105th year of Joseon, Mokpo
Seonghwa dismounts his horse.
The ground has hardened, the terraced fields dry and barren, the craggy peaks of the dwarf mountains visible in the blue haze in the distance, the highest peak of Yudal with all its graceless rocky slopes.
He pulls his robes tight around himself.
His muscles are tense, from the unease crawling under his skin and the hours of riding, from the cold.
"It is strangely beautiful," Hongjoong says.
"Beautiful place to die," Seonghwa remarks dryly.
Hongjoong smiles.
"Your highness, if the people of Mokpo don't kill me, your dourness surely will," he says.
Seonghwa glares at him, still unsure if he has forgiven him for coming here with him.
Cursed fool scholar with his fool smile on his fool mouth.
His heart has grown tired of its own fickleness, soaring one moment, grateful for these glimpses of him, hammering the next away, frightened of every glint of blade in every passing man's robes.
Still the next, it fears another future, one where he lives, and his darling, his Hongjoong, his beautiful fool does not.
That drains him the most.
He has not forgiven him, he decides.
"Do not jest," he says, shoulders tightening when he hears the sounds of horses neighing, men's voices in the distance.
His fingers tighten around his sword, and he waits, calves wound tight.
A silk banner flutters green and gold in the distance, and only then does he relax.
He turns to Hongjoong, just in time to see him sheathing his blade.
"You are afraid, too, then?" he says.
"I am unafraid. Only aware of my surroundings," he says.
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Their first meeting with the lord of the region proceeds with great ceremony.
They are welcomed into the man's home warmly, and the moment Seonghwa passes the outer doorway, his muscles relax a little, he breathes a little easier.
They are off the streets, away from danger.
"Welcome," the lord says.
Lord Hwang, the head of the southernmost province of Mokpo, belonging to the quietly influential Hwang clan.
He is a diminutive man, appears harmless and upright, but the mottled flush of his cheeks and softness around his stomach remind Seonghwa of what he has heard of this man.
The love of wine and fine things.
Seonghwa dips his head, and by his side Hongjoong bows.
YOU ARE READING
↱SEMPITERNAL↲ ⇾seongjoong⇽
FanfictionA story where Hongjoong and Seonghwa find each other in three lifetimes. "What if I said I'd find you in lifetimes to come? What if I loved you in all my lifetimes past? Wouldn't that be lovely?" "I think I'd say you're a god awful poet."
