebration.”

Jiang Wei considered for a moment, his intelligent gaze soaking in the shadows. Then the young warrior wrapped his fingers between the general’s and leaned up to press their foreheads together, his breath a soft wind against his companion’s face.

“Would you go with me, then, Zilong? Back into the world?”

Zhao Yun laughed.

“If I were at your side, even the world might become bearable.”

Jiang Wei returned his smile, his eyes shining now under the lamp’s unsteady influence. His hand left Zhao Yun’s when they crossed the night’s threshold, but the warmth it imparted lingered there far longer, knitting into the general’s soul as the young man’s heartbeat had already done. Zhao Yun looked up at the brilliant moon, and back to the warrior beside him, and found that his earlier statement might need amending, if the brush of soft petals within his heart could be trusted.

Perhaps the world had the potential to be more than bearable, after all. Perhaps, in the right company, it could even be beautiful.

The End