questingly (![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png)
questingly) wrote2017-10-04 06:45 pm
questingly) wrote2017-10-04 06:45 pm
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In war, people died. That was simply what happened.
The moment Taekwoon saw him fall, his heart stopped. Saw him drop from his horse, saw his weapon fall from limp hands, saw him hit the ground, tossed roughly by the impact. Like a rag doll, limbs and head all in the wrong order, and Taekwoon urged his horse on, rearing it about, his own blade swinging. If they lost here, they were all damned.
In war, people died. Taekwoon knew, because Taekwoon made it happen.
-
It wasn’t the smell of blood. It was the smell of fear. His own fear.
Blood was smeared over his blade, painted over the pommel, his hands, sticky, like a fruit syrup. It spilled over, and he stared at it, followed its path up the crimson steel to where it terminated, in a boy’s chest.
The boy was not quite yet dead, but he would be.
“Snap out of it!"
Hakyeon slammed into him; Taekwoon wrenched his blade away, barely bringing it up in time to block the hefty swing of a battle axe. The din of the battle washed over him once again.
The boy, no longer impaled on steel, had fallen away. Taekwoon’s hands, blood soaked, were slick against the grip of his sword. He gritted his teeth, the impact sending tremors down his arms. In the next moment, the axe fell away, and Hakyeon’s hand was tugging at his wrist, and Taekwoon, dumbly, followed. He knew that Hakyeon had just saved his life.
There was no place where the fighting was lightest, only pockets where there was a little room, where the desperation seemed, perhaps wishfully, slighter. They fought their way through, Hakyeon cleaving out a path, Taekwoon watching his back. Noise. Noise, noise, noise. Hakyeon was saying something, but all he heard was noise. Block, block, block.
Don’t think—Hakyeon was saying ‘don’t think’. Block, parry—only it wasn’t smooth, it wasn’t practiced. Jarring, irregular. Terrible.
“Hakyeon!”
Another familiar voice—Taekwoon took a moment before he located Daewon. His blade was an extension of his body, and it seemed natural for it to slice cleanly, to sever an arm, unprotected at the elbow. Daewon finished the job, and stumbled over, face smeared with blood.
“Keep an eye on him,” Hakyeon was saying, and it took a moment for Taekwoon to realise that Hakyeon was talking about him. Daewon nodded, face grim.
“I don’t—“ Taekwoon began to say, but it was a waste of breath and he knew it.
Back, to back, to back. Block, block, live.
-
“It’ll be our turn, soon."
The mid-morning sun bakes over an empty courtyard. Dust rises across the horizon, equally blank and unoccupied. The edge of the world, the door to a savage, unknown land.
Hakyeon is not looking towards it, but at a small flower, blooming in a crack against the wall. His knees are tucked against his chest, his arms hugging them to himself. Taekwoon leans against the wall, not looking at the flower nor Hakyeon—not looking anywhere in particular at all. The quiet crinkle of a stem breaking, Hakyeon plucking at the flower.
“That’s good,” Taekwoon says.
“They keep dying,” Hakyeon says.
He is barely older than Taekwoon, but he has been here half a year longer, and knows far more than Taekwoon could ever hope to know. Or, at least, at this moment on the brink of spring and with fifteen of those under his belt, that is what Taekwoon feels like. But Hakyeon isn’t wrong—they keep dying, but because they keep dying, Taekwoon is here.
“I know,” Taekwoon says.
Hakyeon laughs, breathy, quiet. It is the laugh that says he doesn’t quite know what to do with Taekwoon, Hakyeon had once explained. That had been not so long ago.
“We’ll just have to not die,” Taekwoon says. “Not everyone dies."
“Just those who are unworthy of glory,” Hakyeon says, and Taekwoon does not need to look to see that twisted half-smile, the one that Hakyeon reserves for when it’s just the two of them, away from others’ eyes.
“You deserve it,” Taekwoon says. He can feel that stubborn persistence slip into his voice, but it’s alright. There’s another one of Hakyeon’s laughs, and then a sigh, and then the rustle as he stands and turns, joining Taekwoon, leaning against the wall.
“Me? A Sky Blade?” Hakyeon says, and shakes his head. “I’m just here as cannon fodder."
“And me? What am I, if you’re—"
“Taekwoon, Taekwoon, that’s not what I mean, you know that."
“Why are you so…” Taekwoon pulls away, crouches down, much like Hakyeon had been, moments earlier. “So pessimistic."
“You’re not afraid of dying?” Hakyeon asks.
Taekwoon is. He’s more afraid of death than anything else. But:
“I’m not dead yet,” and, “I’d rather die out there, than live where I was."
“We won’t die,” Hakyeon says. There’s a hand on his shoulder, and Taekwoon looks up. Hakyeon is smiling, it seems, face tilted towards the sky. There’s a flower clutched in his fingers, the petals already beginning to droop.
Taekwoon doesn’t believe it. He knows Hakyeon doesn’t either.
This was war, and people died.
-
He had been thirteen, but he’d been tall. Too young, but age was only a limit for citizens, and Taekwoon was merely changing hands. And he was strong, and he’d been excited and afraid to finally see the world outside the quarry, and he hadn’t understood what they’d meant by ‘war’.
A week later, traveling with the mixed bunch of new recruits, he understood from the stories that war was a glorious thing, and one fought for kingdom and glory and because it was up to them to set to rights the order of the world.
-
The day he first kills someone is also the day he first loses someone.
They win the battle, a messy clash between foot soldiers—cannon fodder, as Hakyeon has always put it. They pick through the dead, Hakyeon leaning against Taekwoon for support, a long wound slicing down the side of his leg. They leave Daewon where he’d fallen, as Taekwoon tries to replay the exact moment Daewon had crumpled but he can’t. There is the bugle of victory, but all Taekwoon cares about are the tents in the distance, the ones that have been hastily erected, a mid-way point. Surviving enemies are rounded up for the arenas, while slaves begin the slow process of retrieving salvageable weapons, armor, belongings, from among the fallen. The bodies are never touched.
He sleeps that first night, but not the night after.
He remembers little of the day before, and as Hakyeon slips outside and joins him, Taekwoon can’t help but ask: “is it always like this?"
“Yes,” Hakyeon says, then shakes his head. “No."
“Do you get used to it?” Taekwoon asks.
“No,” Hakyeon says. The corner of his lip twists upwards. “I wouldn’t want to."
-
“You’re back!"
Taekwoon is greeted with Sanghyuk literally bounding out the door. Like a puppy, Taekwoon muses to himself. He can’t help but smile.
Sanghyuk has his Sky Blade strapped to his back, and the way the thing dwarfs him is almost laughable. As he skids to a stop, it bounces against his shoulders, but the boy seems to take no notice of it.
“We're back,” Taekwoon confirms.
Sure enough, Taekwoon barely has time to step out of the way before Jaehwan sweeps by, scooping Sanghyuk up into a hug.
“Did you miss us? Were you good? Look at our baby, you’re all grown up~” Jaehwan coos. Taekwoon rolls his eyes, conspicuously.
Taekwoon smacks Jaehwan’s shoulder and Jaehwan drops Sanghyuk with a wounded yelp.
“Shut up,” Taekwoon grumbles. “He’s turning eighteen, not eight."
“Oh fuck off,” Jaehwan says, but it’s good natured and couched in a laugh.
“I can’t wait until they’ll let me join you,” Sanghyuk says. They turn to head indoors, Sanghyuk leading the way to his room. The fortress is bustling with life; there will no doubt be celebration tonight, with ample food and drink to toast the winnings of not one, but two Blades. As always, Taekwoon can’t help but feel a faint flutter of hope.
Sanghyuk is, as always, prying Jaehwan for details.
“Where’s Sungjae?”
Sanghyuk’s head snaps up at Taekwoon’s voice. His eyes give everything away.
“He’s too young,” Taekwoon says. His voice is soft, he hadn’t meant it to be heard, but Sanghyuk wasn’t talking and Jaehwan had fallen suddenly silent. The words settled into the silence, forming small impressions in the air.
“They needed him, so he went,” Sanghyuk finally said.
“His Sky Blade is a bow, isn’t it?” Jaehwan asked. “That’s probably why. They think there’ll be less risk."
“That’s bullshit,” Taekwoon snapped. “He has a bow? They have bows. If he can hit the enemy the enemy can hit him. He’s too young just like—"
“How old were you.” Sanghyuk cut Taekwoon off sharply.
Behind Taekwoon, Jaehwan’s eyes snapped as he realised. He shook his head furiously, but Sanghyuk was not looking at him, but at Taekwoon. Jaehwan couldn’t see Taekwoon’s expression, but he could imagine it. Was ready to hold Taekwoon back, but instead—
“I was tall,” Taekwoon said. Steady and even. “That’s all that mattered."
“That’s not what I asked! I asked how old were you!” Sanghyuk—Jaehwan should’ve been preparing to hold back Sanghyuk. His voice wasn’t raised, but it didn’t need to be, not with the frustration bursting from every syllable. Jaehwan shook his head again, mouthed the words ‘stop’. Sanghyuk’s eyes flickered towards him, but either he didn’t notice, or he didn’t care.
“I was thirteen. And fifteen.”
“But the age lim—"
It wasn’t a Sky Blade, but it was a magnificent weapon nonetheless. A prized Great Blade, and now it was his.
“Leo,” Taekwoon had said, when he’d first hefted it.
“Are you going to…?” Hakyeon had trailed off, but they both knew what he meant.
Taekwoon nodded, then shot a sidelong wry smile at him. “I am my blade,” he said, and in more ways than one.
in the opening scene, they win, leo takes down the enemy, n is like “you saved my life”. leo: i saved my own.
scene when ken says he feels sorry for them (the slaves). why? taekwoon asks, genuinely confused. “because…because of you!” ken says. taekwoon is more ??? “i mean, i never thought about them as people before—"
taekwoon snorts. ‘they don’t need your pity. it is what it is."
“but just because you were born—"
“just because i was born as a slave doesn’t mean any more or less than just because you were born as a citizen."
“but your /rights/"
“there will always be someone with something more.” and then: “but what /they/ do…"
“it’s unnatural. it’s worse than killing them. i’d kill myself first,” jaehewan said grimly.
anyway at some battle yixing kills n but it’s a tie everyone retreats leo retrieves n’s sky blade but he doesn’t take it for himself because he can't
then at the next battle (he doesn’t know that yixing is the one who killed n) he gets read to ride forward, not knowing they’re going to lose
The moment Taekwoon saw him fall, his heart stopped. Saw him drop from his horse, saw his weapon fall from limp hands, saw him hit the ground, tossed roughly by the impact. Like a rag doll, limbs and head all in the wrong order, and Taekwoon urged his horse on, rearing it about, his own blade swinging. If they lost here, they were all damned.
In war, people died. Taekwoon knew, because Taekwoon made it happen.
-
It wasn’t the smell of blood. It was the smell of fear. His own fear.
Blood was smeared over his blade, painted over the pommel, his hands, sticky, like a fruit syrup. It spilled over, and he stared at it, followed its path up the crimson steel to where it terminated, in a boy’s chest.
The boy was not quite yet dead, but he would be.
“Snap out of it!"
Hakyeon slammed into him; Taekwoon wrenched his blade away, barely bringing it up in time to block the hefty swing of a battle axe. The din of the battle washed over him once again.
The boy, no longer impaled on steel, had fallen away. Taekwoon’s hands, blood soaked, were slick against the grip of his sword. He gritted his teeth, the impact sending tremors down his arms. In the next moment, the axe fell away, and Hakyeon’s hand was tugging at his wrist, and Taekwoon, dumbly, followed. He knew that Hakyeon had just saved his life.
There was no place where the fighting was lightest, only pockets where there was a little room, where the desperation seemed, perhaps wishfully, slighter. They fought their way through, Hakyeon cleaving out a path, Taekwoon watching his back. Noise. Noise, noise, noise. Hakyeon was saying something, but all he heard was noise. Block, block, block.
Don’t think—Hakyeon was saying ‘don’t think’. Block, parry—only it wasn’t smooth, it wasn’t practiced. Jarring, irregular. Terrible.
“Hakyeon!”
Another familiar voice—Taekwoon took a moment before he located Daewon. His blade was an extension of his body, and it seemed natural for it to slice cleanly, to sever an arm, unprotected at the elbow. Daewon finished the job, and stumbled over, face smeared with blood.
“Keep an eye on him,” Hakyeon was saying, and it took a moment for Taekwoon to realise that Hakyeon was talking about him. Daewon nodded, face grim.
“I don’t—“ Taekwoon began to say, but it was a waste of breath and he knew it.
Back, to back, to back. Block, block, live.
-
“It’ll be our turn, soon."
The mid-morning sun bakes over an empty courtyard. Dust rises across the horizon, equally blank and unoccupied. The edge of the world, the door to a savage, unknown land.
Hakyeon is not looking towards it, but at a small flower, blooming in a crack against the wall. His knees are tucked against his chest, his arms hugging them to himself. Taekwoon leans against the wall, not looking at the flower nor Hakyeon—not looking anywhere in particular at all. The quiet crinkle of a stem breaking, Hakyeon plucking at the flower.
“That’s good,” Taekwoon says.
“They keep dying,” Hakyeon says.
He is barely older than Taekwoon, but he has been here half a year longer, and knows far more than Taekwoon could ever hope to know. Or, at least, at this moment on the brink of spring and with fifteen of those under his belt, that is what Taekwoon feels like. But Hakyeon isn’t wrong—they keep dying, but because they keep dying, Taekwoon is here.
“I know,” Taekwoon says.
Hakyeon laughs, breathy, quiet. It is the laugh that says he doesn’t quite know what to do with Taekwoon, Hakyeon had once explained. That had been not so long ago.
“We’ll just have to not die,” Taekwoon says. “Not everyone dies."
“Just those who are unworthy of glory,” Hakyeon says, and Taekwoon does not need to look to see that twisted half-smile, the one that Hakyeon reserves for when it’s just the two of them, away from others’ eyes.
“You deserve it,” Taekwoon says. He can feel that stubborn persistence slip into his voice, but it’s alright. There’s another one of Hakyeon’s laughs, and then a sigh, and then the rustle as he stands and turns, joining Taekwoon, leaning against the wall.
“Me? A Sky Blade?” Hakyeon says, and shakes his head. “I’m just here as cannon fodder."
“And me? What am I, if you’re—"
“Taekwoon, Taekwoon, that’s not what I mean, you know that."
“Why are you so…” Taekwoon pulls away, crouches down, much like Hakyeon had been, moments earlier. “So pessimistic."
“You’re not afraid of dying?” Hakyeon asks.
Taekwoon is. He’s more afraid of death than anything else. But:
“I’m not dead yet,” and, “I’d rather die out there, than live where I was."
“We won’t die,” Hakyeon says. There’s a hand on his shoulder, and Taekwoon looks up. Hakyeon is smiling, it seems, face tilted towards the sky. There’s a flower clutched in his fingers, the petals already beginning to droop.
Taekwoon doesn’t believe it. He knows Hakyeon doesn’t either.
This was war, and people died.
-
He had been thirteen, but he’d been tall. Too young, but age was only a limit for citizens, and Taekwoon was merely changing hands. And he was strong, and he’d been excited and afraid to finally see the world outside the quarry, and he hadn’t understood what they’d meant by ‘war’.
A week later, traveling with the mixed bunch of new recruits, he understood from the stories that war was a glorious thing, and one fought for kingdom and glory and because it was up to them to set to rights the order of the world.
-
The day he first kills someone is also the day he first loses someone.
They win the battle, a messy clash between foot soldiers—cannon fodder, as Hakyeon has always put it. They pick through the dead, Hakyeon leaning against Taekwoon for support, a long wound slicing down the side of his leg. They leave Daewon where he’d fallen, as Taekwoon tries to replay the exact moment Daewon had crumpled but he can’t. There is the bugle of victory, but all Taekwoon cares about are the tents in the distance, the ones that have been hastily erected, a mid-way point. Surviving enemies are rounded up for the arenas, while slaves begin the slow process of retrieving salvageable weapons, armor, belongings, from among the fallen. The bodies are never touched.
He sleeps that first night, but not the night after.
He remembers little of the day before, and as Hakyeon slips outside and joins him, Taekwoon can’t help but ask: “is it always like this?"
“Yes,” Hakyeon says, then shakes his head. “No."
“Do you get used to it?” Taekwoon asks.
“No,” Hakyeon says. The corner of his lip twists upwards. “I wouldn’t want to."
-
“You’re back!"
Taekwoon is greeted with Sanghyuk literally bounding out the door. Like a puppy, Taekwoon muses to himself. He can’t help but smile.
Sanghyuk has his Sky Blade strapped to his back, and the way the thing dwarfs him is almost laughable. As he skids to a stop, it bounces against his shoulders, but the boy seems to take no notice of it.
“We're back,” Taekwoon confirms.
Sure enough, Taekwoon barely has time to step out of the way before Jaehwan sweeps by, scooping Sanghyuk up into a hug.
“Did you miss us? Were you good? Look at our baby, you’re all grown up~” Jaehwan coos. Taekwoon rolls his eyes, conspicuously.
Taekwoon smacks Jaehwan’s shoulder and Jaehwan drops Sanghyuk with a wounded yelp.
“Shut up,” Taekwoon grumbles. “He’s turning eighteen, not eight."
“Oh fuck off,” Jaehwan says, but it’s good natured and couched in a laugh.
“I can’t wait until they’ll let me join you,” Sanghyuk says. They turn to head indoors, Sanghyuk leading the way to his room. The fortress is bustling with life; there will no doubt be celebration tonight, with ample food and drink to toast the winnings of not one, but two Blades. As always, Taekwoon can’t help but feel a faint flutter of hope.
Sanghyuk is, as always, prying Jaehwan for details.
“Where’s Sungjae?”
Sanghyuk’s head snaps up at Taekwoon’s voice. His eyes give everything away.
“He’s too young,” Taekwoon says. His voice is soft, he hadn’t meant it to be heard, but Sanghyuk wasn’t talking and Jaehwan had fallen suddenly silent. The words settled into the silence, forming small impressions in the air.
“They needed him, so he went,” Sanghyuk finally said.
“His Sky Blade is a bow, isn’t it?” Jaehwan asked. “That’s probably why. They think there’ll be less risk."
“That’s bullshit,” Taekwoon snapped. “He has a bow? They have bows. If he can hit the enemy the enemy can hit him. He’s too young just like—"
“How old were you.” Sanghyuk cut Taekwoon off sharply.
Behind Taekwoon, Jaehwan’s eyes snapped as he realised. He shook his head furiously, but Sanghyuk was not looking at him, but at Taekwoon. Jaehwan couldn’t see Taekwoon’s expression, but he could imagine it. Was ready to hold Taekwoon back, but instead—
“I was tall,” Taekwoon said. Steady and even. “That’s all that mattered."
“That’s not what I asked! I asked how old were you!” Sanghyuk—Jaehwan should’ve been preparing to hold back Sanghyuk. His voice wasn’t raised, but it didn’t need to be, not with the frustration bursting from every syllable. Jaehwan shook his head again, mouthed the words ‘stop’. Sanghyuk’s eyes flickered towards him, but either he didn’t notice, or he didn’t care.
“I was thirteen. And fifteen.”
“But the age lim—"
It wasn’t a Sky Blade, but it was a magnificent weapon nonetheless. A prized Great Blade, and now it was his.
“Leo,” Taekwoon had said, when he’d first hefted it.
“Are you going to…?” Hakyeon had trailed off, but they both knew what he meant.
Taekwoon nodded, then shot a sidelong wry smile at him. “I am my blade,” he said, and in more ways than one.
in the opening scene, they win, leo takes down the enemy, n is like “you saved my life”. leo: i saved my own.
scene when ken says he feels sorry for them (the slaves). why? taekwoon asks, genuinely confused. “because…because of you!” ken says. taekwoon is more ??? “i mean, i never thought about them as people before—"
taekwoon snorts. ‘they don’t need your pity. it is what it is."
“but just because you were born—"
“just because i was born as a slave doesn’t mean any more or less than just because you were born as a citizen."
“but your /rights/"
“there will always be someone with something more.” and then: “but what /they/ do…"
“it’s unnatural. it’s worse than killing them. i’d kill myself first,” jaehewan said grimly.
anyway at some battle yixing kills n but it’s a tie everyone retreats leo retrieves n’s sky blade but he doesn’t take it for himself because he can't
then at the next battle (he doesn’t know that yixing is the one who killed n) he gets read to ride forward, not knowing they’re going to lose