The weariness seeps into his bones, shrouding everything in a hazy blur as his eyelids flutter.

Yoongi leans against the carriage outside of Salle du Manège, and waits for Hoseok to wrap up his impassioned debate with one of the deputies. The restless huffs of the horses, the clamor of the crowd, they all blend into a dull buzz that recedes to the back of his mind.

The days have been excruciatingly long, blurring into the sleepless nights.

The influx of volunteers joining the newly founded National Guards occupy most of his time. Many of them are san-culottes just like him, bright-eyed youths from the streets of Paris and neighboring districts, untrained and undisciplined.

It becomes a daily struggle to structure the rapidly growing army properly. Gone are the days of aristocratic and well-educated officer corps. Now, hot-blooded new recruits clash with old veterans still sharing monarchist sympathies. On paper, Yoongi and Hoseok divide up their roles, each responsible for infantry and cavalry units. But in reality, they work together, scrambling everyday to keep the army afloat without major incidents.

And there is no supply to equip the new army. Weapons, ammunition, uniforms, everything is in short supply. The royal family has been overthrown and quarantined, but famine and scarcity of basic resources for survival are still prevalent.

Sometimes, it takes one single night to destroy a world, but generations to build it back up.

And who’s to say if they are doing a better job than their predecessors? The new national assembly is filled with enthusiastic and intelligent peers, people who believe beyond a shadow of a doubt that they are doing the right thing. Creating a whole new world, everything dazzlingly new and bold - laws, declarations, calendar, scientific units, monetary system…

Yoongi is not one of these people.

Born as a carpenter’s son without the means for a proper education, lengthy law documents and declarations overwhelm him. During meetings, when the young lieutenants from prestigious artillery schools debate fervidly about combat strategies, Yoongi tries hard to command the situation while quietly picking up on the terminologies he’s never be exposed to before.

The soldiers of the common battalions adore and support him, knowing fully well that he’s always at the forefront of every battle, focused and watching out for their collective interest. But is that enough? Is he really the right person to be a general? Or maybe he’s just another fraud, rapidly ascending through the ranks only to fall harder later.

The muddled thoughts wear him out. As he shakes off the haziness and contemplates leaving alone, there’s a tap on his back, feeble but insistent.

“Enjy? Is that you, Enjy?”

He snaps around in surprise, and is met with a face worn out by the passage of time, eyes burning with anguish.

An old lady in mud splattered rags reaches for his uniform with shivering hands.

Yoongi hesitates before responding, “are you looking for someone?”

“My Enjy… You’re not him…” the gleam in her crinkled eyes dims, making Yoongi feel inexplicably rueful.

“Madam, do you need help finding someone? Are you ok?”

The old lady waves her hand to stop him, and murmurs with her head lowered, “not him. Not my Enjy, it’s never him…”

“Your Enjy, how long has he been missing?” Dark thoughts float through his mind, but Yoongi keeps his voice casual and supportive.

She shrugs, torso swaying and eyes glassy, “months, I dunno. He was so excited, wanted to fight for the cause, for all of us, he said. Fire everywhere, so bright, and the sound of shooting and screaming every night, too much...” She shudders, but her eyes suddenly snaps back up, staring into Yoongi’s. “Have you seen him? He’s your height, your age, do you know where he is?”

Yoongi shakes his head, and watches as tears start well up in her eyes. He reaches in clumsily to support her by her arm, and adds, “Enjy fought for a great cause, you should be proud of him.”

Her lips twitch, and she pulls her arm away suddenly, voice wounded and bitter, “No. I just want him home, I want my son back. What was it all for? What good came out of it all? We still can’t make ends meet, taxes are just as high as before inside the city walls. And I lost the only one I had left. What was it all for?”

At the words, Yoongi feels the air punched out of his lung. He reaches in for her, but hands dangle and halt just short. She wipes her eyes roughly, and lowers her gaze and retracts back to her delirious state. As she turns to walk away, Yoongi can still hear her mumbles, broken but insistent, like a dark omen that loops and etches itself onto his mind.

The encounter occupies his thoughts, as Hoseok and him ride back to Palace de Toulouse. Back in the comfort of the salon, with maps and books scattered about over the vast table, Yoongi finally gives voice to the thoughts that plague his mind.

Hoseok doesn’t seem to share his concerns at all. As always, he shrugs it off.

“What’s it all for? I’ll tell you what it was all for - a whole new world, never to be treated like worthless livestocks again because of the class you are born into. We won, and now we have everything we’ve ever wanted - “ he leans against the table and comments matter of factly. “- respect, and the power to rewrite history.”

“Hmm. I admire your optimism, but even if we set ideologies aside, you know as well as I do, that we can barely keep things afloat. I spend most of my time trying to position the right people into the officer corps, half of them don't even know how to hold a rifle. And they have to supply their own weapons and pay for their uniforms.” Yoongi sighs, looking up from a thick stack of documents, and rubs the ink stains off his fingers, “so you tell me, are we really rewriting history? Or we’ll all be dead during another coup d’etat in a few month…”

Hoseok gives him a disapproving look, “hey, cheer up, will ya? I thought moving to this place would give you a bit of a boost. I mean, look around -“ he gestures smugly, “ -the best of Paris, under our very fingertips. All these aristocratic swines bowing down to us, groveling for mercy. How can you not feel even a little bit vindicated?” He raises his brows and beams wickedly.

Hoseok’s enthusiasm is infectious, as usual. Yoongi rests the quill pen in his hand before exhaling slowly.

“You’re prolly right. But I do have one specific aristocratic swine to deal with at the moment.”

Hoseok shoots him a glance, “oh, you mean the Bourbon prince.”

“Yes, him. Can’t have him here forever.”

“Well, he’s leaving in another three days. What you mean to say is - “ Hoseok’s fingers trace the outlines on an open map, “- you’re unsure whether you should keep him.”

Yoongi leans back into the armchair, “we’ve talked about this before, his dad wants to ally with us, offered the house and kept his son here. But is he useful? Can we trust him?”

“Judging by the fact that you barely want to say his name, I’m guessing your answer is no in both cases.” Hoseok chuckles.

Yoongi purses his lips before responding, “it’s not up to me. If he has knowledge and network that’s valuable to our cause, and if he can prove to be trustworthy, then the alliance is purely business, nothing person.”

Hoseok hums, and walks to stand next to Yoongi. There’s a spark of wickedness in his eyes, making Yoongi flinch, “sounds like we need to test him a bit? Prod him so he can lay his cards on the table, yeah?”

Yoongi meets his gaze but stays silent.

It doesn’t take long to set it all up.

By the time Jimin is called to the salon, Jin has already been questioned for a while, with his head lowered and shoulders slouched.

“...so how can you be so certain that none of the servants took the document?” Hoseok inches towards Jin, voice impatient.

“Sir, there are only four of us, all have been with the family for a long time now. There’s no way-”

“No, no, don’t make me repeat myself. How can you be certain that the other three didn’t take the missing document. You can’t. How can we even trust what you say?” Hoseok tilts his head in contemplation, “we may have to do a full search of your living quarters, and interrogate each one of you carefully.”

Jimin speaks up, “generals, mind if you update me on what’s occured?”

He’s impeccably dressed, as usual. A brocade silk vest with embossed details, and black ribbon tying up his wavy blonde locks neatly. In an age where aristocrats intentionally dress down to avoid confrontations, Jimin stands out in his elegant but unmistakably elite ways.

Glaringly so.

Yoongi responds flatly, “we are missing a document from the salon, containing some new formation strategies we’ve been working on.”

“And you have reason to suspect my servants took it?”

“Well, aside from the soldiers and officers using this room, they are the only ones with access.” Hoseok sounds nonchalant, as he begins to pace. “Unless, you know the whereabouts of the document yourself?”

Jimin’s gaze turns icy.

Hoseok looks toward Jin and comments, “so, what will it be? Will you tell us what happened? Or we search the whole house for it? You know, stealing military documents is no trivial matter, you could be plotting against the assembly. That, my friend, is treason, punishable by death.”

Jin’s head stays lowered, and Yoongi spots his lips quivering, as he finally speaks again, “please, I apologize for any mistake the staff may have made. As the head of staff, I, alone, would be responsible.”

Yoongi watches as Jimin walks towards Jin, and pauses right next to him. When he turns to face them, the coldness in his gaze pierces right through him. But slowly, his lips curl into a calculated little grin.

Jimin’s eyes lock onto Yoongi as he asks, “General, could I ask for your audience for a moment, alone?”

Hoseok pipes up next to them, “well, I’m not sure we are done here yet to warrant a private conversation. I mean, your servant seems willing to cooperate -“

He pauses when Yoongi shoots him a sideway glance.

“Just for a moment.” Yoongi gestures and sighs.

Hoseok straightens his coat and gives him a meaningful look, before relenting, “Alright, as you wish.”

Jin eyes Jimin with lips worrying between his teeth, who responds with a softened tone, “it’s ok, you can wait outside too.”

Soon, the door is closed, and there are only the two of them left.

Yoongi gets up, and removes his hat. He cards his hand through his hair, smoothing it out and giving Jimin the chance to start.

Jimin paces in the room languidly, before spotting something on a side tables and striding towards it.

It’s a model replica of a navy ship made of bone and metal, thousands of tiny pins meticulously connecting all the strings and fabrics to emulate a glorious full sail.

“Dauphin Royal, 104-gun ship of the line that fought during the Spanish Succession War. That was the first navy campaign my grandfather participated in as the grand admiral. I heard he fought valiantly.” Jimin’s fingers trace the body of the model gently, a strand of his soft curls fallen and framing his face, “seems like you didn’t get rid of everything in the room, after all.”

Yoongi hums.

“My grandfather won many of the battles he led in the field. Some people attribute it to his lineage from the Sun King himself - wisdom and blessing granted by divinity. But somehow, it never quite felt that way to me. He never treated his titles as empty birthrights; he earned them with his courage.” Jimin turns to face him, “ah, but maybe you already know all this, maybe that’s why you accepted my father’s offer to hand over this estate.”

Yoongi responds cautiously, “what is this all about, prince?”

“Funny, that should be my question to you, no? Why try to test me, and humiliate my staff, when you can just ask me directly.” There’s a lilt to Jimin’s voice, irritated and abrasive.

Yoongi runs his hand through the navy tricorn hat, feeling the rough texture of the fabric on his pads, “it's a little presumptuous, to assume this is all about you.”

Jimin’s strides slow, and he faces Yoongi, eyes unflinching, “Jin came to this house with his dad when he was thirteen, we practically grew up together. If only you did some research before playing out your childish little scheme.”

Yoongi scoff, “grew up together. Except he’s still a servant and you’re the prince. A whole different class. I know your kind, you’d ditch him without a second look if it serves to protect yourself.”

Jimin steps towards him, until they are inches apart, and rasps, “my kind? What do you know about my kind anyways? The likes of you wouldn’t even be allowed through the front door of this house a year ago.” There’s a venomous sweetness to his voice, making Yoongi’s blood boil.

Yoongi responds resolutely, curbing the simmering rage inside, “and here we are.”

He lets the tense silence fill in between them, and spots Jimin’s squared shoulders before turning to face the window. The afternoon sun has dipped below the building, golden reflective rays sliding off the facade, highlighting the inset statues between the exterior columns.

This whole place reeks of faded glory and antiquity. Yoongi exhales sharply, trying to rid of the stuffiness.

“You know the nickname they gave you in court, don’t you.”

Yoongi frowns at Jimin’s words from behind him.

Of course. The Crow.

Before the pristine uniforms, before the fancy title and the power, when everything was just a spark in the air, a fervent dream of the penniless mob. Black was his preferred choice of clothing, for it hid the blood and grime, made him look older and more assured.

The black bird that watches in the eerie silence of the aftermath, with the smell of death lingering in the air.

Even Hoseok comments on how unaffected he always appears by the violence, with resolve burning in his dilated pupils. There’s indeed a switch that turns off in moments like those, fortunately. Kills the sympathy and hesitation, and grants him the temporary numbness to carry out whatever is necessary for the cause.

Anything for the cause, anything to usher in the new era.

He use to get sick afterwards, as the adrenaline subsided and the overwhelming sense of self-loathe flooded his heart, but even that went away after a while. What’s the use of turning the switch back on, after all.

Yoongi cuts off the meandering thoughts and snaps back, “we could jab at each other all day long, but let’s cut this short, shall we? Answer my question, prince, what do you want?”

“Protection, of my family’s safety, and of the assets that are rightfully ours.” Jimin’s gaze glide over him slowly, predatory.

Yoongi laughs, a muted chuckle pushed out from the back of his throat, “you make it sound so simple. Safety is a luxury none of us has nowadays.”

Jimin retorts, “you can have my family arrested in an instance with a flutter of your hand, so I’d say I’m asking the right person.”

“What can you offer in return?”

Jimin strides towards him, head tilted up, and picks up a few documents from the desk, “These.” He flips through carelessly and sneers, “I barely have to look at them, to know that none of these would work with your troops.”

Yoongi clicks his tongue, “once again, a tad arrogant and presumptions, prince.”

“Call me by my name, Jimin. Or does that intimidate you, calling a royalty directly by their name.” he scorns, “Everyone knows the issues you’re facing. Your entire army is made of inexperienced volunteers at the brink of killing each other. None of the traditional offensive strategies would work in this condition, you’d be training them to get slaughtered if there’s ever a real conflict.”

“Then what do you propose, Jimin? What can you suggest in your wisdom, that has eluded my entire staff of officers this whole time?”

“I’ve seen your “officers”, all young revolutionists, none of them with any actual military experience. Contrary to your beliefs, aristocrats don’t just lounge around all their lives. I was groomed since birth to take over my father’s military titles. And I have networks, people that have fought countless wars and can be persuaded to assist you.”

Jimin tosses the documents back onto the desk with a resounding thud, “and resources. You don’t even have a barrack, no ammo, no reserved food for your soldiers, nothing. But the Royal Army, the ones you mock and despise, they are filled with supplies, just watching and waiting for your to make a wrong move so they could swoop in and turn the tide-”

“And what do you propose? That I march up to their base and just rip it all from their hands?” Yoongi cuts him off.

An eye roll. “One day, we’ll talk about this more. San-culottes, you and your juvenile brutish ways, it’s your ultimate downfall. You’re on the winning side, so use it, use the momentum and attract people to your side, and they will bring their resources.”

“You want me to bribe the die-hard royalists? The very people that can’t wait to kill me? You’re crazy if you think I’d trust any high ranking officer from the Royal Army.” Yoongi slams his hat onto the table and glares.

“They are people just like me, looking to survive. With the right conditions, they’d be more valuable than all of your useless new recruits put together.”

“Just like you.” Yoongi chews on the words and paces towards Jimin, “exactly. I don’t trust them, and I wonder why I’d trust you.”

“You may find this hard to believe, but I value loyalty just as much as you do.” Jimin’s gaze is unflinching, “I have no interest in your revolution, but I’ll help you secure your position in the army, for as long as our alliance stands. Look, you know as well as I do, that we can either rip each other to shreds, or work together to better our chances at survival. Personally, the latter sounds a tad more advantageous, wouldn't you say.”

Yoongi stares at Jimin, taking in the way his jaw clenches, and fists tightened under the long sleeves of his silk blouse. He can feel it, Jimin treading dangerously close to the edge of the precipice, fueled with bitter resentment but submitting to the tide of events bigger than any of them. And reluctantly, Yoongi can relate.

After a moment of pause, Yoongi finally responds, voice impassive once again, as the decision sinks in on his mind.

“I’ve always wanted to tell your father, that he needn’t worry. He has quite a humble and charitable reputation in court, we would’ve let him keep some of the estates anyways, as long as he supports the direction of the assembly. As for the safety of your family -” Yoongi turns away and looks back into the darkened garden, thoughts drifting away and beyond, “- I meant what I said, nobody is safe in Paris anymore, me included. But I’ll try my best to protect them, you have my words.”