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One of Keishuk’s earlier memories of his father was of his sixth birthday. It was the first time he had beaten Yuhon in a game of Xiangqi.
It was a slip-up on Yuhon's part. A fluke. Keishuk saw the opportunity and took it. In retrospect, the slip-up was probably on purpose. Still, the General’s eyes lit up and he smiled, bright with powerful laughter.
He remembered the weight of Yuhon’s hand against his shoulder as he said “Keishuk, you’re my firstborn and my greatest pride. This was passed on from my father, His Majesty the king, to me. I want you to have it."
It was a small decorative knife, with intricate Xing motifs carved on the hilt and scabbard. From his studies, he could tell it was a symbol of status from the Xing Kingdom. That was Keishuk’s inheritance.
Thinking back, the knife must have been a present of goodwill from a foreign ambassador, or a trophy of conquest. It had no seal, and carried no power. Just a small present to please a child. But to his six years old self, it felt important.
The following week, the frail lady Yong-hi, who would brush Keishuk’s hair and gift him with confections, who had called him her child, who thought she could never carry a child of her own, announced that she was pregnant.
It was a miracle.
Keishuk was 12 when he tried to murder his younger brother.
Soowon was six at the time, a radiant little thing. The young lord had, from the moment of his birth, completely won the affection of their father, and the affection of everyone else thereafter. Soowon was easy to love. For Keishuk, the bastard firstborn whose life meant something before Soowon’s first cry, Soowon was even easier to hate.
After all, Soowon was the reason he was sent away.
“What’s that, Keishuk-dono?” The boy asked, with a curious spark in his eyes and a polite tilt of his head. There was no fear for sharp objects.
It would be so easy for Keishuk to stab his brother in the heart at this distance. Soo-won was but a child. It wouldn’t be much of a fight. Or he could just push him off the balcony, make it look like an accident.
“It’s a ceremonial knife of Xing. Presented to honoured guests of their king,” he answered.
“Wow, you’ve been to Xing?” Soo-won was clearly impressed, excitement oozing out of every inch of his tiny body.
“No."
“Oh,” Soo-won answered, a bit awkwardly.
“It was given to my grandfather. He gave it to my father,” our father, “who gave it to me.”
Soowon considered this quietly for a brief moment, and Keishuk suddenly got the feeling that the child could right see through him. It was irritating. The moment passed and a brilliant smile bloomed on Soowon’s face.
“It must be very important to you,” he said with a knowing smile.
“Yeah, it is…” a pause, “would you like to take a look at it?”
“Can I?” Soowon’s face lit up again, innocent, unguarded.
“Be very careful with it,” Keishuk said, sheathing the blade and passing it hilt first. Getting up from where he was sitting, he purposely bumped into Soowon and swayed, tossing the blade off the balcony. It landed on the tree right beneath.
It was ridiculously obvious. That didn’t matter.
“You made me drop it,” Keishuk said, evenly. The tree was easy enough to reach from the balcony, and should, theoretically, be able to hold a child’s weight. If Soowon slipped from it and died… well… it wouldn’t be Keishuk’s responsibility.
Soowon stared at him blankly, blinking twice, before some sort of understanding passed through his face.
“I’m so sorry. Allow me to retrieve it for you,” he offered, with the fearlessness of a child.
“Be careful,” was all Keishuk said as an answer. He hoped his brother slipped.
As a credit to his own confidence, Soowon was nimble as he carefully slid from the balcony to the branches below. Calmly and steadily, as if this was the easiest thing in the world, the child climbed from one branch to another. Keishuk found himself holding his breath.
Crack. A branch snapped, accompanied by a soft gasp and a dangerous slip from Soowon. Keishuk felt his heart in his throat. The child quickly steadied himself and smiled back in a manner that was much less reassuring than what was probably intended.
And in that moment, it finally hit him. He could see it, the image of Soowon, falling, breaking his little neck. Lord Yuhon and Lady Yunghi’s devastation. He and his mother… where would they be?
How could he have thought… how could he so foolishly have thought that there’d be no consequences?
“Stay still! Wait for me to get down!”
“Okay,” Soowon said obediently. It seems like the fear of death had finally caught on.
He ran down the flight of stairs as fast as his legs could carry him, nearly tripping over the last step. In his mind, he could hear another crack of tree branch, and his brother, the small bundle of white robe and gold hair, falling, falling. The thought didn’t terrify him a few minutes ago like it did now.
Soowon was still on the same branch when Keishuk arrived under the tree, as safe as he could be.
“You’re here!” He said, as he reached his arm forward, attempting to inch closer to the knife.
“Come down!” Keishuk shouted, “Forget about the knife, just come down!”
Soowon shook his head.
“I’ll get it. I gave you my word, Keishuk-dono, so I’ll definitely get it,” the child said, calmly, willfully. For a moment, Keishuk was speechless.
Once again, Soowon reached his short arm forward, stretching his whole body. This time, his hand connected with the sheathed knife. A pleased smile bloomed across the child’s face as he grabbed hold of the hilt... before a loud crack was heard.
Everything slowed in that moment. Keishuk barely remembered rushing forward before Soowon was sprawled on top of him, a tangle of small limbs.
Neither of them was hurt.
A sigh of relief rushed out of him, unbidden.
“Why did you do that?” Keishuk shouted, as if he wasn’t responsible for prompting Soowon’s recklessness in the first place.
“You should hold onto what’s important to you, Keishuk-dono,” after they both stood back up, Soowon held out the knife to him, ignoring the demand with an easy smile. As if he his own life hadn’t been in danger just moments ago.
Keishuk tossed the knife right into the pond.
“What is wrong with you?” He tried to keep his voice even and failed. He felt his whole body shook and he didn’t know if it was fear or fury. “Don’t you have any awareness that you’re the sole heir to this family? Your life is far more important than…” my own “some useless knife.”
“But it was important to you,” Soowon frowned lightly, looking between the pond and Keishuk. His eyes were honest, almost innocent, and everything just stopped.
A moment of silence passed between the two.
“It isn’t anymore,” he said, before walking away.
He shouldn’t have held onto it in the first place.
Keishuk found Soowon difficult to hate, and even more difficult to love.
It wasn’t long before Soowon started chasing him with snacks whenever he visited.
The first time Soowon called him brother, it was accompanied by the news of their father’s murder.
It was the day after Lord Yuhon’s death, and a year after the death of Keishuk’s own mother.
Lady Yunghi sat in her chair, next to General Yuhon’s empty one. Soowon, barely five feet tall, stood in the centre of the room. It wasn’t sadness he saw in Soowon’s eyes.
General Joodoh led him to the centre of the room before wordlessly joining Lady Yonghi, standing by her side.
Keishuk had seen this day coming. Someday, after the death of their father, he’d be expected to break the secret to Soowon. He just never expected it to happen so soon. He opened his mouth to speak.
Soowon spoke first.
“Brother, our father’s death was no accident. He was murdered…” his young voice faltered, cracked, "by Uncle Il.”
As Soowon’s arms wrapped around him, Lady Yonghi began recounting what Soowon had seen. And for the first time since the ceremonial knife, Keishuk was reminded of how small Soowon was.
He found it unfair. That it was Soowon, tiny, ten year old Soowon, whose eyes were full of life just two days ago, who adored their father, that got to witness Yuhon’s last moment. It was unfair that the owner of these small shaking shoulders got to witness the life slip out of their father’s eyes.
Wasn’t he supposed to be the firstborn?
He felt robbed, robbed of a chance to say goodbye, robbed of a chance to really miss the man who hardly cared for him in the past ten years.
He wrapped his arms around his brother, his only brother, the only family he had left.
It was difficult for Keishuk to love Soowon, but Soowon was blood. He would not let any harm come to this child.
That was the promise he made when Lady Yonghi’s arms wrapped around the both of them.
When he got back to his room, the ceremonial knife which he had thrown away years ago sat on his table.
Keishuk didn’t love General Yuhon, hadn’t for many years now. But all he could think about, at that moment, was the weight of his father’s hand on his shoulder. General Yuhon’s voice, warm and booming, saying “Keishuk, you’re my firstborn and my greatest pride.”
He cried, not knowing why. It was cruel of his brother to bring this to him, but he couldn’t find it in himself to throw it away again.
If Keishuk could take the throne, he would have.
Circumstances had made it impossible. But Keishuk would admit it wholeheartedly that his brother was born for leadership.
Keishuk was not born to serve, but Soowon made it easy.
Soowon was radiant. He smiled before their uncle, he smiled at their little cousin, he smiled at him. And in his eyes, there was fondness.
Some days, Keishuk thought he could return that fondness, that he could love Soowon the way Soowon loved the world.
The way Soowon loved the Thunder Beast and their little cousin.
“And why don’t you? Marry Yona?”
Soowon blinked.
“You want the Thunder Beast’s loyalty, and you’re clearly fond of her. Once you get rid of her father-”
“And when they find out?”
“They don't have to.”
Soowon went quiet, and when he turned to face him his eyes were tired.
“Lying to them… it’s exhausting.”
It was rare to see Soowon look so human. Somewhere in the back of his mind, Keishuk heard the sound of branches cracking, and his little brother, a mess of golden hair and white robe, falling, falling.
“They don’t have to find out,” the older brother reassured.
They could arrange an assassination. Soowon didn’t have to see. He didn’t have to watch the people he loved die.
The princess saw.
Well, they tried.
Perhaps if Soowon did it himself, it’d be easier for him to move on.
There was no room for love in kingship.
“Even if she continues to live on, she will only suffer,” he said. It’d be kindness.
But Soowon faltered.
Keishuk wanted to protect his little brother. Truly, he did.
But when Kan Taejun brought over the lock of red hair, Keishuk could only feel relief.
The branches cracked, and his brother was falling, falling. But since the moment he retrieved that knife, the fall had always been inevitable.
And Soowon would break, he'd hurt. That was okay. Keishuk would be there, he’d make sure his Soowon rose again. This time, as king.