ciela dela merced

#juniormark au story prompt: the kingdom between us - continued snippets and scribbles #junniorrs #markjrtn i've been rather taken by the prince x knight trope lately, especially the kind of love story that is built on devotion, sacrifice, and all the things left unspoken. here's another little collection of snippets and scribbles from the kingdom between us, exploring the art of yearning. it's a little fragmented, with scenes drawn from different moments in their story, but that's what makes yearning so beautiful, isn’t it? it's not one grand declaration of love, but a lifetime of little moments, lingering glances, and feelings neither quite knows how to put into words. ** a reunion, years too late some people spend their entire lives searching for a place to belong. others spend theirs searching for the one person who once made them feel they were already home. junior had imagined this moment so many times that he had almost convinced himself he would know exactly what to do when it finally came. he had imagined standing before the prince with an army behind him, his sword at his side and every grievance he had carried through the years sharpened into words. he had pictured looking into markji's eyes without feeling anything, speaking without hesitation, and finally confronting the man who had once made him believe that loyalty and love were enough to secure a place in someone's life. in some of those imaginings, he had even rehearsed the satisfaction of seeing markji afraid of him, of watching the prince understand what it meant to lose someone who had once been willing to give him everything. he had imagined anger. resentment. even the cold satisfaction of knowing that he had become someone the kingdom could no longer dismiss. but he had never imagined that markji would still look like this. there he stood, beneath the grand arches of the palace, dressed in ivory silk and sapphire blue, the delicate gold embroidery of his royal garments catching the light as it fell across his shoulders. a flowing cape rested elegantly behind him, its deep blue lining visible whenever he moved, while the crown upon his head held the unmistakable brilliance of a family that had never quite considered junior worthy of belonging to it. he looked every bit the prince he had been born to become, composed and dignified, with a quiet authority that seemed to settle naturally around him. yet junior barely noticed the crown. his eyes had found markji's face, and suddenly the years between them seemed terribly inadequate, as though time had done nothing but teach him the many different ways a person could miss someone. he remembered those eyes. god, how could he ever have forgotten them? those big, warm brown eyes that had always seemed a little too honest for someone raised within the walls of a palace, eyes that would brighten whenever junior returned from training and follow him around the courtyard whenever markji wanted his attention. they were still there, still impossibly expressive, although something had changed. perhaps it was the years, perhaps it was the weight of a kingdom, or perhaps it was the knowledge that they had both survived a life in which the other was missing. junior found himself looking for the smallest details, as though his eyes were attempting to recover everything his hands had been denied for so long. the familiar softness of markji's features, the gentle contours of his cheeks, his perfectly shaped nose, and those beautiful, plump pink lips with their unmistakable cupid's bow. he remembered those lips forming his name, remembered the little pout markji would make whenever junior refused to indulge one of his requests, and remembered how easily he could make the prince smile, sometimes without even trying. he wondered whether markji still smiled like that. whether he still laughed with his entire face, whether his eyes still crinkled when something genuinely amused him, whether he still bit his lower lip when he was trying to concentrate. he wondered if someone else had learned these things about him, if another person now knew how to make him laugh when the responsibilities of the crown became too much, or whether there were still moments when markji found himself alone in the palace, wishing for the company of someone who would never again come through the door. the thought was unwelcome, and junior swallowed it before it could become something more painful. he had not come back to wonder about markji's happiness. he had come back to reclaim what had been taken from him. so why, after all these years, was his first instinct still to ask whether markji had been taking care of himself? why did he still want to step closer, to look for the familiar signs of exhaustion around his eyes, to ask whether he had eaten, whether he had slept, whether the kingdom had been kind to him? why did he still feel the inexplicable urge to straighten the collar of markji's robes, to brush away a stray strand of chestnut hair that had fallen across his forehead, to take his hand and remind him that he did not have to carry everything alone? it was humiliating, really, how little distance had done to change the things that mattered. he had spent years building walls around his heart, brick by brick, convincing himself that resentment was stronger than affection and that hatred would eventually become a suitable replacement for everything he had lost. only to discover that markji had never needed a key. he had only ever needed to appear. and there was something particularly cruel about that. junior had survived battles, crossed unfamiliar lands, built an army from nothing and earned the respect of men who would follow him into death. he had learned to command without hesitation and to make decisions without allowing sentiment to interfere. yet one look from the prince, one familiar expression, and suddenly he was that same boy again, standing in the palace courtyard, waiting for markji to finish his lessons so they could spend the afternoon together. some wounds, he was beginning to understand, did not heal purely because the person carrying them had learned to live around the pain. and then markji looked at him. not at the army behind him, not at the armour covering his chest, not at the sword he carried or the title he had earned beyond the borders of the kingdom. he looked directly at him, and for one fleeting moment junior saw something in those brown eyes that made his chest tighten. recognition. not the recognition of a prince acknowledging a former knight, but something much more intimate, something that belonged to the years when they had known each other without titles or formalities, when markji could find him by listening for his footsteps. junior wanted to be that person again. the realisation was so sudden that he almost looked away. instead, he straightened his shoulders, allowed his expression to settle into something colder, and bowed with all the formality expected of a commander addressing a prince. "your highness." he hated how unfamiliar the words sounded. once, he had called markji by his name in the middle of crowded corridors, had whispered it through laughter in the palace gardens, had spoken it softly when the prince fell asleep beside him after a particularly exhausting day. there had been a time when saying markji's name was the easiest thing in the world, when it belonged so naturally on his tongue that he never had to think before speaking. now he had to remind himself not to say it. and that was possibly the first punishment of seeing him again. discovering that the person whose name he had carried through every lonely night was no longer someone he was permitted to call. ** markji had imagined junior's return in his dreams, although he had never allowed himself to call them dreams when he woke. sometimes he imagined seeing him at the palace gates, dishevelled from travel and wearing the familiar expression he used to have after a long day of training. sometimes he imagined hearing his footsteps in the corridor outside his chambers, followed by a faint knock and the sound of junior asking whether the prince was still awake. in his kinder imaginings, junior would come home without anger, and markji would finally have the opportunity to tell him everything he had never been brave enough to say. but the man who stood before him now was not the boy who had once belonged to the palace. he was a commander, a man with an army of his own, a figure whose name carried enough weight to make the royal council uneasy. his dark clothing and imposing presence seemed almost deliberately designed to erase every trace of the kingdom that had once raised him. the softness markji remembered had not disappeared entirely, but it had been buried beneath years of discipline, disappointment and a hurt that markji knew he had caused, even if he had never intended for junior to carry it. and yet, when their eyes met, markji saw him. not the commander, not the enemy, not the man who had returned with the intention of making the kingdom answer for its past. he saw the boy who had once sat beside him beneath the old trees in the palace gardens, the young knight who would silently position himself between markji and anyone who might cause him harm, and the person whose presence had made even the most ordinary days feel like something worth remembering. his heart recognised junior before his mind could remind him of the years that had passed. he noticed the sharpness of his features first, the exquisitely defined jawline, the prominent cheekbones and the straight, elegant bridge of his nose. his dark hair fell slightly across his forehead, and there was a composure about him that markji had never seen in quite the same way before. he looked older, more certain of himself, and so terribly handsome that markji almost resented the ease with which his heart continued to respond to him. then his eyes moved to junior's mouth. those familiar, perfectly shaped lips that markji had once found himself watching during conversations, pretending to listen while secretly wondering what it would feel like to have junior smile at him for reasons that had nothing to do with friendship. he remembered the rare occasions when those lips curved into a genuine smile, how the severity of junior's features would soften, and how markji would find himself wanting to be the reason for it again and again. he had never kissed him. the thought arrived with such painful clarity that markji almost forgot where he was. there had been so many opportunities, or at least so many moments he had mistaken for opportunities. there had been evenings when they sat together long after everyone else had retired, mornings when junior helped him dress for royal ceremonies, and slow afternoons when markji would fall asleep reading while junior remained nearby, pretending to be occupied with his duties. there had been countless occasions when he could have leaned a little closer, held his hand a little longer, or simply asked whether junior had ever wondered what it might be like if they were something more. he remembered the way junior would stand close enough for their shoulders to brush, the way his long, slender fingers would occasionally find markji's wrist when guiding him through a crowded hall, and the strange warmth that would linger long after their hands had parted. he remembered wanting to hold those fingers, not because he needed guidance or protection, but because he wanted to know what it would feel like to be held by someone who had always made him feel safe. but he had always assumed there would be another day. another evening, another conversation, another opportunity to understand the strange warmth that settled in his chest whenever junior was near. he had believed there would be time. and now, standing before him, markji realised that he had spent years mourning a future he had never even attempted to ask for. he wanted to reach out. that was the most difficult part. his body seemed to remember junior with an intimacy his mind could no longer justify. he wanted to touch his arm, to feel the familiar warmth beneath the dark fabric, to run his fingers over the back of his hand and reassure himself that this was real, that junior was truly standing before him and that he had not once again imagined his return. he wanted to hold his face. to place his palms against those defined cheeks, trace the line of his jaw with his thumbs and look into his eyes without having to pretend that he was merely greeting a former member of the royal household. he wanted to tell him that he had missed him. not politely, not in the way a prince might acknowledge the absence of a trusted companion, but with the full and devastating honesty of someone who had spent years discovering that a life can continue perfectly well on the outside while remaining terribly incomplete within. he wanted to tell him that the palace had never sounded the same, that the gardens had grown too quiet, and that there were days when he still caught himself looking towards the training grounds, expecting to see a familiar figure waiting for him. most of all, he wanted to apologise. for the cruel words, the humiliation, the exile, and the way he had made junior believe that everything they had shared could be discarded so easily. he wanted to explain that he had not been choosing the kingdom over him. he had been choosing his life over the kingdom's cruelty, and if he had to make that decision a thousand times over, he would still choose junior. even if it meant losing him a thousand times, too. but markji could not say any of it. so he smiled, the kind of measured, graceful smile he had perfected through years of royal ceremonies, and greeted the commander as though his heart had not just recognised its favourite person. "welcome back, commander panachai." he almost wished junior would call him a liar. he almost wished he would step forward, demand to know why markji had done it, why he had made him leave, why he had never come looking for him. anything would have been better than this careful distance, this unbearable politeness between two people who once knew exactly how to find each other. but junior only bowed. and markji understood what that meant. for the first time, saving someone's life did not necessarily mean saving their place in yours. the things their bodies remember what neither of them anticipates is how much of their old life has remained instinctive, how many small habits have survived despite years of separation and the deliberate effort to become strangers. during their first private audience, junior notices that markji is standing for longer than he should, his posture perfectly composed but his fingers occasionally pressing against the side of his waist. he remembers that particular habit from their younger days, the way markji would slowly shift his weight whenever his back began to ache after long hours of royal ceremonies. junior almost tells him to sit down, almost reaches for the chair behind him, but catches himself when he remembers that he no longer has the right to fuss over the prince. markji notices the hesitation. and for the rest of the meeting, he cannot stop thinking about the fact that junior remembered. later, when a servant brings refreshments, junior notices that markji reaches for the same tea he always preferred. it is such an insignificant detail, one that should mean absolutely nothing, yet junior finds himself wondering whether the kitchens still prepare it the way he used to like, whether markji has maintained the little preferences they once discovered together, or whether he has learned to live with things being different. markji, meanwhile, notices that junior still holds his cup with those long, slender fingers, his movements controlled and precise. he remembers those hands fastening the clasp of his ceremonial cape, remembers the occasional brush of fingers against his wrist, and remembers how junior would sometimes take his hand when guiding him through the palace, never once making him feel that he was too delicate or too important to be treated like an ordinary person. he remembers wanting to hold those hands for reasons that had nothing to do with being guided or protected. and he still does. there is something almost cruel about being so physically close to someone whose touch you have spent years missing. junior can stand within arm's reach of markji and still feel as though he is separated from him by an entire lifetime. he can hear his voice, notice the movement of his lips, see the faintest changes in his expression, and yet he cannot do the one thing that comes most naturally to him. reach out. sometimes markji catches junior looking at him, and his heart does something terribly hopeful. he wonders whether junior is remembering, too, whether there is a part of him that still sees the boy he once knew rather than the prince who sent him away. but junior always looks elsewhere first. and markji has never learned how to ask someone to stay when he is the reason they left. it could be that the body is a more faithful keeper of memories than the mind. it remembers the distance at which someone once stood, the familiar warmth of their palm, the rhythm of their footsteps and the way a room seemed less empty whenever they entered it. it remembers what the heart has tried so desperately to bury. and theirs remember everything. the things they cannot say there are entire conversations happening between them that neither will ever allow to reach their lips. when junior sees markji smiling at a visiting nobleman, he wonders whether the prince has found someone who makes him happy. someone who gets to sit beside him at dinner and hear about his day. someone who can touch his hand without having to consider the political consequences. he tells himself that it should not matter, that markji is entitled to happiness and that whatever existed between them was never something junior had the right to claim. but the thought of another person knowing the little things about markji makes something bitter settle beneath his ribs. he wonders whether anyone else knows that markji's eyes brighten before he laughs, whether anyone notices the way his lips form a little pout when he is displeased, whether anyone has learned that the prince sometimes becomes quiet when he is overwhelmed and does not necessarily need advice, only someone willing to sit beside him. junior used to know all of these things. he wonders who knows them now. and markji is no less guilty. when he sees junior surrounded by soldiers, commanding their attention with a confidence that makes the entire room listen, he feels an unfamiliar mixture of pride and grief. he is proud of the man junior has become, proud that the boy who was once dismissed as an outsider has built something entirely of his own. yet there is a sadness in knowing that he was not there to witness any of it, that someone else stood beside junior during his victories, that someone else may have tended to his wounds and celebrated his achievements. he wonders who junior looks for when he is exhausted. who notices when his expression changes. who is allowed to touch his face, to run a hand through his hair, to take those beautiful hands in theirs and remind him that he does not always have to be strong. and, maybe most selfishly, markji wonders whether junior has ever loved anyone else. because he has not. he has never quite managed to make room for another person, not because he deliberately chose to remain faithful to a love that was never spoken, but because every time he imagined a future with someone, he found himself measuring it against a person who was no longer there. he has been a prince, an heir and eventually the man responsible for an entire kingdom, but there has never been another person whose presence made him feel so completely like himself. it is a peculiar kind of loneliness, to be surrounded by people who would gladly give their lives for you and still find yourself longing for the one person who once knew how to make you feel that you did not need to be anyone important. the sapphire between them it is during one of their encounters that markji finally notices it again. junior has removed part of his armour after a long day of negotiations, and the dark fabric beneath his chest plate has shifted slightly, revealing a small flash of blue against his skin. markji knows that colour. it was all too familiar. he knows that particular shade of sapphire, the silver setting and the unmistakable royal crest engraved into its centre. for a moment, he is no longer in the room. he is back on the night of junior's promotion, standing before the young knight with a small ornament resting in his palm, trying to find a way to tell him that he was proud of him, that he belonged, that there was a place for him in the kingdom that had nothing to do with the family who had taken him in. he remembers fastening the brooch himself. he remembers how close junior had stood, how his fingers had briefly brushed against the fabric of his uniform, and how he had wished, just for a moment, that he could leave his hand there. he remembers giving him something he thought would remind him that he was home. and now, years later, the very same brooch rests against the chest of a man who has built an entirely different life. "you kept it," markji says, almost inaudibly. junior follows his gaze and instinctively covers the sapphire with his hand. for a moment, neither speaks. junior knows he should remove it. he should have removed it years ago, when he left the kingdom, when he swore never to look back, when he promised himself that he would no longer carry anything that reminded him of the prince who had betrayed him. but he never could. he has worn it through victories and defeats, through long journeys and sleepless nights, through battles in which he genuinely believed he might not survive. sometimes, when the world became particularly unkind, he would find himself touching the little sapphire beneath his armour, remembering a time when he had been wanted somewhere, when someone had looked at him and told him that he belonged. he had spent years telling himself that the brooch represented everything he had lost. it was easier than admitting that it represented the person he had never stopped loving. "it is nothing," junior replies. markji looks at him, his brown eyes lingering on the hand covering the brooch. Nothing. what a terribly small word for something that has travelled through so many years, survived so much resentment and remained close to the heart of a man who claims to have forgotten him. markji wants to tell him that he chose it carefully, that he remembered junior's favorite color when he selected the stone. that he had wanted the gift to be something junior could keep even when he was no longer required to wear the royal uniform. he wants to tell him that he never intended for the brooch to become a reminder of a goodbye. instead, he asks, "does it still mean something to you?" junior looks at him for a long moment. he could tell him the truth. he could say that it means the world to him, that he has carried it through every year of exile, that it is the closest he has come to keeping the promise markji once made him. he could say that there are nights when he has taken it off, held it in his palm and wondered whether the prince who gave it to him ever thinks about the boy who received it. but he cannot. because what if markji has forgotten? what if the brooch was merely a kind gesture, something given without thought, while junior has spent years allowing it to become the keeper of an entire love story? so he looks away. "some things are difficult to throw away." markji lowers his eyes. he understands the words, but he does not know whether he is allowed to hope for what they might mean. and junior, watching the prince's expression change, almost wishes he had said something else. anything else. anything that might have told markji that the boy who once loved him had never really gone anywhere. and without realizing it then, the sapphire has become the only witness to a love neither of them knew how to name. it has listened to every silence, survived every battlefield and carried a secret that neither man has dared to speak aloud. it has remained where words failed them, close to the heart that once received it and closer still to the heart of the person who gave it. a kingdom can strip a man of his title, his uniform and his home, but there are some things even exile cannot take away.