Rise of the Nation’s King ♔ Part ½
⊶ Pairing: Yoongi x Reader
⊶ Genre: Angst, Fluff, Eventual Smut (pt. 2)
↳ Historical AU, King AU
⊶ Words: 5.1k
⊶ Summary: Being born with nothing and yet wanting everything, Min Yoongi understands that the world will only favor those born with sliver spoons in their mouths. However, when an unseen incident breaks out at the royal palace one day, he’s forced between choosing all that he treasures for something much more. But Yoongi doesn’t know if losing you will ever keep him sane.
⊶ Warnings: 18+ rating, graphic depictions of violence and death
The marketplace is livelier around this time of the year.
Merchants and venders alike have surrounded themselves with goods that are chased after. From dangling strings of freshly cut red meat to heads of boars displayed in the front of their wooden stalls, the assortment brings those scrambling with coins and eyes flaked with desperation to scavenge as much as possible.
A man dressed in a dark turquoise hanbok idles down the road with a dazed smile on his lips, too caught up in his own world to discover that the long fishing pole he reels has smacked into the back of another merchant’s head. His new stock is left flapping on the ground, covered in a layer of fine dust that has collected from the feet of others.
His face is instantly coloured in a shade of red, “YAH! Can’t you watch where you’re going?!”
The other man that’s received a generous layer of fish oil against his straightened hair whips his head around, donning a similar expression to him. He wears a dull green hanbok in contrast, a pale blue headband wrapped around his forehead and concealing the youthful features he radiates.
He faintly touches the back of his head, left with an eerie smell that only reminds him of another grim-covered man he had passed by the other day.
“Shouldn’t you watch where you’re going old man?!” He scoffs, watching his opponent’s eyes increase by tenfold.
“Old man?!” Despite the clearly visible facial hair on his chin and wrinkled lines maring his forehead, the younger fellow has struck him where it hurts most, “Why, I outta-”
He fists his green hanbok and the man does the same to his blue one. Within moments, they’re engaged in a heated fight that relies more on swings and kicks that are clumsy and barely do any damage, provoking them to resort to the fine art of name-calling instead. Their ruckus elicits mixed reactions from neighboring stalls, all throwing them strange and annoyed looks.
A man in the corner darkly chuckles, clad in a ragged beige jacket and a large straw hat perched on top of his black strands. There’s a rope filled with tools hanging from the seam of his hips, ranging from a hammer, a chisel and the most used, a pickaxe.
He leans against the old wall, his dusted arms crossed and drained eyes hardened as he watches the duo taunting each other. It’s fascinating to simply watch, because those who have more always seem to be heavily prone to quarreling about such non-sensible things.
A deep sigh passes the seam of his lips, pushing his legs off the wall and taking a mere glance around before strutting through the marketplace. He walks slow, observing the man that carefully guides the horse carrying his load of loot with a rope, protecting the merchandise with all that he’s got. He also observes the woman throwing hopeful glimpses around, the fish she’s spent hours collected rapidly turning stale within the span of a mere couple of hours.
He suddenly flinches, a wince descending through his right leg. Memories of the dark and humid caverns flash through his mind, tiring hours of gripping his pickaxe and swinging it in between layers of soot to retrieve battered pieces of stone only for greedy hands to immediately whisk it away. He’s left with a body that aches for him to stop, a bag of a few mesly coins tossed in his face and the chuckles of officials that hone down his work.
His face contorts, fists clenching and shoulders tightened when he’s forced to step off the road with his tender leg. He leans against the wall again, breathing in harsh gasps as sweat quickly manifests underneath his straw hat. His eyes are shadowed before he flutters them close, a haze of muted fury silently spurring.
“Yoongi!” A faint voice from afar calls, expeditiously growing louder, “Yoongi!”
His eyes snap open, “Yoon-OOF!”
He immediately whips around, sight landing upon your collapsed form. A cluster of coughs plague you from the mixed humid air and wafting dust in the crowded area, many merchants swiftly passing by you without another look. One in particular eyes you in irritation, your small mishap occurring right in front of his potential customer and nearly spoiling the boar head the man had been keen on selling.
“Foolish girl! Go make a mess somewhere else!” He angrily shouts, your form instantly shrinking away.
“S-Sorry.” You offer, a yelp escaping you when a strong hold suddenly lifts you up. You avertedly cling to Yoongi’s side as the man continues to spew out how much your recklessness could have damaged his material and ruined his clential, but the man holding you next to him isn’t having any of it.
“She’s already apologized.” Yoongi states.
“Instead of apologizing, maybe she should pay for the damages!” He barks, gesturing to his table, “Do you know how long it took me to find boars this fine?!”
You move forward to offer another humble apology, but Yoongi tugs you back. He grabs a small pouch from his waist, throwing the bag into the man’s face as the few coins contained inside spill out onto the ground.
“There. Happy now?” Yoongi ignores the hungry ravenous look the man has, simply turning to leave and dragging you by hand with him. He leads you into the main road of the marketplace, taking an intrigued glance at all the things being offered inside the various stalls.
“Yoongi.” Your grip on his hand tightens and he turns around questioningly, “Those were the coins you earned today….”
“It doesn’t matter.” He mutters, eyes downcasted. He ignores the pinch those words bring him. “I still have enough saved up.”
You become quiet, guilt still written all over your features. Yoongi sighs, glancing over to a stall selling bundles of meat.
“You wanted to eat beef the other day, right?” He gestures towards it, “Go grab some.”
Your eyes flicker, “I-I can’t let you do that Yoongi, we still have a hole in our roof to fix.” You recall both of you promising to hold back on expenditures when a certain harsh downpour had happened, the entirety of your belongings left thoroughly soaked with residue.
“We can still buy one piece.” He smirks, a spark of playfulness in his eyes, “But you’ll have to share with me.”
You smile, heading over to the merchant once he’s finished with his last customer. Although you’re happy with being able to purchase some form of expensive meat after so long, you end picking the smallest piece to spare both you and Yoongi the troubles of paying. But it’s hard to erase the elation you have carrying it over to him, a somber question remaining on the tip of your tongue.
“Why are you so nice to me?” You whisper out loud, the inquiry leaving a sad smile on Yoongi’s lips once you return. It’s a smile that speaks volumes, throbbing the dreadful gash that runs from his forehead to his cheek, his vision still not completely recovered as his peripheral view comes out distorted.
Yoongi silently stares at you, an unsaid answer breezing by the light whistles of the air and the chattering among the people.
Because you’re all that I have left now.
***
Hugging the precious piece of meat to your chest, you walk aimlessly behind Yoongi throughout the entire marketplace. Yoongi in particular doesn’t seem so interested in purchasing anything, rather he observes the rest of the items displayed. You eventually become occupied with a woman who urges you to steal a glance at her range of slippers, the spiked up costs bearing a pout to form on your lips.
The sound of a loud thud breaks you out of your thoughts, swiveling around to see all the townspeople flocking together. Yoongi instantly appears in the midst of them, grabbing onto your hand that’s not holding the meat and tugging you with him.
“What is it?” You quietly ask, alarmed by the sudden increase of officials dressed in dark blue robes surrounding you.
“The sinmungo.” Yoongi points to the large drum positioned at the edge of the road, a swirl of cool blue and warm orange decorated in the middle of it. You recall having seen it a handful of times, namely whenever there had been an issue between the authority of the law and the people of your class which needed resolving. Initially you had presumed that it worked in the form of being as a collective voice for all of you, but you had soon to discover the royal will it holds.
“Who dares defy the King?” One official speaks up, a menacing glare in his eyes. In his grip is an unsheathed sword, pointed towards the man currently cowering on the ground beneath him.
“I’m sorry! I-I meant no disrespect to His Majesty.” The man stutters, grasping onto any piece of mercy, “M-My wife has been sick and I-I had to sell everything for her treatment.”
The official steps up and withdraws his sword, his gaze landing on the small palanquin hidden behind them. Your eyes are drawn to the intricate green and gold details glittered along the surface, the picture of a bright golden dragon painted in the centre.
Another official steps up, adorned in dark green robes. “This man has refused to pay the tax from running a business on His Majesty’s land. What is the verdict for such a crime?”
A hand brushes pushes past the curtains of the laid palanquin on the ground, your eyes eager to see the unknown ruler of your land in the flesh. To your dismay, he makes a simple gesture and withdraws instantly.
The man begins to shriek madly in horror, tears streaming down his eyes when the green official drags him by his collar and throws him in front of the one wielding a sword. He yanks it out, ignoring the man’s pleads of hysteria, before the sword descends down on his neck with a swift jerk.
Your eyes are immediately covered, the gruesome sound of flesh tearing and blood splattering onto the ground ringing through your ears. The people surrounding you let out gasps of terror, a silence laced with fear prevailing heavy in the air.
Yoongi twists you around from the sight, removing his hand from your face and replacing it within your hold instead. He drags you away, images of violent screams and begging sobs plaguing his mind as the sinmungo is hit once again.
The King has made his new decree.
You wipe away the tears streaming from your eyes with a trembling hand, something you know Yoongi can feel when his grip only tightens. Breezing by the many people cluttered together to view the sudden authority, their whispers serve to only increase the fear in you by tenfold.
“That’s the third one in two days!” One shouts, stuck in disbelief.
“This is absurd! An execution for not being able to pay tax??” Another one scoffs, “Is the King trying to kill off all his people?!”
You freeze, blood running cold. A yank on Yoongi’s beige jacket makes him falter, spinning around to face your dread stricken features.
“T-There’s been more than one. If we don’t pay on time-” A shudder runs through your body, the thought of you and Yoongi being next brings nothing short of utter despair. It’s no news that you and Yoongi are both a part of the sangmin class - the ones that are thrown with the king’s leftovers and then trampled on once your will to survive has completely fizzled and diminished.
Yoongi lets go of you, stepping forward to cup your cheeks within his palms.
“I won’t let anything happen to you.” He whispers, but the way his pupils shake with the impending doom speak of a different story. He releases you, grabbing onto your hand once more.
You want to believe his words, you want to bask yourself in the strength he always manages to muster up when things head south. However, the perception of unruly bloodshed and injustice have lodged themselves too deep in the confines of your mind, the remaining hidden pieces of hope slowly breaking off bit by bit.
You’re still shaken up by the events of the day by the time you reach home.
Yoongi doesn’t attempt to pry into your silence, simply retrieving a handful of wood planks and tossing them into the middle of a brewing fire. He leaves once more to grab an old chair and a sheet of loose fabric, climbing up to the space where a chilling breeze has begun to enter through your roof. You’re reduced to somberly watching him from the corner of your bed, the mere satisfaction of temporarily enclosing it barely meeting his eyes.
He claps his hands together, shaking off any remains of dust before approaching you with curious eyes.
“How has your business been?” He settles down next to you, his gaze remaining on the occasional sparks the fire lets out. You’re at least grateful for the surge of warmth it gives off, eyes downcasting.
“Slow.” You mumble, “I-I’m not earning much these days….”
Your view drifts over to the tangles of thread woven through bundles of cloth, resting on the table where you presume dust is now starting to collect. The thought haunts you with more vivid images of a future line of fate you’re so close to taking a step upon, water harshly welling up in your eyes.
“Y/N…” Yoongi shifts closer to you, interlacing his fingers with yours. “We’ll be okay.”
“W-We can’t be sure of that.” Tears stream down your cheeks, a sharp quiver in your words. Your eyes stray over to the long incision running through his left eye, fingers reaching out to faintly trace it. Yoongi stills as you do, pain flashing through his eyes despite the wound having long been healed.
“Even after so long…” Yoongi whispers, a sad chuckle leaving his body. “I can still hear their screams.”
Your hand falters, eyes lowering. “The King has been all losing his patience as of lately.” Yoongi hums, “We already have nothing and now he wants to take that away too.”
No matter which direction you look at it, the sentence is absurd. You know better than to question the ways of the law, but the only word settling down for such treatment is simply cruel.
“The King is a bloody tyrant.” Yoongi spits out, your eyes growing wide, “He sits in his golden throne all day long and executes all the people that he’s left his scraps to.”
“Yoongi!” You harshly whisper, avertedly glancing around you. There’s a hardened look in his eyes from the gesture, voice growing louder.
“What? You know I’m right.” You tightly seal your lips, placing a gentle hand on his shoulder.
“You are.” You take another quick glance around, “But his ruling is something that is out of our control.”
Yoongi grows silent, annoyance still written over him. “For now, we need to find a way to earn more before-”
You falter, the words ‘before we’re next’ not being able to leave you.
Yoongi sighs, his tense form becoming relaxed. “You’re right. I’ll go to the officials tomorrow and see if I can join the military.”
Astonishment sparks within you from the resolution, lucidly recalling Yoongi’s firm declaration that he wouldn’t want anything to do with the King and his empire in the future. His motive of earning on his own ended up becoming more and more solid as the days spun by, his hands and face constantly covered in an increasing amount of soot.
“Y-You want to join the military?” It pays better, you know that. But it's something you never wanted to push onto him.
He nods, “We need the money now more than ever.” There’s a faint smile lingering on his lips, “And besides, weren’t you saying something about needing to save up for a wedding the other day?”
Crimson immediately flushes through your skin, swiveling around to grab a piece of fabric, “W-We don’t need to worry about that right now.”
Yoongi glances in your direction, softly smiling when you lay down the rough sheet onto the surface of the bed and smooth it down carefully with your hands. You then move to place one on the opposite bed, settling down with a content hum and shuffling closer to the fire he’s made.
He eventually joins you and lays his head against the rugged sheet, maneuvering himself to view your delicate features from across him. He observes the way your eyes have fluttered shut, content with the small space you have and the thinness of the blanket covering you, a single wish spurring out from the depths of his heart in that moment that quickly forms into a promise.
He would do anything in his capacity to protect you.
***
Despite the horrid display of power yesterday, the townspeople have fallen back into the routine of their daily duties. Yet it is still unnerving how many of them avert their gazes from the once flourishing stall, faint reminiscences of a sweating man unloading all of his chickens in anticipation that he comes home to a wife that longs to end her own suffering.
Now all that remains are broken shards of wood, marked with the edges of a familiar sword.
Yoongi filters through all the anxious and distressed faces, hidden underneath the large conical hat he dons. He sharply eyes the official that strolls through the road without a care in the world, plucking a handful of seeds from a stall that has a woman uneasily smiling in return. The display nearly makes him scoff, but he holds it back and struts closer to the official.
He’s dressed in light green robes and carries a stoic expression, different compared to the one that wields a sword and beckons to the King’s every word. The seeds slip from his palm at Yoongi’s sudden appearance, measly tossing them all away as the woman before him gingerly performs constructive bows.
His voice is low, “What do you want?”
“I wish to join the military.” Yoongi states, the words already tasting like acid. “To serve and yield to the beloved King.”
The man smirks, an action that has Yoongi’s eyes narrowing, “Are you aware of how the military works? We only look for those that are physically fit to exclusively serve His Majesty.”
“I work as a miner.” He clarifies, taking out his pickaxe, “I am more than capable of serving in the King’s army.”
The man lets out a hearty chuckle, still stuck in disbelief. “It takes a lot more than that, miner. Maybe try around next year when you’re more adequate to fight for His Majesty’s sake.”
Yoongi clenches his teeth, fists rounding. He’s made a promise to protect you and he didn’t come here to simply take no for an answer.
“I need to join the military now.” He grabs onto the official's delicate robes in a fit of rage, only for the man to push him away.
“Such insolence!” He spits, dusting off the parts of his hanbok that Yoongi’s managed to crease. He’s ready to unleash a storm of anger on the commoner man, but the straw hat on his head has withered onto the ground.
The official freezes.
The brewing anger vanishes within a flash, and he takes a handful of careful steps.
Yoongi glares at him, tugging himself up with a scowl lined on his lips. He takes a glance at his arms, luckily not having been injured due to the man’s reckless actions.
When Yoongi looks up and stares at him, the official staggers back.
“I-It can’t be….” He whispers, appearing to have seen the equivalent of a ghost. Yoongi raises a brow, deciding to grab his fallen pickaxe instead and hook it onto his belt.
The official latches onto his arm.
It happens within the blink of an eye. One moment he’s crossed with annoyance, utter fury fueling the way the official treats him like he’s a piece of dirt and rejecting all his efforts at earning more for the two of you. Another moment, the official has slapped a hand over his mouth, dragging him to a secluded corner where Yoongi sees more of them crowded together.
He’s thrown onto the ground harshly, a collection of gasps spiking around him. A blindfold is suddenly wrapped around his eyes, concealing his sight completely. He struggles at the layers of rope tied around his torso, desperately trying to free himself from the durable material.
“Let me go, you bastards!” He growls, but a pricking pain is sent to the back of his head, rendering him unconscious as he crumbles down to the ground.
***
Your brows are furrowed, the pin in your fingers delicately held. A small incision is made through the fabric, woven back to make another loop before you stretch out the thread and tighten it. You pluck the needle again, repeating your actions to create the long design.
“Excuse me?” A voice halts your actions, a young girl standing before you with a smile, “How much is this?”
She points to the piece you had created a couple of days ago, now sitting deflated on top of the wooden display. The incomplete fabric in your hands is instantly tossed away and you scramble to get closer to the potential customer.
“Five won.” You immediately reply. The girl nods and reaches into the small pouch located on the string tied to her skirt, rummaging for the amount. The coins are placed delicately within the palms of your hands and she thanks you with a smile.
Once she departs, you can only stare at the recycled pieces of metal that shine in your hands. A flood of joy overwhelms your senses, tightly fisting the coins. You can’t bring yourself not to glance around in anticipation, a smile blossoming on the corner of your lips and hastily closing your shop.
You know it isn’t enough to buy a piece of meat, or that it would barely cut through the costs of repairing an ancient crumbling roof, but your feet assume otherwise when you rush through the crowd of civilians strolling down the marketplace. Your smile only widens once you catch sight of Yoongi’s signature hat, currently in the midst of conversing with one of the officials.
Your curiosity grows the more you drift closer and peer in behind a shop, Yoongi’s convincing tone entering your ears.
“I am more than capable of serving in the King’s army.”
You tenderly smile, but a sharp laugh breaks into the air. “It takes a lot more than that, miner. Maybe try around next year when you’re more adequate to fight for His Majesty’s sake.”
Hurt flashes across your features, your eyes immediately moving to see Yoongi’s form stiffen. The ground crunches as you falter to intervene, taken aback when Yoongi suddenly advances and takes a hold of the man’s robes.
You flinch when Yoongi stumbles onto the ground, his hat falling off his black locks. The official sends him a look of disgust, his cheeks flushed.
“Such insolence!”
The official suddenly halts in his steps, eyes dazed as if he was stuck in a trance. “I-It can’t be….”
Yoongi appears as confused as you are, the man grabbing onto his arm in an instant. The confusion completely disappears once he pulls Yoongi towards him, silencing him immediately much to your own horror. He begins to drag him away and you rush forward, swooping up his fallen hat.
The streets are bustling with people as you chase after them, bumping into you with zero consideration. You end up stumbling, the dull beige hanbok you wear getting easily stained with grim. You pay no attention, simply scrambling back onto your feet and heading into the direction you last saw Yoongi. It turns out to be an empty ditch in between two abandoned stalls, a pang of panic running through you when you see Yoongi on the ground blindfolded and in the process of being tied up.
“Let go of me, you bastards!” You hear Yoongi roughly shout, a man with a large wooden block coming up behind him and smacking the back of his head. Yoongi slumps down onto the ground, not long before an ear piercing scream leaves your lips.
“YOONGI!” Tears stream down your eyes as you rush to desperately push the man dragging his limp body away. He retaliates by whirling around and hitting the side of your face with a harsh smack, your form falling onto the ground with a loud thud. You quickly glance up to see them tossing Yoongi into a cart, one with faded markings of green and gold.
The men hurriedly head into the cart alongside him, ushering the horse attached to begin moving. You immediately get back onto your feet, your hand barely grasping onto the fabric of the cart before it’s sent soaring forward.
“YOONGI!!” You run as fast as you can this time, tears clouding your sight. You fall down onto your knees when the cart is too far in sight, your form trembling as it vanishes into disappearance.
“Y-Yoongi…” You sob into your hands, a simple dirtied straw hat left beside you.
When he comes to, darkness is all Yoongi can see.
There are two people on either end of him, dragging his body against the ground. The faint chatter of voices sweep through the room, mere echoes entering his ringing ears. His breathing stills, the light air feeling different to the humid one he’s accustomed to.
The sound of rumbling perks his ears, right before he’s sent flying across the room. The restriction of vision is pulled away from his eyes and for the first time in a while, he can actually see what is around him.
It’s dark for being able to finally see, a shadow casted across from the silk curtains blocking out any forms of light coming from the two windows. There are four large pillars at each corner, spirals of deep green and bright gold decorated into the lavish and broad room. In front of him stands the very official he had gone to in search of work, but now he keeps his head down and gaze scattered.
He asks the question he’s been dying for an answer to, “Where am I?”
Among the six individuals in the room, no one speaks a word.
“What do you want from me?!” He roars, chest heaving. He doesn’t know how much time has passed, he doesn’t know if there’s daylight or moonlight outside, he doesn’t know if you’re okay, if you’ve already reached home by now only to discover that his abrupt absence.
The official he knows steps up, appearing scrutinized under his stare. He opens his mouth, only to close it a couple of times before spewing any words.
“What is your name?” He calmly questions, earning a twitch from Yoongi’s eye. The man appears startled from the gesture, backing away immediately.
Yoongi deeply exhales, “Min Yoongi.”
The men in the room exchange strange looks, something that just leaves Yoongi puzzled.
“And you said you are a miner?”
“Yes.” Yoongi grits, “If you brought me here just for an interrogation, I’m assuming you’ve mistaken me for someone else.”
Everyone in the room hesitates at that. They gather in a circle far from here, seemingly discussing something amongst themselves.
“What do we do now?” One dressed in black robes whispers, frightened.
“We can’t keep him in here forever.”
“But we have to! It’s the only way.”
Yoongi frowns, constantly tugging on the back of his hands roughly. The material of the rope is extremely steady, that’s for sure.
They all collectively turn around, Yoongi pausing his escape momentarily from all the stares.
The one adorned in black steps up, “We need to show you something.”
***
He’s led into a cavern, a spiral of stairs descending down. It had taken a considerable amount of convincing on his kidnappers part for him to follow them around aimlessly whilst still tied up, but Yoongi can’t merely shake off the strange feeling he’s been getting since he’s arrived.
The halls he’s passed by are extraordinarily decorated with rich coats of paint, gold ornaments hanging down from the ceilings and the floor polished as if it was made of fine marble. It’s not the same rustic grounds he’s walked countless times upon, something being utterly unusual of this place he’s been brought onto.
Once the various rounds of stairs are done and a large green door is presented before him, Yoongi catches the faint glimmer in everyone’s eyes. They appear hesitant, as if they were just on their way to committing a grave sin. After the tense moment, one of them slots a golden key into the lock and the door comes creaking open.
The very first thing Yoongi notices, is the sudden ominous atmosphere the room has taken. It’s almost borderline suffocating when one of the men tugs him in, a shining bronze crate laying in the centre of the room. He frowns at its appearance, noticing all of the men moving to stand around it in a circle.
“What is it?” He throws out, glancing at them avertedly. One of them raises his head, distraught heavily on his features.
“It is a tomb.” He mutters in a monotone voice, “For the late King.”
Yoongi’s eyes dramatically widen and two of them move forward to lift the top layer covering the bronze casket. His heartbeat begins to thud against his ribcage, sweat forming at the temples of his forehead.
“There has been an incident.” He continues, “An incident we have not let the public know of yet.”
The casket opens with a thud and Yoongi harshly sucks in a breath. There’s a young man lying lifelessly in the coffin, dressed in royal green robes with gold embellishment. His long blonde hair has been set free, falling down delicately onto his shoulders and to the centre of his forehead. He holds an agitated expression, as if being in the afterlife had yet to bring him some peace.
“H-He’s…” Yoongi sputters, breathing erratically.
The official hums, glancing at the King with somber eyes.
“Our beloved King Agust is no more….” He turns to Yoongi with a spark of hope, “but you, Sir Min Yoongi, are still alive.”
