TVXQ | The Songs They Will Sing | Yunho/Jaejoong | 05
→ Warnings: Game of Thrones Fusion AU. Action. Darkfic. Romance . Violence. Minor character death.
→ A prince without a kingdom, a lord without a name, and how how the two of them carve themselves into history.
Character Profiles | Fanart | Prologue | Previous Chapter
The Songs They Will Sing
[05]
He found Jaejoong in a rundown little tavern a day’s ride away from King's Landing, and it cost him three gold coins to ensure that they wouldn’t be disturbed. The moment the unsuspecting Lord Commander opened the door, Changmin was upon him, forcing his way into the room and bolting the lock shut behind him. Jaejoong’s direwolf was nowhere in sight, thank the Seven-he wouldn’t have trusted the damn thing not to attack him on the spot for manhandling his owner that way.
“Where have you been?” he hissed, stalking across the rooms and yanking the curtains close. There were still eyes and ears everywhere and this was a meeting he preferred to keep private. “Why didn’t you come sooner?”
“My duties confine me to the Wall, and that is where I should have remained,” Jaejoong replied icily, crossing his arms across his chest. “His Grace would do well to remember that.”
“You don’t know what kind of person he is,” Changmin snapped in return. It was idiocy like this that frustrated Changmin the most, Jung Yunho for not understanding the system and Kim Jaejoong for refusing to bend the rules. They glared at each other, seemingly at a standstill.
Then, wordlessly, he reached out to draw Jaejoong closer and Jaejoong went unresistingly, letting Changmin pull him close enough to rest his face against the side of his neck. Jaejoong smelled like pine and snow, and though Changmin was never once allowed to think of Castle North as his home, he had grown up there and associations with smell never seemed to fade no matter how much time passed by. “You should have come earlier.”
“Is he that far beyond reason?” Jaejoong asked softly, bringing his hand up to smooth out Changmin’s fringe; an old gesture of affection he never learned to break.
“He lets his dragons roam free in the Keep,” Changmin murmured, unfastening the clasp of Jaejoong’s cloak and letting it fall onto the old wooden floorboards. “He dismissed the headsman and carries out all his executions with dragonfyre. The Iron Throne is a bloody mess at the end of every day, but he never goes a day without being king. Jung Yunho is a crisis waiting to happen and he’s probably as crazy as his father was-but I don’t want to talk about him.”
Jaejoong swallowed as Changmin began methodically divesting him of the rest of his clothing, tossing them away carelessly with the needlepoint focus he usually reserved for archery. “Again?” he asked hoarsely.
“You’ll father no children with me,” Changmin replied, hoping it was all the convincing he would need. Jaejoong had inherited his sense of responsibility from his lord father, but while his vows denied him many things, simple carnal pleasure was not one of them. Jaejoong let out a resigned sigh and that was all the encouragement Changmin needed.
He shrugged off his doublet and kicked off his boots before shoving Jaejoong unceremoniously onto the small bed, briefly admiring the vast expanse of pale, luminous skin before he put his mouth on it. Jaejoong gave a shuddering sigh as Changmin kissed a path from Jaejoong’s jaw, down to the soft skin of his belly, and ending at the juncture between his legs. His fingers danced up and down Jaejoong’s body, leaving gooseflesh in their wake, and Jaejoong made a noise when Changmin laid his head against Jaejoong’s thigh, blowing lightly against his rapidly swelling cock.
Jaejoong had always maintained a subzero temperament, especially when they were younger. Something about being a highborn bastard tended to rub people the wrong way and it was an effective defense mechanism even if it was only that-a façade. If those chattering birds could see him now, with his mouth open, head thrown back, breath ragged as Changmin prepared him and pressed slowly into him, his reputation would fall to ruins.
It was an old temptation. In the past, he used to corner Jaejoong in an alcove somewhere and have him on the spot, riding him just a little harder and just a little faster to see if he’d give himself away. They never got caught, but he still liked to remember the way Jaejoong covered his mouth, glaring through the haze of his arousal, the way his hips jerked when Changmin struck that sensitive spot inside of him, and the way he blushed after they both spent themselves and Changmin would kiss him even though he didn’t have to.
Here in the present, he started at a slow, idle pace, because Jaejoong hated being teased, and Changmin kept at that trying tempo even when Jaejoong bucked up against him, a silent command to hurry things up. Instead, Changmin pushed Jaejoong’s legs up further so he could bury himself deeper, and Jaejoong responded with a deliciously keening whine that he immediately committed to memory-every honest response Jaejoong had ever let slip had to be earned the hard way and Changmin learned long ago to celebrate every one of his successes.
This is mine, Changmin thought, as the mattress squeaked with their efforts. When nothing else was his to command, not his birthright, his seat in the Iron Islands, or his seat on the council, at the very least he had this.
“I wish you didn’t have to come here,” Changmin whispered as he fucked short, stuttering cries from Jaejoong’s lips. Already, he was holding off the weight of his own pleasure; Jaejoong did always have that intoxicating effect on him. Changmin had taken him half a dozen times the last time in Castle North, but hadn’t satiated his desire in the least. “Wish you didn’t have to go back to the Wall either.”
Want to keep you locked away somewhere, just the two of us, so I could have you all to myself, all the time.
“Good luck with that,” Jaejoong murmured. He might have said something else too, but then Changmin wrapped his fingers around Jaejoong’s straining erection and stroked him back to incoherency. Jaejoong reached around and dug bruises into Changmin’s hip, a silent plea to hurry it up. Changmin ignored him and continued his ministrations lazily, even when Jaejoong writhed furiously against him. He rolled his hips and watched Jaejoong’s protests die away as his head lolled back and his eyes rolled shut. Then, he turns Jaejoong on his side, hooked his leg over his arm, and fucked him in earnest, hard and demanding, just the way he liked it.
Jaejoong’s entire body went slack and then, slowly, his back arched as he spilled himself all over the bedding, gasping for air and cursing shakily under his breath as Changmin continued to work on him, fucking him throughout his release, never once breaking rhythm. He paused briefly to roll Jaejoong over on his back and then he slid right back in, marveling at the way Jaejoong clenched sporadically around him as Jaejoong shuddered against him, letting out an involuntary moan that set Changmin’s blood aflame.
He glanced up and found Jaejoong blinking at him through heavy lidded eyes, languid and sated like a cat, and it was that look that ultimately pushed him over the edge. A startled noise escaped Jaejoong when Changmin crushed their lips together at the moment of climax, but then he relaxed and parted his lips acquiescently. When finally, he pulled back, breathless, Jaejoong’s face was set back into his normal expression, the only evidence of their coupling being a faint red flush on his cheeks.
Would it be that I could leave a mark on you, the way you have left your mark on me,
Lesser men may have stopped there, but the night was young and so were they. He could take Jaejoong twice more, a hundred times more, but it would not be enough-it would never be enough.
//
There was a distinct, putrid smell to King’s Landing that assaulted Jaejoong’s senses before he ever neared the city gates, and it took a fair amount of effort on his part not to twist his face in disgust. The capital city of the Seven Kingdoms was also the largest and most populous, for better or worse. The streets were lined with color and every surface was covered in ornate patterns, as fancy as they were useless.
The citizens already donned their heavy winter clothing, and they stopped to stare as he rode through the city with his small company. Ghost was striding alongside them and he could hear their mutterings of awe, mothers clutching their children and men shaking their heads with suspicion.
Summer flowers, all of them, he thought, thinking of the last brother of the Watch they had buried before he left the Wall. Sungmin had returned from his scouting mission with frostbite on all his fingers and half of his toes, and he barely managed to chatter out his report before collapsing in the snow to never wake again. Cold winds are rising. Winter is coming. Say it however you like, these delicate southern blossoms will not survive the frost.
Their escort took them directly to the Red Keep, and despite his misgivings about the city itself, the sight of the great castle took Jaejoong’s breath away. The ancestors of House Jung had wanted to make a statement with this structure, and though he had spent the last five years of his life on another marvel of human architecture, Jaejoong couldn’t help but be impressed by the sheer size and grandeur of the King’s seat.
The steward who ran out to greet them was a nervous young fellow, and he wrung his hands when he spoke. “My lord-sir,” he said, eyeing Ghost warily, “You are to come alone. Your men, your weapons, and your pet must remain here.”
Jaejoong raised his eyebrow. He didn’t remember any rules that deprived a man of his weapons-but then again, that was Hyoyeon’s area of interest. Three different kings had sat on the Iron Throne while he was at the Wall, courtly etiquette probably changed every time the head that wore the crown did.
“My men will stay,” Jaejoong said, unclasping the strap of his Valyrian greatsword and handing it to Jonghyun. “My direwolf will stay as well, and she’ll behave so long as no one gives her a reason not to.”
“Of course, m’lord,” the steward squeaked. On all fours, the top of Ghost’s head came up to the steward’s chin, and if the ‘brave’ men of the Night’s Watch avoided her red eyes, what chance did a southern steward have?
The throne room was filled with people, at least a hundred lords and ladies in attendance, even though there wasn’t a court in session. The first thing he saw was the dragon, skulking behind the Iron Throne, hissing smoke into the air. This was not the one he had fed bits of meat to in the pits of Castle North; this one was smaller, pale cream and gold, and angrier than the other one. Then, he saw Jung Yunho sprawled on the Iron Throne.
He was dressed like the Jung rulers of the past, in high-collared black velvets cut with crimson, a golden cape, and a crown of rubies and black diamond weighing on his brow. In all the fineries of the civilized world, Jaejoong thought Jung Yunho had never looked more wild. The King rose to his feet when Jaejoong crossed the threshold into the room and all his guests turned in Jaejoong’s direction.
“On your knees,” Jung Yunho snarled, and that was when Jaejoong realized, rather belatedly, that there was a trial after all and he was the accused.
Obediently, Jaejoong sank to the floor and touched his hand over his heart. “Your Grace.”
The herald stepped forward and began reading the charges leveled against him: treason against the crown, treason against the realm, treason against the king, and treason again.
Rebellion? What rebellion? Jaejoong though. And then, Hyoyeon. Where was Hyoyeon.
“Do you deny these charges, Lord Commander?” Jung Yunho’s voice interrupted the herald and rang throughout the room like a bell. At least he had learned how to speak like a king.
“I deny all of them,” Jaejoong replied swiftly. “The sole duty of the Night’s Watch is to guard the realm and that is all I or any of my brothers have done.”
“Do you deny the reports that wildlings frequent the Wall?” Jung Yunho asked. “Do you deny that the shipments of supplies far exceed the usual rations? Do you deny your contact with the seat of Castle North speaking of war?”
“No, I deny none of them,” Jaejoong admitted, and a murmur broke out among the spectators. “We maintain a symbiotic relationship with the wildlings, your grace. We have been preparing for winter, sire, but our war is not toward the realm, only those who would seek to do harm to it.”
“The Wall was erected to keep the wildlings out of the Seven Kingdoms,” Jung Yunho snapped. “Now you’re letting them in by the droves. Pray tell, my lord, who are these dreaded enemies you speak of”
“The same enemies for whom the Wall was originally built for,” Jaejoong replied, ignoring the sniggering of their participative audience. Summer flowers, all of them. “The Others.”
“The Others are a children’s fantasy!” Jung Yunho roared, slamming his palm down on the Iron Throne, impaling his hand on one of its many blades. He barely seemed to register the injury, glaring furiously as a servant boy scrambled up the steps with a cloth to catch the steady flow of blood.
House Jung has always danced too close to madness, Seunghyun had warned him. It’s the centuries of inbreeding to keep the line pure. One of their kings once said that madness and greatness are two sides of the same coin. Every time a Jung is born, the gods toss a coin in the air and the world holds its breath to see how it will land.
With Jung Yunho, the coin may not have landed favorably.
The doors to the throne room swung open again and Hyoyeon stepped through them flanked by two palace guards in red cloaks. To everyone else, she was as put together as any other lady in the room, but her face was pinched and there were shadows under her eyes that hadn’t existed the last time he saw her. Jung Yunho waved her aside carelessly, his attention focused solely on Jaejoong.
“The penalty for treason is death,” the king said lowly, and behind him, the dragon let out an angry hiss.
He means to execute me. A rebellion that didn’t exist, and Jung Yunho would feed him to a dragon to prove a point. He should probably be more unsettled by this, but that had always been Jaejoong’s problem, he was always a little slow on the uptake. It’s a good thing I left Seunghyun behind, he’ll know who’s the best choice for the nine-hundred and ninety-ninth Lord Commander.
“The champion of House Jung is fire,” Jung Yunho continued calmly as his dragon snaked its way from behind his seat. His hand was still dripping blood. “So all you need to do to prove your innocence is…well. Don’t burn.”
His grandfather had died in this manner, cooked alive in his armor by Jung Yunho’s father. His uncle, who was his father’s older brother, had strangled himself trying to save him. There were hundreds of lords and ladies who watched them then, as there were now, and none of them would say a word or lift a finger in his defense. If life was not a song, then why did history so like repeating itself?
I’m going to die.
Vaguely, he registered Hyoyeon’s unladylike screams over the din of the audience, but he couldn’t make out her words over the panic rising in his heart. He could see Changmin out of his peripheral, arguing vehemently. He could hear the buzz of the other council members speaking out for prudence, but all he saw was the Dragon King’s eyes, livid and angry.
Anything can be tamed, Jung Yunho had said to him that night outside the dragonpit. But who tamed Jung Yunho?
His hands were trembling.
"Dracarys," Jung Yunho said. The dragon opened its great jaws and then the flames were upon him, and its sear was red and scalding.
//
They didn’t call Jung Yunho’s father ‘the Mad King’ without reason.
Yoochun was too young to remember, but he had heard enough stories and whispers to where he could piece together his own truth. The last king from the Jung dynasty before Jung Yunho brought the dragons back, Jung Jiwoon’s reign started as well as anyone could have hoped. He brought peace and prosperity to the Seven Kingdoms, and he himself was charming and handsome. As time passed by, however, his quick temper became a double-edged sword, and he succumbed to his paranoia, becoming increasingly suspicious and unstable over time. His favorite method of execution was to burn his victims alive, to hear their screams as they roasted, and many a good men lost their lives in tragic manner.
Prince Jihoon was different. Jihoon was nothing like his father, he was a righteous man and remarkably popular with the smallfolk. Everyone was holding their breaths, waiting for the day when Jihoon would succeed his father. He should have been king, Park Kahi should have been his queen, and their children should have inherited the crown. Of course, all that turned to dust with a swing of the arm.
When his father sent Yoochun across the Narrow Sea to seek out Jung Yunho and his dragons, Yoochun had his own reservations over seeking out the son of the Mad King, dragons or no. He found, much to his surprise, a warrior king, savage and strange, but noble. He could be the one to bring change to the Seven Kingdoms, Yoochun thought. He could be the one to finally bring stability and heal the realm from its war-torn state. Yoochun had believed in him and threw the support of Dorne behind him, and when they returned to King’s Landing to the cheers of the smallfolk, Yoochun had felt elation, for no beginning could be any more promising.
Once the crown was atop his head, however, Jung Yunho proved to be his father’s son-except he had dragons, which made everything so much worse.
Kim Hyoyeon was screaming obscenities, fighting against the Red Guards as they held her back. She swore at the king, using curse words filthy enough to make the ladies of the court turn a dainty pink. She called him a kinslayer at one point, but that was impossible and her cries fell on deaf ears, so focused Jung Yunho was on the Lord Commander. Shim Changmin had stepped forth too, but Jung Yunho would never listen to him on matters regarding the North.
How sad, Yoochun thought. Most likely, the Lord Commander was merely misinformed or foolishly fanciful in his dealings with the wildlings-the Others, honestly-but no one deserved to die this way. How unfortunate that Jung Yunho was unscrewed in the head and that Kim Jaejoong would be suffering his wrath.
And such a pretty fellow too.
“Your grace,” he began, because he was the Hand and it should be known that the Hand spoke his feelings openly even when his words would have no effect on the king. “Perhaps we should proceed on the side of clemency. The Lord Commander has serviced the realm for many years now.” He’d have to be a remarkable man to be so young and maintain authority over all the bottom-feeders we send to the Wall.
“Indeed, your grace,” the Master of Ships chimed in. Cho Kyuhyun had no ties with the North, but his wife knew Kim Hyoyeon well. “It should not be said that a king-“
“The king can do as he likes!” Jung Yunho bellowed, and opened a fresh cut on the inside of his arm. The throne room fell silent. A few of the spectators in the front row began edging away from the Lord Commander, who was still knelt in front of the throne.
Oh well, Yoochun thought, sending an apologetic shrug in Kim Jaejoong’s direction that the latter did not see. I did what I could.
“I’ve heard enough,” Jung Yunho continued, snapping his fingers. The dragon lifted itself onto its hind legs and when it stood, the top of his head nearly brushed the highest point of the ceiling. One word. “Dracarys.”
They say time stops for a man when he faces death. A sword aimed for the heart will come at him in slow motion, an arrow will fly like a sheet of paper instead of a hawk, and you will see them coming but be too slow to avoid it. Death by poison, fire, or water was the worst, for they stole your senses slowly and turned them against you, so you felt everything and nothing at all. To Yoochun, it all happened in a split second: there was no fire and then there was.
A gasp rose from the audience as the flames engulfed the Lord Commander. Kim Hyoyeon crumpled to the floor and Shim Changmin stepped back shakily and heaved into a corner. The expression on Jung Yunho’s face was terrible to see, for it was as though in that moment, he had lost all grip on reality. Then, all at once, a far greater racket rose from the gallery, and Yoochun turned back just as the flames subsided and found a sight he would not soon forget.
Kim Jaejoong was still knelt in front of the Iron Throne, not as pile of bones, but flesh and blood still. He was as naked as the day he was born, for the dragonfyre had charred his clothing, but they had not charred him.
Impossible. Yoochun thought. There was only one man in the entire Seven Kingdoms, indeed, the entire world, who could withstand fire and come out unburnt, and that man was wearing on his face a look of unadulterated astonishment. The madness had gone.
Impossible.
[ Chapter 06 ]
Notes:
+ For some reason I decided that Changmin’s feelings would best be expressed through sex. Kind of came out of nowhere for me too, so I do hope it wasn’t too full of fail.
+ I had a lot of trouble with the pacing in this chapter, I hope that wasn’t too obvious.
+ Questions, comments, send them my way. :)
→ A prince without a kingdom, a lord without a name, and how how the two of them carve themselves into history.
Character Profiles | Fanart | Prologue | Previous Chapter
The Songs They Will Sing
[05]
He found Jaejoong in a rundown little tavern a day’s ride away from King's Landing, and it cost him three gold coins to ensure that they wouldn’t be disturbed. The moment the unsuspecting Lord Commander opened the door, Changmin was upon him, forcing his way into the room and bolting the lock shut behind him. Jaejoong’s direwolf was nowhere in sight, thank the Seven-he wouldn’t have trusted the damn thing not to attack him on the spot for manhandling his owner that way.
“Where have you been?” he hissed, stalking across the rooms and yanking the curtains close. There were still eyes and ears everywhere and this was a meeting he preferred to keep private. “Why didn’t you come sooner?”
“My duties confine me to the Wall, and that is where I should have remained,” Jaejoong replied icily, crossing his arms across his chest. “His Grace would do well to remember that.”
“You don’t know what kind of person he is,” Changmin snapped in return. It was idiocy like this that frustrated Changmin the most, Jung Yunho for not understanding the system and Kim Jaejoong for refusing to bend the rules. They glared at each other, seemingly at a standstill.
Then, wordlessly, he reached out to draw Jaejoong closer and Jaejoong went unresistingly, letting Changmin pull him close enough to rest his face against the side of his neck. Jaejoong smelled like pine and snow, and though Changmin was never once allowed to think of Castle North as his home, he had grown up there and associations with smell never seemed to fade no matter how much time passed by. “You should have come earlier.”
“Is he that far beyond reason?” Jaejoong asked softly, bringing his hand up to smooth out Changmin’s fringe; an old gesture of affection he never learned to break.
“He lets his dragons roam free in the Keep,” Changmin murmured, unfastening the clasp of Jaejoong’s cloak and letting it fall onto the old wooden floorboards. “He dismissed the headsman and carries out all his executions with dragonfyre. The Iron Throne is a bloody mess at the end of every day, but he never goes a day without being king. Jung Yunho is a crisis waiting to happen and he’s probably as crazy as his father was-but I don’t want to talk about him.”
Jaejoong swallowed as Changmin began methodically divesting him of the rest of his clothing, tossing them away carelessly with the needlepoint focus he usually reserved for archery. “Again?” he asked hoarsely.
“You’ll father no children with me,” Changmin replied, hoping it was all the convincing he would need. Jaejoong had inherited his sense of responsibility from his lord father, but while his vows denied him many things, simple carnal pleasure was not one of them. Jaejoong let out a resigned sigh and that was all the encouragement Changmin needed.
He shrugged off his doublet and kicked off his boots before shoving Jaejoong unceremoniously onto the small bed, briefly admiring the vast expanse of pale, luminous skin before he put his mouth on it. Jaejoong gave a shuddering sigh as Changmin kissed a path from Jaejoong’s jaw, down to the soft skin of his belly, and ending at the juncture between his legs. His fingers danced up and down Jaejoong’s body, leaving gooseflesh in their wake, and Jaejoong made a noise when Changmin laid his head against Jaejoong’s thigh, blowing lightly against his rapidly swelling cock.
Jaejoong had always maintained a subzero temperament, especially when they were younger. Something about being a highborn bastard tended to rub people the wrong way and it was an effective defense mechanism even if it was only that-a façade. If those chattering birds could see him now, with his mouth open, head thrown back, breath ragged as Changmin prepared him and pressed slowly into him, his reputation would fall to ruins.
It was an old temptation. In the past, he used to corner Jaejoong in an alcove somewhere and have him on the spot, riding him just a little harder and just a little faster to see if he’d give himself away. They never got caught, but he still liked to remember the way Jaejoong covered his mouth, glaring through the haze of his arousal, the way his hips jerked when Changmin struck that sensitive spot inside of him, and the way he blushed after they both spent themselves and Changmin would kiss him even though he didn’t have to.
Here in the present, he started at a slow, idle pace, because Jaejoong hated being teased, and Changmin kept at that trying tempo even when Jaejoong bucked up against him, a silent command to hurry things up. Instead, Changmin pushed Jaejoong’s legs up further so he could bury himself deeper, and Jaejoong responded with a deliciously keening whine that he immediately committed to memory-every honest response Jaejoong had ever let slip had to be earned the hard way and Changmin learned long ago to celebrate every one of his successes.
This is mine, Changmin thought, as the mattress squeaked with their efforts. When nothing else was his to command, not his birthright, his seat in the Iron Islands, or his seat on the council, at the very least he had this.
“I wish you didn’t have to come here,” Changmin whispered as he fucked short, stuttering cries from Jaejoong’s lips. Already, he was holding off the weight of his own pleasure; Jaejoong did always have that intoxicating effect on him. Changmin had taken him half a dozen times the last time in Castle North, but hadn’t satiated his desire in the least. “Wish you didn’t have to go back to the Wall either.”
Want to keep you locked away somewhere, just the two of us, so I could have you all to myself, all the time.
“Good luck with that,” Jaejoong murmured. He might have said something else too, but then Changmin wrapped his fingers around Jaejoong’s straining erection and stroked him back to incoherency. Jaejoong reached around and dug bruises into Changmin’s hip, a silent plea to hurry it up. Changmin ignored him and continued his ministrations lazily, even when Jaejoong writhed furiously against him. He rolled his hips and watched Jaejoong’s protests die away as his head lolled back and his eyes rolled shut. Then, he turns Jaejoong on his side, hooked his leg over his arm, and fucked him in earnest, hard and demanding, just the way he liked it.
Jaejoong’s entire body went slack and then, slowly, his back arched as he spilled himself all over the bedding, gasping for air and cursing shakily under his breath as Changmin continued to work on him, fucking him throughout his release, never once breaking rhythm. He paused briefly to roll Jaejoong over on his back and then he slid right back in, marveling at the way Jaejoong clenched sporadically around him as Jaejoong shuddered against him, letting out an involuntary moan that set Changmin’s blood aflame.
He glanced up and found Jaejoong blinking at him through heavy lidded eyes, languid and sated like a cat, and it was that look that ultimately pushed him over the edge. A startled noise escaped Jaejoong when Changmin crushed their lips together at the moment of climax, but then he relaxed and parted his lips acquiescently. When finally, he pulled back, breathless, Jaejoong’s face was set back into his normal expression, the only evidence of their coupling being a faint red flush on his cheeks.
Would it be that I could leave a mark on you, the way you have left your mark on me,
Lesser men may have stopped there, but the night was young and so were they. He could take Jaejoong twice more, a hundred times more, but it would not be enough-it would never be enough.
//
There was a distinct, putrid smell to King’s Landing that assaulted Jaejoong’s senses before he ever neared the city gates, and it took a fair amount of effort on his part not to twist his face in disgust. The capital city of the Seven Kingdoms was also the largest and most populous, for better or worse. The streets were lined with color and every surface was covered in ornate patterns, as fancy as they were useless.
The citizens already donned their heavy winter clothing, and they stopped to stare as he rode through the city with his small company. Ghost was striding alongside them and he could hear their mutterings of awe, mothers clutching their children and men shaking their heads with suspicion.
Summer flowers, all of them, he thought, thinking of the last brother of the Watch they had buried before he left the Wall. Sungmin had returned from his scouting mission with frostbite on all his fingers and half of his toes, and he barely managed to chatter out his report before collapsing in the snow to never wake again. Cold winds are rising. Winter is coming. Say it however you like, these delicate southern blossoms will not survive the frost.
Their escort took them directly to the Red Keep, and despite his misgivings about the city itself, the sight of the great castle took Jaejoong’s breath away. The ancestors of House Jung had wanted to make a statement with this structure, and though he had spent the last five years of his life on another marvel of human architecture, Jaejoong couldn’t help but be impressed by the sheer size and grandeur of the King’s seat.
The steward who ran out to greet them was a nervous young fellow, and he wrung his hands when he spoke. “My lord-sir,” he said, eyeing Ghost warily, “You are to come alone. Your men, your weapons, and your pet must remain here.”
Jaejoong raised his eyebrow. He didn’t remember any rules that deprived a man of his weapons-but then again, that was Hyoyeon’s area of interest. Three different kings had sat on the Iron Throne while he was at the Wall, courtly etiquette probably changed every time the head that wore the crown did.
“My men will stay,” Jaejoong said, unclasping the strap of his Valyrian greatsword and handing it to Jonghyun. “My direwolf will stay as well, and she’ll behave so long as no one gives her a reason not to.”
“Of course, m’lord,” the steward squeaked. On all fours, the top of Ghost’s head came up to the steward’s chin, and if the ‘brave’ men of the Night’s Watch avoided her red eyes, what chance did a southern steward have?
The throne room was filled with people, at least a hundred lords and ladies in attendance, even though there wasn’t a court in session. The first thing he saw was the dragon, skulking behind the Iron Throne, hissing smoke into the air. This was not the one he had fed bits of meat to in the pits of Castle North; this one was smaller, pale cream and gold, and angrier than the other one. Then, he saw Jung Yunho sprawled on the Iron Throne.
He was dressed like the Jung rulers of the past, in high-collared black velvets cut with crimson, a golden cape, and a crown of rubies and black diamond weighing on his brow. In all the fineries of the civilized world, Jaejoong thought Jung Yunho had never looked more wild. The King rose to his feet when Jaejoong crossed the threshold into the room and all his guests turned in Jaejoong’s direction.
“On your knees,” Jung Yunho snarled, and that was when Jaejoong realized, rather belatedly, that there was a trial after all and he was the accused.
Obediently, Jaejoong sank to the floor and touched his hand over his heart. “Your Grace.”
The herald stepped forward and began reading the charges leveled against him: treason against the crown, treason against the realm, treason against the king, and treason again.
Rebellion? What rebellion? Jaejoong though. And then, Hyoyeon. Where was Hyoyeon.
“Do you deny these charges, Lord Commander?” Jung Yunho’s voice interrupted the herald and rang throughout the room like a bell. At least he had learned how to speak like a king.
“I deny all of them,” Jaejoong replied swiftly. “The sole duty of the Night’s Watch is to guard the realm and that is all I or any of my brothers have done.”
“Do you deny the reports that wildlings frequent the Wall?” Jung Yunho asked. “Do you deny that the shipments of supplies far exceed the usual rations? Do you deny your contact with the seat of Castle North speaking of war?”
“No, I deny none of them,” Jaejoong admitted, and a murmur broke out among the spectators. “We maintain a symbiotic relationship with the wildlings, your grace. We have been preparing for winter, sire, but our war is not toward the realm, only those who would seek to do harm to it.”
“The Wall was erected to keep the wildlings out of the Seven Kingdoms,” Jung Yunho snapped. “Now you’re letting them in by the droves. Pray tell, my lord, who are these dreaded enemies you speak of”
“The same enemies for whom the Wall was originally built for,” Jaejoong replied, ignoring the sniggering of their participative audience. Summer flowers, all of them. “The Others.”
“The Others are a children’s fantasy!” Jung Yunho roared, slamming his palm down on the Iron Throne, impaling his hand on one of its many blades. He barely seemed to register the injury, glaring furiously as a servant boy scrambled up the steps with a cloth to catch the steady flow of blood.
House Jung has always danced too close to madness, Seunghyun had warned him. It’s the centuries of inbreeding to keep the line pure. One of their kings once said that madness and greatness are two sides of the same coin. Every time a Jung is born, the gods toss a coin in the air and the world holds its breath to see how it will land.
With Jung Yunho, the coin may not have landed favorably.
The doors to the throne room swung open again and Hyoyeon stepped through them flanked by two palace guards in red cloaks. To everyone else, she was as put together as any other lady in the room, but her face was pinched and there were shadows under her eyes that hadn’t existed the last time he saw her. Jung Yunho waved her aside carelessly, his attention focused solely on Jaejoong.
“The penalty for treason is death,” the king said lowly, and behind him, the dragon let out an angry hiss.
He means to execute me. A rebellion that didn’t exist, and Jung Yunho would feed him to a dragon to prove a point. He should probably be more unsettled by this, but that had always been Jaejoong’s problem, he was always a little slow on the uptake. It’s a good thing I left Seunghyun behind, he’ll know who’s the best choice for the nine-hundred and ninety-ninth Lord Commander.
“The champion of House Jung is fire,” Jung Yunho continued calmly as his dragon snaked its way from behind his seat. His hand was still dripping blood. “So all you need to do to prove your innocence is…well. Don’t burn.”
His grandfather had died in this manner, cooked alive in his armor by Jung Yunho’s father. His uncle, who was his father’s older brother, had strangled himself trying to save him. There were hundreds of lords and ladies who watched them then, as there were now, and none of them would say a word or lift a finger in his defense. If life was not a song, then why did history so like repeating itself?
I’m going to die.
Vaguely, he registered Hyoyeon’s unladylike screams over the din of the audience, but he couldn’t make out her words over the panic rising in his heart. He could see Changmin out of his peripheral, arguing vehemently. He could hear the buzz of the other council members speaking out for prudence, but all he saw was the Dragon King’s eyes, livid and angry.
Anything can be tamed, Jung Yunho had said to him that night outside the dragonpit. But who tamed Jung Yunho?
His hands were trembling.
"Dracarys," Jung Yunho said. The dragon opened its great jaws and then the flames were upon him, and its sear was red and scalding.
//
They didn’t call Jung Yunho’s father ‘the Mad King’ without reason.
Yoochun was too young to remember, but he had heard enough stories and whispers to where he could piece together his own truth. The last king from the Jung dynasty before Jung Yunho brought the dragons back, Jung Jiwoon’s reign started as well as anyone could have hoped. He brought peace and prosperity to the Seven Kingdoms, and he himself was charming and handsome. As time passed by, however, his quick temper became a double-edged sword, and he succumbed to his paranoia, becoming increasingly suspicious and unstable over time. His favorite method of execution was to burn his victims alive, to hear their screams as they roasted, and many a good men lost their lives in tragic manner.
Prince Jihoon was different. Jihoon was nothing like his father, he was a righteous man and remarkably popular with the smallfolk. Everyone was holding their breaths, waiting for the day when Jihoon would succeed his father. He should have been king, Park Kahi should have been his queen, and their children should have inherited the crown. Of course, all that turned to dust with a swing of the arm.
When his father sent Yoochun across the Narrow Sea to seek out Jung Yunho and his dragons, Yoochun had his own reservations over seeking out the son of the Mad King, dragons or no. He found, much to his surprise, a warrior king, savage and strange, but noble. He could be the one to bring change to the Seven Kingdoms, Yoochun thought. He could be the one to finally bring stability and heal the realm from its war-torn state. Yoochun had believed in him and threw the support of Dorne behind him, and when they returned to King’s Landing to the cheers of the smallfolk, Yoochun had felt elation, for no beginning could be any more promising.
Once the crown was atop his head, however, Jung Yunho proved to be his father’s son-except he had dragons, which made everything so much worse.
Kim Hyoyeon was screaming obscenities, fighting against the Red Guards as they held her back. She swore at the king, using curse words filthy enough to make the ladies of the court turn a dainty pink. She called him a kinslayer at one point, but that was impossible and her cries fell on deaf ears, so focused Jung Yunho was on the Lord Commander. Shim Changmin had stepped forth too, but Jung Yunho would never listen to him on matters regarding the North.
How sad, Yoochun thought. Most likely, the Lord Commander was merely misinformed or foolishly fanciful in his dealings with the wildlings-the Others, honestly-but no one deserved to die this way. How unfortunate that Jung Yunho was unscrewed in the head and that Kim Jaejoong would be suffering his wrath.
And such a pretty fellow too.
“Your grace,” he began, because he was the Hand and it should be known that the Hand spoke his feelings openly even when his words would have no effect on the king. “Perhaps we should proceed on the side of clemency. The Lord Commander has serviced the realm for many years now.” He’d have to be a remarkable man to be so young and maintain authority over all the bottom-feeders we send to the Wall.
“Indeed, your grace,” the Master of Ships chimed in. Cho Kyuhyun had no ties with the North, but his wife knew Kim Hyoyeon well. “It should not be said that a king-“
“The king can do as he likes!” Jung Yunho bellowed, and opened a fresh cut on the inside of his arm. The throne room fell silent. A few of the spectators in the front row began edging away from the Lord Commander, who was still knelt in front of the throne.
Oh well, Yoochun thought, sending an apologetic shrug in Kim Jaejoong’s direction that the latter did not see. I did what I could.
“I’ve heard enough,” Jung Yunho continued, snapping his fingers. The dragon lifted itself onto its hind legs and when it stood, the top of his head nearly brushed the highest point of the ceiling. One word. “Dracarys.”
They say time stops for a man when he faces death. A sword aimed for the heart will come at him in slow motion, an arrow will fly like a sheet of paper instead of a hawk, and you will see them coming but be too slow to avoid it. Death by poison, fire, or water was the worst, for they stole your senses slowly and turned them against you, so you felt everything and nothing at all. To Yoochun, it all happened in a split second: there was no fire and then there was.
A gasp rose from the audience as the flames engulfed the Lord Commander. Kim Hyoyeon crumpled to the floor and Shim Changmin stepped back shakily and heaved into a corner. The expression on Jung Yunho’s face was terrible to see, for it was as though in that moment, he had lost all grip on reality. Then, all at once, a far greater racket rose from the gallery, and Yoochun turned back just as the flames subsided and found a sight he would not soon forget.
Kim Jaejoong was still knelt in front of the Iron Throne, not as pile of bones, but flesh and blood still. He was as naked as the day he was born, for the dragonfyre had charred his clothing, but they had not charred him.
Impossible. Yoochun thought. There was only one man in the entire Seven Kingdoms, indeed, the entire world, who could withstand fire and come out unburnt, and that man was wearing on his face a look of unadulterated astonishment. The madness had gone.
Impossible.
[ Chapter 06 ]
Notes:
+ For some reason I decided that Changmin’s feelings would best be expressed through sex. Kind of came out of nowhere for me too, so I do hope it wasn’t too full of fail.
+ I had a lot of trouble with the pacing in this chapter, I hope that wasn’t too obvious.
+ Questions, comments, send them my way. :)