Chapter Text
Afonso stops short as he enters his chambers, finding it already occupied. Instinctively, his hand falls to the hilt of his sword, but he lets it fall back to his side as soon as he recognizes his unexpected visitor.
“Toninho,” he says with an uncertain smile. The presence of a Joker is always a cause for concern, but the presence of his little brother is another thing entirely. “This is…a surprise.”
Antonio laughs and jumps to his feet. There is a bounce to his steps, and the bells on his boots ring with every step. “It’s been a while, hasn’t it?” Antonio says as he goes for an embrace.
Afonso hums in agreement as he embraces the younger man. Too young, a part of Afonso thinks as Antonio steps back, far younger than he really should be. “It’s been too long,” Afonso says as he cups his little brother’s face in his hands. “You look well.”
“I do, don’t I?” Antonio says with a boyish grin as he twirls around. Afonso tenses at the tinkling of the bells, glancing uneasily at Antonio’s black coat and the slightly inhuman features of the Jokers that now marked his brother. “I missed you.”
“Is that the reason for your visit then?” Afonso asks, wishing it truly is just that, but the way the smile falls from Antonio’s face is all the answer he needs. “You’re here to Name the new Ten of Spades?”
“Not yet,” Antonio answers as he throws himself back on the armchair he had been occupying before. He looks at Afonso with a smile that does not reach his eyes. “The Shuffle is almost over, and the Suits are not the only ones in need of replacing.”
Afonso pales, swallowing uneasily as he sits across his brother. “You’re here for a new Joker.”
Antonio nods. “Don’t be like that, brother,” he says. “You knew this was coming.”
“I thought we had more time before the next Game,” Afonso admits his wishful thinking. “The new Joker, is it–”
“It won’t be you or your Queen, rest assured,” Antonio says with a more sincere smile. “It won’t be anyone who’s already been Named. They’re never chosen for this role.”
“And the Game?”
Antonio laughs. “Oh, you know I’m not allowed to tell you about that!”
“I’m not asking what the next Game would be,” Afonso says. “I want to know how much time we still have. Can you tell me that?”
“There are two more missing,” Antonio admits after a pause. “Your Ten of Spades is one.”
“And I suppose you won’t be telling me the other?” Afonso asks with a wry smile.
“No,” Antonio agrees, “You know how the story goes. That would be cheating, and I have my duties to oversee.”
Afonso does know the stories. He knows the ones in the Royal Archives, the ones kept secret from those outside the Suit. He knows the Fairy Tales, those stories from his and Antonio’s childhood that have somehow become their reality.
“And you?” Afonso asks, reaching forward to take Antonio’s hand. When he brushes his thumb over his wrist, there is no pulse for him to feel. “What happens to you when you find your replacement?”
Antonio gives him a look of pity, and Afonso wants to scream and throw something in some fruitless rage. “It is in the description, Poncho,” Antonio says. “I will be replaced.”
“But you–”
“We’ve had enough time, haven’t we?” Antonio says, holding onto Afonso’s hand. “More time than we should have had.”
“It’s not enough!” Afonso snarls as he snatches his hand from Antonio’s hold, rising from his seat with anger. “It was never enough! You weren’t supposed to–!”
“Afonso,” Antonio interrupts him in a firm voice. “It will have to be enough. It will not happen so instantly, you know. We still have time to spend together.”
“And then what?” Afonso asks, and he sounds as if he is begging Antonio for an answer, his voice plaintive and resigned. It is ridiculous. There had been time, so long ago, when it was Antonio who had looked to him for an answer.
“And then you move on,” Antonio says, “and you tell my story.”
Afonso laughs in disbelief, shaking his head. “You’re so certain I shall survive this new cycle?”
“You will,” Antonio says, looking resolute, his mouth set in a stubborn line. “I’ll make sure of it.”
“Oh?” Afonso arches a brow at the teenager on his favorite armchair. “I know that is not within your power.”
“Do you?” Antonio smirks and raises his head, the little bells dangling on his ear tinkling as he meets Afonso’s gaze with a look of pure mischief. “What do any of you know of the Jokers really?”
Afonso collapses back into his chair, his shoulders slumped in defeat. He cradles his cheek in his palm, his elbow on the arm of the chair, as he watches his oh-so-little brother across the coffee table. Antonio is watching him too, with bright eyes that have not changed despite everything. “I know that they’re terrible listeners.”
Afonso and Antonio were born during the longest Shuffle in living memory.
As children, the Games were little more than legends even though their father had been named as the Three of Diamonds. No one really knew why it took decades for the Jokers to complete the deck for that particular cycle when it would usually just take years. There were some that worried about it, some that spoke of the waning authority of the gods and their emissaries.
For the two boys living in their father’s country estate, those fearful rumors meant nothing. For them, games meant fun and exciting things to do in between their lessons instead of the struggles of life and death officiated by the Jokers. The only things they worried about were their lessons and their parents’ constant absence from their lives.
And what the next bedtime story they’d have.
“Read this one next!” Antonio exclaimed, huffing as he put the slim book down on his brother’s bed before climbing up beside him.
Afonso glared at his younger brother. “I know you can read this too.”
“Yeah, but you know you do it better!” Antonio said with a pout, as he sprawled all over his brother’s lap, looking up at him with puppy dog eyes. “Please, Poncho?”
“Fine,” Afonso said with a sigh as he shut the book he was already reading. Antonio cheered and settled into place beside him as Afonso opened the book. Afonso ruffled Antonio’s hair before he started reading. “Once upon a time, when the world was still young and untested, the gods walked these lands and found nothing but ruin.”
“Stay where I can see you!” Arthur shouts at his ward and nephew, Peter. With a sigh, he settles back down into his seat, fixing himself a cup of tea. “I swear, that boy will be the death of me.”
Afonso chuckles, placing his tea cup back down on the saucer. “He’s just having fun, Artie,” he says. “Let him be a child while he still can.”
“While he still can?” Arthur asks, suddenly looking at him with too piercing eyes. His queen is as sharp as ever, Afonso thinks with a rueful smile. “Do you know something?”
“I had a visitor last night,” Afonso admits to his old friend, as he twists the teaspoon between his fingers.
“Oh?” Arthur asks with an arched brow and suspicious, narrowed eyes.
Afonso rolls his eyes. “Not like that,” he says with a huff. “Honestly, Arthur, it was just Antonio.”
Arthur freezes with the tea cup right before his lips. He carefully places the cup back down with a frown. “Your brother?”
“Yes, I’ve told you about him.”
“You did,” Arthur agrees with an uncertain smile. “I remember. You said your brother was one of the Jokers.”
“Ah,” Afonso says with a sigh, finally realizing the reason behind Arthur’s strange behavior. “You still don’t believe me?”
“It’s not that I don’t believe you, Afonso, truly,” Arthur says with a bit of frantic energy and an uneasy laugh. Arthur idly plays with the chain on his waistcoat, the one that Afonso knows holds his family’s pocket watch, Spade’s very own divine artifact. “I’m just not used to it. Before I knew you, the Jokers were just the Judges of our Games and Overseers for the gods. They’re not, well, they just aren’t people.”
“Well,” Afonso says with a grimace, “not anymore.”
“Right,” Arthur says in agreement. For a moment, he frowns, looking at Afonso with furrowed brows. “What did your brother say?”
Afonso looks down on the tea in his cup. “He says this Shuffle is almost over,” Afonso says. “The next Game is almost upon us.”
“Did he tell you what it would be?”
Afonso looks up at Arthur with an apologetic smile. “He says that is against the rules.”
Arthur turns away from Afonso. His queen looks at his young ward, the boy too busy playing near the pond, trying to entice the ducks close with the crumbs from his own pastry. For a heartbeat, Arthur looks devastated before he clears his expression and sighs. “We are still missing one more in our suit.”
“You don’t know that it would be him,” Afonso points out.
“I would like to hope so,” Arthur says as he idly stirs the tea in his cup. “But you know, there has never been a cycle without a Kirkland in the Court of Spades.”
“And you’re already the Queen,” Afonso says. “Surely, that’s enough.”
Arthur shakes his head. “It doesn’t matter,” he says. He taps his teaspoon on the rim of his cup, the sound ringing, reminding Afonso of the bells on his brother’s Joker’s ensemble. “I’ll keep him safe, even if we are made to play another killing Game.”
Afonso winces, remembering the battle royale of the last cycle. “Perhaps, we’ll be lucky this time,” he says.
“You know what they say about wishes and horses,” Arthur says with a scowl. “Can your brother not do anything?”
“I don’t think he–”
“Ah! So this is where you all are!” The King of Spades exclaims as he makes his way outside to join them on the terrace. Afonso makes a move to stand, but both the king and queen wave him back down. “I can’t believe you’re all having a tea party while you abandoned me with our paperwork. Artie!”
“Don’t be dramatic, Alfred,” Arthur says with a roll of his eyes. “I’ve done my share. Besides, I thought you said to leave everything up to the hero, hm?”
Alfred sighs as he takes a seat at their table. “But that’s not what I meant at all.”
Arthur hums. “If you attend your lessons diligently, it would be easier not to be misunderstood.”
Alfred pouts as he picks up one of the scones on the table, pressing it between his thumb and forefinger. “What are you talking about anyway? You seem worried.”
Afonso and Arthur’s eyes meet, and Arthur inclines his head in permission. “The next Game, Your Majesty,” Afonso answers. At his answer, Alfred frowns and drops the pastry in his hand. “It will be your first Game, won't it?”
“I’m sure it’ll be fine!” Alfred says with a reassuring smile. The King of Spades had only been Named to his position two years ago at the age of seventeen. His young age, his confidence, and the easy way he smiles have always reminded Afonso of his own little brother. Despite all those complications, Alfred has always risen to the occasion when he is needed.
“Do not be so complacent, Alfred,” Arthur scolds with a frown.
“I’m not,” Alfred replies defensively, raising his hands in surrender. “Do you want me to prepare something? A training exercise perhaps? We are still missing someone, right?” Like Arthur just minutes before, Alfred’s gaze unconsciously goes to Peter. When the young king catches the worried, fearful look on the queen’s face, he tries to comfort him. “It might not be him, y’know?”
“It might still benefit him to join us for training,” Afonso points out.
“Yeah!” Alfred agrees, turning to Arthur with a grin. He stands so quickly his chair almost topples to the ground. “I'll plan for it now. Leave it to me, Artie!”
How breathtakingly confident, Afonso thinks as he drinks his tea. It is a pity they cannot all feel the same way. Afonso knows better. From the moment they were all Named to their Suits, their lives were forfeit to the Games. It might happen in the next Game or the one after that, but it will happen eventually.
It is inevitable, just as the gods have designed them to be.
“There were a hundred petty kingdoms waging their wars across the lands,” Afonso read, making sure to keep it as suspenseful as his little brother wanted. “In their wake, they left nothing but destruction, chaos, and death.”
“But then the gods made the Jokers right? And the Suits and the Games!” Antonio exclaimed with a wide grin, eyes bright as he clutched at Afonso’s arm excitedly.
“Do you want me to read this story, or do you want to tell it yourself?”
“No, no, I’ll listen, I promise,” Antonio said, settling down again.
“Right,” Afonso said as he playfully and lightly flicked Antonio’s forehead. “Behave yourself, Toninho. Now, where were we?”
“The Jokers,” Antonio prompted though he gave Afonso a sheepish smile when the older boy gave him an admonishing look.
Afonso nodded and turned the page. “Such wanton destruction did not sit well with the Divine. Many of them grew tired of it all and abandoned humanity to wage their bloody wars. But there were those who sought a solution, who demanded peace through any means. Many of them would also eventually give up, determining the endeavor a lost cause.”
“In the end, only two would remain determined to alter humanity’s fate into their very own designs,” Afonso continued, watching as his brother’s eyes seemed to droop sleepily. He brushed his fingers through Antonio’s curls as he lowered his voice. “Their names have been lost to time, and now, the world only knows them by the titles they eventually claimed: The Red Queen and the Black King.”
Antonio yawned. “Were they the first Jokers?”
Afonso hummed as he turned another page. “That’s what the stories say anyway.”
Afonso does not flinch when Antonio suddenly appears beside him in the palace gardens. One moment, he is sitting alone on the stone bench with a book on his lap, and in the next, there is the tinkling of bells and a masked figure beside him.
“What are you reading?” Antonio asks curiously as he removes his hood and the tragedy mask on his face, one that Afonso rarely sees on him.
“Just looking through some historical records,” Afonso says as he shuts the book between his hands. He turns to look at his grinning little brother, noting the mask still pinned on the motley cloak at his shoulder. He knows that mask. It is something that has haunted his nightmares. “You’ve Named someone.”
Antonio laughs. “I can never hide anything from you, can I?” He stands and removes the red and black motley cloak from around his shoulders. There is something almost theatrical in the way Antonio moves. He tilts his head as he shakes the cloak in his hand, the bells jingling like a warning before it all vanishes from his hands. Antonio spreads his arms as if expecting applause for his magic trick. Without the mantle of the Joker on his shoulders, he almost looks like Afonso thinks he should, perfectly mortal.
“So,” Afonso says as he watches Antonio with wary eyes. Sometimes, he prefers him like this, like the brother he lost and never found. Sometimes, Afonso prefers it when Antonio does not pretend as if nothing has changed. Afonso cannot help but frown at the blood red diamond on his little brother’s throat, now revealed without the high collar of his motley. “Do we have a new Ten of Spades?”
“Not yet,” Antonio says cheerfully. “That’s Gil’s job now!”
“Oh? You’re not here for work then?”
“Nope,” Antonio replies, and he extends a hand in invitation at Afonso. “Can’t I just come to see my big brother?”
“Of course you can,” Afonso says with a sigh. He puts the book down beside him and accepts Antonio’s hand, letting his little brother pull him to his feet. “My apologies, I’ve been busy lately.”
Antonio hums, looking at the book left on the bench. “Looking at the records of past Games?”
Afonso watches the curious expression on Antonio’s face as he weighs his decision. “Not the Games,” he finally says, deciding to be honest. “I wanted more information on the Jokers.”
“You couldn’t have asked me?” Antonio asks as he leads them into the royal garden’s hedge maze.
“Would you have told me anything?”
“I’ve already told you everything I could,” Antonio answers with a pout. “Even some that I really wasn’t supposed to. You should have seen Lovi back then. He was so angry when I came to visit you.”
“Lovi?”
“My predecessor,” Antonio says with a wistful look on his face. “Have I never told you about him?”
“There are a lot of things you don’t tell me, it seems like,” Afonso says, and he cannot keep all of the bitterness from his tone. He stops at a fork in their path, looking to Antonio to let him decide which one to take.
“I should not have told you anything at all,” Antonio reminds him with a huff as he pulls him towards the left path. Despite knowing the dead end this path eventually leads to, Afonso lets him take the lead. There is a bounce in his step, and he is laughing as he pulls Afonso along for the ride. “There is a reason even your beloved queen was surprised when you told him about me.”
“Am I supposed to thank you for the privilege?” Afonso asks, feeling tired in a way that had nothing to do with his physical state. He snatches his hand from Antonio’s hold and stops before they could take the turn onto the dead end. “Sometimes, I think it would have been better if you never came back.”
Antonio stops and turns, the smile falling from his face. “If I never came back?” He echoes with a tone of disbelief. “Brother, if I never came back, you would have chased after my shadows forever.”
Afonso clenches his jaw and looks away from the anger in his little brother’s face. “You don’t know that.”
“You do so like your stories,” Antonio says.
Afonso gives him an irritated look. “You used to like them too.”
“I grew up,” Antonio says nonchalantly as if he does not see the irony in his words. “What's the point of listening to Fairy Tales when we’re living in them?”
“I thought Fairy Tales were meant to have a happy ending.”
Antonio laughs and turns the corner towards the dead end. When Afonso chases after him, he finds Antonio still giggling even as he plucks a red rose from the hedge. “I got my heart’s desire. What’s a better ending than that?” For a moment, Antonio touches the diamond on his throat before he offers the rose to Afonso, holding it out with a very familiar smile. “You should make your own happy ending, Afonso.”
Afonso grimaces, looking at the rose as if it is a venomous snake that would strike him, but still, he accepts it from his brother. “Happily ever afters are meant for the heroes of the story.”
“You don’t think you are?” Antonio asks.
“I couldn’t save you.”
“Don’t be silly, Poncho,” Antonio says with an amused look on his face. “I’m not the one in need of saving.”
Afonso opens his mouth to answer, but instead of his own voice, he hears a scream from afar, a very familiar scream. He knows what Arthur’s distress sounds like from their last game, though by the end of it all, he had thought them both too hardened to scream like that. He turns, trying to determine where the sound had come from. “Toninho, I–”
Afonso hears the sound of bells, and when he turns, Antonio is no longer in the maze with him. He thinks of his brother’s last words to him, and he starts running out of the maze and towards the sound of his beloved queen’s screams.
“The Red Queen and the Black King decided to divide the world into Four Kingdoms: Spades, Diamonds, Hearts, and Clubs,” Afonso said, tracing the illustration on the page of the simplified coat of arms of each of the four kingdoms.
“Why four?” Antonio asked, rubbing at his eyes in an effort to stay awake. “There’s only two of them.”
“It doesn’t say,” Afonso said with a sigh, giving up on convincing Antonio to stop interrupting. “Maybe they just wanted two for each of them. Like you with those tarts.”
“You wanted those tarts too!”
“And we bought two for each of us,” Afonso reminded him to keep them on track with the story. “Just as the Red Queen had Hearts and Diamonds, and the Black King had Spades and Clubs.”
“And then they chose people too.”
Afonso huffed and closed the book to Antonio’s sounds of dismay. “You obviously don’t want to read the story,” Afonso said when his little brother continued to protest. He put the book of fairy tales and the other one he was reading just before Antonio came to his rooms on the bedside table, turning off the lantern in the process.
“But I want to hear about the courts and jokers!”
Afonso settled on his side, putting his arm around his brother. “Well, we know enough of the story without the book anyway, right?” He said with a hum. “Now, let’s see, after they decided to create the four kingdoms, they also decided to choose thirteen people in each kingdom to serve as its rulers and its champions.”
Antonio grinned as Afonso continued the story the way they both remembered it, settling back down without a protest. To Afonso’s surprise, he did not interrupt this time.
“The gods decided that to keep the peace in the land, any grievances between the new kingdoms will be solved through Games that they have created. They forbid any fighting between the kingdoms during the periods between the games that will come to be known as the Shuffle. No more shall people die in wars and conflict outside of those Games, and even in those Games, the only ones who shall participate will be the champions they have Named,” Afonso said, watching as Antonio’s eyes fall close to sleep, “And in that very first Game, the Red Queen and the Black King served their judgment as the very first Jokers.”
Afonso is out of breath when he finds himself back at the private garden where he shared afternoon tea with the King and Queen just days before.
The King and Queen are there again today along with many healers and servants rushing out. There is blood on Arthur’s hands, but it is clear it is not his own. Afonso looks at the small body on a stretcher, with blood on his head and on the stones around the pond with the ducks.
Arthur is frantic, holding on to the hands of his nephew, and even Alfred, normally so boisterous and so self-assured, looks lost and stricken.
Afonso should go to them, should do something to help. But instead, he finds himself frozen in place, watching the other figure that hovers over the stretcher. He doesn’t think anyone else could see him, for surely, people would be reacting to the sight of the Joker in his full motley ensemble hovering over the bleeding boy.
Despite the hood and the mask, Afonso is certain that it is Antonio just as much as he is certain that those healers would not be able to save Peter.
Antonio bends down and touches the bleeding wound on Peter’s forehead, and Afonso takes a step forward. The Joker looks straight at him, and he stands straight. Afonso unconsciously crushes the rose in his hand, the thorns pricking his skin as blood red petals fall on the ground. He thinks of the diamond marked on his little brother’s throat, of a teenager bleeding on a field somewhere in Diamonds.
Afonso hears the sound of bells as the Joker gives him a theatrical bow across the garden. Antonio had assured him that the new Joker would not be anyone Named in their suit, and Afonso had taken that as a comfort. Arthur had feared that Peter would be their new Ten of Spades, but that fear had not come to pass, would never come to pass.
Peter would be the next Joker once the next Game ends, and Antonio will Fade. Perhaps even Afonso would need replacing in the next Shuffle. And the cycle begins to turn again.