Chapter Text
Pitch black darkness.
That was what had been surrounding him for who knows how long now. Fear wasn’t an emotion he was accustomed with, no matter the situation he found himself in. Charging into battle? Adrenaline would accompany the savage excitement he felt every time he held his sword. Accepting a duel? He would only want to make the other bite the dust for thinking they would have a chance against him.
Right now, in the enemy's dungeon, he still felt no fear. No cold sweat, no envy to cry and plead for his case. He was just waiting.
Would he be hung like a war trophy? Would he be beheaded and shown off as a warning? That would be a great scare off. After all, he was well-known on the battlefields.
Becoming a knight had always been Minho’s purpose.
He grew up with a wooden sword in hand, sparing with the other kids in the poor and famished village he was living in. As children always did, they liked to run around while creating stories of knights fighting against dragons. Their play time had become an endearing sight for the exhausted adults who had to work hard in order to give them those hours of childhood.
Then, his first heartbreak happened.
His father had left one winter on the only horse they owned to defend their kingdom. Their family wasn’t of high status, far from it, so when his father obtained a grave injury on the battlefield, he had been pushed aside in favor of healing royal knights. He died from an infection, in pain and all alone in the cold infirmary.
Minho and his mother hadn’t been informed of his death. They waited for many years, until Minho was old enough to apply for the Knight training course. Slowly, the hope of seeing him return home dwindled until a cold realization settled in.
The man that had taught him how to hold a sword, to have honor, and to respect others was gone.
The other villagers had pitied them, helped out with food and tried to help them grieve. They had many opinions concerning his paternal figure but he cared for none other than his own.
His father had been a hero, no matter how he had met his undoing. He had had the courage to fight when others were too afraid of pain and blood.
In honor of him, he later chose to be called Sir Lino, the nickname his parents gave him during his childhood. He didn’t care about it sounding silly, he would make others fear it.
Minho trained hard, probably harder than his brothers in arms, moved by inner rage and the need to give his mother a comfortable life. She was all he had left, and she had accepted to spend the rest of their money for his dream. He had to honor her sacrifice. And he did.
Battle after battle, his gold grew more consequently, giving him the opportunity to give his mother a comfortable house in one of the villages boarding the Kingdom, closer to him. Life there was brighter, easier since she didn't have to work as hard anymore. She spent her days sewing, creating or altering clothes for ladies and even nobility, making herself a name and earning quite a bit of gold herself. He had been more than grateful for that. Because seeing his mother smile eased the helpless little child that was still there, somewhere inside the man he had become. He loved her dearly.
Even now, while leaning his head back against the cold stone of the cell he was held in, the thought of her eased his worries. Minho hoped she wouldn't mourn him too long. He didn't want her to cry, her smile was his joy.
Closing his eyes, as keeping them open wouldn't change a thing, he thought back on his capture.
A few years after getting his Sir title, he was scouted into the royal regiment. His feats were now known in the other Kingdoms as well, giving strength to his own since fear was power. That had earned himself several titles: the crow of the battlefield because he fed on fear and despair, the bloodhound in honor because of how his sword and armor would end up covered in red, and many others he didn't care much about.
Unfortunately, he quickly learned that being strong and feared was a burden.
His superiors, afraid that he would turn against them, decided to remind him where his place was. Minho was a man of honor, he respected ranking no matter if they were less competent than he was. Unfortunately, he had won too many duels against higher-ranked and their pride was wounded.
Daily whippings started in order for those men to retrieve a bit of dignity from trying to crush his. Minho took them easily, kneeling on the floor and staring at the stone wall until he was told to leave. He ignored the pain, ignored the sharp sounds echoing within the torture room situated into the dungeon. He ignored the warm blood trickling down his back, the burning sensations, the sting and how his shirt would stick to the wounds. He kept his head high and prided himself on remaining silent no matter how hard they had tried to make him cry out. He had his pride as well, and he would rather be beheaded than giving up his for theirs.
He would later be told by one of the high-ranking soldiers, who was boasting a little too much with the whip in hand, that the King knew about this and had approved it.
“You're too much of a menace.” The man had snickered before starting again.
Fighting was getting more and more difficult after that since moving his arms pulled on his back. He reopened many gashes while fighting on battlefields.
As much as he didn’t want to admit it, capturing him while he was in that state had been rather easy. Knock him off of his horse, give him a good hit with the knob of a sword and he was out. He knew that soldier would be celebrated for that feat. Good for him, Minho thought.
Now that he was thinking about it, his back wasn't hurting anymore. Frowning, he moved his tied hands to the side, chasing the heavy chains drag along the floor while he did so to assess the gashes. Instead, he found a cold and viscous substance that made him pause. Infection? Was it that bad?
Pulling his hand back, he rubbed that substance between two fingers. No, it was a salve of some sort. Minho could smell the herbs and whatever else you could find in those medicinal vials.
Relief washed over him before he frowned again, why was someone trying to heal him?
Just then, the sound of a key jiggling into a distant door caught his attention. Perking up, he listened attentively as footsteps neared his cell. Would they go past or stop there? Sure enough, another key was pushed into the lock of his door.
His last moment had come.
Lifting a hand to shield his eyes from the light coming from the torch extended into the confined space, he couldn’t see the person there yet. His eyesight had been too accustomed to the darkness, he grunted as opening his eyes hurt quite a lot. He heard whispered apologies as the torch was set in a holster nailed into the wall.
Someone crouched down in front of him, patiently waiting for him to look up. When he did, he was met with an angel. There was no other explanation as to why this man, blond with freckled constellations on his cheeks, would be in a dungeon. He had come to take Minho away.
“Who are you?” He asked, voice raspy for the lack of use. He needed to know the angel's name.
“I'm Felix.” A deep but soft voice answered him, surprising the knight. “I'm a healer. I was assigned to take care of you, how are you feeling?”
Minho frowned at the angel, not quite understanding his words.
“You are not here to guide my soul in the light?”
The incredulous look the blond sent him could have made him laugh in another situation.
“Do you have a concussion? I did check your head for that already…” Felix mumbled, his hands roaming in the Knight's hair.
Minho grunted, trying to pull away from the unfamiliar touch. Even since the whipping started, he couldn’t help but tense every time someone touched him.
“Aren’t you an angel?” He mumbled, his eyes finally getting used to the light.
Felix paused, his hands pulling away from him.
“Oh…” He said softly, understanding the situation. “You are not going to die, Sir.”
Upon hearing his title, Minho looked up, arching an eyebrow.
“I was captured by the enemy. What use would they have to keep me alive?” He questioned.
The healer shrugged, pulling his satchel open.
“Obviously, I am not the one making the decisions here.” He started. “However, sending me to you if you were simply destined for the scaffold would be stupid. Far be it from me to boast, but I am the best in the field.”
The Knight frowned, not quite understanding the logic hidden behind such a decision. His body would make a great warning, why not use the opportunity?
Felix gently guided Minho to lie down on his front in order to let him check the injuries on his back.
“Why didn't you get treated for these?!” Felix started to scold him. “Letting your wounds get to this state is dangerous! I had to make a more powerful salve since the infection was getting too severe. Even the sorcerer had to add a bit of magic to it, or it wouldn't have changed a thing!”
Minho hummed, mumbling his answer.
“I couldn't… I couldn’t seek out a healer.”
He had been, of course, not allowed to be healed in the infirmary to avoid questions. Which had as consequences infection, constant anemia and moving issues.
“Why?” Felix demanded, his tone stern. “Why couldn't you get help?”
“My superiors forbid me from doing so.” Minho answered, not really knowing why he was being so honest.
That made the healer frown harder, but he remained quiet. The knight felt his hands pulling compresses off, gently probing at what he guessed were the most infected spots. He really didn’t want to know what his back looked like.
“You know, I was very reluctant to come here upon hearing that I would be assigned to the Bloodbound.” Felix said, needing to fill the silence somehow. “But you aren’t as I imagined.”
Minho had often been told that same thing. Wearing a helmet on the battlefield was both to avoid being recognized and to keep a frightening image. He looked nothing like the monster some people liked to describe him as. However, he did feel like one sometimes.
“How do they describe me here?” He asked, a little curious.
The healer hummed softly.
“They say that whenever you appear on the battlefield, the souls of the soldiers you have killed shine within the blade of your sword. They say that you are very tall, as broad as two oxen, and that you ate the hearts of your strongest opponents in order to absorb their strength.”
The Knight couldn’t hold back the sound of disgust that escaped him. That was absolutely repugnant.
“They also say that you got disfigured and that seeing your face would curse them.” Felix continued, gently wiping his back with a washcloth and a basin of water. “I don’t think any of it is true, but I did initially feel a lot of apprehension. You are quite ruthless after all.”
The knight didn’t hold that against the blond.
He killed many, stole lives when they could have been longer if they had avoided his path, but he had to. His dreams of being a respectful and rightful Knight had been crushed as soon as he had been led to the dark room he would see almost every day. He only had his mother. And his mother lived in that Kingdom. It was his duty as her only son to make it safe for her.
“And what do you think now?” Minho asked, his eyes trailing up the stone wall until he lost himself into the fire of the torch. “Are you disappointed?”
He felt the healer’s hands stop for a few seconds before they started to reapply a layer of salve.
“It’s too soon for me to have an opinion about you. But I admit that the portraits some make of you are quite a sight to behold.”
The knight decided to ignore that. He had stopped caring about his looks a long time ago.
The first time his mother got to welcome him home after his first battlefields, she had noticed a few injuries on his skin and had cried when they scarred. Minho had to watch his distraught mother cry the loss of his innocence. But above all, she grieved the hope of seeing him live an easy life. He had wanted to tell her otherwise, to tell her that she would get grandkids one day, but even he wasn’t sure that was what he wanted. He wasn’t made for quiet and peace.
“What are they planning to do with me?” He asked, needing to know what to await.
He wasn’t scared of pain. He would endure anything thrown his way.
“Well, you will get to know that soon.” Felix said, still applying that cold paste on his skin. “The King ordered for you to be brought up in the throne room once I am done. Sir Seo is waiting nearby.”
Minho hummed at the title. Another knight.
Then he frowned.
“What Kingdom am being held captive in?”
A snort escaped the blond.
“About time you asked! You are currently in the dungeon of Levanter castle.”
Levanter. His Kingdom's greatest opponent.
Their soil was rich with precious stones and their harvests were always grand, making his greedy King envious. Minho had always detested that man who was only interested in women and what his neighbour had on his lands.
However, he had heard many things about Levanter’s King. From some, the man was a tyrant, only interested in his people and not caring about others. Which, from what Minho had heard, was true. That King never started wars, he always defended his own Kingdom, appearing on his white horse and harboring his coat of arms on a large flag. Apparently, the man was quite stern and frightening when upset. Unlike his own King, he worked a lot, making sure that everything was done for the day before allowing himself to relax.
And according to spies, he was quite talented with daggers.
The more he learned about Levanter’s Monarch, he couldn’t help but feel a small sense of respect for him. He wasn’t allowed to, if anyone had discovered that, he would have been beheaded for treason. But Sir Lino, or simply Minho, was a man of honor. He would respect a King who had his subjects’ best interests at heart without a second thought.
After all, wasn’t it their duty to guide and rule to the best of their capacities and assure the well-being of the people living within their territory?
It was sad how as a kid, he saw the world with such an embellished filter, and now it was full of backstabbing, jealousy, rage, blood and treachery. Oh, poison too.
“Could you sit up, please?” The healer spoke up, reminding the Knight of his presence.
He followed the instructions, seeing no point in making Felix’s time difficult. The man had been nothing but nice toward him despite knowing his reputation. The least he could do was to make it easy for him.
“I am going to bandage your back since you will have to wear a shirt to meet with his Majesty.” The healer said, patiently explaining everything.
Minho slightly spread his arms in order to avoid getting in the blond’s way, and seeing the small smile the other got on his face thanks to his gesture, it was appreciated.
“Do you work in the castle?” He questioned. “You aren’t wearing a uniform.”
Healers often wore uniforms in order to avoid staining their own clothes since they had to deal with all sorts of things. Blood stains in particular were quite annoying to get out.
“I actually traveled a lot, which is how I got so much knowledge.” Felix started. “I was born here on Levanter ground, but I was called to work at the castle only recently. I can’t share the reason why with you, but who knows? Perhaps we are bound to meet again.”
Minho let him fix the bandage before he was offered a shirt to wear.
“Sir Seo?” Felix called out. “Sir Lino is ready.”
The Knight blinked, still taken aback that his title would be used in this situation.
Familiar clicking sounds coming from an armor approached them, making him focus on the door. A wide silhouette appeared in his sight with piercing eyes and pitch black hair. Upon seeing the crest carved onto the metal of the armor, it wasn’t hard for Minho to realize that Sir Seo was a Royal Knight.
Felix handed out the heavy chains linked to the metal cuffs he had around his wrists to the Royal Knight who accepted them.
“Follow me.” Sir Seo ordered.
Minho stood up and started to follow before he stopped, pulling on the chains slightly. He turned toward the healer, slightly bowing his head in respect.
“Thank you for tending to my injuries. I know that you were ordered to, but I appreciate it.” He said, needing to say it in case he never saw the blond man again.
Felix accepted his words with a smile.
He then found himself mindlessly following Sir Seo up narrow staircases until they exited the dungeons. His eyes remained on the Knight’s black cape. Minho had always hated those, it was so hard to fight with them. They often got stuck and hindered his movements, so he would end up ripping them off despite the tailors’ cries. War wasn’t a damn fashion event.
Murmurs, whispers and gasps followed them. He supposed that was a normal reaction to seeing a Royal Knight pulling a handcuffed man through the castle. They were probably wondering who he was or what he did.
Would they think that he murdered someone? Or that he was a traitor? Perhaps, he could also look like an assassin?
But no, he was none of that.
He stopped when Sir Seo stopped.
“His Majesty is waiting for you inside.” The Knight told him with no animosity, surprising Minho a little. “The whole Council is there as well.”
Minho nodded, his eyes turning toward the opulent doors leading to the throne room and the man who would seal his fate.
So the question was: would he live to see his mother again one day, or would his head roll on the cold marble floor?