~oOo0oOo0oOo~

Kyungsoo walked and walked, moving steadily from his palace home as the stars and planets shifted minutely across the firmament above. It was just as the sky was lightening that he came to the foot of a towering mountain, at the top of which rested a splendid temple made visible from the dark rock by dawn’s pale glow. Thinking of his home in the heavens, the young prince climbed the gravelly mountain path, thinking hopefully but dubiously that his husband could be there.

What greeted him as he entered the dwelling wasn’t his husband, or any human or monster or godling. The dwelling, though magnificent with its towering columns and impressive breadth, was also unmistakably empty. Sickles, rakes, and other harvesting tools were strewn haphazardly across the cold marble floor, and baskets of what had once been filled to the brim with seeds were toppled over in a jumble of wicker. There were also crocks as high as his waist lining the walls, each containing liquid that Kyungsoo identified as wine after he dipped his finger, rather foolishly, in to taste. Luckily, the wine didn’t have any ill effect, and it was with an appreciative murmur that Kyungsoo turned his attention to the statue at the center of the room. It depicted a woman, grand and beautiful, clothed in simple robes. She held a cornucopia in one hand, and her face was benign, and peaceful. Immediately, Kyungsoo knew this temple to belong to the goddess of the harvest.

He bowed to Demeter’s statue before straightening, surveying the mess before him with pursed lips. He couldn’t deny that he was tired, despite the world that was awakening just outside the temple walls. But, he thought as he took in the chaotic sight before him, it would be shameful to leave the place in such a pitiful state. So the sun slowly made its presence known through the brightening gild embellishing the temple walls, Kyungsoo moved quickly to place everything back in order. Stifling a yawn with his fist, he sat on the ground, separating the barley seeds and corn into separate baskets, before sorting the farming tools into their rightful places in various tall clay vessels. Then, the temple now fully alight with the sun’s rays, Kyungsoo curled up beneath the stone folds of Demeter’s statue, huddling into the cool comfort of the statue’s shadow, and was soon fast asleep.

He woke to the sounds of hooting and hollering, and blearily rubbed his eyes. Outside the columns he could see the sky descending into the rich plum and black hues of nighttime, the last dregs of brilliant red and orange swallowed up by the beginning of Nyx’s reign. He could see the glow of light on the temple steps, the glow of unnatural light, and it was with cautious steps that he slowly rose and approached the dwelling’s entrance.

Kyungsoo crept behind a column, peering out into the wilderness waiting just beyond the temple steps. What he found made his heart first palpitate with uncertainty, but soon it made his lip curl with distaste. A hard expression on his face, the dark-haired boy moved back into the depths of the temple, making a beeline for one of the many wine-filled pots.

~oOo0oOo0oOo~

What was waiting outside Demeter’s palace wasn’t a search party sent by the prince’s parents, as Kyungsoo had originally feared, but a group that was far less disciplined and far more rowdy. A group of ragtag ruffians had made their camp outside, setting up a great campfire. The men were the residue of the world, uncultured and unmannered, concerned only with instant gratification of the physical sort. While at a bar the evening before, in a shoddy town not too far away, an old hag had approached them with lucrative information about a young runaway prince that had hidden himself inside the temple that the destitute town had abandoned. The prince’s father, the hag had said, would pay hefty sums of precious metals and jewels for the return of his beloved son. However, there was a different client interested in the prince, one that couldn’t care less about the prince’s delivery so long as he was all in one piece, and who would pay three times the king’s reward.

Naturally, the ruffians preferred the second client much more. Increase in payment aside, the old crone had made a comment about the prince’s physical loveliness, about how he could “make men and monsters’ mouths water at the sight of him”. The knowledge that the second client only wanted the prince, and didn’t care what condition he was presented in, assured the ruffians that they could do whatever they desired to the prince so long as he stayed whole throughout the process.

And now they were camped outside the harvest goddess’ temple, howling indecencies at the hidden prince as they roared with laughter and ripped into freshly roasted meat. They shouted all the lewd things they would do to him, how they would make him beg and scream, one after another and without rest. They didn’t storm the temple out of fear of the goddess for whom it had been erected, as they believed the goddess had abandoned it long ago, but for the amusement knowing that somewhere in the temple’s confines their prey was hiding, frightened and scared. The thought of finally hunting the boy out, cornering him and having their way with him before being paid more than they had ever seen in gold and jewels made their trousers tight and their mouths wet.

They heard the grinding of clay against stone, and as one the whole group looked up to see crocks pushed slowly onto the temple steps, burgundy liquid sloshing up and down. Pushing the vessels out of the temple was a small figure that easily fit the old hag’s description of their targeted prince.

“What’s this?” the unofficial leader of the bunch, an imposing man with a dark, scraggly beard and physique that resembled a boulder, jeered as he stood up. His cruel eyes raked appreciatively up and down the boy’s form, devouring the sight of frightened eyes, pale skin, ruby red lips, and a soft, innocent figure. “A drink to wash down before a hearty meal?”

He made no effort to hid the lascivious intent in his eyes as he strode up the steps, grasping the boy’s unblemished chin in his hand. “How kind of you, to provide the beverages. But what about the main course?”

The group roared with laughter as the boy paled, his eyes flicking around wildly. The leader leaned closer, heavy breath brushing against the boy’s soft mouth. “You’re awfully small, and there are a lot of us. We’ll have to be careful to make sure all the boys get their fill.” Leaving no question about his intent, a large hand s lower, groping at what it found.

The boy squeaked indignantly, pushing out of the man’s grasp and onto the stone surface of the steps to the sound of further catcalling. “Please, sir—I-I brought these out as an offering. You wouldn’t do such a thing on holy grounds, would you?” The prince’s doe-eyed gaze was beseeching, and the man thought vaguely of how beautiful those eyes would look when filled with tears. “P-please, sir… I have nothing of value but these, please take them and go. I have nothing left to give.”

“Nothing?” the ruffian repeated, dragging his calloused hand down the tangles of his beard in a form of contemplation. He strode over to the clay pots, inspecting their contents before waving forward three of his cronies. Each of the felons took hold of one of the vessels, carrying them down to their comrades that were waiting by the fire. “Well, boy, I suppose we can make a deal. For each of these pots, we will give you two hours apiece. But once your time is up,” he leaned forward, grasping at the cloth of the boy’s robes, leering as the boy whimpered in fear, “You either come back out quietly, or we’ll go in and get you.”

With that, he let go, sneering as the boy scrambled back inside the temple as he fellows cheered and jeered at the boy’s disappearing figure.

“Sweet dreams, little prince,” he roared into the temple as he made his way back down the steps. As he reached the bonfire he grabbed a beaten chalice, dumping it into one of the vessels so that it resurfaced filled with alcohol. Knocking it back in a toast, liquid streaming down his front, he declared, “Boys, tomorrow everyone will get their turn. But I will get the first taste.”

His statement was met with further raucous catcalling and jeers before the group was falling over itself to get to the wine, loud and chaotic as a pack of wild hounds.

Inside the temple, the little prince sat down on the cold stone floor, legs folded neatly over each other. Quietly, he set a small vial on the ground, the slight ping of glass meeting stone lost in the noise from outside.

Then, he waited.

~oOo0oOo0oOo~

It was quiet. Too quiet.

Jongin made a muffled noise as he turned over in his bed, staring listlessly out into the sky. The moon hung, a perfect crescent, in the inky blackness of the night, and numbly Jongin thought of a night beneath the brilliant stars and a warm kiss. Once again, though he had promised himself time and time again that he wouldn’t, he thought of liquid eyes and a heart-shaped smile, of happy times spent in complete darkness.

He wondered how Kyungsoo was, if his little prince was finally truly happy back home with his family. He wondered if Kyungsoo had already moved on, if he had gotten married to some dashing lad or lovely lady. Kyungsoo was cold but gentle, beautiful and brave, and he deserved to have happiness with whomever he wanted. Jongin tried not to think that this “whomever” wasn’t him, but he felt the dull pang to his chest anyway.

Time had done what time always did, weathering the pain that separation from love always caused. The sharp throes of agony had been blunted, but that didn’t mean they had vanished, and the god now found himself with a dull heartache as his most constant companion. Luhan had given up on him weeks ago, unable to understand why his younger friend didn’t simply move on to some new plaything.

With a sigh, Jongin to his other side. There was comfort knowing that he and Kyungsoo would always be under the same sky and the same stars. Even if it was just for a moment, his heart was eased.

But it was still quiet. Too quiet.

~oOo0oOo0oOo~

The crook’s leader woke up to the brilliant light of day and the cheerful chirping of birds. Cracking his neck, he stretched, prepared to go and contend with their captive. If the prince had tried to sneak out, his guards would have gotten him; if the prince had stayed put, it was only the matter of retrieving him.

Strangely, he found himself unable to move. His arms were bound tightly behind his back with rope, and with a jolt the man realized that his arms and legs had been secured. But he wasn’t the only one who was helplessly tied; his entire company, including those who had been on guard duty, were captured around him, their feet, legs, arms, and hands tightly bound with rope that had been expertly knotted.

“Good morning, sir,” a soft voice greeted, and the ruffian looked up to meet the eyes of the young prince he had encountered only yesterday. Though the boy’s features hadn’t altered over night, there was a curious lack of softness in the smooth curves of his round cheeks or large eyes. The look on his face was hard, cold, a complete one-eighty from the innocent boy who had cowered away from him the night before. “I apologize for the circumstances. I hope you aren’t too uncomfortable.”

The boy moved forth, and it was then that the man realized the glinting object in his hand was a knife. A sweet smile on his face (though it didn’t reach his eyes, not at all), the boy pressed the blade beneath his chin, digging cold metal into human flesh. Not enough to draw blood, but enough to show the man who was in power.

“Who sent you?” the prince inquired, tilting his head innocuously to one side. “Be truthful. It would be such a pity if my hand should slip.” As if to prove his point, his knife dug just a bit deeper. The icy look in his dark eyes showed he had no qualms in doing so. Seeing the power the small boy held over him, and his own strength rendered useless by the ropes around his body, the ruffian didn’t hesitate to answer with the entire story of his group’s encounter with the hag down at the bar. His immobility had stripped him of whatever bravado he had, revealing the pathetic coward that was hidden beneath his cruel exterior.

Upon hearing that his assailants’ appearance had apparently been nothing more than utter coincidence, Kyungsoo turned heel and headed back into the temple to gather his things. Dealing with them had been almost laughably easy; a powerful sleeping draught coupled with an expert imitation of helplessness had down the job so flawlessly that even the guards had gorged themselves on the tampered drink, so sure they had been of their prey’s vulnerability. He had half a mind to leave the group there to their own devices, but knew he didn’t have the heart to let anyone, even if they were a bunch of crooks, starve or be attacked by monsters or people. So he had taken the liberty to send a carrier bird, which he had found among the group’s hazard assortment of things, down to the nearest town with details of what would be found by Demeter’s temple. With any luck, someone would be coming to get them, and Kyungsoo intended to be long gone by the time they came.

But before leaving, he would pray first. Kneeling by the statue, he thanked Demeter, somewhat insincerely, for the protection she had bestowed on him, and for (this time much more sincerely) providing him shelter on his journey. Then he stood, prepared to resume his quest. But just as he was about to exit, a voice stopped him.

“You are indeed a worthy child.”

Eyes wide, Kyungsoo whirled around, knives slipping easily back into his grasp, only to drop his weapons as he fell back to the floor in a hasty bow. The statue of Demeter was no longer a statue; the goddess herself had taken shape in the room, the rock of her effigy softening into lush skin, silken robes, and luxurious hair. She stepped barefoot from the pedestal onto the temple’s floor, surveying her surroundings with a serene smile. Her robes were verdant, her skin warm with a healthy glow, her brilliant green eyes the color of spring leaves. Her dark hair fell over her bare shoulders, threaded with plants and flowers.

“Ah, I had thought this dwelling abandoned,” she said, a radiant smile on her face as she turned to Kyungsoo. “Yet you, child, cleaned and cared for it when no one else would. Thank you, my young prince. Give me a wish, and I shall do my best to grant it.”

There was no hesitation. “Please take me to see Jongin.”

Immediately, the goddess’ face fell, and she looked genuinely apologetic. “I’m afraid I can’t do that.”

Apologetic or not, Kyungsoo could feel the ugly monster of impatience and anger rising in his chest. Taking a deep breath, he refrained from retorting and demanding a reason, knowing that it wasn’t his place to question the motives of the Olympians. Demeter, however, seemed to understand what he was feeling.

“There is a god on Olympus who wishes that you and Jongin stay separated,” the goddess of the harvest said evasively, her eyes flicking briefly towards the heavens. “He has always been a tempestuous spirit, and you have angered him—“

“Angered him?” Kyungsoo all but spat, unable to keep quiet. Quickly, he collected himself, schooling his expression back into one of deference of calm. The words “What have I done, existed?” were forced unceremoniously back down his throat, leaving a burn in their wake. It would not do to anger a deity, or rather, another deity if what Demeter said was true.

“Yes,” Demeter agreed pensively, either not noticing his slip or choosing to ignore it. “If you wish to be reunited with your husband, my advice to you would be to dispel his hatred for you.”

“And how would I do that?”

“He has been slighted by the contest between your beauty and his, and for your impertinence of taking Jongin away from him. You must beg for his forgiveness. Be modest and submit yourself to his every whim, and then perhaps he will permit Jongin to come back to you.”

Whatever disgust he had felt for the deplorable mortals outside the temple was nothing in the wake of what he felt for this unnamed god. Already he knew who his tormenter was, the lord of love and beauty and pleasure, the lord whose child foolish worshippers had claimed him to be. Hating him because idiots had deemed Kyungsoo his mortal incarnation—Kyungsoo had fought the rumors personally, but apparently that wouldn’t be taken into account. And for “taking Jongin away from him”—last he had checked, he had been the one spirited away, not the other way around. He hadn’t forced anyone to do anything, he hadn’t asked to be worshipped, or to be loved, yet he here he was being punished for things beyond his control. This was typical of a god, to throw temper tantrums and then tear down things for the sake of it, nothing fueling their actions but raw emotions that substituted pathetically for reason. And now Kyungsoo had to ask for forgiveness for everything he had done, when in reality, he had done nothing much more than exist.

If Demeter could see the tempest of emotions battling beneath the prince’s face, she made no comment. She only watched impassively as the prince grappled between his pride and his love for his husband, a battle whose fate had been decided long ago.

~oOo0oOo0oOo~

A/N: This will be edited sometime later today, after I’ve gotten some sleep. 

(Kyungsoo's getting more and more pissed off. Uh-oh. o-o )