brother to brother || vidar & ansgar

He'd never been able to smell the cold as a child, but ever since Vidar had tasted the sick-sweet atmosphere of tropical Aquore, the sharpness of Onean air struck him every time he stepped outside. Every first lungful of cold was like waking up from a deep sleep. Sometimes it made him feel like everything outside of Ghosthold was a dream. The fragrant air of the distant southern continent came with the sight of towering ivory cities, with rich foods and overpowering color, with Vladimir's skin on his own. As Vidar exhaled a silver cloud of winter, ducking outside into the night, those visions dissolved off his skin like a wish. That life simply didn't exist here.

Ansgar was waiting in the harbor like Vidar expected, his dark coat rimmed with a halo of moonlight in the rare clear night. Beyond him, the ships slept. The sea was quiet, reserved, lapping gently at the rocky beach. Vidar watched the Trespasser as he approached. She was bobbing almost imperceptibly, as if breathing slowly. Sails furled, lanterns doused, she looked as cold as the shore. He wondered briefly if she dreamed, too.

He stood shoulder to shoulder with Ansgar, facing the water, and pointedly did not look up at his brother. Vidar never felt small until he was in the presence of Ansgar or Gidal. He'd toppled giants without blinking, but standing at his brother's side always gave him an involuntary sense of outrage. Something about Ansgar gave Vidar something to prove.

Ansgar's words did grab his gaze, though. He met Ansgar's eyes, and when he spoke, his tone was appropriately reverent: "Your brother," he said, muted. Odin was, fully, Ansgar's brother, despite any blood ties Vidar had. Gidal rarely spoke of Odin, the first son. Vidar knew nothing of him other than he had been the clan's true prince.

Vidar's stare was careful, thorough. He searched Ansgar's troubled face and seemed to find all the cracks in his expression. Why Ansgar was saying this, and with such emotion, escaped him. Instead of asking for clues, he simply nodded.

It was difficult for Vidar not to react. He himself was a creature of honest, intense emotion, a trait that the more conservative members of his clan --Ansgar included, Vidar would have bet-- didn't often appreciate. His powerful feelings had created in him a contagious passion that came hand-in-hand with visible vulnerability. It wasn't the Onean way, but it was necessary, Vidar believed, to building a sustainable future. Gidal's repression was throttling him, throttling his children, and Vidar would have expected it would kill Ansgar too.

This sudden glimpse into his brother's raw inner world was enlightening, and encouraging. Vidar's mind skipped twenty paces ahead of itself like it always did, as he entertained the idea that maybe his philosophies were affecting Ansgar. Why else break his silence now? Why else give this vulnerable, intimate moment to him?

Gidal would have struck Ansgar for the catch in his throat, the crack that almost threatened his voice. Perhaps Ansgar knew that his younger brother, whose heart was carried proudly on his sleeve, would not.

Either way, Vidar gave the significant conversation the respect it was due.

He listened carefully, his mind on his beloved sister. Brilliant and skilled, Astrid had the potential to do, or be, anything she wanted. It broke Vidar's heart every time he left her on the shore, to atrophy in the mire of inaction while he was away. Her vibrancy was his reason for fighting. She was his wisest teacher, his first pride, his greatest joy. He understood Ansgar's emotions easily, and politely turned his eyes gaze to the water as Ansgar struggled to maintain his composure. He didn't attempt to comfort his brother. It would break the spell.

Still facing the waves, Vidar closed his eyes when Ansgar spoke of his helplessness, sharply impacted by Ansgar's choice of words. When the silence hung for a moment and the sting left Vidar's chest, he opened his eyes and drew in a breath to respond. "I -"

I pray to Kaia you never feel that kind of pain.

It gave Vidar visible and immediate pause. He couldnt stop his eyes from jumping up to Ansgar's unreadable face, from scouring every feature he found there. The statement put Vidar's hackles up, as any threat --imaginary, theoretical, or otherwise-- to Astrid's safety would. When he spoke after a bloated silence, he was careful not to sound aggressive. "Why do you say that?"

He searched Ansgar's eyes. "We won't let the war reach Ghosthold."

The quiver of amusement through Ansgar's face was not lost on his astute brother. Vidar exhaled quickly, depressurizing his indignation before it boiled over. He knew his brother thought he was naive. As taciturn as Ansgar was, Vidar had decoded enough of his stoic family's subtle cues over the years to read Ansgar's judgment plainly. It was an undercurrent of every interaction they'd ever had, a signal radiating in the background of every conversation. His prideful mind rattled silently as Ansgar wrote him off in a word. He'd crossed continents for this clan. He'd seen more of the world than any Bloody Flank alive, maybe in the clan's history. He'd brought Hireath back to this god-forsaken place by the handful and placed it at Ansgar's feet and it was all Ansgar could do not to roll his eyes. Vidar flattened his ears, but bit his tongue. Pearls before swine.

The sudden understanding in Ansgar's voice caught Vidar gently by surprise, and massaged the outrage out of him. Vidar was constantly swinging to extremes. In a few brief sentences, Ansgar had regained Vidar's patient attention, and the younger brother listened intently, his ear pricked towards Ansgar while his eyes were out to sea. Eye contact with Ansgar would be too much to ask. He was opening old wounds --for whatever reason-- and Vidar couldn't make himself look into them. Instead they kept their gazes out to the waves.

The sea was neutral territory for them. It was the place they belonged, really. They were bonded by their love for their clan of course, but, more importantly by the feeling of captivity in Ghosthold. The encampment was a prison, they both knew it, and the only escape for their family was over the water. The ocean, their only hope, was the only place safe enough to put this sudden honesty.

The crack in Ansgar's voice did not draw the same sympathy out of Vidar that his previous confession had. Vidar was stony-faced, watching the Trespasser, listening for the hidden barbs in Ansgar's story. The anguish in his older brother's voice was plain, but Vidar's sympathy now carried a bitter wash of caution. He wasn't sure what conversation they were having. While Ansgar stood beside him, feeling more honest than ever, Vidar's guard was already back up against the veiled threat Ansgar presented.

Vidar understood Ansgar. At least, he thought so. The oldest grandson of Thigain left alive by the coup, Ansgar had been the receptacle of all their father's mistakes. Gidal was a brave and honest parent, but not a kind one. They had both been subject to his stringent and demanding expectations, and Vidar found himself in a unique position to understand the constant pressure Ansgar must have been under since the day Thigain died. The things he must have carried, unexpressed and too painful to name, were acknowledged by Vidar. He didn't blame Ansgar for his criticism of him --even appreciated it, when Vidar's experience fell short of his ambition-- but it didn't mean he trusted Ansgar either. His mouth was tight while Ansgar spoke.

"I won't let it happen." He was resolute. "I'll die before anything touches her." He drew in a breath.

"We're going to win this war," he said, his voice strange. There was none of the booming, merry charisma he used in the daylight. This was a tone of voice reserved for darkness. "We're closer than you think. The Warlord has no idea how strong we're becoming, how many allies we have. I've been in the world, I've seen this." His red eyes jumped up to his brother's. He didn't feel small this time. "We're going to win if we're on the same side. We--our siblings, all of us-- are going to be together on that mountain."

There was a beat, then his voice was gentler. "I'm sorry he won't be. I am. But I have a feeling he would have liked to see you there with your brothers."