Spades, Kingdom of Power. Currently ruled by Queen Arthur Kirkland and Jack Wang Yao. King status: Deceased.
. . .
The only sound was that of a screaming woman. Painful screams ripped out of her as she tossed and turned in her bed; her red hair getting tangled and stuck to her face with her sweat. It felt as though her whole body was being scorched, and it all started at her neck. She wrapped her arms around herself, she gripped on the sweat around her, and she even tried to claw at the side of her neck-where the pain was the most unbearable.
Her face was coated in heavy sweat and thick tears, but all she could understand was the pain that rushed through her. She felt lost in her pain, and knew nothing else. Believing she'd only know this pain fo the rest of her life-however long that may be now-she could only scream and cry out as loudly as her throat may allow.
Then, she began to steadily notice the feeling of hands around her; hands that tried to comfort her and keep her hands away from her neck. Then, she noticed the screaming of others as they called her name over and over. It wasn't until the pain was finally gone-leaving her panting and burning-she was able to slowly open her eyes. As she blinked away the dying adrenaline, she looked up at the familiar faces of her servants as they stared down at her in a mix of concern and shock.
. . .
"AL! AL! WAKE UP! PLEASE!"
This crying sound was the first thing Alfred heard as he slowly began to wake up, and he felt familiar grip of trembling hands. He then realized he felt hot all over, and that he was panting harshly. It took him a moment to realize there was a dying pain all across him, and it took another moment for the rest of it to die. A burn lingered, but it became easier to breathe.
Once he felt he had control over his body again, he forced opened his eyes and he looked up to see a familiar pair of purple eyes staring down at him. Alfred knew these eyes better than he knew his own, and he was familiar with the tearfilled look they had in them. 'He hasn't looked like this for a long time.' With that, Alfred was suddenly plummeted with guilt, for he knew it was his doing that his little brother was crying again. So, he tried his best to force on a smile up at him-but it only turned into a weak half smile. "Mattie? Why are you crying?"
Alfred tried to use his usually cheerful voice, but it came out raspy and broken in places. His throat felt raw and abused.
When Matthew didn't look any better, Alfred attempted to sit up. His whole body ached and cried, but he tried to force himself through it anyways. However, he didn't get very far before Matthew harshly-or at least as harshly as he could-pushed him back down to the bed. "D-Don't get up, you-"
Then, there was a new look on his face, and this one took Alfred off guard. Matthew-his younger twin that he'd known all his life, looked down at him in pure shock that it borderline horrified. Alfred blinked up at him, and once again tried to sit up. Matthew didn't stop him this time, and he managed through the quiet pains. He looked to Matthew-who was sitting on one of their old wooden stools-and tried his best again at smiling. "Mattie, I'm good now, what's wrong?"
It took the younger boy to snap out of it and when he did he wordlessly dashed off over to the small fire place across from Alfred's bed. He grabbed what was on top of it. Alfred knew what he'd grabbed before Matthew turned around and walked back over to him, it was the same thing that always sat their. It was their mother's old hand mirror.
Confused-and tired-Alfred watched as his brother quickly-almost frantically-handed it to him. "H-Here." Matthew's voice was quiet-quieter than usual-and he looked at him almost desperately.
Alfred looked down at it and saw his face for what he remembered it to be. His lightly tanned skin, sandy blonde hair, and clear blue eyes. When nothing stuck him immediately, he was ready to turn to Matthew and ask him what was going through his head. However, he then noticed something on his neck-where the pain had been most prominent-and his eyes widened while his mouth flew open.
. . .
For almost a week, Alfred was bedridden from an abnormally high fever, and Matthew had to sit with him all through it. It was like hell for the younger twin. No matter what he did Alfred wouldn't get better. He tried soups, but nothing. He tried herbs, but nothing. He tried medicine, but nothing. He even tried more blankets, but nothing. He'd gone to ask the only doctor their little village had about Alfred over and over again, but he said all that Matthew could do was wait. He waited, but waiting only made him feel powerless.
It came out of nowhere too. Alfred was fine the day before he was struck down with the fever, and now he would only get worse and worse as the days went on and the hours ticked by. He'd be burning, sweating, and moaning nonstop; but there was nothing Matthew could do but watch. The worst part was that Alfred wouldn't even wake up to tell Matthew what was wrong, or to give him that grinny smile. Matthew knew that he should be going out working-especially now when Alfred is sick-but he couldn't leave his side for more than an hour.
It didn't help that this kept reminding Matthew of when their parents were sick. There was nothing he could do then either, but the difference was that Alfred was with him. Alfred had always been with him. He was the stronger twin, the braver twin. When their parents died, Alfred was the one that hugged Matthew-as he cried his eyes out-and told him they were going to be alright. It was always his older brother that came in declaring to be the hero that'll protect him and save everyone, but now Alfred is the one that needed saving. Only, Matthew didn't know how to be a hero.
This left Matthew to slowly lose himself in fears and worries
Then, Alfred suddenly woke up the worst Matthew had seen him thus far. Screaming and crying at the top of his lungs, Matthew didn't know what to do for him. He tried to call out to Alfred, but any noise he made was only drowned out by the screaming. Alfred was burning, as though his body was covered in flames, and this made Matthew's heart drop right into his stomach.
When Alfred began to claw at his own neck, Matthew tried to rip his hands away, but even sick Alfred was stronger. It took both of Matthew's hands to hold back on of Alfred's. He tried calling out to him more, but that didn't work. He tried to think of what he should do, but he couldn't think of anything as his mind went into a panic.
Finally, Matthew began to cry along with his brother, and screaming-begging-Alfred to calm down and wake up. 'I can't! I can't do this alone! AL!'
It felt like an eternity until Alfred's screaming finally died down, and Matthew slowly let go of his hand. "AL! AL! WAKE UP! PLEASE!" He screaming down at him desperate to just have his brother again.
Then, to Matthew's absolute relief, he watched as Alfred began to open his eyes. It'd been the first time in all this agonizing waiting that he's seen those blue eyes. He was relieved, but he was also fairly terrified. Days of Alfred unconscious, Matthew didn't know if he could trust that his brother was actually ok. He only hoped as Alfred looked up at him.
He gave him a tired and weak version of his usual grinning face, and then he said something. Matthew couldn't quite grasp what he said he was still lost in his own thoughts as he looked him over. 'He still looks pale. But he's awake. Should I get the doctor? What if he falls back asleep?'
After a moment, he noticed Alfred trying to get up. He pushed him back down hastily, and started saying something without really knowing what he was saying. Then, he noticed the area where Alfred was trying to scratch at on his neck, and his eyes flew open in pure shock.
When Alfred asked him what was wrong, Matthew couldn't think of how to explain what he was seeing. So, he did the first thing he could think to do and went to quickly grab their mother's old hand mirror. When he gave it back to Alfred he could see the look of confusion on his face as he looked down at his own reflection. After a moment his own eyes went wide in shock, and that was the cue to say that Alfred saw exactly what Matthew saw.
It was a deep blue mark-similar to a tattoo-that was on the side of his neck. It was a make up of curls and curves, beautifully done by seemingly careful hands, and it made out the shape of a spade. Inside the spade, in all the curls and curves, the letter "K" could be made out. Everyone in the kingdom knew what that was. No, everyone in the world knew what that was. It was the marking for the King of Spades.
However, it was meant to be on their current King in the castle-miles and miles away-not on Matthew's twin brother. Especially since, this would mean that the current King is dead.
. . .
"THE KING IS DEAD" Was hung high over the door to the town hall. This was apparently its third day there, and people lingered around the town hall with their candles as they cried into each other's arms. The people had loved their king, and so they were holding a ceremony in honor of their lost ruler by having everyone stand in front of the building to send away their prayers.
However, that wasn't where Alfred and Matthew were going. Where they were heading to was towards the knight that was appointed to stand on wait in front of the village until orders were sent otherwise. This was tradition. Whenever a Monarch died, a knight was sent to the entrance of every village and town. This was to make the people feel a little safer despite their lose, but it was also for another reason. The very same reason that they were going to him.
Matthew was hesitant to go, but Alfred knew they had to. If the thing on his neck was real, then he had to report it as soon as he could. They agreed-however-to give Alfred one days rest to get over his fever. Now, he felt as good as he did before he'd knocked out for nearly a week. He only agreed to wait because he'd felt guilty about Matthew having to wo0rry about him for so long-so much so that he'd apparently missed the news about the King.
Now, Alfred had a scarf wrapped around his neck-which was making his neck sweat-as Matthew stood beside him. They took their time walking, and they walked in silence. When Alfred glanced at his brother, he saw his head was hung low and he clasped the back of his hand with his other hand as his thumb slowly rubbed the back of his pinky-an old "Mattie thing" as he called it. Alfred wanted to try making a joke or something to make Matthew feel better, but not only did he think it would only make him worse, but he was having his own thoughts rushing through his head.
'What does this mean? The King is dead? How? Since when? What does that make me?'
Then, they reached the knight. He was wearing his helmet, so they couldn't see his face, but Alfred was all too familiar with the insignia on his armor. It was the sign of spades in a squield and twin swords crossed behind it. If it were any other day, Alfred would have greatly admired the knight's uniform-as he had since he was a child-but now there was something intimidating about this person. All because Alfred had to try telling him something he wasn't quite sure of.
To try shaking away the nervousness, Alfred put on his best smile as he walked over to the knight. The knight leaned against the outer fence of the village-presenting themselves as bored-and to their side was another person. They were not dressed in armor, but they carried a cage with a bird inside-a bird they were currently watching eat.
The knight looked up when Alfred and Matthew got to a point. They straightened up and faces the pair. "What is it, villagers?" The voice was rough, and seemed to belong to a man. He sounded polite, but also just tired.
Alfred thought for a moment, and-deciding to just get it over with-just blurted out what. "There's this thing on my neck." He tried to sound confident in how he said it, and tried to ignore the gross feeling in his stomach.
The knight just stared at him-he could also feel Matthew's bewildered eyes on him-and for a moment he just stood there. Then, he seemed to have slightly flinch from inside his suit of armor. He turned to face the other man with him, and gestured him over. The other man carefully placed down the bird's cage and walked over quickly to Alfred. He was an old looking man, and his expression was very carefully serious as he gestured for Alfred to take off the scarf.
'What's will all the hand gestures? Can't they talk?' Alfred thought as nervousness boiled up more.
He unwrapped his scarf and watched the old man take a sharp intake of air as he looked at it. "Lean down a bit." The old man's voice was surprisingly deep and sharp.
Alfred listened, and leaned down some more. Then, he felt the long wrinkled fingers touch his neck. This took Alfred off guard and he jumped back as he looked down at the surprised old man. "What the heck! You don't need to touch it!"
"Alfred!" It was Matthew that shrieked at him, the way he usually did whenever he thought Alfred did something rude. Then he saw his brother turn over to the old man. "I-I'm sorry about my brother."
However, the old man wasn't looking at Matthew or Alfred, he was looking to the knight behind him. Alfred kept his eyes on the old man as he slowly nodded. This made Alfred's heart plummet.
The next thing he knew the old man had rushed back over to the bird and was writing something down, and the knight kneeled down in front of Alfred. He didn't know what to say-or how to feel-when the knight spoke in a more awake voice. "Our King." Alfred felt even more at a lost when he realized the way the man said it was the same way the villagers spoke when they prayed.
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