Work Text:
I. GLOAMING
Dainsleif, on the stubby legs of a toddler, squeezed through an eroded stone gate and ran to the edge of a glistening pond. Squatting down, he peered into the emerald water with wonder: cavefish, crays, and olms slithered, swam, and sailed through the pond like swords through air, cutting the surface with ripples and waves. Gingerly, Dainsleif stuck his little hands in and pulled out a crayfish with a glistening and translucent shell. He stroked its back softly before letting it crawl out of his hands and hop back into the pond below.
He always snuck outside whenever the stuffy air of the house got to him. Despite the entirety of Khaenri’ah being underground, some spots managed to be more drafty than others, and Dainsleif gravitated to them like a moth to a flame. A sudden breeze rippled the pond, and an olm capsized. Dainsleif laughed childishly as he flipped it right-side up.
“Dainsleif?”
Dainsleif jolted upward as his head followed the voice to the source. Innocent eyes met the paternal gaze of his brother. Vedrfolnir smiled, enjoying the silly way Dainsleif tottled to him. He stuck out his arms, and Vedrfolnir was quick to pick him up. Dainsleif’s hands sat snuggly around the base of his neck.
“How do you always know where I am?” Dainsleif half-shouted, half-questioned. He giggled as Vedrfolnir tapped his nose playfully.
“It’s a secret.”
II. AUREATE
“Such darling blue eyes and blond hair,” Rhinedottir murmured as she circled a boyish Dainsleif with slow clicks of her heels. Under her piercing gaze, he felt like a carcass surrounded by vultures. Or rather, one big vulture. “Your mother must’ve absolutely adored you. I would’ve.”
Dainsleif gave her a small and childish smile, unsure how to respond, or even if he should respond. He held his hands together and held them neatly by his lap. Rhinedottir, after one more slow and meticulous circle, straightened up and gave Dainsleif a curious look.
“Do you like your brother? Vedrfolnir?” she asked suddenly. The boy flinched. He gave a clumsy yet enthusiastic nod.
“I like him a lot,” Dainsleif whispered.
“I don’t deal with mumblers,” Rhinedottir sighed. “Speak proudly, boy. You come from such good breeding.”
Dainsleif was a bit too young to detect sarcasm—if even present—so he boldly took her statement at face value. “Okay,” he responded, loud on purpose.
“Good. Does he treat you well?”
Dainsleif nodded again, this time with more confidence. “Yep. He got me a new scarf just the other day.”
“A new scarf, of course, that’s a good measure of negligence,” Rhinedottir mused to herself, maybe doing the sarcasm thing again. “You’re sweet. What color is the scarf?”
“Blue.”
“You like blue?”
Another nod. “I love blue.”
“Your head will fall off your shoulders the way you bob it up and down.” Rhinedottir smiled and tapped a finger on the slim of her jaw. “Is the scarf soft?”
“Very soft.”
Dainsleif allowed himself to be coaxed deeper and deeper by Rhinedottir’s questions. They came rapidly, never giving the child a chance to collect his thoughts. Is it warm? Is it long? How do you wear it, around your shoulders or around your neck? What material is the scarf? Come on, boy, I said no mumbling. Cotton or wool? After the sixth round of questioning, Dainsleif mustered enough courage to flip the interrogation: “Ms. Rhinedottir, why are you so interested in my scarf?”
The woman stared at the boy for a few tense moments, coral lips pursed on her olive face. Her frosty eyes seemed not only to puncture him, but explore his insides as well. After a thorough investigation, she broke out into a smile with no teeth. “I want you to draw me a picture.”
With Rhinedottir’s guiding hand, Dainsleif was ushered to sit at a table. She set out a blank sheet of paper and three identical fountain pens. She tapped at the sheet in front of him with a pedicured nail. “Be creative. And make me proud.”
“W-what am I supposed to draw?” Dainsleif asked, meekish. Any comfort he felt just moments prior was sucked out of the air with just one bat of Rhinedottir’s golden eyelashes. He picked up a pen. “I draw better with a goal.”
Rhinedottir closed her eyes as if deep in thought, though Dainsleif got the feeling that she already had her mind made up. She gave him another smile. “Draw me a creature. I don’t mind if it’s a monster or a unicorn—just draw it from the heart.” With that, she stepped away, leaving Dainsleif alone with the pen and paper. Easy enough, he thought.
A bit of tongue sneaking passed his lips, Dainsleif drew two large circles on the paper. He added pupils; a large one for the right eye, and a small one for the left eye. Then, he added two curved protruding horns breaking through a head of thin and shaggy hair. Just below the eyes, he dotted an oblong nose like a weasel. A crooked smile tied the face together. To finish it off, Dainsleif swooped the pen to make the round body. He quickly added stubby limbs to either side. He held it up proudly. I’ll call it Arnsteinn.
“Finished already?” Rhinedottir’s voice rang out from behind him as she swooped in to look over his shoulder. She took a moment to observe the drawing closely. “I figured you were more of the monster, than the unicorn.”
She grabbed the drawing and twisted it around in her hands. “Does this poor sap have a name?”
“Arnsteinn,” Dainsleif answered sheepishly. Suddenly, he realized that he hoped very badly that Rhinedottir liked it.
After a moment, she said, “Arnsteinn. Eagle Stone. A good name. A strong name. Though this Arnsteinn doesn’t remind me much of a bird.”
Dainsleif responded, “It’s more of a…metaphor. He’s an eagle at heart. Brave and ferocious, you know?”
Rhinedottir stared at him for a moment before bursting out into measured laughter. “Vedrfolnir wishes he were as charismatic as you. Arnsteinn. Okay. I see it.”
Still carrying the drawing, Rhindottir walked over to a large metal structure in the middle of her lab. She shuffled some things around on a nearby desk and laid the drawing flat. Looking up, she winked at Dainsleif. “Give me five minutes. Entertain yourself.”
For what felt like forever, Dainsleif twiddled his thumbs where he sat. Distantly, he could hear Rhinedottir hard at work. An occasional scrape and gurgle sounded out from where she tinkered. Sometimes, the large metal structure, filled with a green liquid, would glow brighter. Dainsleif, though curious, was too intimidated to linger on Rhinedottir’s work for more than a second. Instead, he counted the rings in the table’s wood grain.
Finally, Rhinedottir approached him. “All done.”
Without warning, she placed a small, furry, and blue thing in front of Dainsleif. It was Arnsteinn, but real? The creature—Arnsteinn—sniffed its surroundings with lethargic gulps of air. It huffed and puffed like a small dog. Lazily, it brought a hare-like limb to scratch at its belly. Though Dainsleif was the one who contextualized it, Arnsteinn didn’t show him much interest.
“Blue and soft like your scarf,” Rhinedottir listed lyrically. “And with the exact design you gave me. What do you think?”
“How did you do this?” Dainsleif wondered out loud, stars in his eyes, as he reached to pet Arnsteinn. Its fur was soft like wool. It slobbered on the floor.
Rhinedottir smiled. “Oh, I’ve been around the block. You pick up some odds and ends with travel and study. Arnsteinn is far from my best work.”
Dainsleif picked the creature up and hugged it to his chest. It felt so warm, like real flesh and blood, but it also felt strangely hollow, like a doll. He set Arnstienn down, and it breathed raggedly where it stood.
Rhinedottir reached down to pet it as well. She turned to Dainsleif. “I—”
Suddenly, the door to the lab swung open, and an apologetic servant came in. She bowed deeply to Rhinedottir, trying her hardest to ignore the woman’s annoyed sigh.
“Good afternoon, Ms. Rhinedottir. Mr. Vedrfolnir is done with his meeting now. He told me to thank you for watching over his brother, and he’ll pay you back in the future. Come along, Dainsleif, come with me now.”
Dainsleif gave Arnstienn one last pet before he approached the servant. He waved at Rhinedottir from afar. “Thank you! Take good care of Arnstienn, okay?”
Rhinedottir returned the wave. “I was pleasantly surprised with your company today, Dainsleif. As for Arnstienn, I’m afraid that—”
“We really must be going now,” the servant chirped nervously. “Vedrfolnir stressed punctuality.”
Rhinedottir stifled an insult and sent the two off with a passive flick of her hand. “Oh, so busy. Fine, run along. I’m tired anyway.”
As soon as the two left, Rhinedottir picked Arnstienn up by the horns and brought it to a large vat of purple liquid. She raised it and dunked it swiftly. Its blue fur and large eyes melted in her grasp. It returned to nothingness. Rhinedottir sighed. “Way too unstable. I’m afraid you were just a party trick to impress a little boy in the end.”
She looked at the door where Dainsleif had stood just a few minutes ago. After a long period of thought, she looked wistfully to the ceiling.
“I wonder if he’ll ever amount to anything.”
III. LOTHSOME
With a sagging arm barely gripping his sword’s halter, Dainsleif sauntered into the training grounds one foot at a time. His eyes and mouth had grey creeping into their edges, sallow, like he’d been up since the day of his birth. He noticed a figure in the corner of his blurry vision and gave it a half-hearted wave that threatened to throw him off kilter. The figure leaned up off the wall, amused.
Surtalogi approached him and said, “The trick, Dainsleif, is to sleep when you lie down.”
Dainsleif ran a clammy hand over his sunken face. “Thanks. I’ll try that one day.”
The training grounds were damp with the same early morning moisture that always filled up Khaenri’ah’s stone halls at the crack of dawn. The two teens’ boots squeaked on tile as they moved further down the grounds. Dainsleif walked a bit closer to Surtalogi than he usually did, hoping that if he fell, he’d be able to grab onto him before kissing the floor. Surtalogi kept looking back with a horrible smirk on his face that widened whenever Dainsleif stumbled. If I do fall, Dainsleif thought crabbily, I’m taking you down with me.
They made it to a brick wall that housed and hung a myriad of weaponry. Darts, longswords, bows, maces, braided slings. Surtalogi picked up a silver spear out of a basket and twirled it in his hands. After a bit of a struggle, Dainsleif unsheathed his sword with a slow scrape.
“Well?”
Surtalogi watched him with expectant eyes, his arms crossed against his broad chest, spear cast aside on the ground. Dainsleif cocked his head. “What?”
Surtalogi answered, “I asked you a question.”
“Oh. Well I didn’t hear it.”
“I don’t like to waste my breath.”
“I doubt you’ll run out of breath any time soon.” Dainsleif gave him an innocent smile. “Ask again.”
Rolling his eyes, Surtalogi clicked his jaw. “You look like shit. Did your girlfriend break up with you or something?”
“Um, I’ve never had a girlfriend.”
“I know. It's just nice to hear you admit it out loud,” Surtalogi simpered to himself as Dainsleif vividly imagined him falling through a hidden trapdoor. “But seriously: what’s wrong with you? This is the third time this week you’ve walked in here looking like you’ve crawled out of a cheap grave.”
Dainsleif sighed and slumped to the ground. If he stood any longer, he felt as though he’d faint. His sword clattered beside him pitifully. “I can’t sleep, no matter what I do.”
“Why?”
“Hell if I know.” Dainsleif rubbed his dry eyes with the tips of his knuckles. “I guess I just stay up…worrying.”
Surtalogi frowned. “About?”
“The future,” Dainsleif groaned. “Is that generic? I hate to think my insomnia is caused by being an angsty teen.”
Surtalogi was silent for a moment. His eyes narrowed as if he were deep in thought. A rare sight to see, Dainsleif thought mischievously to himself. Then, when Surtalogi’s eyes returned to their deep and round shape, he leaned down to repickup the spear.
He gave Dainsleif a curt, absolute nod: “It’s not teen angst at all. It’s your weirdo brother.”
Dainsleif raised a brow. “Vedr? I don’t see how—hey! He’s not weird.”
Surtalogi met Dainsleif’s pout with impassive eyes. “He’s weird. You don’t have to genuflect, Dain; he’s not here. All I’m saying is that if I had a prophet brother—I’d worry endlessly about the future too.”
“But—”
“Think about it,” Surtalogi continued. “I bet that guy subconsciously influences your decisions every day. For example, say you’re about to eat an apple. Vedrfolnir walks in, gives you one look, and says, ‘That’s a choice.’ Would you still eat the apple? Of course not. In fact, you’d lie awake at night and wonder endlessly about why he said that. Was the apple poisoned? Infested with worms? Cursed? Would it turn you into a giant bug? So many questions with zero answers. That’s where your insomnia is coming from, Dain, the crippling uncertainty. Case closed.”
The cool tile chilled Dainsleif’s legs as he sat there in thought. Eventually, after his brain had turned itself inside out and right-side up again, he unleashed a long and juvenile sigh.
“I really, really, really hate to say this, Surtalogi, but what you’re saying makes some sense.” Dainsleif shifted to his knees and slowly stood up. Some of his exhaustion had evaporated. “What’s that saying about broken clocks?”
“A broken clock is the result of me shoving your face in it, or something like that,” Surtalogi said warningly through a smile.
After a moment’s silence, Dainsleif said, “And my brother isn’t weird.
“Weirdest guy I know.”
“Well, at least it isn’t me.”
“Oh, you’re the runner-up. I think being a runner-up suits you. After all, you have to compete with me, and it really isn’t fair.”
Dainsleif raised a dramatic hand to his forehead, pretending to be pained by some sudden ailment. “Oh, I’m so woozy. The three hours of sleep are really catching up to me. I think I’m going to faint.”
Frowning, Surtalogi held his spear straight beside him as Dainsleif approached with unsteady legs. “You seemed fine just a moment ago.”
“But that was then and this is now.” A few more steps and Dainsleif was only a foot away from his friend. “Catch me.”
“What are you—?”
In one swift motion, Dainsleif grabbed onto Surtalogi’s arms with as much strength as he could muster. Then, with a theatrical flair, he allowed his legs to drop out from underneath him, hurtling the two boys straight to the floor. Surtalogi’s palms hit the stone tiles with a deafening slap, sure to leave his skin red and warm for a while. His spear narrowly avoided goring them as it rolled away.
“Are. You. Crazy?” Surtalogi spat as he pushed a laughing Dainsleif away. “You could’ve been stabbed!”
Dainsleif shrugged. “But I wasn’t.”
“A damn shame,” Surtalogi grumbled. He leaned over and grabbed the spear, throwing it to the brick wall with the other weaponry. It landed upright in a basket. A perfect shot. Dainsleif pretended not to notice. His right arm was still draping Surtalogi’s thigh, and he gave the fat of it a playful squeeze.
“Don’t be mad at me,” Dainsleif said while pulling a face. “I can’t help that I’m so funny.”
Surtalogi barked out a laugh. “You are funny, Dain, just not in the way you think.”
Dainsleif stuck out his tongue as he rose to his feet. He offered a hand to Surtalogi, and the other huffed before grabbing it, wiping his pants off roughly as soon as he found his footing. Dainsleif took a large gulp of air, shuddering as the warm humidity filled his lungs.
“I guess we need to get some training done. Lame.” Dainsleif stretched out his legs. “Race you to the dummies?”
Surtalogi smiled. “Get ready to lose.”
“Even if I do—which I won’t—I still think that I won today.”
As they got into a mock starting position, Surtalogi flashed the other boy a foreboding smile.
“You’ll pay for that little stunt, Dainsleif.”
IV. SAGACIOUS
“I’m telling you, Dainsleif, it’ll be the greatest hit that Khaenri’ah’s ever seen.”
Trying not to lose his temper, Dainsleif, with a face chiseled by young adulthood, shook his head for the umpteenth time. “I said no. What part of that do you not understand?”
“What I don’t understand is what you don’t understand,” Hroptatyr sighed. “This project will be a big hit. Big. People are already excited about the new, young, and cool captain of the royal guard. Why not capitalize on that excitement? Please, Dainsleif, just one volume.”
“Hroptatyr,” Dainsleif groaned. “If you don’t stop harassing me, my first act as captain will be arresting you.”
“One. Little. Volume! Generate interest a bit. Then you can see for yourself how profitable this will be. When we get the initial figures—”
Dainsleif’s teeth were pressed so tightly together that he feared they would splinter. “I. Am. Not. Doing. This. Okay? I’m not going to sell you my image so you can make, what, a picture book out of it?”
“A light novel. It has pictures in it, but—”
“A light novel, okay.” Dainsleif rubbed his temple with a gloved hand. “But why do you need to use me as the main character? Make someone up.”
Now it was Hroptatyr who brought his hand to his temple. “Are you even listening to me? You’re relevant, right? A new royal captain. Very young. Very popular with the youth. I make you the star of my newest light novel because I know you’ll sell. This will boost your popularity to new heights. People will be throwing themselves at you.”
“I don’t want that.”
“Everybody wants that.”
“Well I don’t,” Dainsleif snapped. He pulled his cowl tighter around his shoulders and gave Hroptatyr a resounding glare. “It’s embarrassing, uncouth, and absolutely unbecoming of someone of my status.”
Hroptatyr mumbled, “You talk like a dictionary.”
“I’m leaving.”
Dainsleif spun on his heel and got only as far as two steps before his arm was yanked. He was almost pulled to the ground by Hroptatyr, who dropped down to his knees. “Please. I can even embellish some things for you. Make your life seem a little bit more…romantic. Maybe you have a faraway mistress who the very thought of gives you the strength to fight, or a knight who wooed you with a single pale rose from his garden, or maybe—”
Hroptatyr droned on and on for seconds, morphing into minutes. Dainsleif, drained from his new royal-captain workload, couldn’t think of anything he would rather deal with less. A light novel? Seriously?
After five minutes of ranting, Dainsleif silenced Hroptatyr with a weary hand.
“You aren’t going to stop bothering me until you get your way, are you?”
“I’d chase you to the ends of the earth.”
Dainsleif sighed. “Why don’t we compromise?”
At once, Hroptatyr was tamed. He shifted off his knees and onto his thighs, crossing his legs politely like a school boy. “I like compromise.”
Willing himself to calm down, Dainsleif cleared his throat: “I do not—and will never—allow you to use me as a character in one of your stories—”
“Boo.”
“—but, if you decide to make an original main character for your light novel, I wouldn’t mind if you market it as being loosely based on me.”
Hrotatyr thought silently for a minute. A peculiar wisdom flashed in his eyes. “I get to include a short blurb in the beginning of the book that explicitly states it’s based on you.”
“Fine,” Dainsleif sighed.
“And you’ll go to one book signing event.”
“Either that or the blurb.”
Hrotatyr mumbled some logistics to himself. “I’ll take the book signing then. You, captain, have got yourself a deal.”
Jumping up with a surprising amount of agility, Hrotatyr gripped Dainsleif’s hand firmly and gave it multiple solid shakes. “You won’t regret this!”
“I already am.”
Hrotatyr laughed jovially as he watched Dainsleif sulk away. Cupping his hands over his mouth, he shouted out after him.
“Don’t worry! I’ll help people see you as how you really are!”
V. LEX TALIONIS
Dainsleif sat with Rerir at a table shoved into the corner of the latter's home office. The damp stone from the room's walls started to leak with heat from the fireplace, and Dainsleif felt a bead of sweat trickle down his face as he spread out his hand of cards between his index finger and thumb. He studied the cards diligently. Maybe he’ll have better luck this time?
Rerir always played penny-ante, and he distributed the cards out between them with a practiced swiftness. As the game began, he made quick work of Dainsleif by stringing him along, pocketing what he could, and playing conservatively from there on out. Eventually, Dainsleif raised a hand in surrender and let his cards plop pitifully onto the table.
“I’m not trying to excuse my failure,” Dainsleif began, exasperated. “But I’ve never played poker with only two people before. I couldn’t make heads or tails of what I was doing and why.”
Rerir smiled at him. “Blame Tholindis and her friend for bailing on us.”
Dainsleif noticed how Rerir’s eyes got brighter at the mention of her name, and he narrowed his eyes in such a way that always preluded gossip. “How’s she doing?”
“Well.”
“How are you guys doing…together?”
“Very well.”
Dainsleif laughed and raised a glass of wine that Rerir gave him before the game in a toast. “Glad to hear it. Your job doesn’t keep you too busy, does it?”
Rerir swayed his head around as if determining how much to indulge. “I…know how to balance the workload. It’s more than manageable—basically nothing.”
“Well, it’s something.” Dainsleif took a big swig from the glass. “You have any tips?”
“Don’t tell me our seasoned royal captain is struggling with his work-life balance,” Rerir teased. “I got tips. How about another round?”
Dainsleif set the glass down. Only a tiny bit of wine was left. “So you can destroy me again? No thanks. I’m not really a poker person, anyway.”
“Sure you are. You almost beat me one time, remember? If we count that as a win on your part, then the score is only 1 to 6.”
“So about those tips…”
“Right.” Rerir cleared his throat. “Sometimes it’s just about your mindset coming into work. If you keep viewing your work as a job, it’ll always feel draining. That’s why it’s important to distance yourself. Let your work be less of a job, but rather a fact of life.”
Dainsleif cocked his head. “Explain further.”
“Imagine an esquire who has to wake up every morning to clean and sharpen his knight’s sword. If he thinks of that duty as a job, he’ll quickly come to resent it. He’ll view it as labor—slavery. But if he views it as a fact of life, he’ll find purpose and meaning in it. Like how a bird cleans a crocodile's teeth, if the esquire doesn’t tend to his knight’s sword, then he indirectly jeopardizes the security of the kingdom. He’s a component in an ecosystem. An interdependent, permittable, ecosystem.”
Picking up his wine glass, Dainsleif finished the sliver left in it. He picked up the bottle sitting beside them and filled Rerir’s glass up, almost to the brim, before tending to his. He gave Rerir an uneasy smile. “You’ve thought a lot about this.”
Shaking his head, Rerir downed his glass halfway. “I don’t think, Dain, I just do.”
Suddenly, a barrage of light knocks came thudding from the front door. Rerir set down his glass and straightened out the deck of cards. He gave Dainsleif a knowing wink.
“That must be Tholindis. She’s back earlier than I thought. She’d love for you to stay and chat—she was just asking about you the other day.”
Dainsleif checked a clock on the wall. “You have me for another hour.”
Rerir got up and approached the door. Before opening it, he turned to Dainsleif.
“Does anyone truly have you?”
VI. PRESCIENT
In the silent dusk of Khaenri’ah, everything was still. Dainsleif's hands felt cold and weightless as he shifted through papers, letters, and news articles. Though all were penned by different people, they discussed the same thing: King Irmin. Vicious attacks on his leadership, sympathetic lords excusing his madness, civilians who didn't care either way, and civilians who did. Dainsleif read them all with a hard stomach. After one particular letter detailing the gory demise of a crimson-blooded school girl, Dainsleif blew out his lantern and forced himself to walk away.
His legs took him out of his room and into the kitchen. There was no light, no warmth. Just the dull and gray shine of pots and pans—unused. A sterile smell dominated the air. Dainsleif’s thoughts wandered to Vedrfolnir. He probably hadn’t eaten yet.
With fingers of solid ice, Dainsleif stoked the flames of the stovetop burner and hauled a pot of water onto it, watching it simmer to a boil. Then, he clumsily threw broth, potatoes, carrots, mushrooms, and some leftover meat into the pot. He seasoned it, took it off the heat, and poured as much as he could into two bowls. Then, with a steady hand, he started his slow ascent to his brother’s room.
Lately, Vedrfolnir was always either outside, doing who knows what, or in his bed, thinking who knows what. Dainsleif could hear his soft breathing as he approached his door, and he gave the wood a soft knock with his knuckles. He heard sheets swish around before a muffled Vedrfolnir beckoned him inside.
Wrapped in a nest of blankets and pillows sat Vedrfolnir, adorned in some sort of loose robe. He looked utterly sickly. His hair strung about his face and shoulders, and his eyes were weary and downturned. Flashing Dainsleif a small smile, Vedrfolnir moved slightly so his younger brother could fit on the bed. As soon as he caught sight of the stew, his smile faltered.
“I don’t think I can eat,” he said.
“Me neither.” Dainsleif pushed the stew into Vedrfolnir’s grasp. “But seeing you eat will help.”
With bony hands, Vedrfolnir gingerly dipped his spoon into the stew and lapped up what he drew out. He allowed himself to adapt to the foreign feeling of taste before swallowing. Then, when it settled in his stomach, he nodded at Dainsleif. “A good effort.”
Dainsleif cringed as he swallowed something of an ambiguous, lumpy texture. “Not my best work, for sure.”
Despite the…dubious quality of the stew, their hunger got the best of them, and the bowls were empty within only a couple of minutes. Vedrfolnir stacked the empty dishes on top of each other and rested them on his bedside table. Dainsleif moved to take his leave, but Vedrfolnir stopped him with a hand. “Why don’t you lay down with me for a little bit? Like you used to.”
Dainsleif raised a brow. “Are you sure?”
“Why not?”
Allowing his weariness to overtake him, Dainsleif fell flat on his back onto the bed. As soon as he hit the covers, the full brunt of his exhaustion hit him all at once, flowing through his limbs and veins. Vedrfolnir lay down beside him. Nothing could be heard but the sound of the brothers’ breathing.
“I can feel your anxiety,” Vedrfolnir whispered suddenly. “Spit it out.”
Dainsleif frowned. “How can I not be anxious, with you as my brother? I think you’re hiding something from me.”
Vedrfolnir was quiet for a moment. “What do I have to hide?”
“That’s the thing, Vedr, I don’t know.” Dainsleif’s eyes widened with childish grief. “You aren’t dying, are you?”
Vedrfolnir smiled and pulled Dainsleif close, planting a chaste kiss on his temple before pulling away. “Don’t waste your time thinking about me. I’m terribly dull.”
The nocturnal creatures of Khaenri’ah chittered and chirped distantly. Dainsleif let his skin feel the consuming softness and weight of the blankets and sheets. They smelled like dried poppies and mint. The bedroom was so dark. Dainsleif felt like he could start sobbing any minute. “I feel like a child,” he whispered weakly.
Vedrfolnir asked, “Is that a bad thing?”
“So many children’s lives have been lost just this week alone. And here I am, trying to fill the void they left.” Dainsleif pressed his hand to his chest. “Meanwhile, I’m one of the few people in this nation who has the power to do something.”
“Will you do something?”
Dainsleif blinked away wetness. He had no answer.
In the dark, Vedrfolnir found Dainsleif’s hand, pried it from his chest, and entangled it with his. They lay like that for either seconds or hours, neither could tell. Finally, Vedrfolnir’s voice ripped through the twilight. “In a week, I’m to appear before the king.”
Dainsleif sat up. “To do what?”
“To tell him the future. As always.”
“A vision?”
“A warning,” whispered Vedrfolnir. “My visions have long outgrown Irmin.”
Dainsleif strained his eyes in the dark to try and catch a glimpse of Vedrfolnir’s expression. It was as calm and collected as ever, though his eyes were closed, and his cheeks gaunt. Suddenly, another wave of fear crashed over Dainsleif. He wondered if Vedrfolnir felt it too.
“Promise me you’ll be safe,” Dainsleif said. “King Irmin is already agitated, don’t add fuel to the fire.”
Vedrfolnir shrugged. “Who knows how it will go?”
“You know.”
“Oh, that’s right.” Vedrfolnir gave Dainsleif a soft smile. “But you don’t. So, please, stop fretting. Allow time and space to do as it needs.”
Dainsleif frowned. “Will you ever give me a straight, clear statement? One that isn’t a done-up riddle?”
Vedrfolnir sat in thought for a moment, dramatically bringing his finger to his chin to feign some sort of internal struggle. He dropped his finger and raised a hand to tussle Dainsleif’s hair.
“I love you.”
VII. DECAY
“I apologize for my lacking memory. More and more details escape me every day. Whenever I try to remember anything before their betrayal, I draw a blank. Who knows what I got up to?”