Work Text:
Wentai lay awake in the general’s tent. He felt the urge to take a walk. If not to clear his mind, then just to marvel at the stars dotting the vast nocturnal sky.
Yet the desert night was bitterly cold, so he stayed.
They always told him to cosy up with his commanding officers, even if he was a prince.
Arrogance does one no favours, they said.
But he wasn’t quite sure they had sleeping with them in mind, he pondered looking at Mulan; fast asleep.
Regardless, it wasn’t like they were doing anything other than sleeping. The wind blew around grains of sand and the Rouran roamed freely.
He snuggled closer to her. She smelled bad, of sweat and blood. But it was her sweat, and someone else’s blood – and that’s all that mattered.