[Fic] Ballad of the Moon : 6
Title: Ballad of the Moon
Pairing: Jaemin, Yoomin
Length: Chapter 6/?
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 | four | five
A/N: TT im sorry for the wait....had sooooo much trouble writing this chapter *cry* i'm really unsatisfied with it, but didn't want to wait any longer :S soo.. hope its not disappointing TT!!
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Consumed by a fever that took hold of his whole body, Yoochun couldn’t make sense of anything for what seemed endless days and nights on end.
After the castle physician attempted and failed to alleviate his pain in even the slightest, all and any healers with any medical knowledge were summoned to his bedside only to leave again hours later, bewildered and whispering dark things that slid their way slowly into Yoochun’s fever hazed brain. They didn’t know what was wrong. There was nothing they could do to help. Nothing they did seemed to have any affect other than solidify the reality of his illness, intensify the desperate struggle against the painful unknown.
Men and woman alike hovered over him, chanting incantations, stifling the air with smokey candles, incense, and thick heavy murmuring that rose and fell in his ears like something sinister and alive.
Hands would touch him, prod him, draw blood, force feed him with various bitter medicines and concoctions. Herbs were crushed upon his skin, scented oils and liquids massaged into the ever aching bruises.
It was enough to make him nothing but nauseous and still the fever burned rampant through his body. Each attempt failed as lay weakly in his bed, whimpering and sweating as he was relentlessly plagued by the invisible force. Each healer left baffled and near terrified, he could hear it in their voices even if he couldn’t open his eyes long enough to see their faces clearly. Everything mixed into a swirling blur of faces, glowing candle flames, and smoking incense.
Nothing could heal him. And with each new person brought to his side, he grew more and more certain that he would die like this, and was not far off from wanting nothing more than that, if only to just escape the torture.
He wanted to hide away from the suffocating presence of the useless healers and servants, the heat and the touches, but was helpless beneath the grip of the pain, choking on the potions and unable to keep a single thing down. He couldn’t gather even the smallest bit of strength to knock the medicines away, couldn’t avoid the unwanted hands on his skin, couldn’t even find his voice to tell them that he wasn’t sick. He wasn’t sick, he was cursed.
Every time he opened his mouth to try and speak, nothing but wordless cries and helpless sounds poured out. He heard it all from far away, as if not his own, and it always melted into the rest of the dreamlike sounds and visions, hallucinations that always ended up with him staring at the man he’d seen in the field.
The sweetly open face would watch him silently, eyes big and sad. He would just stare as Yoochun began to feel a strange calming peace, something soft brushing against his very soul before the man opened his mouth and blood spilled out. The face would then shrivel and distort until it was the Sorcerer standing before him, laughing at him, whispering horrible sounds that flew from his mouth like broken jagged glass shards, ripping and bending the air between them, ripples and dips that sped towards him. He’d try to avoid it, close his eyes and protect himself, but it always hit him straight in the chest with jarring clarity.
And he’d be spiraling back into throws of pain, the iron grip twisting his heart once again between its fingers, causing nearly unbearable agony. It was never painful enough to let him pass out completely, yet never faint enough to let him sleep. Constant torture that came in waves.
Each slight pause and lull between attacks and he was wrought with shivers and tremors, unable to stop moving restlessly on his bed as his skin felt raw and burned, everything that touched him seeming to rub painfully.
Nothing could bring his temperature down, and he couldn’t understand what it meant when a healer proclaimed in a shaky whisper that his body wouldn’t be able to maintain this state for much longer before shutting down. He just wanted release from the horrid dreams and relief from the agonizing pain.
And it wasn’t until a timid hushed voice whispered black magic, at last voicing him the undeniable victim to a curse, that Yoochun finally blinked the room into slight focus, able to make out the huddle of men and women at the side of his bed.
Their fearful outraged whispers were too loud in the heavy thick hot air of his bedchamber, and each word sent helplessness clenching at his throat and making it even harder to breathe.
There was no saving him. Not anymore. He was lost. Through him the kingdom was being targeted, and if it were truly to be magic, it would cause fear and panic throughout the people. Distrust, and people selfishly attempting to protect themselves. With his death the kingdom would be thrown under a terrifying shadow, something too dark for their prayers to even escape free.
And Yoochun’s eyes fell closed, eye lids too impossibly heavy, hot, and sticky. They were giving up...He would die...The pain in his heart was now something caused by fear, a panic with no where to go, a body with no more energy or strength left to absorb or direct it. And he moaned feebly, curling into himself, hands pressing to his heart and clenching his jaw as sweat mixed with burning hot salty tears stung his eyes.
The hesitant wavering voice that rose in the sudden silence sounded familiar, sent a reminder of something other than the blackness around him, and he’d already missed the first half of Junsu’s sentence before he understood who was speaking.
“-do magic to take off the curse...?”
There was a tense silence, gasps and murmured prayers. Then a harsh indignant whisper.
“Are you out of your mind? Call a Sorcerer to the castle?”
“Don’t you know that sorcerers only do Black magic?”
“He’d curse us all!”
“Can’t be trusted-”
And Yoochun didn’t hear anything else, was feebly struggling to sit up and tell them absolutely no. Because he still hadn’t told anyone that he’d been by the Black Sorcerer’s very house when he’d first been hit by the spell.
He was terrified at the thought of seeing the Sorcerer again anytime soon, especially not in such a vulnerable state. Especially not when he was partly convinced it had been the Black Sorcerer who’d cursed him. Especially not when inviting him here would give him a chance to finish him off without anyone being able to stop him.
He shook his head violently, managing a weak ‘no’, but someone said he was delusional, lost to the fever, said that there was no other hope, no other option, that they had to try something, anything. He couldn’t tell if it was his brother or Junsu speaking.
Yoochun got another ‘no’ out, struggling to see the room through streaming blurry eyes. They couldn’t do this to him. They were sentencing him to death. Even though existing like this was worse than death.
Hands were on his shoulders, pushing him firmly yet gently back into the bed. More fingers on his jaw, maneuvering his mouth open, and he was unable to refuse or spit the bitter liquid back out. It instantly sent his head spinning, and he sagged into his bed, heart laboring against his ribcage, aching with each valiant throb, and the meant to be soothing hands in his hair felt as if they were ripping the strands from his scalp.
He was lost to the feelings bombarding his body, his thoughts circling and twisting unintelligibly, and the next thing he knew the room was dark and quiet around him.
A cool breeze danced across his heated face, soothing yet raising goose bumps all at the same time. He shivered as his eyes cracked open. He thought the room was empty until a soft broken sigh to one side caught his attention.
Junsu was sitting beside him, upper torso sprawled awkwardly on the bed, head buried in his crossed arms. The room was lit by a single flickering candle, sending long stretching shadows bobbing faintly across the walls. Yoochun tried not to look at them as he noticed the way Junsu’s shoulders seemed to be shaking.
“-su...Junsu...” His voice was no more than the faintest croak, but Junsu’s head whipped up immediately.
His eyes were red rimmed and shadowed, dark circles sucking his eyes into stark contrast with the high cheekbones. His skin looked sunken and pale, an almost haunted look draping across his features, fear glinting in his eyes. He stared at Yoochun for one awful heart-stopping moment looking like something dead, or a ghost, but then a small painful smile broke the lines and he looked merely tired and worried.
“...Yoochun...?” He whispered, voice not sounding in much better condition than Yoochun’s own. Straightening slightly in his seat he reached out a hesitant hand towards him, the fingers pressing against his forehead were blessedly cool and sweet. “Can you understand me?”
Yoochun didn’t want the cool comforting touch to leave, the reeling of his head slowing slightly as Junsu gently pulled him into the present. “Mmm.” He murmured, watching Junsu as if he was the only thing keeping the dull ache in his chest from flaring once again.
Junsu tried to smile again, this time managing something a little more honest, and Yoochun felt it would be one of the most difficult things in the world to even curve his lips in the slightest response. He just couldn’t do it, but Junsu didn’t seem to mind.
His other hand came with a cup of water and he carefully guided it to Yoochun’s broken parched lips. Yoochun relaxed back into the pillows after struggling to swallow hardly three mouthfuls, completely drained and nearly light headed. He’d never felt so horrible in his life, and he was so incredibly glad he wasn’t alone that his hand shook as it reached blindly out for the other.
He couldn’t form the words, but he had to tell Junsu not to leave him alone there. He didn’t think he’d be able to wake up again if he left. He was terrified he’d get lost within the curse and never again come back. Junsu’s eyes widened as Yoochun’s fumbling hand found his own, grasping at it weakly until he got the hint and carefully drew Yoochun’s hand between both of his own.
Yoochun let his eyes close, focusing on the feel of Junsu’s hands holding onto his. So safe and comforting. Holding him back lest anything attempt to tear him away. And it was enough to help him sink with the faintest sigh of relief into something like sleep at last.
He was plagued once again with more dreams of whispering words that danced in a frigid wind which cut his skin, words that wrapped fingers about his throat and tickled his ears with sultry hot kisses, words that solidified and melted until at last he was once again faced with undulating visions of that same face.
Yet through it all he could consciously feel the grip of fingers about his own, a single touch that let him know he wasn’t alone. And through the swirling mist of the dream, between glimpses of the man’s big brown eyes gazing fixedly at him, he looked down and realized that their hands were linked together.
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The next time he opened his eyes, it was to sunlight pouring through the open window, nearly blinding him with its brilliance.
He blinked against it, a faint moan escaping his lips. A shadow moved across the streaming light, blocking it from falling across his face. Back-lit, a tall sloping silhouette. And it sent a chill through his chest even before he could focus and see their face.
It was a chill that soothed the burning ache of his heart. A cool balm that melted away that ever present throbbing pain. And for one blissful peaceful moment, it didn’t hurt anymore.
Blinking the form into focus, he realized he still must be dreaming. But unlike the other dreams where he was filled with irrational terror and was caught helplessly, paralyzed before the stare of the death-like man once again before him, this dream was calm and peaceful. He no longer burned with fever, but felt warm, as soft as the sunlight still sparkling in a faint halo about the Sorcerer’s head.
The man wasn’t reaching for him. No boney hands encircling his throat. No blood from his mouth, no decaying skin sagging from his cheeks. Instead he was whispering a string of words, hands clasped as he leaned slowly over Yoochun. Coming into clear view now, Yoochun was met with sharp black eyes, boring into him and making him suddenly nervous. He tried to shift away, but his breath caught as a pressure on his chest restrained him from moving away.
He turned his head to see a dark hooded man sitting beside him in the seat he last remembered Junsu to have occupied. He couldn’t see a face, just a pale hand stretched out with his palm pressed flat across his bare exposed chest. Just above his heart. And it seemed the cool feeling calming the hot pain was coming from that hand.
Yet the short-lived relief was fast fading, replaced already by a heavy foreboding that swelled and bloated his stomach as he turned his gaze quickly back to see the Sorcerer watching him with an impassive chiseled mask of a face.
A quick sweep of the room and the remaining calm and hope dissolved into slight fear. The room was empty. He was alone and defenseless. Why had they left him unguarded? Had the Sorcerer killed or bewitched the others as he made his way to Yoochun’s bedchamber? Or had they really let him come?
They weren’t supposed to have let him come here. The one man he needed to keep far away. And the dark silent one he now remembered seeing in the doorway of that house. The one he’d last seen latching onto the shy young man much as a spider would wrap itself about its prey.
He shivered at the image as his breath quickened, sounding labored and much too loud in the quiet empty room. He couldn’t pretend it was a dream anymore. They were really here before him, had him fully in their mercy.
He wanted to shove that hand on his chest away, the touch suddenly disgusting, but was too shocked and terrified to dare touch the cloaked man.
He nearly choked on his own words. “Are you...going to kill me?”
The Sorcerer didn’t appease his fears with a reassuring smile, didn’t shake his head, didn’t say no, only bent over him, eyes narrowing, expression unfriendly and cold. Long boney fingers reached out to draw a line down his chest, the touch painful and hot where his body now seemed much too cold, nearly frozen and seizing up due to the touch of the other.
Squirming away from both of them, a moment of panic closed around his mind, sure terror that those fingers would cut him open with the mere press of fingernails, would move up to crush and snap his neck effortlessly next, and he slapped the invasive hands away, knocking them back with wild swings of his arms.
A moment was all it took, and then he was gasping with the sudden full return force of the claws at his heart, taking his breath away once again. Before he could even cry out, the dark man beside him reached out once more to place his hand above his bruised heart, gentle and blessedly cool, easing the torture almost effortlessly.
The pain faded nearly instantly, and Yoochun’s eyes slipped closed with a ragged sigh of relief. Trying to steady his breath, he finally considered the fact that maybe they were really here to help him. It seemed they really could help him. The touch of a hand alone doing more than any of the medicines or incantations of all the healers.
He peeled his eyes open slowly as above him the Sorcerer finally spoke, and as much as he was trying to convince himself of their good intent, chills still bled through his whole body with the sound of that voice.
“Kill you? My only wish is to serve Your Majesty.” He looked down through heavy lidded eyes. Condescending. False.
Yoochun managed to speak without stuttering, even as he began to tremble beneath the barely concealed malice in that look. “I didn't... request your help.”
This drew a smile from the man, something twisted impossibly wrong, something cruel. “Unfortunately, I think we both know that you would be lost without it.” His eyes dropped meaningfully to the hand resting upon his chest, for all other purposes looking as if the dark man was currently protecting him with the gesture.
“However, should Your Majesty insist...we shall take our leave. With all due respect, a busy man like me can only spare so much time...even if it be for the Crown Prince.”
He didn’t move as he spoke, his lips barely opening to let them hiss through his teeth, but Yoochun had the dizzying impression that the man was circling him as he talked. He felt vulnerable and exposed, the whispering tones crawling about the sunlit room, creeping across his skin and running unchecked and uninvited to tickle his ears and dance upon his neck. It continued to tease him even after the man had already stopped speaking, and Yoochun was too scared he’d dislodge the soothing hand if he gave into the urge to wipe roughly at his body until the crawling feeling was off of him.
“N-no.” His voice wavered and nearly broke as he shook his head weakly. Pathetically. “No. Please.” Begging like a servant, humiliated and scared, and the smirk on that face did nothing to alleviate the sickening turn of his stomach.
His ears burned with shame and he was sure were he not bedridden, the man would somehow have him on his knees before him on the ground. A prince bowing before a mere Sorcerer, but he could hardly say that laying here with his heart literally in their hands was any better.
He closed his eyes slowly, no longer able to meet the glinting eyes. Laughing at him, playing with him. And he should have known, should have made sure the man came no where near the castle, but it was already too late.
“Someone seems to have something against Your Majesty. A powerful curse...one usually only escapable by death...”
The voice started to creep and pinch across his skin once again, invade his very mind where it swirled like heavy smoke, dirty and toxic.
“Nothing beneath my skills of course. And I am sure you would be more than willing to present me with a reward substantial to preserving your life, you, the very crowning jewel of our Kingdom.”
A hand was caressing his cheek now, teasing and light as air. He had no way to tell which of the pair it was, nor could he bear to open his eyes and see them hunched over him. See the greedy glint in black eyes. He was struggling enough with merely the voice alone.
He couldn’t respond, almost couldn’t even breathe anymore. He was lost to something that felt too much like another spell, twisting him within its grip and holding him prisoner. The faintest whimper sounded deep in his throat, but he was helpless to stop it as the protective hand on his chest slipped away without warning, a shield falling away to let the surge of pain latch onto him once again, and his own hand came to replace it futilely.
Time seemed to slow with each forced beat of his heart, struggling uselessly once more against something invisible and strong enough to kill him. Through the haze of it he could hear the Sorcerer, a purring growl beside his ear, making his whole body stiffen with the unwelcome proximity.
“As the next ruler of our Kingdom, I’m sure you’ll understand when I say there has long been need of a competent Sorcerer by His Majesty’s side. I’ll be more than gracious enough to offer my humble services to Your Majesty.”
Yoochun cried out weakly in shock as something slithered across his neck, his throat tightening and closing up with fear as the spot burned with a new fire. It hurt just as the rest of him did, and he could barely hear his own choked sobs pleading for it to stop, telling the man yes, granting him whatever he wished, if only he could take the torture away.
And just like that, it stopped. Burning strands unwound from where they’d curled about him, the vise-like grip on his heart relaxed and faded to nothing at long last, and all the poison clouding his mind melted away, taking his last remaining energy with it.
He lay bonelessly against the mattress, feeling more frail and weak than any fever had ever left him, as if his very essence had been sucked out of him until there was merely the faintest trickle left. Not enough to sustain him, not enough to help him even draw a proper breath.
His thoughts swirled and crashed upon each other, spiraling and tilting as his body felt to be sliding impossibly sideways, falling towards a yawning black hole and bile rose in his throat to choke him further. A shrill sound flooded his ears, like someone screaming, bloodcurdling and scaring him infinitely more than even the phantom hands on his heart had done. A sound that would drive him crazy if it didn’t stop.
“Jaejoong.” A command that seemed to cut the very air, sharp and reproachful. Followed by a softer whisper. “Alive.”
The horrid sound stopped and gentle silence replaced it. It felt as if he were slowly floating up through murky dark water from where he’d been lying upon the bed of a lake, thick sticky mud clinging to him and trying to drag him back down even as his body rose steadily towards where life flew free above the surface. And he didn’t think he could make it, lungs straining against lack of air, body broken and twisted by the grappling weeds with hands clawing at him, but then he was somehow finally breaking free.
His eyes flew open. It was so dark. The room was shadowed and dim, and he wondered panicked, if the man had somehow blotted out the sun, turning everything into darkness now that he’d stolen and sealed Yoochun’s promise to give him rank and power.
But they were no longer alone...and he couldn’t see around Junsu who was now bobbing worriedly beside him, low quiet streams of words falling from his lips much too fast and garbled to make any sense in Yoochun’s ears.
His father and brother were both there, standing before the tall figure of the Sorcerer, the weak yellow flames just beginning in the fireplace seeming to cower and shy back before his person just as his family was doing. They seemed to be thanking him, promising him gifts and offerings, and weak and barely awake at last from the curse as he was, Yoochun still felt the fear burning into anger like acid in his empty stomach.
Angry and feeling slightly betrayed that his father had let the man be called here. Annoyed at all the failed attempts of healers and medicine practitioners who had given up on him. Feeling wronged and slowly furious by the treatment of the Sorcerer himself, the way he overpowered him with magic, the way he blackmailed. The way he was now nearly certain he’d been the one to curse him from he beginning. And he couldn’t help but start to think that this was all some elaborate scheme, something bigger than he knew, something so infinitely dangerous and malignant that nothing could stand in its way.
The fear was already creeping back in to tighten his chest with its irrational thoughts and warp the anger out of proportion. If only he hadn’t gotten lost or found that field. If only he’d run faster rather than be distracted by the man who’d calmed his horse and stolen into his dreams ever since that day.
Had that man somehow lured him there in the first place? He had no way to explain why that face was haunting him and plaguing his thoughts whether he be sleeping or awake. It must mean he’d taken part in the curse as well, and he couldn’t understand why that made him frustrated, even angrier. How dare they manipulate him and demand power in payment? How could he have given in so easily when he knew the man was evil and already targeting his throne by playing with his life in such a manner.
As much as he knew the man would probably waste no time before he beggan corrupting his people, there was no going back on his word. Not now when the man had threatened to kill him, nearly killed him, and Yoochun felt even more used and angry at the thought that he had no power to fight against the man and his magic.
He hated to hear the nervous polite tone of his father’s voice, a man usually so strong and sure of himself, a man worthy to be called a king, who bowed to no one. And then there was the wide-eyed fear he could see clearly across his brother’s face, on Junsu’s face, and there was no denying he felt the same emotion just as strongly.
He wished he could undo everything if not escape the heavy weight of a forced choice, resentment and the ever lingering fear as the Sorcerer once again loomed by his side, stabbing him with his eyes, the room falling silent as all eyes turned to him. He looked about the room swiftly, heart sinking as he took in the expression on almost every face. And it felt as if his throat was blocked, unable to respond when the man asked after his health.
A tense silence as everyone waited. Waited for him to get rid of the man they’d brought here against their better judgement. And the words leaving his mouth were faint and weak, betraying him and his people as he acknowledged the man for saving him. His voice sounded wooden and dead, empty of emotion as he stiffly thanked him, asked him mechanically if he couldn’t possibly stay by his side, offering his gratitude with a lifetime of support.
He almost couldn’t bear to see the shock and disbelief on the faces filling his crowded rooms, unable to look either at the satisfied smirk the Sorcerer didn’t care to hide, eyes searching for something to save him, to somehow make this all turn out to be nothing but a dream as the man turned smoothly to face the room, speaking with authority and confidence as he promised to serve the King and pledged all his powers to the betterment of the kingdom.
Yoochun was too tired and humiliated to meet the eyes of his family, or even those of the few relatives and servants present. He knew he’d betrayed them, let them down with his proclamation just now, and the loathing he felt was only towards himself. Before he could let himself sink once more into the relative privacy and comfort of blackness behind eyelids, a small movement to the side of the wall caught his eye.
He blinked as his eyes fell once more upon Junsu. The young man was pressed flat against the wall, nearly hidden by the thick hanging drapery of the wall tapestry, but Yoochun could still see his face, and what he saw there shook him slightly. Junsu looked petrified, frozen in place, eyes wide and chest heaving with each breath.
It wasn’t hard to see why. Mere feet in front of him was the dark shrouded form of the man, Jaejoong, the one whose touch had soothed Yoochun’s pain even as it had scared him with mind numbing twists of magic. He wondered if Junsu could now see the face hidden under the hood, or if the man was speaking to him, or what could possibly make him look nearly scared to death as he was now.
He felt suddenly protective, not wanting the dark man to go any closer to his Junsu. Not wanting Junsu to have to experience any of the pain or horror he himself had at the hands of the pair of magicians. Not liking the way Junsu cowered before him as if he’d seen something terrible, or as if the man was about to strike him dead.
“Junsu.” The man’s head snapped around to find him staring, the scared look lingering for only a few heartbeats before his face melted into something like relief, and he stumbled away from Jaejoong to make his way to Yoochun’s side.
Yoochun’s gaze flickered to the other as Junsu busied himself with fussing with his bed covers and pillows. Jaejoong had swiveled to turn and watch Junsu, but as he stared into the darkness still hiding the face from view, Yoochun had the distinct feeling that those eyes were now shifting to come rest on him.
He couldn’t even begin to understand the flutter of emotions crashing within his stomach as he felt the gaze heavily on his face. All he could comprehend was the sudden loud thumping of his heart, the way it stuttered slightly making his breath catch with the fleeting fear that the next moment it would begin twisting in his chest once more. But it just beat loud and heavy against his ribs, reminding him he was alive just as it reminded him how fragile and precious that fact was.
He found he still couldn’t calm his racing heart even after the man had turned to leave with the Sorcerer and most of the other people still lingering in the room. Soon it was only his brother, Junsu, and a single healer left talking softly by his side, but Yoochun was staring blank and unfocused at the spot Jaejoong had been standing in. The way the candles flickered and cast shadows across the stone walls...and it was as if the man was still there half hidden in the space behind the tapestry not clearly illuminated by weak firelight.
When he blinked again, trying to suppress the uncomfortable thoughts even though he still hadn’t managed to shake off the feelings still pressing anxiously against his chest, he could have sworn he saw a pair of big brown eyes blinking back at him. Once more the man from his dreams, the man he’d met in the field, and he shook his head quickly, tensed and fingers curling in the blankets, not caring if he sounded crazy when he asked Junsu to go light a torch on that particular wall.
He couldn’t explain why he didn’t feel reassured even after Junsu had complied and the space was flooded with warm firelight. It was empty as it should be, he was just paranoid at seeing anything remotely related to his dreams and the curse he still felt to be lurking and hiding deep inside him.
And he wasn’t sure why the relief at finding nothing was so unsatisfying and shallow as his heart seemed to sink slightly. Disappointment was something that didn’t make any sense at that moment, but seemed to creep stealthily into his awareness nonetheless. And he was sure he must still be affected by the magic, not yet his normal self as he sank back into the pillows with a slow sigh.
He would lay away for hours into the night, watching the softly rippling flames of the torch and the absence of anything or anybody in the warm glowing pool it cast into the corner. He would ponder and question in useless circles the meanings of his visions and hallucinations while he’d been sick, the undeniable urge that grew within him, one that told him to seek him out, to find the man once more and not just in his dreams, but face to face.
He could only explain it as the aftereffects of the magic, something related to the stain still dark and ugly across his skin, something to do with the weak stuttering of his heart. And he knew he should be thinking of a way to get rid of the Sorcerer, should be trying to find a way to escape from the threats and blackmail, but nothing could draw his thoughts away from his now singular near obsession with the unknown man.
Long hours of painstaking contemplation, and he finally came to the conclusion that the only place he’d find any of his answers to his current state would not be with the Sorcerer or Jaejoong, but rather with the man who seemed strangely, intimately, burned into his memory. The only thing that let him finally slip into the oblivion of sleep at last was the firm decision that he’d return to that place and find him again as soon as possible.
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next chapter ~~
Pairing: Jaemin, Yoomin
Length: Chapter 6/?
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 | four | five
A/N: TT im sorry for the wait....had sooooo much trouble writing this chapter *cry* i'm really unsatisfied with it, but didn't want to wait any longer :S soo.. hope its not disappointing TT!!
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Consumed by a fever that took hold of his whole body, Yoochun couldn’t make sense of anything for what seemed endless days and nights on end.
After the castle physician attempted and failed to alleviate his pain in even the slightest, all and any healers with any medical knowledge were summoned to his bedside only to leave again hours later, bewildered and whispering dark things that slid their way slowly into Yoochun’s fever hazed brain. They didn’t know what was wrong. There was nothing they could do to help. Nothing they did seemed to have any affect other than solidify the reality of his illness, intensify the desperate struggle against the painful unknown.
Men and woman alike hovered over him, chanting incantations, stifling the air with smokey candles, incense, and thick heavy murmuring that rose and fell in his ears like something sinister and alive.
Hands would touch him, prod him, draw blood, force feed him with various bitter medicines and concoctions. Herbs were crushed upon his skin, scented oils and liquids massaged into the ever aching bruises.
It was enough to make him nothing but nauseous and still the fever burned rampant through his body. Each attempt failed as lay weakly in his bed, whimpering and sweating as he was relentlessly plagued by the invisible force. Each healer left baffled and near terrified, he could hear it in their voices even if he couldn’t open his eyes long enough to see their faces clearly. Everything mixed into a swirling blur of faces, glowing candle flames, and smoking incense.
Nothing could heal him. And with each new person brought to his side, he grew more and more certain that he would die like this, and was not far off from wanting nothing more than that, if only to just escape the torture.
He wanted to hide away from the suffocating presence of the useless healers and servants, the heat and the touches, but was helpless beneath the grip of the pain, choking on the potions and unable to keep a single thing down. He couldn’t gather even the smallest bit of strength to knock the medicines away, couldn’t avoid the unwanted hands on his skin, couldn’t even find his voice to tell them that he wasn’t sick. He wasn’t sick, he was cursed.
Every time he opened his mouth to try and speak, nothing but wordless cries and helpless sounds poured out. He heard it all from far away, as if not his own, and it always melted into the rest of the dreamlike sounds and visions, hallucinations that always ended up with him staring at the man he’d seen in the field.
The sweetly open face would watch him silently, eyes big and sad. He would just stare as Yoochun began to feel a strange calming peace, something soft brushing against his very soul before the man opened his mouth and blood spilled out. The face would then shrivel and distort until it was the Sorcerer standing before him, laughing at him, whispering horrible sounds that flew from his mouth like broken jagged glass shards, ripping and bending the air between them, ripples and dips that sped towards him. He’d try to avoid it, close his eyes and protect himself, but it always hit him straight in the chest with jarring clarity.
And he’d be spiraling back into throws of pain, the iron grip twisting his heart once again between its fingers, causing nearly unbearable agony. It was never painful enough to let him pass out completely, yet never faint enough to let him sleep. Constant torture that came in waves.
Each slight pause and lull between attacks and he was wrought with shivers and tremors, unable to stop moving restlessly on his bed as his skin felt raw and burned, everything that touched him seeming to rub painfully.
Nothing could bring his temperature down, and he couldn’t understand what it meant when a healer proclaimed in a shaky whisper that his body wouldn’t be able to maintain this state for much longer before shutting down. He just wanted release from the horrid dreams and relief from the agonizing pain.
And it wasn’t until a timid hushed voice whispered black magic, at last voicing him the undeniable victim to a curse, that Yoochun finally blinked the room into slight focus, able to make out the huddle of men and women at the side of his bed.
Their fearful outraged whispers were too loud in the heavy thick hot air of his bedchamber, and each word sent helplessness clenching at his throat and making it even harder to breathe.
There was no saving him. Not anymore. He was lost. Through him the kingdom was being targeted, and if it were truly to be magic, it would cause fear and panic throughout the people. Distrust, and people selfishly attempting to protect themselves. With his death the kingdom would be thrown under a terrifying shadow, something too dark for their prayers to even escape free.
And Yoochun’s eyes fell closed, eye lids too impossibly heavy, hot, and sticky. They were giving up...He would die...The pain in his heart was now something caused by fear, a panic with no where to go, a body with no more energy or strength left to absorb or direct it. And he moaned feebly, curling into himself, hands pressing to his heart and clenching his jaw as sweat mixed with burning hot salty tears stung his eyes.
The hesitant wavering voice that rose in the sudden silence sounded familiar, sent a reminder of something other than the blackness around him, and he’d already missed the first half of Junsu’s sentence before he understood who was speaking.
“-do magic to take off the curse...?”
There was a tense silence, gasps and murmured prayers. Then a harsh indignant whisper.
“Are you out of your mind? Call a Sorcerer to the castle?”
“Don’t you know that sorcerers only do Black magic?”
“He’d curse us all!”
“Can’t be trusted-”
And Yoochun didn’t hear anything else, was feebly struggling to sit up and tell them absolutely no. Because he still hadn’t told anyone that he’d been by the Black Sorcerer’s very house when he’d first been hit by the spell.
He was terrified at the thought of seeing the Sorcerer again anytime soon, especially not in such a vulnerable state. Especially not when he was partly convinced it had been the Black Sorcerer who’d cursed him. Especially not when inviting him here would give him a chance to finish him off without anyone being able to stop him.
He shook his head violently, managing a weak ‘no’, but someone said he was delusional, lost to the fever, said that there was no other hope, no other option, that they had to try something, anything. He couldn’t tell if it was his brother or Junsu speaking.
Yoochun got another ‘no’ out, struggling to see the room through streaming blurry eyes. They couldn’t do this to him. They were sentencing him to death. Even though existing like this was worse than death.
Hands were on his shoulders, pushing him firmly yet gently back into the bed. More fingers on his jaw, maneuvering his mouth open, and he was unable to refuse or spit the bitter liquid back out. It instantly sent his head spinning, and he sagged into his bed, heart laboring against his ribcage, aching with each valiant throb, and the meant to be soothing hands in his hair felt as if they were ripping the strands from his scalp.
He was lost to the feelings bombarding his body, his thoughts circling and twisting unintelligibly, and the next thing he knew the room was dark and quiet around him.
A cool breeze danced across his heated face, soothing yet raising goose bumps all at the same time. He shivered as his eyes cracked open. He thought the room was empty until a soft broken sigh to one side caught his attention.
Junsu was sitting beside him, upper torso sprawled awkwardly on the bed, head buried in his crossed arms. The room was lit by a single flickering candle, sending long stretching shadows bobbing faintly across the walls. Yoochun tried not to look at them as he noticed the way Junsu’s shoulders seemed to be shaking.
“-su...Junsu...” His voice was no more than the faintest croak, but Junsu’s head whipped up immediately.
His eyes were red rimmed and shadowed, dark circles sucking his eyes into stark contrast with the high cheekbones. His skin looked sunken and pale, an almost haunted look draping across his features, fear glinting in his eyes. He stared at Yoochun for one awful heart-stopping moment looking like something dead, or a ghost, but then a small painful smile broke the lines and he looked merely tired and worried.
“...Yoochun...?” He whispered, voice not sounding in much better condition than Yoochun’s own. Straightening slightly in his seat he reached out a hesitant hand towards him, the fingers pressing against his forehead were blessedly cool and sweet. “Can you understand me?”
Yoochun didn’t want the cool comforting touch to leave, the reeling of his head slowing slightly as Junsu gently pulled him into the present. “Mmm.” He murmured, watching Junsu as if he was the only thing keeping the dull ache in his chest from flaring once again.
Junsu tried to smile again, this time managing something a little more honest, and Yoochun felt it would be one of the most difficult things in the world to even curve his lips in the slightest response. He just couldn’t do it, but Junsu didn’t seem to mind.
His other hand came with a cup of water and he carefully guided it to Yoochun’s broken parched lips. Yoochun relaxed back into the pillows after struggling to swallow hardly three mouthfuls, completely drained and nearly light headed. He’d never felt so horrible in his life, and he was so incredibly glad he wasn’t alone that his hand shook as it reached blindly out for the other.
He couldn’t form the words, but he had to tell Junsu not to leave him alone there. He didn’t think he’d be able to wake up again if he left. He was terrified he’d get lost within the curse and never again come back. Junsu’s eyes widened as Yoochun’s fumbling hand found his own, grasping at it weakly until he got the hint and carefully drew Yoochun’s hand between both of his own.
Yoochun let his eyes close, focusing on the feel of Junsu’s hands holding onto his. So safe and comforting. Holding him back lest anything attempt to tear him away. And it was enough to help him sink with the faintest sigh of relief into something like sleep at last.
He was plagued once again with more dreams of whispering words that danced in a frigid wind which cut his skin, words that wrapped fingers about his throat and tickled his ears with sultry hot kisses, words that solidified and melted until at last he was once again faced with undulating visions of that same face.
Yet through it all he could consciously feel the grip of fingers about his own, a single touch that let him know he wasn’t alone. And through the swirling mist of the dream, between glimpses of the man’s big brown eyes gazing fixedly at him, he looked down and realized that their hands were linked together.
**
The next time he opened his eyes, it was to sunlight pouring through the open window, nearly blinding him with its brilliance.
He blinked against it, a faint moan escaping his lips. A shadow moved across the streaming light, blocking it from falling across his face. Back-lit, a tall sloping silhouette. And it sent a chill through his chest even before he could focus and see their face.
It was a chill that soothed the burning ache of his heart. A cool balm that melted away that ever present throbbing pain. And for one blissful peaceful moment, it didn’t hurt anymore.
Blinking the form into focus, he realized he still must be dreaming. But unlike the other dreams where he was filled with irrational terror and was caught helplessly, paralyzed before the stare of the death-like man once again before him, this dream was calm and peaceful. He no longer burned with fever, but felt warm, as soft as the sunlight still sparkling in a faint halo about the Sorcerer’s head.
The man wasn’t reaching for him. No boney hands encircling his throat. No blood from his mouth, no decaying skin sagging from his cheeks. Instead he was whispering a string of words, hands clasped as he leaned slowly over Yoochun. Coming into clear view now, Yoochun was met with sharp black eyes, boring into him and making him suddenly nervous. He tried to shift away, but his breath caught as a pressure on his chest restrained him from moving away.
He turned his head to see a dark hooded man sitting beside him in the seat he last remembered Junsu to have occupied. He couldn’t see a face, just a pale hand stretched out with his palm pressed flat across his bare exposed chest. Just above his heart. And it seemed the cool feeling calming the hot pain was coming from that hand.
Yet the short-lived relief was fast fading, replaced already by a heavy foreboding that swelled and bloated his stomach as he turned his gaze quickly back to see the Sorcerer watching him with an impassive chiseled mask of a face.
A quick sweep of the room and the remaining calm and hope dissolved into slight fear. The room was empty. He was alone and defenseless. Why had they left him unguarded? Had the Sorcerer killed or bewitched the others as he made his way to Yoochun’s bedchamber? Or had they really let him come?
They weren’t supposed to have let him come here. The one man he needed to keep far away. And the dark silent one he now remembered seeing in the doorway of that house. The one he’d last seen latching onto the shy young man much as a spider would wrap itself about its prey.
He shivered at the image as his breath quickened, sounding labored and much too loud in the quiet empty room. He couldn’t pretend it was a dream anymore. They were really here before him, had him fully in their mercy.
He wanted to shove that hand on his chest away, the touch suddenly disgusting, but was too shocked and terrified to dare touch the cloaked man.
He nearly choked on his own words. “Are you...going to kill me?”
The Sorcerer didn’t appease his fears with a reassuring smile, didn’t shake his head, didn’t say no, only bent over him, eyes narrowing, expression unfriendly and cold. Long boney fingers reached out to draw a line down his chest, the touch painful and hot where his body now seemed much too cold, nearly frozen and seizing up due to the touch of the other.
Squirming away from both of them, a moment of panic closed around his mind, sure terror that those fingers would cut him open with the mere press of fingernails, would move up to crush and snap his neck effortlessly next, and he slapped the invasive hands away, knocking them back with wild swings of his arms.
A moment was all it took, and then he was gasping with the sudden full return force of the claws at his heart, taking his breath away once again. Before he could even cry out, the dark man beside him reached out once more to place his hand above his bruised heart, gentle and blessedly cool, easing the torture almost effortlessly.
The pain faded nearly instantly, and Yoochun’s eyes slipped closed with a ragged sigh of relief. Trying to steady his breath, he finally considered the fact that maybe they were really here to help him. It seemed they really could help him. The touch of a hand alone doing more than any of the medicines or incantations of all the healers.
He peeled his eyes open slowly as above him the Sorcerer finally spoke, and as much as he was trying to convince himself of their good intent, chills still bled through his whole body with the sound of that voice.
“Kill you? My only wish is to serve Your Majesty.” He looked down through heavy lidded eyes. Condescending. False.
Yoochun managed to speak without stuttering, even as he began to tremble beneath the barely concealed malice in that look. “I didn't... request your help.”
This drew a smile from the man, something twisted impossibly wrong, something cruel. “Unfortunately, I think we both know that you would be lost without it.” His eyes dropped meaningfully to the hand resting upon his chest, for all other purposes looking as if the dark man was currently protecting him with the gesture.
“However, should Your Majesty insist...we shall take our leave. With all due respect, a busy man like me can only spare so much time...even if it be for the Crown Prince.”
He didn’t move as he spoke, his lips barely opening to let them hiss through his teeth, but Yoochun had the dizzying impression that the man was circling him as he talked. He felt vulnerable and exposed, the whispering tones crawling about the sunlit room, creeping across his skin and running unchecked and uninvited to tickle his ears and dance upon his neck. It continued to tease him even after the man had already stopped speaking, and Yoochun was too scared he’d dislodge the soothing hand if he gave into the urge to wipe roughly at his body until the crawling feeling was off of him.
“N-no.” His voice wavered and nearly broke as he shook his head weakly. Pathetically. “No. Please.” Begging like a servant, humiliated and scared, and the smirk on that face did nothing to alleviate the sickening turn of his stomach.
His ears burned with shame and he was sure were he not bedridden, the man would somehow have him on his knees before him on the ground. A prince bowing before a mere Sorcerer, but he could hardly say that laying here with his heart literally in their hands was any better.
He closed his eyes slowly, no longer able to meet the glinting eyes. Laughing at him, playing with him. And he should have known, should have made sure the man came no where near the castle, but it was already too late.
“Someone seems to have something against Your Majesty. A powerful curse...one usually only escapable by death...”
The voice started to creep and pinch across his skin once again, invade his very mind where it swirled like heavy smoke, dirty and toxic.
“Nothing beneath my skills of course. And I am sure you would be more than willing to present me with a reward substantial to preserving your life, you, the very crowning jewel of our Kingdom.”
A hand was caressing his cheek now, teasing and light as air. He had no way to tell which of the pair it was, nor could he bear to open his eyes and see them hunched over him. See the greedy glint in black eyes. He was struggling enough with merely the voice alone.
He couldn’t respond, almost couldn’t even breathe anymore. He was lost to something that felt too much like another spell, twisting him within its grip and holding him prisoner. The faintest whimper sounded deep in his throat, but he was helpless to stop it as the protective hand on his chest slipped away without warning, a shield falling away to let the surge of pain latch onto him once again, and his own hand came to replace it futilely.
Time seemed to slow with each forced beat of his heart, struggling uselessly once more against something invisible and strong enough to kill him. Through the haze of it he could hear the Sorcerer, a purring growl beside his ear, making his whole body stiffen with the unwelcome proximity.
“As the next ruler of our Kingdom, I’m sure you’ll understand when I say there has long been need of a competent Sorcerer by His Majesty’s side. I’ll be more than gracious enough to offer my humble services to Your Majesty.”
Yoochun cried out weakly in shock as something slithered across his neck, his throat tightening and closing up with fear as the spot burned with a new fire. It hurt just as the rest of him did, and he could barely hear his own choked sobs pleading for it to stop, telling the man yes, granting him whatever he wished, if only he could take the torture away.
And just like that, it stopped. Burning strands unwound from where they’d curled about him, the vise-like grip on his heart relaxed and faded to nothing at long last, and all the poison clouding his mind melted away, taking his last remaining energy with it.
He lay bonelessly against the mattress, feeling more frail and weak than any fever had ever left him, as if his very essence had been sucked out of him until there was merely the faintest trickle left. Not enough to sustain him, not enough to help him even draw a proper breath.
His thoughts swirled and crashed upon each other, spiraling and tilting as his body felt to be sliding impossibly sideways, falling towards a yawning black hole and bile rose in his throat to choke him further. A shrill sound flooded his ears, like someone screaming, bloodcurdling and scaring him infinitely more than even the phantom hands on his heart had done. A sound that would drive him crazy if it didn’t stop.
“Jaejoong.” A command that seemed to cut the very air, sharp and reproachful. Followed by a softer whisper. “Alive.”
The horrid sound stopped and gentle silence replaced it. It felt as if he were slowly floating up through murky dark water from where he’d been lying upon the bed of a lake, thick sticky mud clinging to him and trying to drag him back down even as his body rose steadily towards where life flew free above the surface. And he didn’t think he could make it, lungs straining against lack of air, body broken and twisted by the grappling weeds with hands clawing at him, but then he was somehow finally breaking free.
His eyes flew open. It was so dark. The room was shadowed and dim, and he wondered panicked, if the man had somehow blotted out the sun, turning everything into darkness now that he’d stolen and sealed Yoochun’s promise to give him rank and power.
But they were no longer alone...and he couldn’t see around Junsu who was now bobbing worriedly beside him, low quiet streams of words falling from his lips much too fast and garbled to make any sense in Yoochun’s ears.
His father and brother were both there, standing before the tall figure of the Sorcerer, the weak yellow flames just beginning in the fireplace seeming to cower and shy back before his person just as his family was doing. They seemed to be thanking him, promising him gifts and offerings, and weak and barely awake at last from the curse as he was, Yoochun still felt the fear burning into anger like acid in his empty stomach.
Angry and feeling slightly betrayed that his father had let the man be called here. Annoyed at all the failed attempts of healers and medicine practitioners who had given up on him. Feeling wronged and slowly furious by the treatment of the Sorcerer himself, the way he overpowered him with magic, the way he blackmailed. The way he was now nearly certain he’d been the one to curse him from he beginning. And he couldn’t help but start to think that this was all some elaborate scheme, something bigger than he knew, something so infinitely dangerous and malignant that nothing could stand in its way.
The fear was already creeping back in to tighten his chest with its irrational thoughts and warp the anger out of proportion. If only he hadn’t gotten lost or found that field. If only he’d run faster rather than be distracted by the man who’d calmed his horse and stolen into his dreams ever since that day.
Had that man somehow lured him there in the first place? He had no way to explain why that face was haunting him and plaguing his thoughts whether he be sleeping or awake. It must mean he’d taken part in the curse as well, and he couldn’t understand why that made him frustrated, even angrier. How dare they manipulate him and demand power in payment? How could he have given in so easily when he knew the man was evil and already targeting his throne by playing with his life in such a manner.
As much as he knew the man would probably waste no time before he beggan corrupting his people, there was no going back on his word. Not now when the man had threatened to kill him, nearly killed him, and Yoochun felt even more used and angry at the thought that he had no power to fight against the man and his magic.
He hated to hear the nervous polite tone of his father’s voice, a man usually so strong and sure of himself, a man worthy to be called a king, who bowed to no one. And then there was the wide-eyed fear he could see clearly across his brother’s face, on Junsu’s face, and there was no denying he felt the same emotion just as strongly.
He wished he could undo everything if not escape the heavy weight of a forced choice, resentment and the ever lingering fear as the Sorcerer once again loomed by his side, stabbing him with his eyes, the room falling silent as all eyes turned to him. He looked about the room swiftly, heart sinking as he took in the expression on almost every face. And it felt as if his throat was blocked, unable to respond when the man asked after his health.
A tense silence as everyone waited. Waited for him to get rid of the man they’d brought here against their better judgement. And the words leaving his mouth were faint and weak, betraying him and his people as he acknowledged the man for saving him. His voice sounded wooden and dead, empty of emotion as he stiffly thanked him, asked him mechanically if he couldn’t possibly stay by his side, offering his gratitude with a lifetime of support.
He almost couldn’t bear to see the shock and disbelief on the faces filling his crowded rooms, unable to look either at the satisfied smirk the Sorcerer didn’t care to hide, eyes searching for something to save him, to somehow make this all turn out to be nothing but a dream as the man turned smoothly to face the room, speaking with authority and confidence as he promised to serve the King and pledged all his powers to the betterment of the kingdom.
Yoochun was too tired and humiliated to meet the eyes of his family, or even those of the few relatives and servants present. He knew he’d betrayed them, let them down with his proclamation just now, and the loathing he felt was only towards himself. Before he could let himself sink once more into the relative privacy and comfort of blackness behind eyelids, a small movement to the side of the wall caught his eye.
He blinked as his eyes fell once more upon Junsu. The young man was pressed flat against the wall, nearly hidden by the thick hanging drapery of the wall tapestry, but Yoochun could still see his face, and what he saw there shook him slightly. Junsu looked petrified, frozen in place, eyes wide and chest heaving with each breath.
It wasn’t hard to see why. Mere feet in front of him was the dark shrouded form of the man, Jaejoong, the one whose touch had soothed Yoochun’s pain even as it had scared him with mind numbing twists of magic. He wondered if Junsu could now see the face hidden under the hood, or if the man was speaking to him, or what could possibly make him look nearly scared to death as he was now.
He felt suddenly protective, not wanting the dark man to go any closer to his Junsu. Not wanting Junsu to have to experience any of the pain or horror he himself had at the hands of the pair of magicians. Not liking the way Junsu cowered before him as if he’d seen something terrible, or as if the man was about to strike him dead.
“Junsu.” The man’s head snapped around to find him staring, the scared look lingering for only a few heartbeats before his face melted into something like relief, and he stumbled away from Jaejoong to make his way to Yoochun’s side.
Yoochun’s gaze flickered to the other as Junsu busied himself with fussing with his bed covers and pillows. Jaejoong had swiveled to turn and watch Junsu, but as he stared into the darkness still hiding the face from view, Yoochun had the distinct feeling that those eyes were now shifting to come rest on him.
He couldn’t even begin to understand the flutter of emotions crashing within his stomach as he felt the gaze heavily on his face. All he could comprehend was the sudden loud thumping of his heart, the way it stuttered slightly making his breath catch with the fleeting fear that the next moment it would begin twisting in his chest once more. But it just beat loud and heavy against his ribs, reminding him he was alive just as it reminded him how fragile and precious that fact was.
He found he still couldn’t calm his racing heart even after the man had turned to leave with the Sorcerer and most of the other people still lingering in the room. Soon it was only his brother, Junsu, and a single healer left talking softly by his side, but Yoochun was staring blank and unfocused at the spot Jaejoong had been standing in. The way the candles flickered and cast shadows across the stone walls...and it was as if the man was still there half hidden in the space behind the tapestry not clearly illuminated by weak firelight.
When he blinked again, trying to suppress the uncomfortable thoughts even though he still hadn’t managed to shake off the feelings still pressing anxiously against his chest, he could have sworn he saw a pair of big brown eyes blinking back at him. Once more the man from his dreams, the man he’d met in the field, and he shook his head quickly, tensed and fingers curling in the blankets, not caring if he sounded crazy when he asked Junsu to go light a torch on that particular wall.
He couldn’t explain why he didn’t feel reassured even after Junsu had complied and the space was flooded with warm firelight. It was empty as it should be, he was just paranoid at seeing anything remotely related to his dreams and the curse he still felt to be lurking and hiding deep inside him.
And he wasn’t sure why the relief at finding nothing was so unsatisfying and shallow as his heart seemed to sink slightly. Disappointment was something that didn’t make any sense at that moment, but seemed to creep stealthily into his awareness nonetheless. And he was sure he must still be affected by the magic, not yet his normal self as he sank back into the pillows with a slow sigh.
He would lay away for hours into the night, watching the softly rippling flames of the torch and the absence of anything or anybody in the warm glowing pool it cast into the corner. He would ponder and question in useless circles the meanings of his visions and hallucinations while he’d been sick, the undeniable urge that grew within him, one that told him to seek him out, to find the man once more and not just in his dreams, but face to face.
He could only explain it as the aftereffects of the magic, something related to the stain still dark and ugly across his skin, something to do with the weak stuttering of his heart. And he knew he should be thinking of a way to get rid of the Sorcerer, should be trying to find a way to escape from the threats and blackmail, but nothing could draw his thoughts away from his now singular near obsession with the unknown man.
Long hours of painstaking contemplation, and he finally came to the conclusion that the only place he’d find any of his answers to his current state would not be with the Sorcerer or Jaejoong, but rather with the man who seemed strangely, intimately, burned into his memory. The only thing that let him finally slip into the oblivion of sleep at last was the firm decision that he’d return to that place and find him again as soon as possible.
*************
next chapter ~~