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"Another round?"
His brother's soft voice pulled him out of his thoughts. Dain looked away from his hard at work hands and locked eyes with him instead.
"I don't think so." Shuffling the deck one last time, he pushed the cards together in an attempt to arrange them in an orderly manner, before sliding it over the table, towards Ved and his already expecting fingers.
"You keep losing on purpose. It's no fun."
"Far be it from me," He said, pulling the cards apart again and laying waste to Dain's hard work to arrange them a moment ago.
"The gift of prophecy seldom extends towards daily matters such as your opponent's next move in a card game; and even if it did, I would simply carry on as I would have if I didn't have that information."
Dainsleif would have laughed at that, loud and merry, if he had the energy for it; Instead he crossed his arms and forced a smirk, if only to not add the weight of his bad mood to his brothers many burdens.
"So you're saying I'm just naturally a better player than the great visionary? Quite the compliment."
He meant that. There wasn't a great many things Dain was good at; And even fewer things he did better than Ved. There was his martial proficency, Ved was as lithe as Dain's first training sword. He could also dance better, since moving too much or too fast made his brother dizzy and feverish.
Artificial, he thought. What good was dancing and aimlessly swinging a stick around when your nation was at its lowest? Vedrfolnir could see the future. Vedrfolnir was calm and calculated, an exceptional strategist. Vedrfolnir had influence with his majesty, as well as a knack for convincing people of whatever he wanted them to believe. He was good with his hands, not just his muscles and grip like Dain was, but with his fingers too. He could embroider, play the Tagelharpa, and style the longer bits of Dain's hair into the tiniest of braids. He also made such tender and lovely gravlaks that it had Dainsleif licking his lips at the mere thought of them.
He briefly lamented how long it'd been since he had last tasted his brother's gravlaks; so complicated both of their lives were becoming.
Or only his life, he supposed. Ved's had always been complicated. Many a night Dainsleif had stayed awake, imagining life through the skin of his older brother. There was once a time when It'd seemed liked the greatest thing. The gift of prophecy, unyielding and unconquerable. Dainsleif would imagine himself "prophesicing" the exact path Haden would take to the training grounds and placing something to trip over in his way. He'd giggle himself to sleep at the thought.
But he was older now. Wiser. He saw the way his brother's eyes darkened above a perfect smile and polite words. He saw him pacing the empty halls of the palace, muttering to himself cryptics that Dain could not begin to comprehend. He remembered, in his earliest memories, how Ved sometimes cried when he met a new friend, and how the ones he'd cry for always ended up with a broken arm or a dead parent or a house fire within a month.
He also remembered how Ved suddenly stopped doing that, years ago.
In fact, Dain wasn't sure he could remember the last time he saw his brother's tears at all. He tried to imagine it. It seemed unnerving and odd.
The curse of prophecy, unyielding and unconquerable.
"Draw."
Dainsleif blinked, taking notice of the deck now neatly stacked in the middle of the table. "Wait, you were serious? You wanna go another round?"
Vedrfolnir quirked an eyebrow at that, shaking his fingers free of his long bell sleeve so that he could organise his already drawn hand. "and why did you think I spent the last two minutes shuffling the deck, then?"
"It's just..." Dain muttered. If he was to be honest with himself, he wanted nothing more than his bed right now. He was tired of using his head to play the right move, or letting his thoughts wander in the silence, occasionally broken by the sound of a card dragging against another card. He needed three shots of Joesph's special mix and a ten hour nap.
"...nevermind. try a bit harder this time, will you?" He drew.
Five of hearts...ten of spades...jack of diamonds...jack of hearts...and king of clubs. Not great.
"What do you know, Ved. You might actually have a chance this time around." He quickly organized his cards, albeit it didn't matter much with the hysterically unharmonious deck he'd drawn.
At first, his brother's only response was another one of his soft smiles, which made Dainsleif briefly question wether he'd been lying about his use (or unuse) of prophecy in card games.
"A chance...yes. I might have a chance yet." He finally mumbled after a moment, taking a card between two lithe fingers and pressing it onto the table.
Ace of hearts.
Odd choice for a starting move, Dain thought, taking just a moment to consider before placing his own card of choice on the table.
"Your mind is preoccupied."
Queen of clubs.
"What, was that really such a bad move?" Dain asked, trying to sound as joyously sarcastic as possible.
"That too," Ved retorted, taking his elbows off the table and leaning back into a more comfortable position In his cushioned chair. "I do hope it's not you who's trying to lose on purpose now."
"What's that mean? So you were losing on purpose afterall?"
That made his brother laugh. not an obligatory smile meant to discomfort the arrogant more than anything, but a real, hearty laugh. Suddenly, Dain wasn't in such a rush to finish the game and go home.
He'd made his brother laugh.
"All jests notwithstanding, Usually your gaze darts to every corner of the room while thinking of what card to play or waiting for me to play my own turn. Now, your eyes stay fixed on the cards for far too long; as if you're not seeing at all, only looking." He paused for a moment, wether to think of his next words or let Dain process his previous ones, he couldn't say.
"There's another image in your mind. what do you see, Dainsleif?"
And now he was seeing, seeing Dainsleif through his pale lashes, as he always did. Ved always saw.
"I see..." his fingers hovered over his cards, before he finally pulled one from his hand and tossed it onto the table.
King of clubs.
"I see this nation moving backwards. I see a decline in our prosperity if we allow things to go on like this."
"Go on like what?" Now it was Ved's fingers slowly moving along his hand. He'd stop on a card every few seconds, before reconsidering and touching another card, and another, and another.
"Don't play dumb, Ved." He said, more harshly than he would ever intend with his brother. "Just compare the current situation to a decade ago! A decade ago, when Surtalogi still had four limbs."
"Is this about him then?"
"No!" He wiped the sweat off his brows with his sleeve, frustration slowly giving way to anger. Not at Ved, no. He could never be angry at Ved. But it would surely be unleashed on Ved if he wasn't quick to calm himself.
And so he took a deep breath, and tried again.
"Surtalogi's just one of the many. You don't know what it's like in military force. Knights are being maimed by the hundreds; good, honest, hardworking knights! For no reason other than his majesty's unfounded paranoia..." Another deep breath. He went to pick a card to play, before remembering it wasn't his turn yet.
"It's like that in every department, I fear, not just the military." Ved said, with a tone that suggested that was somehow supposed to make it better. "Hardworking Universitas researchers, exiled. The ones who remain scrutinising nothing but the power of the abyss."
Dainsleif stared at his brother dumbfounded while he casually picked a card and placed it on the table.
King of hearts.
"Yes...Yes? I'm aware of that." He waited a frustratingly awkward amount of time for Ved to respond or add something to his previous statement, but he never did.
"I'm sorry, Ved, I can't tell if you're agreeing or arguing, but for the sake of our continued bond, I hope it's the former." He said, meaning for it to sound light-hearted, which he failed at.
"I'm not agreeing or arguing. Simply adding on to your account." His gaze was locked onto Dainsleif now, which made him feel strangely queasy instead the comfort he was used to finding in his brother's eyes.
"And you, Dainsleif? Were images of a hypothethically unfortunate future all which was plaguing your mind?"
No, of course not. Ved always saw.
He tried for a minute to come up with a different phrasing. A softer way. A more paradoxical wording that has the potential to be misinterpreted. But to no avail. The truth was right in front of them both; The king of hearts facing the ceiling.
"He has to go, Ved."
Guilt. Guilt and grief was all that he felt as he said it. Saying it out loud made it real. Saying it out loud meant there really was no other choice now.
Dainsleif recalled the day he had knelt beneath the vinster king's feet and uttered those vows of fealty. He recalled the feeling of his heart pounding against his ribcage, so full and bursting with pride. He recalled the first time he'd been called 'captain', and how no sound had ever been sweeter.
He wanted to run into his brother's arms and cry. He would have, if Ved hadn't opened his mouth to utter a profanity again.
"Careful now, Dainsleif. You are speaking of treason in the presence of the royal prophet."
He almost threw his cards right at his brother's face then. He couldn't tell if Ved was being serious or not. Surely not. Surely not. It was a test. He was testing him. But what for? And why now? He couldn't deal with this. Not now. Not now. Not now.
"How long before it's you, Vedrfolnir!?" He asked, no, pleaded. Half a shout, half a whisper.
"How long before you do something that his sickly mind sees as a threat? How long before you say something he sees as opposition?"
Not long. Not long.
"What will happen to you then?!" He pulled a card from his hand without looking at it and swung it in the air a few times, Sharp and angry.
"What will happen to me?"
He slapped the card against the table with all the edge of a man's anger and all the bitterness of a boy's fear. He looked at it through a vision that was beggining to blur; Brave and valiant twilight sword, about to cry at the hypothetical thought of his brother coming to harm.
He felt a child with a wooden sword again.
"I can't live without you, Ved." He concluded his speech, eyes never leaving the card he'd drawn.
Five of hearts. A terrible card to play. Although he hadn't really 'played' it. Only a misstep in a moment of desperation.
"You can." Came his brother's response. Confident and casual. Was that truly all he had to say?
"I can't." He argued back like a stubborn child. What else was he supposed to say?
"But you see, Dainsleif,"
Vedrfolnir pulled a card from his own hand and placed it on the table.
Two of spades.
"You will."