Chapter Text
The road is silent as the procession moves through. Everyone’s eyes are on the one figure at the center, walking slowly with his hands chained, arms locked to his torso, entire body swathed in wet-dark crimson. His steps are silent, not even disturbing the dirt on the ground. The blanket-like cloth around his shoulders drags behind him, rolling and shifting like waves of wine in a swaying barrel, leaving a slight trail of water after. His silver-gold hair is shorn close against his neck, the upper half falling just to his jewelry-free ears.
He holds his head high and his back straight as he takes each step.
Chained between five guards.
His eyes are dark. Not shadowed; a smoky black film covers the entire surface of each eye, the only light visible in his thin irises which are a dull gray-blue. Not so much different from a shark’s eye. Gills high on his neck, three on each side, flutter and shudder in the breeze. Closed but still visible. His full lips are pressed shut.
As he moves through the village, people begin to murmur and stare after him. Suspicious. Untrusting. This is no human. His wet clothing steams in the sweltering summer sun, the sea water evaporating before their very eyes.
This is no human, but one of the merfolk. He bears land legs just like them, but he is not one of them. The whispers follow him all through the village, along the path toward the emperor’s residence high on the hill.
He is the offspring of the sea colony’s shaman. He has no visions. He has no magic. But he is beautiful, and his father the shaman is respected throughout the sea. The eyes watching him do not know this. They know nothing of his sacrifice.
His chains don’t seem to weigh him down, and not a single flicker of distress or fear mar his features.
The whispers follow him like the echo of a wave passing through a coastal cave.
He is being brought to the emperor; there have been rumors floating through the country over the past month. Word that the merfolk are sending a gift to the emperor. The emperor has only just declared all poaching in the merfolk’s waters illegal the previous month. The figure carries a heavy stone within his bound hands that appears to be a container of sorts. Perhaps the gift is within. He must be a delegate, presenting the gift.
Why the chains, then?
Why is such a breathtakingly beautiful mer delegate bearing a gift being sent to the emperor in chains?
Part I: 'Sacrifice'
Jimin clenches his teeth and tries to not scream. The curved, spearhead-like shells are pressed to the corners of his eyes. The shaman’s staff is pressed painfully against his belly. Jimin’s tail is burning. It feels like he’s been drenched in acid, choking on smoke from the land dwellers. With a horrendous ripping sound, his tail splits in two. He chokes, and he feels the tears build. He bites his lips shut, fighting the shriek as it rises in his throat.
The burning builds at his new toes, rising up his new legs, moving higher and higher. He’s going to die. No one can survive this kind of agony. He doesn’t want to survive this. The pain reaches his torso, and there is a soft clink immediately followed by another.
The pressure against his eyes is released. He opens his eyes.
The shaman holds up two large pearls. Dark and glossy, deformed but beautiful.
“These will do.”
The pain disappears all at once as the staff is removed from his stomach. Jimin collapses, knees sinking into the sand, fingers trembling as they dig into the sea floor. The gills on his neck flutter and spasm as he tries to regain his composure, gasping for breath until he can calm himself. He fights the anger, the terror, and the sadness. He must do this for his people.
“You will be taken up to the surface. Once you breach the surface, your gills will seal themselves, but remain visible,” the shaman—his father—explains, voice careful and purposely emotionless.
Jimin opens his mouth to ask a question, but the shaman holds up his hand, one finger slightly straighter than the others: a reminder. Jimin closes his mouth.
“Until you are accepted by the land dwelling emperor.”
Jimin nods. It isn’t forever. But if he breaks his vow before the right time, it will be forever. To never feel his beautiful fins push him through the water again, to never make a sound. To never sing. He can only hope that the emperor accepts him on sight. His suffering could be short-lived. Or it could be eternal.
This, he will do for himself.
The shaman holds out billowing crimson clothing for Jimin to slip into. He can tell from the first touch that it has been woven by the priestesses of the Shallows. He has never seen them with his own eyes, but he knows the tales.
They are able to shift at will, stepping foot on land—but only to trade and return to their caverns. They are not to fall in love with anyone from the merfolk, nor tempt the land dwellers during their visits. They live lives of solitude if not for each other's presence.
Jimin doesn’t know what the material is that the clothing is made from, but it easily allows the water to flow through it, and it feels soft against his skin. He threads his feet through trousers, securing them at the waist with a separate length of cloth. He pulls the upper-thigh-length tunic over his head and pushes his arms through the long sleeves. He tugs on the outer blanket-like piece over the tunic, noticing the tiny but exquisite embroidery decorating and stiffening the edges and hem. The material hangs low, past his heels and not quite settling upon the sea floor as if it were his tail and fins.
The shaman holds out a pair of shoes. They are nothing like the shoes Jimin has seen on sailors and poachers. Those land dwellers wear tough boots, rising higher on their calves, whereas these easily slip onto Jimin’s new feet.
It feels strange and rather uncomfortable wearing all of that material around his body underwater, and it doesn’t take long for him to feel the constrictiveness of the clothing as the water currents push at it.
A large stone, smooth and hollowed from the currents and broken open by the sculptors, is placed in his hands. The shaman carefully folds the pearls within another small piece of thick cloth from the priestesses of the Shallows and sets it into the hollow of the stone. He then closes the stone.
“Give this to the emperor of the land dwellers. No one but he may touch your pearls.”
He also gives Jimin another cloth, on which there is writing embroidered in. He keeps the cloth hidden within Jimin’s hand, not allowing him to see what is written.
“This is for the emperor as well.”
A group of warriors approach, then. The shaman takes Jimin’s face in his hands, holding him close.
“Be safe, my little one. I wish you to find happiness in the world above, and to one day meet again.”
Jimin feels his eyes sting, but he holds it back, this time. He bows his head, and feels his father’s lips upon his forehead.
Two warriors take him by the arms, lifting him effortlessly as his legs kick uselessly in the water. The shaman and the world he has known all his life grow smaller and smaller as they swim toward the surface.
It seems forever before they see the surface of the water draw close. Jimin can see the sun beaming high in the sky above, and the water warms as they swim nearer. They remain below the waves until the sea floor begins to angle up to meet the surface.
The moment Jimin’s face breaches the surface, he feels his gills tighten and seal themselves. He catches the hands of the warriors holding him, wordlessly conveying his abrupt anxiousness. If he goes under now, he won’t be able to breathe. They only shift their grips on him, lifting him higher out of the water as if he weighs nothing.
They swim toward a large pier with several fishing boats anchored. Many flags are flying, secured between high posts along ropes. A crowd of land dwelling officers and villagers are gathered closer to the land side of the pier.
Their chattering abruptly silences as Jimin is lifted from the water and set upon the weatherworn wood. He controls his stance, fighting the stumble his body wants to give in to. He clutches the heavy stone between both hands, slipping the cloth message free.
Suddenly, weapons are being drawn. Jimin has never heard such a piercing, ringing sound before, and he tries to not flinch at the noise. The two warriors in the water by the pier rise up, putting their hands on the edge of the pier.
“Who goes there!” someone shouts. A tall, muscled young man with short-shorn dark hair steps forward, sword drawn.
Jimin remains silent, not allowing himself to step back as much as he wants to. He takes a deep breath of air, feeling his chest expand and then pause as he involuntarily holds his breath.
“It’s the merfolk!” a land dweller exclaims. “They’re here!”
One of the warriors rises up on strong arms, only his fins in the water.
“We of the Waters are not thankless,” he speaks sharply. “Lower your weapons. You will not raise a hand against our gift to the emperor.”
The land dweller scoffs. “Thankless, my ass. Nothing but talking fish.”
He closes the distance between himself and Jimin, and seizes one of his arms. “We will take this gift. Now get lost.”
It is only with sheer will power that Jimin does not make a sound, biting his lip. He stumbles as he is pulled down the pier, and as he glances back at the two warriors, he only sees them sink back beneath the waves. He is alone.
“What’ve you got there, captain?”
“They’ve sent a little fishy pet for the emperor,” the man replies. He doesn’t release Jimin as he goes to a chest where he takes out dark metal binds. “Thought I’d be using these on those poor hunters, but it seems I get to lock up a little fish.”
“What’s with his eyes?” someone asks, as Jimin’s arms are forced to his sides, and the largest of the metal binds is secured tightly around his torso so his arms cannot rise. He refuses to let go of the stone as his wrists in turn are bound.
“Like I said, he’s just a fish. Looks like a human, but there’s no question that he’s nothing but a fish inside.”
Jimin jolts as a chain is hooked onto one of the loops on the metal cage around his torso.
“See? He’s not even fighting back. Hasn’t made a sound.”
Another chain is hooked onto him. And another. Soon, there are five separate chains connected to him.
“He’s a pretty one. Might as well show him off,” the man in charge laughs. “All this nonsense about ‘poaching,’” he shakes his head. “It’s not poaching. It’s hunting. But of course there’s got to be some pests that get in the way.”
Jimin will not back down. He feels his heart sinking the more the soldier speaks, but he does not let his fear show. He obediently allows himself to be paraded toward the village. This is his sacrifice.
He can only hope the emperor will have a kinder heart. He is the one who called off the poaching, after all. He has to be.
Jimin’s eyes feel strange as they walk. Everything is too bright, and dry, but he doesn’t allow himself to squint. He feels the clothing around him dry, the comfort of the sea water disappearing with every minute.
At long last, after gathering more and more attention during their passage through the village, they reach the walls of the emperor’s residence. It must not be a high building, for Jimin cannot see beyond the relatively low walls, but as they pass through and into the yard, he realizes that while the residence might not be a towering piece of architecture like those deep, deep underwater, instead it spans out far and wide. The residence is so vast that Jimin cannot see the entire building without turning his head.
Many servants and soldiers pause to gawk, but no one will look him in the eyes.
The chains connecting him to the soldiers are wound back up into loops in the soldiers’ hands, shortening the length between them and Jimin. The man who seems to be in charge takes two more of the chains from the men at his side, and tugs Jimin forward through the yard. They enter an enclosed corridor, leading them deeper into the residence.
They step out into another yard. This one is nothing but small, white stones with a few large boulders and small trees arranged in what seems to be a specific order. Jimin thinks it is rather lovely. On the other side is a larger building, twice as tall as those around it.
When they enter the building, at first Jimin thinks they have entered into a lightless cavern, but then his eyes adjust and the light streaming through the small windows high above their heads illuminates the space enough for Jimin to see.
“Your highness,” the dark-haired officer speaks, bowing his head and forcing Jimin to lower himself at the same time. “The merfolk have sent their gift to you.”
Jimin’s first glimpse of the emperor is not as terrifying nor exciting as he had feared. The emperor is far younger than he’d presumed. It is something of a relief, but Jimin had been prepared to sacrifice himself in a show of unity, so it does not change the original goal of offering himself.
“He is the gift? A slave?” the emperor’s words are disbelieving.
“Or he’s a spy, perhaps, to make sure you do not retract your ban on poaching, your highness?”
Jimin hears movement. He wants to look up, but there is still a large hand on the back of his nape, and he doesn’t want to anger the man who already seems so hostile toward him.
“Where is Namjoon? Call in my advisor.”
Not a few moments later, a door slides open, and Jimin sees a pair of feet enter.
“Your highness.”
“Namjoon, the merfolk have sent this…I don’t know what he is—is he a mer? But he has human legs—to me as a gift.” The emperor’s voice turns toward Jimin once more. “Will you not speak? What is your name?”
Jimin raises his head and holds out the stone. Slowly, carefully, he opens the stone and unfolds the cloth covering the pearls. He pulls away from the hand on him and crouches down to set the stone on the floor, lifting the cloth with the pearls in one hand and the message in the other.
“What is this?” The emperor frowns. “Someone bring those to me.”
Jimin closes his fist the moment the advisor—a land dweller even taller than the soldier, and with short gray hair—reaches for his hand. He clenches it tightly, unmoving.
“Your highness. He won’t allow me to take it.”
When the advisor steps away, Jimin opens his fist again.
“Bring him up here. I will not play these games.”
Jimin steps up to the dais without protest, hands still locked together, palm curved around his precious cargo but still open.
The emperor stands from his cushion, his golden and earth-toned clothing swishing slightly with the movement. He wears various pieces of jewelry on his wrists and pierced through his ears. He is a handsome man, Jimin thinks.
When the emperor takes the items from Jimin’s hand, he feels a pinch in his throat, like a pin-prick hole breaking through to allow air.
“‘We of the Waters express our deepest gratitude with this gift. The sole offspring of our esteemed shaman; his name is Jimin,’” the emperor reads. He glances up shortly at Jimin where he stands silently, before continuing. “‘These two tears’—tears? Pearls?—‘are born from the pain of his sacrifice. Until tears of true happiness are born from his body, bear them with you always.’” The emperor makes a face, wrinkling his nose slightly in what could be distaste. “‘When the time comes, these tears must be destroyed, and the precious ones protected for life.’”
The emperor holds the two deformed pearls up to the light. “What is this, some kind of enchantment? I will not have this in my presence. I don’t want him.”
The emperor’s words cut through the air.
Jimin looks up to meet his eyes for the first time. They stare at each other for a long time, trying to read the other. The emperor’s eyes widen as Jimin feels his own eyes slowly change, and because there are mirrors behind the emperor, Jimin can see his eyes become more human-like; losing the smoky blackness of the area around his irises, shrinking, and causing his vision to seem duller than usual.
“Your highness, if we reject him, we will be insulting the entire race of merfolk.”
“I don’t want him. Is it that hard to understand? Do they mean for me take him to my bed? I won’t. Don’t they realize they’re just turning him into a slave? I didn’t ban poaching and the additional slaughter of innocent beings only to be thrown a slave from their race. I have no need for a slave.”
Jimin shivers almost unnoticeably. He wishes he could speak, and defend his dignity. He is no slave. He will be no slave. He is a gift of great honor. But if he speaks before it is the right time, he will give up the sea for eternity. He won’t do that.
When the emperor goes to hand the pearls dismissively to the advisor, Jimin gasps and reaches out to stop him, hands clasping around his, wrists still chained. He hears weapons drawn, but ignores them. He shakes his head emphatically.
“What is this—can’t you talk?” The emperor repeats his earlier question, looking positively furious, now. “Why can’t you talk? Open your mouth.” He abruptly steps forward and snatches Jimin’s jaw between his long fingers and forces his mouth open. Jimin relaxes his face as he complies, revealing no abnormalities, no cut tongue. “What’s going on?”
The emperor looks him in the eyes, so much closer than before, looking so much deeper than before. Jimin can almost feel it. “Can you speak?”
Jimin swallows, and nods slowly.
“Then why won’t you speak right now?”
Jimin shakes his head, licking his lips nervously. The emperor’s eyes dart down at the movement, but return to his eyes.
“What are these pearls for?” he asks, holding up the two tears. “How are they born from your pain?”
“Your highness, if I may,” the advisor speaks up, then. “There are tales of merfolk weeping tears of pearls. But it is regarded as only myth.”
“Yes, I did my reading as a child,” the emperor says wryly. “I know the fairytales. That doesn’t explain why he wants me to have these, and won’t let anyone else touch them.”
“Perhaps because you are his intended?”
“And as I said, I do not want him. He’s not human. What am I supposed to do with a sea creature?” The emperor sighs heavily. “He has no place here. He belongs in the sea, with his people.” He tries to return the pearls to Jimin’s palm, but the mer closes his fists and refuses to take them back.
“And what am I supposed to do with these?”
Jimin swallows, and tries to gesture for him to keep them, pointing at the message once more. The emperor catches on easily enough, glancing at it once before shaking his head in exasperation. He takes the cloth around the pearls and ties it up before slipping it into the collar of his shirt.
“Is that good enough for you?” he asks dryly, as if Jimin can answer.
The mer hesitantly nods his head.
“Jungkook,” the emperor speaks up, and the officer who had brought Jimin from the pier straightens. “Unchain him. Namjoon, have him changed into clean clothing. And bathed. He smells of the sea. I’ll think about what to do with him, later. I have more urgent problems to deal with right now.”
“As you wish, your highness.”
Jimin stands still as he is freed completely. He is then led from the room.
.
Jimin is bathed with warm water and salts carrying the scents of flowers. Servants scrub the sea from his skin, until he smells like a land dweller. They try to chat with him, intrigued by his gills and his beauty, but soon realize he will not speak, so they fall into silence. Once he is clean, he is robed in simple white as they take his red clothing away. He is fed rice, vegetables, and roasted fish, sitting at a long low table with many other servants. He reminds himself that this is his sacrifice for his people.
He can’t help the way his heart hurts, though. He keeps his head held high, his back straight, and keeps his face clear of his feelings.
The day passes slowly.
That night, Jimin is led into a large chamber with a dark crimson bed. Then he is left alone.
The sun has long dipped below the horizon, but there is no moon, and the stars are covered by the low clouds. It will rain tomorrow.
Jimin’s land dwelling body is drained, his feet sore, and legs nearly shaking. He climbs onto the large bed and slips beneath the covers. Everything is soft, and he finds himself drifting away within moments.
He wakes to the sound of a door shutting, and footsteps approaching. He groans softly—barely a breath of sound through his nose—and slips his eyes open a little. The emperor is looking down at him, face in shadow. He tenses as his eyes snap open completely.
“I am not going to harm you,” the emperor sighs. “Get out of the bed.”
Jimin slowly sits up, mind foggy with sleep.
“So peculiar,” the emperor says absently, and Jimin frowns in confusion. “Your eyes changed. They look human, now. Although…that color is unusual. Like ice in the sea." he pauses. "It is beyond me why Namjoon insists you stay in this room.”
His previous words finally register, and Jimin scrambles to get up, feeling for the edge of the bed. When he finds it, he slips his feet down to the cool floor.
“You will sleep over there,” the emperor says, pointing over to a luxurious chair by the window. He lifts the covers and climbs into the bed. “This is my bed,” he mutters.
Jimin carefully moves through the dark and climbs onto the rather large chair. The cushion is forgiving, and there is a soft blanket folded over one arm. Jimin unfolds it and wraps it around himself before curling up and settling back.
He doesn’t sleep well. In the morning, he wakes with a horrible pain in his neck, something he has never experienced. The emperor is gone, and servants come to collect him, dress him in trousers and a tunic, and simple shoes.
Over the next few days, Jimin is bustled back and forth between the kitchens, the library, the gardens. He does everything he is asked without a word, wondering always when he will see the emperor. On the third day, he learns the emperor’s birth name. Min Yoongi. It is thanks to chance that he overhears someone speak the name. A tall young man whom everyone calls ‘Taehyung’ is the one who says the name. “Emperor Yoongi,” Taehyung calls him. Jimin begins to refer to the emperor by his name in his mind, feeling each day like he needs a closer connection that he simply isn’t receiving.
Jimin isn’t sure who Taehyung is. He doesn’t seem to be a servant. His clothing is of fine quality and extravagant design.
Jimin continues to sleep in the chair each night. He watches as Yoongi sets the pouch containing the tears down on one of the bedside tables. One day Yoongi forgets the pouch when he leaves, and Jimin can’t control it when he collapses beside the bed, sobbing silently as he clutches the pouch to his chest. When the servants come to collect him, there are tiny, deformed pearls scattered all across the floor.
He gasps up at the servant through reddened, swollen eyes, fighting the sounds that are trying to escape.
The emperor is summoned, and when he finally storms into the chamber, clearly upset at being pulled away from his duties, half a dozen more minuscule pearls spill across the floor.
Yoongi freezes, mouth dropping open.
Jimin clenches the pouch of tears in his fist, holding it up toward the emperor. He draws in great lungfuls of air through his mouth, open wide in anguish. His eyes are so blurry that he startles when a warm hand closes around his, prying the pouch from his fingers.
That tiny pinprick sensation of freed air affects his throat once more, and the smallest squeak of a cry bubbles from his lips.
Yoongi seizes him by the arms and pulls him to his feet. “Is this—” he shakes the pouch before Jimin’s face, “is this killing you? Tell me.”
Jimin shakes his head wildly, more pearls scattering and bouncing across the floor. Yoongi’s eyes follow them for a moment before snapping back to Jimin.
“Let me rephrase that.” Yoongi’s voice is low, and dangerous. “Is this hurting you? Physically.”
Jimin struggles to breathe for a moment before lifting his hand and weakly hitting his chest, over his heart. First as a fist, then with an open palm. The emperor purses his lips.
“I thought so.”
He takes Jimin’s wrist, and turns toward the door, already moving before Jimin can react, stumbling through the mess of pearls.
“I won’t have the merfolk after my corpse if they find out I’ve being mistreating their ‘gift.’ Come with me.”
.
.
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