Chapter Text
Mingyu sleeps on a spare cot in the smithy, keeping a dim fire up so that his quarters are warm as night falls and it grows unbearably cold. It’s a fitful, late-coming sleep. For the most part, he listens to the cicadas chirping incessantly outside before dying into a whirring hum, wind blowing through the hollow posts that separate the inner chamber of the smithy to the rest of the armory. It’s dry, however, and all of the blacksmiths have two days off as is custom when a royal family member gets married. He wonders if the banquet has been cleared away and the merriment has all died. He wonders what the people of the Fire Nation think.
Moreso, he wonders what Seokmin is thinking, sitting in the linen clothes that were given to him to keep, a sign of his new life. There was never a time Mingyu slept in only one layer in the north, Mingyu recalls. He’d always been covered in multiple furs and blankets, the weight of them surprisingly comforting, bundled in thickly lined tunics and socks. He wonders if Seokmin is having as difficult of a time sleeping here as he first did in the water tribe. His fingers twitch from where they’re resting on his chest.
The other problem arises, as quickly as his thoughts travel from one subject to another, of what Seokmin had been asking for. Truthfully, Mingyu had thought of the existence of a wedding night distantly, as if watching from outside a telescope. It wasn’t ever supposed to happen to him, not when he couldn’t have the one person he truly wanted. He hasn’t yet had the moment of realization that this fact is now untrue.
What would be crueler? To lie down with Seokmin, to chase after his mouth the way Mingyu did when they were children, and pretend it’s the same? Or to pretend there’s only coldness between them? What does he do now? He knows that Seokmin is right, of course, that they stand much to lose if Mingyu remains sleeping in the smithy. The walls have ears. Seokmin is the only delegation from a beaten down and subdued Northern Water Tribe; he, too, can’t afford to make the Fire Lord turn his cool gaze on him for the smallest misstep.
But. Mingyu can’t get himself to believe, for one, that this has happened. Secondly, the way Seokmin had grimaced at the thought of it, his voice quick and touched by bitterness, well. Mingyu has a sinking feeling that he doesn’t want this, not truly, and if he were a better man, Mingyu would even say that some part of him doesn’t want it like this rather than not at all. That part is nicer to Mingyu than he knows he should be. Mingyu has never deserved that kind of self-absolution; had let it cause him irreversible pain, whenever he did. If he lets himself do the things he wants, no one would ever say he’s a good man.
Because he does want. He should have let himself have what he wants –
No. Mingyu turns on the small cot and hears it creak, hears the fire crackle loudly behind him. It felt like an obligation, not something they would do because they loved each other. Because Seokmin couldn’t love him anymore, not the way that they had at first touch. Mingyu can’t face that truth, as it were. He doesn’t think he’d survive it.
Unbidden, his hands reach up to clutch at the glass bead hanging on a thin leather cord around his neck. It’s almost always hidden. The bead has gone through a lot, losing a lot of its luster, misshapen on one side, melted on another and hardened over. Mingyu presses at all of the grooves in absentminded remembrance. It only takes a month for a new habit to form, he thinks, even to supersede another one. Only a month to erase years of memory.
He doesn’t sleep for a long, long time.
-
They’re packed up and set to be sent off to the border islands for Mingyu to have some time with his new husband. While Seungcheol is setting up his breakfast, watching as Mingyu pushes a thumb into the side of his temple, Mingyu thinks of how he’ll speak to Seokmin nows. They don’t have to sleep together, he reasons. They can do something to convince their father – fake it, as it were.
“I think you’re being incredibly stupid about this,” Seungcheol says, apropos of nothing, and sits down in the chair across from him. After he’s neatly and properly prepared Mingyu’s breakfast, he takes his chopsticks and digs into the side dishes that Mingyu rarely eats, but Seungcheol loves. Mingyu shoves rice around in his bowl.
“I’m not,” he mumbles, feeling like a teenager for a brief moment.
Seungcheol sighs. He looks older every day Mingyu sees him, despite not being much older. It grasps at something harried and anxious in him. What does it say that he’s more worried about Seungcheol aging than he is his own father? Mingyu waits for one and fears the other.
“Mingyu-yah,” he starts, “You’ve always had to make difficult decisions. That is, unfortunately, something that is a burden for you alone, different from anyone else’s burden. Why is this different from any of the other hard decisions you’ve made? Especially when it was at your request?”
“It’ll hurt him,” Mingyu says defensively.
Seungcheol’s gaze bores into him, burning the side of his face. He hears what Seungcheol isn’t saying: that Mingyu has hurt other people before without much thought, regardless of whether or not he could use youth as an excuse. There’s no difference now, is there? Mingyu meets his unrelenting gaze for a brief second before looking away.
“Has anyone from Ba Sing Se contacted us?” He changes the subject after a beat, unwilling to continue this conversation further. His fingers itch to get back to the smithy. He knows he could do something, anything, if he was just there – something he’s good at, something that creates instead of destroys.
“No,” Seungcheol frowns. “Which is strange. We should have gotten word from them nearly a week ago, at the news of your wedding.”
Mingyu takes a deep breath. He can do this. This is something he knows, something he can focus on. “They need to know how the scales have tipped. Before, Father couldn’t do much, as they would only negotiate when I was in the room. Now that he has a better hold over me, we’ll need to take that into consideration. Most likely, he’ll start making more demands for power. Having a puppet government isn’t enough for him.”
“Especially not one that considers the crown prince as their sovereign, instead of the Fire Lord.”
“It should be enough,” Mingyu says wryly. “What am I if not a subsidiary of the reigning ruler? But my father is greedy. He wants it all under his name.” A pause. “We don’t know if I’m still the crown prince, either.”
Seungcheol twitches at this. They both know his displeasure at that; at the sheer undermining of Mingyu’s sacrifices for the Fire Nation, of what he sees as unnecessary pains that Mingyu has taken for the sake of protecting people. Firebenders, yes, but even his little sister.
Mingyu doesn’t quite think of it that way. He understands many things about what it means to be born with responsibility. It’s not something he thinks he’ll ever be able to forget. Everyone, from his father to his teachers to his own retainers, have either blatantly or subtly reminded him of his duties. And while he has long been accustomed to being held accountable for his actions, regardless of whether or not they are moral or correct; regardless of whether or not he’s done it out of his own volition or not, there are always falling dominos to his first push. Mingyu knows this better than anyone. He also knows that his father knows this, and that, at the end of the day, he is like his father more than anyone else.
The one who is different is his sister. Loud with her feelings, abrasive, meaning well but so easy to anger. She’s changed since she’s come back from her campaign to the Southern Water Tribe. Something twisted has taken over her features. Mingyu knows that there’s a standstill for this exact reason, that the succession is conflated by how unprepared each heir seems to be. No one knows the Fire Lord’s intentions. They’re too afraid to even ask.
“Forget about all this politics talk for a while,” Mingyu says quietly. “Let’s head to the first meeting of the day.”
When Seungcheol shakes his head, Mingyu stills from where he had been standing up. “No?”
“To enjoy your new marital bliss,” Seungcheol explains, voice subdued.
Mingyu is quiet for a long time, before he lets out one pathetic, mocking bark of laughter. He settles back down into his chair.
“I think it’d be good to have lunch with him,” Seungcheol says. “Life in the water tribes is very different from here. I asked Wonwoo to take care of His Highness for now, until we find someone trustworthy to serve him.”
“But?”
“But it would be good to hear about this new place from you, Mingyu.”
He grimaces. “Last night, I – we – “
Seungcheol reaches over to pat the back of his hand, covered in bandages. Mingyu has yet to change out his poultice. The reminder of his wound causes it to pulse in pain. “He’s terrified,” Seungcheol says. “He’s scared. All of this depends on you, and how happy he makes you, and if he doesn’t, then his entire tribe suffers. I know you care about him, Mingyu. I know you’re letting that cloud your judgment. If this were anyone else, you would do it just to be polite.”
“This is different,” Mingyu says. Not to explain, just to – say it. To acknowledge it.
“Yes,” Seungcheol says, “It is. It’s different. You weren’t expecting to care.”
Mingyu shudders. He slips his hand away from Seungcheol’s and cleans up his plate, ambling toward the wardrobe. If he at least looks the part of a prince, maybe he’ll feel like it, too.
-
then.
They’re almost inseparable. Something has most definitely changed, and it’s easy to see to anyone that looks for any modicum of time that Seokmin and Mingyu have grown close. He takes breakfast at dawn, when the sky is still dark, with his friends. Mingyu is growing more and more fond of pickled fish as the days go by, sure, as long as he has enough chili flakes to sprinkle on top for a difference in flavor. None of the things that used to bother him seem to affect him anymore. What used to be cold, biting tundra wind now feels like a gentle breeze. What was long days of sitting in a room with a bunch of diplomats and politicians that talked in circles around him becomes interesting stories about the Water Tribe; their customs, what they value, and what is the best way to keep a cordial relationship.
His father often waves him off at the near end of these meetings, a slight expression of amusement on his face. Mingyu has no doubt in his mind that one of his many people that lurk in the shadows must have told him about Mingyu’s new fascination with the second prince of the Northern Water Tribe. He must approve, which doesn’t surprise Mingyu – was their whole purpose in coming to the north not to make friends?
It’s possible that it would be better for Mingyu to remain in eyesight of the people meant to look after him, but he starts craving the sweetness of freedom that being with Seokmin brings. Unlike Mingyu, there’s no one to chase after Seokmin’s heels for something or another; he doesn’t have to go to classes, or meet with tutors if he doesn’t so wish, or take part in boring meetings. No one criticizes what he wears or what he eats, or comments on his waterbending progress, slyly asking if he’s managed some form of control. Seokmin goes where he wants in the confines of his own city, saying hello the people near him without censure. After the initial shock, Mingyu finds that it’s addicting.
They can all tell that he’s not of the Water Tribes, of course, because of his dark colored attire, his lack of beads and feathers and other adornments. It could also be because he’s way less bundled up than the rest of them, having gotten used to keeping himself a bit warmer by breathing in deep and heavy to stoke an inner fire. If it makes Seokmin gravitate toward him a bit more, he keeps that little tidbit of knowledge to himself.
Right now, they nibble on flatbread and some kind of jerky, different from the one Seokmin had in his little hideaway. He wears a thick white fur around his neck, but instead of it looking strange, it just seems like Seokmin is being cuddled by a small furry creature. He takes off his mittens to use his fingers, licking the edge to get any excess salt off.
“We’d try to sink each other on iceberg caps as kids,” Seokmin says thoughtfully, as Mingyu turns away, ears burning. “There’s both a lot to do and not a lot to choose from, at the same time. If you went ice-fishing with some of the older hunters, you could practice your waterbending or your aim by trying to aim icicles or snowballs on a floating patch of ice. If you dunked someone in, you could get extra points!”
“Isn’t it cold?”
“Only for a second,” Seokmin giggles, which makes Mingyu feel dread at the glint in his eye.
Thankfully he doesn’t attempt to drown Mingyu where he stands, but he does talk a little more about how they practice bending. “There’s a lot of different ways,” he hums, “I think it depends on what you do. People who are born benders either go into the army or into healing. At first, it used to be pretty separated – women would do the healing, men would train in combat, that kind of thing. It’s only recently changed with me and noona.”
“Really?” Mingyu asks, surprised. “Why does it matter if you’re a boy or a girl, though?”
Seokmin shrugs, but he evades his gaze. “I don’t know. Tradition, maybe? We’re always told women are more sociable and empathetic, and their water is – ah, gentler.”
“Huh?”
Seokmin’s mouth curls up in a smile. He brings his legs forward and holds them against his chest, pressing the side of his face against his raised knees. “That’s what I admire a lot about the Fire Nation. You can be weird,” he starts, ignoring Mingyu’s protesting noise, “But you don’t really care if your leader is a woman or not.”
“I mean, yes,” Mingyu says, trying to think back to how terrifying his grandmother. “Lineages in most families depends on the firstborn, regardless of who they are. Typically, a family would put most of their efforts into the first child; the best food, clothes, teachers, that kind of thing, in order for them to take on the family mantle at some point. My grandmother leads the Fire Nation right now.”
“I read about this! She’s the first daughter of a first daughter?”
“And I’m a first son of a first son,” Mingyu affirms, feeling much more confident than he actually sounds.
Seokmin picks at his fingers, staring down at them with cast-away eyes. Mingyu feels as though he’s seeing too much, considering how often Seokmin is covered from head to toe to beat off the cold. “It’s never made sense to me, honestly,” he starts, “Hyemin noona is much more talented than I am. She’s passionate about the position, and she wants to do better for the tribe. There’s a lot of people that are against her just because there’s no precedence for it. A woman taking the role of Chief, I mean. But Jihoon-hyung doesn’t want to do it, and Chan is just a baby.”
“What about you?”
Seokmin is quiet for a very long while. It feels as though Mingyu is holding his breath, waiting for Seokmin to tilt over the edge of a precipice: to perhaps say what Mingyu feels, sometimes, which is that the scope of power is instinctively terrifying to him. Not only because of the responsibility it would require, but also because sometimes, it seems too good to be true. Who would let him do that? To do any of these things? Without great repercussions?
“I don’t like fighting for the seat,” Seokmin says finally, quiet. “And I wouldn’t be good for it.”
“You care a lot about your people, though?”
“Yes,” Seokmin says. “Too much.”
Mingyu doesn’t quite understand this: isn’t a good thing to care about the people you’re looking after? Doesn’t it make you a good person? Wouldn’t you try your best for them? Seokmin’s expression seems very far away, though, almost troubled, so Mingyu doesn’t press it. He reaches forward as if under a trance and presses a thumb against the gentle furrow of the healer’s brow.
It makes Seokmin laugh, the laugh that sounds like bells and whistles. “Besides, I like healing! It’s an important skill, and I’m good at it.” There seems like something else he wants to add, mouth opening and closing, but chooses, in the end, to shake his head and ask Mingyu about his lessons as heir apparent. Mingyu details what it’s like to have to get up at the crack of dawn to practice his breathing and meditating, his impatience that always ruins his lessons, and how he has numerous reports waiting for him the moment he returns to the capital city.
“Sounds like a lot of what noona has to do,” Seokmin sympathizes. “She has training from the first light until the night sometimes.”
“Is dawn later in the day here than other places?”
Seokmin blinks at him. “Not always. We’re not at the coldest places in the north. There are some other tribes that live in continuous day, or continuous night, depending on the year.”
“What?”
Seokmin takes his hand and drags him to their library, a section inside of a conservatory that is lush with strange arctic plants that Mingyu has never seen before. The shelves are made with proper wood, here, books and scrolls piled on top of one another. The ceiling is made of clear, pure ice. When he looks up, he sees the broad expanse of the sky, the fiddling sun muddled by refraction. It’s breathtaking.
His attention is taken away only by Seokmin sitting down carelessly next to him on a pile of furs set to the side for this purpose, it seems like. There are a couple of other people around, but they’re all busy with their own work, reading either the standard script or a native language Mingyu can’t begin to parse out.
Seokmin pulls a dusty scroll open, and it turns out to be a map. It’s finely drawn, the ink so dark it looks blue. He points at a vaguely drawn, circular city; another particular difference about this from the maps Mingyu is used to is the focus on clear, strongly drawn lines all across the page. Numbers go from one edge to the other. Seokmin points a slender finger at Agna Qel’a. “This is where we are. We usually get day and night in turns, although obviously the sun isn’t as intense as it is for you. But if you go here,” his finger slides up to sparser region, surrounding by towering glaciers and represented as a splattering of camps, “You’ll get what we call the midnight sun.”
“Eternal night?”
“Something like that,” Seokmin says. “For a period of time, all they’ll have is sun, and then when for the other half, they’ll have the moon.” At Mingyu’s confused, somewhat terrified look, Seokmin simply laughs. “Sounds crazy, doesn’t it?”
“I can’t imagine not seeing the sun every day,” he confesses. “How can you tell what time of the day it is?”
There’s other reasons Mingyu can’t shake off the terrible, innate fear the overtakes him when Seokmin had mentioned a lack of sun. He only knows where he is because of the sun; he only knows that he’s alive when there’s the sun on his face, warming him down to his bones. He can’t imagine living without it, not caring when it’s gone. Well, he thinks to himself, they’re probably used to it. Seokmin must see some of how unnerved he feels in his expression, because he reaches forward to pat the back of Mingyu’s hand.
“It’s okay,” he comforts, “I wouldn’t know what I’d do without the moon, either. One of the things I used to do a lot as a kid was track all the stages of the lunar cycle and make my own calendar.” Seokmin laughs. “In hindsight they probably had us do that to make more calendars, but it was fun.”
“Would you show me your day in the healing hut sometime?” Mingyu asks.
This is obviously the best thing he could have ever done, obviously, because the way Seokmin beams at him is bright and unyielding, as bright as the sun itself. Mingyu blinks, helpless to the way Seokmin affirms it – yes, no problem, you’ll like it I promise it’s not boring and there’s actually a lot to do – and just lets himself be carried by his tide.
-
now.
If Mingyu can’t take part in any politics at play at the moment, then he’s certainly not going to stick around and be an eyesore. It’s nothing more than a juvenile attempt at expression his dissatisfaction, but he’d rather march right out of the capital using his father’s predetermined excuse of going on a honeymoon than try and beg to be allowed into war meetings. He’s been going for months now, since his return, on the idea that none of the Fire Lord’s upper cabinet has been to battle as much as Mingyu has. They don’t understand the rolling effects of their decisions. And hasn’t Mingyu’s suggestions worked out in their favor? Have they not gained the public’s attention and respect, at the price of Mingyu’s reputation and honor?
It doesn’t matter. Speaking out and inserting himself into the conversation has only solidified him as an eyesore. A contender, in his father’s eyes. The more everyone listens to him, the more they could turn to the Fire Lord and think, well, how good of a ruler can he be if he didn’t think of this first?
He still has the vestiges of his pride, licking his wounds as he is already. Mingyu tells his household that they’re leaving for the Ruby Islands in two days’ time, and to pack appropriately. It’s only then when his servants come up to him hesitantly, asking with their eyes turned to the floor, “Who should we go to for the Prince Consort, Your Highness?”
Mingyu swallows, looking at the written reports that have long since stopped making sense. He has neither the wherewithal nor the energy to read these through. His wound flares up even more now, as some time has passed and he’s begun to heal.
“Refer to Lord Jeon,” Mingyu says, pressing a finger to his temple. He can trust no one else but Wonwoo to take care of Seokmin’s needs. Everyone else would either treat him terribly or too well, depending on who they answer to. At the very least, he knows Wonwoo is a familiar face to Seokmin and someone who is loyal to Mingyu himself and no one else. Then, with their date looming, Mingyu knows that his time of dilly-dallying has come to a near end.
Since their wedding night, Mingyu doesn’t have the courage to go back to his own quarters. Around a week has passed since he begun sleeping in the forge; as it’s mostly abandoned, no one thinks to look for him there. Aside from some mealtimes, he has barely seen Seokmin at all. At some point, Seokmin began to stop attending formal mealtimes, declaring illness from being in a new place, and his mother has gone to tend to him. He hasn’t seen much of her, either. That left only his sullen and gloomy little sister to have mealtimes with, which he attempts to sit through with as much grace as he possibly can.
Mingyu spots Wonwoo at the main courtyard of their residence, a bit further from where Mingyu’s chambers are. He’s speaking to a couple of servants Mingyu has never seen before, quietly instructing them to take care of a few things. They bow to Mingyu when they spot him; the servants do so with a low bow, but Wonwoo simply tilts his head down.
“You’re dismissed,” Wonwoo says, waiting until they scurry out of the main courtyard before turning to Mingyu with a raised eyebrow. “Anything I can help you with, my prince?”
Mingyu sighs, recognizing the undercurrent of sarcasm in his words. “Can you... Is the Prince Consort here?”
“Where else would he be?”
“Hyung,” Mingyu says, quiet, half-whining.
If it were Seungcheol, he would have rolled his eyes and busted Mingyu’s ass regardless of how pathetic he looked. Thankfully for him, Wonwoo just motions to a room behind him. “His Highness enjoys sitting by the duck pond and feeding the animals when he’s not too ill.”
“Is he recovering well?”
Wonwoo thinks about this for a moment. “It’s hard to say. The imperial physicians say that the has a bit of an illness and cough due to the difference in weather, but it should have cleared up by now. However, he seems to be quite listless. They’ve mentioned that having him go out for a couple of hours per day is good for his countenance.”
“I see,” Mingyu says. “I’ll be on my way, then.”
He hadn’t known that the imperial physicians had taken a look at him, although in hindsight he supposes that’s only to be expected. He had not expected Seokmin to allow a foreign healer to take a look at him. Perhaps he didn’t know what they were doing – the Fire Nation’s way of discerning illnesses is quite different from a waterbender’s. The thought of Seokmin acquiescing to testing and prodding he may not understand settles uneasily in Mingyu’s gut.
The route to the duck pond is simple muscle memory. It was one of his favorite boyhood places to frequent, overlooking a gentle sloping hill that led to other quarters of the palace. He could see the horizon from here, and if deciding to take a nap, wake up to the sun on his face. There was open space and grass, and the turtleducks that live in the pond often waddled straight up to his hands for treats. There’s something exceptional about having such a small, feeble thing trust you.
The first thing Mingyu notices is the sun’s reflection off of bright, shining silver, glittering with every slight movement. The second thing he realizes is that although Seokmin’s hair, kept short in the way of the water tribe men, is only slightly past the nape of his neck, and despite this, his servants have pulled half of it up into a simple, neat bun with a silver buyao. The dangling leaves clink against each other with the wind. It looks a little bit out of place on him; Mingyu doesn’t think he’s seen silver ornaments in a while, as the royal lineage favors gold. Despite that, it goes well with his faintly pink robes, as light as they’d go, so dim they could seem like white or cream in the wrong light. Mingyu wonders if this was on purpose. White is a terrible omen, but he knows neither himself nor Wonwoo would have had the gumption to put Seokmin in Fire Nation red.
A servant Mingyu doesn’t know crouches next to Seokmin, watching as Seokmin takes the end of a cattail and makes shapes in the water. The turtleducks quack in delight, swimming in circles around the ripples, but Seokmin’s face stays eerily blank.
The servant sees Mingyu first, straightening before folding into a bow. Seokmin reacts only a beat slower, turning to meet Mingyu’s gaze.
Is it possible for someone to remain beautiful, even when taken by sadness? Mingyu resolves to keep this shameful secret quiet. Watching Seokmin in snippets, under the gaze of others, mindful of the people around them was easier. Mingyu dismisses the servant, which means that they’re alone. Seokmin is still crouched down near the pond, but he’s let go of the cattail. It floats away in the water.
Despite the lapse in etiquette that would have made any other member of his family upset, Mingyu doesn’t question it. Instead, he goes down to sit next to him, minding a space of a hands’ width between them. This, of all things, is what causes Seokmin to startle out of his deathly still stare, as if snapping back into the present. He gives a quiet yelp as he loses his footing and sits down with a thump. His hairpin jingles with the movement, indolent.
Mingyu will have to either reward or punish the person who chose such an accessory. His eyes keep straying to it, watching the way it reflects light off of Seokmin’s dark hair. A sapphire or azurite would look lovely.
He doesn’t know how to bring up their departure, as last minute as it is, so he starts off by asking about the inane. “Have you settled in well?”
It takes a moment to Seokmin to answer him, not meeting his eyes. He opens his mouth and closes it, as if searching for the words, before he finally settles on, “I guess.”
Mingyu feels like he’s failed a test. Like he’s waiting for the right words, the right string of sentences, for Seokmin to look at him again. He swallows thickly. “Wonwoo tells me that you’ve been feeling ill.”
“Just homesickness,” Seokmin replies, voice hoarse. “Nothing here is... Mother-in-law has been helping.”
“My mother?”
“She visits me for tea, sometimes,” he explains. “And takes me around the palace.”
“I’m – “ Mingyu hadn’t even known. “I’m glad. That – yes. That mother has done that.” The words start spilling out too fast for him to keep track of now, quicker than Mingyu can control himself. “Originally, I wanted to show you around, but things became a little hectic, and there was a lot to fix, and...”
Despite all of that, Seokmin doesn’t seem to answer, his full mouth pressed together in a thin line. Mingyu can’t tell if he looks thinner or not from the last time they’ve met. Surely there has to be some positives, right, that Mingyu can offer him? The promise of food, if nothing else, a warm place to live? He feels like he’s walking blind.
“I’m sure his Highness has many things that require his attention,” Seokmin says. “Please, don’t feel the need to... mind too much attention to this one.”
Mingyu’s heart sinks. The words are stilted and unfamiliar in Seokmin’s mouth, slow and paced, as if he’s testing them out. They’re overly formal, the way his mother often speaks to his father, as if there’s a great canyon between them. His fingers of his good arm twitches, wanting to reach out and assure Seokmin that he would never need this level of strange politeness, even if it’s untrue. Mingyu knows that it might be better, in fact, if they were to remain distant: to show up with some level of arduous civility, but never go too far beyond the line.
Mingyu is also terrible at listening to himself.
“No, I should have – I should have given you that attention from the start.” He clears his throat. “My apologies, Seokmin.”
“Your Highness.”
“Yes?”
“I mean,” Seokmin’s blue gaze meets his for a brief second. “It’s only proper, right? To refer to your consort that way. Your Highness.” Not my name.
Mingyu burns at this, even, to know that Seokmin doesn’t want him to use the sweet syllables of his own name if it were to come out of Mingyu’s mouth. It cuts at him something deep and unerring. Perhaps some part of him thought that there had been a salvageable edge to their relationship, that being in the Fire Nation meant that there would be a chance at reconciliation. He’s too used to the cleansing nature of fire; too used to burning it all to the ground to realize that not everyone experiences that quite the same. Some people keep burn scars for a very, very long time.
And so, with his breath hitched, he forces himself to acquiesce to Seokmin’s wishes: “Of course. My consort.”
He can’t do more than that. Even trying to get it out of his throat scratches at his insides. Seokmin purses his mouth again, but looks away. He doesn’t seem pleased.
“I wanted to let you know, at the very least,” Mingyu begins, feeling quite distant, “That we’re to be off for a trip soon. It won’t take long, only about a fortnight. We’ll be leaving in approximately two days’ time.”
This, at least, gets Seokmin to respond; in shock, he looks at Mingyu with something other than sullen anger. “A trip? Where? Why?”
“It’s typical for some... newlyweds. To go on a trip after their marital rites. The Fire Lord has given us a boon and allowed for a break from my regular duties.”
“A break,” Seokmin repeats, incredulous, voice on the edge of a scoff. When Mingyu doesn’t elaborate, he rolls his eyes. “Fine. I don’t know what you’d want me to prepare, anyway,” he ends with, his voice lilting down into a murmur. Referring to how everything he wears, from the fine silver buyao to the matching glimmering stitches on his sleeves, has come from Mingyu’s estate. He would have nothing of his own to pack. Mingyu hopes, desperately, that Seokmin had brought something of his own from his tribe, that he’d been allowed. He’ll have to ask Wonwoo, too much of a coward to ask Seokmin outright.
Once more, Mingyu can’t help but think that reality always remains different from his dreams. When he’d want for Seokmin in the darkest hour, this is nothing like he’d ever imagined. He resists the urge to reach up and fidget with the beaded necklace around his neck, hidden beneath his underrobes.
Unsure of what else to do, Mingyu stands up and offers a hand to Seokmin. He waits, unsure if Seokmin will take it, but he does. His hand is smooth and cool in Mingyu’s. Taken by the familiar yet unfamiliar feel of it, he doesn’t let go for a long while, but Seokmin doesn’t yank it back. Somehow, that’s worse. Seeing him unresponsive, as if apathetic to any aspect of his fate, is worse. Mingyu would rather have him fighting. Mingyu would rather he be hateful and angry and spiteful, than whatever this is.
He lets his hand drop. Seokmin takes his back and lets his arm hang at his side. Mingyu says, “I’m sorry.”
Something in Seokmin’s expression changes, at that. A brief flicker of a grimace, maybe or some other emotion, too quick for Mingyu to pick up before it passes. “If there’s anything I can do for you, please... just let me know.”
They both know that there’s a lot that Seokmin may want that Mingyu can’t offer him from sheer inability; to return him to his home and country, maybe, or to stop this war fully instead of his shaky peace they have. To bring his father back, whole and alive. To see his siblings and cousins again. Instead, what he says takes Mingyu out of left field: “When will you consummate this marriage?”
“W-What?”
Seokmin sighs, as if annoyed, but Mingyu can see the errant redness rising at the tips of his ears, can see the way he won’t look Mingyu in the eye. Colored by something other than indifference, at least. “The marriage, my lord,” Seokmin says stiltedly. “You know, better than I, that marriages in the Fire Nation can be annulled as long as the marriage isn’t properly fulfilled. Those are the rules, even more so for peace alliances. At any moment,” Seokmin’s voice grows a little higher, reedier, “This can all fall to pieces. If you don’t. So why haven’t you?”
Unbidden, the images rise to Mingyu’s mind without his prompting: Seokmin in his grand mourning wedding robes, the color in his eyes and hair and mouth, the way Mingyu had been – for one moment – so devastatingly tempted into sin. To prove himself a man as terrible as the man before him.
“I don’t,” he stutters, “I don’t think this is the appropriate time – “
Seokmin’s temper flares. “Then when is the appropriate time, my lord?”
Mingyu very rarely admits to when he doesn’t know, but he for sure does not know. Ideally, maybe when Seokmin doesn’t look at him like he’s seeing a stranger, or an enemy, or someone that can hurt him – maybe when Mingyu doesn’t hurt so bad every time he lies down – maybe when they’ve escaped a pit of snakes, away from all seeing eyes and all hearing ears. Mingyu knows that day may never come. He’s putting off duty the best way he knows how, because unlike his other duties, this one feels insidiously terrible. As if – he’ll make a big mistake if he caves in.
Seokmin doesn’t have the same retrospection. He steps forward until he’s close to Mingyu, until he can scent the oil off of Seokmin’s skin and hair, like a proper Fire Nation nobleman. Mingyu can never forget that he isn’t one, though, from the way he has the beginnings of a sunburn instead of a tan, how he flushes high on his ears and cheeks due to the heat, to his fingers fidgeting at the tight cuffs of his sleeves on his wrist. He demands Mingyu’s attention like this, reaching forward to prevent him from leaving by pointing one thin finger at his chest.
“There is none,” he says, voice high and insistent. “There is no appropriate time. No, in fact, we should have completed this marriage on our wedding night, but my so-called husband ditched me that night and every night thereafter. Do you understand what position you put me in?”
“Seokmin – “
“Don’t call me that. The servants and handmaidens that work here all know that nothing’s happened, that you don’t even sleep in your own room. If it’s such a hassle, move me to a separate wing! I’ve been taught what’s proper in your empire. But don’t play at closeness and then abandon me.”
“I didn’t,” Mingyu exhales. “I didn’t mean to do that.”
“I need this marriage to be unbreakable,” Seokmin continues, as if he hadn’t heard Mingyu at all, his eyes wide and piercing. Mingyu resists the urge to stop him from moving closer by holding onto his arms, rub his thumbs against the knobs of his elbows. “So that one day the Fire Lord doesn’t decide that he wants to ruin my tribe, after all, and simply throws me aside all because this union isn’t considered complete by your own rules. You know more than I do that your father most likely has eyes on you. Us. So, what are you doing?”
Mingyu closes his eyes, the words washing over him in their uncomfortable truth. This is all that had been not said but understood between himself and Seungcheol or Wonwoo. Of course Seokmin would be the one to put it all out in the open, demand Mingyu’s answer, rush forward to the answer. He’s motivated by fear. Even now, there’s a slight tremble to his hand, either exhausted from being in a place with no one he knows or scared of what may happen.
“You don’t want it,” he blurts out in the end. “For us to sleep together. You don’t want that.”
And then, terribly, Seokmin says, “Since when does it matter what I want?”
It’s the culmination of everything Mingyu has feared.
“You would... you always wanted a loving marriage. You told me that.”
Seokmin sighs, tired. “That was a long time ago, Min - ... my lord. I was a child then.”
Mingyu stands there, adrift, thinking of them nearly a decade ago; children, maybe, seventeen and young and stupid and fresh with infatuation. Maybe for Seokmin, it didn’t mean much at all. Or maybe he decided to let it all go when Mingyu’s family decided to kickstart a campaign that would raze the world in fire. Maybe he hadn’t been holding onto the same hopes Mingyu desperately did. Maybe for Seokmin, that was just a figure of the past; a first love, distant and dead. And if Seokmin doesn’t see the Mingyu of now as the seventeen-year-old boy he desolately attempted to keep, then who does he see?
“You’d make me a monster,” Mingyu says hoarsely.
Seokmin, in his Fire Nation attire and dangling hairpin, looking nothing like the sweet, free prince Mingyu fell in love with ten years ago, says: “Aren’t you one already?”
-
interlude.
When Wonwoo comes in the morning to bring Seokmin his clothes for the day, he usually finds him at the window, staring out at the horizon. Seokmin has great trouble falling asleep. The days are long and hot, humid in the morning and then dry at night. He gets irritated at the lack of stability. In the north, at least Seokmin knew when the cold would come, when the dry seasons would start, and when the caribou began their great migration. Here, with all the curated views – from the palace to the people to the animals – he feels as though he’s encapsulated and still. Nothing moves.
The only thing that changes are the phases of the moon at night. He learned on the first night, when his lord husband ran out of the room, that this was his quarters. Seokmin had learned in the quick lessons before he was shipped off to the Fire Nation that such a thing was highly unusual. Speaking to his mother-in-law confirmed that fact as well. He still can’t parse out why his lord husband wanted him to sleep in his main chambers instead of the consorts'.
He aims to not care, unwilling to try and understand that man. He’s been befuddling from the moment Seokmin had taken his hand at the wedding ceremony, to the hours after. Seokmin knows that he should make an effort to learn. Before he left, his sister imparted on him the importance of watching his back and remaining vigilant in his new home, even on her sickbed. “I wish that you didn’t have to do this,” she had rasped, pulling her hand away before Seokmin could attempt to use up all his energy to heal her. “If I could take your place, I would. In a heartbeat.”
Seokmin has mixed feelings about his marriage to the Prince. He recalls the moment he had seen Kim Mingyu again, once after a few measly months, and before that, years. The Mingyu of his boyhood had been like him, lanky and uncoordinated, silly and a bit funny. He’d hold Seokmin’s hand just to keep him warm, and his front teeth were a little crooked. He had lopsided eyebrows. Seokmin catalogued everything about the Fire Nation prince from the moment he saw him in the healer’s hut, fascinated at people not from the water tribe. Everything about Mingyu ran warm, from his hands to his heart.
He can’t reconcile that with the man he saw waiting for him at the end of the dais at his wedding. Of course someone wouldn’t remain the same after a decade, even Seokmin knew this. But he hadn’t been prepared for the breadth of it, measured in Mingyu’s shoulders, his height, his roughhewn hands. Seokmin did not recognize this Mingyu.
And then... he ran away.
It had hurt at something deep in Seokmin, something he doesn’t want to admit to. It wasn’t as if he, too, wanted to do this. Still grieving over his father, and exhausted by taking care of his older sister, the wounded soldiers, watching his people dwindle... children hugging distended stomachs, hunters slipping into the ice from the unending ache of hunger... constantly bombarded with the fear of ashen snow falling from the sky? It wasn’t a life that they could sustain.
The last straw had come from Chan, only barely nineteen, crawling into Seokmin’s dilapidated cot in his wing of the healer’s hut. His own proper home had been partially destroyed in the Siege, but even if they were to rebuild, Seokmin couldn’t find it in him to go back. He would have to pack his father’s things if he did. He ate a tin of dried fish, setting it to the side and wanting to rest his weary eyes, when he felt someone squirrelling into his pile of furs.
He untensed when Chan’s familiar cold hands grasped the back of his tunic. Without saying anything, Seokmin heard his small muffled whimpers, starting low and sparse before turning into an unending cry. Like a small wounded animal. Chan had said nothing, but Seokmin could only imagine what he had been feeling, knowing that Hyemin was flickering in and out of consciousness. The sheer pressure of losing so many of their leaders. Seokmin would usually let him cry it out, but something propelled him that time to turn around and face Chan, see his cheeks turn ruddy with tears.
“Hyung,” Chan had said, bleak, “Are we going to die?”
Seokmin couldn’t respond to him then, struck dumb. All he could do was wipe at his tears and hold him close, run his hands through Chan’s hair, hope that he could impart some warmth from their dilapidated bones. Are we going to die? Will they all be wiped out, like their sister tribe? It was then that Seokmin made his decision, and send back the missive to accept the Fire Lord’s offer without speaking it over with Hyemin. By the time she recovered enough to understand what happened, Seokmin had made his bed. He was – is – determined to lie in it.
And yet, his lord husband ran away?
Seokmin couldn’t help but fall into a minor panic, sitting on a too-large bed in an opulent room, the likes of which Seokmin had never seen before. With enough food on the table to feed his entire tribe for months, with clothes that were fine and silken and beautiful. A statement of decadence. All the things that he couldn’t have for years, as the vestiges of war whittled away at everything he held dear, until he finally gave it all up just to be here. Everything, everything, from his family to his autonomy to his bending, to his love, everything, EVERYTHING.
And Mingyu just... runs away.
He had sat there and laughed. Laughed, and laughed, and laughed, until his half chortles turned into guttural, wailing cries. It hit him, then, that he was all alone.
He stayed up then, face pale, looking at the full moon on the night of his wedding, and hoping that his father was watching him. That he was proud, no matter what sacrifices he made and what humiliation he condoned.
This is why Wonwoo finds him in the morning, tired and quiet, a shade of himself. Staring at the sun as it encapsulates the moon, always bright and whole, unlike the lunar phases. Waiting until Seokmin blinks himself back into reality with the coming dawn, turning to Wonwoo with a slightly adrift air.
“I’ll help you put it on,” Wonwoo says every morning, never commenting. Seokmin had thought he would be happy. He thought that they would all be happy, the Fire Nation, the crown prince; the Northern Water Tribe had been subjugated, finally forced to surrender. They may say it was a voluntary surrender to become a vassal of the Fire Nation, but Seokmin knows the truth. He knows why he’s here. It’s kinder than what happened to their sister tribe. And yet, none of his lord husband’s people seems happy. They’re all solemn, quiet, as if – mourning.
Seokmin wonders what they’ve lost. He wonders if it’s worth it.
Wonwoo is quick but capable. Seokmin notices that he wears different garb from the rest; his robes are finer, much more detailed. He doesn’t have long hair the way the noblemen of this nation do, in order to keep it in a topknot, but Wonwoo fastens his hair into some sham of a similar style. Seokmin is a piece that doesn’t quite fit. He doesn’t know whether he should be thrilled to remain himself, or if he should try harder to assimilate for the sake of his tribe. Despite that, it becomes quite clear what he is: a decorated consort in a gilded cage.
That’s fine, he tells himself. That’s fine. As long as the Fire Lord upholds this alliance. As long as the marriage is as unbreakable as the thickest glacial ice, Seokmin doesn’t care what happens to him. If he needs to play nice and quiet without a single inkling of wanting to waterbend, that’s what he’ll gorge out of himself. If he needs to be less hurt and angry, that’s what he’ll be. If he needs to claw and struggle his way into his lord husband’s bed, that’s what he’ll do.
He’s already given up everything. He can stand to lose a little more.