AN: Another update?!  So soon!?  Craziness!

Please comment, enjoy, and welcome Jeongsu to the fic.  *points at the picture*  That guy.  

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He stood almost motionless on top of the outermost castle rampart, his hands resting gently on the parapet in front of him. Below, the main road of Inner Seoul stretched into the distance. Near the Prosperity Gate, smoke still rose in swirling plumes, a constant reminder of his violent welcome to the capitol.

It had been three days since the attack and what remained of the slaves were still clearing the roadway and putting out fires. There were a few craters that needed to be filled in and a handful of buildings that could use a patch or two, but the biggest losses weren't structural.

The biggest loss had been in life.

Each day, a list was passed to his father with the names of the identified nobles that had been killed. More reports listed out merchants and commoners – mostly paid servants to the Nobility such as handlers or advisors. Those sheets were bad enough, but with them also came petitions from the wealthy households demanding compensation for lost family members as well as lost merchandise, both human and material.

According to the lists, around a hundred rebelling slaves had died at the hands of the soldiers, but the body count still had not been fully tabulated; numerous people were still unaccounted for. Hundreds of slaves were missing, presumed dead or fled.

Some had been found cowering behind the safety of noble estate walls or hiding under stalls at Market Square. Still more were located within the Slave pens, squirreled away in random cells where they thought they'd be safe from the chaos. But the vast majority were still unaccounted for.

His hands balled into fists, knuckles white from the force. Jimin was among the missing.

While traveling, they had maintained a strict distance out of caution. None of the soldiers or servants that accompanied the prince knew the full truth of their relationship, only the rumors. The slaves may have known, but if there was anyone that Namjoon could trust to keep their mouths shut, it was them. To prevent the rumors from forming into true thoughts, Jimin traveled with the slaves and Namjoon did his best to ignore the younger's presence.

Night was the only time they saw each other on the road. While all but the guards on watch slept, Jimin would ghost his way into Namjoon's tent, released from his bindings by a sympathetic handler, perhaps the only one in the caravan who really knew their secret.

Namjoon squeezed his eyes shut. He had seen that handler's name on a list of the dead that morning.

Turning away from the wall, Namjoon moved swiftly along the top of the rampart to the inner stairs, descending into a courtyard with rapid steps. His father had called a council meeting for that afternoon and if he didn't hurry, Namjoon would most likely be late to it.

If he was being fully honest, Namjoon didn't give a set of rat-tits for his father's meeting. He would rather have been out in the streets with the soldiers, sifting through bodies, looking for Jimin. Instead, he had been roped into the political happenings of his father's court.

He had tried to argue that he could do some good being out with the people, helping to put the city back to order, but the emperor had merely laughed. According to his father, there were plenty of peasants to do that work; a prince's place was where he couldn't smell them doing it.

He had entertained the brief, cynical thought that his parents were very well suited for each other.

He was halfway across the courtyard toward a door into the palace-proper when a voice hailed him. He turned slightly to see a man hurrying across the space toward him. The newcomer was wearing the uniform of House Gwan, but his face was so covered in dirt and grime that it took Namjoon a moment to recognize him. When he finally did, the prince felt a sharp jab in his heart as hope and anxiety mixed together.

"Well?" Namjoon had to hold himself back from snapping impatiently when the solider paused to bow.

The older had been sent out by Namjoon with orders to look through the bodies. He had been given explicit instructions to report back if he found Jimin's body. While the members of his mother's staff didn't know the full extent of the prince and his slave's relationship, they did know that they had been companions for years and no one would have questioned Namjoon wanting to know what became of the copper-haired youth.

"Your highness," the man started, attempting to wipe some of the mess from his face with an equally grimy sleeve. "I've done my best but many of the bodies of the slaves have already been tossed into the burn pits."

Namjoon's stomach did a very uncomfortable sort of twist. "Those are just the ones that have been recorded, though."

The solider sighed, giving up on attempting to tidy his appearance. "There's been a number of unidentifiable bodies that have been thrown in, as well. Ones that were so... destroyed in the fight that you couldn't read their brands, or even see if they had any."

"So, you found nothing?" Namjoon wasn't sure if he should have felt relieved or more worried by that. On one hand, if Jimin had somehow gotten caught in a blast, there was a very good chance he would not have been recognizable. On the other, the majority of the bodies were intact enough to read either shoulder or arm so if Jimin's number wasn't recorded on the lists of the dead, he could still be out there.

The hesitation in the soldier brough a prickle to the back of Namjoon's neck, halting his rabbiting thoughts.

"What?" the prince asked quietly, trying not to sound too sharp, or too concerned.

"I found this." The solider dug a grubby hand into his jacket. He pulled something out and dropped it into the prince's outstretched palm. "It was on a body when I was poking around one of the pits some of our slaves were tossed into. I don't know if one of them tried to steal it or what, but I figured you'd want it."

Namjoon stared at the sooty, metal charm nestled in his hand, his mind going blank. The symbol was unmistakable, the swirling, delicate design of House Gwan. While Namjoon was sure the soldier would not have recognized what the charm actually was, he would have recognized the symbol as belonging to the Empress' house. The last time Namjoon had seen it was against the tan skin of Jimin's chest, the night before they'd arrived at the capitol.

"You-" he cleared his throat when it came out a little cracked. "It was on a body? What body?"

"It was too charred to recognize, but I could see PK on the arm, and maybe a five. The rest was too burned to read." He wiped his hands down the front of his tunic. "What was his number?"

PK. Jimin's birth-pen was Park Kiyong. Namjoon felt a wave of nausea wash over him. "PK 568."

The soldier winced.

"Male? Female?" The prince pressed, his heart rate skyrocketing as he closed his fist around the charm. "How tall were they? Age?" He knew he was starting to sound desperate, but he couldn't keep the panicked edge from his voice. "Could you see his hair?"

The soldier licked his lips and grimaced before spitting off to one side. His eyes widened and he started to stammer an apology about spitting in the presence of royalty.

Namjoon waved it off. "Just answer."

"Best I could tell, male. About yay-high." He raised his hand a little above his own head, at about the right height for Jimin. "I couldn't tell the age. Hair was charred nearly off, I'm sorry."

It took everything Namjoon had to keep his voice from shaking as he voiced his next question. "You remember his face? Was it him?"

"I can't say for sure," the soldier replied. "I didn't know him well. Why would he have had that on him, though?"

There was nothing but curiosity in the soldier's voice and Namjoon shook his head in response. He wondered how much he could trust this commoner. "This was my grandmother's. I gave it to Jimin before we left, to hide it for me, so my mother wouldn't try to take it," he finally said. "I forgot to take it back before we arrived."

It wasn't anywhere near the truth, but it would be enough to satisfy the soldier. His mother's jealousy of Namjoon having inherited her mother's jewelry was well known in the Empress' estate. It was also no secret that the mother and son did not exactly get along very well. If the soldier decided to wag his tongue to his friends, Namjoon's explanation would have been accepted without much thought.

"I'm sorry, your highness. If that's the case, I can't see that it would have been anyone besides him."

It felt as though the ground had opened up and swallowed him whole. He could see the logic behind the soldier's conclusion, but he really didn't want to believe it. He glanced at the necklace once more before slowly clasping it around his own neck and tucking it under his shirt. "Thank you. You are dismissed."

The soldier bowed so low he was nearly parallel to the ground before hurrying out of the courtyard and out of Namjoon's presence.

The prince stood very still for a long moment, one hand pressed over the front of his shirt where the charm sat against his skin. His mind swirled through the information he'd been given, trying to find something, anything that would prove that it wasn't Jimin that the soldier had found. The body was the right gender, the right height, had three of the five marks of Jimin's arm brand still legible, and he had the necklace.

A deep horror sank into Namjoon's bones. He was supposed to have protected Jimin. He had promised he would protect him. When the attack hit, the first thing he should have done was find Jimin and make sure he was safe. Instead, he joined the soldiers in fighting off the attackers. He had spent so much time and energy dealing with that woman instead of protecting his Jimin.

He knew he could have blamed her, or the rebels, or his father's incompetent soldiers, but he didn't. Guilt welled up inside him so thickly he could taste bile on the back of his tongue.

This was entirely his own fault. He should have protected Jimin like he had promised. Then the young slave would have been standing there in the courtyard, reminding Namjoon that if he didn't hurry, he would be late for his father's counsel and that would make a very bad impression on the people he would one day have to lead. Then, the redhead would teasingly call Namjoon "your highness," steal a kiss when no one was looking, and hurry back to their rooms to await his lover's return.

Instead, Jimin was fated to an unmarked grave, one of a hundred unrecognizable faces slowly turning to ash. And it was entirely Namjoon's fault for not doing the one thing he had promised Jimin he would do. The shame burnt through his veins, boiling uncomfortably under the surface until it turned to anger at his failure.

With a snarl, he turned the rage into action, shoving it out of himself with as much force as he could muster. With a thundering crack, a tree standing a few yards away ripped from the ground and slammed into the outer wall with so much force that the stones shifted in their mortar. Breath heaving from his body, Namjoon screamed wordlessly toward the unfortunate oak, shattering what remained of the trunk into pieces too small even for kindling.

"I've heard of the powers of House Gwan before but, I must admit, seeing them first-hand is both impressive and terrifying."

Namjoon spun to face the source of the dry voice that cut into his mindless fury. Standing about fifteen feet away was a man in an Alchemist's emerald green robes. His dark hair was slightly shaggy around the edges, long enough to brush his chin but not long enough to touch his shoulders. His equally dark eyes were sharp and calculating as he sized up the heir. Though it was difficult to determine his age – he had one of those faces that were hard to gauge – Namjoon guessed him to be at least in his late twenties, if not older.

"Forgive me for interrupting your..." The alchemist pursed his lips and glanced at the deep hole where the tree once stood. "Gardening, your highness."

"Gardening," Namjoon parroted blankly.

"Gardening," the alchemist confirmed lightly. He appeared entirely unconcerned with the fact that the prince just reduced a tree to toothpicks. Instead, he adjusted the basket that hung over his arm and shifted his weight from one foot to the other.

"Who are you?" The silver-haired man felt his anger start to dissipate. Exhaustion replaced the emotion, his extreme use of force draining him.

"Alchemist Jeongsu, your highness." The man bowed slightly.

"What are you doing out here?"

Jeongsu tilted his head and blinked. "My job. Or, at least, I'm on my way to do it." He lifted his basket slightly to indicate the object. "I could very well ask you the same question."

It was Namjoon's turn to blink. A frown tugged at the corners of his mouth. "You're bold to speak to me so flippantly. I could order your head for less."

"You could, but you won't."

"How could you possibly know that?" Namjoon couldn't help but feel a bit irritated by the other's words. The only person who ever dared to speak to him like that was Jimin; others usually treated him with a great deal of respect.

The alchemist looked pointedly at the hole in the ground once more. "I overheard your conversation with that soldier. A man who values a slave enough to destroy a two-hundred-year-old oak over his death is not a man who would demand the head of someone with no manners."

Jeongsu took a few, slow steps toward the prince until they stood a body's length apart. Up close, the man was about the same size as Jimin. The thought brought a pang to Namjoon's chest.

The shorter man opened his basket, holding it against his hip with one arm while digging into it with his other hand. He pulled out a few different sachets and offered them to the prince.

"It isn't much," he murmured, "but these teas may help you sleep."

Namjoon took the packets automatically, staring at the odd man. "How did you know I can't sleep?" he demanded before he caught himself.

"You have bags under your eyes deeper than my basket," Jeongsu replied bluntly. "If I had to hazard a guess, I would say that your exciting arrival to our fair city has been a bit too stimulating for you."

Namjoon pressed his lips thin as he looked down at the packets in his fingers, flipping them over idly. "You could say that," he muttered.

They lapsed into a silence that started to feel incredibly uncomfortable to the prince. He glanced up at the neutral expression of the alchemist, wondering why the man was still standing there instead of scurrying off to whatever task he was supposed to be accomplishing. "Yes?" he asked sharply.

"You haven't dismissed me. I may have no manners, but I'm not dumb enough to wander off when in the presence of the heir-apparent without being told to go." Jeongsu crossed his arms, his basket swinging wildly with the motion. "And I certainly am not going to traipse off while said heir-apparent is having some sort of breakdown over the death of his illicit lover."

Namjoon flinched. "Is it that obvious that's who he was?" he asked quietly, a cold washing over him at the thought.

Jeongsu sighed and uncrossed his arms. "It wouldn't be obvious to a dullard like that soldier, but I'm not an idiot." There was a pause as the smallest of smiles touched the older man's lips. "And I am an old colleague of Alchemist Yoonhee. She sent me an interesting recipe with no explanation, other than that she developed it for you and that I would understand once I mixed it together." His face fell slightly and, to Namjoon's surprise, the alchemist placed his hand on the prince's shoulder.

"I understand your pain, and your fear," Jeongsu whispered, his voice so earnest that Namjoon could not doubt his sincerity. "I am not the only alchemist in the service of the crown, but I am, perhaps, your safest bet should you ever feel you need to talk to someone who can relate, and who won't take your business straight to your magnanimous father."

He dropped his hand and adjusted his robes slightly. "With your highness' permission, I will take my leave."

Namjoon nodded slightly, still thrown off by the unconventional interaction with the alchemist. As the older man made to move away, though, the prince held up a hand to waylay him. At the questioning look in Jeongsu's eyes, Namjoon spoke quietly.

"What do you mean that you relate?"

Something passed through Jeongsu's eyes that Namjoon could not fully read. "It is not easy in this world for people like us," the alchemist said carefully. "For those who do not conform to society's expectations. It's not common to find each other. When we do, it's important that we stick together."

"People like us?" Namjoon pressed.

"People who have loved those they should not." Jeongsu bowed slightly and turned, whisking away before Namjoon had the chance to ask any more questions.

Namjoon was a smart man and he knew exactly what Jeongsu was hitting at. Between the older man's comments, and the odd expression that had flickered across his face, Namjoon assumed that something must have happened to Jeongsu's lover at some point in his past.

Before he had much time to dwell on it, though, a bell in the distance tolled, ringing the time across the city. Cursing, Namjoon shoved the sachets into his trouser pockets and hurried toward the door he had originally been heading for before the soldier had waylaid him. He was now officially late for his father's counsel meeting.

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AN:  Well, this chapter didn't go the direction I had originally anticipated, but Jeongsu demanded to be added.  He was tired of the rest of SuJu getting parts and leaving him out.  

For those playing Super Junior Bingo at home, Jeongsu goes by the stage name Leeteuk, the leader of the group.