A Birth of a Song 1/2
Title: A Birth of A Song
Pairing: Junmyeon/Kyungsoo, Junmyeon/Luhan, Minseok/Sehun, Yifan/Yixing, Han Geng/Victoria.
Rating: R (for violence).
Warnings: Blood, violence, vomit, brutality.
Word Count: 14,5k.
Disclaimer: I do not own ASOIAF, or any of the characters mentioned. I just wrote this.
Summary: A Song of Ice and Fire/Game of Thrones AU! House Baratheon is ruling Westeros, but a group of rebels lurk in the shadows, wanting nothing more than to get rid of them all.
A/N: Written for capsandpizzas, here George Raymond Richard Martin, thank you for writing the ASOIAF-series. I am deeply sorry for ruining it. It's more Junmyeon-centric than actually sudi, I'm sorry. Here's a convenient map of Westeros. Mari and Jenn, thanks for reading through this. You are my angels ;; Just to clear things up: Yien is Mark Tuan from GOT7, Yiyun and Qian are Amber and Victoria from f(x), respectively. Title comes from 30 Seconds To Mars's song "Closer to the Edge".
Junmyeon keeps an eye on his father as he gets out of his seat, soundlessly, like a cat. They're outside, for once, celebrating his older brother's twentieth name day, by inviting everyone and anyone that was something of even remotedly importance in Westeros.
His father is sitting next to someone Junmyeon recognizes as the head of House Lannister. Junmyeon doesn't remember his name, but he could probably pick him out anywhere. He was his father's closest confidant. Not that his father ever confides in anyone. The Lannister is the closest thing he has. More often than not, Lannister is visiting King's Landing when they're planning attacks, wars on other Houses. Westeros has been in something akin to Peace for a good decade now, save for the rebellion currently going on.
They don't speak of it.
Junmyeon dives behind a particularly fat lord from one of the southern houses and is unable to keep track of his father with his gaze. Junmyeon doesn't think he noticed him leaving. He never notices Junmyeon. Save for the one time when Junmyeon broke a particularly expensive vase.
He never lets him hear the end of that.
It's summer, hot but not to the point where Junmyeon's sweating. He's perfectly comfortable wearing thin cotton breaches, brown leather boots, a thin cotton shirt and a nice, navy silk vest.
His father had the servants preparing wide sheets out of some waterproof material to tie in the trees in case of rain. Luckily they hadn't needed to use them. The day had been sunny, warm, with cloud free, blue skies. The sun is close to setting now, the skies still bright but the sun was moving closer to the horizon with every second.
Junmyeon wants to experience summers in the North. His brother had once told him that the sun never set in the North during summer. "It's called midnight sun, Junmyeon," he remember his brother telling him, stroking his hair as Junmyeon had watched him with big, bright eyes. It was Junmyeon's sixth summer, and he and his brothers had celebrated it by going fishing. They had taken their horses and been gone for two weeks.
It was one of Junmyeon's fondest, most treasured memories.
The crowd thins out, as Junmyeon dodges left and right, politely stopping to bow, greet high ranked generals from his father's army. It does take him some time, but he makes it out. He keeps walking for another minute or so, away from the other guests until he makes it to the viewing spot, where he stops. Softly, he inhales, exhales, taking in the sweet summer night air, smelling like lilac trees and grass.
And for the first time that evening, Junmyeon relaxes. From his place at the peak, he can see down on the streets of King's Landing. There are still people walking in the streets, Junmyeon can see them, but just barely. They look like little dolls, reminding him of the dolls Lady Soojung used to play with when she was visiting when she was younger. She used to force Junmyeon to play with her, or else she'd tell her mother that Junmyeon was treating her badly.
Junmyeon has received his fair share of beatings for things he hadn't done.
With a soft sigh, he turns his back on the city, settling against the marble railings as he looks over the vast area of grass presented to him. He's somewhat hidden from the eyes of the guests at this place. He can see them, but no one can spot him unless they know exactly where to look. Most of them are still seated, eating and drinking as if they're getting rewarded for it.
The servants are trickling out of the castle, smartly dressed in dark clothes to prevent attention to be drawn towards them, slipping between the guests, almost invisible as they start lighting the candles, lanterns. Their timing is impeccable as always. Junmyeon is impressed.
Junmyeon tilts his head backwards, closing his eyes. His body is still sore, stiff from the sword dancing lecture he had yesterday. His maester was brilliant, but merciless, even more so towards Junmyeon.
His brothers were both men grown and had done great deeds out on the battlefield after their sixteenth name days. Such things were expected of Junmyeon too. Or that was at least expected by the public, and the rest of his family.
His father, the king, didn't expect anything from Junmyeon.
Junmyeon knows, he’d overheard a conversation between two chamber maids, that if it hadn't been for his dead mother's last wish, his father would have sent him off somewhere to be a page or a squire. For some reason that both pleases and displeases him.
While King's Landing is his home, the place he grew up, there's still a part of Junmyeon that wants to discover, see new places. He wants to travel, like his brothers have done before him. While he's grateful for the safe, nurturing environmen King's Landing has provided for him during his childhood years, Junmyeon is tired of it.
A man grown, he celebrated his sixteenth name day the summer before, and with his seveneenth name day approaching fast, Junmyeon still feels like he's going nowhere, fast. His father has shrugged him off, gruffly saying something along the lines of you'll have to wait,", "what are you going to do out there? and "i'm not sending you off just so you can make a fool of your House,".
See, Junmyeon has no real interest in fighting. He's glad his brothers are so skilled in the arts of sword and combat, defending King's Landing and House Baratheon from outside threats. But that's just not Junmyeon.
His father's words speak some truth, because Junmyeon has no idea what he wants to do out there. He has no plan, no idea, nothing wise he wants to fulfill, nothing.
But Junmyeon wants out.
No one is expecting anything of him. He's just the youngest son of the King. Just the youngest Baratheon in King's Landing, third line to the throne. With two brothers as great and skilled as Junmyeon's, Junmyeon will never be king. It's not something he wants either. He might have played with the idea of ruling Westeros when he was a child, seated on the Iron Throne with his wooden sword and paper crown. It was a child's dreams. Junmyeon isn't a child anymore.
Nobody sees that.
"Copper for your thoughts, my lord," comes a soft voice from somewhere to Junmyeon's left. Junmyeon doesn't have to look for long. In his ivory white robes, Luhan is really easy to spot in the green garden. His robes are a contrast against the black ones that the servants use. It's intentional of course. Luhan is no servant, at least not the regular kind.
As Luhan approaches, Junmyeon notices how Luhan's already pretty, cherubic face is enchanted with delicate lines of gold around his eyes. His long eyelashes are darker, cheekbones more marked and lips fuller. His blond hair looks like liquid gold akin to a halo encircling Luhan's face.
The white robe, complete with a golden belt tightened around the waist flows around Luhan's legs as he walks. The sleeves go down to Luhan's elbow, robe cut off just above his knees in the front, longer in the back. It's standard for the palace's pleasure slaves to wear white. Junmyeon knows it's so they are easily spotted amongst all the earthy colors inside the castle. Most of the pleasure slaves wear some kind of undergarment, however it's easy to see that Luhan is not. His dark, pebbled nipples and soft curls between his legs are easy tell-tale sign. Luhan holds himself with a grace that on him often looks like pride. A pride many royals lack.
Luhan knows he's good at what he does.
"Aren't my thoughts worth more than copper to you?" Junmyeon asks idly as Luhan comes to stand next to him, their arms barely brushing through the cotton and silk. From the corner of his eye, Junmyeon can see Luhan smiling coyly, eyelashes fluttering as he looks up at Junmyeon.
They are almost equal in height, so for Luhan to look up at Junmyeon, he's bending his knees, doing everything by the book to look smaller, cuter. Junmyeon watches lazily as Luhan laughs, a soft, yet unnatural, rehearsed laugh that trills out of his mouth like honey. As he does this, he leans forward, knowing that it will make the front of his robe dip, exposing honey skin to Junmyeon's eyes.
Like a present that will unwrap itself.
"Drop the act Lu," Junmyeon says, turning his torso to be able to look at Luhan without pulling a vein in his neck, or torment his sore muscles further. Luhan's smile remains, but he straightens his knees, getting back to his full height, leaning back against the rail.
"You're no fun," Luhan pouts, lips shiny in the yellow light from the lanterns.
"I suppose not," Junmyeon says, shrugging. Luhan chuckles.
They have basically grown up together. Luhan came to King's Landing just after his fifth name day. He had been a choir boy back then, living in the Sept with his fellow brothers. Junmyeon remember running into him during a service when he was seven, Luhan had been eight. The two had bonded immediately despite their social differences.
When Luhan had came off age, he was no longer fit to be a choir boy due to his darker voice and was promptly thrown out. Luhan had been facing a dark future, living in the streets, but luckily (depending on who you asked), the person responsible for the servants in the palace managed to find him and brought him to the castle.
Junmyeon isn't sure of the finer details, but he knows that Luhan first was a kitchen helper, then a garden helper, but apparently he was too clumsy for either so they sent him away. Junmyeon had been devestated when it happened, but his brothers had reassured him that Luhan was doing fine wherever he was.
Luhan returned a year and a half later, in Junmyeon's 15th year, as a completely different person. He was confident, practically radiating of self-esteem. And he was beautiful, gorgeous. So gorgeous. Luhan always had been, but the year he had been away had really changed him.
It wasn't until some weeks later that Junmyeon learned that Luhan had become a pleasure slave. Still belonging to the castle, but he could technically be used by whoever. Junmyeon remembers crying. A lot. He had been so upset, so sad that his best friend had become a pleasure slave, someone to be used for other people's pleasure. Junmyeon had yelled at his father, at the servant keeper, at everyone he could think of.
It had broken his heart.
One night Luhan had come to him, clad in the very same outfit he is wearing now. Junmyeon remembers that he thought Luhan looked like an angel. Smelling clean, like soap; lavender, Luhan had settled down on Junmyeon's bed, hands running through Junmyeon's hair, nails scratching carefully at his scalp.
For a long time he had remained there, doing nothing but petting Junmyeon's hair, occasionally humming soft tones under his breath. It had been Junmyeon who had spoken first, voice cracked from hours of crying.
"I'm sorry. I couldn't save you," Junmyeon had spoken into his pillow. Luhan had been there at once, pulling him out from the comfort of his blankets, pulling Junmyeon into his arms, hugging him fiercely.
"I am already saved, Junmyeon. Thank you."
Things had changed, Luhan wasn't free to run around with Junmyeon on the castle grounds anymore, and it was weird, is still is weird to see Luhan on the arm of some lord or lady visiting, joining them back to their chambers. Junmyeon has gotten slightly more used to it, but he doesn't think he'll ever get used to the fact that his best friend is a pleasure slave, and okay with it.
"It's no fun talking to you anymore," Luhan pouts, resting his chin on Junmyeon's shoulder, pulling him out of the depths of his mind.
"Sorry, I'm a bit out of it today,"
"You're always out of it, Junmyeon," Luhan says smugly, eyes gleaming with mischief as he looks up from where he's perched on Junmyeon's shoulder.
Junmyeon settles for rolling his eyes at Luhan.
Ideally, Junmyeon should be mingling with the masses, guests, charming lords and ladies out of their skin. He knows his father would prefer that to him standing in quite plain sight, talking to a pleasure slave. There's always a point with these big festivities. Yes, they're there to celebrate his brother's name day, but they're also there to find and form alliances, friendships and most importantly: find a future companion for the three Baratheon princes.
Junmyeon doesn't have the same pressure as his older brother, or even his second older brother because both of them would be king before him. Besides, they're a couple of years older, have been of age for much longer than Junmyeon. Of course, nothing would please his father more if all three of them found suitable future partners this very night.
Their partners should be girls, seeing as they (or at least his oldest brother, Junhyung, were to keep the line of House Baratheon filled with kids, making sure it would live on) should have kids, but again, Junmyeon didn't feel that pressure. Yet.
"The news from some of the chamber maids is that the King want Junhyung to marry the youngest Bolton girl," Luhan says, whispers into Junmyeon's ear. Luhan's breath smells sweet, like cakes.
"Well strategically it would be a smart match," Junmyeon notes idly, eyes hazed, not paying attention to anything in particular as he feels the exhaustion, sleepiness settle in his bones. Usually, when there was a party, his father would show some lenience and let him and his brothers rest, cutting their practice hours short. He hadn't done it this time and Junmyeon had still had his fighting and sword dancing lessons as usual.
"Of course it's a smart match, it's just that the poor Bolton girl is just a little short of being insane!" Luhan exclaims, grabbing Junmyeon's upper arm with his hand, squeezing. "No one can blame her though. Growing up in that environment would drive anyone out of their minds. You know what they say about House Bolton, hmm?"
When Junmyeon doesn't answer, Luhan puffs his cheeks, looking ten years younger, punching Junmyeon's shoulder with a strength that is a soldier worthy. There will probably be a bruise, Junmyeon thinks as he looks at Luhan who has released his arms, standing a couple of meters in front of Junmyeon now.
"Since you obviously have more important things on your mind today, Lord Junmyeon, I'll find someone who has time to, ah, listen to me," Luhan drawls, his voice back to the soft voice that Junmyeon calls pleasure-voice. It still sounds like Luhan's regular one, but with a softer timbre and a slightly higher pitch.
Junmyeon finds himself grinning at Luhan's words, swallowing a laugh as Luhan sashays away from him. "Please don't be mad at me," Junmyeon pouts, pretends.
Luhan pauses and looks at Junmyeon over his shoulder. The smile, the grin that splays out on Luhan's face makes Junmyeon feel light, happy. Promptly, Luhan turns on his heels, striding over to Junmyeon, and coming to a halt in front of him.
Junmyeon barely has the time to bask in Luhan's beauty; the curve of his eyelashes, and the healthy blush on his cheeks, before Luhan leans in, in one smooth movement, and kisses him. Two soft palms find Junmyeon's cheeks, tilting his head slightly to make the kiss deeper. With practiced ease, Junmyeon finds Luhan's hips, letting his hands settle there.
A part of Junmyeon's brain tells him that they're too exposed, to vulnerable to the rest of the world, as they stand here like this, but Junmyeon doesn't mind. Not really.
They have been doing this for a while, Junmyeon and Luhan. They're not dating of course, can't be. Junmyeon has never courted Luhan, nor is he planning to do so. Firstly it would freak his father out to no end, secondly, Luhan is a pleasure slave. Technically, he is not allowed to marry, date or even be courted.
It happens occasionally that a lord, or a lady, got attached to a pleasure slave in particular and asked for permission to buy them from the palace's keeper. It had never happened as far as Junmyeon could remember, but his second oldest brother, Jungmo had told him about a pleasure slave named Taekwoon who had been bought by one of the lords from Dorne. A pleasure slave cost huge amounts of money, nothing the common folk of King's Landing could buy, even if they saved up their money all year. They were something for royals, the rich.
The castle now has about thirty pleasure slavess in their care, to be used at their disposal, and also for their guests. Which was probably why Luhan is out tonight, looking like personified moonlight. Junmyeon shudders.
"Are you cold?" Luhan asks against Junmyeon's lips, remaining connected for another moment before pulling away. A warm, fond smile rests on Luhan's lips. Junmyeon can't not smile back.
"No, I'm not cold, just tired I guess," Junmyeon murmurs softly, reaching forward to touch Luhan's red, kiss-swollen lips. His heart tumbles.
"Well, unless you plan on wooing someone tonight, I think it would be fine if you went to bed now. It's almost midnight anyway." Junmyeon watches as Luhan's mouth shapes around the words, is so occupied with the way his mouth puckers that he barely pays attention to what Luhan is saying.
It gains him another punch to his shoulder. Yes, it will surely bruise. Junmyeon pouts.
Luhan rolls his eyes fondly, pats Junmyeon's cheek. "Good night, Lord Junmyeon," he says, finalizes before he leans forward to press another kiss against Junmyeon's mouth, lingering briefly before he's gone.
Soojung calls it a crush. Luhan calls it fondness, while Junmyeon himself isn't sure what it is he feels for Luhan. It could be a crush, but it could also just be fondness, devotion to, for a beloved friend. Junmyeon doesn't want to think more about it. Instead he settles for watching how Luhan practically glows under the moonlight, the white of his robe making him look like a walking dream.
He's not sure how long he lingers, but after a while, Luhan's suggestion about going to bed sounds nicer than going back to the party to drink and mingle with the guests that, no doubt, are a little too drunk for midnight.
The castle is dark, silent. There are torches on the walls, but not as many as there would be if there were people inside. But Junmyeon has walked the halls of this castle all his life, and he could probably find his way even if it had been pitch dark.
The sound of Junmyeon's shoes on the marble floor echoes off the wall, and rings down the long, empty corridor. It feels uncommon, for Junmyeon, that the castle is as silent as it is. Usually it's bustling with life - despite its size you're never really alone while walking down the halls.
However, now that everybody, both living and working in the castle, is outside in the summer night, Junmyeon is probably the closest to alone he ever has been while trudging down the long corridors.
His bedroom is in another part of the castle, in one of the western towers. It takes some time to get there, since he’s walking from the gardens. Throughout the years, Junmyeon has discovered multiple shortcuts to his bedroom. Some aren't necessarily shortcuts, adding both five and ten minutes to the walking time, but they do make the route more interesting. He also knows a couple of actual short cuts, saving him up to six minutes.
He settles for one of the interesting ones that lets him walk underground, close to the kitchen and the dragon skeletons. When he was a child he had been terrified of the dragon cellar, but now he found them interesting. Usually there never were torches down there, seeing as no servant took the time to walk all the way down there. It was a route that wasn't used much, due to the dragon skeletons.
About half-way to his chambers, Junmyeon suddenly notices a soft, sore sound playing in the air, hiding in the shadow of the sound of his footsteps. He pauses under a torch, silencing his movements and listens. White noise fills his ears, the sound of his own breath. He lingers for quite some time, almost giving up when he hears it again.
At first he's not sure what the sound is. It sounds unfamiliar to Junmyeon's ears, and yet it sounds like something he has heart before. However, the echoes makes it sound hollow, almost like it's coming from an animal.
Swallowing, Junmyeon follows the sound. He treads with the utmost care, making sure not to make too much sound, as he is afraid of scaring whatever made those soft, soft sounds. The sounds lead him away from his original path, turning him north instead of west.
It's when he passes a painting of a dragon, red scaled and angry, that he realizes that someone is crying. The sound that fills the air and Junmyeon's ears is the sound of crying. Junmyeon's heart clenches. He speeds up without making too much noise, and before long, the sobs are loud. He's almost there.
When he turns a corner, he finds it, or rather, finds him.
The first thing Junmyeon notices is the white robe, the golden belt around his waist. The sleeves of the robe cuts just above his elbows, revealing two thin arms. Around his left wrist there are a couple of bracelets, all made out of the finest gold - Junmyeon knows - as well as a dyed silk ribbon, also gold.
He's thin, bony, from something that looks like a quick, painful grow spurt. His hair is thick, brown strands, tousled, that falls over his face. His arms are wrapped around his knees, which are pulled to his chest, and they are bare since the robe stops mid-thigh. A thin anklet, also of gold, encircles the boy's thin ankle and catches Junmyeon's gaze as it shines in the light from the torches.
But what stands the most out is the red marks on his arms. Junmyeon can also see similar marks going down from his neck and downwards, disappearing under the neckline of his thin robe.
He's a palace pleasure slave.
His sobs are painful to listen to. With every sharp inhale of air it sounds like his lungs are about to collapse. Junmyeon takes a step closer and notices that he's trembling. The boy's skinny frame is shaking as the sobs rake through his bones, has him gasping. It sounds like he's in so much pain that he's unable to do anything but cry.
"Hey," Junmyeon says softly, getting down on his knees until he is roughly the same height as the sitting young man. Junmyeon refuses to call him a pleasure slave, even though that's what he is. A part of Junmyeon wants to reach out, wants to touch him, pull this poor soul into his arms and cuddle him until he stops crying. However something tells him that it wouldn't be a good idea.
So Junmyeon settles for talking. "Are you okay?"
Junmyeon quickly learns that it was not the thing he should have asked, because the boy curls further in on himself, his face buried in his knees as he almost starts bawling. He hiccups as his hands trembles, sobs ripping brutally through the air, settling in Junmyeon's bones.
Being this close, he's able to see little marks on his legs, just underneath where his hands are folded, looking like little crescents. Nail marks. As a particularly loud sob rattles through the boy's bones, Junmyeon notices that he sets the nails into his own skin, pinching hard until the skin turns red, abused. As Junmyeon thinks he's about to draw blood, the boy stops, releasing his skin and goes back to clutch at his wrists.
And Junmyeon can't help himself. Slowly, carefully, he reaches out to the boy, his hands finding soft, brown bangs and pulls them up to look at the boy's face. He immediately regrets it. The boy's eyes are red from the crying, widens as he looks at Junmyeon. For a second, frozen in time, Junmyeon takes in the soft curve of his cheeks, the wet trail of tears on said cheeks, and the thin, red lips, bitten to a ruby color.
The boy tries to merge himself with the wall, flinching as Junmyeon pushes his bangs up. As if he's burnt, Junmyeon retracts his hand, holding it against his own chest as the boy starts sobbing anew. The sobs are so sore, breathless, and it pulls at Junmyeon's conscience, Junmyeon's soul.
Suddenly, Junmyeon hears quick footsteps, and a voice yelling "Get away from him!", and that's really all the warning he gets before he's pulled away from the boy by the scruff of his neck, landing on his butt. It will bruise too.
A short, red haired male now occupies the space Junmyeon had been in previously, however he's not looking at the boy, he's looking at Junmyeon. Well, glaring at Junmyeon is more right.
The other male looks young too, but probably older than the younger boy. He as round cheeks, akin to those on a chipmunk, but his eyes are sharp, angled like a cat's. His body is small, yet softly muscled, compact. He's wearing a dark ensamble, breeches, boots and a loose shirt, as well as a crisp, white apron. Junmyeon figures he works in the kitchen.
"What kind of person are you?" he snarls, eyebrows furrowing. "How can you touch someone without their clear consent, when it's obvious he doesn't want to be touched in the least?"
"I was just trying to-" Junmyeon begins feebly, words stuttering as he tries to defend himself.
The redhead is merciless. "You lords think it's okay for you to prance around on the castles you're visiting, raping all these younglings just because of your high birth!" Junmyeon almost whimpers. Even if he's probably no taller than Junmyeon himself, the other man seems to be hovering above him now. He's terrifying. "You people call yourself lords, but to me you are nothing but vermin, and I've had just about enough of you stuck up morons thinking that you're better than everyone else. I-"
The redhead stops abruptly, eyes widening. He turns slowly, looking down at the younger boy. Junmyeon follows the movement and notices that the boy has stopped crying. He has his hand, the one with the bracelets, fisted in the redhead's apron.
"He's prince Junmyeon," the boy whispers, his voice soft like cotton. He's stumbling a bit over his words, lisping, and Junmyeon's heart melts. "You shouldn't be yelling at him. He doesn't know. He doesn't know anything."
"He shouldn't be touching you," the redhead says, his voice warmer than it had been when he was yelling at Junmyeon. Actually, Junmyeon notices that his entire body has softened, not as stiff and aggressive at it had been only seconds earlier.
"It's okay," the boy says silently. "He didn't do anything. He doesn't know."
Junmyeon feels confused.
There's a silence following the boy's words, which feels all too personal, intimate to Junmyeon. He takes in the pair and suddenly he’s hit with the feeling that he's interrupting something between them.
"You have to apologize," the boy says, and it's only meant for the redhead's ears, but Junmyeon is able to hear it.
"I'm sorry for yelling at you, your majesty," the redhead says, turning to look at Junmyeon. The frown is still on his face, but it's not as angry as it was. "My name is Minseok, and this is-"
"My name is Sehun, my lord. I'm sorry Minseok yelled at you, and I apologize for crying in your presence," the boy - Sehun - croaks, his voice still hoarse from the crying.
"Don't apologize," Junmyeon says, taking a chance on smiling softly at them as he slowly, eyes on Minseok, as he gets up from the cold floor. Minseok remains silent.
Junmyeon is curious, almost aching to know why Sehun, a palace pleasure slave, is hiding out close to the basement, crying his poor little soul out. He wonders why Minseok, a kitchen servant, is so fiercely protective over Sehun. Junmyeon wants to know their story, wants to know what makes Minseok have the guts to yell at a royal.
Now Junmyeon isn't the type to boast his birth anywhere. Technically he doesn't need to boast his birth because everyone in Westeros know who he is, but that's beside the point. You need a lot of courage to speak up against someone who is a higher birth than you, and Minseok had selflessly thrown himself at Junmyeon, snapping at him without thinking about the consequences at all. Everything he had done to protect Sehun, a palace pleasure slave.
Junmyeon wants to know. However, despite the burning curiousity, he really doesn't want Minseok to get angry again. Thus, he wisely shuts up.
"Your majesty-" Minseok begins, but Junmyeon interrupts him with a: "Just call me Junmyeon."
"Lord Junmyeon," Minseok amends, looking warily at Junmyeon, as if he's wondering if Junmyeon is going to call the guards on him any second now. Junmyeon remains silent, nodding. "If your majesty is okay with it, could i please take Sehun to the kitchen and make sure he gets some food? I think he's had enough of festivities for one night."
There it is again. The altruistic behavior, the limitless dedication. The love, Junmyeon's brain helpfully supplies. The situation, the clear bond that exists between Minseok and Sehun seems tender, loving, and Junmyeon's soul is aching from it.
In place of speaking, Junmyeon settles for nodding instead.
Junmyeon watches in awe as Minseok gives him a small bow, then turns to Sehun, carefully, with all the time in the world, coaxes Sehun up from the floor. It doesn't go unnoticed by Junmyeon that Minseok refrains from actually touching Sehun. Whenever they touch, when they touch, it's Sehun who reaches out for Minseok. Sehun who grabs Minseok's arm, guides Minseok's hand to his back, his wrist as Sehun slowly gets up from the floor.
"Thank you, Lord Junmyeon," Sehun says with soft vowels, pausing to bow deeply before they walk past him. Junmyeon remains, watching their backs.
Sehun is almost half a head taller than Minseok, and if Junmyeon's predictions are right, Sehun will probably grow for another year, at least. Their fingers are laced as they walk down the hall, heading for the kitchen, presumably, and Junmyeon notices that Minseok pulls Sehun's hand up to his mouth, kissing the back of it, before they continue. Sehun trailing behind, but still pressed up close to Minseok, as they walk around the corner, and vanish from Junmyeon's sight.
And Junmyeon stands there, his heart feeling raw, almost painfully so, with affection for Minseok and Sehun. It takes him a while, but in the end he manages to stumble back to the western tower. With practiced ease, he gets himself ready for bed, sheds his clothes effectively before he folds them over a chair, leaving them for a chamber maid to pick up and clean.
Junmyeon goes to sleep with his mind filled with gold lined eyes, kisses on hands and a wish for eternity.
PART II
Pairing: Junmyeon/Kyungsoo, Junmyeon/Luhan, Minseok/Sehun, Yifan/Yixing, Han Geng/Victoria.
Rating: R (for violence).
Warnings: Blood, violence, vomit, brutality.
Word Count: 14,5k.
Disclaimer: I do not own ASOIAF, or any of the characters mentioned. I just wrote this.
Summary: A Song of Ice and Fire/Game of Thrones AU! House Baratheon is ruling Westeros, but a group of rebels lurk in the shadows, wanting nothing more than to get rid of them all.
A/N: Written for capsandpizzas, here George Raymond Richard Martin, thank you for writing the ASOIAF-series. I am deeply sorry for ruining it. It's more Junmyeon-centric than actually sudi, I'm sorry. Here's a convenient map of Westeros. Mari and Jenn, thanks for reading through this. You are my angels ;; Just to clear things up: Yien is Mark Tuan from GOT7, Yiyun and Qian are Amber and Victoria from f(x), respectively. Title comes from 30 Seconds To Mars's song "Closer to the Edge".
Junmyeon keeps an eye on his father as he gets out of his seat, soundlessly, like a cat. They're outside, for once, celebrating his older brother's twentieth name day, by inviting everyone and anyone that was something of even remotedly importance in Westeros.
His father is sitting next to someone Junmyeon recognizes as the head of House Lannister. Junmyeon doesn't remember his name, but he could probably pick him out anywhere. He was his father's closest confidant. Not that his father ever confides in anyone. The Lannister is the closest thing he has. More often than not, Lannister is visiting King's Landing when they're planning attacks, wars on other Houses. Westeros has been in something akin to Peace for a good decade now, save for the rebellion currently going on.
They don't speak of it.
Junmyeon dives behind a particularly fat lord from one of the southern houses and is unable to keep track of his father with his gaze. Junmyeon doesn't think he noticed him leaving. He never notices Junmyeon. Save for the one time when Junmyeon broke a particularly expensive vase.
He never lets him hear the end of that.
It's summer, hot but not to the point where Junmyeon's sweating. He's perfectly comfortable wearing thin cotton breaches, brown leather boots, a thin cotton shirt and a nice, navy silk vest.
His father had the servants preparing wide sheets out of some waterproof material to tie in the trees in case of rain. Luckily they hadn't needed to use them. The day had been sunny, warm, with cloud free, blue skies. The sun is close to setting now, the skies still bright but the sun was moving closer to the horizon with every second.
Junmyeon wants to experience summers in the North. His brother had once told him that the sun never set in the North during summer. "It's called midnight sun, Junmyeon," he remember his brother telling him, stroking his hair as Junmyeon had watched him with big, bright eyes. It was Junmyeon's sixth summer, and he and his brothers had celebrated it by going fishing. They had taken their horses and been gone for two weeks.
It was one of Junmyeon's fondest, most treasured memories.
The crowd thins out, as Junmyeon dodges left and right, politely stopping to bow, greet high ranked generals from his father's army. It does take him some time, but he makes it out. He keeps walking for another minute or so, away from the other guests until he makes it to the viewing spot, where he stops. Softly, he inhales, exhales, taking in the sweet summer night air, smelling like lilac trees and grass.
And for the first time that evening, Junmyeon relaxes. From his place at the peak, he can see down on the streets of King's Landing. There are still people walking in the streets, Junmyeon can see them, but just barely. They look like little dolls, reminding him of the dolls Lady Soojung used to play with when she was visiting when she was younger. She used to force Junmyeon to play with her, or else she'd tell her mother that Junmyeon was treating her badly.
Junmyeon has received his fair share of beatings for things he hadn't done.
With a soft sigh, he turns his back on the city, settling against the marble railings as he looks over the vast area of grass presented to him. He's somewhat hidden from the eyes of the guests at this place. He can see them, but no one can spot him unless they know exactly where to look. Most of them are still seated, eating and drinking as if they're getting rewarded for it.
The servants are trickling out of the castle, smartly dressed in dark clothes to prevent attention to be drawn towards them, slipping between the guests, almost invisible as they start lighting the candles, lanterns. Their timing is impeccable as always. Junmyeon is impressed.
Junmyeon tilts his head backwards, closing his eyes. His body is still sore, stiff from the sword dancing lecture he had yesterday. His maester was brilliant, but merciless, even more so towards Junmyeon.
His brothers were both men grown and had done great deeds out on the battlefield after their sixteenth name days. Such things were expected of Junmyeon too. Or that was at least expected by the public, and the rest of his family.
His father, the king, didn't expect anything from Junmyeon.
Junmyeon knows, he’d overheard a conversation between two chamber maids, that if it hadn't been for his dead mother's last wish, his father would have sent him off somewhere to be a page or a squire. For some reason that both pleases and displeases him.
While King's Landing is his home, the place he grew up, there's still a part of Junmyeon that wants to discover, see new places. He wants to travel, like his brothers have done before him. While he's grateful for the safe, nurturing environmen King's Landing has provided for him during his childhood years, Junmyeon is tired of it.
A man grown, he celebrated his sixteenth name day the summer before, and with his seveneenth name day approaching fast, Junmyeon still feels like he's going nowhere, fast. His father has shrugged him off, gruffly saying something along the lines of you'll have to wait,", "what are you going to do out there? and "i'm not sending you off just so you can make a fool of your House,".
See, Junmyeon has no real interest in fighting. He's glad his brothers are so skilled in the arts of sword and combat, defending King's Landing and House Baratheon from outside threats. But that's just not Junmyeon.
His father's words speak some truth, because Junmyeon has no idea what he wants to do out there. He has no plan, no idea, nothing wise he wants to fulfill, nothing.
But Junmyeon wants out.
No one is expecting anything of him. He's just the youngest son of the King. Just the youngest Baratheon in King's Landing, third line to the throne. With two brothers as great and skilled as Junmyeon's, Junmyeon will never be king. It's not something he wants either. He might have played with the idea of ruling Westeros when he was a child, seated on the Iron Throne with his wooden sword and paper crown. It was a child's dreams. Junmyeon isn't a child anymore.
Nobody sees that.
"Copper for your thoughts, my lord," comes a soft voice from somewhere to Junmyeon's left. Junmyeon doesn't have to look for long. In his ivory white robes, Luhan is really easy to spot in the green garden. His robes are a contrast against the black ones that the servants use. It's intentional of course. Luhan is no servant, at least not the regular kind.
As Luhan approaches, Junmyeon notices how Luhan's already pretty, cherubic face is enchanted with delicate lines of gold around his eyes. His long eyelashes are darker, cheekbones more marked and lips fuller. His blond hair looks like liquid gold akin to a halo encircling Luhan's face.
The white robe, complete with a golden belt tightened around the waist flows around Luhan's legs as he walks. The sleeves go down to Luhan's elbow, robe cut off just above his knees in the front, longer in the back. It's standard for the palace's pleasure slaves to wear white. Junmyeon knows it's so they are easily spotted amongst all the earthy colors inside the castle. Most of the pleasure slaves wear some kind of undergarment, however it's easy to see that Luhan is not. His dark, pebbled nipples and soft curls between his legs are easy tell-tale sign. Luhan holds himself with a grace that on him often looks like pride. A pride many royals lack.
Luhan knows he's good at what he does.
"Aren't my thoughts worth more than copper to you?" Junmyeon asks idly as Luhan comes to stand next to him, their arms barely brushing through the cotton and silk. From the corner of his eye, Junmyeon can see Luhan smiling coyly, eyelashes fluttering as he looks up at Junmyeon.
They are almost equal in height, so for Luhan to look up at Junmyeon, he's bending his knees, doing everything by the book to look smaller, cuter. Junmyeon watches lazily as Luhan laughs, a soft, yet unnatural, rehearsed laugh that trills out of his mouth like honey. As he does this, he leans forward, knowing that it will make the front of his robe dip, exposing honey skin to Junmyeon's eyes.
Like a present that will unwrap itself.
"Drop the act Lu," Junmyeon says, turning his torso to be able to look at Luhan without pulling a vein in his neck, or torment his sore muscles further. Luhan's smile remains, but he straightens his knees, getting back to his full height, leaning back against the rail.
"You're no fun," Luhan pouts, lips shiny in the yellow light from the lanterns.
"I suppose not," Junmyeon says, shrugging. Luhan chuckles.
They have basically grown up together. Luhan came to King's Landing just after his fifth name day. He had been a choir boy back then, living in the Sept with his fellow brothers. Junmyeon remember running into him during a service when he was seven, Luhan had been eight. The two had bonded immediately despite their social differences.
When Luhan had came off age, he was no longer fit to be a choir boy due to his darker voice and was promptly thrown out. Luhan had been facing a dark future, living in the streets, but luckily (depending on who you asked), the person responsible for the servants in the palace managed to find him and brought him to the castle.
Junmyeon isn't sure of the finer details, but he knows that Luhan first was a kitchen helper, then a garden helper, but apparently he was too clumsy for either so they sent him away. Junmyeon had been devestated when it happened, but his brothers had reassured him that Luhan was doing fine wherever he was.
Luhan returned a year and a half later, in Junmyeon's 15th year, as a completely different person. He was confident, practically radiating of self-esteem. And he was beautiful, gorgeous. So gorgeous. Luhan always had been, but the year he had been away had really changed him.
It wasn't until some weeks later that Junmyeon learned that Luhan had become a pleasure slave. Still belonging to the castle, but he could technically be used by whoever. Junmyeon remembers crying. A lot. He had been so upset, so sad that his best friend had become a pleasure slave, someone to be used for other people's pleasure. Junmyeon had yelled at his father, at the servant keeper, at everyone he could think of.
It had broken his heart.
One night Luhan had come to him, clad in the very same outfit he is wearing now. Junmyeon remembers that he thought Luhan looked like an angel. Smelling clean, like soap; lavender, Luhan had settled down on Junmyeon's bed, hands running through Junmyeon's hair, nails scratching carefully at his scalp.
For a long time he had remained there, doing nothing but petting Junmyeon's hair, occasionally humming soft tones under his breath. It had been Junmyeon who had spoken first, voice cracked from hours of crying.
"I'm sorry. I couldn't save you," Junmyeon had spoken into his pillow. Luhan had been there at once, pulling him out from the comfort of his blankets, pulling Junmyeon into his arms, hugging him fiercely.
"I am already saved, Junmyeon. Thank you."
Things had changed, Luhan wasn't free to run around with Junmyeon on the castle grounds anymore, and it was weird, is still is weird to see Luhan on the arm of some lord or lady visiting, joining them back to their chambers. Junmyeon has gotten slightly more used to it, but he doesn't think he'll ever get used to the fact that his best friend is a pleasure slave, and okay with it.
"It's no fun talking to you anymore," Luhan pouts, resting his chin on Junmyeon's shoulder, pulling him out of the depths of his mind.
"Sorry, I'm a bit out of it today,"
"You're always out of it, Junmyeon," Luhan says smugly, eyes gleaming with mischief as he looks up from where he's perched on Junmyeon's shoulder.
Junmyeon settles for rolling his eyes at Luhan.
Ideally, Junmyeon should be mingling with the masses, guests, charming lords and ladies out of their skin. He knows his father would prefer that to him standing in quite plain sight, talking to a pleasure slave. There's always a point with these big festivities. Yes, they're there to celebrate his brother's name day, but they're also there to find and form alliances, friendships and most importantly: find a future companion for the three Baratheon princes.
Junmyeon doesn't have the same pressure as his older brother, or even his second older brother because both of them would be king before him. Besides, they're a couple of years older, have been of age for much longer than Junmyeon. Of course, nothing would please his father more if all three of them found suitable future partners this very night.
Their partners should be girls, seeing as they (or at least his oldest brother, Junhyung, were to keep the line of House Baratheon filled with kids, making sure it would live on) should have kids, but again, Junmyeon didn't feel that pressure. Yet.
"The news from some of the chamber maids is that the King want Junhyung to marry the youngest Bolton girl," Luhan says, whispers into Junmyeon's ear. Luhan's breath smells sweet, like cakes.
"Well strategically it would be a smart match," Junmyeon notes idly, eyes hazed, not paying attention to anything in particular as he feels the exhaustion, sleepiness settle in his bones. Usually, when there was a party, his father would show some lenience and let him and his brothers rest, cutting their practice hours short. He hadn't done it this time and Junmyeon had still had his fighting and sword dancing lessons as usual.
"Of course it's a smart match, it's just that the poor Bolton girl is just a little short of being insane!" Luhan exclaims, grabbing Junmyeon's upper arm with his hand, squeezing. "No one can blame her though. Growing up in that environment would drive anyone out of their minds. You know what they say about House Bolton, hmm?"
When Junmyeon doesn't answer, Luhan puffs his cheeks, looking ten years younger, punching Junmyeon's shoulder with a strength that is a soldier worthy. There will probably be a bruise, Junmyeon thinks as he looks at Luhan who has released his arms, standing a couple of meters in front of Junmyeon now.
"Since you obviously have more important things on your mind today, Lord Junmyeon, I'll find someone who has time to, ah, listen to me," Luhan drawls, his voice back to the soft voice that Junmyeon calls pleasure-voice. It still sounds like Luhan's regular one, but with a softer timbre and a slightly higher pitch.
Junmyeon finds himself grinning at Luhan's words, swallowing a laugh as Luhan sashays away from him. "Please don't be mad at me," Junmyeon pouts, pretends.
Luhan pauses and looks at Junmyeon over his shoulder. The smile, the grin that splays out on Luhan's face makes Junmyeon feel light, happy. Promptly, Luhan turns on his heels, striding over to Junmyeon, and coming to a halt in front of him.
Junmyeon barely has the time to bask in Luhan's beauty; the curve of his eyelashes, and the healthy blush on his cheeks, before Luhan leans in, in one smooth movement, and kisses him. Two soft palms find Junmyeon's cheeks, tilting his head slightly to make the kiss deeper. With practiced ease, Junmyeon finds Luhan's hips, letting his hands settle there.
A part of Junmyeon's brain tells him that they're too exposed, to vulnerable to the rest of the world, as they stand here like this, but Junmyeon doesn't mind. Not really.
They have been doing this for a while, Junmyeon and Luhan. They're not dating of course, can't be. Junmyeon has never courted Luhan, nor is he planning to do so. Firstly it would freak his father out to no end, secondly, Luhan is a pleasure slave. Technically, he is not allowed to marry, date or even be courted.
It happens occasionally that a lord, or a lady, got attached to a pleasure slave in particular and asked for permission to buy them from the palace's keeper. It had never happened as far as Junmyeon could remember, but his second oldest brother, Jungmo had told him about a pleasure slave named Taekwoon who had been bought by one of the lords from Dorne. A pleasure slave cost huge amounts of money, nothing the common folk of King's Landing could buy, even if they saved up their money all year. They were something for royals, the rich.
The castle now has about thirty pleasure slavess in their care, to be used at their disposal, and also for their guests. Which was probably why Luhan is out tonight, looking like personified moonlight. Junmyeon shudders.
"Are you cold?" Luhan asks against Junmyeon's lips, remaining connected for another moment before pulling away. A warm, fond smile rests on Luhan's lips. Junmyeon can't not smile back.
"No, I'm not cold, just tired I guess," Junmyeon murmurs softly, reaching forward to touch Luhan's red, kiss-swollen lips. His heart tumbles.
"Well, unless you plan on wooing someone tonight, I think it would be fine if you went to bed now. It's almost midnight anyway." Junmyeon watches as Luhan's mouth shapes around the words, is so occupied with the way his mouth puckers that he barely pays attention to what Luhan is saying.
It gains him another punch to his shoulder. Yes, it will surely bruise. Junmyeon pouts.
Luhan rolls his eyes fondly, pats Junmyeon's cheek. "Good night, Lord Junmyeon," he says, finalizes before he leans forward to press another kiss against Junmyeon's mouth, lingering briefly before he's gone.
Soojung calls it a crush. Luhan calls it fondness, while Junmyeon himself isn't sure what it is he feels for Luhan. It could be a crush, but it could also just be fondness, devotion to, for a beloved friend. Junmyeon doesn't want to think more about it. Instead he settles for watching how Luhan practically glows under the moonlight, the white of his robe making him look like a walking dream.
He's not sure how long he lingers, but after a while, Luhan's suggestion about going to bed sounds nicer than going back to the party to drink and mingle with the guests that, no doubt, are a little too drunk for midnight.
The castle is dark, silent. There are torches on the walls, but not as many as there would be if there were people inside. But Junmyeon has walked the halls of this castle all his life, and he could probably find his way even if it had been pitch dark.
The sound of Junmyeon's shoes on the marble floor echoes off the wall, and rings down the long, empty corridor. It feels uncommon, for Junmyeon, that the castle is as silent as it is. Usually it's bustling with life - despite its size you're never really alone while walking down the halls.
However, now that everybody, both living and working in the castle, is outside in the summer night, Junmyeon is probably the closest to alone he ever has been while trudging down the long corridors.
His bedroom is in another part of the castle, in one of the western towers. It takes some time to get there, since he’s walking from the gardens. Throughout the years, Junmyeon has discovered multiple shortcuts to his bedroom. Some aren't necessarily shortcuts, adding both five and ten minutes to the walking time, but they do make the route more interesting. He also knows a couple of actual short cuts, saving him up to six minutes.
He settles for one of the interesting ones that lets him walk underground, close to the kitchen and the dragon skeletons. When he was a child he had been terrified of the dragon cellar, but now he found them interesting. Usually there never were torches down there, seeing as no servant took the time to walk all the way down there. It was a route that wasn't used much, due to the dragon skeletons.
About half-way to his chambers, Junmyeon suddenly notices a soft, sore sound playing in the air, hiding in the shadow of the sound of his footsteps. He pauses under a torch, silencing his movements and listens. White noise fills his ears, the sound of his own breath. He lingers for quite some time, almost giving up when he hears it again.
At first he's not sure what the sound is. It sounds unfamiliar to Junmyeon's ears, and yet it sounds like something he has heart before. However, the echoes makes it sound hollow, almost like it's coming from an animal.
Swallowing, Junmyeon follows the sound. He treads with the utmost care, making sure not to make too much sound, as he is afraid of scaring whatever made those soft, soft sounds. The sounds lead him away from his original path, turning him north instead of west.
It's when he passes a painting of a dragon, red scaled and angry, that he realizes that someone is crying. The sound that fills the air and Junmyeon's ears is the sound of crying. Junmyeon's heart clenches. He speeds up without making too much noise, and before long, the sobs are loud. He's almost there.
When he turns a corner, he finds it, or rather, finds him.
The first thing Junmyeon notices is the white robe, the golden belt around his waist. The sleeves of the robe cuts just above his elbows, revealing two thin arms. Around his left wrist there are a couple of bracelets, all made out of the finest gold - Junmyeon knows - as well as a dyed silk ribbon, also gold.
He's thin, bony, from something that looks like a quick, painful grow spurt. His hair is thick, brown strands, tousled, that falls over his face. His arms are wrapped around his knees, which are pulled to his chest, and they are bare since the robe stops mid-thigh. A thin anklet, also of gold, encircles the boy's thin ankle and catches Junmyeon's gaze as it shines in the light from the torches.
But what stands the most out is the red marks on his arms. Junmyeon can also see similar marks going down from his neck and downwards, disappearing under the neckline of his thin robe.
He's a palace pleasure slave.
His sobs are painful to listen to. With every sharp inhale of air it sounds like his lungs are about to collapse. Junmyeon takes a step closer and notices that he's trembling. The boy's skinny frame is shaking as the sobs rake through his bones, has him gasping. It sounds like he's in so much pain that he's unable to do anything but cry.
"Hey," Junmyeon says softly, getting down on his knees until he is roughly the same height as the sitting young man. Junmyeon refuses to call him a pleasure slave, even though that's what he is. A part of Junmyeon wants to reach out, wants to touch him, pull this poor soul into his arms and cuddle him until he stops crying. However something tells him that it wouldn't be a good idea.
So Junmyeon settles for talking. "Are you okay?"
Junmyeon quickly learns that it was not the thing he should have asked, because the boy curls further in on himself, his face buried in his knees as he almost starts bawling. He hiccups as his hands trembles, sobs ripping brutally through the air, settling in Junmyeon's bones.
Being this close, he's able to see little marks on his legs, just underneath where his hands are folded, looking like little crescents. Nail marks. As a particularly loud sob rattles through the boy's bones, Junmyeon notices that he sets the nails into his own skin, pinching hard until the skin turns red, abused. As Junmyeon thinks he's about to draw blood, the boy stops, releasing his skin and goes back to clutch at his wrists.
And Junmyeon can't help himself. Slowly, carefully, he reaches out to the boy, his hands finding soft, brown bangs and pulls them up to look at the boy's face. He immediately regrets it. The boy's eyes are red from the crying, widens as he looks at Junmyeon. For a second, frozen in time, Junmyeon takes in the soft curve of his cheeks, the wet trail of tears on said cheeks, and the thin, red lips, bitten to a ruby color.
The boy tries to merge himself with the wall, flinching as Junmyeon pushes his bangs up. As if he's burnt, Junmyeon retracts his hand, holding it against his own chest as the boy starts sobbing anew. The sobs are so sore, breathless, and it pulls at Junmyeon's conscience, Junmyeon's soul.
Suddenly, Junmyeon hears quick footsteps, and a voice yelling "Get away from him!", and that's really all the warning he gets before he's pulled away from the boy by the scruff of his neck, landing on his butt. It will bruise too.
A short, red haired male now occupies the space Junmyeon had been in previously, however he's not looking at the boy, he's looking at Junmyeon. Well, glaring at Junmyeon is more right.
The other male looks young too, but probably older than the younger boy. He as round cheeks, akin to those on a chipmunk, but his eyes are sharp, angled like a cat's. His body is small, yet softly muscled, compact. He's wearing a dark ensamble, breeches, boots and a loose shirt, as well as a crisp, white apron. Junmyeon figures he works in the kitchen.
"What kind of person are you?" he snarls, eyebrows furrowing. "How can you touch someone without their clear consent, when it's obvious he doesn't want to be touched in the least?"
"I was just trying to-" Junmyeon begins feebly, words stuttering as he tries to defend himself.
The redhead is merciless. "You lords think it's okay for you to prance around on the castles you're visiting, raping all these younglings just because of your high birth!" Junmyeon almost whimpers. Even if he's probably no taller than Junmyeon himself, the other man seems to be hovering above him now. He's terrifying. "You people call yourself lords, but to me you are nothing but vermin, and I've had just about enough of you stuck up morons thinking that you're better than everyone else. I-"
The redhead stops abruptly, eyes widening. He turns slowly, looking down at the younger boy. Junmyeon follows the movement and notices that the boy has stopped crying. He has his hand, the one with the bracelets, fisted in the redhead's apron.
"He's prince Junmyeon," the boy whispers, his voice soft like cotton. He's stumbling a bit over his words, lisping, and Junmyeon's heart melts. "You shouldn't be yelling at him. He doesn't know. He doesn't know anything."
"He shouldn't be touching you," the redhead says, his voice warmer than it had been when he was yelling at Junmyeon. Actually, Junmyeon notices that his entire body has softened, not as stiff and aggressive at it had been only seconds earlier.
"It's okay," the boy says silently. "He didn't do anything. He doesn't know."
Junmyeon feels confused.
There's a silence following the boy's words, which feels all too personal, intimate to Junmyeon. He takes in the pair and suddenly he’s hit with the feeling that he's interrupting something between them.
"You have to apologize," the boy says, and it's only meant for the redhead's ears, but Junmyeon is able to hear it.
"I'm sorry for yelling at you, your majesty," the redhead says, turning to look at Junmyeon. The frown is still on his face, but it's not as angry as it was. "My name is Minseok, and this is-"
"My name is Sehun, my lord. I'm sorry Minseok yelled at you, and I apologize for crying in your presence," the boy - Sehun - croaks, his voice still hoarse from the crying.
"Don't apologize," Junmyeon says, taking a chance on smiling softly at them as he slowly, eyes on Minseok, as he gets up from the cold floor. Minseok remains silent.
Junmyeon is curious, almost aching to know why Sehun, a palace pleasure slave, is hiding out close to the basement, crying his poor little soul out. He wonders why Minseok, a kitchen servant, is so fiercely protective over Sehun. Junmyeon wants to know their story, wants to know what makes Minseok have the guts to yell at a royal.
Now Junmyeon isn't the type to boast his birth anywhere. Technically he doesn't need to boast his birth because everyone in Westeros know who he is, but that's beside the point. You need a lot of courage to speak up against someone who is a higher birth than you, and Minseok had selflessly thrown himself at Junmyeon, snapping at him without thinking about the consequences at all. Everything he had done to protect Sehun, a palace pleasure slave.
Junmyeon wants to know. However, despite the burning curiousity, he really doesn't want Minseok to get angry again. Thus, he wisely shuts up.
"Your majesty-" Minseok begins, but Junmyeon interrupts him with a: "Just call me Junmyeon."
"Lord Junmyeon," Minseok amends, looking warily at Junmyeon, as if he's wondering if Junmyeon is going to call the guards on him any second now. Junmyeon remains silent, nodding. "If your majesty is okay with it, could i please take Sehun to the kitchen and make sure he gets some food? I think he's had enough of festivities for one night."
There it is again. The altruistic behavior, the limitless dedication. The love, Junmyeon's brain helpfully supplies. The situation, the clear bond that exists between Minseok and Sehun seems tender, loving, and Junmyeon's soul is aching from it.
In place of speaking, Junmyeon settles for nodding instead.
Junmyeon watches in awe as Minseok gives him a small bow, then turns to Sehun, carefully, with all the time in the world, coaxes Sehun up from the floor. It doesn't go unnoticed by Junmyeon that Minseok refrains from actually touching Sehun. Whenever they touch, when they touch, it's Sehun who reaches out for Minseok. Sehun who grabs Minseok's arm, guides Minseok's hand to his back, his wrist as Sehun slowly gets up from the floor.
"Thank you, Lord Junmyeon," Sehun says with soft vowels, pausing to bow deeply before they walk past him. Junmyeon remains, watching their backs.
Sehun is almost half a head taller than Minseok, and if Junmyeon's predictions are right, Sehun will probably grow for another year, at least. Their fingers are laced as they walk down the hall, heading for the kitchen, presumably, and Junmyeon notices that Minseok pulls Sehun's hand up to his mouth, kissing the back of it, before they continue. Sehun trailing behind, but still pressed up close to Minseok, as they walk around the corner, and vanish from Junmyeon's sight.
And Junmyeon stands there, his heart feeling raw, almost painfully so, with affection for Minseok and Sehun. It takes him a while, but in the end he manages to stumble back to the western tower. With practiced ease, he gets himself ready for bed, sheds his clothes effectively before he folds them over a chair, leaving them for a chamber maid to pick up and clean.
Junmyeon goes to sleep with his mind filled with gold lined eyes, kisses on hands and a wish for eternity.
PART II