fic: Empires Rise and Fall
Contempt loves the silence
It thrives in the dark
With fine winding tendrils
-
Science suggests the existence of parallel universes, universes that formed due to decisions not taken and ideas not pursued. Further theories suggests that there may be thousands if not hundreds of thousands of such universe, each one dramatizing the effects of one’s decision should they executed them, should they have taken them, should they have used them.
Such universes also accommodate the lives that one would have lived had they been born differently in a different family, or even in a different time. The universe might not need to be exactly the same as the ones we (assume) to be living in, it could be as different as a moth to a butterfly. Countries that perished in our universe might still flourish there, empires that fell might still reign there.
Seungri believes that he might have belonged to such universe.
A universe where there were grand parties and elegant dresses with beautiful palaces.
Where there were throne rooms and luxurious crowns to match the expensive imperial garbs.
Where he was loved unconditionally by all, looked up to by young boys and envied by young men.
Because in that universe he was royalty.
Because in that universe, he had been an Imperial Prince of his country.
--
“Hyung, Hyung, look at this!” Seungri grinned as he passed over his laptop to Jiyong. The device glowed in the dark of his hyung’s room, lighting up the older’s face as he frowned at the screen. “Pretty cool, huh?”
“Schrödinger's cat?” Jiyong scoffed as he stuttered to pronounce the term. “What the hell did Seunghyunnie-hyung gave you magnae?”
“He didn’t give me anything!” Seungri pouted as fingers gripped a little too tightly at the edges of the laptop. Outside the snow fell in a silver storm, hitting the window with a soft sigh as jack frost makes his wicked pattern on the glass. “I just thought it’s interesting.”
“Why?” a wicked grin. “Because you think you could be better in another universe? Because lemme tell you my Seungri, that if that’s true then fuck it all I’d trade you in for that Seungri.”
Seungri stared and he stared and he stared at his hyung who dove right back to his work, ignoring the magnae and his laptop. The words pierced, it did, it really did. But by then he was so used to Jiyong’s words that he just didn’t give a damn at all.
No,
(knuckles white, breathing shallows)
Not at all.
--
Seungri lies down on his old nursery room’s floor, plush red carpet swallowing his skinny frame with scents of peppermint the maids used to clean the room. His white imperial navy garb shifted and crinkled as he moved, and the sounds that his medals and pins made sounded like the clatter of empty bullets that fell to the ground whenever his papa brought him to the royal guards’ shooting range.
The afternoon sun streamed through the stained-glass windows, casting a colorful glow into the room and bathed Seungri in the colors of his flag; colors of blood and war from the western empire and colors of gold and silks from the eastern empire. He sighed, hands outstretched and fingers grabbing at the red strands, making the crown of the Prince rolled over the side in all of its golden glory.
Good riddance, he thought.
He never really liked the weight of the crown on his head.
The young royal tensed when the sounds of the door opened and closed reverberated in the empty room, disturbing the floating, glittering particles that settled on the cashmere cushions and mahogany-carved toy soldiers aligned in battle. Footsteps muffled by the carpet made itself known as the intruder settled themselves on the mounds of down pillows right above Seungri’s head.
“Who says you can sit higher than the Crown Prince?”
“Who says that the Crown Prince can boss me around?”
“The constitution does and failure to comply is punishable by death.”
“And where does the constitution say that it applies to me?”
“When it states that anyone born beneath and outside the House of - -are bounded by the constitution to abide by what the Prince says.”
“Oh shut it.” The stranger chuckled as he slide down, down, down and aligned his body with the young royal’s. “I saw the book that you were reading earlier.”
“What about it?”
“It’s absurd.” The stranger -boy- spat as he looped his arms beneath his head, perfectly pinned medals askew. “How can there be more than one universe? How can I be anything other than a Duke?”
“Well,” Seungri hummed, his mind working in fast motions as he absorbed the warmth of the body pressed against his. “You could be a poet…or a singer, perhaps.” He shrugged. “Anything is better than a Duke, really. Besides, your nickname is ridiculous.”
“It is not ridiculous, thank you. I find the name Dragon Duke as most appropriate.” The boy huffed, shoulders touched as he wiggled closer. “Grand Duke Jiyong is a mouthful anyway. And it sounds weird. Dragon Duke.. now that on the other hand is-“
“Stupid?”
“Marvelous.”
--
Seungri wonders sometimes if Jiyong gets the same dreams that he has, the same images that he sees. He wonders if his hyung could sometimes smell the peppermint when they step into the padded recording room or hears the jingle of medals clashing together in the dressing room. Seungri is divided as he thinks of the dreams and the meanings they bring.
He’s excited when he thinks of the grandeur that this other Seungri lives in, is jealous of all the love and attention that this Seungri receives from his people and his family for being the heir to something magnificent.
But beneath all that, he’s afraid. He’s afraid for this Seungri not because empires rise and fall and royal families revered and slaughtered, no. He’s afraid for this Seungri because if this Seungri is anything like he is, then he fears that this Seungri would fall. He would fall for this young Duke and everything would end.
Because falling for Jiyong, this one or the other, is anyone’s downfall.
--
The prince dreams of curiously padded rooms filled with contraptions that records music (loud, loud music that teases his body to move) and of mirrored rooms where he can see himself dancing to music that he does not understand. He dreams of a boy that looks so much like his Duke cousin with the same sharp eyes and beautiful bones, even the deep baritone was the same. He dreams also of another boy, a boy who looks so much and sounds so much like Jiyong that it scares him.
Sometimes, when he stands between the dream and reality, he sees another him. Another him who is just as cocky, just as confident, but perhaps a little more fragile and a little more cracked at the edges. He sees the boy as he lives his life centered around the other Jiyong. He sees it all and he worries for the boy.
Does he know?
Does he know his downfall is near?
“Seungri, the Emperor wants to see-what in blazes are you doing leaning over the edge like that?!”
“Nothing, Jiyong.” Seungri grinned as he stepped off the golden ledge of palace’s rooftop. “Just thinking.”
--
There was this one night where Seungri climbs over the ledge of the YG building, legs apart and eyes looking forward at the Seoul night lights. His iPod blasting through his ears as the sounds of a piano medley filled him to the brim, taking him someplace other than the bustling city where he was the best without even trying.
Lies. I try everyday.
Seungri grinned as he tiptoed the ledge, hands out stretched like a scarecrow as he hummed the tune. His mind wandered to far off places and to strange lands where everything was wonderful and where all the Jiyongs in the world loved him so much that his heart would burst and the crystals would rained over the cities while the choir sings and-
He doesn’t. I think he wishes that he does, but he doesn’t.
--and everything wasn’t as complicated where there wasn’t any anti-fans criticizing him (always criticizing) and where there wasn’t any whispers of how he shouldn’t be in Big Bang, how Hyunseung should have been the one to stay even though it was so long ago but people just never learn to let go and it hurts-
They think I should abdicate the throne. They think my bastard brother should be the one to inherit the throne even though he doesn’t want to.
--and it hurts so bad that nothing he ever does is enough to impress the board or the fans or the anti fans or Jiyong. And it hurts so much more that he isn’t enough to impress the leader even though he bled and he cried and he sang himself hoarse in that room, but it just never cuts it for Jiyong, it’s just never-
The Dragon thinks I’m too soft and foolish to rule. He says that the empire might fall because of me, that my people would die for my mistakes. The Dragon thinks a lot of things about me, but he never thought of me.
--ever enough for the GDragon and his wonderful, beautiful mind. Times like these, Seungri would stop and stand still, hoping that the wind would somehow tilt him to the other side where he would fall fall fall fall and disappear in a cloud of smoke (or a large splatter of vermillion).
“YAH MAGNAE! WHAT THE FUCK?!”
--
Seungri thinks that the authors that his papa deemed as foolish dreamers are right in so many ways. He realizes that being alone in a crowd does not only happen in leather bound books custom made and shipped from far off land in language that he studied day and night to learn. He realizes that yes, being alone in a crowd is very much possible. And yes, being alone in a crowd even when you have someone that you lovehatelove stand so close beside you is a lot worse.
He does that too. He likes to keep me close, but he’s never there.
The Crown Prince smiles and he laughs and he dances with the pretty princesses from land this and that and flirts with Duchesses from province so and so. He drinks and he jokes, he sits on his throne and listens to his ministers. He does all that in this crowd of glittering jewels and grand titles surrounded by these blue bloods but he feels alone-
I never liked launching parties. I feel like I have to pretend to fit in someplace that I’m supposed to belong.
--so very very alone and although Jiyong would always be by his side, whispering hints and gossips to cater to these vultures of men, he would still feel like he does not belong because he dreams of somewhere where he is free of this burden, where he does not need to think about the poverty that hit the northwest of his empire nor about the enemies pushing his borders in the southeast. And it makes him feel trapped, so so-
There’s so many people to please here. Too many people to suck up to and make sure they write nice things because if they don’t then Jiyong would be angry with me because HyunSuk would be angry at him. I can’t escape.
--very trapped that it’s almost like suffocating on dry land with his crisp white collar choking him and the golden sash that he wears across the shoulders to his waist tightened around him like a python’s grip. He would sometimes try to hold on to Jiyong’s sleeve, but his papa would glare at him and Jiyong would pull away with a grimace and he would be so lost amidst the crowd with a crown on top of his head-
Youngbae-hyung tries to help sometimes. And Daesung would try to be funny so no one would notice me being all lost, and Seunghyun-hyung would try to usher me to the quiet areas because I can’t breathe. But Jiyong would just come and shove me back into the crowd.
--like a bullseye. And sometimes he wishes and wishes that the revolutionists would break in or sneak in and just shoot him. Shoot him shoot him shoot him and let him die.
Let him bleed his blue blood.
¬--
Seungri feels the adrenaline coursing through his veins as he danced and he sang and he smiled, the spotlight so big so bright shone upon him like a holy light from the skies, studio roof parted just so he can shine and shine and shine and be loved by many. The backup dancers were like sprites and wondrous creatures from Alice’s Wonderland and he is the White Rabbit, leading them on to impress and dazzle the mortals that reaches out to touch them, feel them, love them.
The stage feels like a King’s throne or podium or balcony or whatever it is that Kings stands on when they address their people and soak in their admiration, witness their eyes shine in the glory of his royal presence, like Arthur who leads his people to victory.
How appropriate.
Victory.
When he wins that award and his peers (who condemned who whispered who despised who stabs) cheered him on, touching him, congratulating him, loving him, he feels that he is finally enough. He feels that he is nothing less than magnificent. He no longer feels worthless and meaningless and invisible to all even when he stands so close, so tall and screaming screaming screaming to be heard.
He feels the warmth of Jiyong pressing against his body amidst the roaring crowd with Seunghyun-hyung holding his hand up high, the trophy glittering in the spotlight and showered in confetti. He smells the peppermint (peppermint?!) in Jiyong’s breath as he whispered his congratulations carefully, letting his lips brush slightly against Seungri’s as if taunting the world with his impertinence.
Finally, finally, finally.
Lee Seungri of Big Bang rises.
--
The young prince feels the warmth of his winter cloak engulf him as he walked, head held high, dignity shone to perfection and the strength of his presence spread throughout the crowd, warming them despite the winter wind. The people that followed him in a neat line were his sheep and he is the shepherd, leading them to the way of victory, where true victory lies.
They took off his cloak and bowed, though hesitantly as he ascended the podium with a smile on his face and serenity in his eyes. The coattails of his white dress uniform flew haphazardly in the strong wind as his shoes made the only noise in the crowd, a steady click clack click clack as he walked to his destiny. He can hear the flags whipping in the wind and he feels proud, so proud to stand where he stood, to walk where he walked.
When he reached that final destination, he feels a surge of warmth and satisfaction as he realizes that yes, he is here. Yes, he is finally here to ascend to a higher throne, to where he is loved and cherished and relied upon to survive. He feels victorious as he takes those final steps.
Those final steps to the guillotine.
As he kneels and placed his head upon the wood, he sees Jiyong cloaked but shaking violently as he sat atop his giant black horse with Seungri’s crown adorning his head, surrounded by members of Seungri’s court. Amidst the quiet sobs of his people (they still loved him, he thought) and the soft murmuring of the priests, Seungri is at peace with himself.
Finally, finally, finally.
The revolutionists won.
And the Crown Prince falls.
--
Parallel universe is a mere theory, still.
But Seungri liked to think that there are such universes out there, undiscovered and hidden away from mortal eyes. He liked to think that there’s another him out there, another him who lived a life of royalty and grandeur and title with Dukes to play with and silver blades to end lives.
Sometimes he thinks that he is that boy who was a prince.
That he is that boy who loved his papa and was loved by his people.
That he is that boy who lets his stare linger a little too long on his Duke friend and who allows the Dragon to burn his skin with his touches.
That he is the boy who died at the guillotine so that his Dragon may reign.
He feels sorry.
But empires rise and fall just as little Seungris do.
--
AN: I imagine the Crown Prince's imperial uniform -or whatever you call it- as something like Prince Albert's wedding outfit in the Young Victoria, only in white. It looks something like this and I think it would be appropriate if the Duke's outfit is black to reflect the Prince's.
AN2: And this is for justcallmepriya because i've been rambling about writing a GRi but never actually got around toR do it. TROLOLOLO~~