Ship/Member: Seokmin/Mingyu, Jeonghan cameo Major Tags: Violence, Minor Character Death, Implied Parental Abuse Additional Tags: Alternate Universe - Historical, Lovers to Enemies, somewhat an arthur/lancelot AU, truly just an ode to Excalibur DK, when it’s love and not hatred that breaks you Permission to remix: Yes
A/N: op thank you for prompting this! this is my first seokgyu ever and I had a lot, like A LOT of fun <33
//
Metres below the silvery surface of calm waters, a bright blade lay in wait on the soft and sandy lakebed. As foretold, under a cloudless sky on the eighteenth night of the second month, the world welcomed the prince destined to wield the sword. His birth marked the death of three: his mother, a beloved queen, of gruesome childbirth; his mid-wife, a famed sorceress, hanged for her king's greed; and a heart, that of a benevolent man, lost to rage and grief.
//
Seokmin limped to his quarters in the dark, taking care not to be seen. He loved his father enough to do so, even though the circumstances of his upbringing were never a secret. From the yangbans at court to the cooks in the kitchen, everyone knew how the king regularly delivered Seokmin’s punishment for being alive. He had heard from a young nursemaid how his father had coveted an heir enough to turn to magic for answers. Unfortunately, the king did not understand the price when he agreed to the terms.
Now, Seokmin was the one paying it. In blood and tears.
He slid open the door and found a familiar face waiting on his bed.
“Seokmin,” Mingyu started, tone steeped in concern.
Seokmin mustered up his best smile. “It’s not as bad this time.”
The young officer shook his head. They were used to this routine. Seokmin would come back from the king’s quarter with a fresh set of wounds and Mingyu would tend to him wordlessly, intimately. Tonight, instead of fetching the gilded tray upon which the cotton gauzes and medicinal herbs were placed, Mingyu came to stand before him.
“I have something to show you.”
“What is it?”
Seokmin stilled when Mingyu slowly disrobed him. His gaze bored into Seokmin, even as his hands travelled the breadth of Seokmin’s shoulders and snaked around his body. An uncomfortable wince escaped him when Mingyu touched a still-bleeding cut. Then Mingyu said something—in a language Seokmin did not understand, in a tongue never taught to him by the scholars assigned to deliver his education—and Seokmin felt the pain leave him in a heartbeat.
Mingyu released him and stepped away. Seokmin watched him, uncertain, and slowly put one hand behind him. He gasped. The welts on his back were gone. Not healed—gone, as if they were never there to start. Seokmin had known Mingyu since they were young boys. They spent happy years running around the palace, leaving mud trails on newly mopped floors, and falling through canvas doors in playful tumbles. He never knew.
He never knew.
“You—“
He had magic. All this time. Hiding in plain sight, in a palace that had abhorred and outlawed his existence since the night of Seokmin’s birth.
“Do you hate me?”
“No,” Seokmin answered instantly.
“Are you scared of me?”
I’m scared for you, he thought. “Mingyu, you can never do that again. My father has eyes and ears everywhere—“ Seokmin shuddered at the thought of Mingyu wearing a necklace of rope, his feet kicking in the air, face drained of colours. “I can’t lose you. Please.”
He had seen what loss did to men. It rendered the compassionate heartless, turned kings into inebriates, and transformed fathers into monsters.
“Does it hurt?”
“What?” Mingyu made a vague gesture to his back so Seokmin would catch on to his meaning. “No, the pain is gone.“
“Then I will do it again,” he said firmly.
“Mingyu,” Seokmin pleaded through gritted teeth. “Do your parents know?”
“Only Abeoji, since he passed the gift on to me."
"And what did he say?"
"We don't talk about the important things," Mingyu shrugged. "Keep your head down and work hard. Climb up the ranks. Don't cause your mother any grief. He says what every father says.”
Not every father, Seokmin thought.
“Those are the important things.” He grabbed Mingyu’s shoulders, so he had no choice but to look at him. “Listen to me: you can never do that again. Do you hear me?”
“Tell me you understand,” Mingyu returned, voice growing quieter. “The reason I would risk death.”
And Seokmin did. Seokmin understood what tormented Mingyu’s heart; his demons wore the same faces. Whenever he put Mingyu flat on his back out on the training ground, Seokmin desperately wanted to climb over him. The desire to discover the sounds he would make if Seokmin mouthed along his sun-kissed shoulder was ever-growing.
He stepped forward, fingers curled around one end of Mingyu’s silk jeondae. Seokmin pulled once, a harsh tug. The sash came loose.
//
Mingyu kept his promise. The punishment got worse as Seokmin got older, but Mingyu kept his promise. He cared for Seokmin with his warm hands and spoke only words Seokmin could recognise.
“What else can you do?”
Mingyu turned to him, bright eyes coloured with vivid surprise. His hair, undone, spilt like ink over Seokmin’s silk pillowcase. Seokmin wanted to be inside him again, to be wrapped in his intoxicating warmth.
“Not much. Enough to entertain honoured guests at a party, I suppose. The gisaengs would lose their livelihood to me.” He rolled on top of Seokmin, kissing a line down his neck. “I mean, look, the prospective ladies of the court have already lost their precious wangseja to me.”
Seokmin pinched his side lightly. Mingyu squirmed, then laughed against Seokmin’s cheek. His body shook with amusement and since the king had been away from the capital for a week, Seokmin allowed himself to join him.
“Answer the question.”
“Other than healing, my gift lies in illusion.” Mingyu’s lips found his ear. He nudged Seokmin to turn his face to the side. “Here, watch.”
Doing as Mingyu bid, Seokmin paid close attention to the glass lantern placed above a low bedside table. The shadows it cast on the wall seemed ordinary at first, until Seokmin started making out shapes—and, in time, a story. He recognised the first one. An old legend. A bear, a tiger, a cave. Then, once he had visited the past, Mingyu travelled to the future.
“There is a prophecy known amongst my people. A lady lives beneath a silver lake. She safeguards a sword that promises freedom. Once a king, the prince must come to her. Take what is his by right and bring light into the world.”
Seokmin stared at the dancing flames. “I don’t understand.”
“You will."
//
Seokmin sat motionless in a room of shattered porcelain and spilt wine. Before him, a king lay dead. A minute ago, he had launched into a passionate speech about their kingdom and its people, and how Seokmin could never be trusted to lead them. The fiery monologue had forewarned a terrible night, but Seokmin had not prepared for the king’s face to turn blue mid-sentence. Within seconds, he had gone from thumping his fist against his chest in a silent war cry to lying flat on his back, unmoving.
Down the hall, someone laughed in delight. Seokmin snapped out of his trance.
“Call the physician!” Seokmin barked to the attending servant, rushing to kneel by the king’s side. “Hurry! What are you waiting for?!” He demanded when the servant remained frozen. Seokmin turned around to repeat his order, only to find her gone, Mingyu standing in her place.
Seokmin faltered. “W-what? What is the meaning of this?”
“Ah.” Mingyu looked apologetic. “I didn’t know.”
It was summer, and the heat was sweltering, but cold perspiration trickled down Seokmin’s back. “What? Mingyu, what do you mean? What have you done?”
“I’ve never seen how it works on a man. The spell to stop one’s heart.”
Aghast, Seokmin scrabbled away from him until his back was against the wall. He stared at Mingyu, then at his late father, and back at Mingyu again. There was fascination dancing in his brown eyes. Those hands, which had only ever nourished Seokmin’s life, had now committed an unforgivable sin.
“You did this?" Seokmin did not understand. The king didn't know about them, he was sure of it. Did Mingyu not have faith in his protection? Even if he did fear being found out, they could have run. Seokmin would have run with him. "Mingyu, why?”
Mingyu canted his head as though the answer was obvious. He sauntered over to Seokmin, lowering himself to him. “Had I not, you would be dead before you could become king.”
Seokmin's eyes widened.
“I never—“
“You didn’t have to,” he said sweetly, leaning in to catch Seokmin’s lips.
This was not for him, Seokmin realised as Mingyu gently coaxed his way inside. It never was. The king wanted a worthy heir. Mingyu wanted a divine saviour. Seokmin was never any of those things. Seokmin was a son and a lover. Now he was none of those things, either. If Mingyu wanted to be free, Seokmin would fulfil his wish. This was the least he could do.
He kissed Mingyu back with equal fervour, cornering him against the dining table. Mingyu hummed happily against his mouth. It gave Seokmin time to reach for the dagger he knew Mingyu wore at his waist. Once the handle was in his grip, he plunged the blade into the soft flesh of Mingyu’s belly. Mingyu withdrew; his movements were sluggish, mind still floating in the clouds. He looked down. Lines of incomprehension decorated his forehead.
“Seokmin-ah?”
Fresh blood stained the unsullied steel and blossomed across Mingyu’s robe, spreading as rapidly as frost grew around Seokmin’s heart. Mingyu let out a rattled gasp, his hands clawing at Seokmin’s wrist. He twisted the blade. Mingyu screamed. His flesh made a soft noise as his body unravelled at Seokmin’s hand. Swallowing the last of his humanity, Seokmin jerked his arm back. A sickening sound spliced the air, severing the thread that held them together forever.
“Leave," Seokmin commanded.
An injury like that, on top of the sounds he’d made—the royal guards would seize him before he could exit the gates. Mingyu would die, undoubtedly, but Seokmin did not have to watch the light abandon his eyes. He had lost enough for one night.
“This…” Mingyu coughed up blood, droplets of crimson dotting his sleeves. “This is not mercy, is it?”
He turned away from Mingyu. His father was dead. Seokmin had to bury him. The kingdom he left behind was Seokmin’s to rule. Illusions had no place in his reign.
“No.”
Mercy? Never. It was punishment. When the grim reapers came for him, Mingyu would have no one to hold his hand. When they weighed his crimes in the afterlife, there would be no forgiveness to alleviate his sentence. He would walk a never-ending road in hell.
And, when the time came, Seokmin would join him.
//
“Jeonha.”
Yoon Jeonghan bowed upon entering the Great Hall. He had returned at last after a fortnight lost to hunting a ghost; an important task entrusted to him and four other capable men. The general had questions and objections, initially. Having come from a yangban family, however, meant that he knew better than to test the forgiving nature of a man freshly thrust into greatness. The crown had never fit a head more.
“My congratulations on your ascension.”
The king stared him down, eyes dark and emotionless. Jeonghan remembered the young man whom he had witnessed training with a mid-ranking officer just short of a year prior, his bonguk geom shining in his hold. There was kindness in him; a word seemingly foreign to the figure sitting on the throne.
“May your reign be peaceful and prosperous,” the general continued carefully.
“Kim Mingyu,” the king finally spoke, tone cutting. “What news do you have?”
“We have not found a body. Perhaps foxes or other beasts ate what remained of him; there have been recent sightings—“
“He’s alive.” Jeonghan frowned, failing to see how one would come to that conclusion. The king rose, his long black robe sweeping the floor as he walked past the general. They said this was the only colour he would wear even after the mourning period had ended. “Fetch me a scholar well-versed in geography. There is a lake I must locate.”
His confusion deepened. A lake? What did a king want with a lake? Jeonghan's curiosity got the better of him. “May I inquire, jeonha, what is it that you intend to do?”
The king halted and cast Jeonghan a sideways glance. From where he stood, Jeonghan could see the golden flecks in his inky irises.
“Cleanse our peninsula from a stubborn plague.” His lips stretched to an eerie smile; a beast-like grin the general had seen on tigers moments before they pounced on their prey. “Magic.”
//
yangbans: members of wealthy, ruling-class families, typically those working as civil servants or military officers / jeondae: a belt worn over military uniform / gisaengs: courtesans / wangseja: crown prince / jeonha: (to address the king) Your Majesty / bonguk geom: single-edged sword
[FILL] of glory, crowned
Major Tags: Violence, Minor Character Death, Implied Parental Abuse
Additional Tags: Alternate Universe - Historical, Lovers to Enemies, somewhat an arthur/lancelot AU, truly just an ode to Excalibur DK, when it’s love and not hatred that breaks you
Permission to remix: Yes
A/N: op thank you for prompting this! this is my first seokgyu ever and I had a lot, like A LOT of fun <33
Metres below the silvery surface of calm waters, a bright blade lay in wait on the soft and sandy lakebed. As foretold, under a cloudless sky on the eighteenth night of the second month, the world welcomed the prince destined to wield the sword. His birth marked the death of three: his mother, a beloved queen, of gruesome childbirth; his mid-wife, a famed sorceress, hanged for her king's greed; and a heart, that of a benevolent man, lost to rage and grief.
Seokmin limped to his quarters in the dark, taking care not to be seen. He loved his father enough to do so, even though the circumstances of his upbringing were never a secret. From the yangbans at court to the cooks in the kitchen, everyone knew how the king regularly delivered Seokmin’s punishment for being alive. He had heard from a young nursemaid how his father had coveted an heir enough to turn to magic for answers. Unfortunately, the king did not understand the price when he agreed to the terms.
Now, Seokmin was the one paying it. In blood and tears.
He slid open the door and found a familiar face waiting on his bed.
“Seokmin,” Mingyu started, tone steeped in concern.
Seokmin mustered up his best smile. “It’s not as bad this time.”
The young officer shook his head. They were used to this routine. Seokmin would come back from the king’s quarter with a fresh set of wounds and Mingyu would tend to him wordlessly, intimately. Tonight, instead of fetching the gilded tray upon which the cotton gauzes and medicinal herbs were placed, Mingyu came to stand before him.
“I have something to show you.”
“What is it?”
Seokmin stilled when Mingyu slowly disrobed him. His gaze bored into Seokmin, even as his hands travelled the breadth of Seokmin’s shoulders and snaked around his body. An uncomfortable wince escaped him when Mingyu touched a still-bleeding cut. Then Mingyu said something—in a language Seokmin did not understand, in a tongue never taught to him by the scholars assigned to deliver his education—and Seokmin felt the pain leave him in a heartbeat.
Mingyu released him and stepped away. Seokmin watched him, uncertain, and slowly put one hand behind him. He gasped. The welts on his back were gone. Not healed—gone, as if they were never there to start. Seokmin had known Mingyu since they were young boys. They spent happy years running around the palace, leaving mud trails on newly mopped floors, and falling through canvas doors in playful tumbles. He never knew.
He never knew.
“You—“
He had magic. All this time. Hiding in plain sight, in a palace that had abhorred and outlawed his existence since the night of Seokmin’s birth.
“Do you hate me?”
“No,” Seokmin answered instantly.
“Are you scared of me?”
I’m scared for you, he thought. “Mingyu, you can never do that again. My father has eyes and ears everywhere—“ Seokmin shuddered at the thought of Mingyu wearing a necklace of rope, his feet kicking in the air, face drained of colours. “I can’t lose you. Please.”
He had seen what loss did to men. It rendered the compassionate heartless, turned kings into inebriates, and transformed fathers into monsters.
“Does it hurt?”
“What?” Mingyu made a vague gesture to his back so Seokmin would catch on to his meaning. “No, the pain is gone.“
“Then I will do it again,” he said firmly.
“Mingyu,” Seokmin pleaded through gritted teeth. “Do your parents know?”
“Only Abeoji, since he passed the gift on to me."
"And what did he say?"
"We don't talk about the important things," Mingyu shrugged. "Keep your head down and work hard. Climb up the ranks. Don't cause your mother any grief. He says what every father says.”
Not every father, Seokmin thought.
“Those are the important things.” He grabbed Mingyu’s shoulders, so he had no choice but to look at him. “Listen to me: you can never do that again. Do you hear me?”
“Tell me you understand,” Mingyu returned, voice growing quieter. “The reason I would risk death.”
And Seokmin did. Seokmin understood what tormented Mingyu’s heart; his demons wore the same faces. Whenever he put Mingyu flat on his back out on the training ground, Seokmin desperately wanted to climb over him. The desire to discover the sounds he would make if Seokmin mouthed along his sun-kissed shoulder was ever-growing.
He stepped forward, fingers curled around one end of Mingyu’s silk jeondae. Seokmin pulled once, a harsh tug. The sash came loose.
Mingyu kept his promise. The punishment got worse as Seokmin got older, but Mingyu kept his promise. He cared for Seokmin with his warm hands and spoke only words Seokmin could recognise.
“What else can you do?”
Mingyu turned to him, bright eyes coloured with vivid surprise. His hair, undone, spilt like ink over Seokmin’s silk pillowcase. Seokmin wanted to be inside him again, to be wrapped in his intoxicating warmth.
“Not much. Enough to entertain honoured guests at a party, I suppose. The gisaengs would lose their livelihood to me.” He rolled on top of Seokmin, kissing a line down his neck. “I mean, look, the prospective ladies of the court have already lost their precious wangseja to me.”
Seokmin pinched his side lightly. Mingyu squirmed, then laughed against Seokmin’s cheek. His body shook with amusement and since the king had been away from the capital for a week, Seokmin allowed himself to join him.
“Answer the question.”
“Other than healing, my gift lies in illusion.” Mingyu’s lips found his ear. He nudged Seokmin to turn his face to the side. “Here, watch.”
Doing as Mingyu bid, Seokmin paid close attention to the glass lantern placed above a low bedside table. The shadows it cast on the wall seemed ordinary at first, until Seokmin started making out shapes—and, in time, a story. He recognised the first one. An old legend. A bear, a tiger, a cave. Then, once he had visited the past, Mingyu travelled to the future.
“There is a prophecy known amongst my people. A lady lives beneath a silver lake. She safeguards a sword that promises freedom. Once a king, the prince must come to her. Take what is his by right and bring light into the world.”
Seokmin stared at the dancing flames. “I don’t understand.”
“You will."
Seokmin sat motionless in a room of shattered porcelain and spilt wine. Before him, a king lay dead. A minute ago, he had launched into a passionate speech about their kingdom and its people, and how Seokmin could never be trusted to lead them. The fiery monologue had forewarned a terrible night, but Seokmin had not prepared for the king’s face to turn blue mid-sentence. Within seconds, he had gone from thumping his fist against his chest in a silent war cry to lying flat on his back, unmoving.
Down the hall, someone laughed in delight. Seokmin snapped out of his trance.
“Call the physician!” Seokmin barked to the attending servant, rushing to kneel by the king’s side. “Hurry! What are you waiting for?!” He demanded when the servant remained frozen. Seokmin turned around to repeat his order, only to find her gone, Mingyu standing in her place.
Seokmin faltered. “W-what? What is the meaning of this?”
“Ah.” Mingyu looked apologetic. “I didn’t know.”
It was summer, and the heat was sweltering, but cold perspiration trickled down Seokmin’s back. “What? Mingyu, what do you mean? What have you done?”
“I’ve never seen how it works on a man. The spell to stop one’s heart.”
Aghast, Seokmin scrabbled away from him until his back was against the wall. He stared at Mingyu, then at his late father, and back at Mingyu again. There was fascination dancing in his brown eyes. Those hands, which had only ever nourished Seokmin’s life, had now committed an unforgivable sin.
“You did this?" Seokmin did not understand. The king didn't know about them, he was sure of it. Did Mingyu not have faith in his protection? Even if he did fear being found out, they could have run. Seokmin would have run with him. "Mingyu, why?”
Mingyu canted his head as though the answer was obvious. He sauntered over to Seokmin, lowering himself to him. “Had I not, you would be dead before you could become king.”
Seokmin's eyes widened.
“I never—“
“You didn’t have to,” he said sweetly, leaning in to catch Seokmin’s lips.
This was not for him, Seokmin realised as Mingyu gently coaxed his way inside. It never was. The king wanted a worthy heir. Mingyu wanted a divine saviour. Seokmin was never any of those things. Seokmin was a son and a lover. Now he was none of those things, either. If Mingyu wanted to be free, Seokmin would fulfil his wish. This was the least he could do.
He kissed Mingyu back with equal fervour, cornering him against the dining table. Mingyu hummed happily against his mouth. It gave Seokmin time to reach for the dagger he knew Mingyu wore at his waist. Once the handle was in his grip, he plunged the blade into the soft flesh of Mingyu’s belly. Mingyu withdrew; his movements were sluggish, mind still floating in the clouds. He looked down. Lines of incomprehension decorated his forehead.
“Seokmin-ah?”
Fresh blood stained the unsullied steel and blossomed across Mingyu’s robe, spreading as rapidly as frost grew around Seokmin’s heart. Mingyu let out a rattled gasp, his hands clawing at Seokmin’s wrist. He twisted the blade. Mingyu screamed. His flesh made a soft noise as his body unravelled at Seokmin’s hand. Swallowing the last of his humanity, Seokmin jerked his arm back. A sickening sound spliced the air, severing the thread that held them together forever.
“Leave," Seokmin commanded.
An injury like that, on top of the sounds he’d made—the royal guards would seize him before he could exit the gates. Mingyu would die, undoubtedly, but Seokmin did not have to watch the light abandon his eyes. He had lost enough for one night.
“This…” Mingyu coughed up blood, droplets of crimson dotting his sleeves. “This is not mercy, is it?”
He turned away from Mingyu. His father was dead. Seokmin had to bury him. The kingdom he left behind was Seokmin’s to rule. Illusions had no place in his reign.
“No.”
Mercy? Never. It was punishment. When the grim reapers came for him, Mingyu would have no one to hold his hand. When they weighed his crimes in the afterlife, there would be no forgiveness to alleviate his sentence. He would walk a never-ending road in hell.
And, when the time came, Seokmin would join him.
“Jeonha.”
Yoon Jeonghan bowed upon entering the Great Hall. He had returned at last after a fortnight lost to hunting a ghost; an important task entrusted to him and four other capable men. The general had questions and objections, initially. Having come from a yangban family, however, meant that he knew better than to test the forgiving nature of a man freshly thrust into greatness. The crown had never fit a head more.
“My congratulations on your ascension.”
The king stared him down, eyes dark and emotionless. Jeonghan remembered the young man whom he had witnessed training with a mid-ranking officer just short of a year prior, his bonguk geom shining in his hold. There was kindness in him; a word seemingly foreign to the figure sitting on the throne.
“May your reign be peaceful and prosperous,” the general continued carefully.
“Kim Mingyu,” the king finally spoke, tone cutting. “What news do you have?”
“We have not found a body. Perhaps foxes or other beasts ate what remained of him; there have been recent sightings—“
“He’s alive.” Jeonghan frowned, failing to see how one would come to that conclusion. The king rose, his long black robe sweeping the floor as he walked past the general. They said this was the only colour he would wear even after the mourning period had ended. “Fetch me a scholar well-versed in geography. There is a lake I must locate.”
His confusion deepened. A lake? What did a king want with a lake? Jeonghan's curiosity got the better of him. “May I inquire, jeonha, what is it that you intend to do?”
The king halted and cast Jeonghan a sideways glance. From where he stood, Jeonghan could see the golden flecks in his inky irises.
“Cleanse our peninsula from a stubborn plague.” His lips stretched to an eerie smile; a beast-like grin the general had seen on tigers moments before they pounced on their prey. “Magic.”
yangbans: members of wealthy, ruling-class families, typically those working as civil servants or military officers / jeondae: a belt worn over military uniform / gisaengs: courtesans / wangseja: crown prince / jeonha: (to address the king) Your Majesty / bonguk geom: single-edged sword