Archive of Our Own ^beta

Chapter Text

The second dinner Tommy ever has with the king is somehow vastly more terrifying than the first. 

He isn’t sure why, exactly. All he knows is that he’s filled with such dread at the idea of meeting the king again, even though nothing particularly important happened the last time. All he got for Tubbo’s actions was some odd acknowledgement and a discussion over possibly starting archery. 

Even less will come out of this next one, he’s sure of it.

Regardless, walking across the camp feels akin to a soldier walking into a raging war. He feels a little too aware of everything around him, catching the looks and the bowed heads given as he passes, offering his light, polite greetings in return. The people look at him with such smiles, and Tommy tries to give a smile back, the action feeling off-centered with the way his heart is trying to crawl out from his chest through his mouth.

Sam is his pillar to depend on, ever the image of calm, focused duty. It’s simple to try and mimic him as he’s led across the camp, the rigid movements of a soldier molded. Sam seems none the wiser to the imitation, but Tommy is very grateful for the example to follow, and he makes a mental note to have Sam get some sort of day off, some time of rest. He can’t remember when was the last time he woke up and Sam wasn’t there to greet him at the door of his tent, or to say farewell in the last moments before heading to bed. 

Tommy considers something, thinking back to an old conversation about knights. He wonders, if he gathered the courage, and didn't end up puking his heart out onto his dinner plate, could he ask the king right at this moment to make Sam his knight? He’s already practically fulfilling the position, isn’t he? Granted, he hasn’t been fighting many glorious battles, and he’s not done anything noble at Tommy’s request, unless you count retrieving flowers from the surrounding grasses, but Tommy feels like those efforts are enough. He’s satisfied with Sam’s actions. 

He also would just really like to have a personal knight to his name. That would be so cool.

“Your highness.” Sam says, snapping Tommy out from his thoughts, and he realizes they’ve arrived, Tommy faltering in heading inside. He gives a sheepish expression, Sam smiling back as he pulls the curtain for him, announcing his presence, and Tommy enters the tent with the expectation of all his dread to instantly slam into him like a mallet, and leave him unconscious on the floor. 

Such a thing does not happen. Instead, he stands still with slightly shaky hands, eyes taking in the dinner table again, food lavishly laid out, the king turning his head to him from where he’s sat in his seat. 

“Ah. Right on time.” He says, Tommy bowing respectfully and waiting until the king makes a beckoning motion to sit. He settles into the same chair as before, looking upon the same plate and cup. He watches as the servants mill about, serving them in a peaceful silence with only the quiet clink of the serving spoons. It’s such a contrast to the noise in his head, the hammering sound of his heart trying to keep it together. 

He watches distantly as a portion of peas are placed onto his plate, and upon recognizing the food, he pushes down an instant reaction of dismay, lips wanting to twitch into a frown. It used to be well known that he could not stand peas. He’d given his father so much trouble over it in the years before that the chefs ended up just taking it out of the menu entirely. It is one of the things he cannot help but be weak towards, cannot help but be picky and childish upon. 

He must resist his disgust. He must be above. His composure is so solid and unbreakable, he is so sure of it, but when he glances at the king and finds him looking back with something curiously questioning, he realizes that he’s failed.

Shit. Tommy’s composure is shit. Now the king knows he doesn’t like the peas, and that he can’t control his emotions over simple peas, and he’s going to die. Over peas. Or something. He’s not sure, his nerves are muddling up the logic bits of his brain, and he’s feeling queasy for reasons other than the fact there’s stupid peas in his presence. 

His heart feels lodged into his throat. His hands twist at his ring, the metal cool on his fingertips, his eyes falling to stare intently at the color of the tablecloth-- a nice, pretty red-- and then his mouth moves without his permission and he says-

“So.” 

Before then having an awkward pause as he frantically tries to commit to the decision his mouth has made. 

“So.” The king repeats lightly, a hint of a teasing tone there, but undetected by Tommy’s deafened, panicked senses.  

“I see the chefs have made a fine selection as always.” Tommy says, ever so casual. Perfect. Delightful. He’s pulled that off fantastically, and now there’s no need to assume that he’s going to be acknowledged for his raging disgust of the things on his plate-

“You don’t have to eat everything.” The king responds in kind, Tommy’s eyes being very obviously drawn right back to the horrid peas, which mock him and insult his very standing as a prince. 

It’s very telling that the king is offering such a thing. Tommy, reasonably, should accept defeat in whatever terrible tower of lies he is building and climbing upon.

But he cannot. 

“Oh, but it’s all- so good.” Tommy insists, waving a hand to his plate. He will admit, everything else other than the peas looks delicious, if a bit much for his tastes. The chefs go a bit overboard with the king, he feels. “It’d be an insult to not have it.” 

“Hm.” Technoblade nods, not seeming so convinced. That hint of amusement has not faded from his face. If anything, it’s grown, his eyes appearing to gleam as he picks up his fork. “Of course.” 

Tommy picks up his own fork as well. “Of course.” He repeats, a tiny, nervous laugh bubbling through his lips. 

And so he proceeds to eat. 

It is the same as the last time, a quiet dinner before the eventual conversation. Tommy is determined to not have it be about the damned peas, but the peas are determined to be the most god awful thing in all of humanity. 

Tommy picks off his plate until only the green horrors are left, and then he tries, he really tries, to finish them off with a casual air of someone who has a mild, normal opinion over peas. 

Judging by the way the king makes a sudden huff of exasperation, head jerking away, he fails. He fails so badly. Failure is ever imminent and Tommy is going to curse the peas into his premature grave. He’s going to toss this plate out into the burning sun. He’s going to curl up underneath the table and turn into a bug. 

He feels like a fool, and an idiot, and yet he also feels so rightfully upset, because he doesn’t like peas, he will never like peas, and his father didn’t even make him eat peas- but.

His father isn’t here anymore. 

And Tommy is being so stupidly irrational, for someone so much older now. 

…He isn’t sure how to stop this.

“Stop.” Technoblade simply orders out of the blue, and there, who is Tommy to not follow orders from the king? He immediately drops the fork, ignoring the loud clatter of it to his plate. It’s a bit deafening to Tommy’s ears. 

Technoblade looks like he’s holding back a certain reaction from coming to the surface, taking a deep breath. Tommy tries to follow the action. 

“You don’t- have to finish it.” He tells Tommy, in a slow, controlled tone, and Tommy opens his mouth to give some grand defense for his dignity and his honor. Techno does not even let him begin. “Take the plate.” He tells the servants, and away the peas go, Tommy making a silent sigh of relief, deflating within his chair. The king presses his face into his palm, shoulders twitching a little in a laugh very carefully kept. 

When he raises his head back up, Tommy realizes with wonder that in the distraction of the peas, in the relief of them being taken away, in the ordeal of the dinner- the fear of the dinner itself from before has left him. 

The dread is gone. 

He feels remarkably normal in his seat, only a touch tense under the king’s gaze, easy enough to ignore against the consolation that he hasn’t been forced to eat such disgusting affronts to humanity. Such a lack of bad feelings has him glowing, comforted, and so, his lips turn up to offer a smile, innocent and glad, ever content, to the king. 

Technoblade’s expression falters, as if he’s seen something he didn’t calculate for. His movement freezes, just for a few seconds, Tommy’s joy fading off into a small confusion. 

The king brushes past it. 

He asks of Tommy’s lessons, once again, just like before.

Tommy doesn’t have much to tell this time around. It’s only been a few days since the last update he’s made. It is the same sword lessons as before, the same going ons. The thrill of having a new skill has faded, and he’ll admit, his enthusiasm has begun fading with it. It tells in the way he speaks, in how boredom creeps past the hesitance in his voice. 

“Have you considered the offer for archery?” Techno asks him over the edge of his cup, taking a drink of water. “It’d do you well to have multiple skills in weapons.” He adds on after, with the knowing wisdom of someone who has always grown up with a weapon in hand. 

Tommy places his cheek into his palm with a thoughtful hum. It would, indeed, do him well to try. If he is to have this king made from bloody conquest as his ruler, it’d be only reasonable for him to have a proficiency in battle, as well. How would it look for the king’s heir to be so defenseless and weak? To be so contrastingly pathetic?

Although. Already, as it is, Tommy knows he isn’t someone of high standing, other than his rank sewn into his blood. There aren’t many achievements for him to brag about, no great projects, no focus of effort. He hasn’t been up to much as of late. In fact…

“I’m surprised you aren’t offering studies, instead.” Tommy says softly, turning his head to the king with furrowed brows. He hasn’t had any proper lessons since the week he was still king, and even then, those weren’t really the lessons he used to know. Those lessons, then, were a rush of catching up, a rush to become capable and take the kingdom before it grew unsteady with the lack of proper guidance. He wasn’t truly learning, then. He was just desperately trying to grasp at all the pieces. 

Technoblade makes a knowing nod, resting his elbows onto the table with his fingers interlacing together under his chin. “I have purposely been withholding those.” 

Tommy blinks at him in a silent surprise. He has? 

All this time, he could’ve been away in lessons, following in the routine of boring lectures,  instead of spending the majority of his time with his friends? Chasing new bits of entertainment to wherever it presented itself? Wandering and drifting and trying to fill the quiet?

“If you would like them…” Techno offers. Instantly, Tommy refuses to give up his time of leisure, no matter how beneficial such lessons would be. Tubbo’s gotten them wrapped into some story-telling game these days, and it’s bad enough when it grows late and they’re forced to pause then. If he had his time filled up now, with more responsibilities-  

He knows he should just bear it and take them on. But- it’s been such a good few weeks, these days. It’s gotten so good. He wants the time of peace for a little longer. He wants to keep the weight of the crown away. 

Just until he knows he can carry it. 

“Say, in a hypothetical situation, I did not.” He tells the king, raising his hands up with a sheepish air of surrender. 

“Say, in a hypothetical situation, you at least began having weekly lessons.” The king parrots back, bargaining with a sense of humor running over his words. Tommy sputters at such a teasing answer, feeling like the raising of this topic has now spelled doom for his freetime. “Unless you wanted to pick up archery, instead?”

“I could do archery.” Tommy instantly agrees, for that is obviously the better choice over having a teacher drone history at his ears. “Archery sounds appealing.”

“Over books, I imagine so.” Techno hums, Tommy pursing his lips together to resist an obvious frown. “You should still consider taking up studies again. Even if you don’t care for it.” 

“It’s just…” Tommy tries to begin, but how could he say it? How could he admit the fears in his head, the idea that once he truly begins the effort of becoming more, there will be no choice in stopping? There is only a climb, a constant, never ending climb. 

Slowly, eventually, his time awake will dwindle down into nothing but duties, nothing but the worry and weight of keeping his people together and cared for. 

At least, that is how it went last time. This is what he cannot help but expect.

That, and honestly, he really does not want to deal with boring lectures again. Anything else is better than dragging his eyes through the endless paragraphs of a textbook. 

“Very well. You could begin them later.” The king says, easily swayed by Tommy’s hesitance. “With your archery, I’ll have someone hired…” He trails off, glancing upwards in thought. 

“So soon?” Tommy asks, brows lifting in surprise. 

“Would you rather not?” Technoblade questions in return. 

“No, no, soon is good. More skills to put under my belt.” More useful skills to collect, at last. The most expertise Tommy’s ever had throughout his youth was a decent sense of diplomacy and an outstanding praise from his teacher in his dancing lessons. Underwhelming abilities to have, for a prince of a conqueror. That should be fixed, in his opinion. “I’d…I’d like to have them with my usual sessions, with my sword instructor?”

Techno nods, clapping his hands together as he leans back into his seat. “Then it’ll be done.” 

And that is that. Their conversation tapers off and is put to an official end as a servant calls for the king, his presence needed elsewhere. 

Tommy stands from his seat with a short bow of his head, stepping to the door to head back towards his tent, where his friends await, where again and again he runs from the fact that he must be more. 

“I suppose I’ll see you again at some point, your majesty.” Tommy gives as a farewell, staying lingering before the door. The king stays sitting in his seat, the red of his eyes looking more like a dim, dark common brown against the lighting of the room.

“Soon.” He tells Tommy, with all the sureness of a king’s word. 

Tommy nods. The dread has made its marvelous return. 

He goes outside with an instant gasp for fresh air, and resists the urge to cling at Sam’s armor with crying despair. He cannot do such things. He is a prince.

(And yet, he is still only thirteen.)

---

The king’s offer about picking up lessons again does leave Tommy in thought. 

He still doesn’t want it. And logically, he should, shouldn’t he? So many nights he’s spent worrying for how he would approach this role of his, so many mornings he’s woken up with shaking hands, feeling like he needs to be more, do more-

But he doesn’t want to. 

He can’t force it. There is a stubborn, stupid fight in his chest, and it yearns for the simpler things, for the things that make him smile. He wants to keep spending his days with his friends, hunched over games until the day has ran away from them, their world confined to just Tommy’s space alone, their laughter and their casual voice becoming familiar. He wants to keep the terrible weight small, have it be chained down into only being the slow, simple lessons of learning to swing his sword. He wants to be less. He has to be more. 

He doesn’t know how.

He wonders if the king expects more from him. If that mention of bringing lessons again was his hint. Tommy doesn’t know if he’s missed a signal or not. The king is a hard man to read, especially when he’s shrouded in the played-up expectations that fester in Tommy’s head. He fears the worst. He fears having narrowed, red eyes staring down at him, resenting him, thinking of him as worthless. He fears the king’s cruelty, he fears that one day he’ll unknowingly make one mistake too many, or this day of waiting and stalling the terrible weight will be one day too long, and he’ll have his taste of painful anger soon enough. 

The king is not a merciful man. The shining products of his half-built empire show that. Royal bloodlines have been cut short by his hand, and Tommy is no different, really. He was a false king, the same as all of them. 

But he’s not dead. He’s their prince, now. 

What does the king want from him, now? Tommy wants the courage to ask it to his face. 

The next time he is called for dinner with the king, he tries to build that bravery up. It wars with the awful, terrifying mental depiction of the king in his head, creating scenario after scenario with his words being tossed aside and ignored. 

Reasonably, there is nothing to fear. When has the king ever been unkind to him? But reason is hard to grasp when one is being crushed by so many fears. Reason is out of reach, with the terrible weight trying to slide into his arms. 

Tommy sits silent at his seat at the dinner table. He keeps his eyes to his hands on his lap, the dread sinking its claws in, the prospect of raising his question at all making his throat go tight. He wants to try. He wants to want it more, to where nothing could have him sway. 

Most of all, he just wants to stop being unable to control how he feels. 

Technoblade notes Tommy’s nervous demeanor from the second he comes in through the entryway. All three instances, Tommy’s approached with a hesitance, a wary fright kept in the sky colored gaze of his eyes. 

The first time was justifiable, the dinner was out of nowhere, and there was the matter of the prince’s friend and his vaguely treasonous behavior. The second was still a little expected, one cannot hope to have trust and easy comfort built so quickly. But now, at their third meeting, Techno wonders how many more nights will need to pass until the boy can bear to look him properly in the eyes for more than three seconds. 

It is good for the prince to hold fear at Techno. He’s rightfully earned such a thing, heavy respect torn from bloody acts made at battle. But as much as Technoblade feels that fear should not be forgotten-- this is different. This isn’t the same as any other interaction with his subjects. This is his prince. His heir. He doesn’t want the child to bow and scrape without any hint of fight. 

(He craves to witness that smile from before. A passing, joyful thing.)

Techno regards Tommy’s hunched shoulders with a frown as the servants step away, leaving them to their food with everything perfectly served. Silence sits for a near-too-long minute as nothing happens, the prince seemingly waiting for Techno to begin eating before making a move of his own. He’s frozen into place like a statue. Hiding in his seat with the meekness of a stumbling baby deer. 

“There’s no need to cower each time you come here.” Techno speaks bluntly, the prince jolting at the sound of his voice. He looks up, then glances away, as he always tends to do. 

“Your- your majesty?” Tommy asks, processing the words. His face warms in embarrassment, wanting to wince at how he must be appearing if the king could notice it so obviously. “I’m sorry, I-”

“Don’t apologize, either.” The king insists sternly, Tommy clicking his mouth shut. Technoblade reevaluates his approach. Tries again, in something a little quieter. “It’s not an interrogation. We’re only having dinner.” 

“Right.” The prince nods, looking at his food, hands resting at the side of his plate, but not quite reaching to begin eating. “Right, of course.” He opens his mouth as if to continue, then closes it. Presses his lips thin, before taking on a stronger, more solid voice. “If I may…” 

Techno waits for the rest of the sentence with a piqued interest. It doesn’t come. Tommy falters, falls, and then leans into the back of his seat, as if wishing to become one with the fabric. 

“Nevermind it.” He murmurs. Techno feels oddly disappointed. He reaches for his fork, picking it up, Tommy taking the signal to start eating. Techno takes a moment to wait. 

“I realize you haven't had the opportunity to truly meet me.” He begins, some weird sensation of- something, unfurling in his chest. He pokes at his food, stabbing at a piece of meat. “And that's a mistake on my behalf.” 

Tommy slows in his first few bites, jaw shifting as he makes a questioning glance in Techno’s direction. He meets Techno’s eyes, just for a little bit. They’re startlingly naive, young and watchful. 

“There should be no reason for you to not be able to reach me in any circumstance. Or even speak to me.” Techno insists, turning his gaze away first to focus down at his food. “We are both the rulers of the empire. You have not a single reason to be hesitant. Not to me.” 

Tommy stares openly at that, wide-eyed. He chews for a moment, before making a response. “Yes, your majesty.”

Not the most ideal reply, with how uncertain it sounds in Techno’s ears, but honest progress tends to be a slow thing. He considers it a victory all the same. 

“Tell me of your-” Techno goes to say, but he tires of hearing Tommy’s same repeated answers over his sword lessons. He reckons the prince is running out of things to say about it. He doesn’t want to listen to the boring beginnings of struggling through holding a bow. He wants more. 

“Tell me of your day.” He says instead. 

And so Tommy does. 

It still begins with the sword lessons. But then he mentions his friends sharing the space within his carriage, and tries to explain the workings of some odd riddle-based game that they’ve been playing amongst themselves there. 

He begins to talk, to really talk, to build upon his thoughts for a listening ear, rather than make a single, proper response. Techno doesn’t understand the game Tommy tries to explain and go on about, and doesn’t really care to, but in the rambling of it, there comes that ever faint smile on the prince’s face, and he supposes that’s all that was needed. That was simple enough. 

He eats to the noise of Tommy’s words, content with his secured success. Tommy sheepishly cuts himself off after a few minutes, realizing that he’s been blathering on. Techno tries an offer of a grin to assure that it’s fine. It’s a bit too full of teeth to be seen as how Tommy’s was. It’s a little too forced.  

Regardless, the prince seems to take it, like a victory of his own, shoulders falling in a small relief.

They eat in a gentle silence. 

It feels as if some wrong has been righted. 

--

Technoblade makes a point to ask about Tommy's day from then on. 

He realizes that the question itself is more like an opportunity, rather than a request for an answer. It is a chance for the prince to speak his mind, and truly, the entire point of these dinners is to see what is on the prince’s mind.

Upon habit, Techno finds himself wanting to demand what he wishes to know. He wants to be made aware of any pressing concerns, any new developments, anything at all that could affect this newly crafted path he’s set them upon, with putting this boy in his shadow. He wants to tell the prince to report it all as neatly as any of his passing soldiers might, but he knows, in truth, that’s a frankly awful way to go about it. 

The boy is a boy. He is thirteen years of age. It was shown obviously with his friend in the weeks prior that boys can’t always be trusted to give simple, matter of fact reports. So Techno has to try a different route. The easier route, he’s found.

He just lets him talk on and on. 

What point is there in trying to draw out the important issues when Tommy will shed light to them himself? He’ll bring up what he first thinks, he’ll confess what he must, if Techno provides the listening ear. 

He mostly just speaks of simple things, though. He speaks of his friends, of his personal guard, of the passing subjects he sees when moving about the camp. He speaks of his breakfast and speaks of his lessons and speaks of the way his hands have begun to go sore from the constant pull of a bow and swing of sword. He speaks of the lands they travel through, he speaks of the animals that pass by. He speaks, and speaks, and talks, and goes on, mentioning his books and his flowers and his opinion over their food, and at one point, rather meekly, he admits his hatred for peas.

The honesty is admirable. Although, in part, Techno is honestly not sure why some of these topics get brought up. He asked one question. Some of this seems unneeded. 

But he makes use of what he can. From a child’s words, he makes results. He figures out what could be improved, and he has it done.

He gives new roles to Tommy’s little friends, official responsibilities as the prince’s personal servants, although they’re far more suited to just be called his companions with how casual they’ve become with him these days. He makes sure they’re taught the proper skills, that they’re aware of their duties, then he hears about Tommy remarking over how odd it is to have Tubbo be the one fetching and arranging their food during their games now, and how particular he gets about it, having become rather interested in the plating now that he has a hand to play in it. 

It’s a strange change, for Tommy, but not all bad. He smiles with fondness when telling the king about how Ranboo fussed with his hair this morning, having had a certain vision for it underneath his crown. He says that witnessing them attempt these things, these new responsibilities with such earnest, honest determination, just for him, it’s- it’s funny, apparently. 

It’s good enough, for Techno. He continues on.

From the comment of sore hands, he makes an order for Tommy’s instructors to be mindful to not push past limits, to be mindful of whose hands they are putting to train. He has the two new servants provide warmed cloth upon the prince’s palms on any harsh days, to soothe aching pains on the muscles. He has Sam keep a closer eye on the lessons during the morning, as a way to keep track of the prince’s progress, and to keep a reminder to the instructors to keep a very patient pace. 

At the mention of his books, Techno has more added to the prince’s shelves, then has the shelves remade to hold more, and then has the shelves rebuilt to house more books upon that. At the mention of the flowers, Techno lets Sam recruit a few soldiers for when he goes searching out into the fields for Tommy, bringing back whatever petaled plant they can find. At the confession over the peas, Techno just has those entirely tossed from the cook’s storage, so as to not let there be a single chance that they could ever be served to the prince again.

It all works out. Each passing dinner, Tommy speaks with less of that hesitance on his shoulders, looks to him without fear creeping over his expression.

He smiles, after. He smiles often. 

He grins at Techno, with a content mood made from all these background efforts. Techno feels a sense of pleasant satisfaction for it. He’s figured it all out. From one simple question, Techno has what he wants, he has found the most sensible way of going about it. From here, there is only results, a constant victory gained.

But then, during the next dinner, Tommy falters. Techno asks about his day, and instead of jumping at a chance to speak his mind, he goes oddly quiet. 

For a second, Techno falters with him, instantly in suspicion as to what’s caused the prince to sit so quiet for a moment. He wonders if there’s something he’s struggling to say, if there’s some problem he can’t quite put words to. He wonders if he should have someone beheaded. If there’s a fool running around with wasted breath in their lungs, responsible for this hesitation. Maybe it’s simpler. Maybe it’s just the food. A stern warning about the loss of fingers to the cooks would do fine, in that case. 

It’s nothing of the sort. Tommy gathers himself and looks Techno in the eye, with a curl of a smile on his lip. 

“Will you tell me of your day?” He asks him, bold and earnest, Technoblade frowning and furrowing his brows in an instant reaction. He sets his fork down.  

“I doubt it’s anything you’d want to listen to.”

“I'm curious.” Tommy insists, not one bit dissuaded. He makes a small shrug of his shoulders, fingers pressing down at his family ring. “I don’t actually know what you do , when you're away.” 

That’s fair enough. Techno knows everything about what Tommy gets up to. “I was…in several meetings, throughout today.” He says simply, thinking of what he’s done from morning to now. It's been a terribly dull day, honestly. This is the worst time for the prince to become curious.  

“Meetings for what?” 

“It’s just planning. Communication, permissions, reports, things of that regard.” He says, waving it off with a dismissing air. Tommy still looks at him with a waiting expression, waiting to hear more. Technoblade considers his day a little more. He relents. 

“This isn’t the whole of the people, as you know.” He begins in explaining, Tommy nodding understandingly. The king’s forces don’t travel entirely united, for the number and the size would become a bit much, and having hands and ears elsewhere comes in great use. “One of the smaller traveling groups by the east sent word today of coming across enemy scouts. I doubled our guard for this group, for caution, and I sent order for the scouts to be…” He looks at Tommy. Looks at his waiting, curious, kind eyes. “Interrogated.” He finishes. 

Tommy scrunches his nose slightly in a knowing gesture. Tortured, then. Taken prisoner, held for information. It’s not a nice fate to think about, so he doesn’t think too much of it. It’s thankfully not his concern, out of his hands. 

“We’ve gotten replies from our spies in our currently targeted kingdom.” Techno goes on, surprise flickering over Tommy’s face.

“We have spies?”

“Naturally.” Techno nods his head. “I have spies wherever it proves useful. For the ones within the castle, they’ve given the message that their false king has been trying to secure allies to fight against my armies, and he is failing miserably at it.” An honest, amused grin grows across his face. “Apparently, some mysterious force keeps intercepting his messengers.”

“Spies.” Tommy says. 

“Well paid assassins.” Techno clarifies.

“You have assassins?” Tommy asks, again in surprise, hands touching at the table as he leans forward over his food.

“I have everything.” Techno says. He pauses, for a second, a passing of greed shining through his gaze. “Almost everything. Nearly.”

“You have spies in the king’s castle.” Tommy persists, mystified by such a feat. He’s had his own scouts, before, men bringing messages from other kingdoms, but to have people right underneath the enemy’s nose-!

“Mhm. They’ve been there for months.” Techno says off-handedly, picking at his steak. “According to their word, there’s also rumors of the false king preparing a bribe for me. Some sort of bargaining, I bet.”

Tommy tilts his head in interest. “Will you take it?”

Techno scoffs around chewing his food. “Of course not.” 

“But- you could work out some sort of terms of agreement.” Tommy points out, thinking of his own circumstance, of his kingdom given over without a single life lost. Not a single one of his people were hurt, with that exchange of the throne. “Have him surrender the crown without a fight. Take the kingdom with ease.” 

“His crown will be mine regardless. His kingdom will be of the empire, in time. His people will become ours.” Techno gives as a reply, the words so matter of fact and stern that it feels there is no possible way of refusing it. “There’s no point in indulging his whims. I have no intention of letting him live.”

Tommy looks away, down at his food. It sits untouched, so he picks up his fork and pokes at something for the sake of not letting it go cold. “You will execute him.”

“As I have for all the others.” 

“Except one.” Tommy points out. 

Techno hums. He looks upon the prince with a thoughtful consideration. Then, he speaks with a questioning, curious tone. “Could you even be considered as a king?”

“I sat the throne.” Tommy reminds, although he never did it often. He never liked holding court, in those weeks. Sitting on that chair, looking at his people- 

It felt so lonely.

“Did your feet even reach the ground, I wonder.” Technoblade murmurs, acting as if he’s genuinely thoughtful over it. 

“They did!” Tommy blurts out, a rush of heated offense passing over him. “You-” He means to go on, but he can see the glint of amusement in the king’s eyes, a hint of a smile waiting. He swallows down the anger, clearing his throat for a moment. “I’m not that young.”

“Thirteen years.” Techno remarks, leaning an elbow onto the table, brows lifted in question. “Do you know what I was doing, around thirteen years ago?” 

“You were a child?” Tommy guesses dryly, already done with this topic of his age.

“I was a productive child. I did chores and ran errands and made income for the caretakers.” Technoblade answers, and Tommy straightens up in sudden interest, not having thought the king would actually tell of his past. “I think it was around then that I had joined the training grounds, though. I was well into the start of my training, most likely.” 

At the mention of such a thing, Tommy can’t help but think of his own lessons, his slow progress made. He holds tightly onto the armrest of his chair. “Do- Do you want me to put more time into my training?”

“Do you wish for longer lessons?” Techno questions back, and Tommy can’t help the expression he makes, little joy to be had in the idea of putting what little freetime he has into the work of mastering weapons, which already feel so odd in his hands. “Then you will not.” The king says simply, nodding his head like they’ve both agreed together. “On the matter of lessons, though…” He brings up, Tommy’s expression souring even further. 

“I don’t want to focus on studies.” Tommy insists, turning his attention back to his plate, uselessly pushing his food around. 

“Not anything?” Techno asks, frowning a little at the stubbornness. “The concept of studying over old texts may seem dreadful, I understand that much, but it’s not like we currently have old, big books for you to suffer over.” He thinks for a moment. “Well, granted, I could acquire them…”

“I don’t want to read old, big books.” Tommy insists, wanting to prevent that before it could even become a true chance. 

“What do you want to read, then?” The king asks. “I know you’ve liked your stories with the made up myths.” He waves a hand, referencing the same texts he’s had placed onto Tommy’s bookshelf within his tent. 

“They’re not made up.” Tommy argues, voice stern in his belief. 

“Stories with the entirely accurate, full of factual informational myths.” The king changes his words, incredibly skeptical in every syllable. Tommy leans forward with a fire in his eyes. 

“Well, you don’t know if they’re made up! Have you ever seen the ocean? You don’t know what’s in there.” 

“I have quite a few fleets on the ocean.” Techno gives as his rebuttal. “They haven’t reported any such matters to me.”

“Maybe they’re not looking hard enough.” Tommy reasons. 

“Mhm.” The king nods, a small patronizing smile upon his face. “I’ll be sure to tell them to search harder for the giant squids and such. Then they can slay it and bring back its head for me to see.” 

“I don’t want it dead.” Tommy protests, Techno’s face faltering against the raw care in the prince’s words. The care then turns into outright spite, Tommy raising his nose. “I just think they should find it, so you can see that you’re wrong.”

Techno snorts, a smile blooming across the prince’s face with smug victory. They lapse into silence for a moment, Techno watching as Tommy reaches for his napkin, wiping at the edge of his fingers. 

“Have you ever been to the sea before, your highness?” Techno asks, Tommy slowing to a stop with the napkin held tight in his hands. 

Tommy thinks over it, thinks of a long passed memory. For a moment, he closes his eyes and he can almost see his father against the blinding sun shining down. “Once.” He says, twisting his napkin for a moment before letting it go, his hands falling to his lap. 

Techno doesn’t point out the action. “We’ll have to cross it, at some point, to finish the conquest with the lands on the other side. By then, it should be a fairly simple thing, though.” By then, he’ll have everything. It’ll be a fool’s dream to even dare oppose him. 

“By then, you’ll have killed most of the rulers we cross paths with.” Tommy says, an unspoken sort of question in the statement made. 

“Yes.” 

“But-” Tommy goes to speak, but hesitates. His mouth sits open as he considers something within his mind, and then he shuts his jaw with a short huff, hands clasping together over his lap. He looks up at Techno. “That’ll take quite some time.” 

Techno feels like that’s not what he was going to truly say, but he allows it to pass by. He moves on. “It’ll pass quickly.” He promises, no doubt in his voice. “We will be seeing the oceans before you know it.” 

“I wait for the day.” Tommy murmurs. A soft worry sits hidden behind the tone. 

Techno does not hear it. 

---

The king is drinking wine for the first time. 

Or at least, the first time that Tommy’s noticed, during all their dinners. The servant pours a deep rich red into his cup, and Tommy stares at the sight, reminded of his late father drinking his own during the more festive seasons, when they would have the occasional celebration within the castle. There would be nobles swarming the great hall, dressed up in their fanciest wear, eating and drinking and talking, coming to Tommy over and over and over to say hello, in that small little tone where they clearly thought he looked adorable in his finest outfit for the day. 

Tommy would always have to give his greetings back from where he sat beside his father, voice polite and soft-spoken. Although, after the first fifteen people, his patience would begin to run out, and he would just end up staring in an upset frown, after, done with the constant faces of strangers. It was always such a relief when the party at last ended, his father carrying him to sleep as the servants began cleaning the mess…

Techno notices his stare as the boy stays lost in thought, and he tilts out the cup towards him, the movement snapping Tommy’s attention back and away from thinking of his long passed childhood. 

“You’ve ever had it?” The king asks, and Tommy takes a moment to figure out what he’s asking about. He glances down at the cup.

“What? Wine?” He says, and at the king’s nod, Tommy strongly shakes his head. “No.”

“Well, you are young.” Techno reasons, trying to think as to when exactly fresh-made men are meant to begin drinking their barrels of wine. The soldiers he grew up around always went for more of a cheap ale, if anything. “Do you wish to try it?” He offers, regardless, for he knew that when he was young, the curiosity alone drove him past whatever stood in his way. 

Tommy hesitates upon an answer, and looks in surprise as the king puts his cup before him. He takes it gingerly with a furrowed brow, taking just the smallest sip out of a sense of politeness, wondering if it’ll turn out to be something bitter, something gross. 

He’s thrown off entirely as he’s attacked by the flavor of something sweet, instead. It’s overwhelmingly and terribly sweet. There’s some vague idea of berry in there, past the sugar. Is this truly wine, or did some servant mistake a bottle of syrup for the king’s selection? Tommy stares down at the cup in a slow, slightly concerned blink. 

Technoblade makes a huff at the reaction, taking the cup back from the prince’s hand. “It's a bit much, isn't it?” He asks knowingly, which makes Tommy suspect that this is truly what he chose to drink.

“I feel like the sugar is already rotting into my teeth.” He says, and then feels fretful for a second on if that’s going to be taken as an insult. 

“Probably.” The king simply agrees, making a shrug as he takes a drink. He then pauses as he looks over the cup, glancing at the food laid out, their plates emptied and done with. He tilts his head like something new has occurred to him. “I should have dessert be brought.” 

“Dessert?” Tommy questions, a slight hope rising in his heart. He’s already had his fill of food, but he would be an idiot to turn down cake. 

“Next time.” Techno sighs, waving the idea away. “I have matters to attend to, once again.” There’s no doubt that a servant is already waiting outside the door to fetch him, with either some advisor or some general or someone wishing for his approval or his advice or his strength. He watches as Tommy stands to take his leave, and before he gets too far, he asks- “Do you have some preference?”

Tommy pauses, turning away from the door. “For what?”

“Anything. Cakes, sweets.” Techno’s eyes flick away for a second in thought. “I know you and your friends tend to eat a fair bit of candy when the towns have it.” 

Tommy purses his lips together with an odd sense of feeling caught. He can’t deny that fact. It’s whole-heartedly true. So, instead he thinks on the question. “Blueberries. I used to love the pastries with blueberries they made in my kingdom.” He answers truthfully, chest squeezing with old memories clinging to him. “Oh, but- they don’t have any here, though.”

The king hums, leaning back in his seat. “That’s hardly an obstacle. It will be brought.” He promises, and while Tommy doesn’t quite believe it, he still nods, and then bids his goodbye before leaving the tent. 

---

True to the king’s word, dessert is brought next time, presented beautifully after they’ve finished their dinners. It's quite a lot of cake put across the table, frosted in lovely detail with such effort and skill plain to see. 

There’s a blueberry cake at the center of all of them, painted in tiny blue petals that make Tommy think of the forget-me-not flowers. He eats three slices before it becomes a bit much, and then has the rest of the cake put away so that it can be taken to his tent later, for him and his friends to feast upon during their freetime. 

Tommy looks to the king as he drinks his sweet sugar-wine, and wonders off-handedly if this is a reward for something. He hasn’t made any great progress in his lessons lately. He’s only barely begun shooting with a bow. 

He looks a little closer at the cakes laid out, and realizes with a wonder that in the time that Tommy’s had three slices, Techno’s had five. Maybe this is not a matter of reward, but a matter of indulgence. Does the king not have all that many occasions to eat cake? If it were up to Tommy, he would request it at every dinner, if he knew it was an option. 

Maybe the king would just rather not overindulge in such things. He probably has better restraint than Tommy does. Maybe-- maybe he’s using Tommy as an excuse for the cake. It would be more reasonable for the young prince to have such a terrible tooth for sweets rather than their fearsome, unwavering ruler, wouldn’t it?

“We should have dessert more often.” Tommy says, picking at a new slice of something vanilla, bits of strawberry sitting in the frosting. “Clearly, the chefs have expertise in baking.” 

Techno hums noncommittally from where he’s chewing at something coated in chocolate. “There’s usually little time for it, with our meals-”

“Well, we have time for our dinners.” Tommy argues. “Extend our time. I want to see if they can make lemon cake for the next time.” He reaches forward to pluck a fruit off one of the pastries, popping it into his mouth with a bright closed-mouth smile. 

The king seems to pause at the interruption, and Tommy wonders if such a request is foolish to make. The king’s time is precious, necessary to keep their forces in motion. Why would he waste any more on Tommy, with silly pastries made at the table? There is a responsibility to remember. Tommy cannot be as carefree as he was before- everything. 

“Although, I understand if-” Tommy goes to backtrack, and the king stops him with a shake of his head. 

“Next time.” He says, and upon Tommy’s questioning look, he looks up with a small joy in the gleam of his red eyes. “I’ll have the chefs make a lemon cake next time.” 

Tommy smiles. He looks forward to it.

---

A few more dinners pass with nothing particularly out of the ordinary to note. Cake becomes a part of their meals, and Tommy makes a point to not overstuff himself so that he’ll have room for a slice or two. Whatever is left is usually left to be taken to his tent, to be devoured by him and his friend’s young hands in the middle of their games. 

This time, tonight, when he walks into their usual meeting tent and sees the king, he finds the man to be working on papers. An instant sense of guilt crawls into his stomach, his presence feeling too big for what little freedom the king has, against all his work. 

“I don't want to keep you away from your work, your majesty.” He tells Technoblade as he sits down in his seat, hesitant in the moment, ready to stand back up and have dinner back within his own tent at any second. 

“You keep me from nothing. These papers shouldn’t even be allowed on this table.” Technoblade replies, the end of his sentence more gritted through teeth than spoken. He sighs, sliding a paper to the side, beginning another letter. “But as we grow closer to our next kingdom, communication becomes all the more important. And besides that, I like our talks.”

Tommy shifts in where he sits, thinking of all the talks they’ve had over the nights. What has Tommy ever truly given, in all his rambling over his day? Just unneeded distractions and useless words. “I don't have anything important to say.” He confesses, now wishing the king would just banish him from the tent immediately. 

“Have you given up on your sword lessons?” Techno asks abruptly, not even faltering in his writing. Tommy blinks in surprise. 

“No, of course not.”

“Have you put aside your archery?”

“No.”

“Did you banish off your servants and send away your guard?” Techno asks further, head tilting slightly in the question. Tommy furrows his brow. 

“No…?”

Techno puts down his pen. Looks Tommy directly in the eyes. “Then it appears you still have something important to say.” He returns to his letter, skimming over the sentences he’s written. “What progress have you been up to, with your lessons?”

“Just- basic forms.” Tommy answers, feeling off-centered in such an odd statement from the king. “Still.” 

“Mhm. Are you growing tired of it?” Techno waves a hand in the air to call the servants over to begin serving their food, and Tommy leans back in his chair as they prepare his plate accordingly. 

“No, not at all. I just-” Tommy shrugs his shoulders up. “We can't all be at your expertise.” He says light-heartedly, knowing full well that’s indeed a fact. No one else can match the king’s brutality within battle, no one else can keep pace with how he leads his men on, no mercy under his sword. 

Techno stops in what he’s doing, lifting his chin in thought. He calls a servant over to take the letter he’s just signed, his pen put away amongst the other papers. “Take this to be sent off, and inform my advisors that our morning meeting for tomorrow will have to be pushed later. I'll be with the prince then.”

Tommy chokes a little in where he was reaching for his fork, no food even near his mouth to be used as an excuse. He coughs, hitting his chest for a second before turning his attention to the king. “You- what?”

“What?” Techno turns a grin onto him, a little evil-looking in the way he bares his teeth, a glint of mischief running through his gaze. “I have expertise, didn't you say that? Why don't I try and show you some tricks? I was around your age when I mastered the sword.”

“But- you-” Around his age? Yes, that’s probably right. The king is a master of weapons. Tommy could have no greater person to learn from, and it’d reasonably be an honor to have the king himself give his effort in such a thing. “If that’s what you wish…” He still speaks hesitantly, not wanting to take more time, not wanting to have the king see his progress and laugh upon how little he’s grown over the months.

“Have you been lying over your skills, now?” The king questions, Tommy instantly shaking his head.

“No.”

“No?” He repeats, pretendedly skeptical.

“No!” Tommy insists harder, ignoring the way there’s such a clear amusement in the king’s expression. “It’s just- well- it’s out of nowhere! I don’t know that much, it’s not all that ideal-”

“Of course not. You’re learning.” The king cuts him off, his tone having dropped to something solidly stern. Tommy’s mouth clicks shut. “Everyone begins somewhere. You began hardly over a month ago.”

“You were a master at my age.” Tommy points out.

“I’m the brilliant exception.” Techno hums, hardly concerned over how Tommy might compare. “And my training schedules were far harsher. You take your pace. You’ll find it.” He moves on quickly, then, reaching for his fork, their food set out and waiting. He looks at Tommy, and strangely, even with everything, Tommy doesn’t feel all that small underneath his gaze. It just feels familiar, now. 

“Now, tell me of your day.”

Chapter Text

The air is fresh this morning. 

It flows nicely through Tommy’s lungs as he breathes in deep, his focus wandering off towards the lingering dew drops on the grass and the passing movement of the camp, early chores being carried out by his people. 

He pays little mind to the way Ranboo’s hands are adjusting his training armor, leather straps being pulled secure so as to keep the most vulnerable parts of him away from any thoughts of injury. He keeps looking anywhere other than here, anywhere other than the training grounds before him, a small area cleared out, fenced off, with a store of weapons to the side. Meant for only him, for these spare hours in the early day before they are to get back onto the road. 

His head tilts as his gaze follows someone carrying a basket of clothes in the distance, walking farther and farther through the paths before becoming hidden behind the cover of the tents. His attention then shifts to a girl lugging a heavy bag over her shoulder, likely grain of some sort, maybe carrying it to the chefs over by the communal tables. She disappears within the movement of a few soldiers walking through, their helmets carried casually in hand as they stay wrapped up in conversation. Tommy can’t help but wonder if they’re on their way to their own training. His lips press thin into a stressful frown. Maybe they’re just off to patrol, instead. Off to take their shifts, to keep their defenses ever secure. 

“-highness. Your highness?” Tubbo’s voice calls out, entirely unheard and ignored.

Past the soldiers, his eyes catch onto a blooming section of weeds, bright yellow flowers poking up by the edge of a tent, practically calling for attention, calling for someone to go press at their petals. Tommy knows he already has quite a collection of weed-like flowers within his journal, but one can never have too many, right? 

 “Tommy.”

He could always just get another journal, if he fills it too quickly. Or maybe a journal specifically meant for the weeds alone. They may seem unsightly, but they are flowers, nonetheless. They are beautiful, despite it all. 

“Tommy.” 

Tommy doesn’t give any acknowledgement to the warning tone in Tubbo’s voice, instead turning his head now towards two young women lingering by the edge of the fence, their faces bright with curiosity and their mouths moving in unheard conversation. They look to his instructor and then to him with a certain sort of intrigue, and wait in place with the impatient shuffling of their feet. Usually, Tommy truly does not mind having a few eyes watching him in training, for they tend to move on with their day rather quickly, but today, it is different, and today, Tommy knows they will likely linger in hopes of witnessing their king give his own teaching hand. 

Maybe they hope to pick up some skill with their own watchful eyes. Maybe they want to see if Tommy’s abilities have begun to climb to the king’s level. Maybe-

“Oh, fuck’s sake-” Tubbo hisses, and Tommy hisses along in pain as nails suddenly pinch hard into the skin on the back of his palm, his arm automatically jerking away, the world snapping back into the here and now. 

“Ow!” He clutches his wounded hand to his chest, looking to Tubbo with a betrayed offense. “What the fuck was that for?!”

“Ranboo finished with your armor like ten minutes-”

“It was more like two, really-” Ranboo interrupts. 

“-ten minutes ago.” Tubbo speaks over him, Tommy narrowing his eyes in an unimpressed, unconvinced stare. Tubbo huffs, leaning back on his heels and crossing his arms over his chest. “Stop worrying so intensely. I can hear your thoughts from here.”

“I’m not worried.” Tommy argues, jutting his chin forward as he goes to step past Tubbo, hand falling away from his chest with one more rubbing press on the pinched skin. 

“Okay… sure.” Tubbo says disbelievingly, watching as Tommy turns on his heel and goes into a pacing motion, walking back and forth with his eyes still looking everywhere except for the training grounds right beside them. He looks upon the grass, looks to the sky, looks at the people, looks upon his own hands, mostly, fingers picking around the edge of his nails. They’re spotless and clean and nothing like a soldier’s well-worn hands at all, to which Tommy’s never minded much, until now. 

Now, he wonders if he should’ve been forming calluses instead, should’ve been gaining nicks and scratches here and there. It’s never been his biggest concern, his swordsmanship, it’s more just a chore he is willing to carry, the act of the weapon in his hands still feeling so odd after all these weeks, but now, oh now- He feels he’s fallen too far behind. He’s still a beginner, even after all these efforts. How is that meant to compare against the king? How is that meant to be seen-

“Okay, you’re stressing me out.” Ranboo blurts out, Tommy pausing in place to look at him with too-wide eyes. It’s akin to seeing a wild animal freezing in panic in the sight of danger. “Stop- stop pacing. Stop it. It’s fine… Nothing bad is going to happen…” Ranboo insists in a gentle tone, holding his hands out as if truly trying to calm a random wild animal. 

“Of course nothing bad is going to happen. We’re just going to go through the usual motions, and then that’ll be it. Mostly.” Tommy fiddles with the end of his sleeve, tugging slightly at the buckle keeping his armor secure over his forearm. “Although, the king mentioned wanting to show off his own tricks, so he’ll likely teach me a few things as well. And then that’ll be it.”

“Right. You’ll learn something cool, and then everyone wins.” Ranboo nods, Tommy mimicking the head motion in an off-rhythm sort of way.

“Yes. Right.” Tommy agrees, and he clasps his hands together over his chest, feeling his heart trying to slam its way through. This is vaguely familiar, he thinks. It’s just like the dinner, yes, exactly like the dinner. Except, now, instead of trying to comfort himself in saying that nothing will happen, Tommy knows something will happen. Something can’t not happen. Not here, not in this sort of setting, where the king thrives best, and where Tommy is doomed to stumble and fall and die.  

Something is going to happen, and he’s going to die. Put his name down in the history books now. Tommy Innit, short-lived prince, death by tripping over his sword or something mortifyingly stupid like that. Oh god, he’s going to die. Blow up and die.

“Okay, you don’t look as excited as you should be.” Ranboo says after their small lapse of silence, Tommy’s thoughts taking a pause in where they’re running rampant and driving him to madness. 

“You look like you’re about to throw up.” Tubbo points out, a touch concerned despite the way he says it so bluntly.

“Oh- thank you! That’s helpful!” Tommy snaps out, yelling loudly enough that a few passing heads turn in curiosity. They mind their business the moment they realize it’s the prince. Tommy’s never been so glad for the slight intimidation factor of the crown. 

Tubbo raises his hands in wincing surrender at Tommy’s outburst. Ranboo looks away with a sudden intense interest upon the floor. Tommy groans at both the reactions and puts his hands to his face, waving an arm out as if he can bat away the sense of doom crawling up his spine. 

“No, no, it’s fine. It’s alright. Everyone wins, yes, everyone is winning. I’m winning.”

“He’s losing it.” Ranboo mutters, Tubbo clicking his tongue with a small frown.

“Honestly, I’m disappointed. Here I thought they were making progress in all those dinners.” 

Ranboo looks down at Tubbo with a disagreeing shake of his head. “You’re putting your expectations too high. Royal people are weird.” 

“I heard that.” Tommy deadpans, looking over his shoulder with a glare. 

“I stand by it.” Ranboo insists, crossing his arms like a challenging insult, and Tommy’s nerves are now put aside in favor of the more familiar feeling of fond annoyance. This, he can do. 

“How dare you- I could have you banished.” He threatens, Ranboo’s face splitting into a smile that has no true fear of such a statement. “You’ll be left on the side of the roads like a piece of dirt.”

“Yeah, but then who would help you team up on Tubbo during game night?” He says, and at that, Tubbo whips his head towards him with a burning look, his anger suddenly vivid.

“Motherfucker, so you were both fucking cheating-?”

“Teamwork, team, we were using the power of friendship-” Ranboo insists, shuffling away from Tubbo in a telling, guilty manner. Tommy makes the mistake of rolling his eyes and glancing away, finding that now more people have gathered by the fence, rumor of the king’s presence having seemingly spread like wildfire. 

The sense of doom mauls him by the leg like a dog running wild, returning to give him nothing of peace. He throws himself to his best friends, clinging to the shortest of the two with all the trust of knowing they’d fend off anything that dares try to hurt him. Here, with them, he is safe. 

“Just end me. End my suffering.” He whines, Tubbo leaning heavy to the side with his weight on his arm, Ranboo making a slight sigh of both relief and returned exasperation. “Tubbo, retrieve a dagger and strike it into my heart, that’s an order.”

“That’s also treason.” Tubbo replies, making no move to listen to such command. 

“You love treason. That’s your indulgence, is it not?” Tommy snaps back. 

“I have a very specific taste of treason, thank you very much.” Tubbo defends, prying Tommy’s fingers off his sleeve and forcing him to stand tall. He pokes a harsh finger into the center of Tommy’s chest. “Specifically ones that include me not getting executed for killing the singular beloved prince of our empire.”

“Beloved is laying it on a bit thick.” Tommy mumbles, narrowing his eyes in a hint of a frown. Tolerated is a better word, maybe, in his opinion. He is accepted. Kept. But beloved?

Tubbo stares at Tommy with a clear sense of cruel judgement. “You’re a bit thick in the head.” He insults, and it’s meant to be a loving thing, even with how viciously it’s spat out. It’s the truth, in Tubbo’s defense. Such obvious truth, unseen by stupid eyes. 

“Okay, let’s maybe not-” Ranboo tries to step in, Tommy’s waving off his interruption with a rising fight in his stance.

“No, let’s! Let’s, Tubbo!” Tommy plays up his offense, stepping forward as if they’re seconds away from getting caught up in a brawl. 

“Oh, are you pissed?” Tubbo goads, his hands resting on his hips as he tilts his head questioningly. 

“Maybe!” Tommy replies, the tone of the word actually communicating as a yes.

“Are you angry?” Tubbo further goes on, jabbing a finger into Tommy’s armor again, before then swinging his hand over to the fences. “Well, then direct it over there!”

Tommy follows his hand and turns his pretend frustration to the training grounds, where his training instructor stands patiently by the fence, chatting quietly to the crowd of people that have accumulated over the course of several minutes. This is no longer a few watching eyes, no, this has become a spectacle. A show. 

Tommy immediately feels the sense of doom. Terrible, striking doom. 

“I’m gonna die.” He blurts out, so absolutely sure of it. Tubbo slaps a palm to his own nose as Ranboo makes a coughing noise that could be a laugh. 

“Good gods. Alright.” Tubbo mutters, before then turning to the crowd and stalking up towards them with his arms raised, voice shouting out. “Oy! Do we literally not have anything else to do?! Who here is avoiding their morning duties-?!”

Ranboo and Tommy watch him go shoo the people off with matching looks of baffled surprise, Tommy feeling faintly grateful for his friend, Ranboo feeling vaguely exasperated.  

“Every day I wonder how the king didn’t just execute him.” Ranboo deadpans, watching Tubbo tell off people’s ears with all the power of someone who works directly under the crown.  

“Because he’s brilliantly charming.” Tommy says sarcastically, finding a sense of amusement for the way Tubbo’s literally shoving two soldiers to go attend their own morning training, rather than stay and stare upon ‘the business of the royals.’

“I think I could be the charming one. I mean, he’s definitely not, and you- well.” Ranboo begins, before stopping in consideration about the matter of what is considered charming. Tommy has hardly been all that agreeable to them in these comfortable weeks, but then again, that’s not the reason they’ve become fond of him. He is kind, yes, he is bright, and he is positively abrasive during his best moments, so stubbornly bickering that one cannot help but forget he’s the prince and see him instead as some sort of annoying little sibling. 

Ranboo respects the way he can change so efficiently between the two faces. He also worries a bit about how quickly he does it, at the drop of a coin once under the eyes of someone other than him and Tubbo. He feels like that would take a toll on someone’s mind, switching so quickly between true personality and a proper royal presence. Maybe that is just a burden that a prince has to take, though. Ranboo thinks it’s his job and obligation is to help carry it. Meld it. Allow it to become just one whole person. Tommy, the prince. Both the heir to their empire’s throne and the same boy who once tossed the entire table when having lost at cards for the seventh time in a row. 

“What’s that supposed to mean?” Said prince asks, lip curling into a frown. He waves a hand towards the entirely of Ranboo. “You’re not charming at all.”

Ranboo barely holds back a snort. “Wha- Hey! No, I was considering-”

“What’s all this?” A low voice suddenly asks from behind them. They both turn their heads and freeze up to see that it’s the king himself, Sam standing to the side behind him. 

“Your Majesty!” Ranboo cries in alarm, Tommy feeling a similar panic, not having heard the man sneak up behind them. Ranboo bows low, taking a step away, while Tommy stays where he is, nodding his head in similar respect. 

“Your Majesty-” Tommy tries to begin, but Techno’s attention is elsewhere. 

“Did I miss something? Why are there so many people here?” He questions towards Sam, looking off at where Tubbo is swatting someone away from the fence of the training grounds. Half the crowd has dissipated now, thanks to his efforts. Tommy feels like it’s still not enough to quell the fear in his stomach, but it is something. 

“I’m…not sure, your Majesty.” Sam says, also watching Tubbo. 

“I think they’re only wanting to watch.” Tommy says hesitantly, Techno looking down at him. Tommy shrugs up a shoulder, trying to seem less bothered than he is. “Rumor must’ve gotten around that you would be here.”

“And thus they want a show.” Techno continues dryly. He sighs, leaning back on his heels a bit. “Granted, it’s the same when I’m with my soldiers, but you can hardly notice the lingering people there.” The training grounds there are always larger, more spread out. Dozens of men scattered around, going through their exercises. With Tommy, it’s just him alone in this section, his lessons meant for just him alone. Thus, now, it’s a first row seat to witnessing the king in action. 

“Tubbo’s mostly shooing them away.” Tommy says, glancing over to his friend, Techno following his gaze with raised brows. 

“I see that.” Such an oddly stubborn boy. At least his loyalty can’t be questioned. He’s chasing off someone with a stick, so earnest in making sure that unnecessary eyes stop staring. Techno waves a hand towards Ranboo. “You can tell him to stop. I’ll be sparring with the prince’s instructor in a moment, anyhow, and maybe then, they’ll be satisfied and end up going on their way.” 

Ranboo makes a silent nod and runs off to retrieve Tubbo before he devolves into even more chaos. Tommy watches him go, and then looks at the king in shock as his sentence processes through his head. “You’re going to spar with my instructor?” He asks. 

“I’d like to see if his abilities are still up to my standards.” Techno nods. And he’d like to beat the fear of god into him to ensure that he will forever stay mindful and respectful to the prince he’s teaching. Too many times Techno has been taught by cruel men who were caught up in the power of having such control over their soldiers. 

He still, to this day, has faint scars at the back of his hands from punishment of not rising to their impossibly-high standards. 

He refuses to let something like that ever come close to happening to the prince. With his fumbling, new hands barely learning a sword, barely pulling back a bow-- he will have his training while receiving all the patience in the world. It will be ensured. 

“You’re free to watch like all the others.” Technoblade says as he continues on, going into the training grounds with Tommy’s instructor giving a greeting bow at his presence.

“Alright.” Tommy says to his back. The worst of his dread now trickles away into a curious anticipation, and he moves towards the fence to rest his hands upon it, to watch as the fight will begin. 

Tubbo and Ranboo return at his side in short time, Tubbo giving some sort of complaining rant about how people can’t just skip their duties because they want to see the king, the very king they are literally serving, if you are wanting to impress the king, why not stick to your damn responsibilities-?

Tommy ignores his heated words, Ranboo trying to reason about other perspectives. Their voices die off soon enough, anyway, as their ruler takes a sword in hand, not a wooden one, like how Tommy has been carrying to get used to the weight, but a sharped iron blade. The instructor takes a matching one, and takes his place across from the king, bowing low in respect once more.

For a second, the air around them all falls silent and still as the man raises his head, raises his sword. 

And then, in an instant,  it’s swinging towards the king’s head. Tommy blinks, and watches that same sword be blocked off, pushed away, Techno moving with such speed that it shouldn’t be humanly possible. Tommy blinks, just once, and his instructor's sword goes falling to the ground, the man himself kicked back, rolling across the dirt with the people at the fence giving their prideful cheer. 

Techno says something to the instructor, then, underneath the noise. He speaks as he walks up, lips moving in some sort of statement made. Tommy can’t catch it. His instructor simply nods his head to Techno as if acknowledging an agreement, before then picking up his sword from the ground to continue. 

They fight again. It lasts longer than before, goes on and on in a pattern of swinging strikes, but there’s a detail to be noticed in it. The king is not giving his all. He blocks more than he hits, dodges and moves out of the way in careful steps that make Tommy think of dancing feet upon marble floors. He’s still quick, through it all. Terrifyingly quick. He holds his sword at his side like it’s nothing of weight, just an extra part to his arm, and at some point, he seems to make a choice, and he strikes.

The instructor’s sword goes falling out from his hand, once more. The people cheer, a little louder than before, and Tommy looks and finds that the crowd in whole has returned. Grown even more, perhaps. Have people gone out to get others to come watch? Has word spread through that fast? 

This crowd will no doubt linger even after Techno’s done. They won’t be satisfied with just this. 

Tommy presses his lips down in an effort to keep back a wavering frown. 

As more people begin to gather, eager to catch sight of their king securing easy wins, Tommy finds himself beginning to fret. Once the king has tired out, once he ends this spar, it’ll be Tommy’s turn, next. And what will the people see? 

A laughably pathetic comparison against the teacher, a pitiful sort of mimicry. Boring, plain, beginner lessons. They’ll all leave, all go about their own days with a new image of their prince in their head, thinking of him as a little more unworthy, a little more pathetic. He can’t do that! He can’t.

But then an idea comes into Tommy’s mind. What if he weren’t to spar with his instructor at all, didn’t take any of his usual lessons?

What if he took his sword against the king’s, instead? 

No one would expect him to stand his ground against their ruler , the best fighter on their battlefields. Tommy’s abilities will look meek and lacking, but it’ll be a reasonable sort of appearance. The king is their greatest warrior. Obviously Tommy would lose a spar with him. Obviously . 

Mind made up, determination returned, Tommy waits until the fight before him lulls into a break, his instructor needing to catch their breath, the king waiting to the side with his sword held down. 

“Your Majesty.” Tommy calls, both Tubbo and Ranboo looking at him with surprise as he moves past the fences to come into the training ground. Tommy gives a passing nervous smile over his shoulder to them, a sort of reassurance. Ranboo automatically gives a thumbs up in reply, and for that, Tommy does feel a little comforted. He turns his head to the king, stopping before both him and his instructor. 

“I want to try.” He says, and Techno’s eyes light up in a grin, his mood seeming ever so content with this act of a fight, his people singing such sweet praises in every simple victory. 

“Eager to show that your teacher is actually capable?” He asks, and Tommy passes a glance to his instructor, the man lowering his head in perhaps both a touch of humility and an acknowledgement to Tommy. 

“No.” Tommy instantly says, and he then falters. “Well, he is-!” He tries to correct, waving his hands up, before just moving past and stepping towards his instructor with his arm reaching out, hand waiting expectantly, eyes kept towards the king. “I want to spar with you.”

Technoblade’s expression falls away into something unreadable. “...With me?” He repeats, blinking slowly. 

Tommy nods, then beckons his hand up, the instructor now taking the hint and giving his sword over into Tommy’s hand. He looks unsure in the action, his gaze going back and forth between Tommy and the king, but as the moment passes, Tommy taking the sword and settling into a stance, it seems like the king isn’t refusing. So the instructor bows his head again, and goes, leaving them to their own space.

Technoblade watches the man walk away with his mouth opening, then closing, baffled indecision strangling him by the throat. His attention eventually falls back onto the prince before him, who holds his sword up with an unsteady grip, shoulders tight, but eyes so stubbornly burning. 

Techno takes a step back, head tilting to the side. “I’m not sure if I want to cross swords with someone who’s hardly been learning for a month.” 

Tommy lifts his chin with a new smile pulling at his lips, the fire in his eyes flickering brighter. “You fear I’ll embarrass you before the people, is that it?” He goads, high enough for their audience to hear, Techno’s eyebrows going up in surprise, Tommy’s smile going even wider. “You admit my skills are higher than yours?”

Some of the crowd give whooping cries from behind Techno’s back, laughing good-naturedly at the tease. ‘Bested by our prince, are you?’ someone calls, and ringing laughter ripples out through them. ‘Before was a warm-up! The prince could do that in his sleep!’ Another yells, and Tommy’s smile wavers from teasing into something genuine, before settling back into a taunting grin. 

Techno supposes he should find annoyance at being made fun of, at having his ability mocked. He looks upon the prince and finds nothing but pleasant surprise. Oh, this little menace. He knows this is a futile fight, doesn’t he? That this will hardly go in his favor?

And still, even so, the way he’s smiling with such cheek-

Techno takes a breath and keeps down the urge to grin in return. 

“I’m no longer unsure, actually.” He says, and he puts a foot back as he settles into a proper stance. He goes to lift his sword, but then he considers for a second, and instead tosses it to the side, letting it land with a thump into the dirt. 

Tommy watches the action with a baffled look. “What are you doing?” He questions.

“I hardly think I’ll need it.” Techno shrugs, hands lifted up with his palms facing out. He stands up straight, feet level, his guard left open. “You are free to try and land one strike upon me. Let’s see if you can manage that.” 

Tommy laughs a little, waving his blade up in a gesturing motion. “Don’t allow your pride to become your downfall, your Majesty.”

“Don’t allow your hesitation to become yours.” Techno replies right back, and Tommy’s face falters before settling into a focused sort of drive. He tightens his grip, looks to the dropped sword again, as if giving Techno a chance to change his mind. When Techno does no such thing, he moves, charging forward with a wide sweep of his blade. 

Techno steps back, right out of its range, and then he swings his leg forward, just as Tommy steps out in raising his sword again-- and has his ankle kicked out from under him. 

Tommy goes plummeting to the ground, sword dropping beside him, a shriek leaving his lungs as he just barely avoids landing directly on his face, his arms taking the brunt of his fall. The people by the fence cry out, not in cheers, but in whining sympathy, woefully unsurprised. 

A sudden, bubbling laugh rises up amongst them. 

Techno stares down as the prince pushes himself to his knees, looking up at him with a harsh, disbelieving scoff. 

“That’s not fair!” He argues, and although he should be embarrassed, colored with frustration, he’s still laughing around his words. He looks nothing but giddy, even with dirt now pressed up on his sleeves. “You-” He huffs. “You didn’t even let me swing at you again!”

“You weren’t fast enough to swing again.” Techno replies, and Tommy throws his arms up, as if that’s such a nonsense excuse. 

“You didn’t give me a chance!” 

The people echo similar opinions. Twas a warm-up , they insist. He was going easy on you, they say. Beginner’s luck, someone yells, although their king is far from being considered anything of a beginner. Technoblade glances over his shoulder, and their voices settle down. Tommy makes a puttering sigh while reaching for his sword. 

“Alright.” Techno finds himself saying. He turns back towards Tommy, waving a hand up, stepping away. “On your feet, then. Come on.” 

Tommy climbs to stand in an instant, with his sword raising high. He waits for a second, as if to let Techno brace himself, then he charges again, swinging out the same as he did before. Techno dodges the same way, then steps away for the next one, and then sweeps out Tommy’s feet from under him and has him landing backwards on the ground with a scream. 

The people weep pretendedly at the to-be-expected defeat. 

Tommy chokes out some odd little chuckle with his eyes staring to the sky. Techno watches as he sits up with a great deep breath, a slight wince in his expression. Falling isn’t ever pleasant for anyone. Tommy still raises his hand up into the hair regardless, one finger pointing up. 

“Once more!” He insists, and Techno raises his brows for the way his voice is barely unwavering. “This time- This time, absolutely. Third time’s the charm.” He nods, and Technoblade only looks upon him with his arms crossing over his chest, shaking his head in reply.

“There is no benefit to this.” He says truthfully, not wanting to push this farther than it needs to go. He can’t understand why the boy seems so content to continue with this act. Surely, he knows it’ll lose its charm once the pain of hitting the ground over and over begins to set in. “Frankly, I find little enjoyment in such small sparrings.” He says, so as to cut this short and have Tommy not spend the next hour being thrown to the floor.

“Really?” Tommy asks, rather skeptically. “Then why are you smiling?”

Techno goes still. 

He realizes, with a shock, that he is. His lips are pulled into an honest grin, and with that, he’s not sure how to really answer that question. Tommy stands up and takes his sword in hand again during Techno’s silence, and upon just pure instinct, Techno trips him again the second he comes trying to make an attack. 

Tommy only laughs again in falling, the people now rallying up into a cheer, perhaps not for the king’s skill, but for the prince’s perseverance. 

They continue on like that until Tommy is covered in dirt, sore all over, his sword never having even grazed Technoblade. Through it all, he still gives a slight smile, still keeps getting up. He acts as if it’s a game, and although he’s the one losing, there’s still something satisfied in his gaze. Like it’s all gone to plan. Techno is curious, but ultimately exasperated, in an odd, fond sort of way. 

Techno sends him off to clean himself up after insisting that they are done, their watching audience dispersing at last, the swords on the ground being taken away to their proper places. 

In returning back to his own tent to prepare for their ever continuing journey on the road, Techno makes a mental note for when they hit their next kingdom. 

He’ll have to put in an order for the prince to get a commissioned sword. 

Maybe by then, he’ll be able to actually land a hit on Techno with it.  

Much to Tommy’s relief, the king doesn’t call him for dinner that day. Nor the day after. 

Not that Tommy would find much embarrassment in those attempts at a sparring match-- honestly, who would’ve ever thought he would stand a chance against the king? More rather, it’s just a relieving comfort to spend the time instead in his tent, sharing simple finger foods with his friends while soothing the slight aches on his skin, his elbows and knees having taken the worst of his falls. There’s hardly any bruises, hardly any terrible pain, but Tommy takes glee in whining and weeping into Tubbo’s ears regardless, Tubbo looking seconds away from strangling him by the throat, Ranboo eating the majority of the good cheese while the two of them stay distracted. 

In truth, Tommy expects for the entire event to be forgotten, left in the past as nothing more than a silly thing to witness. His lessons come back around with the same slow, easy pace as before, and while some people do come by after to watch him train, it’s nothing like the crowd that day. Each face that comes to stand by that fence never seems all that disappointed by such simple practices, though, either. They always seem rather prideful, actually. 

Tommy supposes they’re just always thinking of the king, when staring upon him. 

Eventually, the king does call him for dinner, a week later. Tommy goes with familiar expectations settling onto his shoulders, his mind going over what he’s gotten up to during the days, so that he can answer the king’s curiosity in detail. He sits at his seat, eats his served dinner, and then mid-way through finishing his plate, the king says this:

“Why did you ask to spar with me during your training session the other day?”

Tommy goes still over his food, fork mid-way to his mouth, his head jerking to the side to look towards Techno. 

“...What?”

“The other day, when we were at your training grounds.” Techno clarifies, and when he takes a glance and sees Tommy blinking a bit too naively, he frowns. “Don’t act like you’ve forgotten.”

“I haven’t! It’s- uh.” Tommy puts his fork down, mouth opening and closing for a second as he tries to gather a decent reply. “I just- wanted to see how I could fare against you?” He winces slightly as the end of his sentence pitches up as if made into a question. 

“You wanted to be thrown to the ground ten times over?” Techno deadpans, hardly convinced by that answer, rightfully so. Even an idiot could predict how Tommy would fare against the king. 

Tommy huffs, giving up on his food so that he can throw himself back in his chair. He decides he will try to distract, rather than confess. 

“Well, you didn’t need to keep tripping me.” He complains, and the king’s expression eases into something amused. 

“I should’ve just let you hit me, is that it?”

“Maybe.” Tommy mutters. He shrugs up a shoulder. “You could take a hit.” He reasons. The king was indeed wearing armor. One measly strike of the sword wouldn’t have killed him. 

Techno rolls his eyes in a passing exasperation, smile turning into something fond. “I could. Whether I allow it is a different matter.” 

“Has anyone ever truly landed a hit on you during battle, your Majesty?” Tommy questions, hoping to have the king go on and on about some past harrowing fight. It would be a more interesting topic than the one first brought up. 

“Once or twice.” The king replies, rather casually. He sounds as if finding injury after a fight is a thing of fantasy, impossible and also boring. “It’s never been anything fatal, clearly. But we’re straying from the topic.” Tommy’s heart jumps a little as the king leans forward, elbows to the table, hands clasped together. “Why ask to spar at all?”

Damn. Tommy purses his lips together to prevent a frown, head turning away as his shoulders fall in defeat. Of all things to be curious on, why must the king be focused on this? Tommy had so many other things he was ready to talk about. A field mouse was found in Ranboo’s shoe just the other day. His reaction upon finding it was fucking hilarious. The shelf he broke in the chaos of trying to flee its existence, less so. Tubbo had to capture the thing with a cup and toss it to the grasses to be rid of it, Tommy refusing to get off from the safety of where he stood on the table. It was an eventful morning. 

Anyhow. Regardless- the king is giving a persistent look. Tommy knows he has his moments of patience, but it is always better to not keep a king waiting. He sighs quietly under his breath, jaw shifting as he bites over his tongue for a second. “There were people watching.”

A beat passes. Techno holds out a hand with a slight tilt of question to his head. “And?”

Tommy huffs. “Well, I hardly think they would want to watch me go through my usual exercises, is all.” Techno’s face scrunches up in a displeased look.

“It doesn’t matter what they want. It’s your training.”

Tommy sits up straighter in his chair, trying to quickly nod. “Right, but-”

“Would you rather I send everyone away next time?” Techno asks, and he sounds honestly genuine in the question. Tommy has no doubt that he’d figure out a way to keep Tommy’s training perfectly private, not a single soul watching, except for maybe Sam. “Their expectations are hardly anything of worth-”

“It’s also the fact that you were there.” Tommy interrupts, immediately wishing he could take back the words, pretend like he didn’t ever utter them at all. 

Techno stops. He raises an eyebrow in question, Tommy refusing to meet his eyes. 

“I was there.” He repeats, and Tommy makes a slow nod, wishing he could swallow his tongue and have the conversation be done and tossed aside.

“You’re the king.” Tommy speaks hesitantly, voice quiet. “Your time is important. Why have it wasted just- watching me go through my exercises?”

“It’s not a waste, that’s what I chose to do.” Techno argues, but he does pause for a second, seeming to think over Tommy’s words. He leans into his chair, elbow upon his armrest. “But- so what you’re saying is… that my time is better suited in- tossing you to the ground, rather than supervising?”

Tommy sputters, now honestly a touch bothered at the reminder how he kept having his balance being taken out from under him, how he had to quickly learn how to catch himself before he would taste dirt. “You-!” He slaps his palms to the table, almost standing from his seat. “But you didn’t have to throw me to the fucking ground!”

Techno snorts, hardly regretful. There isn’t an ounce of guilt to his expression. Tommy has an urge to lob a bit of his mashed potatoes into his face. 

“No, I didn’t have to.” He agrees, and then he points a finger into Tommy’s direction. “But you didn’t have to keep getting back up, either.” 

“I wasn't just going to lay there and claim defeat.”

“I’m glad to hear that.” Techno nods, eyes falling shut in a passing sense of satisfaction. He opens them back up a second later with an eager look. “We’ll see how you stick to that statement in the coming weeks.”

“You’re-” Tommy blinks, chest twisting tight. He sinks back into his chair, his heart sinking into his stomach. “You’re going to come to my training again?”

“Did you think it’d be a one time thing?”

“Yes!” Tommy exclaims honestly, Techno’s expression almost going confused. “You- there’s plenty of other important things that demand your attention-”

“I’d argue that keeping an eye on the progress of the prince’s skills is also an important thing for my attention.” Technoblade interrupts, no room for argument in the matter-of-fact tone of his voice. He has the last say. Such is the power of the king. “Don’t you agree?”

“I- But-” Tommy tries to give an effort of refusal, trying to scrounge up this terrible feeling festering in his blood. But I’m not the prince, he wants to say, but that’s a foolish sentence. Of course he is. He’s titled as such, he’s seen as so. I’m not your prince, he wants to spit out, but he is of the empire. He is the king’s people. 

I’m not going to be the prince you want.

Tommy can’t help but have those words cruelly whispering in his head. That he's not the right fit for this seat he sits in, and that he knows it. He knows it! He can try to ignore it from time to time, try to move past, but that’s like trying to ignore the sunlight pressing through your closed eyelids. It is there regardless, burning upon skin. 

He can’t handle weapons like this king before him. He can’t look upon his own people and know them like he did before. He can’t seem to speak, can’t seem to breathe, can’t do much of anything without doubt and fear crawling up and sabotaging him in an instant. All his progress, his efforts-- what has it truly added up to in these passing months?

A boy who can hold a sword, but not swing it well. A child who greets his people but still fears their eyes. A prince who still stands too small against the role he’s supposed to take, a prince who every day, just climbs back up into his carriage, out of sight…

If he could just- step out, instead- If he could just-

Tommy’s face wipes away into a sudden clarity. He looks up at Techno. 

“Can I have a horse?”

The king is entirely thrown off by the sudden, off-topic request. He freezes in where he was stabbing through his food with a fork, having returned to his plate after Tommy’s moment of silence. 

“A- horse?” He repeats.

“My carriage is fine. Nothing terrible about it.” Tommy waves his hands up, clearing his throat for a second. “But I know you aren’t always within a carriage when the group travels…” 

“That’s more a matter of having it so I can keep an eye on things.” Techno points out. 

“Well, yes. Then I could help.” Tommy nods, scooting up in his seat. He presses his elbows to the table, putting his hands together as if he’s about to negotiate a trade. “If I were given a horse…”

“There’s no need for such effort on your part. You’d find more comfort on an actual seat, than a saddle.” Techno insists, with a tone that implies immovable refusal. Tommy glances away for a moment with the start of quiet disappointment building in his throat, and the king immediately backtracks, not caring for such a look. “But if you do wish for a horse, then you’ll have it.” He relents, Tommy picking his head back up with the sadness now washed away, pleased surprise in its place. “You do know how to ride one?” 

“Yes.” Tommy nods. “I’ve had lessons. It’s only-” He ignores the lump wanting to form at his throat. “-been a while.” 

“Then I’ll have it arranged.” Techno nods, and Tommy nods back. 

Tommy is given a beautiful orange cream-colored horse in the next day, its hair pale and put in small braids upon its neck, red and gold accents etched into the corners of its saddle. It is a loyal, trained animal of their empire, and it’ll serve its purpose well. 

Tommy rushes to climb upon the saddle, the motion of it faintly unfamiliar, but not unknown. He holds the reins with an appreciative relief in how calm the horse sits under him, content to walk without fuss at his guidance. He doesn’t make it all that far until Sam is approaching beside him, calling his title, and presenting him with a tiny bag of cloth. 

“What’s this?” Tommy questions, stopping the horse in place, and he opens the bag up to find carefully picked flowers inside, the stems intact, the petals bright. His heart falters upon the sight of it, and he looks to Sam in confusion, for he hasn’t asked for any wildflowers today. Why would he be given this now, within their early afternoon, just before heading off on the road?

“It’s from the stablemen.” Sam explains, and suddenly, the bag in Tommy’s palm feels far more heavier than it truly is. “They thought you might like to put the flowers into the braids yourself.” 

“They- put flowers into the horses’ braids?” Tommy asks. 

“For yours- yes.” 

Tommy looks down at the horse before him, hears the huffing noise of its breath. His fingers touch at the skin beside its mane, and it sits warm. He breathes in. Feels a hint of a smile dancing over his lips. The rush of catching up on all those pressing expectations on his head are suddenly put aside in favor of the excitement of meeting this new face. “Does it have a name?”

Sam lifts his chin higher, hesitant for a second, for what, Tommy doesn’t know. “Clementine.” 

Tommy nods, repeating the name, although it’s more to the horse rather than to any other human ear. He looks at the bag in his hand again, looks through the handful of flowers put inside. He reasons that it’s a common thing to dress their horses up, to give it the attention needed for all its effort it gives. He reasons it very well within his mind as he indulges in putting a pattern of dandelions into the horse’s mane, tucking them in with such careful gentleness, Sam watching with a content, patient gaze. 

By the time Tommy’s has finished his supply of flowers, one last one tucked behind his ear, he’s called to join his place within the people, the king himself requesting his presence up ahead. Tommy rides with little patience to join him by the front, where the greatest of their army go marching on, where the strongest of their swords look on to their journey ahead. 

The king says nothing of the flower at the prince’s ear. He gives a lingering look that’s unnoticed by Tommy, and makes a further glance at the flowers upon the horse’s mane, but still, he says nothing. He gives his greeting, and then gives his orders, and they all move forward, falling into the motion of crossing their new lands.  

After a short while, Tommy can’t help but try to fire his attempt. 

“What of those at the back?” He asks to the king’s ear, Techno keeping his attention straight ahead while Tommy keeps turning to look over his shoulder, where all their numbers stretch out behind their backs, following at their heels.

“What of them?” The king asks in return. 

“Do you ever ride with them?”

Technoblade gives a passing look, brows raising high. Tommy looks back in return, eyes wide in focus. “I’m meant to lead the group.” The king reminds. “I can’t quite do that if I’m behind.”

“Right.” Tommy nods, although it’s not quite in agreement. “But…” He trails off, like there’s a concern to be had about that. The king makes a gentle huff. 

“I have my soldiers positioned to keep them safe. They’re not so far from us that they’ll be accidentally left behind.”

“That’s- that’s not my concern.” Tommy insists, although the king looks a bit unconvinced. “I just think…it’d do well if someone was with them.” 

“They all have each other.”

“I could go with them.” Tommy suggests, and ah, there’s the true request. The prince shrugs his shoulders up, nodding his head to the soldiers around them. “You’ve got everything handled on this end-”

“Don’t wander off, my prince.” Techno says, the statement of it almost said like a light scolding, as if the boy would go riding off upon impulse. Techno can see that flicker of stubborn determination in his eyes, though. Maybe this was his hope all along, to get out of that carriage and instead go exploring upon the road on his own whim. “Stay here.” 

Tommy’s face crumples into a sour look, despite his noble effort to seem unaffected. His words come out with a slight whining tone. “The whole way?” 

Techno sighs long against the displeased feeling taking root in his chest. The soldiers smile all around them, expressions hidden under their helmets. Technoblade turns his head to Tommy. “Is this just some plot to go see your friends?”

“If I wanted that I would’ve just invited them into my carriage, your Majesty.” Tommy scoffs, and yes, Techno supposes he would’ve just gone about it like that, rather than do this. The prince waves his arm out to the road behind them, covered thick with the population of their group. “I just think I could ride with the people. They should see me.” 

Or perhaps, he just wants to see them, Techno wonders. He can’t imagine why now, here, of all places, he thinks it necessary, but there’s little harm to be found in such an action, and it’d probably do well for the people to know their prince’s face.

“Very well. Go on, then.” 

Tommy’s spine straightens up in surprise, his hands going tight around his horse’s reins. “Really?”

“But return to the front when the sky begins to darken.” Techno warns, and the prince makes a distracted nod, turning his horse- “Your highness.” Techno repeats, and Tommy’s head snaps towards him. “When the sky begins to darken. Not when it is already dark.” 

“Yes, your Majesty.” Tommy nods, full and true this time, eyes bright with an impatient eagerness. 

“Go on.” Techno waves him off, and the prince leaves, setting out at the side of the road, riding down the opposite way of their people. “Follow him.” Techno says to his cavalry, and a handful of men break off and go to trail at their prince’s heels. 

Techno glances back to see the prince’s head turning and searching through the crowds, maybe indeed looking for his friends, after all. He disappears soon enough from Techno’s sight, going behind the cover of their people, and Technoblade finds himself feeling- vaguely disappointed. 

He looks back to the road, a touch confused. Disappointed at what? It’s not his concern to keep the prince in his shadow at every minute of the day. He huffs harshly, tucking back a stray piece of his hair sitting over his eyes. 

It’s no matter. It’s nothing of importance, for him. 

Onwards for their conquest.

Chapter Text

It is a passing evening with the sun dipping low, a blossoming, traveling kingdom set up within the surrounding fields of traveling dirt roads. 

Their banners and their colors are easy to spot from a mile away, but few would come across them out here, no one around except the occasional traveler and villager in towns far off. Few would approach, in recognizing the deep red flags flying with the wind, knowing who commands that scattered army of soldiers swarming all around.

 In time, the sight of this crowd and the bustling movement of life will be a clear warning of danger, an omen of something terrible approaching. 

In time, this army and many others will advance near the walls of a doomed ruler, with thousands of hands working together to tear the door down and tear the crown off from an unworthy fool’s head, so that it’ll be gifted to their one true king. 

In time. 

Today, the people rest. They work upon their chores, settling into their later shifts, setting out plans for the week and continuing on with the routine they will carry until they’re within another city again, another period of victory secured. 

Today, they eat amongst themselves, speaking merrily and drinking gladly, winding down if they’re able. They enjoy the company of each other in the safety of their home, their kingdom born from the efforts of their loyalty and the king’s leadership. 

Here, as a common habit for luck, they toast to the king, ever grateful for his hand leading the fight, for his sword avenging their fallen, for his vengeance striking down all the false rulers all across the lands. They toast for his good health, for their victory, and- 

For the happiness of his new prince. 

Their prince, whose face has begun to become something familiar in walking across camp to have his dinners with the king. Those meetings have become such a strict time of the day. The people love to share their details about it all, gossiping eagerly about what little they know. The king is so stern about his schedule, he always must be to keep things in order, but with the prince- there is a harsher persistence to this. 

Rumors say he’s unmovable against the idea of putting this dedicated time to the side, never letting his council meetings drag on, never letting his duties distract him. 

One of the washing people insist they’ve seen him nearly break into a run upon finding out the time had passed too quickly, his presence almost missed by the prince-- but the gossip around there always gets a bit exaggerated. 

One of the cooks swear they’ve seen him fret over the food, unsure of if the meal would be satisfactory for the prince, fastidious upon the deserts that would be served thereafter-- but that could be projected fears talking. 

One of the soldiers say they saw the king put a sword to the throat of one of his advisors, once, for trying to delay him with unneeded concerns, trying to imply that he should miss his scheduled supper with the prince. 

That last one has some merit to it. The king cares little for orders given his way, for he is the highest power in the land, and he answers to no one. Attracting the king’s fury is not a safe place to stand, but the concept of the king finding anger so quickly on the prince’s behalf is something else to gossip even harder about. 

It’s an admirable thing, to see their ruler give an unprecedented sort of attention to someone like their prince. It’s an interesting thing to have, this boy who sits above them all, who exists so differently compared to the man he will one day succeed. 

He has a kind smile, it’s said. He’s always seen with his friends, always joking with them, always talking so loudly with them, only falling quiet when he realizes he’s being seen by too many eyes. He sends his personal guard out to pick flowers from the grass every other week, and rumor says he carries around a book with those same petals pressed in for memories. He is stubbornly persistent in his training, it’s said. The king could knock him down a hundred times, and he will stand back up a hundred times more, all with a giggling laugh, for his heart can never be diminished.

The king seems to never knock him down all that harshly, the people whisper, guards speaking low about what little they are able to witness, with the prince’s training having become a private affair, now, the people forbidden from approaching close. The king never raises a sword to the prince. Never pushes him to his limit, as he tends to do with most of his men. 

He frets, instead, the guards say, although maybe that’s just an exaggerated word. Maybe not. At any hint of injury, the king will end their training within the second, they say, refusing to allow the prince to continue on. With only one handful of complaints from the prince’s mouth, the king will be lenient and end it there too, they insist, bending easy to the boy’s indirect requests. One would think that harsh judgement would rise, at that, people talking amongst themselves on if their king has become weak, their prince frail-- but no. 

It’s quite the opposite. All that the people can talk about is how the king is beginning to settle into the company of this prince, finding favor for someone at last. How the prince is settling into his space within this camp, endearing himself to the king.  

How they are learning, in such slow, careful steps, how to rule underneath the crown together.

It’s a sweet, hopeful thing, to see something like this. To see their king finding a human sort of comfort, to see him gain a quiet, new type of strength in this new face underneath his wing. To witness the young face of their future laughing brightly when leaving his carriage, waving warmly when riding upon his horse, calling his friend’s names with a whining tone when running into his tent- It’s different from the inspiration of witnessing the king in his glory, his lack of defeat and his fearsome power. 

This is softer, kinder. Familiar. 

And for that, it’s so easy to accept the prince, to extend a loyalty to him with a head bent low. 

There’s a sense of responsibility to be felt towards the prince. It is the same as all would feel to serve their king. They are all sworn to their king first and foremost, bound to fight for him, to die for him. But for this one, for their prince, they are bound to love him, just as you would for your own child. 

Because that is what he is. A blessed child, the face of someone meant to inherit the future age of peace created from their hard-won victories. His voice brings grinning smiles to their king’s face. His earnest efforts bring pride, as fumbling and as unsure as they might be, from time to time. He is still so young, and still so new, but he’s theirs. 

The people love him. They adore him. But they must take care to do so from a distance. They make sure to not watch too closely, to not crowd too tightly. They bow accordingly, they avert their eyes, they speak in respect. After all, he is the prince, before all. He is the king’s heir, the second highest power in all the land. He is the king’s, before all. 

But, oh, how he is loved.

The end of their journey is approaching. Tommy knows. 

He also knows there’s still quite some time until they truly reach the new kingdom, plenty of miles to be taken before they’re within those roads but- still. The end of the road has to arrive at some point. They’re more than halfway, now. 

The soldiers are training harder and harder, with a rising fire of expected battle. The servants seem to talk more, in their hushed whispers, trading gossip of the new kingdom, of its army, of its steep, stone walls. Tommy watches as the fields around them turn into scattered forests, the ground uneven underneath his horse, but hardly a deterrent to their progress. More letters begin to come across the king’s hand as they have their dinners, and Tommy swears, in each passing week, the piles only grow higher. 

He hesitates to raise questions about the fight that’s bound to come, the fight sitting on the edge of the horizon. To everyone else, this is just the routine of things, yet another hill to climb. But to him, this is his first time witnessing it, and he hasn’t a clue what it’ll all lead up to. 

Tubbo and Ranboo don’t act concerned when he tries to subtly bring it up. They insist it’ll turn out like all the others. With victory in hand, and a new kingdom to explore while the king cements his rule upon the land. It’ll be fun, they insist, talking of proper beds and proper houses and new shopping roads to walk down each and every morning. They speak of the after, of eventual success so easily- like it’s unthinkable that the empire’s armies could ever lose. Tommy supposes that with the king’s current track record, defeat is an unlikely thing. 

He still finds himself kept with worry, despite it all. 

It’s relieving, in a way, for his concerns to finally be something different, something other than his self-doubts trying to carve into his skin. But it’s no less heavy on his shoulders. 

He watches as the king signs off on those letters at the dinner table, writing messages upon messages beside his supper, while still questioning Tommy of the matters of his day. He watches in passing, walking across camp to Tubbo and Ranboo’s tent, as the king trains his men on the open grounds, fighting five at once, ten at once, twenty, at one point. He hears that the king always wins against them all, later on. In the mornings, the king’s presence within Tommy’s own lessons begins to dwindle, for Tommy’s efforts are always outshining his true progress, always paling in comparison.  

His self-doubt begins to creep in a bit closer there, but he pushes his heart towards the other end, and finds himself looking at the king again, staring at the pinched look between his brow, a slight curling scowl to his lip. 

After so many conversations, Tommy likes to think he’s starting to get a handle on the small details of the king’s expressions. He’s stressed, as of now. He’s not content with whatever the letter in his hand is saying, but such mood doesn’t touch his voice at all when he speaks up, and asks Tommy of his training, of his progress with shooting arrows at the targets. 

Tommy doesn’t say anything in response to the usual inquiry. The king pulls his eyes away from the offending words at the rising silence, and the stress on his brow settles into something ever so slightly confused. 

“Your highness.” Techno says, maybe thinking that Tommy has spacing off, with how he’s staring so obviously. Tommy lifts his chin, but still doesn’t answer. 

“What are you writing?” He asks, instead. He looks down at the papers beside the king’s cleared plate, and while doing so, his fork reaches to pick at the slice of cake that sits upon his own. There’s sliced strawberries sitting upon white frosting, and usually, the king would never pass up such a treat. However, today, he hasn’t even looked at it. 

“Letters.” The king says simply, before then waiting for more questions to follow. 

“Letters for what?” Tommy asks accordingly, looking down and poking at the strawberries on his cake, pushing the fruit off to the side so he can cut through the bread. Techno tilts his head with a considerate look, as if wondering if he should allow the change of topic, if he should discuss this here at all. 

As per usual, he relents to the prince’s curiosity. 

“Letters for the false king’s councilmen.” He says. “I am making the start of usual bargaining.” 

Tommy blinks.

He puts his fork down, cake forgotten. “What?” He questions, utterly thrown off. Bargaining? When has the king ever tried to bargain? In all mentions of the past, before Tommy joined the conquest, the king hardly cared for trying to settle. Those who are his enemy, he sends to their graves. That’s it. That’s all it’s ever been.  

“I’m sending offers for their safety, should they choose to betray their king and give the throne willingly to me.” Techno explains further, writing something down on the paper, his pen scratching lightly. “I’m creating unrest in the king’s ranks.” 

That last comment makes it all seem like a bit more sense. But Tommy still frowns, confused. “You’re… going to try to take them onto our side?”

“I’m hoping to have them collapse in on themselves, actually. Or at least hinder their king. Maybe give him some paranoia.” A grin passes over Techno’s face, not quite something of joy, but of merciless avidity. “Test how loyal his people will truly be, against the face of certain death.” 

Tommy furrows his brows with a second glance at the papers, skepticism creeping in. “How do you know if they will betray him, though?” He asks, trying to apply a hypothetical to their people. If there was a king who came to their advisors, and promised reward if they betrayed their king…

No. It just wouldn’t happen. Nevermind the loyalty of their people, the fact they have come all this way with them, ever unfaltering against the threat of inevitable battle-- the threat of the consequences alone would make that offer go up in flames. 

“He’s not one who inspires comfort in their safety.” Techno says, and Tommy realizes that is where the difference lies. They are the Empire, growing fast and standing tall, with their armies closing in. This is a single kingdom, with a king panicking, trying to plan something out. He knows the feeling. The sense of doom. “At least one person will give in against the threat of me taking their head. If just one person goes, then it causes a chain reaction.” The king shrugs a shoulder. “Maybe some will join, maybe others will sell them out. Either way. He will lose them.”

“And you’ll gain them?” Tommy asks. 

“Mhm.” Techno hums noncommittedly, putting his pen down, skimming over the paragraph made as he holds the paper higher. “For a time.” 

“You don’t think they’ll stay loyal?”

“I don’t care if they plan to swear the rest of their lives to my cause. I have no intention of keeping fickle traitors, or his close-kept men.” He puts the letter aside, reaching for a new paper. “They will all die with their king.” 

“You- will kill them all?” Tommy chokes out, hands curling tight for a second in grim shock. 

“Only those who could pose an issue.” The king meets his gaze for a moment, holding up his fingers as he lists them off. “The council. His advisors. People who have served their king very closely for the most of their lives. They’re too intertwined with his rule for my liking. Better to cut them out and have them neatly replaced.”

“But that’s-” Tommy begins to protest, and Techno’s brows raise in interest. Tommy clears his throat. “That seems cruel.” 

“It is war.” Techno speaks bluntly. He leans closer with his elbow to the table, tapping lightly before Tommy’s plate. “If we are to keep kingdoms as we conquer all the others, we have to ensure that they’re well within our control. With people who we know are loyal, who will serve faithfully as we continue on.” 

“But what of the common folk, then?” Tommy asks. “What if they are loyal to their past king? Would you kill them all, then?”

“No. That does little to win them over.” Keeps them in line, but- it does not inspire loyalty. Techno leans back in his seat, raising a hand out, the paper put aside. “With every kingdom we come across, though, there tends to be a problem that- arises in the months before. Food kept scarce. Criminals going unpunished. Violence tearing their homes apart. The kings, often kept busy with our empire fast-approaching, never quite attend to those rising problems. So then disfavor rises.” 

Tommy catches on quickly to the look in the king’s eyes, calculating and ruthless. 

“You cause problems in the kingdoms.” 

“I set sparks.” Techno confirms, and Tommy wonders how many men the king has sent ahead of them, how many spies he’s already sent off to the next kingdom after this, how many assassins, how many allies. A good ruler plans ahead, that’s true. How far along has he laid this out? 

To make an empire, you must plan decades in advance. Tommy feels now he’s only seen so little of what the king’s true efforts have been made up of. These letters- drops in the bucket. Nothing but the tiniest nudge of this pushing force that has been made.

“If the kings were any good at their jobs, they would put the fires out.” Techno continues, hardly concerned at the might of all he has done. “But they never do. They never have. They always put all their attention to my army, to all the other distractions coming on their heads, and the people- become second priority to them.” He waves a hand, lip curling in distaste. 

Tommy feels the same. He feels something bitter and angry, toward all the long gone false kings, letting such problems fester while they focus so desperately on their own survival. Even in a crisis, the people need to be considered. They need to be taken care of. Otherwise- what good is that crown on their head? What sort of king would they be? Even when he was at the throne with the threat of the empire approaching, he didn’t dare falter in fear. He didn’t put aside his people. He kept watching over them as well as he could. 

He stood protectively in front of them, when the time came. 

“When I do face those kings at last, take their thrones and their crowns, and begin settling my rule- that’s when I give solutions to those rising problems. I help the people with what the king didn’t. And for the most part, that’s enough. That settles any further struggle from then on.” 

“That’s what inspires loyalty?” Tommy asks, sounding disbelieving. “You help them with a problem you created.”

“I help them with a problem their incompetent ruler did not fix.”

Tommy considers that. Feels a passing bitterness again, at all the dead kings. Rolling anger. “You care for them, after they were ignored.” He repeats, a little quieter. 

“I care for all my people. Once they are mine, I ensure they stay living in prosperity and victory.” Technoblade promises, the words made almost like a reassurance for Tommy’s ears. “For those we do lose, from what little failures I gain, I make sure to learn from it. To avenge those who go to the grave in my name.” 

Yes, that fact is well known. The king avenges those he loses. Not one soldier is without worth, under his banner. Even one single life taken is an unforgivable slight to him. He will give every effort in making sure the blood is returned. 

Tommy’s focus goes back to the matter at hand, a new concern rising up. The question is spilling out from his lips before he can even stop it. 

“Did- did you try sowing unrest in my own kingdom?” He asks, looking up with wide eyes. “Did you-”

“I did nothing.” The king confesses, and his voice is honest and true. Quiet. “Your father’s death alone seemed enough. The shift of power, so sudden- it was enough to weaken your forces, I thought. You certainly weren’t preparing for war, according to reports…”

“I hadn’t wanted any war. I didn’t want to send my people into such danger.” Techno huffs, nearly exasperated with that sort of sentence. Tommy huffs along, resigned to the fact that he can’t quite prevent the danger now. “Of course, now, there isn’t a point. Our armies will march to the grave without hesitation, at your order.”

“Such is the way I’ve trained them. I don’t plan to lead them to their death, however. They will fight with all their heart and they will win.” 

“It’s no wonder they fight so earnestly. With you as their leader, they must not fear anything.” Tommy rests his chin into the palm of his hand, his elbow sitting at the armrest of his chair. “They always show such skill…” He murmurs, an odd, upset look draping over his gaze. Techno shifts in his seat, immediately turning the subject. 

“And what of your skill, your highness?” He asks, and Tommy’s snapped out from it, looking up in foolish looking surprise. “You didn’t reply earlier. How are you faring in archery?”

Tommy opens his mouth, but then closes it, turning his head away with a furrow in his brow. He frowns as he makes a noncommittal noise, a shoulder shrugging up. Techno narrows his eyes with wonder at if there’s an issue at hand, unaware of the constant worries running through Tommy’s mind, the constant doubt tearing him to nothing but guilt.

After a short moment of silence, Tommy shakes his head, as if clearing his mind, and then stands to his feet, chair pushed back. 

“What are you doing?” Techno immediately demands, and he’s left perplexed as Tommy reaches forward to the pastries before them, taking another slice of cake onto his plate. 

“You have work to do.” Tommy blurts out, movement rushed, as if he’s made his mind up and is hurrying to keep on his choice before he changes his mind. “I will retire early. I can tell you about it some other night, meanwhile the rest of this- I could bring to my tent.” Tubbo and Ranboo would delight in the treat. Tubbo always has such a fondness for fruit, just one slice alone, he’d-

“Your highness.” Techno’s hand grabs at his arm, preventing him mid-way in piling a third slice onto his plate. Tommy freezes up, looking at him with something that isn’t quite shock, but- Fear? 

There’s something rather terrified, in his eyes. Techno feels like the conversation might’ve been the cause of it. He squeezes around Tommy’s wrist, noting the way the boy looks at the papers sitting on the table, noting how his lips press thin in such rising concern. 

“You have many responsibilities to attend to.” Tommy whispers out, almost hissing the sentence through his teeth. He almost looks like he’s about to argue further, but he hesitates, and stays hesitant, the words stuck behind his tongue. “With- with all of this-”

“You are as much my responsibility as this is.” Technoblade replies.

Yes, Tommy cannot help but think, unable to speak against that. Yes, he is the king’s responsibility, for he is one of his people. But just as he is the king’s, the king is one of his. Tommy has to put aside his feelings for the sake of letting him focus, letting him carry out his duty. What good is he doing here, other than being a distraction?

“Sit.” Techno insists, pulling his hand away, and that same hand falters over the letters before him, before then just putting them aside. “Tell me of your day.” He commands, and Tommy doesn’t really have a choice other than to listen. He sits, and finds a small comfort in the way that although he must be a distraction, the king must know and must’ve decided that he is a distraction worth keeping. He rationalizes it quickly in his head, in a voice that rings similar to Tubbo. If he didn’t want you here, surely he’d just send you away.  

Tommy leans back into his chair, and takes a breath. “Well, regarding archery, I did hit a target, earlier today…” He begins. 

The king listens, as he always does. Tommy tries to not falter. 

Eventually, the curiosity and the worry becomes too much to bear. 

The king starts to make a pointed effort to put his paperwork aside during their dinners, and as such, Tommy is left to be the sole subject of his attention. Under such a spotlight, how could he not give in to the concerns running wild through his mind?

It all mostly comes out as a mumbled blur of questions. How much longer until they arrive? How will they approach the kingdom? How will it all progress?

How will you kill the king?

“Preferably, I’d do it before his people.” Techno answers, ever calm and concise, the absolute sureness of his words soothing every last fried nerve in Tommy’s veins. If there is something to be said about the king’s voice, it is always that he speaks as if everything is right in the palm in his hand. “It serves as an example, and proof of his demise.” 

“But what if you can’t do it like that?” Tommy presses, watching as Techno reaches for a pitcher of water to pour into his cup, the servants having been sent out upon the second that Tommy had confessed he had questions weighing on his mind. The privacy was well appreciated. 

“Sometimes, the kings do come out to fight.” Technoblade says, filling his cup with the slosh of water reaching Tommy’s ears. He puts the pitcher to the side. “A good ruler, in my opinion, stands with his men, does what he can for them on the battlefield. But that’s rare to see. Usually I have to go within the castle itself and drag them out, for they’re always such cowards.” He pauses for a second before taking a drink, making a considerate glance at Tommy. “Save for you, I suppose.” 

Tommy smiles, the action of it slightly bitter, but no less victorious. “I had no intention of fighting when I approached you. But I was intent on keeping my people safe.”

“That, I was sure of.” Techno nods, putting his cup down.

“How big is their army?” Tommy asks further, leaning forward with his hands to the table, pushing his empty plate aside, uncaring if he can now go asking for cakes and treats to follow. “How long do you think the fighting will last?”

Technoblade walks him through the most of what they know in the same matter of fact tone he’s used all throughout. They are hundreds strong, but they are thousands, he says. The matter of time isn’t a sure thing, anything could happen, but it’ll take no more than a week, he promises. They will win. And then they will continue. 

“And when it’s over,” Tommy still goes on, unable to stop. “When the battle is done…” He turns his eyes away, fingers fidgeting over his ring. “Where will I be?”

In not looking at the king, Tommy misses the passing look of fondness that crosses his face. “With the people. Within the camp.” He leans to the armrest of his chair, the tone of his voice slipping into something of an order. “You will stay outside the walls until we have the castle securely under control.” 

“I will be here throughout all of the battle?” Tommy questions, a twinge of disappointment on his face as he looks at Techno. Techno’s brows furrow together with a slight frown. 

“You will not be anywhere near it.”

“Well, no, I just mean-” Tommy waves a hand up. “I won’t see you until after.”

Techno’s head dips forward in a slow nod. “We will reunite once the king has been captured. Or killed.” Tommy’s expression still looks strained, and so Techno goes on. “Once the worst is over. Then, it’s a matter of settling into my rule. The whole kingdom at our hand.” 

Tommy only gives a low sigh, not quite satisfied at that answer. “Right.” 

“It’ll be a relief to have dinner within a hall again.” Technoblade says, hands falling together at his lap, a slight smile to his lip. “I always do find some enjoyment in seeing how they vary from castle to castle. Maybe we’ll have a view with our meals, from now on.”

Tommy’s lips twitch up at that, a small sense of amusement coming over him. His fingers still stay fidgeting, and his continued question gives no surprise to Techno. 

“Should I be with you, when you start holding court?” Tommy asks, mind now pulled away from the battle, at last, but now needing to think of what comes after. It’s known that the king holds audiences from time to time within their own camp, but it’s nothing like that time within Tommy’s own hall. With his father’s throne being his seat. Now that they will have court again, within a proper hall, Tommy wonders if he will need to stand beside him once more. Again and again, for every event…

“It would do us well for the nobles to see you.” Technoblade agrees, before shrugging a shoulder up. “But it doesn’t need to be any more than the first meeting.” 

“Why shouldn't I be there after the first meeting?” 

“I mean only if you don’t wish to be.” Technoblade says, Tommy staring at him with a confused blink. The king shrugs again. “It’s a dull affair, most times.” 

“Where would I be, instead?” Tommy questions, bewildered by the fact that the king isn’t all that concerned with having him attend court, as the literal prince.

“That’s up to you. The castle is free reign to you.” Technoblade says, before then lifting a finger with a sternness rising up. “Although, you will need to keep guards close for the first week. Assassins are most common then.” At Tommy’s wide-eyed look, Techno shakes his head with little concern. “I doubt they’d have any reason to go after you, but it’s good to keep caution.” 

“Assassins.” Tommy only repeats. 

“Hired by the false king and his close allies, no doubt. Although, again, they would have little reason to go after you. My heart would be the more sought after choice.”

“You expect assassins to try going after you?”

“They’ll attempt.” Techno confirms, ever casual as he takes another sip from his water. “I’ve never had any particular trouble with them, though. Their heads serve as good examples to draw out any problems, later on.” 

Tommy’s tense shoulders suddenly fall in a slight sense of relief. Right. The king could probably kill a man in his sleep. Assassins are hardly a threat to him. Tommy should be more worried for himself, now, but- it’s true. Why would they go after him, having joined the empire so recently? He’s hardly their true enemy. More just a name attached to the empire. 

“I see.” He says, with nothing much else to say. All his questions have been indulged. All his concerns are quiet, for the time being. He tries to focus now on the after, just like his friends. After, when they have won, when the kingdom is theirs… “Will you have some sort of celebration?” He asks.

Technoblade raises his brows. “Celebration?”

“Like- a victory celebration. Some event, to celebrate your rule.” 

“We do something of the sort for the people…” Technoblade trails off, hand coming to his chin in thought. “They’re given plenty to eat, plenty to drink, so as to see our arrival as something of a blessing.” 

“Why not throw a party of sorts at the castle itself?” Tommy suggests. “For the nobles? Do you ever give them anything, as well?”

“I usually spend the first weeks weeding them out, actually. Picking out the loyal ones and leaving those who won’t cause trouble.”

“Ah.” Tommy can’t be surprised at that. “Well. If you did arrange some sort of celebration- it could garner favor? Really avoid any trouble, for later on. It’ll let the nobles see you as generous, too.” 

“Hmm.” The king hums, not very convinced at the idea. Tommy tries to not feel discouraged. It’s only a thought. Surely the answer to all their problems can’t always be to cut out those who won’t serve faithfully. 

The king’s expression suddenly clears like a realization has come upon him, and he looks to Tommy with a hint of a grin. “Your highness. Are you hoping to have an early celebration for your birthday?” 

Tommy freezes up. “My-” His hands drop flat on the table. “My what?”

“Your birthday.” The king repeats slowly. His brows furrow together. “It’s two months from now, is it not?” 

Tommy blinks. His birthday. 

Oh gods, his birthday is in two months. He had nearly forgotten. 

He is going to turn fourteen. 

“I-” He sits back in his seat, staring wide at nothing in particular. “It is.”

Techno’s look goes thoughtful. “You forgot.”

“It’s hardly the biggest thing on my mind.” Tommy defends, to which Techno gives an understanding nod. “There’s been so much going on-”

“Well.” Technoblade cuts him off, the grin returning to his face. He leans forward, elbows to the table. “We’re going to have to do something.” Oh gods, Tommy should’ve never suggested the party. He was only hoping they could resort to something other than executions, not a kingdom wide celebration of his birth. How does he deflect? Quick, distract!

“Only if we do something for you, as well!” Tommy blurts out, Techno hardly blinking at the redirection.

“My birthday has passed.” 

“It’ll come back around. That’s how birthdays work.”

The king’s grin settles into a small smile, something nearly smug. Tommy can’t explain it, he feels the urge to mirror the same look. “Very well.” He says, as he does upon every one of Tommy’s requests. “If you wish it.” 

“I do.” Tommy challenges, lifting his chin high. It does little for his victory in this conversation. But he has forgotten about the weight of the battle approaching, and the king seems pleased. So- maybe it’s worked out alright. 

And at last, the day comes. 

They arrive at the kingdom’s edge at the end of a sunset, the land thick with forest, the people exhausted, but determined. They set up within a clearing not too far off from the gates themselves, and over the trees, over the highest branches, the tallest towers of the castle can be seen, off in the distance. It is so close, and yet still quite some effort away. 

Techno puts aside the impatience that tries to form within his chest at the sight of it. It doesn't matter. He will find his way. This land, this castle, this throne, it will be his, within the next handful of days. It is certain, so there’s no point in being impatient with it. He will have it.  

“Send a messenger to the kingdom walls.” He tells one of his men, as they begin to set up one last time, one last wait on the road. “Tell the old fool on my throne that his death has arrived.” 

They send off the messenger within an instant, as if they were just waiting for his word.

“We will strike at dawn.” He tells them all. There is not one complaint in reply. Only complete agreement. Eager excitement. Many of them will sleep little tonight, but that’s not Techno’s concern. They will fight and serve all the same, even if exhausted to the bone. They want this victory just as much as he does. 

One tense night comes and goes. The morning sun rises with the rest of his soldiers, and Techno gathers them all to march them forward, feeling like this is a song that’s been sung over too many times, but still never gets old. There’s a humming energy amongst all their hearts, and it is the waiting focus of something wishing to strike, to pounce, to kill. Techno checks over all their preparations with a careful eye, and puts their lines in order. He climbs upon his horse and overlooks his people, the most of them looking to him with utmost devotion, loyalty and faith vivid in their gazes. Techno nods, something of gratitude and acknowledgement, then he turns his horse, readying to send them out. 

“Your Majesty!” 

All the soldiers seem to slow in their movement, coming to a halt as the king turns his head, seeing the prince come out from the watching crowd, the people parting to give him a path. There’s almost some sigh of relief amongst them all. The soldiers have given their farewells, their wishes of luck and parting hugs, but their king hasn’t.

It seems the prince was just falling late. 

“Your highness.” The king says as the prince comes up to him, a little confused at his presence. “What is it?” He questions, a threatening look passing over his face, not for the prince, but for anyone who might’ve given him trouble at such a pressing time, on such a day where the boy is bound to have such concern, even with his friends being given orders to try and distract him wherever possible. 

“I wanted to see you off.” Tommy says, stopping before the king’s horse, hands clasping together in front of him. His thumb fidgets obviously over the top of his fingers, presses to the edge of his father’s ring. “To say goodbye.”

Techno tilts his head with a quick glance upon the people, upon the soldiers all around them. People begin to turn their heads, striking up random conversations, acting as if nothing is amiss. The muddle of noise is enough for whatever privacy they need. No one stares any longer, and Tommy’s shoulders lighten up just the barest amount. 

“Don't make it sound as if I won’t return.” Techno says, a hint of a smile pulling at his lips. Tommy mirrors the look, huffing lightly.

“You’ll come back.” He says, with absolute certainty, calm and sure. He looks down for a second, and Techno can see the way worry starts to dig into him, right before his eyes. “Right?”

Technoblade knows death is always a threat, especially in his position. But he isn’t one to allow it so easily. If his demise wishes to occur, it’ll have to fight hard to get him. 

“I’ll come back.” He reassures, and Tommy nods slow, still clinging to bits of doubt. It’s understandable. It would be hard to forget the feeling of finding out you cannot always be comfortable in the position of a protected prince, the crown put upon his head so quickly…

“I’ll wish you luck, then.” Tommy looks up, and he smiles softly, eyes bright in the morning sun. “And I will watch diligently over our people in your absence.” 

“I have no doubt you will.” 

Tommy nods again. “And you-” He breathes, and Techno waits, thinking he will say something of being careful, something of wisdom. Instead, he speaks with a heavy, clear tone. “Lay waste to all our enemies.”

Techno snorts, from sheer surprise of such a statement. He grins down at Tommy, reveling in the way there is such a stubborn fight lighting up behind his gaze, necessary and perfect for an heir of a conquered empire. Tommy grins back, comforted at the sure confidence in Techno’s expression. 

“That, I shall do.” He promises. 

And so he goes. 

The battle, while bloody and brutal, is of little importance. 

In fact, it’s over quite quickly, their forces overwhelming the men before the kingdom gates, practically trampling them all down like a relentless stampede. Technoblade has victory delivered to his palm, all his soldiers standing tall, but- it’s too easy. 

It’s too odd.

“It makes little sense.” One of his generals mutters under their breath, glancing down to a map laid out beneath him, his knees pressing to the dirt as he hunches over the words written out on paper. “Their men were reported to be more than this. This was the main door they were protecting. All others were closed up, barricaded to hell. Did the king pull more into the kingdom for the sake of his safety?”

A likely thing. One would feel more secured behind their walls if they were entirely surrounded by their soldiers as well. But Techno feels there’s something off about that sort of assumption. There’s something off about this whole small victory in itself. He could so easily blame this on a foolish king who wished to fortify his castle well, wished to ensure his own survival first, but there are too many tents standing up for a meager army like this. There are too many barriers built in place, too many supplies set up by those kingdom doors. It seems fit for a group of hundreds. 

These men alone can’t be more than half that.

“Maybe so.” Technoblade replies, pulling his horse forward, eyes set on the bodies laid out to the ground. His soldiers swarm near for any surviving stragglers who might want to give a last fighting swing, but there is hardly any left. It is a total victory, with few men lost, the enemies left to rot at their feet. 

Techno turns his head to one of those very enemies laid out on the ground, his murmuring voice reaching out Techno’s ear. He stops his steed to listen, to look at him as if he’ll provide some further insight to this entire circumstance. 

“-doomed from the start, he doomed us from the start…” The dying man weeps, rambling mumbling words with the blood sticking wet to his face. He hacks out a cough, his lungs likely hurt from the arrow in his chest, and his chin lifts to the sky, words growing fainter, but no less intense. “Doomed, doomed, the bastard doomed us, he knew, he knew- he knew…”

Techno feels little pity for the soon-to-be corpse, but the seething anger gritted through the man’s teeth pulls his interest. Were the soldiers aware that this was a futile fight? Was this one cowardly, afraid against the might of Techno’s army coming to crush them into their graves? There’s such satisfaction in knowing that. In knowing that his empire has grown to inspire such striking terror into their enemies. 

The dying man turns his head, eyes unseeing, not meeting Techno’s gaze even as he turns towards his direction. He scoffs, almost laughing in a way that sounds more like a sob, hand to his barely beating chest. Techno assumes he must be witnessing and welcoming whatever gods he’s prayed to, hallucinating the faces of those he loved.

But then Technoblade notices- he is actually looking at something. He’s looking past Techno. He’s looking at the clouds, perhaps? Techno makes a passing glance to the sky behind his head.  

Within an instant, he’s struck with a heavy, sickening dread, shock slamming down into his stomach as his eyes go wide. 

There is a dark smoke spreading into the sky. From the direction of where they came. From-

“The camp!” Someone yells, rushing out from the trees, joined by the scattered company of his people, his civilians, their hands clutching at each other as they run to the safety of the empire’s army. “They’re attacking the camp, there’s an attack on the camp!” They cry, his soldiers leaving the kingdom’s walls to go assist, to hear Techno’s next order against this sudden action.

The false king here did have more men, Techno realizes. But they were not placed here, no. He must’ve somehow sent them away under the cover of the night, had them march off to be hidden in the familiar wild lands- so that when the strongest of Techno’s force did arrive, they could strike upon his weakest. 

They are setting an attack against the camp. 

His people. 

His.

Techno’s yanks harshly at the reins of his horse as he twists it around and kicks it into a sprint, breath stuttering in his lungs for a stray second before he can form them into proper words, yelling commands. He orders his army to rush to the camp, dives through the trees without a single glance to check if they are all following accordingly. He knows they are. 

His people themselves are not entirely defenseless, there are indeed guards posted to keep them safe against any threat, but against the might of an entire army, they are bound to be overwhelmed, especially when caught so off guard. Technoblade has little doubt that they will fight back with all their hearts, but casualties will still occur. The damage will be made. Whatever message the false king was trying to send, it has been received. 

It is brutal and desperate, when they arrive.

There are flames burning over the camp of his people, tents turned to ruins, countless faces running in all directions, with enemy colors slaughtering wherever they can reach. Technoblade finds fury easily within his heart for the fact they’ve done this, for the fact that they went for those who weren’t meant for the battle at hand. How cowardly it is, in Techno’s opinion, to not face your fucking enemy head on. How spineless.

Technoblade finds a strange fear in his chest at seeing how far the fire has spread to one side of the camp, his mind racing at thinking of who could be caught within that area. His fear forms one face in particular, one person above all the rest. 

He tells himself that the prince couldn’t be there. That his tent was placed safely at the center of the camp, and he would’ve ran at the first sight of danger, would’ve gone to the safety of his guards, but-

But.

Can he truly believe that? 

Techno’s hands shake at where they hold onto the reins. He can’t quite believe that. Why is he hesitating on that thought? Why is he-?

He must remember. 

Who was that young boy he first met, standing at the front gates of his kingdom, blue eyes staring stubbornly into the wielder of his own death? Who was the one holding such a protective, desperate gaze, made beside the fear of knowing he was meant for the grave?

Techno knew then, by looking past, that Tommy’s people were loyal, sworn to their ruler until their final dying breath. 

He curses the fact that he has overlooked how Tommy is just as loyal in return. 

A child king willing to die for the greater good. A child with a bleeding heart. Who cares too much, who worries too often. Who’s single request- upon giving his life and crown to Techno, was ‘take care of my people.’

What has he done, in the weeks behind them? Worried upon what the people may think, when struggling within his own lessons, worried on how the people may fare, when traveling upon the road. Worried over the people’s fate, worried over their comfort. Worried to death, with such sorrow behind his eyes. Techno is the fool to think whatever smiles he managed to gather were enough. Passing joys will not rid the clinging pains of the past. Will not rid the prince of the very heart that made his past kingdom stare upon the enemy army with an unflinching gaze. 

That prince, is he someone who would run? Who would see this damage and flee? Who would leave, knowing there must be victims underneath those flames?

No. Not with his stubbornness. Not with his enduring, bleeding care, his heart kept for the people, their people.

Technoblade’s breath holds tight in his lungs as a certain, terrible realization lies before him. 

Tommy is within the fire.

Chapter Text

In truth, things happen too quickly for Tommy to think it all through. 

The events come down on them too fast. One moment, he’s sitting in the comfort of his tent, his friends trying to help pass the time, distract from the worry of the battle raging just a short distance away, and then- Sam enters through the entryway. Tommy’s laughter dies out in his throat when he sees the helmet secured on his head, his stance rigid. His hand resting on the handle of his sword.

Sam never wears his helmet, not since the day Tommy asked him to take it off.

“Sam?” He asks, and the tone of it makes Ranboo and Tubbo pause, attention caught at the way the mood has dropped down. The worry that they’ve been trying to bat away has returned in new form, sour and sharp, and Sam’s curling frown gives no comfort to its prickling presence. 

“Your highness-” Sam begins, and past the thick fabric of the tent, Tommy hears muffled orders being called out, the stomp of people’s footsteps running past. He hears rising commotion, scattered yells of names, warnings- “We need to go.”

Tommy rises to his feet with Tubbo and Ranboo, and makes little resistance as Sam takes him by the arm, pulling him along. 

“What’s going on?” He asks, hearing more footsteps circling around them, voices coming higher, collecting close, becoming frantic. “What’s happening? Sam?” He demands, and Tubbo reaches out to take his hand, Tommy squeezing back on his fingers, glancing over his shoulder to find small relief for the way Tubbo’s other hand has taken hold of Ranboo’s. They’re all together, if nothing else. 

“We’re under attack.” Sam tells it bluntly, and when they step outside, there is a swarm of their soldiers waiting, their weapons in hand, their heads on a swivel as they watch the people run past, running for their lives, children crying within their parent’s arms. 

“What?” Ranboo chokes out, Tubbo squeezing tighter on Tommy’s hand. 

Tommy stares with wide eyes, breath stuck in his throat, rising dread forming in his blood. He steps forward, pulling his arm in Sam’s grip, pulling at Tubbo’s hold, straining his neck to try and see what everyone is running from. 

There, upon the distance, there’s- smoke. 

There’s screaming , and Tommy’s heart drops with all the air in his lungs as he sees the thick, dark gray clouds rise up, the enemy hands responsible for it carrying their bloody weapons high as they ride into their camp. 

“Sam-” Tommy takes a step back, hearing more cries, the noise seeming to pour into his ears now that he’s put his eyes to it. There is the scream of people running away, the yell of their soldiers fighting off the threat. It is distant, but it is here , and they are all within danger of it. 

“Sam!” Tommy yells in panic, looking at his friends, their faces caught in similar terror, concern now running deep for Niki and Eret being caught in the danger. Ranboo begins to tremble in place, breaths stuttering in his chest as his other hand rises to cling closer to Tubbo’s arm. Tubbo pulls him closer, and Tommy looks to Sam for help, watching him draw his sword from his side. 

“Protect your prince!” Sam commands, raising his voice to the soldiers nearby.  “We move to the northside until the king’s army returns!” He yells, loud and clear, and then he pulls Tommy to begin running, their group joining the movement of the people, trying to get away from where the threat approaches. For the most part, their protecting soldiers seem to be keeping the worst of it back, but the smoke is only rising higher, the fire catching, the screams growing more shrill. 

Tommy looks behind him with his feet stumbling across the dirt, and he wonders desperately why the enemy army would come after them , rather than fight the battle they must’ve been preparing so heavily for. Is this some attempt to weaken their number? To hurt their resolve? Did they push past the king, in some impossible stroke of luck? Gods, is the king- is he-?

Tommy’s attention slams back down to earth as he sees someone fall to their knees, a child shrieking with tears, no parent in sight.

In an instant, he digs his heels in and raises his hand out towards them, yanking his arm away from Sam’s grip. 

“Help them!” He cries, slipping his fingers out from Tubbo’s hand in his effort to stop their pace, to make the soldiers pause. Tubbo, in being let go, only makes another grab to keep hold on his sleeve, while Sam turns with a scowl of disapproval, the soldiers automatically coming to a halt for Tommy’s abrupt stop.

“Your highness, we have to-” Sam tries to begin, but the soldiers have already faltered in place, and Tommy will not let them continue without doing their proper duty. 

“I am your prince, and you will all do as I say!” Tommy yells out, stepping back from Sam’s attempt at taking his arm again, turning to the soldiers and trying to steady his voice into an unwavering command. “Under the name of your king, you will do as I say ! Help your people, now! Carry the wounded, protect our weak! Fucking move !”

At that last word, snarled with angry impatience, they all cease their hesitation. The soldiers keep their weapons in hand, but scatter a bit farther out now, taking care of the injured rushing past, helping those who have fallen, assisting those who are limping, stumbling from both panic and possible pain. 

Tommy rushes forward again with Sam lingering to his side, Tubbo and Ranboo staying as a pulling weight on the back of his sleeve. He moves not with the intention of fleeing, but with the purpose of watching everyone run, pointing out those who need help, ensuring that no one is being left to the dirt behind them. Tommy’s legs slow as Tubbo begins to pull heavy, and he looks over just as the boy begins to call out his name with panic, hand tearing away to try and catch Ranboo as he falls to the ground. 

Tommy throws himself to the floor with Ranboo within the second, shaking hands hovering out as Ranboo stays hunched down with his head to the dirt, fingers grasped tightly over the back of his own neck, like he’s trying to hold himself together. 

“What’s-” Tommy tries to ask, seeing Ranboo’s shoulders trembling together, his air coming out in wheezing breaths. “What’s wrong, what-?”

“We need to get away, he can’t- the smoke, the fire, he can’t -” Tubbo tries to speak, but he’s stumbling over all his words, constantly glancing back at the fighting nearby, the echoing clang of swords hitting together, soldiers fighting for their very lives. Tommy’s heart twists painfully in his chest, for Ranboo’s scars across his face have never seemed more prominent, and the way his fingers shake over his skin tell of a story weighing too heavy. 

“Sam, can you-?” Tommy asks, turning to his guard with desperate hope. Within a moment, it hardens into a protective determination. “Sam. Take him. We can’t linger here.”

Sam nods and kneels down with careful, yet stern hands, grabbing Ranboo by the arm, forcing him up on his feet. “Come here, kid, c’mon.” He says, and when Ranboo stumbles, he takes on more of his weight, and practically drags him as he begins moving forward. “We have to go, you can’t stay here.”

“Ranboo, please.” Tubbo insists alongside him, pushing at Ranboo’s back to get him to move, to stop freezing up like in all the worst nights where dreams would come to haunt him too close. Tommy takes his other arm to help Sam in carrying his weight, and together, they move with the rest of the people, trying to get to relative safety. 

Tommy can’t blame his friend for freezing up like this. The smell of smoke is growing all around them, and the chaos is loud enough to leave anyone disoriented. Tommy can hear the overlapping cries of all his people, can hear the screaming of warnings from soldiers still trying to keep back the danger. He hears a woman crying, looks and sees a soldier trying to pull her to safety as she reaches out in the direction of the smoke.  

“My mother-!” She wails, fighting hard with little care as to what threat will await her if she goes running back. “My mother! Gods, please, my mother is still in there!” She begs, with all the fear of someone who is not ready to say goodbye. 

Tommy-

His legs move without thinking. 

He leaves Ranboo’s side, leaves him to the protection of Sam and the comfort of Tubbo, and breaks out into a run, pushing past stray soldiers in his way, going out towards the worst of the fire.

“Your highness!” He hears Sam call out at his back, Tubbo calling beside him. “ Tommy !” 

He puts their voices aside, ignores them as he ignores the grabbing hands trying to keep him from going towards the fight, soldiers and civilians alike seeing him sprint past, realizing what he is doing- then reaching to him, fingers just barely missing the fabric of his sleeve. 

“Your highness!” They scream. “My prince! Stop!” People cry, and all Tommy can hear is the wailing sobs of the woman before, pleading for her mother to return to her. 

He goes on and on until he gets to the edge of the fire, arm over his nose at the smoke, his heart pounding heavily in his ears with the sound of fighting nearby, alongside the faint shouts for help. 

“Where are you?!” He calls, and there’s voices trying to reply, but the burn of the flames force him to step away, to circle around where he’s trying to go. “Who’s here!? Call out!”

A hand suddenly lands heavy on his shoulder, just as he spots someone curled up on the ground, blood soaked around their leg, arms kept over their head. Tommy turns to see who’s grabbed him, and finds himself looking at a soldier’s face, just one of quite a few who had run after him. He instantly commands for them to go with him, help tend to the man’s leg, and carry him away from here. They do so, alongside the request that he go with them, leave the threat of the fire. 

He refuses. 

He pulls away from their reaching hands, and they cannot grab onto him again and force him to stop, for he is their prince, they are bound to follow his word, he reminds them as such. They will help him as he searches for the injured, he orders. They will protect him as he tries to find those who are lost in this chaos. They cannot make him go, because if they lay a hand on him-- he will have them severely punished, under the name of the king.

In truth, the soldiers couldn’t care less if they lost a hand for taking their prince out from the danger. However, Tommy moves too quickly for them to get a proper grasp on him, and turns his back without any acknowledgment to rising argument. In him moving so quickly, with enemies nearby, with the injured they can’t ignore- The best course is to keep close. All one can do is follow. 

So they do.

Tommy moves around burning remains of tents with the empire’s soldiers keeping at his sides, at his heels, being his strength whenever they come across someone fallen, being his shield whenever they come across someone unkind. Tommy ducks away when enemy soldiers begin to appear, his own men fending them off, striking them down to the ground with little falter, since the consequence of failing could be the death of their young prince. Tommy steps over blood stained dirt while trying to keep his eyes to the smoldering ruins around him, and pretends like the tears forming are only from the smoke. He calls out for their injured, follows the voices of those crying for help. 

More enemy soldiers come. His guards give their fight, over and over, and Tommy moves away each time under their warning, but their numbers have slowly dwindled, in carrying the injured away, and soon enough, Tommy watches in horror as one of his is struck down, overwhelmed in the moment, not fast enough to avoid the sword to their neck. 

“No!” He screams, and even if the enemy falls with them, it will not bring back the life that was just lost. It will not reverse what is done. “No, wait-!”

“My prince, keep moving, we must keep moving!” The others yell, leaving the bodies where they are, Tommy tearing his attention away with trying to remind himself that he must focus on finding his people who are still breathing, but kept trapped by the fire, by enemy presence. He has to find someone’s mother. He has to save those he can. If doesn’t, if he can’t-? 

He can’t fathom not trying. He can’t just-

“My prince!” Someone yells at his back from afar, someone familiar, but his attention is caught away by the sight of a body writhing underneath a burning tarp, their arms pushing at the dirt in efforts to crawl to freedom. Tommy’s legs move, breaking into a run, needing to help them, to save them, to do something .

He reaches out without thinking, and his palms burn as he tries to yank the smoldering tarp away, crying out in both pain and in a call for help. The soldiers come close to pull the victim out, and strong hands grab him by the arms to yank him away, just a bit too late. Tommy chokes at the shock of the sting that blooms across his fingers, his skin shrieking against having touched the lasting embers. He’s pulled to turn and look the other away, and he stares wide and breathes hard at realizing that it’s Sam who has taken him by the wrists. 

“Are you a fool?! Do you plan to die out here with the injured?!” Sam scolds him harshly, now having found him at last, his face hovering near as he leans down to Tommy’s level, looking over the burns upon his hands. 

They’re too fresh to see the true damage of it, but it’s enough for Sam to decide that no matter the struggle, Tommy cannot stay. This alone should’ve never happened. The attack itself should’ve never occurred, but now it’s gone like this, and- oh, nevermind it. Sam stands straight and goes to tug at Tommy’s arm. 

“We are leaving! Now!”

“There are still others out here!” Tommy argues, pulling back, and Sam shakes him by the shoulders, jostling his focus. 

“And you will die with them if you do not leave! You cannot help them if you are dead!” Sam insists, Tommy’s face wincing in both pain and frustration. “The king will have my head if you stay-”

“The king will have your head if you do not let go of me- !” Tommy threatens, trying to squirm away, trying to run off with such a stubborn, stupid fight. “I have to go help-!”

“Stop it!” Sam snaps, grabbing the teenager by the arm, then by the torso, practically carrying him away, with little care to how Tommy screams in response, legs kicking wild, hands hitting at the metal of his armor.

“Put me down! Let me go! I’ll have you- You’ll-!”

“Tommy!” Someone calls out, not from the soldiers near. Tommy’s movements all falter, and Sam continues marching on. “Tommy!?” The voice calls again, and Tommy’s breath hitches in his throat.

“Stop- Stop, stop!” Tommy yells, now in a true panic. “Tubbo! It’s Tubbo!” He cries, recognizing the voice, and Sam stops in realization that in sending Ranboo and Tubbo off with others, it didn’t guarantee that one of them wouldn’t end up following. 

“Oh, for fuck’s sake.” Sam swears, Tubbo running out into view, Tommy let go from his grip so that he can be given to Tubbo’s outstretched arms. Sam lets them have the embrace, but then shoves them to start moving, unwilling to let them stay. “Both of you, move!” 

“You can’t be here!” Tommy argues to his friend, and Tubbo takes him by the sleeve and yanks him forward, his goals perfectly aligned with Sam’s. 

“And you fucking can?!”

“There are still people here! There’s still--” Tommy begins to argue, maybe ready to argue the whole way out, maybe considering pulling his arm back and trying again to find anyone who is left. It doesn’t matter.  At that moment, their soldiers cry out warning as a swarm of enemy fighters come rushing in. 

And everything goes a bit sideways after that. 

---

Against an unfamiliar fear rising up, and a more well known sort of fury burning high, Techno breathes in deep from where he sits upon the back of his steed. The red of his eyes gleam bright against the distant flames he rides towards, and there is nothing but the promise of slaughter behind them.

He draws his sword with a rallying cry, and his people yell out his title in desperate hope as they see him from afar, reaching their hands out to his figure like he is their savior coming from the very heavens. His army behind him roars like a deadly creature awakened, and the enemies in where they still stand raise their weapons as if they are not dead men walking the earth. 

Technoblade cuts down those fools standing in his way, and pushes his horse to run past the fire, weaving through the debris made around him. He is angry enough for the fact they’ve harmed his innocent, his loyal people following dutifully behind, but if harm has come to the prince, to the boy who smiled at him so hesitant before sending them off-

Damn it all, he will have heads rolling for this.

Screams are ringing out all around him, from both his soldiers and the doomed, but his ears pick up on the familiar faint voice of the prince’s friend, that brave-hearted boy who is as foolish as he is stubborn. Techno has little doubt he would be with the prince now, and for that, he follows the noise of his cry, his yelling words shrieking one name over all. 

“ Tommy !” Tubbo screams, feet stumbling under him as his hands pull onto the prince’s sleeve once more, trying with all his might to move him to a safer path. “Tommy, we need to go, we need to fucking go now !”

“Is everyone out?!” Is all that Tommy says in return, eyes wide with horror and worry as he looks to the surrounding fire, their ever-moving homes being reduced to ash. His head turns to look upon Sam, the man fending off an enemy soldier, staining his weapon ever further as he adds another body to the ground. The rest of their group has scattered, and Tommy can’t help the urge to try and return for them, to repay the way they helped him in his foolish mission. “Sam, do you see anyone!?”

“Your highness, we need to leave! We’ve done what we can!” Sam orders, hand reaching out uselessly as Tommy moves away from his grip, running further through the burning remains, wanting to- needing to do something. He can’t just go. He can’t just leave them. As another enemy comes near, Sam has no choice but to turn his attention to quickly killing them. Tubbo is the one who keeps upon Tommy’s heels. 

“If you are still here, call to me!” Tommy cries out, aching, stinging hands cupping around his mouth as he keeps moving forward, despite how Tubbo tries to wrench him back. He coughs from the smoke, but continues to yell, words going hoarse. “It is your prince! If you are trapped, please, call to me !”

“There’s no one left here!” Tubbo insists, trying to turn Tommy away, away from the bodies sitting within their sights, their people burning upon their deaths, away from the clear approach of more soldiers trying to find their way through. Enemy or not, Tubbo can’t even tell through the noise of it all. The fire here is thick, and they must flee. “Tommy, I beg of you, we need to go!” He pleads in his panic, arm hugging around Tommy’s torso with wild eyes looking every which way. 

“Your highness!” Sam calls again, rushing near and catching Tommy by the arm before he could dare run even further into the danger around them. Tommy turns his head with his face going pale, and Tubbo screams high, Sam following their gaze in an instant and narrowly avoiding the swing of an enemy sword coming down towards him. They are relentless now, maybe for the realization that the prince himself is nearby. Kill whoever they can reach, that was their order. Is the very prince of their enemy not a perfect target?

Sam fights back the enemy with both boys stepping behind him, Tommy quickly looking across the floor and spotting a body of a soldier nearby, an arrow lodged in their neck, their armor stained in blood. His heart aches for the fact he can’t tell if it’s his own. His brain works fast in the logic that regardless of what kingdom they serve, the soldier must be armed. 

He runs away from Tubbo’s hand, dropping to his knees and pulling the unused sword out from the dead soldier’s scabbard, ignoring the screaming pain of its handle pressing against his palms. The weight is heavier than what he is used to, but he remembers well how to put strength behind his swing, even if now, it's a touch harder to hold. 

He presses close to Tubbo with the weapon raised high, his gaze locked onto Sam as he puts down the enemy before them, only to find himself occupied with another yet again. They are persistent despite the flames, despite the threat of a sworn guard’s bloodlust, and Tommy watches as one slips by Sam-- his young hands shaking as he pushes Tubbo behind him, the too-heavy sword pointed out in front of him as their defense-

And then the enemy soldier is suddenly thrown to the ground, with a blade slicing into the side of their neck as a horse rides past behind them, the rider carrying their stained weapon high. 

The body falls with blood splattering out, and Tubbo cries with his hands clinging to Tommy’s shirt. The sword in Tommy’s hands slips out from his fingers as he watches the empire’s soldiers begin to arrive, swarming through the fire and circling close, weeding out the enemy fighters who had been trying so hard to get to Tommy first. 

“Your-” Sam grunts as he leaves another dead man to the floor. “Your Majesty!” He calls, Techno paying his word no mind, only turning his horse as he looks out to the camp being taken back. 

The king , Tommy thinks, seeing him come near, relief falling on him so quickly, he nearly collapses to the floor with it. The king has returned. He tries to grab at Tubbo behind him, but his grip is now suddenly so poor. He thinks there might be a few stray tears falling past his cheeks. He ignores it, for the king has returned . He stands tall, strong, and with him, their army has come to put all of this suffering to a stop. 

“Your Majesty-” Tommy tries to say, scorched hands rising up, Sam coming up beside him, breathing hard.

“There’s a protected perimeter set up by the north side, take the boy and head there now.” Techno orders Sam, and Tommy feels an instant need to protest as Tubbo takes him by the wrist and pulls them both towards Sam. He wants to insist that he stay and help, wants to argue that he can’t just run. He is not one for battle, he knows that so well, and he should flee, should turn to safety, but to turn his back as their people burn, to run off, even though he should do something, he should be-

“The prince comes with me.” The king says next, cutting through Tommy’s thoughts, his hand reaching out and catching the back of Tommy’s shirt, pulling him towards him, forcing him to climb up upon the back of the horse. Tommy clambers up with a small noise leaving his throat at the way his hands stings hard in his efforts, and the king’s grip seems to go even tighter at noting the way his fingers flinch. Tommy sits oddly sideways, his balance feeling precarious, one hand fisted lightly into the horse’s mane, and one clinging desperately to the saddle underneath him. 

“Sam-” Tommy leans forward to speak, and the king’s grip at his shirt turns into a sudden arm wrapped around his shoulder, holding him in place as if he was planning to throw himself to the floor and run off. “Sam!” He calls louder, not wanting him to leave without hearing what he has to say.

“Your highness?” Sam turns to go, but his attention stays pointed towards Tommy, hand hovering behind Tubbo’s back. Tubbo glances between them both, but ultimately looks to the floor, eyes wide in lasting fear. 

“Protect him with your life.” Tommy insists, voice cracked in his throat, and Tubbo lifts his head back up. “Get him to safety, get him back to Ranboo without any harm, do you hear me?” He gives as his order, and Sam nods with a grave weight, taking Tubbo firmly by the arm, pulling him away with little falter. 

Tommy wants to shout out more, wants to promise reassurances, or give some sort of apologies, but he feels as if his words are giving out, and his energy is falling away to bone-deep exhaustion, at last. He slumps against Techno’s hold, and says nothing for the way he makes it almost difficult to properly breathe, with such grip. At least he’s being held.

“Leave no survivors!” The king cries out over Tommy’s head, moving his horse forward, their army crying out in reply as they search for every last enemy on their territory. “Avenge our dead and salvage what you can!” He snarls, and Tommy wonders if he will take that sword held loosely in hand and begin his revenge here before them. Cutting down every enemy on their path, with all the anger that sits within his words. 

But instead of joining the hunt, he sets the horse into a run, Tommy hitting against the front of Techno’s armor, fumbling, numb hands reaching out to cling to the edges of his chest plate. The king holds him all the more firmer with his arm shifting over his back, and urges the horse to sprint past the ruins of everything, a beeline made towards the safe area carved out to the north side. 

He’s leaving the fight to go tend to Tommy. He’s forced to shift his focus- because Tommy couldn’t stop running, wouldn’t make the smart choice that would keep him unhurt. Shame curls deep in Tommy’s stomach, overpowering any comfort that might’ve come for the fact he still managed to pull lives out from the fire. 

“Your Majesty-” He tries to speak, smoke burning his eyes, waning adrenaline leaving him weak. He clings closer to Technoblade in fear of slipping away and falling to the smoldering ground, and Technoblade’s hand closes tight over his shoulder. 

“Don’t.” He tells Tommy, stern and furious in every letter of the statement. 

Tommy lowers his head with his eyes screwed shut. He’s really fucked it up now, hasn’t he? He should’ve listened to Sam at his first warning. Should’ve ran along, should’ve stayed with Ranboo and Tubbo. But his legs moved without thinking. All he could hear in that moment were those cries. It was stupid, it was foolish, he knows the king and Sam and Tubbo and everyone around him will say as such, but in that moment, he couldn’t- 

He just kept hearing the screaming cries. 

He had to do something, for those cries are his to soothe. He needed to do something.  

All he can hear now is his own faint, quick breaths, the horse’s hooves thumping underneath them, the echoing shouts of enemies being struck down. He presses his forehead to the king’s armor, uncaring of how the metal of it sits uncomfortably to his head. Here, even in such a tight hold, such a poor seat, such jostling movement, it’s nearly peaceful. Nearly soothing. 

At least it’s now out of his hands. There is nothing more for him to do. Again, the king takes the responsibility from his palms, and again, Tommy can’t do anything but listen. There is comfort in helplessness. Now, he can’t make any mistakes even if he wanted to. 

They come to a slow stop soon enough. Tommy opens his eyes, not sure when he closed them, and hears the worried voices of people coming near.

“My king!”

“Oh, the prince-”

“Your Majesty, your boy-!”

Techno’s hands shift and begin to pull him away, Tommy flailing slightly as he’s taken off the saddle of the horse, other hands reaching out to take him and help him to the ground. He turns his head and sees the worried faces of his people, looking down at him with concern, looking away from the king in knowing dread. Are you alright? Are you ok? Are you scared? They all ask him, overlapping questions. 

Tommy can’t help but just blink in silence, raising his palms up like a show of guilt. The stinging pain comes in waves, and whatever numbness came from the height of danger before, its fading quickly. It’s actually really starting to hurt. 

“ Enough .” The king quiets the people down, and he waves a hand out. “Take him inside. Treat his injuries. Now.” He orders them, voice cold and hard. All bow their heads and others pull him away, Tommy stumbling as their fretting touches hover around him, guiding him along towards one of their tents that have been quickly fashioned into a medical tent. 

“Your majesty-” Tommy tries to call over his shoulder, but the king is already moving away, returning to the hunt, more important things to do, no doubt. “I-” His mouth falls open, head tilting forward in some need to say something. What is there to say? The chance to apologize for his impulsive recklessness has passed. The king will carry the anger for Tommy into battle, there’s no doubt about it. 

“Come, my prince, please.” Someone beckons him along, pulling ever gently on his arm. “We have to wrap your hands.” 

“The king-” Tommy tries to say, lifting his head. The people must think he has worry in his expression. True, he is worried. But it is more for his own fate than the king’s, this time around. “He-”

“He will kill all those who have done this. He will come back to us in victory. But we must tend to the wounded, in his absence.” They tell him, taking him along. “Please, let us look over your hands.” 

“I want-” Tommy tries to speak. It feels stuck in his throat. “My friends.” His breath hitches in his throat. “Tubbo, Ranboo, I want- I need my friends. My guard- Sam, where’s Sam?” Tommy asks, tears coming too quickly. It’s all too much. 

He hears the commotion of people running off to go search for them, to bring Sam to him, but he knows they won’t find him. He’s still making his way here, along with Tubbo. Ranboo is likely with his family, or at least somewhere with people watching over him. Tommy’s best bet is to try and find him first. To do that, though, he’ll need to get up. He can’t recall when he sat down, but here he is, sitting upon a cot of some sort, so many voices floating over his head. 

He must get up. 

He blinks down at his hands, instead, looks at the way his skin has gone red and angry looking. Even his own palms are upset with him, it seems. He wants to laugh at that funny thought. He thinks he might be crying again, tears welling up in his eyes, but not quite falling. 

He blinks quietly again at the sight of someone putting some sort of salve to his fingers, the burn lessening down somewhat as it sits cool on his skin. He watches bandages be pulled over his fingers. He hears his name being called. 

“Tommy?” He hears. “Tommy?”

He turns his head, and finds a soldier standing beside him. Their helmet is off, held in their hands, brown hair pulled back into a short ponytail, bangs hanging loose. They… seem familiar. Tommy has to stare for a second to find the name. 

“Your highness, I apologize, I just-” The soldier bows their head, seeming hesitant.

“Eret?” Tommy asks, the name croaked out from his lips. 

Eret pauses in their words, but nods in reply. And in that, their face comes immediately as a comfort, as someone known. Not just a person Tommy has to rule over, but someone who knows him, even if just through a friend. 

Tommy leans forward, hands lifted to his chest. “Are you- Niki, Ranboo, have you seen them-?”

“They’re together. They’re alright.” Eret reassures, palm held up. They avert their gaze with a grimacing look. “Ranboo is- shaken, but he’s alright.” They falter, fear flickering through their expression for a second. “I’m sorry, your highness-- I have to ask-- Tubbo-?”

“He’s with my guard. Sam.” Tommy reassures quickly, wanting to prevent Eret’s needless worry. “He went to go look for me, earlier. They’re- on their way back.”

Eret sighs, but it's nothing but relief, nothing but fond. “Thank you.” They say, and Tommy reels back a little for the gratitude. Eret bows their head, then steps a little closer. “Do… you need anything, as of now?” They ask, with a pointed look to Tommy’s hands. Tommy looks to his fingers, wondering for how long that might affect some things. He shrugs off the concern given. 

“I’m alright.” Tommy huffs, looking around the tent, seeing the company kept in all the beds around him. “Do you know how many we have injured? How many…” How many dead, he wants to ask, but it’s too soon to tell, surely. The attack has only just ended. His heart still struggles in easing within his chest. 

“I can’t say, your highness. It’s all still a bit of a mess right now.” Eret says, looking towards the people coming in and out of the tent. It’s a constant flow of noise, hands passing supplies all around, conversations twisting up around so many ears. 

The prince looks weary against it all. He keeps staring at his hands, as if still processing the fact there are wounds underneath the bandages.  

“You should try and rest.” Eret can’t help but suggest, stepping closer with an ache of concern, thinking vividly of Tubbo, of Ranboo, in seeing Tommy sit here alone. 

“I’m not tired.” Tommy protests, hands trying to curl into fists, flinching open with a twitching frown to his face. 

“I only mean you should lay down. Take a moment to recover?” Eret insists. “I can stand watch, while you do. If anyone needs you, I’ll catch your attention.” 

Tommy falters at the offer, and after a moment of thought, nods. It’s not as if he can go assist with the medics, not with his hands like this. He should stand, should search for Ranboo, wait outside for Tubbo, but he doesn’t feel like he’ll even make it to the door. He feels slowed, weighed down in every limb. His hands hurt. Everything is so loud.

He lies down, resting his head upon the pillow. He tells himself it’ll be just a few minutes. Tubbo will be calling for him any second now, surely. Maybe Ranboo will want to see him, in a bit. Maybe the king will soon return, and Tommy will have to drag himself away to face that specific consequence. Later. In a few minutes. 

A few minutes…

He wakes up to Sam shaking him on the shoulder. 

He can’t be sure when he even drifted off, but the sleep was anything but restful, he’s sure of that. His eyes hurt. His legs hurt. His hands ache, most of all. He pushes himself onto his elbows and turns his head up towards Sam, finding Eret gone, finding the tent to now be rather calmer, less people coming in and out. Most are asleep, in where they lay. At least Tommy wasn’t the odd one out. 

“Sam?” He mumbles, rubbing at his face with the back of his knuckles, wincing a little for his bandages pulling at his fingers. He’s hit with the realization that his best friend was with his guard, last he saw him. He sits up a little straighter, panic shooting through his veins as he looks around. “Is Tubbo-?”

“He’s alright.” Sam reassures, holding a hand out. Tommy deflates a little, looking towards him with a frown. “He’s with Ranboo right now. Him and the others will meet us there.”

Tommy squints blearily up at Sam, trying to move towards the edge of the bed, his feet dragging heavy on the bedding. “Meet us where?”

“Do you think you have the strength to walk?” Sam asks instead of answering his question. He steps close, hands reaching out, hovering by Tommy’s arm. “I can help you up, if need be.”

“Meet us where ?” Tommy only persists, pushing off the help, putting his feet to the floor, but not yet standing. “Where are we going?”

Sam glances towards the doorway with a knowing look. His voice is even and calm. “The kingdom is ours.” He says.

Tommy’s last bits of drowsiness fade off within his slow surprise. How long was he out, for the kingdom to be taken so quickly? Did they not just arrive at the gates? Did he not just send the king off with well wishes, expecting the battle to drag on? Has he been in a small coma?

“We’re heading to the castle.” Sam says, leaning down, hand held out again. “You’ll be safer within a guarded room. And you will rest better there, as well.”

Tommy nods slow with little argument to be made, mind still processing what he’s been told. He scoots off the edge of the bed, standing on unsteady legs, letting Sam keep a light grip to his arm, for balance, if nothing else. 

“Where’s Tubbo and Ranboo?” Tommy can’t help but ask again. That is his highest concern, despite everything else. 

“With their family.” Sam replies, helping Tommy towards the entryway, voice kept low. “They said they would meet with you within the castle.” 

“Right.” Tommy breathes deep and strongly swallows back a rising disappointment. He cannot fault them for wanting to stay with their family right now, after such an harrowing event. He can’t be so greedy that he’d pull them away from seeking comfort from their loved ones. It’s not as if he’s in any danger, now-- or in desperate need of their presence. 

He’s the prince. He’s fine on his own. 

He must be strong, like the king. 

“Alright.” Tommy repeats, feeling the cool air on his face as they step outside, a soft wind having picked up. “Am I going on my horse?” He questions Sam. 

“We have the carriage set up.”

Tommy rephrases his words. “I want my horse. Go find Clementine.” 

Sam opens his mouth like he means to argue, but for whatever reason, he decides against it. He nods to Tommy’s command, and sends someone to go get Clementine, while also walking with him to head further away from the medical tent. It’s about sunset now, the sky drifting away from bright blue, settling into a slow-growing orange. Tommy must’ve slept for hours , upon that cot. Funnily, enough, it feels like he was only closing his eyes for a few seconds. He wishes he felt rested, in return for such time wasted. 

Regardless, he goes along with the camp, their people packing up and heading within the kingdom walls, those who are still too injured having to stay until others can come to retrieve them. It’s a scattered, recovering sort of movement, and Tommy doesn’t care for it as he moves along, a group of soldiers around him, Sam leading Clem forward, since Tommy’s hands aren’t all that well enough to pull at the reins. They go towards the kingdom gates, the path to it cleanly carved out, bodies littered around the stone walls. Tommy tries to not look too closely at it. If he does, he will be reminded of his own people behind his back, the lost souls that couldn’t yell loud enough to reach his ears. 

The streets-- are oddly quiet, when Tommy goes through them. 

There are lingering people around, some stray faces standing to the side, heads kept low, but for the most part it’s- rather empty, for a kingdom road. It’s eerily empty, for a kingdom at all. Even the small towns they’ve marched through would have more company than this. It’s as if everyone has run away and hid. Tommy knows, in the back of his mind, what they must’ve been running from. Who they were running from.

 Here, in the moment, though, in the weight of his exhaustion, his aching palms distracting him, he forgets. He only keeps his attention to what little signs of people he can see, brows furrowed tightly in their reactions. Some curious eyes look out from their windows and their doors as he goes past, his group of soldiers making his presence known. In each gaze he meets, he sees something confused, sees something scared. 

He sits upon his horse, unaware that their thoughts are this:

This is the boy that the king caused cruel carnage for. Look at his eyes, fearful, bright. Look at the flowers within his steed’s braids, blooming petals, like the yellow crown from the stories told. Look at his hands, bandaged tight, said to have been hurt in the false king’s attack sent down.

Look at this innocent youth, so contrasting to the monster that has just torn through their walls. Look at what this now implies, in such a child being kept under that monster’s wing. In the title that is woven into the way the soldiers crowd protectively near, in the way the king’s anger found no end, in the moment he found out the injured included his prince-

It is obvious to all. A weakness, an opening, a weight to the king’s heart has been made.

And there is a terrible consequence for trying to go after him.

---

The castle is similarly quiet as the roads that took them there. It’s not as off-putting, though, for there is a heavy presence of soldiers standing guard around every corner, and in such company, Tommy finds familiarity, finds comfort. They pose an intimidating image, in their armor, their gazes hard behind their helmets, their weapons bloody within their hands, but even with such an appearance, Tommy knows them. They are his people.

He is safe, with them so near, and he smiles gratefully when he passes their bowed heads, their distant respect so quiet, but well known. 

Sam helps him down from Clementine’s saddle and leads him further inside, not through the main doors of the castle, strangely enough. They go through the halls in a strange, winding path, avoiding some hallways here and there, Tommy missing the smears of red from bodies being hastily carried out, tossed away. There’s an odd smell within the air, something like iron,  a looming dread over all their heads, like a hammer about to fall. 

Tommy stops in where he walks, head turning over his shoulder, Sam slowing down and calling for him to continue with him. There is a bed waiting, along with a fire kept warm, he says, and Tommy would greatly appreciate such comforts, after this hellish day, but…

His legs move to take him a different way, Sam calling him again. Tommy steps down a dimly lit hallway, soldiers lined all along the walls, lowering their heads to him as he moves past. 

“Your highness.” Sam insists, but he doesn’t yell, funnily enough. In fact, his voice lowers, like he doesn’t wish to have his words echo too loudly. “Your highness, please stop. Where are you going?”

Tommy can’t be sure, but all signs point to the room ahead being important. Rest is vital, and he would do well to try and sleep to give his injuries some reprieve, but what good is chasing after sleep when he knows that worries will come to keep him awake? What good is prolonging the inevitable, the confrontation needing to be had? That’s how he justifies his quick pace towards the throne room, his feet almost going into a run. 

He wants to see the king. He’s in there, isn’t he? He tells himself he’s only going because he wants to hear about the results of the battle he must’ve missed. He tells himself it’s because he wants to discuss further actions with the king, he wants to have a report on the state of their people. He is just trying to carry out some sense of duty. Face his consequence from earlier actions. This is not selfish. This is not desperate hope, impatient worry writhing under his skin as the soldiers push open the door at his nod. 

Sam has fallen silent behind him. Tommy makes three small steps forward, and copies that same silence in the sight before him. 

He’s always known that the king is a daunting sort of man. A warrior made from the blood of thousands, it is said. The king of blood, he’s been named. The god of blood, even, for all the men he’s slain, for all the battles he’s won, for all the enemies he’s slaughtered in his ruthless victory. He’s beheaded kings. Burnt traitors. Locked assassins within the deepest cells and left them to rot. Tommy’s known such rumors. He’s heard such stories, he’s kept those facts, but-

When has he ever actually seen it?

At this moment, the king looks terrifying. He looks like a monster, born from Tommy’s worst nightmares, blood staining his armor, his face, his hair falling from the neat braid it was in before. Gone is that man who grinned at him over dinner with his light, teasing remarks, such amused expressions. There is only a figure standing within a pool of fresh blood, sword in hand, the false king knelt down on the ground, his hands- broken. Cut apart, nearly severed from the wrist. Damaged beyond repair, beyond hope. Almost like a mocking resemblance to the way Tommy’s hands sit bandaged right now. 

“His highness, the crown prince.” A guard announces Tommy’s presence, beside the creak of the door pushing fully open. The king turns his head, a dangerous, deadly look in his eyes, and Tommy’s breath hitches hard in his lungs out of fear. 

It echoes loud enough to be heard.

Chapter Text

There’s blood on the floor. 

Tommy’s eyes drag down across the smeared pattern of it, splattered across the few steps leading to the throne, splattered across the ground underneath the false king. 

There’s an awful lot of blood. 

It seems very fresh from where it sits under the king’s boots, and it glints against the dim light of the room as Tommy makes a sliding step backwards, all instincts telling him to turn his back and run. He can smell the iron of it. There is nothing good to find here. This is only the ending kill of a hunt. No need to witness it.

Still, he finds himself stuck in place, following the traces of red across the ground until he’s staring at his own feet, finding spots of blood under him, as well. He wonders if it's stuck to the bottom of his shoes. Maybe Tubbo will have to scrub it out later. 

“What are you doing here?” The king asks. 

Tommy’s head lifts back up, his body moving away once more in a small, shuffling step. 

Something in him screams to hide, so that no harm will come to him. It tells him to run until he can barely breathe. All the warnings in his head hiss whispers of a threat, and it insists for him to get away. 

He stays frozen, instead. Carefully, slowly, he blinks up towards the king’s expectant look, the man’s eyes narrowed in something stern, but the anger now- gone. 

He seems so much more familiar now. 

He seems…

Was Tommy only letting fear get the best of him? He swears he saw something so much worse in the king’s expression just a moment ago. Akin to a monster, searching for prey to tear apart. 

Ruthless, merciless eyes. 

The king still holds his weapon now. Still stands over the enemy ruler, and yet, there is something different upon him as he looks on towards Tommy. There is something calm. Some signal of safety, in his towering stature. This is the king, yes. The great sword of their empire. Their finest protector.

Still, Tommy can’t quite forget the sight from just moments before. Can’t help but feel as if that sword was pointed to his heart, if even for a moment. 

“Your highness.” The king speaks again, and Tommy is unable to hold back the way he flinches at the words. He forces himself to avoid looking at the false king, at that poor, bloodied man. He forces himself to look away from the ground. 

This kingdom’s banners are green. They hang on the walls, deep green, with lovely designs woven in. Old unneeded colors, now. They will be replaced with red in due time, just like Tommy’s own, back within his old castle. They will be discarded and forgotten, only ever shown in the old history books, for an answer to the question of what was here before.

A low sigh echoes out. Tommy hears footsteps slowly come near, and he can imagine quite vividly the red footprints that would be left behind. 

His heart hammers hard within his chest as he sees the king’s figure come close out of the corner of his eye, and he’s kept with the urge to flee once more, to seek safety elsewhere, somewhere where he won’t be seen, won’t be caught. 

He shifts his weight in his feet, and stays. 

“Why are you here?” The king asks again, and it is much softer, now that he’s not across the room. There’s no hint of a threat in his voice, nothing different from the same man who always indulged his questions at dinner. Who always held back his swings at training. Who gave such kind, smiling patience against Tommy’s rambling word…

Still, Tommy’s hands want to shake. He keeps his eyes pointed away. 

“You should be resting.” The king insists, not as stern as it could be. So oddly mismatched from the scene they are standing in. 

Resting. Right. Tommy is exhausted, from all the events of today, his hands sore and stinging. However, he doubts he’d be able to rest easy, even if he were given a comfortable bed. His heart pulls so tight from within his chest, he worries that it’ll somehow tear its way out, join the evidence of death at their boots. He wants to wrap his arms around himself and kneel down to the floor, press his face into the space of his knees and stay curled up like that until the fear is gone, until he feels brave again. 

He dares to make a small peek towards the king’s face, and sees a glimpse of blood smeared on his cheek. 

His throat goes tight for two clashing reasons. One, for the ringing bell of a threat, of danger. And two-

“Are you-” Tommy begins to whisper, the words coming up before he can even think it through, the words pushing their way up past his lips. He averts his eyes further. Looks to the banners. “...Are you ok?” 

In looking away, Tommy misses how the king stares wide in response to such a question. 

A beat of silence drags on, and Tommy asks again, stronger concern washing over his voice.

“Are you alright?” He asks, turning his eyes to Techno proper, his head trying to tilt away as if he regrets doing so. A grimacing look settles into his features, and Techno raises his chin, speaking low. 

“I can assure you, none of the blood is mine.” 

Tommy lets out a breath. He raises his hands together, wanting to fidget, unable to try, with the stinging reminders that he should keep his fingers still, his burns still so fresh. “That’s- that’s good.” He says, now barely a whisper, voice kept too far in his throat. “I’m- relieved.” It sounds a lie, the way he chokes it out. 

The king’s free hand raises up to reach out towards Tommy, towards his bandaged hands kept in front of him. Tommy moves away, jerking backwards like the king’s raised a hand to strike him, instead. He presses his stinging fingers to his own beating chest, as if trying to keep his heart safe from attack. His breathing falters with wide eyes put directly on Techno’s bloodied hand. 

That hand falters midair for a second. Then it drops. 

Techno holds his sword tighter in his grip, and Tommy almost takes another step away at the weight of the glare coming over his head. He wonders if now is the start of the king scolding him, yelling at him for his irresponsible, stupid actions of today, running into danger, running into the fire. He tries to tell himself he’s ready for it. He tries to brace himself for the worst. He looks to the banners and closes his eyes and waits for the sharp, cruel stab of disappointment, reasoning that at the very least, the king will surely not raise his sword to him. 

Surely. 

Surely?

No such thing happens. The king turns his anger away. Tommy blinks his eyes open and looks at the king’s back with surprise as the man strides away from Tommy, towards the false king, sword held tight like a promised threat. 

“Go rest for the night.” His voice echoes out, a clear order meant only for Tommy’s ears. “I have certain matters to attend to.” He says, hissing the word with such seething rage, the old king lowering his head with a trembling sob. 

He’s going to kill him. 

Tommy knows that. That’s what the king does to all the false rulers, that’s what he was told what was going to happen, that is to be expected. 

That man there will be killed. Punished, for being unfit to rule, for being in the way. For losing.  

He should be punished, something in Tommy murmurs, with the same seething anger as the king. He should be killed with little care. Because if his memory is right, that bloodied man, that man, he was the one who-

“Did he send the attack?” Tommy forces the question out, stepping forward with his fear put out of place, nudged aside by a warm anger trying to rise up. It crawls out from the space behind his heart, flickers through his blood, stinging like the burns set into his fingers. 

The fear slips away, and he looks at a puddle of blood, broken hands shaking above it. 

“Was he- Did he send the order?” Tommy asks louder, voice wavering. He blinks hard, teeth gritting together. “Did- did he send his soldiers towards us?”

Technoblade stands looming over the old king’s figure, sword held out to block the man’s sight of Tommy across the hall. “He did.” He answers, almost like the final confirmation call to the executioner. So absolute. 

Tommy feels his heart beat heavy in his chest, and it is not from a suffocating terror. Not from a recent one, at least. But that smell of smoke is still so vivid, and those screams in the fire are still so loud-

“Why?!” Tommy cries out. He walks closer, slow step by slow step, stinging hands curling tight, the pain serving as a reminder and a steadying thing to focus on. “You- you had a whole army that you should’ve focused your soldiers on, you had a fight already at your kingdom doors! Why would you attack a camp of civilians? Of- of families?”

The false king turns his head to look over Techno’s sword, his expression pained, blood heavy over one closed eye. “Mercy, my prince.” The man croaks out in weak words. Tommy shakes, and it is not due to terror. Not at all. “Have mercy upon me.”

“Your soldiers didn’t have mercy upon mine.” Tommy spits back, the anger festering underneath his bones, carving through his flesh. “Tell me why you would make such a stupid and cruel choice. Tell me. Why did you send them towards us?” The end of his question rings like a plea, and he’s not sure what he hopes to hear. “Why would you-?” He cuts himself off, his breaths faltering. 

Techno glances towards Tommy’s way, a hint of near worry passing over his face. The old king sees it. Sees the implication, and raises a hand, as if to beg further to Tommy’s kind nature, so evident, so powerful that perhaps, it could even sway the monster before him. 

(Just a moment before, this child looked upon the blood-stained conqueror king, and then asked if he was ok. Such stubborn care offers hope to even the most doomed.)

“Tell me!” Tommy screams, no kindness given, only desperate frustration on the edge of tears. Techno’s hand grabs onto the back of the false king’s hair, too quick to even try and dodge away, and he pulls the man up, ignoring the pained groan and the way his useless, torn hands try to get him to let go. 

“I do believe he asked you a question.” The king hisses out, lifting the man off the ground with just one arm. “Answer it.”

“To weaken you.” The false king chokes out, legs kicking, tips of his feet skidding across the ground. “To distract you!” He cries. “To hurt you, at your weakest point!” It’s clear now, the attack was aimed well. It was aimed perfectly. 

“Yes, you did hurt them.” Tommy confirms, a vulnerable grief crossing over his eyes. It’s quickly replaced with something furious, teeth gritting together, almost like a baring of fangs. The false king looks on in horror as the chances of grasping that kind care falls farther and farther from reach, a sudden vision of his fate shown within this child’s cruel expression. “But now all you’ve done is piss me off.” 

“Grant me mercy!” The old man screams, arm reaching out, Tommy stepping away, lip curling in disgust. “Please! Give me mercy!”

“You-” Tommy scoffs, the breath leaving his throat without intent. He shakes his head, taking another step back. “You ask mercy from me? After you-?” Tommy stumbles over his words, sheer disbelief. “I’m not the one holding the sword!” He yells, almost like a signal for that sword to make its mark. 

“I beg you-” The man begins, willing to defend his life until his last pathetic breath. He’s swiftly cut off in the impact of hitting the ground, Techno letting go of him. His blade presses to the man’s cheek the instant he tries raising his head. 

“Stop talking.” Techno commands, and all the words dry up within the old man’s throat. “Say another word, and I’ll have your tongue removed.” 

Tommy sucks in a sharp breath at such a steady-made threat, and to his luck, the sound of it is mostly covered in Techno sliding his sword back into its place on his hip, the handle clicking into place. Confusion hovers over him for a moment, not understanding what Techno’s doing, but then he watches as Techno turns away and begins to make his way towards him, and he realizes now that the king is shifting focus. Tommy finds dread rising through his throat for the consequence for his screaming words, and he lowers his head in an immediate regret, all anger dissolved away. 

“Your Majesty, I’m sorry.” He tries to say, shoulders lifting beside his ears as Techno stops before him. “I just-”

“Don’t apologize.” Techno cuts him off, almost annoyed. 

“I-” Tommy almost automatically apologizes for apologizing. He stops himself just barely. He tries to compose himself. “Your Majesty?” He hesitantly looks to the king, the crying fear of a threat climbing up again. Surely he’s pushed his patience too far. Surely now, he’ll be told off for how he acted so foolishly within the attack. Surely…

The king stares down upon him with those bright red eyes, narrowed together with a frown. 

“Go, and rest.” He insists. It’s not nearly as stern as it should be. In fact, it’s almost like a plea.

Tommy pauses in place, all thoughts quiet for a second. He blinks in sheer bewilderment, entirely underwhelmed. “...What?”

“Your injuries should be looked over. You’re still covered in ash.” Tommy glances down at his outfit, and finds it to be true. He’s dirty and stained, and although it’s not terribly noticeable in the dim light, it’s still such a reminder of everything today. “Your guard was supposed to lead you to your room.” Techno says, a small question in the way it's said. 

“But I knew you were here.” Tommy replies without thinking. He gets a questioning tilt of the head, and he goes on. “The throne hall is the first place you went to when you took my kingdom. And with all the soldiers standing guard nearby, I figured…” Tommy trails off, keeping his eyes to the side. He ends up staring at the ground. At the still-fresh blood. “What will you do with him?” He asks. 

Techno huffs, resting a hand on the handle of his sword. A long moment passes like he’s considering answering that. He does. “Gather information, firstly. Then he’ll be set for execution as soon as the sun rises. It’ll be dealt with rather quickly.” 

“That… seems like a rush.” Tommy mutters, mostly to himself.

“I’d rather not let him keep having such wasteful breaths.” Techno replies, looking over his shoulder, the man still curled up on the ground, wallowing in his lost hope. “And it's better to get things sorted out as soon as possible, rather than drag it out.”

“Yes. Right, I know.” Tommy nods. “That just- seems like a short amount of time to get what is needed from him.”

“It will be a busy night.” Techno says simply, very unbothered by the work that lays ahead of him. Tommy frowns slightly, brows furrowing together. 

“Will you be alright?” He asks, glancing at Techno's face again, not for long, never for long, not with him looking like this, but it is precisely because of him looking like this that Tommy asks such a question. 

Techno raises his brows in question. He can’t quite grasp what that’s meant to mean. “My prince?” He asks. “I’m not injured. The blood really isn’t mine.” 

“Well, no, but- You- Surely, you’re exhausted?” Tommy explains, wondering how much they must’ve fought to get those kingdom doors open so quickly, to get into the castle within a matter of hours. “You could do with a change of clothes, too.” He says plainly, Techno making a considerate expression at that. 

“Well, the mess is no matter to me. I’ll switch out my armor later, after…” He hesitates on saying the word interrogation, with what plain implication comes behind such a word. “After some meetings.” He says instead. That’s a little more vague.

“We won’t have dinner?” Tommy asks.

“There’s…food prepared in your room?” Techno says slowly, as if thrown off by the fact Tommy was expecting dinner with him at all. Tommy looks up at him with a faint disappointment, and Techno can’t help but let a small smile tug at the side of his lip. He leans down towards him, head almost bowed. “Once this is all dealt with, we’ll go witness that dining hall properly. But for now, go eat with your friends. Rest. And I’ll see if I can get something for your hands.” He looks closer towards those bandages now, wanting to see just how deep the burns go, just so he can know how much fire will be needed, soon enough. 

“I’m alright.” Tommy moves his arms behind him, clasping his fingers together at his back. “It’s only-” He cuts off in feeling over his hand, in realizing that there’s something missing beside his bandages. “Oh.” He breathes out, eyes going wide. 

Techno’s look sharpens into something of concern. Tommy gives no notice to it, instead now lifting his palms before him and looking over his hands with a new focus, fresh terror rippling across his skin, so much more painful than before. 

“My ring.” He chokes out. His hands shake in front of him, his words gasping. “My- It must be back at the camp- or with someone, they must’ve taken it off when they were wrapping my hands-” He looks up, looks away. “It’s- Oh, god, I have to- I need to go back!”

“Your highness-” Techno tries to say, and Tommy pays him no mind, turning away to run out the door, to run all the way outside the kingdom walls, if he must, just to get to that very same tent from before, just so he can search through every corner of the place.

The king reaches forward and grabs him by the arm, stopping him before he can go too far. Tommy tries to tug away once, and then realizes that’s going absolutely nowhere with the king’s grip not even budging. He turns his attention back to Techno, hand grasping onto the armor of his arm. 

“Your majesty, it’s-” He begins, meaning to argue the importance of finding that ring, the weight behind it. He can’t just leave it behind. He can’t just leave it-

“I’ll send men.” Techno interrupts. Tommy breathes, searches for honestly within Techno’s eyes, and finds it true. Finds his shoulders falling against the stark relief of knowing he won’t be made to abandon a single lost ring. His father’s last ring. “They’ll search every inch of the place. I’ll have it returned.” 

“I-” Tommy glances at the door. He lets his hand fall from Techno’s arm. “I need it back.” He insists, almost making another step away. Techno’s grip holds. “It’s mine.” 

“I know.” Techno nods, hand letting go, a sure promise in his words. “And you’ll have it.” The calm confidence of his tone is easy enough to believe, but it doesn’t entirely ease the panic in Tommy’s chest, his eyes still burning with some frantic urge to scream and cry, as if that’ll speed things along and help at all. As if that’ll make anything better. 

He blinks down at the ground with thin pressed lips. Technoblade takes in the weepy look on his frowning face, and makes a passing glance at the false king. 

He sighs ever so quietly. 

Then he pushes Tommy along towards the door. 

“C’mon.” He says, rather quiet, Tommy taking a second to realize that he’s being led out to the door. “Let’s get you to your room in the meantime.” 

Tommy goes along, but gives a clear look towards the man behind them. “But- the old king?” He questions.

“I’ll return to that later.” Techno waves a hand, talking as if he’s leaving behind a rather tedious chore. “Let me walk through my new halls.” He insists, calling a guard over for a moment at the door so as to have the old king moved into a cell, to have his injuries somewhat tended to so that he won’t spontaneously die on them. 

Tommy turns away from the murmuring voice of Techno giving his orders and puts his focus to the hallway before them, the quiet hope of before still giving whispers in his head, a little muted against the vivid memory of bloodstains sitting fresh in his mind. 

He tries to distract himself. He looks to each and every one of the guards posted along the wall, and regards them with a closer focus than he did before. They stand like statues, their armor dark and stained with browning red, the blood almost hard to catch against the shadows around them. He feels like he should be put off by them. Intimidated. All he can think of is how they carried the flowers back in his kingdom, how they provided such quiet, constant company. 

They’re his. There’s no point in being scared of them.

“...It’s rather dark.” Tommy speaks low, feeling as if he’s in the lair of some terrible beast, and he should be careful to not wake it up. His voice echoes ever so gently.

“Hm?” Techno walks up behind him, a hand nudging at the back of his shoulder, urging him into a walk. 

“The halls.” Tommy clarifies, trying to let Techno walk ahead of him to lead the way. For some reason, Techno just keeps his pace. They move slowly, practically a stroll. “Your halls are rather dark.” Tommy repeats, and he hates the way his voice wavers at the end of the sentence. He bites his tongue.

“We’ll have to have more lanterns set up.” Techno says, lifting his chin to the ceilings, to the torches lit up, slowly burning out. “Maybe some more decor, as well. For a place of royalty, it’s honestly lacking. I’ll have to replace the banners, or just add more…”

“You can’t hang too many, though. It’ll get repetitive.” Tommy says, thinking of how it could look. So much red throughout all the hallways…

“What would you suggest, then?” Techno asks, looking down towards Tommy. Tommy stares ahead for a moment in thought. He tries to imagine the light of the sun changing the walls into something warm. 

“Paintings, maybe?” He murmurs. “I remember there were these giant ones in the library when I was growing up. I used to stare at them for ages.” Used to count the number of leaves on a painted tree rather than listen to his geography lessons, as well. His favorite one had two hundred. Or something around two hundred. He did stop counting after two hundred, so the numbers might be wrong there. Either way. The little details within those canvases were a thousand more times more fascinating than anything his teacher could say. “I used to want to try my hand at making one. A big one, something that would take weeks to finish.” 

“Ambitious of you.” Techno says, almost smiling. “I’ve never been one for paintings. It seems too tedious.” Technoblade replies, scrunching his nose for a second, before then turning his head in thought. “I’m- more of a writer, really.”

Tommy stops in place. He looks up at the king, shock written all over his face. “You can write?”

“Don’t say it like that.” Techno deadpans, stopping with Tommy. “Of course I can write. I even read too, sometimes, if you can believe it.” 

“That’s not-” Tommy sputters for a second, embarrassment passing by. “I mean- you write books? You’ve written books?” 

“Well, not entirely.” Techno hums, moving along. Tommy follows quickly. “I more often write letters to my generals, rather than anything else, but- during some rare moments, when I do have the time, yes. I write books.”

“You should publish a book.” Tommy suggests, lip curling up with a strange sort of excitement, something in him feeling hopeful, relieved, for the way the king has the habits of a normal man. “How to conquer the world, in seven simple steps.” Tommy says, lifting his hands up through the air, like he’s imagining the title out before them. 

“Well, I can’t go giving away my secret techniques like that.” Techno says, something light in his words, catching onto Tommy’s joking tone. 

“Just lie, then. Lie on purpose and then publish it, send copies all throughout the lands. It’ll ensure all our enemies will be thrown off with the false information.” 

Techno laughs. It’s a short, passing thing, but Tommy is so glad to hear it. It’s so blessedly familiar, in a way. A good reminder that the man beside him isn’t that cruel monster all their enemies paint him up to be. He’s the king, yes. But he’s also someone beside that. He’s good. 

Tommy has no reason to be scared of him, because he’s good.

They continue walking like that, speaking lightly of Tommy’s collection of readings, arguing slightly once more for the existence of mythical creatures. They speak low, walk unhurriedly. By the time they arrive at Tommy’s door, his heart has finally fully calmed, and the sense of danger has nearly faded entirely. 

Tubbo and Ranboo are waiting within his room for him when Techno opens the door, their own conversation coming to a sudden halt the second they see Tommy standing behind him. Tommy sees their worried eyes, their relieved faces, and within an instant- it’s like a bucket tipping over. 

He runs into their arms and cries in relief for the fact that they’re safe, that they’re okay, and that he himself is actually the worst off out of the three of them. They hug him in return and give their  apologies and explanations and ramblings while pushing him off to a bath, and in the rush of being caught up with the company of his friends, the comfort of their voices, Tommy doesn’t even notice Techno leaving. 

Down in the hallway, the king makes a brisk walk past his guards, hearing the faint, echoing laughter of the children, the sound slipping through the door. 

He breathes out. 

“You.” He says to Sam, who lingers by the corner of the hall, having kept his distance the moment Tommy entered the throne room, having followed quietly the second both the king and prince came out. “Walk with me.” Techno orders, and Sam knows that’s not an invitation to stroll beside him like how the prince did just a minute prior. 

He walks in step behind his king, his air held tight in his lungs as Techno talks calmly, quietly, against the repeating sound of their footsteps. 

“You were meant to keep the prince safe.” He says, and the fear of danger rolls down Sam’s back. “That is your job. That’s your purpose. It’s a very clear, understandable purpose.” 

“Yes, your majesty.” Sam murmurs, an acknowledgement more than anything. 

“Yet you seem to have failed.” Techno stops in place, turning on his heel to look Sam in the eye. “There’s burns on his hands. He was burned. And you failed to prevent that, why?”

“He-” Sam hesitates to ever make it sound like it's the prince’s fault, especially in front of the king, but this fact is true. “I failed to stop him when he ran. He ran before I even realized what he was doing.” Sam lowers his head. “He refused to turn his back on the people, your majesty.”

Techno’s anger dims from within his eyes. He blinks, turning away. “Of course.” He nods, and then gives a slight scoff. “Of course. But he shouldn’t have been in that fire regardless. He shouldn’t have even had the chance to get near it. He shouldn’t have-” The king falters, mouth opening and closing, words getting stuck in his throat. He breathes, sharply, like the air hurts in his lungs. 

Sam stares to the floor with wide eyes, and risks a glance up. He’s immediately met with the king’s attention turning towards him.

“His safety is the greatest priority. That is your greatest priority. Did you forget it? Shall I remind you?” The king hisses out, taking a step forward, a threat made clearly. It doesn’t hide the way there is an ever so slight fear behind his gaze. 

His hands are shaking, at his sides. It’s such a small thing. 

It’s something unheard of.

Sam stares, then watches as the fear fades within his ruler’s fury, like it was never there to begin with. He lowers his head back down, bowing low. “It will never happen again, your majesty.” He promises. “I swear on my life.”

“Your life means little to me.” Technoblade looks down upon him, ever the image of their invulnerable king. “Against something like this, beside him, it means nothing.” 

Sam says nothing to that. He presses his knees to the ground and keeps his eyes to the floor. The weight of a king’s anger is crushing. Especially since now, this anger is something new, fresh. Not the old, bitter need for revenge that has carried him through all the conquest. 

This-

This is something else. 

“I could have you punished.” The king mutters, but it’s a weak sentence. Not quite with his mind made up. “I could replace you. Put a better swordsman beside the prince’s side.” 

“If it ensures his safety, then that is your right, your majesty.” 

“But he speaks of you so often.” Techno sighs, turning away as if Sam didn’t speak at all. Sam glances up again, surprise simmering over him. “It’d be foolish to take away something of his, especially now.” Techno breathes deep, rubbing a hand by the side of his jaw. 

Sam can’t help but desperately wonder what Tommy would even say about him, to the king. He gives his own reports from time to time, professional and detailed, but in the prince’s eyes, in Tommy’s view…? 

“His highness lost his ring.” Techno speaks up. “It was probably taken off his hand when his burns were being tended to. Do you know where that was?”

“Yes, your majesty.” Sam nods.

“Then go and retrieve it.” Techno says. “And I’ll let this go.” 

Sam nods. “Understood, your majesty.” He stands to his feet and turns to go down the hall, wasting not a second to hesitate. He’ll search their entire campsite, if needed. He’ll search until the dawn arises. 

Techno is sure of that. There is a strong loyalty in that guard’s heart, and with loyalty comes safety for the prince. This incident will ensure Sam will never falter again, and will never hesitate at the idea of getting the prince to safety. Those burns on the boy’s hands will heal. This will pass. It’s over, and Technoblade knows it won’t happen again. 

And yet, there is something heavy filling his chest. 

And yet, as he breathes out, he feels not just lingering anger burning through his breaths. He feels unsteady. Feels dread. 

He curls his shaking hands into fists at his sides, and wills them to go still. He goes down the hallway, with the intention of visiting the dungeons. 

There is a bastard that needs burning.

Chapter Text

There is nothing but heat in every direction, and in the base of his smoke-filled lungs, Tommy can hear himself yelling out the words--

“If you are still here, call to me!” 

Burning heat. Ever surrounding. There are flames grazing past Tommy’s arms, past his legs, trying their best to claw at his back. He can feel them rising, feel them touch at his skin, trying to sink through and burn him up. 

“It is your prince!” He screams out, his voice feeling choked in his throat, too small. Too little. He tries to be louder, but something in him won’t give. It’s as if the fire itself has dried out his words, forcing it into something broken and hoarse. He feels so small. As if he’s become just too young, with his hands too tiny, his legs too short. 

He coughs to the smoke. Tries to spit it all out, lest it ends up choking him. He hears Sam yelling from a distance, hears Tubbo crying out nearby. They fade off, against the fire. Tommy keeps going, trying to run faster. Trying to run to them. 

“If you are trapped, please-” He tries again, near begging, feeling the ash being pulled into his lungs, his hearing being drowned in only the flickering sound of the flames eating up everything around him. “Call to me!” He screams, and he can see now-- the bodies, laying underneath the remains. He can see the dark armor of his soldiers now dead, for his safety, for his precious life. He can see the same civilians he walked past in the calm mornings, the ones who used to give him such kind smiles. 

He sees his father’s body, stiff and cold, laid down in the ashes. The same way he looked when put into his resting tomb. 

Tommy is too small, and all of the fire is so big. So much. 

He stumbles forward, moving past, unable to go back, refusing to go back, for the fire is closing in. He feels it roar behind him, like a monster without mercy. His steps seem to melt into the ground, slowing him into a limping walk. 

He reaches out with both arms, trying to scream again. His people are in danger. He’s in danger. He has to do something, has to move away. He has to call for someone, do anything at all, but his throat closes up. He can’t breathe. Can’t speak. Can’t even run. 

He sees a figure in the flames, coming close, raising their arm up with a sword in hand. Tommy lifts his burning hands up, feeling the stinging pain of it, feeling helpless, his mouth opening up to give protest or plea, or maybe just a cry--

And then he opens his eyes up with a desperate gasp, staring at the roof of the canopy over his bed. 

He breathes heavily, taking a second to swallow, coughing out for a moment as if needing to clear his throat. He swears he can taste ash in his teeth, smoldering embers lodged into his lungs. He coughs harder, and then breathes once again, taking large, deep breaths, the feeling of it almost cold compared to his body’s sweating heat. His heart is hammering hard in his chest, almost hurting, from how fast it's going. He breathes. He breathes. 

He blinks, for a moment, staring up at the ceiling, his hand rising up to press at his shirt. He winces at the movement, flinching against the stinging reminder that his hands are still covered in burns, wrapped up in bandages. He more carefully lifts his shaking hand up to his eyesight, staring at the white of his wrappings in comparison to the red of his canopy. 

He twists his palm towards him, as if expecting blood or something to have soaked though, with such aching pain flaring up. There’s nothing. His medicine has probably just worn off, by now, and he’s feeling the full brunt of the pain.  

Slowly, he puts his hand back down at his side, and lifts himself into a sitting position, looking out into the rest of his room, the whole of it being very quiet and dim. 

He breathes, deep and slow, despite wanting to gasp and heave. Is it still night, he wonders? The fire and the candles have mostly burnt out. The curtains are drawn, so he can’t tell if there’s any light in the sky. Maybe it’s just early morning now. He feels like the time has passed enough for it to be so. He likely still has plenty of hours to sleep in, but he doesn’t want to lay his head back down. His hands hurt. His body is so shaky. He doesn’t want to go back to a nightmare. 

He pushes himself off from his bed, kicking the blankets away, the floor feeling frigid against his feet as he walks along. It’s a bit hard to see anything past the single surviving candle at his bedside, but he manages his way towards the door regardless, and knocks against it with the back of his hand, his palms not well enough to be trying for the handle. 

There’s a second of falter, and then Tommy steps back as the door creaks open, the light of the hallway candles flowing through, a guard’s helmeted face looking in. 

“...Your highness?” They ask, Tommy trying to not frown too hard, having quietly hoped it’d be Sam on the other side, keeping diligent watch. No doubt the man is sleeping, through. He needs his rest too. “What are you doing up?” The soldier further asks, leaning a little closer to Tommy’s eyesight. “It’s very early.” 

“My hands hurt.” Tommy holds up his palms as his simple excuse, and within an instant, the guard nods their head, sending their partner to fetch the medic, and coming inside to light up the room. 

Tommy goes back to his bed to sit at the edge of it, hands laid carefully on his lap, watching the guard go around, relighting all the candles, chasing the dark away. Once the room is no longer so dim that it’s hard to see, they turn to Tommy with a nod of their head.

“I’ll fetch a servant to bring more wood for the fireplace, your highness.” They say, glancing at how the hearth has gone out.

“No.” Tommy instantly says, something in him rearing back at the idea of bright flames being so near. Candles, he can bear. They’re so small, small enough to not worry. But a roaring flame in the fireplace… “Just the candles will do.” He insists, keeping his eyes to the floor. 

“Would you like anything else, then? Water, maybe?” The guard gently offers. Tommy takes a second to consider it, then nods. The guard goes out into the hall to request fresh water to be brought to the prince’s room. It leaves Tommy to be alone with the sight of his bedroom for a moment, and he takes a minute to look around, to truly take in what is to be his living quarters for the next few weeks. 

It’s a lavish sort of room, no doubt about it. Tommy hadn’t quite noticed it when he fell asleep earlier, too tired from everything, too distracted with the relief of his friends being okay, but the bed is filled to the brim with pillows, soft blankets, the canopy almost feeling like too much, in how it surrounds it whole. There’s a neat assortment of furniture, a shining golden mirror put on the wall. A coloring of deep, dark red for the rug, for the canopy of the bed. 

Tommy supposes it is a nice sort of decor. It’s a relief to have an actual room at last, proper furniture, a proper bed, but in all honestly, he almost wishes he was back in his tent. There was something very comforting about that smaller sort of space, even if it wasn’t technically a true bedroom. 

“Where’s Sam?” Tommy can’t help but question, when the guard makes their return, a servant in tow, a cup and a jug of water, and a bowl of something else in their hands. 

“He was sent elsewhere by the king, your highness. He’ll return by sunrise, I’m sure.” The guard reassures, stepping to the side as the servant holds up the glass of water to Tommy. Tommy goes to take it, but hesitates at the aching in his hands, unsure on if he’ll drop it. He shakes his head. The servant bows theirs, simply stepping to the side to put the cup and jug at Tommy’s nightstand, along with the bowl. 

“What’s that?” Tommy asks, eyeing the plate with confusion. 

“Some porridge, your highness. The chefs insisted, when they heard you were awake. They thought it would do you well.” 

“Oh.” Tommy blinks, turning his head away, chest feeling warm. 

The chefs are awake and working already. He wonders what they’re doing, within an actual kitchen at last. Maybe he could get a peek at breakfast, if he heads over after his medicine is reapplied. He does feel a calling urge to go explore, an aching curiosity to see this new castle in its entirety. He wants to wander. Wants to just- go. 

But what of Sam? Tommy leans back with a slight huff, feeling uncomfortable at the idea of wandering anywhere without his trusted guard at his heels. He doesn't exactly want to force him to go searching all over for Tommy later on. He’ll probably return to this room, when he’s done with whatever the king has ordered him to go. 

What exactly would he be doing at this time, though? Shouldn’t he be sleeping, after the ordeal of yesterday? Tommy’s slept a great deal, and he still feels so tired. He can’t imagine what Sam feels. 

He hopes the king is sleeping, too. The way he spoke of his duties- he sounded as if he planned to continue working on into the late, late night. Tommy supposes it's necessary, in making sure the transition of power goes smoothly, with no terrible issues, but still. All that blood, all this fighting- wouldn’t it make one exhausted? Shouldn’t it be enough?

Is the king going to be okay, truly?

Tommy doesn’t know. 

The medic comes in, at that moment. Tommy lifts his head to them and lets them tend to his hands, finding relief in how the pain subsides to the medicine given. 

The medic tells him to take care in his movements, to not mess with the bandages, and if he must, to use his right hand over his left, since that one was burnt less severely. Tommy nods along and lets the healer go with their bowing head, and he reaches out to drink his water, to eat his porridge. 

He eats thoughtfully, looking at the servant standing nearby. He knows, deep in his heart, he won’t be going back to sleep anytime soon. He could pass the time just waiting here, entertaining himself with whatever is within the room, but he also knows, deep in his heart, he’s going to get bored soon enough. His thoughts will wander, collect, drift towards things he doesn’t want to think about. 

He needs something else. Anything else, anything other than just the quiet presence of bad memories trying to form together. 

He calls for a change of clothes, and although he knows Tubbo and Ranboo will be appalled later at the fact Tommy gave their duties away to someone else for the day, Tommy knows they could use the time to rest, to be with their family. 

The guards at the door give their concerns when Tommy makes it known that he’s going to be heading out into the castle halls. They question if he should be prioritizing rest. Tommy tells them he feels like he’s rested enough. He’s slept enough. He’s quite done with dreaming. 

He wanders, instead. With four whole guards to his presence, at their great insistence, Tommy goes on to explore the halls of the castle he supposes he can now call his. It’s still dim through the hallways, the torches not quite enough, but with two guards leading at his front and two at his back, the darkness seems like a measly thing to be unsettled by. Tommy swallows down whatever slight embarrassment he had at first in having a group of guards follow him around, and finds a kind comfort in the shine of their armor, the sound of their footsteps. It seems overbearing, at the back of his mind, but he has no urge to let his pride win out. All he really wants is for Sam to join along too, be another face staying by his side as he goes about through this new home.

Perhaps it's for the better, though. As Tommy goes along, he finds his heart doesn’t quite fill with the curiosity as he thought it would. His guards help guide him along to different rooms and wings of the castle, but it's all a bit boring, in all honesty. It’s just an unknown castle. It doesn’t matter that his banners are on the walls, bright red and proud-- he does not know it. It’s not his, truly. 

He busies himself with breakfast, served to him at one of the viewing balconies outside. Tommy picks at his plate and watches the clouds go by, the silence in his ears feeling vaguely familiar. He thinks of the mourning period, of before, of when his father died. Things were so similarly quiet, then. The halls cold, his father’s room unkind, for how empty it now felt. It was as if the place of his home had turned into a stranger’s. As if everything had shifted a little to the left, and as a result, he could no longer fit. 

He breathes out a sigh, and nibbles at a slice of a strawberry. He swings his legs from where they hang over his chair, and as the morning stretches along into the later afternoon, Tommy is told someone has come to see him. 

He expects it to be Tubbo and Ranboo, at first, but then he remembers he sent them away to be with their family, their duties put aside for the day. He’s pleasantly surprised to see Sam’s face coming to join him, the man’s expression looking exhausted to hell, but contently satisfied. 

“Your highness. Good day.” Sam smiles, and his tired eyes crinkle up with it, so warm looking that Tommy cannot help but mirror the sight. “I'm glad to say I’m here to return something of yours.” 

Tommy’s smile falters into a sight of shock, and he stares down at Sam’s outstretched hand before him, his father’s ring sitting within his palm. He takes it from him in an instant, feeling the fear of being without it rushing all back, quickly soothed by the weight of the metal in his grasp. He holds it to his chest, looking up with surprise. 

“You went looking for it?” Tommy asks. That’s what the king sent him to do? That’s what he was doing, all night, all this time of the day? “You went back to look for it?”

“It’s rather important to you, is it not?” Sam asks, tilting his head. “Of course I did.” 

“Yes.” Tommy nods, closing his hand around it tightly, even with the sting of his burns. “It’s very-” He hesitates on his words for a second, then quickly moves on. “Thank you, Sam.” He stands up from his chair. “Have you slept? You look terrible.”

“Oh.” Sam blinks, looking seconds from away laughing. “You’re too kind, your highness.”

“I just mean-” Tommy sputters, realizing that was outright an insult. He waves his hand, the one not holding onto his father’s ring. “You should go rest! Now. You seem exhausted.” 

“I am a bit weary, I’ll admit it.” Sam sighs, his shoulders suddenly slumping down as if his strings have been cut. “But if you don’t mind, I did want to show you something.” He nods his head towards the door, standing up straight again. “The king insisted that you see it, since you’ve been exploring and all.”

“Well, I was just wandering a little…” Tommy trails off, not quite willing to confess that exploring had turned out to be something of a bore, surprisingly enough. He takes in Sam’s face again, his tired eyes staring down at him. “Sam, you really should go rest.” 

“In a moment. Just let me walk you over to this, and I’ll go, alright?” Sam bargains gently, already stepping towards the door, arm stretched out for Tommy to walk ahead and join him. 

Tommy hesitates for a moment, wanting to be stubborn. But he also wants to see what exactly Sam wants to show him. “Okay.” He says, and he lets Sam lead him through the halls, the rest of the guards lingering close behind, their footsteps near silent against Tommy’s own. 

Sam brings him to the library. The castle’s library, large and grand, filled to the brim with books. There’s aisles upon aisles of texts, some sitting high above Tommy’s head, and the whole room smells like paper. Old, worn paper. It is very nostalgic, in the moment. Tommy breathes in, and feels pleasantly content.  

“This is what you wanted me to see?” Tommy asks Sam, walking in and turning around in circles to see the whole of it, to stare at how the sunlight comes through the windows. “There’s so many books.”

“You could pick out some to read, if you want.” Sam reminds, looking at Tommy with a soft grin. “Any of them. They’re yours to choose.” 

“Oh, I wonder if they have-” Tommy nearly begins to ask, feeling himself be drawn away in the curiosity of what sits on the shelves. He forces himself to pause, to step back and face Sam again. 

His hand curls tightly at his side, his father’s ring pressing into his palm. 

“Thank you, Sam.” Tommy says, with the warmest smile he can manage. He is not thanking him for the library, really. 

Sam seems to know it. 

He bows his head and excuses himself to head off to rest, and Tommy takes a moment to breathe in the smell of the library again, the smell of all the paper of the pages. He holds his father’s ring to his chest, closes his eyes, and thinks for a moment how close it feels like home. 

When he opens his eyes, he’s reminded otherwise. The sunlight dims with the clouds passing over, and Tommy moves to begin some light browsing, deciding to pick through the titles around him until he finds something interesting. 

---

“Your highness?”  

Tommy does not answer. He blinks listlessly at the sight of his dinner plate, not quite looking at it, not quite paying attention. His shoulders are slouched from where he’s leaning onto the table, almost looking like he’s about to slip right out of his chair. One of his hands stays raised beside his heart, keeping a gentle hold on his father’s necklace, the ring now tied around his neck, returned to him by Sam. The feeling of the metal is muted underneath the layer of bandages kept around his hands, but just to have the metal at all is enough. Just to touch it, and know it’s there, his, and his alone, it’s nearly enough. 

“Your highness.” The king repeats, a little louder. 

Tommy lifts his head up from where he had been staring down at the table, his focus pulled away from the repetitive motion of pushing his food around with his fork. “Huh?”

“Long day, is it?” Technoblade asks him, raising his brows up with little surprise or offense to his expression. If Tommy weren’t so distracted, perhaps he would be able to almost pick out a sense of worry, in the king’s gaze. “I asked about what you’ve been up to.”

“Oh. I-” Tommy's eyes go wide as he falters for a moment, everything in him valiantly resisting the urge to sink down into his seat and give a clear apology for being so rude. There’s little point to it, even if he feels he should. He has a hunch the king wouldn’t take it, even if he did try. He’s always so odd about apologies from him. 

Instead, he clears his throat and stabs intently at the meat on his plate, trying to quickly move past the fact he absolutely wasn’t listening to the king’s word. 

“I haven't done much. Mostly exploring the castle with some of the guards….” He mutters out, face warm. “I’m sure you’ve been busier, with the false king and all.” He says with a wave of his fingers, and then he pauses at his own words, the truth of it sinking in. 

He looks to Techno with a passing grimace. 

“Will you… be killing him today?”

“Mhm.” The king nods, chewing lightly at his food, seemingly so very casual about the idea of killing a man. He doesn’t even stall in eating, just carrying on, now that Tommy’s attention is back to him. “Not as how I first decided, though.” 

“What?” Tommy lifts his chin up in surprise. “What do you mean?” He thinks back to the first discussion of the false king’s death-- a killing laid out before the people. 

Are they not going to make it public? Has the false king become too frail in his injuries, unable to be dragged up to the chopping block? Will he die down within the cells of his own castle, instead? Tommy wouldn’t be surprised, if so. There was so much blood, when he entered the throne room…

“I have a different plan for the king’s execution, now.” Technoblade says, leaning back in his chair and putting his hands together, scarred fingers interlaced as his elbows press back into the armrests. “Our entering of the kingdom was more bloody than I had hoped. While it made things a great deal faster-- the people are hesitant in response. Problems could start up from that.” He frowns a little in thought, head tilting to the side. “There needs to be a proper reward for their acceptance of the new rule. Beheading the king alone wouldn’t quite do it. It would just cement the idea that our presence will only bring violence.” 

“So…” Tommy scrunches up his face in wonder of what rumors might be spreading amongst the people now. More fuel to the burning image of the warrior king, perhaps. More fear for the man who craves to conquer the world. 

He thinks of the bloody floor again, thinks of the fire. He grips his fork so tightly that his hands ache. 

He thinks of Techno laughing, a short, amused thing. 

“How will you go about it?” He asks quickly. 

Make it painful, Tommy almost wants to hiss. Some ever so quiet part of him wants to spit the anger out, tell the king to make it hurt, no matter how the idea of it has changed.

 It’s needless, though. There’s no doubt the false king is already suffering. There is no point in Tommy requesting for a further sort of punishment. 

And there’s a terrible, bitter taste in his mouth for wanting to say such a thing at all. 

“I’m going to make a show of it.” Technoblade says, and he’s almost smiling with the idea, eyes narrowed in something smug, eager. A near laugh is on his lips, and it's not something kind. “I’m going to show the people just how much of a coward and a traitor their so-called leader is.” He then turns his gaze to Tommy, a heavier weight behind the color of his eyes as his smile settles away. “Do you want to be there?” He asks, and the question is very soft. 

Tommy looks back to him in confusion, bewildered by both the tone and the question itself. 

“Do you want to be there for the false king’s punishment?” Techno asks again, in the same manner. Just above a whisper. As if speaking to some wild creature that might be frightened with any loud noise. 

“Should I be?” Tommy asks back, unsure of what the right answer is here. Unsure if he should let the fire in his chest, in his dreams, come clawing out into real life. 

“It’s not a matter of expectation. That doesn’t matter.” Techno shakes his head, waving a hand. He sits up straighter, leaning forward in his seat. “I’m asking what you want. You seemed angry about the attack, so I…” 

Tommy frowns, looking away. He misses how Techno’s face flickers into that same near worry of before.  

“I only thought you would maybe want to see judgement, if nothing else.” 

Judgement. Some sort of retribution, for this pain that’s been caused. Would that satisfy Tommy’s anger, would that soothe the restless heat that keeps flowing through his veins? It would at least give closure, if nothing else. To see the false king’s fate decided by the highest voice in the land-- maybe that would be enough. 

Maybe then, Tommy won’t feel so scared when he has to fall asleep, later at night. 

“Will there be blood?” Tommy still has to ask, because he’s not the squeamish sort, but he really would rather not see that sort of thing, if he has the choice to. 

“No. This should be rather clean. A simple display.” Techno assures, eyes closed as if given a sudden relief. He opens his eyes to look away in a newly distracted thought. “The execution itself will be carried out later.” 

“I don’t want to see that.” Tommy says, just so that it’s known. He scrunches his nose up a little just for the distaste of it. “But. I’ll go, for the punishment.” He slowly nods. Technoblade hums in acknowledgement, going back to his dinner, seemingly content to close the topic there. “How will you do it, though?” Tommy still asks. 

Techno smiles, and indulges him as he always does, answering away. 

---

It is a very sunny day on the afternoon of the false king’s trial. 

Trial really is too strong of a word. It’s a punishment through and through, Tommy knows it is. But for the sake of certain perspective, and for the matter of effect, Techno says it’s better to just name it as a trial. 

So they gather in the great hall, Techno upon the throne, Tommy standing at his side. The people of the court gather around as the audience, nobles and common people alike. Most faces from the empire stand proudly in the front, eager to watch everything unfold. The people from this kingdom, they stay by the back, by the walls, up on the balconies, out of direct view, unsure of how this will go, and nervous in the uncertainty of it all. 

The false king is dragged out before everyone in chains. He is surprisingly coherent, steady in his slow, aching walk, but his hands are still beyond help, bandaged in a way that suggests more than one missing finger. His face is of a similar manner, mangled and torn, stitched together by the healer, but only so much. Only enough to keep him recognizable. 

He is alive, but he is so very clearly in pain. He is wounded, struck down, and no more than a prisoner kept at the crown’s mercy, now.

He kneels before the throne with his head bowing heavy, like a defeated man who knows he is at death’s door. The old people of the kingdom all watch with bated breath as Technoblade stands up from the throne, taking a step forward to look down upon him, his gaze so much higher from the top of the steps. 

Tommy looks at him from where he stays standing by the throne, hands clasped together around the ring on his necklace. The king looks so cruel, in the moment. Furious at what has been brought before him. 

“Seventy civilian lives were lost in the attack you posed upon my camp.” He declares to the entire hall, voice echoing with an wrathful finality. 

The false king presses his lips thin with a shaking swallow of his throat. He bows lower, uncaring of his lost dignity. All he can stand to gain is the chance for his own life, now. He cowers, unable to protest what is true. 

“Seventy lives that which were mine.” Techno goes on. “You stole seventy lives from me. I think it’s only right that you make that fair, isn’t it?” He asks, eyes narrowing further in an ever stern look. He raises a hand out, as if offering something precious. “So I will give you an opportunity.” 

The false king raises his head in an instant, caught off guard. The rest of the audience is much the same, all their whispers fallen quiet in confusion, unknowing of what their ruler has planned. 

Only Tommy gives a calm stare, unblinking to the king’s next words. 

“Find and bring seventy of your people who will willingly die in your place. No soldiers. No guards. No nobles. It must be seventy souls alone-” Technoblade grins, teeth bared. “-all from your common people.” 

The false king’s eyes go wide, a terrified expression blooming across his face. The people’s voices all rise up in an overlapping murmuring, appalled for the situation that has now been set down. A chance for survival, at the cost of others. A show of mercy, paid with blood. 

“Find them, and I’ll spare you. Exile you quietly into the far lands of one of my other kingdoms.” Technoblade tells the king, turning his back to return to the throne as his soldiers come forward to take the man away, to march him out and away from the castle and then follow along until his time is up. “You have until sunset.”

The hall breaks out into a sudden noise, surprised and confused and ever intrigued, hundreds of eyes watching as the false king is moved towards the door, away to wander in the heart of his old kingdom. A good few follow along, wanting to witness his attempt, wanting to see the outcome of it, how the man might manage this sort of feat. Others stay in place, worried conversation traded amongst themselves, eyes constantly glancing up at the throne, at their king sitting back down in his rightful spot. At the prince that leans in towards his left side, by his ear. 

“What if he actually brings enough people?” Tommy asks, quiet enough that no one will hear him over the noise echoing around the rest of the hall. 

“He won’t.” Technoblade says, his focus kept on the false king being dragged out, taken away from view. Tommy turns his head to follow his line of sight, and he gives a small little frown. Techno glances towards him, almost mirroring the expression. 

“But he could.” Tommy insists, also wondering how the false king will go about this. How he will beg in the streets, pleading for others to prove their loyalty to him. 

Techno gives a slight hum. He leans his elbow onto the side of his throne, closer to Tommy. “He may. But I doubt they’ll go through with it. He isn’t exactly a man who inspires loyalty.” He lifts his head up to the prince, and Tommy blinks back towards him, his face still questioning. “You’ll see.” Techno assures. Then he nods his head, something gently dismissing. “You can head off now. It’ll be a long wait, and I’m only going to carry out a few summons in the meantime. I’ll call you back when it's time.”

Tommy leans back on the balls of his heels, hands fidgeting slightly at his bandages. “Can I stay?”

Techno raises a brow at the choice, but he doesn’t argue against it. “Should I have a seat brought for you?”

“I don’t need a seat.” 

Techno levels him with an unimpressed look. “You’re not standing for the whole time.” It’ll be a handful of hours before sundown. Tommy will grow tired of standing in place, Techno is sure of that. 

“Well, I’ll just- Hm.” Tommy looks around for a moment, as if searching for a solution, and then he sits himself down on the floor, scooting closer beside the foot of the throne, his legs stretched out towards the edge of the first step down. 

Some of the conversation in the hall fades off. Techno leans forward in his seat, a part of his hair falling past his cheek as he looks down at Tommy. Tommy turns his head back and looks up at Techno in return, eyes kept wide as if daring for him to protest. 

“I’m…calling for something to be brought.” Techno simply says, and then he turns his head away to do just that, raising an arm for a servant to come over. 

“I don’t need a seat.” Tommy insists, shuffling himself to lean back against the corner of the throne, Techno shifting his legs aside so as to lend him more space. 

“You’re at least getting a cushion.” Technoblade says, refusing anything else. He looks at Tommy with a near disapproving look. “The floor is hardly fit for a prince.”

“It’s still beside the throne.” Tommy argues, and there is a sort of reason in that. It is only him and Techno up here, above all the rest. On the floor or not, Tommy’s still by the king. It’s still clear he’s a higher rank, just in his proximity. 

Techno huffs, nearly exasperated. “Are you not uncomfortable?”

“I think I’ll live.” Tommy says. “Just barely.”

Technoblade huffs again, but it’s more sudden this time, a slight sputter of a laugh. Tommy makes a small smile, comforted and relieved by the sound of it. 

Then he pauses in wonder as to when the crowd got so quiet.

“Tell me when you get tired of sitting there.” Techno tells him, Tommy drawing his attention back up towards him, knees shifting up to be held in his arms. “Perhaps then we’ll trade.” 

Tommy stares at him in utter disbelief. Was that meant to be a joke? Should he laugh, now? He’s more baffled by the idea of the king giving up his throne just to trade a spot on the floor.

A cushion is brought, then, by rushing servants with small smiles. Technoblade begins the rest of his affairs, calling out those that need to speak, and Tommy settles into his spot and settles in the noise of it, somewhat listening to the going-ons of court. 

The time passes slowly. The sun, ever bright, fades away from where it shines through the windows, and in all honestly, Tommy watches the light more than he listens to the voices speaking up. It’s all words going over his head, important affairs he doesn’t quite have a hand in. He supposes he should listen in, should try to be present, but he cannot help but want to focus on the heavier matter at hand. 

This is still a punishment being played out. It is still a progress being made, a result forming together. Tommy waits, feeling almost unnaturally calm in his patience. By the time the sun has gone down, the false king being brought back, his legs are sore from sitting so still. 

He struggles slightly in getting up, using the armrest of the throne to push himself to standing. Technoblade stands up with him, beside him, and he holds onto him by the arm so as to nudge him towards the throne, instead. 

“Sit.” Techno murmurs to him, and Tommy drops down into the seat as Technoblade walks forward, focusing on the chained man walking in, with his crowd of gathered people. Tommy leans forward as if to get up from the throne, but upon stretching out his legs and feeling the rising ache of his hands, he chooses to lean back instead, scooting further into the seat with his palms laid gingerly in his lap. It’s not really a big deal for him to sit on the throne, is it? The king hardly gave a fuss about it, so it must not be. And he’d really rather sit here than stand. 

The court still gives looks, though. Odd sorts of expressions that Tommy fails to catch. The false king, his face tired and dreadful, shifts into a slow look of shock as he looks up past Techno, seeing the prince sitting quietly in what was once his own throne.

Techno takes a purposeful step to be in the way of his view, in the way of all their views. He lifts his chin as the people who were brought all spread out before him, the number counted by both his and Tommy’s curious eye. 

The false king has brought seventy people. He declares as such, raising a chained hand out to them, and the people, in reply, bow their heads down as if facing their grim execution, their faces somber. 

“These are your volunteers?” Techno asks, but it’s not anything of mellow surprise or confusion. Tommy wonders if this is all according to plan, or if something’s gone off-track. “Your loyal souls.” 

The false king nods, looking to Techno with a rising bravery, almost a look of hope. 

“What brave faces.” Technoblade hums, a bit excited to watch that hope crumble very soon. “I do feel a need, however, to let them know of the details of their sacrifice.”

Some of the volunteers raise their heads in a slight confusion, a new intrigue. Details?

“Do they realize that you no longer have power to your throne, and as such, you no longer have access to your funds?” Technoblade says, and the false king- his face goes pale, immediately realizing what is about to happen. Tommy sits straight up on the throne, eyes wide. “Whatever promises were made for the sake of your families and your loved ones, they’re empty words. This man has nothing to his name. Nothing except his begging voice.” 

“No-” The false king turns his head to the people, who look at him with something more skeptical, doubtful. Their faces twist up in conflicted thoughts, a sudden fear of their deaths being meaningless. Their families suffering a loss for no good reason. “No, I-!”

“His allies are much the same. Those loyal to him are sitting within their own cells right now. They’re useless to whatever endeavors he may plot. They’re useless to his promises, as well.” 

A quiet murmuring floats through the hall, the people trading their thoughts, and sharing what they had seen, when they followed the false king down from the castle. The man had pleaded with everything he could, as a dying man would. He pleaded, he bargained, he made offers that any common person would struggle to not consider. He made his way to the poorer parts of his kingdom, to the areas where he knew families had terrible hardships of their own to bear-- and he swore to them he would give them his help. He would pull them from their troubles. All he needed was one person from their family, one brave sacrifice, and then they’d be saved, once it was all over with. 

That was his strategy. 

It crumbles very easily once it's shown how little power he actually has left. 

“So to that, I must reconfirm.” Technoblade asks, taking a small step forward, all eyes rising up to look at him. “Do you all agree to die for him, out of pure devotion, with no benefit given to you?” 

A dragging silence drapes itself over them all. 

And then.

“No.” Someone murmurs. “No, I don’t.” They say, as they step back, separating themselves from the line of people, putting themselves into the crowd that belongs to the empire. 

It is a chain reaction from there. Shaking heads, muttered refusals, more and more people stepping back, stepping away, not wanting to die for a king that never helped them in the first place. Why die for an empty promise? Why leave a hole in their family for no reason other than saving a fool of a man who has never cared about them? 

The false king stands alone, shaking and pale-faced with utter terror kept in his features. He turns to Techno with a near pleading look, falling to his knees, and Technoblade hardly even blinks at the action. 

“Well. It seems you haven’t collected a fair amount.” He simply says, and while his lip twitches up as if wanting to smile, he turns his expression into a scowl, sudden fury bubbling up.  “You give this in return for all those I lost? What an insult.” The false king shakes his head, trembling in place. “I fear you must take the punishment accordingly.” 

“Please.” The man raises his arms out, bowing his head. “Give me more time. I will find more!” 

“Will you?” Techno asks calmly. 

“I just need more time! I’ll find more people, I will!”

Techno scoffs. “You’re pathetic.” He insults, stepping down the steps just to come closer to the man’s eyelevel. “You’re begging to throw the people to the chopping block just so that you can breathe another day. Where is your sense of humility? Where is your loyalty to your own?” 

“Please!” The man still begs. He holds a hand to his heart, clutching at the thin fabric of his shirt.  “My people-”

“Your people?” Technoblade repeats. “Can you even call them yours, with how willing you are to toss them aside?” The man falters against such a question, becoming smaller and smaller as Techno comes down from the steps, looming over him. “You are no king. You’re hardly even a man. Even the rats that run through the halls have higher standing than you. At least a rat would care for its own.”

The man opens his mouth, closes it, opens it. No words come out. He trembles in where he kneels, unable to defend himself. He looks past Techno, and sees the prince, ever young, quiet and kind, sitting upon that throne. Again, that is his last chance. That is his hope of mercy. 

He reaches out to him, eyes tearful.

“Your-”

“Don’t speak to his highness. I’d rather you not hurt his ears with your attempts of begging.” Technoblade near hisses out, the attempt stopped before it can even begin. He steps directly into the man’s sight, bares his teeth as he decides the man’s fate. “You’ve failed, in more ways than one. You will take your punishment. You will be executed in the coming dawn tomorrow. Take him away.”

“No!” He screams, reaching out at Techno’s feet, trying to grasp onto the ends of his cape. “No, no, please!” Guards quickly come to take him away, prying him from where he tries to stay knelt on the floor, dragging him out from the hall entirely, the people making a clear parting for the door. 

His useless cries echo out from the hallway as they go, until they grow fainter and fainter, and then not there at all. 

And that’s that. 

“Now, as for you all.” Techno then says, and Tommy shifts his eyes away from the closing door, caught in the same surprise as the people. Technoblade steps forward again, facing the crowd as a whole, looking upon the group of volunteers who came to die. “Did he promise wealth to you all? Protection, perhaps? Favors?”

Part of the crowd separates away from the people who had come forward, wanting to hear the answer as well. It takes a short moment before one of them gathers the courage to speak. 

“My little sister is ill.” One woman says, her voice hoarse and quiet. “We have not the money to continue buying her treatment. She will succumb to her illness in time. He said-” She falters, turning her head further away, gaze put to the floor. “He said, if I died, she would live. He would ensure it.” 

“He lied. She would’ve joined you in the grave, eventually.” Technoblade answers. “But I won’t let it happen. I will give the funds needed for you and your sister to survive.” 

The woman snaps her head up with sudden wide eyes, clear surprise written across her face. “What?” She breathes out.

“I will fulfill his empty promise.” The king says, and he turns his head to look upon all their faces, his hand coming up to his chest. “I will do what he could not-- and I will lend my help. Your trust can be given to me.” 

“Can it?” A man calls out. “He also said you would kill us all.”

Some of the people step away from the speaker, not wanting to be a part of his angry words. The man steps forward with an accusing finger, pointing at Techno with a stern expression.  

“He said you were the danger. Only with him- would we have a chance of survival. Because if we turned to you, we would just be murdered for bowing to the wrong man. We’ve all heard the stories. You do not lend help to the enemy.” 

“Are you really my enemy?” Technoblade asks, and it is a very light question. There’s hardly any offense taken for the tone given by the man. “I see little point in killing the masses for serving the king they belong to. What other choice did you have? Granted, I would be flattered if you all rose up, murdered the man and waited for me to take my throne as is my right, but that’s an unlikely thing. You are people. Common faces with families to feed. You are not soldiers. Nor fighters.” He lifts his chin, his gaze going sharp. “You are my people, now. And I do not plan on harming what is now mine.” 

The man steps back at such a statement, and the rest of the people all look to each other, silent words given in the glances shared. There’s clear distrust, a wariness kept, but Techno hardly expects for his promises to be believed in an instant. Words must be followed by action. 

“I will send you all off to relay your circumstances to my men. Whatever aid we can provide- it will be given. You will be taken care of.” Technoblade says, calling over his guards to guide the people out, so that they can do just that. “All I ask in return is that you spread the truth of this, of your false king’s desperation and foolish cowardry, and of your new crown’s generosity. Let it be known that I take care of my people. And I will not be a repeat of your false king.” 

“Of course, your majesty.” Someone replies, and another bows their head, murmuring a quiet thanks. Ripples of similar replies echo through the crowd, and they file out with the guards in due time, the hall emptying out, the false king’s punishment now done.  

Tommy watches as Technoblade turns to look up at the throne, at him, a quiet look in his eyes. He thinks of his promise, a king swearing he takes care of what is his. 

Tommy leans back into his seat with a slow sigh, and for a moment, instead of feeling the crushing weight of the world, the strangeness of a throne that is not his, he feels safe. Feels kept.

---

After that being done with, things begin to settle in truly. Victory is gained, once more. The people, while not entirely won over, are still more favorable to Technoblade’s new rule. The kingdom falls into his hand, things begin to run smoothly, all according to plan. 

All is well. 

Or so Techno first thinks. 

“Your majesty?” A guard knocks at the door, and Techno looks up from the papers on his desk, a slight headache trying to settle into his skull. He rubs at his temple, putting aside his pen, shifting the candlelight away. 

“Yes?”

“He’s up again.” 

Techno sighs, head lowered, tired for both himself, and for the little prince. 

Every night has been busy. Constant candles being relit, reports being sent up, the chefs sending out tray after tray of small, gentle foods, because the only time Techno can really manage to eat is during the dinner with the prince. Every night is busy, because it’s the weight of the new kingdom being joined into the empire, new order being smoothed out. Every night is busy, because…

The prince has been having nightmares.

Steadily worsening nightmares.

The guards have reported him screaming in his sleep, more than once. He refuses the fireplace in his room now. Refuses to go back to bed once he’s awoken. For the first few days, Techno hadn’t thought it’d only linger for so long, because he’d taken care of the threat. The fight was won. Tommy’s room is the most secure place in the castle, all their enemies are dead, everything is dealt with. 

And yet the boy still suffers. 

He’s started to look exhausted during their dinners. Dark circles under his eyes, a faraway look to his gaze. He doesn’t talk as much. He doesn’t smile. He’s been sending away his friends more often than not, and he refuses even Sam’s company, at times. He favors being alone, either in his room or at a viewing balcony or within the library. It’s not something Technoblade can ignore. 

He’s tried what he could to help ease the stress of everything. He brings in flowers, one week. Decorates the halls and puts more torches up, so that it won’t be so dark, so that there is a sense of familiarity from the boy’s own castle. He brings in more books and games and knicknacks to Tommy’s room, things of interest and great value. It does entertain him, for a time. Tommy had been delighted by the flowers. But the smiles rarely linger. It does not bring him rest. 

So for tonight, with work already making him so exhausted, Techno decides he’s had enough. He’s reached the end of his rope. He leaves his office and takes to the halls, making his way to the library, to Tommy’s favorite spot, a little corner tucked away between some of the bookshelves. 

He’s wrapped up in his reading when Techno gets there. There’s plenty of books piled up on the floor around his legs, with bookmarks scattered through. He’ll read to the sunrise, probably, if left to his own company. 

Techno sighs. He approaches the kid with careful steps, and Tommy, amusingly enough, only lifts his head when Techno stands right before him, a finger reaching out, pressing at the top of the book to lower it from his gaze.

Tommy looks completely bewildered for a split second, almost appalled that someone’s walked in and interrupted his reading. Then he looks up and realizes who it is, and his offense turns into outright shock. 

“Your- Your majesty.” Tommy chokes out, and he drops the book into his lap, sitting up straight, eyes made wide. He scoots up a little, almost trying to stand, only pausing when Techno crouches down for him. “What are you- doing here?”

Techno tilts his head, glancing at the pile of books at his feet. “I could ask you the same.” He says, raising his brows. “It’s the middle of the night.” 

“I’m only reading.” Tommy replies, immediately defensive, almost snappish. He then seems to force himself into something more polite. “It’s nice and quiet here. No one bothers me. There’s so much to read…” 

“Hm.” Technoblade gives as his response, a bit too tired to indulge in the child’s ramblings this time around. 

“I’m not causing issues.” Tommy says, looking around as if needing to make sure that statement is true, and that he hasn’t accidentally caused a fire or something equally troublesome by mistake. 

“No. You’re not.” Techno assures, and Tommy’s shoulders drop a little, some sense of relief slipping over him. “Come.” He says, as he stands back up.

“What?” Tommy stares up at him. 

“It’s too late to be in here. You’re going back to bed.” 

Tommy’s expression goes dismayed. “But- But my book-”

“Bring it with you. You can read in your bed.” Technoblade bargains, moving to turn his back, waving a hand up. When Tommy still hesitates, he repeats himself very softly. “Come on.” 

Tommy huffs. He snatches up the book he was reading. “Okay.” 

Techno leads him back to his room with no other word, the shuffling of their footsteps echoing through the halls. Tommy hugs his book to his chest with a consistent, tired sort of blinking, and quietly, Technoblade wonders if the child will really just fall asleep if he’s left to read in the comfort of a bed. 

“No more nightly trips to the library.” Technoblade tells him as he steps beside the door, letting Tommy go in first, making him go directly to his bed. “Falling asleep on top of the books is no place to find rest.” Tommy hunches his shoulders tight as he climbs up onto his mattress, tugging the blankets over his legs, the book laid into his lap, closed, and held very very tightly. Technoblade hovers by the door for a moment, then closes it behind him as he comes inside, moving to Tommy’s bedside. “What did you bring?”

“Dragons.” Tommy mutters, gaze averted, but he does give a small curious glance, confused as to why Techno is still in his room. 

Techno sighs at such an answer. It is ever fond. “Again with the made-up creatures.” He says, as he sits down at the foot of Tommy’s bed. 

“They existed, once.” Tommy insists. He holds out the book, as if proving him so clearly wrong. “There’s proof.” 

“Is there?” Techno drawls, so very skeptical. 

“Look.” Tommy says, and he opens up the book, flinching slightly for the pull of his bandages, his hands still tender. “Here- there’s a page talking about bones being found-” Tommy fumbles with the paper for a second, and Techno takes it from him, flipping to it. 

He reads through a short passage squinting his eyes at the words. “Hmm.” These are definitely some words, alright. Maybe it’s a mix of the sleep deprivation and the fact this is a book about mythical magic creatures, but Techno thinks it seems like nonsense. 

“You don’t believe it?” 

“It sounds made up.” Techno says bluntly. He flips through some of the pages, looking at the cover for a moment. “Why is this in the library?”

“Because it’s fact! It’s true.” Tommy nods, sitting up tall with a giddy look. 

“Stories upon stories.” Technoblade just murmurs. He looks up at Tommy. “Where are these dragon bones? Perhaps I’ll send a few men out to truly see if anything sits in the dirt now.”

“I want a tooth, then.” 

Technoblade blinks. He lifts a brow. “What?”

“A dragontooth. I want one, when they find it.” Tommy declares, entirely confident, and rather content at the idea of acquiring such a thing. 

“And what would you do- with this hypothetical dragontooth?”

Tommy shrugs, leaning back into his pillows. “Depends on the size of it. Maybe fashion it into a necklace. Maybe I’ll have a dragontooth dagger.”

“Well, supposedly, according to this entirely factual book, the dragons do get quite large…” Technoblade trails off, reading over the words, picking up to where Tommy’s left them off. “The size of a mountain, they say. Wings large enough to block out the sun for a whole town underneath, the clouds parting ways with their sheer presence…” He reads, and then he continues to read for the next few pages, partially for his own curiosity, wanting to know what Tommy’s been so interested in lately, and partially for…

Technoblade stops after a few minutes, he looks to the prince, seeing him slumped down into his pillows, eyes mostly closed, squinting in an effort to stay awake. It’s a failing attempt. He’s practically asleep already, moments away from it. 

Techno huffs, closing the book, putting it down at Tommy’s bedside. 

“Rest, Tommy.” He whispers. 

Tommy lets his eyes at last, letting sleep take him away, and he does, he can feel the blanket being adjusted over his chest, and the candlelight going dim, blown out with one gentle breath. 

---

The nightmares get a little better, night by night. It gets a bit better, but. Not really. The lack of sleep is still persistent, as is Tommy’s efforts in being anywhere other than his bed at night. 

Techno gains a new habit, with such stubbornness. He finds himself walking Tommy back to his room during the so-called nightmare outings, because otherwise, he just won’t sleep. Back from the kitchen, back from the balconies. Back from the library, most nights.

Tonight, oddly enough, Techno walks Tommy back from the stables. Tommy’s gotten a new interest in tending to his horse, visiting her for comfort when he can, and Techno doesn’t mind the new attachment, but he does wish the kid would maybe do this at a sane hour of the night. 

Not that he has any room to speak about doing things at insane hours of the night. 

They walk back into the castle halls with a slow sort of stroll, the night air still strong through the open area, the pathway still mostly outside. Tommy keeps his head up to keep glancing at the sky above, a little intrigued by the stars, and Techno keeps his head forward, leading them back inside. 

It is out of nowhere that Techno suddenly stops, his head turning to the side as if hearing something unusual. Tommy stumbles to a stop with him, thrown off by the unexpected halt. 

“Your majesty?” Tommy asks, and then- 

There’s the sound of an arrow letting loose, flying through the air, and Techno ducks in an instant, pushing Tommy to the ground. The arrow flies over, clearly aimed for the king’s head, and Tommy cries out as he falls to the floor, eyes wide. 

“Guards!” Techno screams, Tommy gasping out with terror, Techno wrapping his arms over him to shield off any further arrows, dragging him up on his feet to quickly move away. “Up, up, get up, Tommy-!” He says, and Tommy tries to listen, his feet skidding across the ground as Techno mostly carries him away, fleeing to better cover. Guards come quickly and in great numbers, rushing to where Techno orders them to go, their sights narrowing down on the attacker in seconds. 

Techno keeps them both out of direct sight from the outside, several guards kept in between the sound of struggle, and only when the assassin is fully apprehended, the guards yelling out that the threat has been taken down, does he realize he’s holding Tommy in his arms, the kid’s head tucked away into his shirt.

He pulls back, arms going loose, and he realizes further that Tommy is shaking. 

“Are you alright?” Techno asks, a little worried for how the kid might’ve fared in getting shoved to the floor like that. 

Tommy nods silently, not meeting Techno’s eye. He gives a nervous laugh, head turning further away. “I don’t think I’m sleeping tonight.”

“You’ll need the rest.” Techno disagrees. “You’re visiting the town tomorrow, remember?”

Tommy frowns. Yes, he is. That had been his friend’s idea, Technoblade arranging for Tommy to head into town with his guards, spend a day buying treats and exploring the area. It won’t be any fun if he’s half-asleep for most of it. 

“The coast is clear, your majesty.” One of the guards confirms, and Technoblade lets himself settle, but doesn’t take the hand away from Tommy’s shoulder. 

“Good. You know what to do. We’ll be going, now.” Technoblade nods, and he steers Tommy down the hallway, making a direct beeline to his room. Tommy’s hardly enthusiastic about heading to bed now, and Techno supposes it’s fair. Having a near-death experience does waken up the senses a bit. 

So Techno orders for a sleeping draught to be brought. He offers it to Tommy, insists upon it, more like, and Tommy does accept it- on one condition. 

“Will you stay with me?” He asks, sitting on the edge of his bed, the cup held carefully in his hands. 

Techno falters in where he stands, shifting his weight as if about to go, and yet, not making one step towards the door. “You need to sleep.” He orders. 

“Stay.” Tommy still insists, drinking the draught in one go, putting the cup aside. Despite it being too soon for it to take effect, his head still feels heavy against the pillow. “Just until I fall asleep.” He insists. 

It takes only a minute before there comes the weight of Techno sitting down on his bed. Tommy scoots over to give him more room, and he lays on his side, giving a slight huff. 

“Was that the first assassin you’ve seen here?” Tommy asks. 

“No.” Technoblade shakes his head, terribly unbothered. “We’ve caught three others by now.”

Tommy sits up a little, eyes wide. “You haven’t told me of that!” 

Techno makes a face, gesturing for him to lay back down. “Why would I? They’re trying to kill me. No need to scare you.” He says, and when Tommy refuses to lay fully down- “Don’t worry. It’ll be taken care of. It helps in rooting out the traitors, you know.” 

Tommy falls back into his pillow with a skeptical look. “Does it?”

“With enough time, the assassins will talk. And in knowing who hired them, I know who to go after. Who to suspect, in the allies they held.” Techno shrugs a shoulder. His confidence is a bit comforting, if nothing else. “I’ve had my fair share of attempts on my life. They’re nothing much, now.”

“Nothing much.” Tommy repeats, a little muttering under his breath. “What, do you think of them as boring, now?” 

Technoblade makes a foolish looking smile. “Yeah, pretty much.”

Tommy snorts. 

Technoblade’s smile turns into something more genuine, a slight laughter leaving his lips. He looks at Tommy with something content, and then it falters into a disappointment, his expression falling. “I am sorry to restrict you like this, but- no more outings at night, your highness.”

“Yeah, I understand that.” 

“Stay in your bedroom. Try to sleep.” 

“But I can’t sleep.” Tommy argues. “I can’t-” He stammers for a second, fumbling over his words. “I don’t want to.”

“Why not?” Technoblade asks, and Tommy does not answer. He stares off at the flame on his bedside table, and Techno’s voice goes more quiet. “Tell me why not.” 

“I keep thinking of the fire.” Tommy admits, in a rush of words, and then, as if to quickly cover up that- “My hands keep hurting. It’s hard to sleep with it.” He says, more whining-like, drawn out. 

“They will hurt until they’re fully healed.” Technoblade says simply. “And the fire is long gone. Our enemies are dead. You’re safe.”

Tommy says nothing to that. A short moment passes, his face seeming to settle into something drowsy. Then he blinks up at Techno, head shifting to face him fully. “And you?” 

Technoblade blinks back. “Me?”

“You’re safe, too?” Tommy asks, earnest and honest.

“Yes.” Technoblade says, and while the truth is he’s always in some sort of danger with his position, that’s not something he’s willing to hash out with the kid on the verge of sleep. “We’re both safe. Nothing is going to hurt us. I-” Techno hesitates, for a second, speaking very softly. “I swear it.” 

“Stay.” Tommy mutters, eyes falling shut. 

“I’ll stay.” Techno promises, moving forwards to adjust Tommy’s blanket, another habit he’s grown to have, in all these late nights. 

Tommy sleeps, a slight snoring noise coming from him as he rests at last. Techno goes to stand up, and then decides against it, and sits for a little while longer. 

He stays until the sun rises up. 

---

Techno knows that when he suggested for the prince to go out into town, it was meant for him to go alone. 

An outing of sorts, something with his guards, or with his friends. That was the original intention. Something like before, in visiting the passing towns on the road. He did seem to like that, judging by all the past rambling at dinner. 

This time, though, for some reason or another, Technoblade decides to come along. 

He moves aside his other meetings and opens up his afternoon, and shows up in front of the castle with the prince, climbing into the carriage with him so that they can be taken through the streets to the more busy area of the town, with the shops and the people. 

Tommy is…utterly silent for the entire way there. Almost worryingly silent. He’s been quiet, in the past weeks, with the issue of his poor sleep and his affected mood, but this is something else entirely. The only reason Techno does not stop the carriage and insist to know what’s wrong is because the night before was indeed an eventful, stressful sort of night, perfectly justifiable in causing some thoughtful silence, and also- Tommy doesn’t look very bothered, exactly. 

He just seems very very focused on the window. 

Techno looks out into the street with him, wondering what exactly is so intriguing about it. Maybe he’s just wanting to watch the streets going by. Technoblade sees little reason as to why-- there’s nothing but the people’s occasional stares or people going about their day-- but it has been a while since Tommy’s been able to go on this sort of outing at all. Maybe he just missed it, and wants to see every detail. Techno will not distract his focus. 

He sits comfortably in the silence of the carriage as they’re taken along, and the moment they arrive, Tommy is near clawing at the door, throwing himself out with such urgency you’d think there was a snake inside. 

He must be very eager to have an outing again, indeed. 

Technoblade steps out with a more dignified grace, and checks with his guards to ensure nothing is out of the ordinary, and that enough eyes will be on the prince for today for him to be kept safe. 

There’s not too much fear to be had in any attempt on his life, however. The public, in general, while they do give their bewildered, curious stares at seeing the king and the prince within their part of the town, they also give quite a bit of space, not wanting to be so close as to be considered trouble. It’s enough for the guards to make a decent surrounding circle for Tommy and Techno, and in that, Technoblade feels satisfied. 

“Where to?” He asks Tommy, who stares back at the people with a slight furrow in his brow, a near frown starting to form. “Your highness?” Technoblade asks in concern, but the upset mood is quickly wiped away, and Tommy blinks up at him in a purposefully blank expression, tilting his head towards the shops.

“A bakery. We have to go to a bakery. Tubbo insists we need bread.” 

Technoblade makes a slight face of confusion. “We…have bread.” 

“Freshly baked bread.” Tommy clarifies, but that really doesn’t help. They have their own kitchen in the castle. The royal chefs make bread every day. 

“We have freshly baked bread.” 

“Town bread, your majesty!” Tommy declares, as if Techno is missing a very obvious detail, and Techno chooses peace and just nods along, keeping at the prince’s heels as Tommy scurries off towards the bakery, the town baker about to have the fright of their life with the literal monarchs walking through their bakery door. 

They go about many of the shops like that, the prince mostly leading the way, Techno giving his comments here and there when Tommy asks the occasional question for opinion. While they do stay moving, and they do buy a good few amounts of things, Tommy doesn’t seem to be content about it. Rather, as the hour goes on, he starts to become somewhat nervous, his hands fidgeting, his movements growing restless. He keeps glancing to the crowds of people with that same upset look as before, and paired with the tired look of his eyes, the exhaustion of his poor sleep still on his shoulders-- Technoblade worries. 

He worries, and he tries to nudge Tommy along to enjoy himself within the town, buys whatever the prince wants, gives him anything he looks mildly interested in (with several shop owners becoming baffled by the fact they will be closing shop with empty shelves today) but there isn’t much else he can do. 

Eventually, as he considers telling the prince to end this outing here, to return back to the castle for rest, as Tommy’s become rather distressed, there comes a sudden reprieve. 

Tommy hears a singing song from somewhere in the square, and all the stress from his shoulders falls away with a fascinated sort of curiosity. 

They go to investigate, Techno keeping at his side, and they find the song to be coming from the voice of a street singer, a man playing his lute by the center fountain, a small bowl of loose change sitting in front of him. 

He doesn’t seem to notice Tommy and Techno, or if he does, he’s doing a decently well job of trying to pretend they’re not there, because his singing doesn’t falter when they come to be part of his small audience. His voice stays steady, and Tommy lifts his head to the sound of it, Techno lowering his own to see the look on his face. 

The prince smiles. It is a small thing, just passingly content, but it is something true. More honest than all the other passing smiles he’s given throughout the whole hour, false grins made to cover up the way he couldn’t stand still. 

Technoblade looks back up at the bard still singing. The man has remarkably purple-colored eyes with dark brown hair. Neat clothes, no visible signs of wear or tear. He seems somewhat well off. No matter. Most artists are always willing to take a good bribe. 

There’s a slight tug at his sleeve, then, and Techno looks down at Tommy, who smiles up at him with a more genuine sort of joy, now. “I think I’m done for the day.” He tell him, and Technoblade agrees simply, letting him turn around to head back to the carriage. 

Before they truly go, though, Techno leans to one of his soldiers, and tells them to bring the bard to the castle. 

It’ll be a nice surprise for today’s dinner, he thinks.