[Fic] Ballad of the Moon : 4
Title: Ballad of the Moon
Pairing: Jaemin, Yoomin
Length: Chapter 4/?
Genre: fantasy, adventure, angst,drama
Disclaimer: idea based on goose-girl fairy tale ~
Summary: Changmin has no control over his life as he's forced to leave his home to become the escort of the Crown Prince in a faraway land. Before he can even reach his destination, he's betrayed by his own guard and barely escapes death, finding himself alone and forgotten in a dark forsaken land where magic is real and even the moon has deserted the sky.
Previous Chapters: one | two | three
A/N: huu :( this chap seems very explainy...TT and long.
*****
He could hear the procession approaching before he could see it.
Standing at his father’s right with his brother just on his other side, surrounded by the mose prestigious of the court all dressed in their best finery, guards standing alert and to attention around them in unpassable formation. It was a welcome fit for his future bride accompanied with royal family and relatives. Surely it was too much for a mere group of travel weary men and a single prince.
Yoochun felt it rather embarrassing if not ridiculous to put on such a show for the foreign escort which would no doubt feel intimidated and dirty before such blatant finery. If he had a choice in it, he didn’t want to welcome the Prince in such a manner. It was awkward at best, and condescending at worst, and he hadn’t had any say in it even though this was technically his moment.
He knew his father wanted to make an impression, to remind the foreigners that no matter their new positions in their new home here, they were still guests. Lower in status, should be respectful and thankful for being summoned to such a great kingdom. His father had as much as told him so when he explained the arrangement, and Yoochun had merely decided that he could care less about the soldiers.
All he cared about was the Prince, someone who would be by his side for life, and regardless of what his father wished, he would treat him like a blood brother, would put him before and above all others. He would just have to apologize to the man later after the welcoming feast and hope he was an understanding, easygoing person.
Yes. That was the only thing that had him really nervous. Not knowing what kind of person he had been matched with, not knowing if the other even cared to get to know him or give him a chance. And the only thing he could do was try.
Yoochun shifted uncomfortably where he stood. Even he was more well groomed and more stiffly dressed than he usually preferred. His hair, usually falling dark and wild about his shoulders had been brushed into smooth waves, the golden circlet of the Crown Prince sitting heavily upon his head. The weight seemed to sink through his skin, into his shoulders, into his very bones.
He felt more apprehensive and annoyed with every passing moment as the waiting wore on his confidence, the last few minutes before his life would change, being pushed once again in a direction his father saw fit and yet again trying to make the best of it.
But now that it was finally here, approaching down the main road at that moment, he wanted to resist, to refuse, a childish reaction he tried to suppress. He knew it was only nerves. But time was crawling, giving him much too much time to think and question and worry. Things he did best.
His father always had the final decision, especially since he seemed to want to finalize and dictate as much as he could before Yoochun was to take the throne in later years. Even though Yoochun had been able to provide at least ten able bodied eager young men he’d personally trust to become his escort, his father had turned them all down in favor of a political move.
Yoochun knew it would be the same next time as well, when the time came for him to take a wife. He knew the only reason he hadn’t taken one already was his father’s stubbornness to acquire the hand of one of the more wealthy and influential princesses. Ladies who had more than one such kingdom as theirs vying for their consent, for their connection as allies, and Yoochun would rather find someone less popular and troublesome. Both to avoid the competition altogether, and to give him even the smallest chance at finding a woman he was attracted to, and her likewise.
There was only so much he could do to give hope to his dream of a heart-stopping romance, a love he could cherish for the rest of his life, and was secretly thankful the nobility his father seemed interested in were picky and stuckup, hardly sparing their offers a glance.
He partly let all other aspects of his life slide, giving into his father’s wishes now so that when the time came to ask for what he truly wanted, he could have more power to fight for just this one thing. He promised himself he’d fight as best he could rather than blindly accept a political, loveless marriage.
Although he felt slightly bitter that even his right hand would be chosen in such a manner, he’d swallowed the feeling as best he could. He couldn’t deny that he had doubts about being able to trust a foreigner with his secrets, his very life, but he decided to reserve judgement until he’d met the man.
He’d heard the stories and gossip. That the country this far off prince came from was a step up from barbaric. That the men were tall, fierce warriors who didn’t fear death, that even the women could wield swords and participated in battle, and if anything he guessed having a skilled fighter protecting him couldn’t be a bad thing. As long as he could capture the man’s loyalty and then keep him faithful to him, he may prove such rumors true by intimidating any enemies Yoochun may have.
Lost in his fantasies and thoughts, he didn’t notice the increase in noise or the crowd of people now just visible down the main city road. A shout went up, startling him, and the soldiers lining the street and surrounding them where they waited at the top of a raised platform, all snapped to attention.
Yoochun stood a little taller, now just able to make out the group on horseback amidst the crowd of soldiers and commoners guiding them forwards on foot. He couldn’t stop the creeping curiosity rising within his chest as he caught sight of the light colored hair and tanned skin of the men riding in front. A stark contrast to the dark raven hair of his people.
As they grew closer, nerves began to settle in the pit of his stomach, and he peered at each of the faces, wondering and unable to tell which was the prince. Around him, the court members were doing the same thing, not caring to hide their speculative whispers until his father cleared his throat pointedly and silence fell.
They drew closer yet, and beside him his brother whispered to him. “There, in the middle. In the red.”
Yoochun’s heart unexplainably sped slightly as he searched for the figure, unable to contain the nervous anticipation. And then he saw him, the rest of the men seemed to be dressed in uniform, but a single man in the middle was in a crimson tunic, beautiful gold trimmed cloak across broad muscled shoulders. His hair was golden brown, shining beautifully in the sun, and his face...
Yoochun was definitely surprised. He’d heard the Prince was near his own age, but the young almost childlike curve of cheeks, pink pouty lips and button nose gave the impression of great youth. And he swallowed the disappointment along with the small sting of irritation that they were not sending him an equal, or at least even a man big enough to be a protective right hand, but just a mere boy.
When the group finally reached the platform, soldiers saluted and a great cheer accompanied the men as they dismounted. Yoochun’s eyes caught on the man’s fluid movements, graceful, powerful, hints of a well built muscular body, and he was already starting to double think his assumption. Especially when he noticed the long sword dangling from his hip. It seemed much too large for him, but he guessed that seeing the man in action would lay to rest his doubts. Even so, he was already giving up on his little daydream of a fierce golden warrior by his side. This prince seemed much too charming. Which on second thought, may not be a bad thing either.
They were ascending the stairs, men bowing and kneeling, people peeling away from around the man until it was just the Prince before them, what must be his Captain just behind him. They bowed as his father welcomed them kindly, yet regally, and through all the happy chatter that broke out, Yoochun watched as the Prince hesitantly searched the crowd. His eyes passed over faces discreetly, searching no doubt for him.
Yoochun took a small step forward, lifting his head as his father introduced him. And their eyes met.
The Prince’s eyes were the color of melted chocolate, unlike he’d ever seen before, and the gaze that held his seemed so warm, exciting in its foreignness, but lovely, and when the corner of his lips turned up in a small hesitant smile, a gentle offer of friendship, a pleasant rush of something flooded through his body, warm and unexpected.
He found himself automatically smiling back, the shy openness on that face totally calming all his doubts and worries, as even the curve of those tear drop eyes seemed to be smiling at him. An expression he almost couldn’t recognize as it was one he rarely saw. One that said, I’m happy to see you.
Then people were moving, ushering their new members forward and Yoochun was bustled off in a different direction. There was to be a welcoming celebration and banquet, but he was to meet with his Prince escort before that to give him a proper greeting and introduction. His servants rushed to change his stiff formal attire into something more suitable for the event, a deep midnight blue tunic lined with silver, and Yoochun let them take their time as he went over and over what he should say and do when they met face to face. Not that he hadn’t already done so millions of times in his head the past few nights, but now that he had a face to put to the Prince, all his previous scripts had dissolved into nothing.
He didn’t know why he felt so awkward and nervous when he wasn’t the one in a new castle full of strangers. Somehow the youthful innocence of that smile was something he’d rarely seen, disarming as he couldn’t seem to get over the feeling of how his heart had lifted with that single small gesture. That the Prince seemed glad to be here. He could only shake away the thought at how wishful he was being, but he was eager to meet with him again already.
The Prince was already there waiting for him by the time he finally was lead to a side chamber near his quarters. The man was fidgeting slightly, nervous and looking distinctly out of place as he turned with wide expectant eyes as Yoochun came though the door.
His golden hair was lit from the light of the open window behind him, and in that moment it glowed about his head like a halo. He’d never seen someone who looked so much like an angel.
Yoochun dismissed the servants, standing by the door as it closed behind him. As he took a step forward moving out of the glare of the sun, he could see the other had changed into a simple yet elegant tunic that clung to his well muscled frame, his hair freshly washed. It was too quiet as he cautiously observed the man again from head to foot, trying not to linger too long on the locks of hair that seemed to be made of gold. He couldn’t help the inappropriate desire to reach out and touch it, but was distracted by the reaction of the other.
Under his intense stare, the other hung his head slightly, biting his lip as Yoochun could just make out a faint pink dusting across his tanned skin. He was quite attractive, pretty in a childlike way despite his muscular build, and Yoochun felt decidedly awkward and lost for words.
He was so different than the people Yoochun usually kept for company, and he had no idea of how they were to relate to each other, let alone how they should even address each other.
“Welcome...” He tried, his voice seeming to startle the young man, who looked at him briefly before his eyes darted away again. “You must be quite tired after such a long journey.”
The Prince attempted a smile. “I’m fine. One gets used to travel after so many weeks.” His voice was rather husky, high pitched and it suited his youthful appearance.
Yoochun found he quite liked the sound of it and he smiled back carefully. “I want you to be as comfortable as possible. If there’s anything you’re in want of...”
The other shook his head, eyes still not meeting his own, continually watching the floor. “Please, no need to worry about me...Your Highness.”
Yoochun grimaced slightly. He already felt that this Prince had come with the impression he was to serve Yoochun, a position higher than a servant, but not quite an equal even given his royal background. It would explain the shyness and compliance. But it was not what he wanted.
If he wanted a friend, someone he could treat as an equal and learn to lean on and share the burden of his title, it seemed he had to start from the very beginning.
“Please...just call me Yoochun.” He said gently, still staring at him directly, waiting for those eyes to meet his own. They flickered to his face then once more danced away. “Then, what should I call you?” He pressed, slightly put off by the shyness and hating the awkwardness hanging in the air.
“Junsu.” The Prince whispered cautiously. He hesitated, then lifted his eyes at last to meet his gaze firmly. He spoke louder, determination lighting his eyes. “My name is Junsu.”
Yoochun could only nod, fully and overly aware of the brown color of his eyes, the soft looking blonde brown hair falling in
his eyes just so. He didn’t think he could get sick of looking at such unique features.
He offered another smile, wanting the man to feel more at ease. “I hope we can get a long well, Junsu. I’ve been waiting for you.”
Junsu blinked cutely, seeming caught by surprise at his words, and on that count he had even surprised himself, but realized he really had been thinking of his mysterious escort for countless days on end. He finally had a name and face to put to it, and the more he saw of him, the more he liked him.
Junsu got over his surprise and a pleased smile broke out over his face, lighting his whole face, lighting up the whole room and lightening Yoochun’s already strangely buoyant heart. “I’m so happy to finally meet you, too.”
Yoochun felt he should do something more to welcome the other, but he was so new at this. “You...can just stay by my side today. I’ll show you around.”
Junsu shifted his weight slightly, the smallest movement betraying his still present nerves. “Personally?”
Yoochun chuckled at the childlike expression. “Of course...you’re my equal, after all. And you came all this way merely to accompany me. I’m honored and thankful.”
Junsu flushed slightly and shook his head. He seemed lost for words.
“Well then, let me show you your rooms...and mine. They’re connected.” He paused. “For now you’ll have more access to me than even my future bride.” He winked slightly and was rewarded with a small laugh.
It was cute and bubbly, making him want to laugh along with him, but before he could enjoy the feeling properly he was pulling open the door and motioning for the other to follow.
They walked down the hall, Yoochun not noticing at first how Junsu walked a step behind him. “Don’t you miss your home?” He questioned, turning to find the other looking not at the castle around him but at his own feet. He looked up as Yoochun waited for an answer.
“Oh. No...not really...I’ve always wanted to get away.”
Yoochun couldn’t tell what emotions hid behind the words, and supposed that in time the other would relax and open up and he’d learn to read him. “Either way...I’m sorry...If you get homesick.”
Junsu smiled brightly again. “I’m more adaptable than I look.”
Junsu was so bright when he smiled he couldn’t stop the responding smiles that tugged resolutely at his lips, couldn’t stop the way he wanted to keep a smile on that face. He supposed he was taking a liking to the young man much too quickly, but he hadn’t even dared hope he’d be sent someone he’d enjoy so quickly. Someone he already felt a spark and connection to.
He wanted to know more about the other, hear stories of his far away kingdom, hear his true uninhibited laugh, have him comfortable enough to make Yoochun laugh as well. He now felt sure, confident, that despite them being forced together in such a way, they could build this into something, hopefully one day true friendship. For the first time he felt hopeful and positive about the whole arrangement, thankful for his good luck.
By the time he’d shown Junsu his own quarters, some servants had come to shadow their steps, discreetly asking they prepare for the banquet.
Junsu, who’d warmed up slightly with a constant small smile gracing his round face as they’d talked, instantly grew serious again, looking nervous.
Yoochun turned to him, suppressing the sudden urge to reach out and squeeze his shoulder reassuringly. “Don’t worry. We’ll be going together.”
Junsu nodded, lips drawn into a tight line, face slightly pale, but didn’t speak. His golden hair was glowing beautifully under the torch light and he didn’t realize what he was doing, that he was reaching for it, before Junsu’s eyes flashed, fixing on his outstretched hand.
Yoochun hesitated a single heartbeat, then brushed the tips of his fingers lightly along the soft locks, ruffling them slightly. An intimate fond gesture, one he’d only harassed his little brother with, and the odd bubbly chuckle it drew from Junsu as he smiled at him sheepishly was enough to sink the feeling into place.
A ray of sunshine, a little brother who was more like a living cherub, and he let his fingers slide back out of his hair. The tense air about them was already relaxing into something more easy. Curiosity and open interest, and more importantly a common silent agreement to face each other with open minds and hearts, ready to let the other in and make the most of their lives together.
Yoochun felt more light hearted and youthful himself just by being in his presence, and couldn’t fight the smile off his face any longer. There was an answering flicker in those sweetly curving eyes, and Yoochun nudged him playfully as he told him to come along.
He led the way towards the hub of noisy laughter, music, and merriment, people already enjoying food and company, a celebration Yoochun intended to enjoy more than all others with his new friend by his side. His and no one else’s.
It would only be a short three days later that Yoochun could honestly say that although Junsu wasn’t what he’d been expecting for a foreign Prince, he was none the less fully satisfied. Once they got through the awkward beginnings, the energetic young man was hardly disappointing.
Junsu had the brightest smile and most infectious laugh he’d ever heard, and he’d be lying if he said his heart didn’t swell slightly in his chest in response every time the brilliance of that smile was directed at him. And he knew he wouldn’t mind having this man by his side for life, a warm feeling settling in his stomach at the thought they’d have hours, days, years to grow close.
He felt selfishly pleased that Junsu was his man, and his man alone. He could finally have somebody to be fully on his side, at all times, through thick and thin. A prince without a kingdom…and Yoochun intended to make himself Junsu’s new kingdom and center of his world.
A small part of him mockingly berated him for his overwhelming need for attention, for his quick possessiveness, for the selfish desire to be cared about, but Yoochun couldn’t help it. Especially with his conviction about his future bride, he at least had the chance to make this relationship into the one that mattered, the one he really needed to find completion.
The position of Crown Prince was a far lonelier place than anyone else could ever imagine. He needed this. And he was determined to use this fresh start as his one and only chance to bring a man fully onto his side, to have someone to confide in, to help advise him, to know him like no one else could.
After all, that was the purpose of a royal escort and right hand man. And Yoochun couldn’t deny the stubborn bud of happiness blossoming in his chest. He wanted this a little too much, but he was determined to protect it with all he had.
*************
The eyes turning to look up at him as he opened the door were empty. The way he sat quietly, so still he could be sleeping, back against the wall and long legs drawn up to his chest.
No trace or hint of the rampant emotions that had flooded his face the first day, the useless feelings that had raged at Jaejoong’s senses with all the raw power of a man out of control. Things that were pointless and trivial and so easy to snuff out. Though the seeming lack of them now made him wary.
Not even the slightest tremor of fear, in fact he looked calm and at ease. A look he hadn’t ever seen even once on a single one of their former slaves, even more so as he stood waiting silently in the door way and the man gathered himself up.
Getting to his feet fluidly, a whole head taller than Jaejoong himself, he moved to stand before him quietly, as if offering himself, or else saying I’m not afraid of you. Try what you will.
His face was blank, but his actions showed him to be confident, strong, and Jaejoong didn’t understand.
Where did it come from? This man obviously didn’t know yet what he was here for, and that must be the reason why he wasn’t cowering in fear, or trying to hide himself from the things to come. And for one thing, he should definitely be scared of Jaejoong. The one who was going to manipulate and use him, hurt him.
He hesitated, wondering if he should once again take control of the young man’s body, force him to follow his lead, but the man seemed ready to submit and bend to his will without complaint.
Did he think that by not resisting it would hurt less? Or else he thought that maybe Jaejoong would let him go? But that was something that was not his choice to make.
It was the Sorcerer, his father, who had deemed this man fit enough, valuable enough, to take. He supposed it would only be a matter of time, a short period, before he too would fall and break like all the others before him.
He couldn’t say he cared either way. It was all the same to him.
Leading the way down the hall to the workroom where his father was already preparing various potions, movements slow and deliberate, Jaejoong felt more than heard the young man move into step behind him.
As they entered, a single dark eye flickered to glance at them, and Jaejoong bowed his head slightly in recognition of the command. He stopped, indicating a heavy wooden chair placed facing the dark empty fireplace, and expected the slave to comply and sit down.
But the man didn’t move. He was standing frozen to the spot at the door, staring intently at the Sorcerer, hands clenched and jaw tight. The sudden rushing return of emotion was like a sharp sting to his awareness, and Jaejoong realized a moment too late that the furtive glance about the room was not that of a trapped animal but rather a scan of possible weapons that could be used against them.
And the man was moving quicker than thought, long strides carrying him, lifting the heavy iron spit leaning beside the fireplace all in one smooth effortless movement, and he was rushing on silent determined steps towards the back of his father.
The taught muscles, hands comfortable and secure where they gripped the sharp stick turned weapon, the confident glint in his eyes, and Jaejoong knew before him was a seasoned fighter, a man knowing exactly where to strike, how much force he needed to end a life, and it was only too bad his opponents so easily had the upper hand.
All it took was a moment to gather himself before whispering the incantation, a word to gather and twist air into a concrete bolt of power that soared like an invisible arrow to strike sharply between the man’s shoulders.
He stumbled, faltered, yet used the momentum to drop himself to the side to turn the fall into a deep lunge, lifting the iron spit at the same moment that his father turned in a whirl of black that smoked at the edges of his frame.
A single hand raised and a harsh word spat into his attackers face and he was effortlessly knocked backwards, flying through the air, iron rod clanking noisily to the stone floor as his body met the wall and crumpled like a rag doll.
Jaejoong stared at the fallen man, the jarring ringing of the iron still reverberating in his ears. His father’s eyes turned to him, dark and displeased.
“Don’t you dare let him go like that again.”
Jaejoong bowed his head at the sharp reprimand, knowing full well he should have subdued the man regardless of his apparently submissive state, knowing full well his mistake wouldn’t be forgotten. If his father wasn’t currently collecting himself and focusing at the magic he was to perform, he’d probably find himself crushed and broken against the wall as well.
Punishment was merely postponed until more important matters were finished. Mumbling a string of apologies, and berating himself for his shortsightedness, Jaejoong shuffled over to where the slave lay upon the ground. He was deathly still.
A slight prod of magic and he regained consciousness with a small shudder and a silent groan from split lips. Then his eyes rolled open, more white showing than brown, but it was enough for Jaejoong to be able to pull him to his feet and guide him to the chair where he sat heavily, slumping to one side.
And though he hardly needed to, he now knew he couldn’t underestimate the other, and wrapped thick tendrils of energy around his wrists and ankles to keep him in place.
He realized he’d misunderstood the lack of emotion as one already given to defeat, when he was merely biding his time until the moment he could strike. A calm facade that hid and protected a fierce will to fight. He couldn’t deny he found the display both interesting and exciting, something unexpected, and Jaejoong looked down at the nearly unconscious man curiously from the shadowed protection of his hood.
Taking in the planes of his face, the fluttering of lashes across his cheeks, and he pushed a little deeper to feel him. He gasped slightly as sensations washed over him, colors flooding his vision as he sought out the man’s life force, energy spilling from his form in waves of light.
He was ablaze with thick billowing heat, a pulsing strength, an imitation of a small sun burning and flickering before him with the energy of a raging fire. Uninhibited and unrestrained due to his half conscious state.
Jaejoong was frozen, watching, feeling, unable to see or feel anything else for a moment as the ferocity of it took his breath away, tunneled his vision and made his heart race.
He’d never seen someone so vibrant and alive with such pure power, and especially never anyone they’d taken as a slave. Usually they were drained and waning, contaminated and muddy. Disgusting, faint repulsive shadows of destroyed and lost beauty. Beauty that now raged impossibly before him now.
It was hard to believe. This was his to look at. His to touch and take.
His body trembled with something he couldn’t explain, had never felt before. Like hot fingers were stroking his skin, tingling as if numb and sending something warm and uncomfortable rolling through his stomach.
He pulled away quickly as the feeling threatened to envelop him, trying to make him lose himself within it, and he stared at the motionless figure in awe.
The young man had no idea what he was, the power he emanated like a beacon. And although it would fade as soon as he woke, would be slowly ripped from him one strand at a time without him even knowing, Jaejoong knew, and he had never felt such keen anticipation.
Innocent though he was, life wasn't fair. You took what you could, and if you were weak you were used and spat back out. But something tugged at his heart as he gazed at the relaxed face before him.
This man had been easy to overpower, yet he hardly seemed weak. Not just in terms of his attempt to fight, no, it was his life-force beating strong and fierce, even as it had been when he was alone and surrounding on that day. Even with an arrow buried in his flesh, even with his body crippled, even with everyone against him. A heart that was young but already had so many scars.
What made him so strong? Why did it seem like each blow, each cut, had only increased that strength? It was fascinating and he was instantly drawn to the power of that heartbeat. According to all circumstances, the man should be timid and shadowed, hunched and broken. He should be distrustful, afraid of the world and even of himself.
But he was all ruddy sunlight and bursting starbursts in Jaejoong's eyes. Jaejoong wanted to know, wanted to break through the barriers, pass by everything and delve inside. Find out how and why. He couldn’t take his eyes off of him.
Because it was so heart wrenchingly beautiful and entrancing. Everything he could never have for himself, everything he wasn't.
There was a faraway distant look in the man’s eyes as he slowly regained himself, but even that still didn’t diminish the light in the depths of the brown orbs. Jaejoong had never seen a man with such features, such beautiful eyes.
Every man and woman they’d ever captured had had eyes as black and unyielding as his own. Hard and unpenetrable. They had never wavered nor bent, they could only be broken. And he’d broken each and every one of them only too easily in the end. One by one. But these eyes were so warm, deep and full of life. Jaejoong didn’t want to break them, he wanted to open them, keep them forever so that he could look his fill.
Long eyelashes fluttered and then the man was focusing on him blearily, was looking at him now, seeing him clearly but seemed to be searching for his face. There was a hesitant confusion on his features, as if he wasn’t sure of what he was seeing, as if he wasn’t sure it was really Jaejoong standing before him now. Jaejoong knew he should have prevented the other from catching sight of his face.
Knowing the face of your captor only gave unrealistic hope that there would be reluctance to truly harm, that if he pleaded enough he could evoke pity and be released. Keeping his identity hidden had always helped put out the last spark of hope in even the strongest slaves. He had been a monster to them, a demon shrouded in black.
But it was already too late. His father would reprimand him should he know Jaejoong had revealed himself, but a small part of him was glad. His father always told him to stay hidden since as long as he could remember, to keep his power pure and untainted. But for some reason he didn’t care about that, for some reason he wanted this man to see him as more than a hand that only inflicted pain cruelly.
The thought was strange and foreign in his mind and he quickly turned his gaze away from the one who was still watching him cautiously. He felt his confidence waver before the openness in those eyes, found himself doubting his own intentions, and the feeling was so foreign and unexpected he quickly snapped it off, bringing back the comfortable shield of cold nothingness.
His father was also looking at the man, evaluating him from head to foot, as if looking for where he wanted to start first. The look was greedy and the glint of anticipation in the dark eyes was one he knew only too well. He only hoped his own eyes would never flash like that.
"I need his name." His father commanded smoothly, and Jaejoong nodded wordlessly. His father seemed to be planning some sort of psychological curse, something for which he’d need to know more of this man’s identity. A mere name was more powerful than the average man knew, and Jaejoong couldn’t deny he was also eager to learn what his new object of fascination was called.
He turned away from his father and back towards the silently watching man as an odd sort of anticipation pricked his stomach. He now had permission, an excuse to learn more about the man, to quench just a little of the intense curiosity that had plagued him since the moment they came upon him bloodied and surrounded by his own countrymen.
He knew his father wouldn't waste precious drops of power on such a menial task, not when Jaejoong’s power reserves were an endless ocean, one his father never hesitated to use especially at moments like these. Jaejoong always obeyed him without question, letting him take and direct his magic into whatever form he needed, and at the moment he dare not admit even to himself how happy he was to comply for once.
He approached the chair where their new slave sat quietly for all pretenses looking as if he'd chosen to take a rest there. But he was stiff and frozen in his seat, held down by an invisible force and only able to move his head. So helpless. There was no room for remorse or empathy, and Jaejoong had long ago forgotten how to even feel such things.
He stood directly in front of the other at last, silently reaching out his hands. And those eyes were so easy to read, throwing him off balance as they flooded with apprehension, begging him with a silent please, don't hurt me, and Jaejoong quickly shut his eyes against it.
He couldn’t waver, couldn’t let a single whisper of emotion slip free, emotions that this man seemed to stir to life within him so easily. It intrigued him, unsettled him, and he had to keep his composure even for such a simple spell. A spell he could so easily get lost in and take more than he should.
Placing is hands on either side of the man's head, cupping his ears and jaw, he felt the body beneath his hands trembling, the tremors so strong they shivered up and into his own hands as if he, too, were shaking. He realized this man would be fighting him off valiantly if only he weren't so completely paralyzed and restrained by magic.
Jaejoong held his face more firmly, ignoring the way warmth seeped into his hands as he began to sing, pressing his mind forcefully against the other's. The action was sudden and intense, his control slipping as everything about the feel and sight of the face upturned to his distracted him.
And the trembling immediately stopped, body gone powerless and limp as his mind was invaded with such direct power and force it nearly knocked him unconscious once more. He could feel the man slipping away due to the nearly uncontrolled power of his sudden intrusion, and he pulled back slightly, focusing as he coaxed him into a dazed trance, just susceptible enough to bend and search his mind as he wished.
He sang and hummed, the magic filling his voice with low vibrations of power, and he closed his eyes as he sunk into a jumble of swirling colors, blurry faces flitting before his eyes, everything melting and reforming into each other continuously. Echoes of words, music, laughter, tears, a whisper of great loss, pain, love, and he was entranced by the vibrancy of it.
And he felt he was close, so close...another faint echo rippling against him from far away, more voices, and amidst it all he heard a single word, repeated and echoing with the deep timbre of a male, the high tinkles of females, returning again and again as different people spoke as if into his own ear, telling him that single word was important.
Changmin...Changmin...Changmin-ah.
A deep voice rose above all the others, repeating infinitely many more times, laughing his name, whispering his name with breath warm against his cheek, then a father's harsh tones, the loving croon of a mother over an infant, the teasing laughter of children, mocking and barely concealed taunts, curses, and happy laughter.
Faces flashed before him, none stopping long enough to form completely or to let him have a proper look, and though he wanted to delve further, see more of this Changmin's life, past, secrets, he'd already forced control over his mind for too long. He could feel Changmin fading farther and deeper into nothing as he continued to steal images from his memories.
Reluctantly, he retreated slowly. It was hard, he’d sunk much too deep, almost painful with the way his mind clung to the thoughts swirling around him still, sluggishly backtracking through the muddle of sights and sounds. A warm embrace, a whispered I love you, glittering tears, the moon shining bright and dreamlike on a face filled with lost longing.
Then he was rocking back into his body, sucking in a breath as if he'd been holding it under water the whole time. His chest rose, filling his lungs deeply as he gazed down silently as if in a trance, looking unblinkingly at the face still cradled between his hands, at the hot tears that had spilled from the corners of Changmin’s closed eyes to be caught in his hands. The liquid burned on his skin, foreign and captivating in the way it was sending strange tingles of heat lancing through his chest. The feeling was making it hard to breathe normally.
"Changmin-ah." He breathed, voice catching slightly as he spoke.
Changmin slowly opened his eyes, tears clinging to his lashes like crystals, framing the warm chocolate orbs brimming with even more tears, tears that blurred and made the longing and hurt waver beneath their crystalline cover.
"Changmin." He repeated, and Changmin’s lips trembled with emotion as Jaejoong shared the remnants of those last memories still flickering and wavering within his own mind as if they were his own. He'd stolen more than just a name.
And he wished he could just keep the name for himself, but his father was already speaking. "Changmin?" And the sound was all sharp edges, knives splitting open skin and about to plunge cruelly into defenseless vulnerability.
Behind him he could hear his father lighting a flame, the pop of the fire as he added various powders and liquids to it. He should return to his father’s side, but he was loath to release the face in his hands.
He’d seen more than a lifetime of suffering and pain, had inflicted more than he could even count or remember. It had never bothered him before. But for some reason, the echo of feeling that had invaded him as he’d seen that face bathed in moonlight, it seemed buried in his chest, and he couldn’t shake it away. He didn’t even know how to identify it, but he knew there was much more than this he’d never experienced, and he wanted to learn more. Take more.
“Jaejoong.” His father spoke, drawing him out of his thoughts, and it was only a flash of a thought he couldn’t understand as his hands slipped from Changmin’s face, hovering a split second as the urge to wipe the tears away passed as soon as he felt it.
He let his hands fall away, turning to his father as something strange nudged the back of his mind. There had been something...odd images and words, scenes which now that he’d pulled himself out of their confusing tangle, formed into a complete picture, a slowly budding truth before him.
Something was wrong....something was off. Something he hadn’t noticed two days prior when they first took him as their slave. But, he wasn’t a slave. He was something else entirely, and the jagged fragments slowly drew together to form the answer.
Frowning, he flickered another glance back at Changmin who was already dry eyed and watching his father across the room with an odd fire burning his eyes. Now that he looked again, now that he had seen who Changmin was, everything suddenly made sense.
He wasn’t just bright like the sun, he was a sun. And it didn’t make sense that he would be here now, sitting helpless before them.
Coming quietly to his father’s side, he cleared this throat tentatively. There was no way his father couldn’t know...but why hadn’t he said anything the day they’d taken him?
"Father...“
The Sorcerer made no indication that he’d head but Jaejoong knew he was listening even as he made the final preparations for his spell. It was a risk to bring something up while his father was concentrating, but it would mean a great difference in their work should his guess be true.
“I think he's the real Prince.”
His father’s hands stilled, and he turned to pin him with dark eyes. They were filled with scorn. "Of course he is the Prince. Pathetic excuse for soldiers had no idea the value of what they were losing.“
Jaejoong’s heart sank slightly, knowing only too well the grave consequences of laying their hands on anyone of importance, the dangers of touching someone such as this. The execution they’d face if anyone was to know they had him imprisoned here.
"...Shouldn't we return him to the king?" His voice was so small and instantly blotted out with a sharp cold bark that made glass vials rattle and sing with the sudden change in air pressure.
"Watch. Your. Mouth, boy. I shouldn't have to explain to you the properties and rarity of royal blood."
His father’s eyes flashed at him sharply, a wave of hot air pressing painfully against his throat for the briefest second before his father let him go, not needing to do more than that to let him know he’d overstepped his place and said something he shouldn’t. Something he couldn’t let another soul hear him repeat.
Jaejoong hung his head submissively. "Forgive me, Father."
It was true they could never have a chance like this again. Muddied though it was, the young man's blood flowed with the power and magic only true to an heir of a king, and his father would never bypass the opportunity, would use it to its fullest extent.
It almost seemed too perfectly planned out. Or just incredibly good luck. A Prince no one even knew was missing. Betrayed, abandoned, and left for dead by his own men.
Humans truly were despicable. But for once Jaejoong couldn’t deny that it worked in his favor. And he couldn’t say he felt sorry or guilty. On the contrary, he felt nothing but a slowly growing excitement, something bubbling lazily in the pit of his stomach.
And he turned back to look at Changmin again. Finding his eyes across the room and unable to stop the strange tightness in his chest as Changmin felt his gaze and turned his focus to him.
Yes. See me. Let me be the only thing you can see. I will make you mine.
***************************
next chapter~~
Pairing: Jaemin, Yoomin
Length: Chapter 4/?
Genre: fantasy, adventure, angst,drama
Disclaimer: idea based on goose-girl fairy tale ~
Summary: Changmin has no control over his life as he's forced to leave his home to become the escort of the Crown Prince in a faraway land. Before he can even reach his destination, he's betrayed by his own guard and barely escapes death, finding himself alone and forgotten in a dark forsaken land where magic is real and even the moon has deserted the sky.
Previous Chapters: one | two | three
A/N: huu :( this chap seems very explainy...TT and long.
*****
He could hear the procession approaching before he could see it.
Standing at his father’s right with his brother just on his other side, surrounded by the mose prestigious of the court all dressed in their best finery, guards standing alert and to attention around them in unpassable formation. It was a welcome fit for his future bride accompanied with royal family and relatives. Surely it was too much for a mere group of travel weary men and a single prince.
Yoochun felt it rather embarrassing if not ridiculous to put on such a show for the foreign escort which would no doubt feel intimidated and dirty before such blatant finery. If he had a choice in it, he didn’t want to welcome the Prince in such a manner. It was awkward at best, and condescending at worst, and he hadn’t had any say in it even though this was technically his moment.
He knew his father wanted to make an impression, to remind the foreigners that no matter their new positions in their new home here, they were still guests. Lower in status, should be respectful and thankful for being summoned to such a great kingdom. His father had as much as told him so when he explained the arrangement, and Yoochun had merely decided that he could care less about the soldiers.
All he cared about was the Prince, someone who would be by his side for life, and regardless of what his father wished, he would treat him like a blood brother, would put him before and above all others. He would just have to apologize to the man later after the welcoming feast and hope he was an understanding, easygoing person.
Yes. That was the only thing that had him really nervous. Not knowing what kind of person he had been matched with, not knowing if the other even cared to get to know him or give him a chance. And the only thing he could do was try.
Yoochun shifted uncomfortably where he stood. Even he was more well groomed and more stiffly dressed than he usually preferred. His hair, usually falling dark and wild about his shoulders had been brushed into smooth waves, the golden circlet of the Crown Prince sitting heavily upon his head. The weight seemed to sink through his skin, into his shoulders, into his very bones.
He felt more apprehensive and annoyed with every passing moment as the waiting wore on his confidence, the last few minutes before his life would change, being pushed once again in a direction his father saw fit and yet again trying to make the best of it.
But now that it was finally here, approaching down the main road at that moment, he wanted to resist, to refuse, a childish reaction he tried to suppress. He knew it was only nerves. But time was crawling, giving him much too much time to think and question and worry. Things he did best.
His father always had the final decision, especially since he seemed to want to finalize and dictate as much as he could before Yoochun was to take the throne in later years. Even though Yoochun had been able to provide at least ten able bodied eager young men he’d personally trust to become his escort, his father had turned them all down in favor of a political move.
Yoochun knew it would be the same next time as well, when the time came for him to take a wife. He knew the only reason he hadn’t taken one already was his father’s stubbornness to acquire the hand of one of the more wealthy and influential princesses. Ladies who had more than one such kingdom as theirs vying for their consent, for their connection as allies, and Yoochun would rather find someone less popular and troublesome. Both to avoid the competition altogether, and to give him even the smallest chance at finding a woman he was attracted to, and her likewise.
There was only so much he could do to give hope to his dream of a heart-stopping romance, a love he could cherish for the rest of his life, and was secretly thankful the nobility his father seemed interested in were picky and stuckup, hardly sparing their offers a glance.
He partly let all other aspects of his life slide, giving into his father’s wishes now so that when the time came to ask for what he truly wanted, he could have more power to fight for just this one thing. He promised himself he’d fight as best he could rather than blindly accept a political, loveless marriage.
Although he felt slightly bitter that even his right hand would be chosen in such a manner, he’d swallowed the feeling as best he could. He couldn’t deny that he had doubts about being able to trust a foreigner with his secrets, his very life, but he decided to reserve judgement until he’d met the man.
He’d heard the stories and gossip. That the country this far off prince came from was a step up from barbaric. That the men were tall, fierce warriors who didn’t fear death, that even the women could wield swords and participated in battle, and if anything he guessed having a skilled fighter protecting him couldn’t be a bad thing. As long as he could capture the man’s loyalty and then keep him faithful to him, he may prove such rumors true by intimidating any enemies Yoochun may have.
Lost in his fantasies and thoughts, he didn’t notice the increase in noise or the crowd of people now just visible down the main city road. A shout went up, startling him, and the soldiers lining the street and surrounding them where they waited at the top of a raised platform, all snapped to attention.
Yoochun stood a little taller, now just able to make out the group on horseback amidst the crowd of soldiers and commoners guiding them forwards on foot. He couldn’t stop the creeping curiosity rising within his chest as he caught sight of the light colored hair and tanned skin of the men riding in front. A stark contrast to the dark raven hair of his people.
As they grew closer, nerves began to settle in the pit of his stomach, and he peered at each of the faces, wondering and unable to tell which was the prince. Around him, the court members were doing the same thing, not caring to hide their speculative whispers until his father cleared his throat pointedly and silence fell.
They drew closer yet, and beside him his brother whispered to him. “There, in the middle. In the red.”
Yoochun’s heart unexplainably sped slightly as he searched for the figure, unable to contain the nervous anticipation. And then he saw him, the rest of the men seemed to be dressed in uniform, but a single man in the middle was in a crimson tunic, beautiful gold trimmed cloak across broad muscled shoulders. His hair was golden brown, shining beautifully in the sun, and his face...
Yoochun was definitely surprised. He’d heard the Prince was near his own age, but the young almost childlike curve of cheeks, pink pouty lips and button nose gave the impression of great youth. And he swallowed the disappointment along with the small sting of irritation that they were not sending him an equal, or at least even a man big enough to be a protective right hand, but just a mere boy.
When the group finally reached the platform, soldiers saluted and a great cheer accompanied the men as they dismounted. Yoochun’s eyes caught on the man’s fluid movements, graceful, powerful, hints of a well built muscular body, and he was already starting to double think his assumption. Especially when he noticed the long sword dangling from his hip. It seemed much too large for him, but he guessed that seeing the man in action would lay to rest his doubts. Even so, he was already giving up on his little daydream of a fierce golden warrior by his side. This prince seemed much too charming. Which on second thought, may not be a bad thing either.
They were ascending the stairs, men bowing and kneeling, people peeling away from around the man until it was just the Prince before them, what must be his Captain just behind him. They bowed as his father welcomed them kindly, yet regally, and through all the happy chatter that broke out, Yoochun watched as the Prince hesitantly searched the crowd. His eyes passed over faces discreetly, searching no doubt for him.
Yoochun took a small step forward, lifting his head as his father introduced him. And their eyes met.
The Prince’s eyes were the color of melted chocolate, unlike he’d ever seen before, and the gaze that held his seemed so warm, exciting in its foreignness, but lovely, and when the corner of his lips turned up in a small hesitant smile, a gentle offer of friendship, a pleasant rush of something flooded through his body, warm and unexpected.
He found himself automatically smiling back, the shy openness on that face totally calming all his doubts and worries, as even the curve of those tear drop eyes seemed to be smiling at him. An expression he almost couldn’t recognize as it was one he rarely saw. One that said, I’m happy to see you.
Then people were moving, ushering their new members forward and Yoochun was bustled off in a different direction. There was to be a welcoming celebration and banquet, but he was to meet with his Prince escort before that to give him a proper greeting and introduction. His servants rushed to change his stiff formal attire into something more suitable for the event, a deep midnight blue tunic lined with silver, and Yoochun let them take their time as he went over and over what he should say and do when they met face to face. Not that he hadn’t already done so millions of times in his head the past few nights, but now that he had a face to put to the Prince, all his previous scripts had dissolved into nothing.
He didn’t know why he felt so awkward and nervous when he wasn’t the one in a new castle full of strangers. Somehow the youthful innocence of that smile was something he’d rarely seen, disarming as he couldn’t seem to get over the feeling of how his heart had lifted with that single small gesture. That the Prince seemed glad to be here. He could only shake away the thought at how wishful he was being, but he was eager to meet with him again already.
The Prince was already there waiting for him by the time he finally was lead to a side chamber near his quarters. The man was fidgeting slightly, nervous and looking distinctly out of place as he turned with wide expectant eyes as Yoochun came though the door.
His golden hair was lit from the light of the open window behind him, and in that moment it glowed about his head like a halo. He’d never seen someone who looked so much like an angel.
Yoochun dismissed the servants, standing by the door as it closed behind him. As he took a step forward moving out of the glare of the sun, he could see the other had changed into a simple yet elegant tunic that clung to his well muscled frame, his hair freshly washed. It was too quiet as he cautiously observed the man again from head to foot, trying not to linger too long on the locks of hair that seemed to be made of gold. He couldn’t help the inappropriate desire to reach out and touch it, but was distracted by the reaction of the other.
Under his intense stare, the other hung his head slightly, biting his lip as Yoochun could just make out a faint pink dusting across his tanned skin. He was quite attractive, pretty in a childlike way despite his muscular build, and Yoochun felt decidedly awkward and lost for words.
He was so different than the people Yoochun usually kept for company, and he had no idea of how they were to relate to each other, let alone how they should even address each other.
“Welcome...” He tried, his voice seeming to startle the young man, who looked at him briefly before his eyes darted away again. “You must be quite tired after such a long journey.”
The Prince attempted a smile. “I’m fine. One gets used to travel after so many weeks.” His voice was rather husky, high pitched and it suited his youthful appearance.
Yoochun found he quite liked the sound of it and he smiled back carefully. “I want you to be as comfortable as possible. If there’s anything you’re in want of...”
The other shook his head, eyes still not meeting his own, continually watching the floor. “Please, no need to worry about me...Your Highness.”
Yoochun grimaced slightly. He already felt that this Prince had come with the impression he was to serve Yoochun, a position higher than a servant, but not quite an equal even given his royal background. It would explain the shyness and compliance. But it was not what he wanted.
If he wanted a friend, someone he could treat as an equal and learn to lean on and share the burden of his title, it seemed he had to start from the very beginning.
“Please...just call me Yoochun.” He said gently, still staring at him directly, waiting for those eyes to meet his own. They flickered to his face then once more danced away. “Then, what should I call you?” He pressed, slightly put off by the shyness and hating the awkwardness hanging in the air.
“Junsu.” The Prince whispered cautiously. He hesitated, then lifted his eyes at last to meet his gaze firmly. He spoke louder, determination lighting his eyes. “My name is Junsu.”
Yoochun could only nod, fully and overly aware of the brown color of his eyes, the soft looking blonde brown hair falling in
his eyes just so. He didn’t think he could get sick of looking at such unique features.
He offered another smile, wanting the man to feel more at ease. “I hope we can get a long well, Junsu. I’ve been waiting for you.”
Junsu blinked cutely, seeming caught by surprise at his words, and on that count he had even surprised himself, but realized he really had been thinking of his mysterious escort for countless days on end. He finally had a name and face to put to it, and the more he saw of him, the more he liked him.
Junsu got over his surprise and a pleased smile broke out over his face, lighting his whole face, lighting up the whole room and lightening Yoochun’s already strangely buoyant heart. “I’m so happy to finally meet you, too.”
Yoochun felt he should do something more to welcome the other, but he was so new at this. “You...can just stay by my side today. I’ll show you around.”
Junsu shifted his weight slightly, the smallest movement betraying his still present nerves. “Personally?”
Yoochun chuckled at the childlike expression. “Of course...you’re my equal, after all. And you came all this way merely to accompany me. I’m honored and thankful.”
Junsu flushed slightly and shook his head. He seemed lost for words.
“Well then, let me show you your rooms...and mine. They’re connected.” He paused. “For now you’ll have more access to me than even my future bride.” He winked slightly and was rewarded with a small laugh.
It was cute and bubbly, making him want to laugh along with him, but before he could enjoy the feeling properly he was pulling open the door and motioning for the other to follow.
They walked down the hall, Yoochun not noticing at first how Junsu walked a step behind him. “Don’t you miss your home?” He questioned, turning to find the other looking not at the castle around him but at his own feet. He looked up as Yoochun waited for an answer.
“Oh. No...not really...I’ve always wanted to get away.”
Yoochun couldn’t tell what emotions hid behind the words, and supposed that in time the other would relax and open up and he’d learn to read him. “Either way...I’m sorry...If you get homesick.”
Junsu smiled brightly again. “I’m more adaptable than I look.”
Junsu was so bright when he smiled he couldn’t stop the responding smiles that tugged resolutely at his lips, couldn’t stop the way he wanted to keep a smile on that face. He supposed he was taking a liking to the young man much too quickly, but he hadn’t even dared hope he’d be sent someone he’d enjoy so quickly. Someone he already felt a spark and connection to.
He wanted to know more about the other, hear stories of his far away kingdom, hear his true uninhibited laugh, have him comfortable enough to make Yoochun laugh as well. He now felt sure, confident, that despite them being forced together in such a way, they could build this into something, hopefully one day true friendship. For the first time he felt hopeful and positive about the whole arrangement, thankful for his good luck.
By the time he’d shown Junsu his own quarters, some servants had come to shadow their steps, discreetly asking they prepare for the banquet.
Junsu, who’d warmed up slightly with a constant small smile gracing his round face as they’d talked, instantly grew serious again, looking nervous.
Yoochun turned to him, suppressing the sudden urge to reach out and squeeze his shoulder reassuringly. “Don’t worry. We’ll be going together.”
Junsu nodded, lips drawn into a tight line, face slightly pale, but didn’t speak. His golden hair was glowing beautifully under the torch light and he didn’t realize what he was doing, that he was reaching for it, before Junsu’s eyes flashed, fixing on his outstretched hand.
Yoochun hesitated a single heartbeat, then brushed the tips of his fingers lightly along the soft locks, ruffling them slightly. An intimate fond gesture, one he’d only harassed his little brother with, and the odd bubbly chuckle it drew from Junsu as he smiled at him sheepishly was enough to sink the feeling into place.
A ray of sunshine, a little brother who was more like a living cherub, and he let his fingers slide back out of his hair. The tense air about them was already relaxing into something more easy. Curiosity and open interest, and more importantly a common silent agreement to face each other with open minds and hearts, ready to let the other in and make the most of their lives together.
Yoochun felt more light hearted and youthful himself just by being in his presence, and couldn’t fight the smile off his face any longer. There was an answering flicker in those sweetly curving eyes, and Yoochun nudged him playfully as he told him to come along.
He led the way towards the hub of noisy laughter, music, and merriment, people already enjoying food and company, a celebration Yoochun intended to enjoy more than all others with his new friend by his side. His and no one else’s.
It would only be a short three days later that Yoochun could honestly say that although Junsu wasn’t what he’d been expecting for a foreign Prince, he was none the less fully satisfied. Once they got through the awkward beginnings, the energetic young man was hardly disappointing.
Junsu had the brightest smile and most infectious laugh he’d ever heard, and he’d be lying if he said his heart didn’t swell slightly in his chest in response every time the brilliance of that smile was directed at him. And he knew he wouldn’t mind having this man by his side for life, a warm feeling settling in his stomach at the thought they’d have hours, days, years to grow close.
He felt selfishly pleased that Junsu was his man, and his man alone. He could finally have somebody to be fully on his side, at all times, through thick and thin. A prince without a kingdom…and Yoochun intended to make himself Junsu’s new kingdom and center of his world.
A small part of him mockingly berated him for his overwhelming need for attention, for his quick possessiveness, for the selfish desire to be cared about, but Yoochun couldn’t help it. Especially with his conviction about his future bride, he at least had the chance to make this relationship into the one that mattered, the one he really needed to find completion.
The position of Crown Prince was a far lonelier place than anyone else could ever imagine. He needed this. And he was determined to use this fresh start as his one and only chance to bring a man fully onto his side, to have someone to confide in, to help advise him, to know him like no one else could.
After all, that was the purpose of a royal escort and right hand man. And Yoochun couldn’t deny the stubborn bud of happiness blossoming in his chest. He wanted this a little too much, but he was determined to protect it with all he had.
*************
The eyes turning to look up at him as he opened the door were empty. The way he sat quietly, so still he could be sleeping, back against the wall and long legs drawn up to his chest.
No trace or hint of the rampant emotions that had flooded his face the first day, the useless feelings that had raged at Jaejoong’s senses with all the raw power of a man out of control. Things that were pointless and trivial and so easy to snuff out. Though the seeming lack of them now made him wary.
Not even the slightest tremor of fear, in fact he looked calm and at ease. A look he hadn’t ever seen even once on a single one of their former slaves, even more so as he stood waiting silently in the door way and the man gathered himself up.
Getting to his feet fluidly, a whole head taller than Jaejoong himself, he moved to stand before him quietly, as if offering himself, or else saying I’m not afraid of you. Try what you will.
His face was blank, but his actions showed him to be confident, strong, and Jaejoong didn’t understand.
Where did it come from? This man obviously didn’t know yet what he was here for, and that must be the reason why he wasn’t cowering in fear, or trying to hide himself from the things to come. And for one thing, he should definitely be scared of Jaejoong. The one who was going to manipulate and use him, hurt him.
He hesitated, wondering if he should once again take control of the young man’s body, force him to follow his lead, but the man seemed ready to submit and bend to his will without complaint.
Did he think that by not resisting it would hurt less? Or else he thought that maybe Jaejoong would let him go? But that was something that was not his choice to make.
It was the Sorcerer, his father, who had deemed this man fit enough, valuable enough, to take. He supposed it would only be a matter of time, a short period, before he too would fall and break like all the others before him.
He couldn’t say he cared either way. It was all the same to him.
Leading the way down the hall to the workroom where his father was already preparing various potions, movements slow and deliberate, Jaejoong felt more than heard the young man move into step behind him.
As they entered, a single dark eye flickered to glance at them, and Jaejoong bowed his head slightly in recognition of the command. He stopped, indicating a heavy wooden chair placed facing the dark empty fireplace, and expected the slave to comply and sit down.
But the man didn’t move. He was standing frozen to the spot at the door, staring intently at the Sorcerer, hands clenched and jaw tight. The sudden rushing return of emotion was like a sharp sting to his awareness, and Jaejoong realized a moment too late that the furtive glance about the room was not that of a trapped animal but rather a scan of possible weapons that could be used against them.
And the man was moving quicker than thought, long strides carrying him, lifting the heavy iron spit leaning beside the fireplace all in one smooth effortless movement, and he was rushing on silent determined steps towards the back of his father.
The taught muscles, hands comfortable and secure where they gripped the sharp stick turned weapon, the confident glint in his eyes, and Jaejoong knew before him was a seasoned fighter, a man knowing exactly where to strike, how much force he needed to end a life, and it was only too bad his opponents so easily had the upper hand.
All it took was a moment to gather himself before whispering the incantation, a word to gather and twist air into a concrete bolt of power that soared like an invisible arrow to strike sharply between the man’s shoulders.
He stumbled, faltered, yet used the momentum to drop himself to the side to turn the fall into a deep lunge, lifting the iron spit at the same moment that his father turned in a whirl of black that smoked at the edges of his frame.
A single hand raised and a harsh word spat into his attackers face and he was effortlessly knocked backwards, flying through the air, iron rod clanking noisily to the stone floor as his body met the wall and crumpled like a rag doll.
Jaejoong stared at the fallen man, the jarring ringing of the iron still reverberating in his ears. His father’s eyes turned to him, dark and displeased.
“Don’t you dare let him go like that again.”
Jaejoong bowed his head at the sharp reprimand, knowing full well he should have subdued the man regardless of his apparently submissive state, knowing full well his mistake wouldn’t be forgotten. If his father wasn’t currently collecting himself and focusing at the magic he was to perform, he’d probably find himself crushed and broken against the wall as well.
Punishment was merely postponed until more important matters were finished. Mumbling a string of apologies, and berating himself for his shortsightedness, Jaejoong shuffled over to where the slave lay upon the ground. He was deathly still.
A slight prod of magic and he regained consciousness with a small shudder and a silent groan from split lips. Then his eyes rolled open, more white showing than brown, but it was enough for Jaejoong to be able to pull him to his feet and guide him to the chair where he sat heavily, slumping to one side.
And though he hardly needed to, he now knew he couldn’t underestimate the other, and wrapped thick tendrils of energy around his wrists and ankles to keep him in place.
He realized he’d misunderstood the lack of emotion as one already given to defeat, when he was merely biding his time until the moment he could strike. A calm facade that hid and protected a fierce will to fight. He couldn’t deny he found the display both interesting and exciting, something unexpected, and Jaejoong looked down at the nearly unconscious man curiously from the shadowed protection of his hood.
Taking in the planes of his face, the fluttering of lashes across his cheeks, and he pushed a little deeper to feel him. He gasped slightly as sensations washed over him, colors flooding his vision as he sought out the man’s life force, energy spilling from his form in waves of light.
He was ablaze with thick billowing heat, a pulsing strength, an imitation of a small sun burning and flickering before him with the energy of a raging fire. Uninhibited and unrestrained due to his half conscious state.
Jaejoong was frozen, watching, feeling, unable to see or feel anything else for a moment as the ferocity of it took his breath away, tunneled his vision and made his heart race.
He’d never seen someone so vibrant and alive with such pure power, and especially never anyone they’d taken as a slave. Usually they were drained and waning, contaminated and muddy. Disgusting, faint repulsive shadows of destroyed and lost beauty. Beauty that now raged impossibly before him now.
It was hard to believe. This was his to look at. His to touch and take.
His body trembled with something he couldn’t explain, had never felt before. Like hot fingers were stroking his skin, tingling as if numb and sending something warm and uncomfortable rolling through his stomach.
He pulled away quickly as the feeling threatened to envelop him, trying to make him lose himself within it, and he stared at the motionless figure in awe.
The young man had no idea what he was, the power he emanated like a beacon. And although it would fade as soon as he woke, would be slowly ripped from him one strand at a time without him even knowing, Jaejoong knew, and he had never felt such keen anticipation.
Innocent though he was, life wasn't fair. You took what you could, and if you were weak you were used and spat back out. But something tugged at his heart as he gazed at the relaxed face before him.
This man had been easy to overpower, yet he hardly seemed weak. Not just in terms of his attempt to fight, no, it was his life-force beating strong and fierce, even as it had been when he was alone and surrounding on that day. Even with an arrow buried in his flesh, even with his body crippled, even with everyone against him. A heart that was young but already had so many scars.
What made him so strong? Why did it seem like each blow, each cut, had only increased that strength? It was fascinating and he was instantly drawn to the power of that heartbeat. According to all circumstances, the man should be timid and shadowed, hunched and broken. He should be distrustful, afraid of the world and even of himself.
But he was all ruddy sunlight and bursting starbursts in Jaejoong's eyes. Jaejoong wanted to know, wanted to break through the barriers, pass by everything and delve inside. Find out how and why. He couldn’t take his eyes off of him.
Because it was so heart wrenchingly beautiful and entrancing. Everything he could never have for himself, everything he wasn't.
There was a faraway distant look in the man’s eyes as he slowly regained himself, but even that still didn’t diminish the light in the depths of the brown orbs. Jaejoong had never seen a man with such features, such beautiful eyes.
Every man and woman they’d ever captured had had eyes as black and unyielding as his own. Hard and unpenetrable. They had never wavered nor bent, they could only be broken. And he’d broken each and every one of them only too easily in the end. One by one. But these eyes were so warm, deep and full of life. Jaejoong didn’t want to break them, he wanted to open them, keep them forever so that he could look his fill.
Long eyelashes fluttered and then the man was focusing on him blearily, was looking at him now, seeing him clearly but seemed to be searching for his face. There was a hesitant confusion on his features, as if he wasn’t sure of what he was seeing, as if he wasn’t sure it was really Jaejoong standing before him now. Jaejoong knew he should have prevented the other from catching sight of his face.
Knowing the face of your captor only gave unrealistic hope that there would be reluctance to truly harm, that if he pleaded enough he could evoke pity and be released. Keeping his identity hidden had always helped put out the last spark of hope in even the strongest slaves. He had been a monster to them, a demon shrouded in black.
But it was already too late. His father would reprimand him should he know Jaejoong had revealed himself, but a small part of him was glad. His father always told him to stay hidden since as long as he could remember, to keep his power pure and untainted. But for some reason he didn’t care about that, for some reason he wanted this man to see him as more than a hand that only inflicted pain cruelly.
The thought was strange and foreign in his mind and he quickly turned his gaze away from the one who was still watching him cautiously. He felt his confidence waver before the openness in those eyes, found himself doubting his own intentions, and the feeling was so foreign and unexpected he quickly snapped it off, bringing back the comfortable shield of cold nothingness.
His father was also looking at the man, evaluating him from head to foot, as if looking for where he wanted to start first. The look was greedy and the glint of anticipation in the dark eyes was one he knew only too well. He only hoped his own eyes would never flash like that.
"I need his name." His father commanded smoothly, and Jaejoong nodded wordlessly. His father seemed to be planning some sort of psychological curse, something for which he’d need to know more of this man’s identity. A mere name was more powerful than the average man knew, and Jaejoong couldn’t deny he was also eager to learn what his new object of fascination was called.
He turned away from his father and back towards the silently watching man as an odd sort of anticipation pricked his stomach. He now had permission, an excuse to learn more about the man, to quench just a little of the intense curiosity that had plagued him since the moment they came upon him bloodied and surrounded by his own countrymen.
He knew his father wouldn't waste precious drops of power on such a menial task, not when Jaejoong’s power reserves were an endless ocean, one his father never hesitated to use especially at moments like these. Jaejoong always obeyed him without question, letting him take and direct his magic into whatever form he needed, and at the moment he dare not admit even to himself how happy he was to comply for once.
He approached the chair where their new slave sat quietly for all pretenses looking as if he'd chosen to take a rest there. But he was stiff and frozen in his seat, held down by an invisible force and only able to move his head. So helpless. There was no room for remorse or empathy, and Jaejoong had long ago forgotten how to even feel such things.
He stood directly in front of the other at last, silently reaching out his hands. And those eyes were so easy to read, throwing him off balance as they flooded with apprehension, begging him with a silent please, don't hurt me, and Jaejoong quickly shut his eyes against it.
He couldn’t waver, couldn’t let a single whisper of emotion slip free, emotions that this man seemed to stir to life within him so easily. It intrigued him, unsettled him, and he had to keep his composure even for such a simple spell. A spell he could so easily get lost in and take more than he should.
Placing is hands on either side of the man's head, cupping his ears and jaw, he felt the body beneath his hands trembling, the tremors so strong they shivered up and into his own hands as if he, too, were shaking. He realized this man would be fighting him off valiantly if only he weren't so completely paralyzed and restrained by magic.
Jaejoong held his face more firmly, ignoring the way warmth seeped into his hands as he began to sing, pressing his mind forcefully against the other's. The action was sudden and intense, his control slipping as everything about the feel and sight of the face upturned to his distracted him.
And the trembling immediately stopped, body gone powerless and limp as his mind was invaded with such direct power and force it nearly knocked him unconscious once more. He could feel the man slipping away due to the nearly uncontrolled power of his sudden intrusion, and he pulled back slightly, focusing as he coaxed him into a dazed trance, just susceptible enough to bend and search his mind as he wished.
He sang and hummed, the magic filling his voice with low vibrations of power, and he closed his eyes as he sunk into a jumble of swirling colors, blurry faces flitting before his eyes, everything melting and reforming into each other continuously. Echoes of words, music, laughter, tears, a whisper of great loss, pain, love, and he was entranced by the vibrancy of it.
And he felt he was close, so close...another faint echo rippling against him from far away, more voices, and amidst it all he heard a single word, repeated and echoing with the deep timbre of a male, the high tinkles of females, returning again and again as different people spoke as if into his own ear, telling him that single word was important.
Changmin...Changmin...Changmin-ah.
A deep voice rose above all the others, repeating infinitely many more times, laughing his name, whispering his name with breath warm against his cheek, then a father's harsh tones, the loving croon of a mother over an infant, the teasing laughter of children, mocking and barely concealed taunts, curses, and happy laughter.
Faces flashed before him, none stopping long enough to form completely or to let him have a proper look, and though he wanted to delve further, see more of this Changmin's life, past, secrets, he'd already forced control over his mind for too long. He could feel Changmin fading farther and deeper into nothing as he continued to steal images from his memories.
Reluctantly, he retreated slowly. It was hard, he’d sunk much too deep, almost painful with the way his mind clung to the thoughts swirling around him still, sluggishly backtracking through the muddle of sights and sounds. A warm embrace, a whispered I love you, glittering tears, the moon shining bright and dreamlike on a face filled with lost longing.
Then he was rocking back into his body, sucking in a breath as if he'd been holding it under water the whole time. His chest rose, filling his lungs deeply as he gazed down silently as if in a trance, looking unblinkingly at the face still cradled between his hands, at the hot tears that had spilled from the corners of Changmin’s closed eyes to be caught in his hands. The liquid burned on his skin, foreign and captivating in the way it was sending strange tingles of heat lancing through his chest. The feeling was making it hard to breathe normally.
"Changmin-ah." He breathed, voice catching slightly as he spoke.
Changmin slowly opened his eyes, tears clinging to his lashes like crystals, framing the warm chocolate orbs brimming with even more tears, tears that blurred and made the longing and hurt waver beneath their crystalline cover.
"Changmin." He repeated, and Changmin’s lips trembled with emotion as Jaejoong shared the remnants of those last memories still flickering and wavering within his own mind as if they were his own. He'd stolen more than just a name.
And he wished he could just keep the name for himself, but his father was already speaking. "Changmin?" And the sound was all sharp edges, knives splitting open skin and about to plunge cruelly into defenseless vulnerability.
Behind him he could hear his father lighting a flame, the pop of the fire as he added various powders and liquids to it. He should return to his father’s side, but he was loath to release the face in his hands.
He’d seen more than a lifetime of suffering and pain, had inflicted more than he could even count or remember. It had never bothered him before. But for some reason, the echo of feeling that had invaded him as he’d seen that face bathed in moonlight, it seemed buried in his chest, and he couldn’t shake it away. He didn’t even know how to identify it, but he knew there was much more than this he’d never experienced, and he wanted to learn more. Take more.
“Jaejoong.” His father spoke, drawing him out of his thoughts, and it was only a flash of a thought he couldn’t understand as his hands slipped from Changmin’s face, hovering a split second as the urge to wipe the tears away passed as soon as he felt it.
He let his hands fall away, turning to his father as something strange nudged the back of his mind. There had been something...odd images and words, scenes which now that he’d pulled himself out of their confusing tangle, formed into a complete picture, a slowly budding truth before him.
Something was wrong....something was off. Something he hadn’t noticed two days prior when they first took him as their slave. But, he wasn’t a slave. He was something else entirely, and the jagged fragments slowly drew together to form the answer.
Frowning, he flickered another glance back at Changmin who was already dry eyed and watching his father across the room with an odd fire burning his eyes. Now that he looked again, now that he had seen who Changmin was, everything suddenly made sense.
He wasn’t just bright like the sun, he was a sun. And it didn’t make sense that he would be here now, sitting helpless before them.
Coming quietly to his father’s side, he cleared this throat tentatively. There was no way his father couldn’t know...but why hadn’t he said anything the day they’d taken him?
"Father...“
The Sorcerer made no indication that he’d head but Jaejoong knew he was listening even as he made the final preparations for his spell. It was a risk to bring something up while his father was concentrating, but it would mean a great difference in their work should his guess be true.
“I think he's the real Prince.”
His father’s hands stilled, and he turned to pin him with dark eyes. They were filled with scorn. "Of course he is the Prince. Pathetic excuse for soldiers had no idea the value of what they were losing.“
Jaejoong’s heart sank slightly, knowing only too well the grave consequences of laying their hands on anyone of importance, the dangers of touching someone such as this. The execution they’d face if anyone was to know they had him imprisoned here.
"...Shouldn't we return him to the king?" His voice was so small and instantly blotted out with a sharp cold bark that made glass vials rattle and sing with the sudden change in air pressure.
"Watch. Your. Mouth, boy. I shouldn't have to explain to you the properties and rarity of royal blood."
His father’s eyes flashed at him sharply, a wave of hot air pressing painfully against his throat for the briefest second before his father let him go, not needing to do more than that to let him know he’d overstepped his place and said something he shouldn’t. Something he couldn’t let another soul hear him repeat.
Jaejoong hung his head submissively. "Forgive me, Father."
It was true they could never have a chance like this again. Muddied though it was, the young man's blood flowed with the power and magic only true to an heir of a king, and his father would never bypass the opportunity, would use it to its fullest extent.
It almost seemed too perfectly planned out. Or just incredibly good luck. A Prince no one even knew was missing. Betrayed, abandoned, and left for dead by his own men.
Humans truly were despicable. But for once Jaejoong couldn’t deny that it worked in his favor. And he couldn’t say he felt sorry or guilty. On the contrary, he felt nothing but a slowly growing excitement, something bubbling lazily in the pit of his stomach.
And he turned back to look at Changmin again. Finding his eyes across the room and unable to stop the strange tightness in his chest as Changmin felt his gaze and turned his focus to him.
Yes. See me. Let me be the only thing you can see. I will make you mine.
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next chapter~~