Chapter 2:

It was early, the sun slowly rising above the slightly choppy water. Arthur had been on the ship for three weeks—it felt like months, and he didn't know exactly when they'd be arriving at the Spades' Harbor. The water rocked the boat, sometimes too harshly, and Arthur had become sick more than once. It took him by surprise—he had spent his whole childhood on his father's ships, getting his sea legs and pretending to be a pirate like his ancestors.

When he turned thirteen, his father had told him that he should be focusing on other things besides boats, that his brothers could still come with him, but Arthur had to remain at home with his mother. He was so angry that he called down the biggest storm he had been capable of conjuring at the time. The ships couldn't leave port for days and Arthur was punished. After that, he was only allowed on ships for travel.

So now, unused to the waves that tossed the travel ship in the water, Arthur remained inside his room, lonely, sick and tired. He wished that Alfred could have come with him, not for any kingly reason—he had grown used to his presence, and now he was lacking it.

But Alfred had his own things to do. In these moments of maudlin thinking, Arthur could do nothing but stare at his frowning reflection in the mirror.

And then his magic, so unused out in the open waters, overreacted. Arthur cursed when he felt the power surge in his blood—he was weak to his emotions. However, there was no thunder rumbling outside, no sailors shouting for lightning, and Arthur sighed in relief.

But when he looked back in his mirror, he did not see his own reflection. Instead, he saw familiar blond hair, disorganized in private, and broad shoulders covered in royal blue. With a start, he realized that he was looking through the mirror in Alfred's study.

He cursed again. Alfred jumped halfway out of his skin, turning around to face Arthur's outburst.

He stood silent, blinking at Arthur through his mirror. And not at all calm and in the least kingly manner he could possibly manage, he half yelled, "What the fuck is this?"

Arthur didn't really know, so he just shrugged. "Magic?"

For all that Spades' embraced magic, Alfred didn't have any understanding of it. When their lives finally became some kind of normal after their wedding, the King adjusted to seeing Arthur's magic used in everyday life, but for someone who never did see it used in place of servants and technology, it took a lot of getting used to.

Alfred ran up close to the mirror, smudged the glass with his fingers, and said, "Hi."

He smiled.

"Hi yourself." Arthur matched his fingertips up with Alfred's, but felt only cool glass. He sighed. "I miss you, apparently."

Alfred pouted. "Well, you should."

Arthur sighed—he loved Alfred even at the worst of times, but he knew that the King was spoiled rotten. He wasn't used to not having something he wanted, and apparently he wanted Arthur.

It shouldn't have given him a silent thrill, knowing that. But it did.

Alfred placed his hand where Arthur's heart would be, if he could touch him.

"I want to touch you." A hint of color shot up on Arthur's cheeks.

"Alfred, behave. I wish I could come through the mirror, but I don't even know how I did this."

Of course, the king did the opposite of what he wished. The smirk was on his face; the one that always left Arthur completely wrecked with the dirty, sexy things that escaped Alfred's mouth.

"And if you could come through the mirror, you know what I'd do to you?"

"I have a pretty good idea, yeah." He let his eyes scan his husband's body. If Alfred was going to go there, Arthur would share in the indulgence.

"An idea? Do share, honey." The sweet, low tone in Alfred's voice was almost condescending. He wanted Arthur to lose his cool—riling him up had become his favorite pastime, if not for any other reason then for the somewhat intense and electrical sex that followed it.

"Don't call me that, sweetie. Well, if I stepped through this mirror, I'm sure you wouldn't waste any time." He looked into the King's rapidly darkening eyes and then around the study.

"You know what I'd do next?"

"Of course I do—you're very predictable."

"Predictable?" There was a whine in his voice that didn't quite fit with the huskiness of it.

"Yes predictable—you'd have me over that desk in one second."

And then the smirk was back. "But is that really a bad thing? I seem to remember that you liked it the last time."

And yes, he did like it. He liked it a lot. With the memory in his head, the image of Alfred and his study flickered for a moment. And Arthur suddenly felt tired.

Tired. He needed to stop, immediately. Arthur was sure that the last thing Alfred saw in the mirror was Arthur's panicked look before the image disappeared. If that was even really Alfred.

Projecting an image like that was illusion. Dark Magic.

Arthur's mind reeled. He was homesick and boat-sick and tired. And now he would almost certainly have nightmares. He had worked himself into a panic—he felt his uneven breathing more than he heard it catching and saw the streaks of salty tears running down his face.

As he stared at his reflection, his magic shattered the mirror.

…

Matthias shivered a little bit before sitting beside Matthew.

"Hey, Matt?"

"Yes." The passive man was looking less and less calm every day.

And Matthias didn't know what to say—for once in his life he was speechless. He decided to go in all or nothing.

"I know."

Matthew's eyes widened. "Know what?"

He sighed. "Everything."

And Matthew looked horrified. "I-I didn't mean those things I said!" It was probably the loudest he'd ever heard him speak.

"I was a-angry. Confused. And now, now Gil is considering kill—doing what I said. I don't want that. I don't want to be a part of any of this. Just because I resent my past doesn't mean that I'm crazy like him."

"Why did you tell us to go ahead with it?"

"I-I" He looked right into Matthias' eyes. "I wanted to meet him."

"The boy?"

"No. You said you know everything. I wanted to meet my… The King. I wanted to meet the King. But maybe it's better that he doesn't know about me. It's better that I don't exist."

Matthias didn't really know everything. But they had to be brothers, or at least cousins. The resemblance was uncanny when they were children, if he remembered correctly.

"Can you tell me your story, Matt? Why are you here?"

Matthew's eyes were staring at nothing, avoiding Matthias. He began to speak.

"My father was the King of Spades."

Matthias nodded. Matthew sighed.

"But my mother wasn't the Queen of Spades."

Oh. Oh.

"The King was kind to my mother, even though she was only a serving maid. When she became pregnant, he didn't banish her away like she'd thought he would. In fact, he even told the Jack of Spades to let her stay as a servant in the palace, even though she had disgraced herself by being unmarried and pregnant. She had told me he was kind-hearted. I was born the exact same day as the prince—well, King, now. Still, she wasn't sent away from the palace."

He sighed again.

"I lived there, until I was about four years old. I don't remember much—We didn't have much money, but we ate and had clothes and she was happy."

Matthias saw the beginnings of tears in his eyes.

"Then, around my—our fifth birthday, he summoned her into the tower of the King. It's one of the first memories I can really remember. She took me with her. He—he explained that people had noticed a resemblance between the prince and me. He didn't say it but it was pretty clear to my mother that he didn't want his reputation to suffer because he had a bastard. He kept staring at me, like if he looked long enough I would disappear. He asked her to leave."

There were definitely tears now.

"We left after that—I don't know where we went, but we moved around a lot, and my mother tried to find work. But she struggled because she needed to take care of me and we—we had nothing. She had to sell all of our things, and probably herself, just so I could eat. I was older then, maybe seven, but not old enough to fend for myself. She didn't eat anymore, didn't even get out of bed sometimes."

Matthias was frozen with the horror of Matthew's words.

"She was sick. She—she just wasted away. When she was gone, I felt alone. I was seven years old, a virtual orphan, and I walked. I was small for my age, and I could steal bread from the street vendors without being noticed. And I walked, and walked, and then Gilbert took me into Nowhere. He had food and warm clothes and he smiled at me. He was only maybe sixteen, but he was the closest thing to a father I'd ever had. And now he's losing his mind to dark magic."

Matthias didn't really know what to say, so he wrapped his arms tight around him.

Quiet, into his ear, Matthew continued.

"I always told myself that I wasn't alone in the world: I had a brother, sort of. And I always had a hope that maybe he would care about me. Maybe I could experience real family again. And, if taking the new prince, my almost nephew or something, would let me see family, I would do it. But I don't want to meet him that way. I wish I had a reason to meet him where I wouldn't be committing a crime."

As he pulled away from their hug, Matthias considered.

"You know what, maybe we can swing that."

End of Chapter Two

A/n:

So it's been like thirty years. I'm not dead I swear. Just a lot of writer's block and real world stress.

But I'm done with the first year of college and I'm a lot less stressed now, and I'm feeling the inspiration again.

So, Matt has a rough story. I just want a big Al/Matt bro meeting. Brohugs and tears. The "Sister, Sister" theme song can be involved.

Arthur will be home next chapter, and there will be actual things happening (and maybe Francis which is always a plus.)