Ship/Member: Jeonghan/Wonwoo, past Jeonghan/Seungcheol Major Tags: Character Death Additional Tags: (vaguely?) historical, mild violence and sexual content, the saviour who has come to ruin me etc etc Permission to remix: Yes
When the plague robbed their kingdom of its crown prince, Wonwoo inherited Seungcheol’s most treasured possession: his betrothed.
The Council summoned him as soon as the burial rites ended. They told him of the empty lands, the people they didn't have to work them. Their numbers were dwindling, even more so after the illness swept through the villages.
To the north, the Yoons had far many mouths to feed and not enough fertile soil to keep up with the demand. The union between the two kingdoms made sense. Seungcheol and Jeonghan made sense.
Wonwoo?
Wonwoo was spare parts.
/
Prior to his passing, Seungcheol had been courting Jeonghan. He had Wonwoo read his letters to him before sending them, claimed he had never quite mastered the art of romantic correspondence. Wonwoo thought otherwise. If anyone knew how to contain love in parchment, it was Seungcheol.
Jeonghan came to stay in the Jeon palace soon enough. To get the two of them acquainted, the Council reasoned. The moment Wonwoo laid eyes on him, he knew Seungcheol’s writing had captured Jeonghan’s liking perfectly, from his sharp wit to the blue undertones of his dark hair.
They never spoke of Seungcheol. A dead prince was hardly an appropriate topic during meals.
The only thing Jeonghan wanted was an hour of Wonwoo’s time every day. One night, Wonwoo watched him play the gayageum in his room, the lamplight casting a graceful outline of his body on the canvas door behind him.
"I learned to play from one of the courtesans back home."
"It was lovely, thank you." Seungcheol would have said something similar, but better. "What else did you learn?"
Jeonghan pushed him onto the floor and started to disrobe them both. "This," he murmured.
Compared to the wooden zither, the noises Jeonghan made were far more beautiful. Wonwoo gazed at his resplendence and wondered, had Seungcheol witnessed him bathe in nothing but moonlight? Had Jeonghan shone the same way above him?
"Do you see him in me?" he breathed out, heart heavy in his chest.
Jeonghan’s eyes betrayed nothing. "No, I do not." Wonwoo believed him, somehow. He leaned down until their lips were touching. "I see me in you."
He didn’t know what to make of the answer, but Jeonghan drove his hips home and Wonwoo wordlessly apologised to his brother. To his kingdom. He couldn't help it. Loving Jeonghan was more greed than duty.
"I am glad it is you," Jeonghan whispered much later, a secret meant to be guarded with one's life.
Wonwoo echoed the words. "I am glad it is you."
/
He could do this. With Jeonghan's hand in his, Wonwoo could rule. He could stop placing second.
Except he'd forgotten about the price for taking what was never destined to be his.
/
Wonwoo understood now, splayed out on the blood-slicked ground under the scorching heat of the summer sun, that what Jeonghan had meant was:
Seungcheol would have been harder to fool.
Seungcheol would have been harder to kill.
I am glad it is you.
Jeonghan was a plague in his own rights. Before him, crown princes were dying like flies.
/
They were never wed. In the end, Jeonghan was only his as much as he was Seungcheol’s. He was truthful about one thing, at least. I see me in you. They were both greedy, but the wanting in Jeonghan’s heart didn't call to Wonwoo as Wonwoo's called to everything Seungcheol had.
It called to power.
Jeonghan whistled a low tune when Wonwoo dismounted, the same one he played on the gayageum. He waited as Wonwoo unsheathed his sword, in no rush to fight a battle with an assured outcome. Their steels kissed and kissed again under the harsh sky, singing one final song.
"Will you burn me?"
He doubted Jeonghan had a grave readied. His kingdom wanted land; a body took up more space buried than burned.
Jeonghan smiled. "Have I not already?"
I am glad it is you, Wonwoo thought to say.
"Do not dress me in white," he said instead.
Jeonghan hummed. "White is more Seungcheol’s colour than yours."
What is my colour then? Wonwoo wondered. In another life, what would you have me wear to the altar?
Crimson bubbled on his mouth. It burst when Jeonghan kissed him.
[FILL] i know the end
Major Tags: Character Death
Additional Tags: (vaguely?) historical, mild violence and sexual content, the saviour who has come to ruin me etc etc
Permission to remix: Yes
When the plague robbed their kingdom of its crown prince, Wonwoo inherited Seungcheol’s most treasured possession: his betrothed.
The Council summoned him as soon as the burial rites ended. They told him of the empty lands, the people they didn't have to work them. Their numbers were dwindling, even more so after the illness swept through the villages.
To the north, the Yoons had far many mouths to feed and not enough fertile soil to keep up with the demand. The union between the two kingdoms made sense. Seungcheol and Jeonghan made sense.
Wonwoo?
Wonwoo was spare parts.
Prior to his passing, Seungcheol had been courting Jeonghan. He had Wonwoo read his letters to him before sending them, claimed he had never quite mastered the art of romantic correspondence. Wonwoo thought otherwise. If anyone knew how to contain love in parchment, it was Seungcheol.
Jeonghan came to stay in the Jeon palace soon enough. To get the two of them acquainted, the Council reasoned. The moment Wonwoo laid eyes on him, he knew Seungcheol’s writing had captured Jeonghan’s liking perfectly, from his sharp wit to the blue undertones of his dark hair.
They never spoke of Seungcheol. A dead prince was hardly an appropriate topic during meals.
The only thing Jeonghan wanted was an hour of Wonwoo’s time every day. One night, Wonwoo watched him play the gayageum in his room, the lamplight casting a graceful outline of his body on the canvas door behind him.
"I learned to play from one of the courtesans back home."
"It was lovely, thank you." Seungcheol would have said something similar, but better. "What else did you learn?"
Jeonghan pushed him onto the floor and started to disrobe them both. "This," he murmured.
Compared to the wooden zither, the noises Jeonghan made were far more beautiful. Wonwoo gazed at his resplendence and wondered, had Seungcheol witnessed him bathe in nothing but moonlight? Had Jeonghan shone the same way above him?
"Do you see him in me?" he breathed out, heart heavy in his chest.
Jeonghan’s eyes betrayed nothing. "No, I do not." Wonwoo believed him, somehow. He leaned down until their lips were touching. "I see me in you."
He didn’t know what to make of the answer, but Jeonghan drove his hips home and Wonwoo wordlessly apologised to his brother. To his kingdom. He couldn't help it. Loving Jeonghan was more greed than duty.
"I am glad it is you," Jeonghan whispered much later, a secret meant to be guarded with one's life.
Wonwoo echoed the words. "I am glad it is you."
He could do this. With Jeonghan's hand in his, Wonwoo could rule. He could stop placing second.
Except he'd forgotten about the price for taking what was never destined to be his.
Wonwoo understood now, splayed out on the blood-slicked ground under the scorching heat of the summer sun, that what Jeonghan had meant was:
Seungcheol would have been harder to fool.
Seungcheol would have been harder to kill.
I am glad it is you.
Jeonghan was a plague in his own rights. Before him, crown princes were dying like flies.
They were never wed. In the end, Jeonghan was only his as much as he was Seungcheol’s. He was truthful about one thing, at least. I see me in you. They were both greedy, but the wanting in Jeonghan’s heart didn't call to Wonwoo as Wonwoo's called to everything Seungcheol had.
It called to power.
Jeonghan whistled a low tune when Wonwoo dismounted, the same one he played on the gayageum. He waited as Wonwoo unsheathed his sword, in no rush to fight a battle with an assured outcome. Their steels kissed and kissed again under the harsh sky, singing one final song.
"Will you burn me?"
He doubted Jeonghan had a grave readied. His kingdom wanted land; a body took up more space buried than burned.
Jeonghan smiled. "Have I not already?"
I am glad it is you, Wonwoo thought to say.
"Do not dress me in white," he said instead.
Jeonghan hummed. "White is more Seungcheol’s colour than yours."
What is my colour then? Wonwoo wondered. In another life, what would you have me wear to the altar?
Crimson bubbled on his mouth. It burst when Jeonghan kissed him.