Chapter Text
MINHO
Minho was born the second son to an ailing queen and an aging king of a minor coastal kingdom. His mother died soon after his birth, her death ending a politically important alliance between her former kingdom and the one she’d married into.
This proved to be unfortunate, for not long after the queen’s death, an evil enchanter rose an army and moved against the king. The army was crushed only with great difficulty. The enchanter himself vanished after his army’s defeat and did not return. His mysterious absence caused a great tide of fear to swell among the citizenry.
In order to shore up the kingdom’s security situation, the grief-stricken king promised his newborn son in marriage to an infant prince of a richer southern realm. To ensure goodwill between the two new allies, and to allow Minho to become accustomed to the land that would one day become his home, it was arranged that he would spend every summer in the castle of his future husband.
These yearly visits began when the two little princes were five years of age. They did not go well at first, for neither had any liking for the other. Minho adored playing with toy soldiers, learning the very basics of hand-to-hand combat and rolling in the mud. Kibum, his betrothed, preferred dolls, sewing lessons and hounding the castle cooks for scraps of cake. None of their interests coincided.
The only activity they enjoyed doing together was play-wrestling with rather more vigor than their parents would have liked. As a child, Minho felt it very unfair that delicate, pretty little Kibum would always without fail trounce him and leave him with bruises for weeks after these matches. It stung his pride that Kibum neither knew nor cared about learning how to punch properly, and yet once managed to knock one of Minho’s teeth out after swinging his little fist into Minho’s face.
Year after year went by and the animosity between then simmered. Each child resented the summer’s coming, and each could do nothing to prevent it.
As they grew older, their dislike turned to pranks, taunts and childish fights. Minho left spiders in Kibum’s sheets, only to scream later upon discovering that Kibum had returned the spiders to Minho’s own bed. Kibum found the secret fort Minho liked to play siege in and destroyed it by gluing frilly pink lace everywhere. They drove their parents to tears of frustration one particularly terrible night when ten-year-old Minho ‘accidentally’ knocked a candle onto Kibum at a fancy banquet, only to have Kibum screech with rage and bite him in return.
In the end, Minho was never quite sure how to pinpoint exactly when this changed. Maybe it was a gradual process of maturity overcoming ingrained childish dislike. Maybe it was when Kibum finally swallowed his pride at fourteen and asked Minho for help in the archery lessons he was forced to take as part of his princely upbringing. Maybe it was the way Minho started noticing at sixteen how distractingly Kibum’s leggings clung to his ass and thighs during their riding lessons. Or maybe it happened when Minho found himself irrationally annoyed every time seventeen-year-old Kibum flirted shamelessly with the castle guards.
Maybe it happened when they were eighteen, and Minho’s first sight of Kibum for the summer was that of him curled up on a windowsill reading a book, every line of his face lovelier than anything Minho had ever seen before. Maybe it was the way Minho’s heart raced at the sight, especially when Kibum lifted his head to smile in greeting and shyly gestured for Minho to sit down beside him.
Maybe it happened when they were nineteen and kissed for the first time, awkward and hesitant beneath one of the flowering trees in the castle gardens. It was certainly only then that Minho became aware of the change, of how he’d abandoned all pretense of you’re so annoying, go the fuck away to you’re so perfect, let me hold you in my arms forever.
In any case, it did not particularly matter when it happened. By the summer of their twentieth year, Minho was fully ready to admit that he had fallen truly, deeply and irrevocably in love with the bane of his childhood existence.
~~~
He showed his love in every way he could. As such, a day spent together might go as follows:
Minho woke early in the morning to go for a long run. He generally ran alone, or perhaps with one or two of the castle guards he was friendly with. After this was done, he went straight to the weapons fields to practice his archery, fencing and hand-to-hand combat. It was expected that every member of a royal family understand the arts of combat, as they might one day need to defend their own lives against assassins.
Kibum was supposed to join him at this weapons practice each day, but in truth only showed up perhaps twice a week or so. Minho’s betrothed deeply hated anything involving physical exercise, and much to his mother the queen’s consternation, found military matters boring in the extreme. Nor did he like rising early; if he could manage it, Kibum would laze about in bed 'til nearly noon.
Minho did not mind this; he found it cute. After his morning weapons practice, he would talk the castle cooks into making Kibum’s favorite breakfast foods and would often bring Kibum breakfast in bed. They fed each other and enjoyed tea in the late morning sunlight, basking in each other’s company.
Later, they might wander through the gardens, or lay in warm fields of grass and cloud-watch. If it happened to rain, they would curl up together in the library and read each other tales of legends from long ago. Minho liked the stories of warrior heroes who battled dragons and fought great wars to defend the honor of their true love. Kibum preferred tales of magical enchantments and strange occurrences, of genies and trickster foxes, clever thieves and plot twists.
They could not, of course, ignore their duties as princes, particularly since Kibum was the heir to his mother’s country. When affairs of state grew too troublesome, Minho distracted Kibum from worrying overmuch about political concerns by sweeping him up in his arms and carrying him to bed, whereupon they occupied each other for long periods of time with touches and kisses and breathless laughter.
And each day, Minho fell a little more in love.
~~~
As the end of that summer neared, Minho brought up the subject of their impending marriage with Kibum. They were to be wed at some point in their lives, after all, why delay it now that neither harbored resentment towards the other any longer?
Kibum’s eyes went wide with panic at the suggestion, but the more Minho discussed the idea, the more he seemed to accept it. In the end, Kibum agreed that they ought to inform their parents that the wedding would be held next summer.
Minho spent the week after their discussion drowning in joy. It would be painful indeed to leave his home and come to live with Kibum, but Minho felt ready to do so and was more than eager to spend his life with the prince he’d come to love.
The day before Minho’s entourage was scheduled to depart, however, Kibum broke Minho’s heart.
It happened in an instant, a mere second ruining what years had spent building. Minho turned a corner of the castle, intending to find Kibum and ask him if he wished to go walking in the gardens when he came across Kibum and a minor court noble kissing feverishly. The noble had Kibum pressed up against a wall, and Kibum’s hands were skillfully unfastening his secret lover’s trousers as he moaned openly into the man’s mouth.
The couple broke apart almost immediately, but Minho fled, unable to stand the sight of them. He passed the rest of the day locked in his rooms, chest tight and eyes burning. Kibum came to knock on his door and offer desperate excuses, but Minho did not listen. There was no excuse that could soothe the pain in his heart.
It was no wonder Kibum had been reluctant about the idea of marrying as soon as possible.
~~~
Minho departed from the castle early that next morning. He rode in a carriage with his father and did not answer the king’s concerned questions about his reddened eyes and miserable silence.
(Kibum had not been part of the farewell party. Minho wasn’t sure if his absence was more painful than his presence might have been.)
He closed his eyes and sought to sleep for the long hours it would take their entourage to pass through the city and into the thick forests beyond.
~~~
The attack came without warning.
One minute, the procession was making its way down the dark path at the heart of the wild, thick forest, two weeks journey away from the southern city at the slow carriage pace. The next, an animal, which resembled a bat but was a dozen times larger, screeched angrily as it slaughtered horsemen, guards and servants.
Minho ordered his father to stay put and leapt from their carriage, sword in hand. He ran to assist the guards in fighting off the creature. The bat screamed at the sight of him and proceeded to tear the captain of the guards in two, right before Minho’s horrified eyes.
The fight was short. The creature had attacked too suddenly for the guards to mount an adequate defense, and its skill was considerable. In less than a minute, Minho and two other surviving guards were the only ones left to draw sword and arrow against the thing.
Then the creature caught Minho’s arm in one of its mighty talons and flung him against a nearby tree. Minho’s head cracked against the tree trunk, and he blacked out.
~~~
Minho woke in a garden. He felt very strange.
A moment later, the reason why became inescapably apparent. He had wings instead of arms and feathers instead of hair. His neck was long and arched, his face small and beaked, and when he walked, he waddled on webbed feet.
“Figured it out yet, sweet prince?” came a low and lazy voice from just behind him. “How do you like being a swan?”
Minho turned around and nearly fell over from the effort. A man of indeterminate age stood there, dressed in colorful, styled garments that were the fashions of a decade long past. His features were neither plain nor handsome, but forgettably in-between. His eyes were the most noteworthy part of his countenance, for they flashed and gleamed with some nefarious inner fire.
“I suppose I should introduce myself,” the man continued, in the same low and lazy drawl. “I've abandoned the name I was born with, but you may call me Rothbart. I'll need another name soon, of course, when I acquire your father’s kingdom.”
Rothbart! Minho knew the name. This, then, was the evil enchanter who had risen an army against Minho’s father all those many years ago
“Ah, you recognize me,” said Rothbart, his drawl deepening into a purr. “Good. That makes this easier. You see, you're here so that I may ask a particular question. Will you marry me, sweet prince?”
The thought of marriage reminded Minho of Kibum, and the memory sent a sharp twinge of pain deep inside him. He ignored it and vehemently shook his head.
“I thought that might be your answer,” Rothbart said. He sighed. “Shall I explain further, love? You're here as my captive swan. Only at night, should you be on the lake with moonlight against your wings, will you ever turn into a human. Once the moonlight leaves the lake, back into a swan you go. This can, of course, be remedied if you accept my offer.”
Minho shook his head again. Rothbart sighed once more and stroked his beard.
“I'm not asking you this on a whim, sweet prince. You see, I've killed your little entourage, including your father the king, and will very shortly dispose of your brother as well. That leaves you the heir to the throne, does it not?” He smiled. “Do you see where I am going with this? Marry me, and I will rule your kingdom for you. You need not trouble yourself with affairs of state. Only accept my offer, and you will live richly alongside me as I make our kingdom great.”
Fear and grief sparked inside Minho at these words. His father, dead? His brother soon to be killed as well? This was no speech to persuade him to accept marriage. This was a speech to incite him to hate.
In any case, Minho was not the sort to let another rule for him. Even if he had not been the one groomed to take the throne, betrothed as he was so young to an heir to another kingdom, Minho took his responsibilities seriously. Should he find himself the king, he would sooner die than allow another, let alone Rothbart, to rule his land.
Rothbart only chuckled at his refusal.
“It will no doubt take you some time to accustom yourself to the idea,” he remarked. “In the meantime, I do hope you enjoy your time as a swan. Until you accept my offer, it is all you will ever know.”
He vanished then, without even a curl of smoke to mark his going. Minho bowed his head and shook with grief and rage, for swans could not cry.
~~~
He spent the first few days lingering by the water’s edge, too mired in depression to even eat. He only drank when Rothbart forced him to, the enchanter insisting that he could not have his future spouse die of dehydration before they were even wed.
Minho had nothing during those first awful days to distract him from the horror his life had suddenly become. His father and all those he had known in their procession were dead. His brother was likely to die soon as well, slowly and painfully, for Rothbart had mentioned something about poison one night.
Minho might have thought of Kibum to ease his pain- but that was before Kibum had betrayed him and wounded him so deeply. The thought of Kibum hurt almost as badly as everything else. There was nothing, therefore, to comfort Minho in his pain and give him strength.
Nothing until he woke on the sixth day of his imprisonment to find a duck and a frog staring at him with an uncanny intelligence glimmering in their eyes.
Upon noticing that Minho was awake, the duck bowed and, wonder of wonders, spoke.
“Greetings,” it said solemnly. “My name is Jinki.” It tilted its head at the frog. “And this is Taemin.”
“Heya,” said the frog.
Minho stared. Without thinking, he spoke, though he was still in swan form:
“You’re a duck.”
“Yes,” said the duck. It apparently understood him perfectly though even Rothbart could not understand Minho’s speech while in swan form. “I suspect you are alarmed at the fact that Taemin and I are intelligent and can speak and understand you?”
“Something like that,” Minho agreed.
The duck ruffled its wings and cocked its head in a manner reminiscent of a human smile.
“Strange things happen around an enchanter’s castle,” said the duck. “Many of the animals around here have gone strange to some extent, myself included.”
“As for me,” said the frog, with an expression as close to smug as a frog could get. “I am a prince. I will return to my true form once I am kissed by a beautiful princess.”
“Or prince,” said the duck, fluttering its wings again.
“Yes, but I like princesses,” the frog objected. “Princesses with beautiful long hair, flowing in the wind-”
“Princes can have long hair,” said the duck in the tones of one who has had this argument far too many times. It returned its attention to Minho. “Please, ignore him. We are here to cheer you up, not to make a nuisance of ourselves.”
Minho sighed. “I thank you for your kindness,” he said in dull tones. “I’m afraid I’m not very good company, however. Please leave me be.”’
The frog blinked rapidly at him with bulging, staring eyes. The duck sighed.
“Very well,” it said. “We have listened to the enchanter gloat over the terrible things that have happened to you and understand that you must grieve for your father and brother and friends. Do know that being alone will not help your grief. If you need a friend, we are here.”
~~~
It took time for Minho to accept that he was not in fact imagining the duck and the frog’s existence. By the end of the first month, however, he found himself grateful for their company. They could distract him from the terrible grayness that had consumed his soul. Without their presence, he felt no more inclined to live or move than the fallen tree branches littering the overgrown, unkempt gardens of the enchanter’s castle.
As the months passed, his grief lessened. The fourth or fifth month of his captivity found him exploring the castle grounds and truly noticing for the first time how beautiful the lake and castle were. The gardens themselves were mostly a slightly tamer version of the woods and forest they connected to, but there were remnants of a time when they had not been wild lingering about, such as benches tucked into groves of trees and half-sunken stepping stones here and there.
Jinki and Taemin showed him the safe paths through the gardens and went swimming with him in the lake. They told him stories of their lives, Jinki’s slow and peaceful, Taemin’s wild and likely untrue.
Minho did not talk about his own life, for he could scarcely bear to think about it. He allowed himself to enjoy his conversations with Jinki and Taemin and to look forward to the nights when he could become human again, even if the coming of night meant that he had to endure Rothbart’s presence and endless entreaties.
He was not bored by the lack of excitement. He found it difficult to care about anything still, even his mild pleasures filtered through a lens of numb misery. His refusals of Rothbart’s proposals came to be more stubborn habit than anything. Minho could not see any difference between rotting away in this forest as a swan or rotting away in his own castle as Rothbart’s toy and puppet.
He’d had a reason once, though, before he’d lost himself in depression. Minho clung to that.
~~~
It was perhaps the ninth month of his imprisonment when Jinki asked him if he knew how to break the curse on him.
Minho replied that he did not; Rothbart had only ever said that he would end the curse when Minho agreed to marry him. There was no way the curse would end otherwise.
Jinki informed him that this was nonsense. All curses had a way to break them; it was part of the laws of magic.
Minho did not ask how Jinki knew this. A duck and a frog who lived in such close proximity to an enchanter’s castle knew a lot of things Minho had learned not to question.
And so that night, more to assuage Jinki and Taemin’s curiosity than anything, Minho brought the subject up with Rothbart once he had returned to human form.
“A way to break the curse?” said Rothbart. He laughed. “Could it be that you are taking an interest in life again, sweet prince?”
Minho did not deign to answer. Rothbart laughed again and condescended to explain.
“There is indeed a way to break your curse, love, though it won’t do you any good.” His smile went nasty, became cruel at the edges. “Your true love must make a vow of everlasting love and prove it to the world. Immediately thereafter, he must kiss you to seal the vow.” The enchanter’s smile tilted into an outright smirk. “And we both know that your weakling prince will never do so, don’t we?”
Minho bowed his head and did not speak. Rothbart was right. Kibum would never come to rescue him, which would be necessary if he were to make and prove such a vow. Kibum was not the sort to venture into magical forests and do battle with evil enchanters. Minho couldn’t imagine him in the role of valiant hero. It did not suit his personality, interests or skills. If Kibum even attempted the feat, it was likely he would die trying.
Of course, that was assuming that Kibum even loved him enough to try. And Minho knew very well that he did not. Theirs was a one-sided love, a hopeless devotion on Minho’s case to a man who did not return his feelings. Kibum did not love him, Kibum was not coming to rescue him, and that was all for the better since Kibum did not have a chance in hell of succeeding in the impossible chance that he might consider a rescue attempt.
And all that was assuming Kibum or anyone else even knew he was alive in the first place. If the rest of the procession had been killed, it was likely everyone believed him dead. It was probable that no one was coming for him at all.
~~~
It was the last explanation that Minho used for Jinki and Taemin later. It hurt too much to describe how he knew that Kibum didn’t love him.
“The curse won’t be broken,” he told them. “My true love can’t kiss me or make any vow while I’m stuck here, and since everyone probably thinks I’m dead, he won’t come to find me.”
Jinki and Taemin considered this. Then Taemin said:
“You never know. Love does funny things to people.”
Minho laughed. It sounded raw and bitter and jagged even to his own ears- or whatever passed for ears on a swan.
“Even if my true love did think I was alive, he would never survive or try a rescue attempt,” Minho said. “He’s not the outdoorsy fighting sort.”
Fortunately, both Taemin and Jinki seemed to accept this statement. They spent a moment in quiet conference. Then Jinki raised his head and said:
“Well, if no one is coming to rescue you, I guess we’ll just have to break you out ourselves. The three of us can probably manage it somehow, right?”
~~~
Minho was very dubious about the idea at first. A swan, a duck and a frog did not seem much of a match against an extremely powerful evil enchanter. Yet Jinki and Taemin kept pestering him about it until Minho finally gave in and agreed to lend his expertise to developing an escape plan.
The first problem they encountered was that even if they did manage to escape Rothbart’s clutches, they did not know where to go. They did not even know where they were. Thus, acquiring some sort of map had to be the first priority.
However, acquiring a map meant breaking into the castle to search for one. Rothbart might not have any minions lurking about, but an enchanter was certain to have numerous security spells entrapping the place. They would have to work their way inside very carefully and once in, continue to be very cautious as they searched for a map.
It was slow work that took months to complete. And yet, with each expedition into the castle and each close shave with a spell that nearly caught them, Minho felt his interest in life returning. There were things to do, things that involved spying and cleverness and danger. Minho did not feel happy, precisely, but it became easier and easier to find a reason to get up in the morning as the months went by.
It became easier to remember Kibum as well. Perhaps the finality of acknowledging to himself that Kibum would never love him made the memory of their time together somehow sweeter. Minho found himself longing for the days when the two of them had played together, reading and dancing and walking through the gardens before everything had gone to hell.
He discovered that he missed Kibum. His captivity would be much less dull if it had included Kibum’s sarcastic, clever wit as well as his laughter and sense of unerring fun.
Once he managed to escape, undoubtedly there was no chance of those months of joyous love ever returning. But perhaps, somehow, they might find their way back to being friends. Minho would like that. If Kibum’s betrayal and their subsequent separation had not burned Minho’s painful love out of him, he did not think anything would. And Kibum’s friendship and company would be a more than adequate substitution for his returned love.
~~~
When finally they found a map, they next had to decide what to do with it. Some experimenting had proved that Rothbart had made no effort to cage Minho inside the castle grounds with any spell. Likely the enchanter expected him to be too depressed still to attempt any escape. Thus, it would be most efficient if Minho and Jinki flew away to find help.
Where would they go? It was decided after much conferencing that they would return to the kingdom of Kibum’s mother. That kingdom had much in the way of an army and would be very effective in searching out Rothbart and killing him. It was also very close, if the forest could be persuaded to cooperate.
Taemin, of course, objected to this entire plan. He was of the opinion that the three of them should just figure out a way to kill Rothbart themselves.
Jinki and Minho firmly vetoed this idea. A whole troop of guards had not succeeded at that task. Minho’s father’s army over twenty years ago had not succeeded at it. It was highly unlikely that a swan, a duck and a frog would be able to rid the world of the evil enchanter alone.
And so, thirteen months after his capture, Minho set off with Jinki to find the southern kingdom and arrange a strike against Rothbart.