#oliyong.dearest

[cherr-e]

𝐃𝐄𝐀𝐑𝐄𝐒𝐓 | based in 18th century Korea - JOSEON.

❝ You were never meant to live for love, ranks and hierarchy mattered the most. Prince Lee Taeyong was at the top of the hierarchy, he was the youngest out of four brothers. He knew he was not made for the throne and lived his life away from the epicentre of Joseon, in peace with his poems and music. Yet the son of his father’s respected friend peaks his interest in what he would later on define as love. ❞

DISCLAIMER ⚠️ this is an alternate universe of the ship OLIYONG. this is a piece of fiction, and does not refer to any location or individual throughout this mini-series from start to finish. this is not a historical or documentary work and is purely made for entertainment.

[...] means a soundtrack that would sound nice in the scene, similar to a movie. 

masterlist | episode one:- we’ve become part of the past.

The petals of cherry blossoms swayed underneath the hands of the wind, it was the end of another spring which meant Prince Taeyong had to attend to his seasonal visits at the main palace. The place where he spent most of his childhood and teen years, trapped and lost. His brothers busy competing to become better than the other and that was why he had now resided to the countryside. Away from his royal duties, and only payed respect to his father. 

A few days and he’d be home again, busy humming along to his poems and music while he played to the young children of the small village he resided in. “How long will you stay here?” His right-wing man, Taeil, spoke up after throwing back a shot of rice wine from the local bar they frequented in Hanyang - the capital of Joseon. “I don’t really know, probably for two days. There’s nothing interesting about my family’s lives. Same old shit, brothers fighting over who’s the better royal. Don’t even get me started on their wives.” Taeyong rolled his eyes at the thought of those evil gossipers. They probably wondered why he wasn’t wed yet, making up rumours that he would bed men of the countryside. 

Well he did have an open opinion towards love, but at the same time believed love was for the weak. It was something his family would use against him, if he ever felt that emotion begin to wrap its fingers around his mind - he would push it to the ends of the earth and forget it in his tattered books. “You’re dozing off again.” Taeil munched on the anju served with the alcohol - “I’m already thinking of heading home.” Taeyong sighed, his eyes shining with sadness and regret. This was how it was with every seasonal visit, he was reminded of how boring his life was. A life many strived for, but he felt like his opinions did not align with society. Not anymore at least. 

An hour had passed, Taeil taking it slow with his alcohol yet his superior had downed two bottles of rice wine and soju, forgetting about the busy day ahead of him tomorrow. The royal prince looked sad whenever he was drunk, the walls he built around himself after all these years tumbled after a sip of alcohol. A lost young frail boy, with big shining eyes that yearned for a new life - his face was clean-shaven, sparse from any form of facial hair. He looked more like a young naive boy despite being in his twenties and having his fair share of problems.

[ ... lover’s first ]

“Let’s head back to the palace Taeil-ssi.” Taeyong slurred, cheeks pink and puffy. “I’ll pay for the alcohol. Wait for me at the entrance.” Moon Taeil smiled softly while his friend scurried off to where he would stand, but the sound of a loud performance had dragged his tired body towards the buzz of the street. Like a moth to a flame. He was enraptured by the sounds of Hanyang at night, lost in the midst of crowds, he was normal and he probably looked like a useless drunkard to others. It was the buzz of the night that drove Taeyong’s adrenaline, he swam in the crowd. Wind hitting his face as the cold night began to dance between the people. Soon, droplets of rain had fallen on his face - pitter patter they fell. Droplets became a light drizzle, some of the crowds ran to seek shelter and the business men sprinted to protect their stands from getting wet. 

Being lost in the crowds brought euphoria to his melancholic soul, losing concentration of reality lead to him slipping on the wet floor and bumping into a taller large build. Papers and brushes scattered across the ground, soaking in the water from the skies. Taeyong helped pick up the mess he created, apologising quickly as he repeated “sorry” a billion times. The artist grinned, finding the younger man’s drunk state slightly amusing. 

“You draw well.” He handed the artist the last painting. “Thank you.” The man had a deeper voice, slightly rough with an accent hidden at the end of the two words he spoke. “You sound like you’re not from Hanyang.” Taeyong pointed out, the rain still continuing its assault on the strangers “you could say that.” He smiled again, this time it made Taeyong’s heart pick up its pace. 

The stranger was a very handsome man, who looked to be in his mid twenties, the tan skin and accent meant he was probably from a place further east but the hanbok he wore looked to be made of the finest of materials imported from China and made by well-known tailors who served the rich. It was dark purple, the sleeves and trousers black - disagreeing with the season that had just recently arrived in Joseon. Taeyong pondered, the artist looked like someone who did not conform to society as the colours he wore did not represent summer at all. Despite the smile and the kind demeanour the stranger had shown off to the Prince, sad souls recognised one another because the sleepless nights lay beneath their eyes, and the colours of summer did not break their cries.

Kim Minjae grabbed his soaked painting from the delicate hands of the drunkard in front of him. The drawings were most likely ruined, but it wasn’t like anyone was going to view his work - he was the son of one of the highest ranking war generals in the country, he was trained to battle for the worse. Not to paint foolish moments he found appealing that weakened a part of his soul, he hated being talented in the arts.

“I’ll be off then.” Minjae chuckled, and Taeyong nodded his head - he wanted to ask for the artists’ name, but he kept quite and stepped aside. “It was nice meeting you Mr Drunkard.” He spoke one last time, and Taeyong watched as the man drowned in the ambiance of the night. The rain still continued, and Taeyong was soaking wet yet he felt very high. That buzz of adrenaline, it was still swimming in his bloodstream, his heart reached to his ears, was it excitement? Curiosity because to that tall man? The rain and alcohol? 

He was hoping the reason for his body to be so awake was of something stupid and not because of that broken artist. The last thing he needed were feelings for a sorrowful stranger. 

“I heard the servants watched you come in late last night.” Minjae halted at the sound of his father’s stern lifeless voice. He cleared his throat and said, “I went out for some air and got carried away a little bit,” he remembered the table manners he had learnt a few months back. Never eat when conversing with someone older than you. 

“Did you draw anything?” General Kim picked up rice with his chopsticks and chewed on it slowly. He never looked his son in the eye ever, Minjae did not know why, He preferred looking at nature instead of his stupid useless son. “No father. I haven’t drawn in a long time.” 

His father grunted in acknowledgement: “well done.” They sat in silence, the sound of utensils hitting against the expensive bowls and plates. Breakfast always consisted of a silent father, Minjae still did not why his father had shown up a few years back in the countryside he grew up in. The expensive clothing, the sleek black horse and the small army that were behind his father - it was a different world to Minjae then, he was used to ragged clothes, playing with the country kids and singing along to their lullabies, drawing whatever he found pretty and appreciating small things. That life was over now, and he had a new future - a better one. 

“His Majesty, the King would like to meet you today, he wants to see how well you fair off on the battlefield and has invited us to sparring with his sons. All four of them. Do well.” General Kim stood up from the table, the servants bowing as he passed by them. Kim Minjae stopped chewing, and threw his chopsticks on the table - not a single goodbye, like its always been. 

The journey to the palace was slightly embarrassing, he wore the finest of clothes his father had brought him - a light blue hanbok with white trousers and white sleeves. He looked soft, happy even from the exterior which only mattered to the king. The commoners marvelled at his looks, he was slightly shy at the compliments and the fawning girls. He was not used to this, he hated being underneath the spotlight - the centre of the crowd. 

Now his father and Minjae bowed down to the King in front of them, he wore his red and golden robes and smiled at the sight of Minjae. “He looks strong Manshik-ssi.” The King had a hoarse voice, like death was just around the corner, a long grey beard that reached mid-way to his neck was adorned on his face, wrinkled skin that had aged over the years. 

Minjae lifted his head up after the King had ordered him to and he gave a smile, “it’s a pleasure to meet you, your Majesty.” The King chuckled, and turned to his sons. “These are my four sons, if I see you worthy today you may be defending Joseon with them one day.” He spoke proudly, and waited for the warrior to introduce himself.

Taeyong was gobsmacked, annoyed maybe, he wanted to curse the skies. Scream even but he was curious, “It’s a pleasure to meet you all your Royal Highnesses, my name is Kim Minjae and one day I wish to be your loyal consort and friend in the nearby future.” 

[ ... the artists’ lullaby ]

“Minjae. Kim Minjae was the artists’ name,” the professor turned to his students after writing up the name on the large chalkboard. “He was one of the greatest artists of the Joseon period, you could even say he was ahead of his time with the portraits and drawings of nature. Instead of following fellow artists, with inspiration from the Chinese, his work resembled European art.”

He clicked his projector remote and showed the countless pieces that Minjae hated, “historians say that he hated his art so much after becoming rich, and despised whoever viewed his art. Apart from one, the fourth prince and son of King Do-hun. Lee Taeyong. Some say they were close friends while others believed they were lovers, the poems Taeyong wrote after he had met Minjae were self-explanatory.” The class chuckled, and the professor smiled. 

Minjae and Taeyong’s love had become part of history.