#jongho fanfc

[atinytokki]

Dreamer

ii. Mermaid Song 

(Just a reminder that several of Jongho’s thoughts about blame and ways of coping in this work are not healthy!!)

Jongho hated thunderstorms. Where he lived, they were common, occurring several times per week. Ever since he was small, the flash of lightning that invaded his bedroom and the following loud thunderclap that shook the house sent him diving under the blankets with his heart pounding.

But the worst part of the thunderstorm was the fact that it forced Jongho to stay inside.

He had made a horrible mistake neglecting to buy rice yesterday, and compounded with the negative mood of the soldiers’ unexpected visit, the guilt of the incident weighed heavily on him from the moment he awoke.

It was a dreamless sleep— at least if he had dreamed, he didn’t remember it. Feeling unsettled in his stomach, he lay under the blankets for a few minutes just listening to the rain hit the roof tiles and trying to go back to sleep.

The sounds of Father moving around in the kitchen reached his ears and he stayed put until he surmised breakfast was made and finished and Father had moved into the smithy to begin the day’s work.

It had been too much to hope that there would be food waiting for him, though sometimes Father did so after a punishment in a gesture of apology. Today, he must be busy making new weapons, possibly to gain the favour of the Navy this time.

Jongho simply toasted some bread and took it back with him to his bedroom, huddled under the blankets where the thunder could not touch him.

He finished his schoolwork as quickly as he could, plowing on even through the subjects that didn’t come as easily to him so that he could flip through his book of sheet music and try to decipher it.

The book was a secret purchase, one he had lied to Father about, saying it was required for school and managing to get away with it. Lessons or an instrument to put the music to use could not be so easily obtained, however, so Jongho settled for turning through the pages and doing his best to follow along, putting names to symbols and tunes to words.

“A Mermaid’s Song,” he read in a whisper when he turned to the next page for him to scan. There was a short note above the staff that he read as well, curious that an origin story should appear where usually there were only performance instructions. “Sung to me by an old pirate, long ago taken by the sea.”

Excited at the prospect of discovering what to him was nothing short of treasure, Jongho quickly went about discerning the proper key and rhythm for the song before picking out the notes from their intervals and stringing them together one by one.

He was interrupted halfway through by the sound of the front door opening and Father entering the kitchen, and hurried to stow his music away underneath his mattress and check the time.

Somehow it was noon already, midday’s light hidden behind storm clouds, and there was still no rice for lunch. Wincing at the irritated huffs he could hear from his father, Jongho went to peek out his bedroom door at the sight of him trying to throw together a meal.

He stumbled dizzily over himself and had the bottle in his hand, so Jongho swallowed thickly, hoping he hadn’t been seen, gently closing the door and pulling on his shoes.

It was still pouring rain, but it didn’t matter. Jongho couldn’t stand waiting around at home with an angry father while it was his fault there would be no food on the table.

He would just have to go out and buy the rice anyway.

Careful to remain quiet, he unlatched his window and escaped through it, shivering the moment a particularly cold stream of water ran down his back from the eaves of the house. He was a fast runner, and the market wasn’t far. He may even be back before Father finished cooking.

It would have been preferable to bring a coat with him, but instead Jongho tried to run along the cliff face, hoping some overhanging rock would shield him from the bulk of the rain.

Under the tents in town he received some respite, and, shivering, counted out his coins to pay the rice merchant with and prepared to haul the stuffed bags home with no wagon and without letting them be soaked.

“Do you think it will let up soon?” He asked the seller with a small grain of hope.

The man shook his head and pulled his own cloak closer. “My bones tell me it’ll rain all day and most of the next.”

Frowning, Jongho shouldered the bag and sprinted back out into the storm. To make up for the rice weighing him down, he picked up the pace and ran faster, a decision he regretted as soon as his foot caught on a loose rock and he came crashing down face first.

Scrubbing away pained tears, he grit his teeth and rose to his feet again, thankful that the bag had not leaked and returning to the path in the hopes of arriving soon.

He had made a decision and he’d have to live with it. There was no sneaking in through the back this time, front door thrown open and rice bag deposited in the kitchen.

Father was sitting at the table and scowled when he saw his son soaking wet and dripping rain in the entryway, but his expression eased as he took notice of what had been brought.

Wordlessly, he rose to open the bag and cook some of the rice, adding it to the meat he’d already grilled while his son was out and Jongho waited patiently for the verdict.

Father may not be speaking to him at the moment, but he would address him soon, Jongho could tell.

When Father sat himself down with a steaming bowl and finished the long awaited first bite, he finally looked up at his son, still dripping in the doorway.

“Thank you,” he said simply, and Jongho’s eyes filled with happy tears.

Hurriedly he blinked them away and bowed his head respectfully before returning to his room to look for a towel.

There weren’t any clean ones. The housekeeping lady was still visiting the archipelago until next week.

Feeling the afternoon lull take him over with a sudden warmth, Jongho dropped his soaking clothes in a pile on the floor and wrapped himself in blankets instead, holding his eyes open as long as he could but inevitably drifting into sleep as his shivers subsided.

It was nearly nightfall when he awoke from what felt like a very well earned rest. Hungry and craving some attention, Jongho dressed in dry clothes and ventured into the main room to see a sight that spiked his sleep-addled brain into full awareness.

Father was sitting at the table with a scowl again, the bottle in his hand. An empty bottle.

It was too late to reconsider, so Jongho crept forward until those darkening eyes landed on him and narrowed.

“Where have you been all afternoon?” Father snapped, motioning to a bowl of stew that sat, uneaten, on the other end of the table. “I rang the bell for supper and you did not come. Is this how you treat your Father?”

Jongho’s mouth fell open as he glanced at the bowl, and he didn’t know what to say in his defence.

He had made him supper. Father hadn’t done that in months.

“I was… asleep…”

Father scoffed.

“Asleep? I thought to be merciful and show you forgiveness but here you are dragging your feet when you should be thanking me.”

“I’m sorry,” Jongho began to apologise. “I don’t mind eating it cold, I truly am thankful—”

“No,” Father snapped, getting to his feet and snatching up the bowl only to dump it out the window, washed away in the rain. “You missed your chance. To bed without supper, and I’ll see to it you don’t sneak out.”

Father grabbed him by the arm, a sharp pressure in his skin from where he dug in his nails, and marched him back to his bedroom, locking the window and then the door behind him.

Jongho sat, stunned for a moment before falling back on his bed.

He couldn’t believe he had let such an opportunity pass him by.

It was Father’s way of showing him kindness by making him food and waiting for him to claim it, and Jongho had slept through the bell, an ungrateful child.

There was nothing to do now except wait until morning and pray for a second chance.

Jongho had a small stash of oatcakes in a bag in his top drawer saved up for emergencies, and when he’d remained still for an hour and deemed it safe, he tiptoed to the dresser and pulled them out, eating silently.

It wasn’t the first instance of being banished to his bedroom, but the first time in awhile.

Once, Father had been tired of looking at him and locked Jongho in the smithy for an entire day with nothing to eat. He had to be grateful that wasn’t the case this time, and nor was a beating and chores.

Instead, he looked around his room and brushed the crumbs away, settling in to sleep so that at least he could forget his shame.

Sometimes the room was a refuge, sometimes it was a prison. He did not cry. This was his life, after all.

Jongho awoke the next morning sniffling and with a pesky sneeze that wouldn’t go away.

Just as the man in the market said, it was raining still— though less than yesterday— and Jongho had contracted a cold as a result of running around in it.

It was a slow morning again once he arose, and Father had been in the smithy an hour at least before Jongho emerged to make himself breakfast.

Careful to check frequently for Father, he continued poking through his sheet music for the rest of the morning, too wrapped up in the mermaid song to put it aside for school.

“Come beyond the silver flash,” he read aloud in a whisper. “Fear not the grave and sunken deep. Over tide and ocean splash, dream my song and love to keep.”

It gave him chills to sing it quietly with only the silent house and the rain as witness. The song was starting to sound as it was intended, a haunting melody to lure sailors to their deaths.

The sound of the back door sent Jongho scrambling to hide the sheet music in his room, and when the coast was clear to return to the table, he saw Father had left a note for him.

“Buy bread and vegetables,” Jongho read in a pout, trying not to sigh too loudly and pocketing the money that was left alongside the message. So it was another trip to the market.

At least the rain had let up, though cloudy skies remained.

Old woman Soomi happened to be at the bakery when Jongho was, and he greeted her politely with thanks for the recipe she had offered the other day.

“My pleasure, boy,” she smiled at him gently before glancing up at the overcast sky. “Hope all this rain doesn’t force the athletic tournament to be postponed.”

“Athletic tournament?” Jongho perked up at that, mind straying to those runners he’d seen on the beach the other day. They had appeared to be running just for sport, but the thought that it had been a training exercise for an even more exciting event was a pleasing one.

“Yes, the whole town will be turning up for it,” Soomi chuckled at his excitement. “Except you and your busy father. Always holed up in the smithy, you boys.”

“Right,” Jongho remembered, biting his lip as he considered his options. Father would never let him go, it would be better to give up the idea now before he dwelt on it too much. “I suppose I won’t be coming this year.”

“Well, if you’re interested then you should go,” Soomi snorted before bidding him farewell to saunter to another stall. “Life is more than survival, you know.”

Her words stayed with him all the way home.

Perhaps that was what life ought to be, but his life was survival first and foremost. It was an endless cycle of being beaten for being useless, and continuing to be useless because he was being beaten.

Soomi had always been kind to him, ever since she found him wandering in the market, a mere six year old lost and left behind by his father when he couldn’t keep up on the walk home by the cliffs. She’d pointed him in the right direction, that day and ever since.

The confidence to ask Father for permission to participate couldn’t have come from anywhere else.

“You think she pities you for being beaten?” Father said when he finally paused his pumping of the bellows. Jongho had done his best to explain that he wanted to go, hiding behind Soomi’s recommendation in the hopes that Father wouldn’t deny them both, but didn’t know how to respond to such a question.

Father shook his head with a sly smile and continued with his business. He knew Jongho was only inclined to ask at all because he felt supported in that request.

“Old Soomi has lived much longer than you or I, she knows the way of the world. Insolent boys have been punished for generations, Jongho. I was beaten as a delinquent youth and it taught me obedience and discipline. I didn’t wail and look for pity, I took the lesson to heart and became stronger for it. If you’re going to hide behind her skirts, you had better hope she actually wants to defend you.”

It was harsh but true. Even if Soomi knew what Jongho’s life was like at home, there was no certainty she would rescue him, and Jongho had to do everything in his power not to appear in need of rescue.

“Stronger…” Jongho whispered. Father’s speech wasn’t unusual, but the suddenness of it, the way of switching tacks to another conversation, betrayed his fears about something; being judged for beating his son despite how commonplace it was in their day and age.

Jongho had a choice; play it safe and abandon his desire, or use Father’s fear against him, risking greater reward but also greater punishment.

“I do want to be stronger,” Jongho admitted. “I don’t want to be seen as the boy who’s locked in the smithy every day. Let me train and run, not to escape punishment but because I want to be part of this town. I’ll only go after everything else is done.”

Father snorted and put down his sword.

His face was unreadable, just as it almost always was when Jongho was speaking to him of his own volition.

“Very well,” he said after a moment. “Represent the family well, or there will be consequences.”

Not that any of Father’s threats were empty, but this one had much greater impact.

Gulping, Jongho thanked him profusely and went down to the beach to have a run. He had a few hours until supper time and didn’t want to push his luck, even if he was vibrating from the excitement.

There were the cliffs, still a bit slippery from the deluge of days past, but waiting for him to sprint across. He passed his little palm tree and followed the curve of the coast, deviating slightly off the path to run on the beach.

Jongho kept a rhythmic pace with the tune in his head, the mermaid song for some reason instead of one of the many work songs also found in his book.

He slowed down as he reached the very tip of the peninsula, the easternmost point of the mainland, to take a few deep breaths and rest his burning legs. Despite all the lifting of rice bags and dragging of wagons he did back and forth, he didn’t often run as fast and as far as this.

The view was spectacular, and the sound of the wind and waves battering Ulso’s cliffs was striking.

Another sound carried over the ocean to him, and he wondered at first if it was his own voice singing the mermaid song aloud instead of silently like he’d thought he was doing.

The tune was unmistakable and the words could just barely be heard, but Jongho followed along until a cloud crossed the sun and snapped him out of it.

There was no one singing but him, and it was time to turn for home.

___

A/N: What a rollercoaster ride! The chapter took a long time mostly because I took it upon myself to actually write the song for some reason. More spinoff chapters on the way in the near future but let me know what you thought in the meantime, here or on Twitter (@tiny_tokki)

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