Basara [Prologue]
Title: Basara [Prologue]
Pairing: Multiple pairings
Genre: AU
Rating: PG-13
Summary: It's a game for hegemony.
Prologue
Chanyeol dodges an arrow which misses him by an inch. It is Yifan’s signal and Chanyeol welcomes it in full enthusiasm. It is the spark he has been impatiently waiting for so he immediately pulls his sword off its sheath and raises it above his head, high enough for his entire troop to see the gleam of the sunray against its side. It is his signal and Yifan welcomes it, too, in full enthusiasm.
There is no time wasted. Chanyeol points the tip of his sword at Yifan’s head, eyeing him from his distance, and the ground begins to tremble. Men on horses in full gear armor charge to the west while swordsmen from the east storm towards life or death.
Yifan raises his hand and a battalion of marksmen showers arrows over a throng of cavaliers, putting down the first of Chanyeol’s front lines dead. The subsequent line carries on, meeting Yifan’s melee soldiers and the sound of their blades clashing fills the open. Another round of concentrated arrow shower is released however Chanyeol’s third line wittily evades them by splitting the group in complete half, the arrows hitting the soil, a futile attempt for a long range offensive. The Mujeon soldiers then join the second line in the battlefield.
One of Chanyeol’s men comes to his side and whispers something but before he gets the whole story, he hears Yifan, with one of his messengers next to him, shout.
“Gyeomshin! Retreat immediately! All of you retreat!”
Chanyeol hisses in disappointment. The show is just about to begin but he is left with no choice but to do the same.
~ א ~
Kai in his full military uniform stands at the edge of a barbican, the cool strong breeze hitting his face. The view particularly from the highest of his archery towers is one of his favorites: the vastness of his city, the liveliness of his people, the fruit of his conquests-the reward of the Heavens to him for upholding his virtues.
At the far end of the view he can see a mountain range, a natural barrier that separates Sugil from Deokcheon, a reminder of his distance not only from his old self but to the things that he used to have, the people he used to love. People I used to love. Funny, he thinks. He hears his breath and resolves that it is too early for absolute conclusions.
Kai checks on the direction of his shadow and decides it is time for the court room session.
Inside the hall are eleven seats around a circular table. All but two are filled, the center, which is his, and Minseok’s.
“Where is Minseok?” Kai asks as he takes his place. He scans through his papers and waits for an answer but no one speaks. “Where is he?” he repeats, this time more firmly.
“I am here, my lord,” Minseok, who is in his full military gear like the rest of the men inside the hall, walks cockily towards Kai.
“Where have you been?” Kai speaks calmly though expressing a small hint of disgust at the latecomer.
Minseok halts and bows his head, “I sincerely apologize for I was slow. It took me time to confirm news which you need to know.” At that point, he nears Kai and hands him a scroll. Kai unties the knot and opens the parchment. At every word he reads, Kai’s face gradually changes from poised to anxious.
Minseok takes his seat as Kai composes himself and speaks, “We change the order of today’s agenda. Let’s begin with the military focus in the west.”
~ א ~
Huang Zitao takes a careful sip from his teacup. The taste silences him as if distinguishing the flavors in each part of his tongue. It brings him to a smile. “This is good. Where did you get this?” He asks Yixing who sits across the mahogany table.
Yixing reaches for his cup, carefully holding his loose gilded sleeves to not touch the plates, and slowly takes a sip of the drink before he speaks. “From the East, Your Highness.”
Zitao nods at him.
“Did you like it, Your Highness?” Yixing asks, still holding the cup in his hands.
“Don’t be formal and stop calling me ‘Your Highness’. I’m okay with my first name,” Zitao humbly tells his company. He slowly puts down his cup and takes a biscuit, savoring how it slowly melts in his mouth. For the second time he smiles and asks, “Where did you get this?”
“From the East, too, uhm… Z-zitao,” Yixing reponds
“That’s cute.”
Yixing throws him a look of mixed disgust (for himself at least) and extreme shame, apparent when he flushes, which brings Zitao to crack into laughter. When he finally calms down, he takes another piece of butterscotch.
“So,” Zitao pulls his lapels to straighten it, “How are the eastern states doing by the way?”
“I heard Chanyeol and Yifan’s up for another skirmish today,” Yixing replies promptly. “But, uhm, Zitao,” Yixing’s face cringes, drowning the mention of the name before he continues. “Let’s keep status quo. We’re not yet in the position for an offensive or to take this as an advantage at the very least.”
Zitao nods at him approvingly. He takes his cup again but just then a guard rushes to the room, unintentionally slamming the doors against the wall causing the two to jerk awkwardly from their seats.
“What in the actual sanity are you doing?” Yixing rises, flustered and mad, pointing at the guard who throws himself to the floor, hands on the ground, head atop it.
“I apologize, my lord and Your Majesty,” the guard slowly raises his head. “But I just got information coming from the East.”
The guard’s voice trembles as he speaks. Zitao loses grip of his teacup.
~ א ~
Sehun pulls the arrow, squinting for the target, and the bow squeaks as the string is drawn back. One. Two. Three. A swish joins for a swift moment the noise of the rustling leaves and the flowing of the fresh spring a few meters away from where he stood. The head hits the red circular mark on a round wooden board. Bullseye.
Sehun is about to pull another arrow when he hears applause from the far right side.
“Sharp and flawless, as always,”
A young man in a black and crimson royal ceremonial court dress embroidered with gold lilies arrives, the familiar face partially hidden behind chains of beads hanging from the board of the crown.
“Luhan, what brought you here?” Sehun drops his bow and faces the other monarch.
Luhan takes off his crown, fully revealing his usual calm and composed face, and carefully hands it over to his personal attendant. “Sehun, can you teach me archery?”
The request somehow catches Sehun unprepared. “B-but I’m all sweaty.”
“Don’t worry I won’t mind,” Luhan tells Sehun as he picks up a bow and arrow and assumes a wrong stance.
“W-wait! You’re doing it wrong and you’re in your court dress, are you sure-”
“You perhaps do not want to teach me,” Luhan pouts, disappointment apparent in his tone. Sehun tries his best to ignore but he gives up knowing how his attempt would fail in the end anyway.
Sehun stands behind Luhan and fixes the former’s stance, body perpendicular to their target and feet placed shoulder-width apart. He holds the duke’s hands and guides it, attaching the nock to the string. Sehun whispers the instructions which send Luhan to an awkward but obvious blush.
“If you do that, I might miss the target,” Luhan mumbles. Sehun just smirks. “Have you heard of the news?” He asks, changing the topic while he raises the bow and draws it near to Luhan’s face.
“What is it about?” Luhan asks back, tightening his grip on the bow.
“The King of Sangya,” Sehun begins while making sure their elbows are at the right angle. He carries on with the news, simultaneously removing Luhan’s hold on the notch and releases the arrow. It miraculously hits the right red spot on the board but the look on Luhan’s face does not show joy or amusement. They fall silent and they only hear the rustling of the leaves and the flow of the fresh spring a few meters away from where they stood.
~ א ~
Suho is back to the royal hall, quiet and deep in thought. He carefully takes his seat and lingers his eyes-a ceiling adorned with gold and silver chandeliers hanging feet away from the marble floor, a moderate amount of sunlight translucently permeating through its walls of church windows and clerestory, an aisle of scarlet carpets extending from the ornate burgundy door to his throne.
His throne where he is seated. A silver and red cathedra, splendid and regal, seat of his lineage, the perfect sole image of his blood. It feels sweet, wonderful, and powerful all at the same time. He inhales plain cold autumn air filling his nostrils and sighs as if letting go of an overwhelming sensation. Good morning, he greets himself.
Just then, the door swings open. A lone figure appears, its silhouette forming against the light, standing at the end of the aisle. He hastily closes the door back shut.
“Kyungsoo,” Suho speaks up, somehow surprised at the sudden appearance of his man before him. “What brings you to my throne room at this early hour of the day?”
Kyungsoo courteously kneels feet away from Suho, urgency etched across his face.
“My apologies, my lord, but the news I bring is of high importance.”
“Tell me then,” there is a mixture of excitement, anxiety, and nervousness in Suho’s tone.
“The King of Sangya,” Kyungsoo speaks followed by a sigh.
“Lord Byun Baekhyun is dead.”
Next >>
Additinal A/Ns:
1. Hi guys. I need feedback so I'll get the idea if I have to continue this fic. If this is confusing, tell me. If not, concrit please? Thanks. :)
2. Uhm map from previous post which includes the character profiles, too). Reposting the link here.
3. Sorry for grammar boo-boos. English is not my native language and I don't have a quick beta. :(
Pairing: Multiple pairings
Genre: AU
Rating: PG-13
Summary: It's a game for hegemony.
Prologue
Chanyeol dodges an arrow which misses him by an inch. It is Yifan’s signal and Chanyeol welcomes it in full enthusiasm. It is the spark he has been impatiently waiting for so he immediately pulls his sword off its sheath and raises it above his head, high enough for his entire troop to see the gleam of the sunray against its side. It is his signal and Yifan welcomes it, too, in full enthusiasm.
There is no time wasted. Chanyeol points the tip of his sword at Yifan’s head, eyeing him from his distance, and the ground begins to tremble. Men on horses in full gear armor charge to the west while swordsmen from the east storm towards life or death.
Yifan raises his hand and a battalion of marksmen showers arrows over a throng of cavaliers, putting down the first of Chanyeol’s front lines dead. The subsequent line carries on, meeting Yifan’s melee soldiers and the sound of their blades clashing fills the open. Another round of concentrated arrow shower is released however Chanyeol’s third line wittily evades them by splitting the group in complete half, the arrows hitting the soil, a futile attempt for a long range offensive. The Mujeon soldiers then join the second line in the battlefield.
One of Chanyeol’s men comes to his side and whispers something but before he gets the whole story, he hears Yifan, with one of his messengers next to him, shout.
“Gyeomshin! Retreat immediately! All of you retreat!”
Chanyeol hisses in disappointment. The show is just about to begin but he is left with no choice but to do the same.
~ א ~
Kai in his full military uniform stands at the edge of a barbican, the cool strong breeze hitting his face. The view particularly from the highest of his archery towers is one of his favorites: the vastness of his city, the liveliness of his people, the fruit of his conquests-the reward of the Heavens to him for upholding his virtues.
At the far end of the view he can see a mountain range, a natural barrier that separates Sugil from Deokcheon, a reminder of his distance not only from his old self but to the things that he used to have, the people he used to love. People I used to love. Funny, he thinks. He hears his breath and resolves that it is too early for absolute conclusions.
Kai checks on the direction of his shadow and decides it is time for the court room session.
Inside the hall are eleven seats around a circular table. All but two are filled, the center, which is his, and Minseok’s.
“Where is Minseok?” Kai asks as he takes his place. He scans through his papers and waits for an answer but no one speaks. “Where is he?” he repeats, this time more firmly.
“I am here, my lord,” Minseok, who is in his full military gear like the rest of the men inside the hall, walks cockily towards Kai.
“Where have you been?” Kai speaks calmly though expressing a small hint of disgust at the latecomer.
Minseok halts and bows his head, “I sincerely apologize for I was slow. It took me time to confirm news which you need to know.” At that point, he nears Kai and hands him a scroll. Kai unties the knot and opens the parchment. At every word he reads, Kai’s face gradually changes from poised to anxious.
Minseok takes his seat as Kai composes himself and speaks, “We change the order of today’s agenda. Let’s begin with the military focus in the west.”
~ א ~
Huang Zitao takes a careful sip from his teacup. The taste silences him as if distinguishing the flavors in each part of his tongue. It brings him to a smile. “This is good. Where did you get this?” He asks Yixing who sits across the mahogany table.
Yixing reaches for his cup, carefully holding his loose gilded sleeves to not touch the plates, and slowly takes a sip of the drink before he speaks. “From the East, Your Highness.”
Zitao nods at him.
“Did you like it, Your Highness?” Yixing asks, still holding the cup in his hands.
“Don’t be formal and stop calling me ‘Your Highness’. I’m okay with my first name,” Zitao humbly tells his company. He slowly puts down his cup and takes a biscuit, savoring how it slowly melts in his mouth. For the second time he smiles and asks, “Where did you get this?”
“From the East, too, uhm… Z-zitao,” Yixing reponds
“That’s cute.”
Yixing throws him a look of mixed disgust (for himself at least) and extreme shame, apparent when he flushes, which brings Zitao to crack into laughter. When he finally calms down, he takes another piece of butterscotch.
“So,” Zitao pulls his lapels to straighten it, “How are the eastern states doing by the way?”
“I heard Chanyeol and Yifan’s up for another skirmish today,” Yixing replies promptly. “But, uhm, Zitao,” Yixing’s face cringes, drowning the mention of the name before he continues. “Let’s keep status quo. We’re not yet in the position for an offensive or to take this as an advantage at the very least.”
Zitao nods at him approvingly. He takes his cup again but just then a guard rushes to the room, unintentionally slamming the doors against the wall causing the two to jerk awkwardly from their seats.
“What in the actual sanity are you doing?” Yixing rises, flustered and mad, pointing at the guard who throws himself to the floor, hands on the ground, head atop it.
“I apologize, my lord and Your Majesty,” the guard slowly raises his head. “But I just got information coming from the East.”
The guard’s voice trembles as he speaks. Zitao loses grip of his teacup.
~ א ~
Sehun pulls the arrow, squinting for the target, and the bow squeaks as the string is drawn back. One. Two. Three. A swish joins for a swift moment the noise of the rustling leaves and the flowing of the fresh spring a few meters away from where he stood. The head hits the red circular mark on a round wooden board. Bullseye.
Sehun is about to pull another arrow when he hears applause from the far right side.
“Sharp and flawless, as always,”
A young man in a black and crimson royal ceremonial court dress embroidered with gold lilies arrives, the familiar face partially hidden behind chains of beads hanging from the board of the crown.
“Luhan, what brought you here?” Sehun drops his bow and faces the other monarch.
Luhan takes off his crown, fully revealing his usual calm and composed face, and carefully hands it over to his personal attendant. “Sehun, can you teach me archery?”
The request somehow catches Sehun unprepared. “B-but I’m all sweaty.”
“Don’t worry I won’t mind,” Luhan tells Sehun as he picks up a bow and arrow and assumes a wrong stance.
“W-wait! You’re doing it wrong and you’re in your court dress, are you sure-”
“You perhaps do not want to teach me,” Luhan pouts, disappointment apparent in his tone. Sehun tries his best to ignore but he gives up knowing how his attempt would fail in the end anyway.
Sehun stands behind Luhan and fixes the former’s stance, body perpendicular to their target and feet placed shoulder-width apart. He holds the duke’s hands and guides it, attaching the nock to the string. Sehun whispers the instructions which send Luhan to an awkward but obvious blush.
“If you do that, I might miss the target,” Luhan mumbles. Sehun just smirks. “Have you heard of the news?” He asks, changing the topic while he raises the bow and draws it near to Luhan’s face.
“What is it about?” Luhan asks back, tightening his grip on the bow.
“The King of Sangya,” Sehun begins while making sure their elbows are at the right angle. He carries on with the news, simultaneously removing Luhan’s hold on the notch and releases the arrow. It miraculously hits the right red spot on the board but the look on Luhan’s face does not show joy or amusement. They fall silent and they only hear the rustling of the leaves and the flow of the fresh spring a few meters away from where they stood.
~ א ~
Suho is back to the royal hall, quiet and deep in thought. He carefully takes his seat and lingers his eyes-a ceiling adorned with gold and silver chandeliers hanging feet away from the marble floor, a moderate amount of sunlight translucently permeating through its walls of church windows and clerestory, an aisle of scarlet carpets extending from the ornate burgundy door to his throne.
His throne where he is seated. A silver and red cathedra, splendid and regal, seat of his lineage, the perfect sole image of his blood. It feels sweet, wonderful, and powerful all at the same time. He inhales plain cold autumn air filling his nostrils and sighs as if letting go of an overwhelming sensation. Good morning, he greets himself.
Just then, the door swings open. A lone figure appears, its silhouette forming against the light, standing at the end of the aisle. He hastily closes the door back shut.
“Kyungsoo,” Suho speaks up, somehow surprised at the sudden appearance of his man before him. “What brings you to my throne room at this early hour of the day?”
Kyungsoo courteously kneels feet away from Suho, urgency etched across his face.
“My apologies, my lord, but the news I bring is of high importance.”
“Tell me then,” there is a mixture of excitement, anxiety, and nervousness in Suho’s tone.
“The King of Sangya,” Kyungsoo speaks followed by a sigh.
“Lord Byun Baekhyun is dead.”
Next >>
Additinal A/Ns:
1. Hi guys. I need feedback so I'll get the idea if I have to continue this fic. If this is confusing, tell me. If not, concrit please? Thanks. :)
2. Uhm map from previous post which includes the character profiles, too). Reposting the link here.
3. Sorry for grammar boo-boos. English is not my native language and I don't have a quick beta. :(