The Garden of Silence
Pairing: Min Yoongi x Original female character
Genre: Historical Romance/Royal Fiction/ Political Drama/ War/ Romantic Drama/ Slow Burn Romance/ Arranged Marriage/ Enemies to Lovers
Ao3: Link
Watpad: Link (Aqui en wattpad la teneis en español tambien :))
Tag: @onyxthornseer @genu7
Previously: Introducction / Prologue / 1
a/n: Hope that u like it bc it´s something I had been working these past months :), l wolud love to read what do u think about this fanfic <3
CHAPTER 2
Year 489,
During the crown prince’s second winter, not far from the Celestial Palace, winter had covered the gardens with a thin layer of frost, and the wind made the branches of the ancient plum trees tremble. However, inside the Seo Clan’s main residence, the fire remained lit, and the maids moved silently among the rooms. They had been preparing for this birth for the past two months to ensure that everything went smoothly. And when the newborn’s cry was finally heard, the entire household celebrated.
“It’s a girl.” Those were the first words, spoken softly, by the woman who had assisted with the delivery to the little one’s parents.
For a few seconds, no one answered. The baby’s mother lay exhausted, her face pale and her hair plastered to her forehead.
“Is she healthy?” she asked in the little voice she had left after giving birth.
“Perfectly healthy,” the woman smiled at her before wrapping the newborn in a white blanket and bringing her over to the bed.
When Hee Jin held her daughter, something changed in her expression. She gazed at her as if the world around them had ceased to exist. She was so tiny, her eyes still closed and her tiny fingers clenched against the blanket. Her mother gently brushed one of her cheeks.
“Seo Yeon…”
She spoke her name as if it were a promise.
Across the room, her father stood. He hadn’t yet approached his wife and their newborn daughter. The head of the Seo clan was a man accustomed to weighing every word, every gesture, and every decision. But that night, he seemed different. Finally, he stepped forward and looked at his daughter.
“Seo Seo Yeon,” he said in a low voice so as not to startle the baby, who was now in her mother’s arms.
“Our daughter,” Hee Jin smiled.
“Our daughter,” he nodded in agreement.
His eyes lingered on the girl for a few more seconds; there, he saw not just a newborn—he was envisioning and looking toward that little one’s future. He imagined the surname she might one day bear, the alliances she might help forge, and the bonds she might establish between families. He contemplated a future that did not yet exist.
“She will be raised properly,” he said seriously.
“It’s too early to think about that,” she said, laughing with what little energy she had left.
“It’s never too early.”
“She’s only been alive for a few minutes,” Hee Jin said, looking down at the baby.
The man was silent for a few moments; shortly afterward, he stepped closer and reached out his hand toward the little girl. Seo Yeon wiggled her fingers until she weakly grasped one of his—it was such a small gesture that it almost seemed insignificant.
“I want her to have a good life.”
His wife looked up at him.
“Then let her be happy.”
The man remained silent; those words seemed to strike a chord he didn’t know how to respond to. He turned his gaze back to the little girl and said nothing.
He didn’t yet know that, over the years, he would come to confuse the two, because he would love his daughter deeply—and precisely because he loved her, he would try to decide for her what kind of life she should lead. He didn’t understand that some of the deepest wounds don’t stem from a lack of love, but from a love that doesn’t know when to make room for freedom.
Year 495
The Seo clan’s main residence stretched east of Byeonseong, protected by high stone walls and a row of ancient pine trees that seemed to guard each of its entrances. From the outside, few places in Jeonghwa could compare to it. The dark roofs curved beneath the golden tips of their eaves. The wooden pavilions were connected by covered walkways that wound through carefully designed gardens. There were ponds where goldfish swam, moss-covered stone bridges, and plum trees that bloomed in defiance of the cold during winter. To any visitor, the place seemed like a dream, but to six-year-old Seo Yeon, it was simply her home—or at least, that was what she had always believed.
That morning, she ran barefoot along the stone path, lifting the hem of her dress slightly so as not to trip.
“Seo Yeon!” A maid’s voice called out from the far end of the garden.
The girl stopped and looked back, worried that she’d been found, then turned her gaze forward again. The maid was still looking for her, so she ran faster.
She hid behind one of the large pine trees, stifling a laugh as she listened to the footsteps approaching.
“Where could she have gone?”
Seo Yeon covered her mouth with both hands as she laughed. A white butterfly landed on one of the branches and she stared at it, completely captivated, completely forgetting that she was hiding.
“There you are.”
Seo Yeon gave a little jump of surprise as she snapped out of the trance she’d fallen into while watching the butterfly. Now she saw that Lady Min Hwa-young was standing in front of her, but she didn’t seem angry. She had never gotten angry with her. The woman simply nodded slightly.
“Your mother is waiting for you,” she said, still trying to catch her breath after running to find her.
“Again?” Seo Yeon grimaced.
“Again.”
“But I already practiced yesterday.”
“And you’ll have to practice again tomorrow. You know your schedule, young lady.”
“I don’t want to,” she said with a sigh.
“I know.” Lady Min watched her for a few seconds.
“Then why do I have to do it?” Seo Yeon asked, looking up at her.
“Someday you’ll learn that in this house, we don’t always do what we want.”
That answer didn’t satisfy the girl—not yet, anyway. Resigned, Seo Yeon took Lady Min’s hand and began walking toward the main pavilion. She didn’t know that this would be one of the first lessons the Seo clan would teach her.
Her mother was waiting for her in a room that looked out onto the inner garden. The morning sun streamed in through the paper screens, casting soft shadows on the wooden floor. In the center of the room lay an instrument that Seo Yeon already knew well.
The gayageum.
The girl looked at it with a mixture of curiosity and resignation.
“Sit down.”
Seo Yeon obeyed.
Her mother settled in behind her and carefully placed the instrument in front of her legs.
“Do you remember what I taught you yesterday?”
“Yes.”
“Then play it.”
Seo Yeon placed her fingers on the strings, played the first note—louder than she should have—but her mother said nothing. The second note came out too softly, and the third didn’t even sound right. Seo Yeon pulled her hands away in frustration.
“I can’t,” she said, huffing.
“Of course you can.”
“I just can’t do it.”
Her mother sat down beside her.
“You don’t have to do it perfectly.”
Seo Yeon frowned.
“Father says everything must be done right.”
Her mother was silent for a moment, then gently took one of her daughter’s hands.
“Your father will teach you many things.”
“And you?”
“Me, too.”
“What are you going to teach me?”
Her mother smiled.
“To listen.”
She placed her fingers back on the strings.
“Music isn’t always played with your hands, Seo Yeon.”
The girl looked at her, puzzled.
“Then with what?”
“With what you can’t say.”
Those words hung between them; her mother began to play, and a gentle melody filled the room. Seo Yeon listened; for the first time, she didn’t try to imitate her—she simply closed her eyes. The sound of the gayageum blended with the wind rustling through the trees in the garden. For a few minutes, there were no lessons, no protocol, no bows, no dresses that kept her from running, and no words she had to learn to choose carefully.
That music was all there was.
When the melody ended, Seo Yeon opened her eyes.
“Again.”
Her mother smiled.
“Aren’t you tired anymore?”
The girl shook her head.
“I want to learn.”
And so it began.
Every morning, before her etiquette lessons, Seo Yeon practiced playing. At first, they were simple melodies; later, they became more complex songs. She learned that each string could express something different.
Joy.
Sadness.
Nostalgia.
Loneliness.
Hope.
And, little by little, she discovered something no one had had to teach her: Music could say what she still didn’t know how to put into words. When she was sad, she played. When she got angry, she played. When her father scolded her, she reached for the gayageum. And when she couldn’t find the words to explain how she felt, she sat down at the instrument and let the strings speak for her.
Without realizing it, she had found her first refuge.
But the refuge couldn’t last all day; after the music came the other lessons. How to walk. How to sit. How to hold a cup. How to bow her head. How to welcome a guest. How to remain silent. How to smile—especially how to smile.
“Not too much.”
Seo Yeon stopped smiling.
“Not enough.”
The girl tried again, but her etiquette teacher shook her head.
“A lady must show kindness without appearing obsequious.”
Seo Yeon looked at her, confused.
“How do you do that?”
The woman remained serious.
“With practice.”
Seo Yeon sighed. From across the room, Jun Ho burst out laughing. He was just a few years older than her and had spent the whole morning trying to hide behind a column.
“Jun-ho!” Seo Yeon exclaimed.
Her brother ran off, laughing at her.
“You’re not going to catch me!”
Seo Yeon immediately forgot the lesson, stood up, and began chasing him. The two of them ran down the hallway, laughing. Until a man’s voice stopped them in their tracks.
“Seo Yeon.”
The girl froze, and so did Jun-ho. Their father was at the end of the hallway. Seo Yeon slowly lowered her hands.
“Father.”
He looked at her and noticed her slightly rumpled dress.
“What are you doing?”
“Playing.”
“I see.”
His tone wasn’t raised; it didn’t need to be.
“Didn’t you have a lesson?”
Seo Yeon looked down.
“Yes.”
“Then why aren’t you in it?”
The girl didn’t answer.
Her father walked toward her.
“Look at me.”
Seo Yeon obeyed.
“You are a daughter of the Seo clan.”
She nodded.
“And someday you will have responsibilities that you can’t understand right now.”
“But I’m only five years old.”
For the first time, her father seemed at a loss for words.
The girl continued:
“And Jun Ho gets to play.”
“Jun Ho has already finished his lessons.”
Seo Yeon frowned.
“And I’m a little girl, too.”
The silence that followed was long. Her father looked at her as if he had just discovered something he hadn’t expected to find in her. It wasn’t defiance.
Finally, he said:
“That’s precisely why you must learn now.”
“Learn what?”
“To behave as what you are.”
Seo Yeon didn’t understand.
“What am I?”
Her father took a deep breath.
“A daughter of the Seo clan.”
The girl waited, but he didn’t add anything else. He didn’t say she was his daughter, he didn’t say she was a girl, he didn’t say she was free. He only spoke of the clan. Seo Yeon felt something strange in her chest—a sensation she still couldn’t name.
Finally, her father left, and Jun-ho walked slowly over to her.
“Are you sad?”
“No.” Seo Yeon shook her head.
“You’re sad.”
“No.”
“Yes.”
She looked at him.
“You can be sad with me.” Jun-ho smiled.
Seo Yeon couldn’t help but laugh, and for a few seconds she was just a little girl again.
That afternoon, her mother found her in the garden; Seo Yeon was sitting by the pond, holding a small stone in her hands.
“What’s wrong?” her mother asked in the calm tone of voice she always used.
“Nothing.”
Her mother sat down next to her.
“Your father told me what happened.”
“I didn’t want to bother him.” Seo Yeon lowered her head.
“I know.”
“I just wanted to play.”
“Someday you’ll understand why your father is the way he is.” Her mother stroked her hair.
“Why?”
Her mother looked toward the pavilions.
“Because he’s afraid.”
“My father is afraid?” Seo Yeon lifted her head.
“We’re all afraid of something.”
“Of what?”
“Of losing what we love.” She smiled sadly.
Seo Yeon remained silent.
“So what does my father love?”
It took her mother a few seconds to answer.
“His family.”
“Then why does he seem angry with me?” she said as she gazed at the calm water.
“Sometimes, people who love too much also have a way of being overly protective.”
Seo Yeon didn’t quite understand.
But that night, while they were having dinner, she looked at her father in a different light. He barely spoke; he just listened as the older family members discussed the harvests, trade routes, and relations with other clans. Seo Yeon remained silent—until one of the men brought up the future.
“When Seo Yeon is older, we’ll need to carefully consider a marriage alliance.”
The girl’s spoon stopped moving. Her father didn’t respond right away.
“She’s still too young.”
“That’s precisely why we need to start thinking about it.”
Seo Yeon looked at her mother—she remained motionless—then looked at her father.
“What’s a marriage alliance?”
Everyone fell silent. Her father slowly set down his cup.
“It’s something you’ll understand when you’re older.”
“Am I going to get married?”
“Someday.”
“To whom?”
“We don’t know.”
Seo Yeon looked down.
“And can I choose?”
No one answered.
“Father.”
He looked at her.
“Can I choose?”
Her father remained silent for several seconds, then finally said:
“Someday you’ll learn to want what’s best for your family.”
Seo Yeon didn’t understand what he meant. But she felt something inside her tighten; she didn’t know who her husband would be, she didn’t know what it meant to belong to another clan, and she didn’t know what future they were envisioning for her. She only knew that no one had asked what she wanted.
That night, after everyone had retired for the evening, Seo Yeon returned alone to the gayageum room. She sat down in front of the instrument, placed her fingers on the strings, but didn’t play.
For a few seconds she remained completely still, then she began to play. The melody was different that night—slower, sadder. Lady Min Hwa-young stood in the doorway without entering; she didn’t need to ask. She had learned to recognize the meaning of that girl’s silences long before Seo Yeon had learned to recognize them herself.
When the melody ended, Seo Yeon spoke without turning around.
“Lady Min.”
“Yes, young lady.”
“My father says I must learn to want what’s best for the clan.”
Lady Min remained silent.
“What if what’s best for the clan isn’t best for me?”
The woman watched her for a long time. Then she sat down beside her.
“Then you’ll have to learn one of the hardest things there is.”
“What is it?”
“Deciding which part of yourself you’re willing to sacrifice.”
Seo Yeon didn’t answer; she didn’t yet know that that question would stay with her for much of her life.
The following years passed amid lessons, ceremonies, and the changing seasons. Seo Yeon learned to play the gayageum; she learned to write with meticulous care; she learned to identify the emblems of the great clans; she learned the names of the families with whom her father maintained alliances; she learned when to speak and when to remain silent, when to smile, and, above all, she learned to hide the questions that no one wanted to hear.
But there was one thing her family could not take away from her.
Her heart.
She still paused when she saw a maid crying; she still shared some of her treats with the employees’ children. She still listened for hours to her mother as she played. She still slipped away to the garden when she needed a moment of solitude. And she still wondered why a person’s destiny could be determined before that person was old enough to decide for themselves.
Seo Yeon was unaware that what her father saw as a weakness would, over time, become one of her greatest strengths. Nor did she know that her sensitivity would allow her to perceive things others could not notice. Nor that, in a kingdom where everyone had learned to hide their true intentions, having a heart that was too big could be more dangerous than wielding a sword.
While in the palace a young boy was discovering that a king must not show his feelings, at the Seo clan’s residence a young girl was beginning to understand that a woman of her status could not always speak her mind.
Yoon Gi was learning to hide his emotions, and Seo Yeon was learning to suppress her desires.He was preparing to assume the crown. She was preparing to become a pawn in the clans’ game.
Both were being shaped by people who believed they knew what was best for them. Both were learning to obey.
