Archive of Our Own ^beta

Chapter Text

The kingdom’s farewell to their prince is a bittersweet thing. 

It is filled with cheers and gifts and funnily enough, a lack of flowers, for there was a shortage with how many had been used up for the week prior. Tommy still carries a few on his person, petals in his pockets, crumpled daisies in his boots, a small, futile attempt at keeping home with him no matter where he goes. 

He understands that the flowers will eventually wither and turn to dust, returning to the dirt once more, but he can’t bear to turn his back on the castle without having something to remind him of all the people who have cared for him all his life. The cold ring on his finger with his family symbol may be a piece of his father, of his old birthright, but the flowers were of his people. They were always something of the people, and something of his. 

The king’s men march through the streets once more, led by their fearsome ruler on horseback, guiding the carriage that now holds their prince. Tommy sits restlessly, his knee bouncing with nerves as he stays leaned towards the window beside him, watching the streets go by. Even with how plush the seats are underneath him, and even with how spacious the actual thing is, he can't get comfortable. He can’t quite breathe. 

He leans closer to the window, pushing at the curtains further as if that’ll open it up more, as if that’ll let him see his subjects in their entirety, allowing him to be down there with them to accept their loving goodbyes. Something in his heart yearns to go out there, to scream for the carriage to stop, to demand that he be let out, but then what would he do? It would take hours for him to pass by every sorrowful face, to shake their hands and give his blessings. If he went out there, stepped past the guards and towards his people, he has no doubt they would reach their arms out and envelop him in a hug. He has no doubt he would sink into that embrace, bursting into tears like a little boy who misses his father, rather than a newly named heir of the empire. 

Embarrassment curls up in the back of his throat as tears well up in his eyes, and he’s grateful now that he’s alone in this carriage, no one being able to see him lean out of sight to wipe at his face with shaking hands. He swallows back the unease running through his gut, the fear of the long unknown, and he stares down at his pristine, polished boots. They look out of place, with him being the sort of prince to always run around and tear up his shoes through his adventures, but Tommy can bear the sight, because he knows what’s kept within the leather, crushed against his ankle with a tickle of the broken stems. 

He brushes his fingers over his knees, thinking of the flowers, thinking of that crown the king wore for the better part of the week. Just two days ago, it fell apart at last in the middle of court, crumbling underneath its short lifespan, fading away with the old life that Tommy used to know. The king hadn’t made a fuss of it when it fell from his head, only placing it down on his lap without a word, the circle of braided stems broken. Tommy couldn’t help but stare at it until the king turned his gaze on him, and only then did Tommy finally say goodbye to that crown at last, thankful for what it did. 

Slipping a hand into his pockets, Tommy grasps at a handful of petals he had managed to shove in there, and he brings them out to see them crushed on his palm, tiny and dried out. He’s filled with the urge to let them drop, to tilt his hand and watch them flutter to the ground, but it would do no good to have them stay on the floor of this carriage, taken along to the journey of conquering the world. 

Leaning to the window again, Tommy hears the people’s cries grow louder at the sight of his face, their hands rising up, their voices growing shrill. He tries to not look at them, not because of indifference, but for fear of crying, but he still catches a glimpse of one of them anyway, an old man with his cheeks wet, his hair pulled back into a short ponytail. 

The colors are all wrong, his hair is black and Tommy’s father was blond, those tearful eyes are brown and his were blue, but Tommy sees his dad right there, sees the late king waving him goodbye, and his heart breaks apart within his ribs. 

He sticks his hand of petals out through the window, a tear running down his face, and as the petals fall to the ground, landing upon the dirt, the people proclaim their love, hoping it will stay with him no matter how far he goes. 

Goodbye, they cry, they yell, they sing, hearts full and souls merry, every last drop of their loyalty given to the empire as long as Tommy is underneath the promise of its crown. Goodbye, they wave, hands both big and small lifted up to the carriage as it passes by, their too-young king already seemingly so far, kept behind a window rather than walking out in the open with them. 

Goodbye, his people say, not lost, never to be forgotten, but never to be as close to him as they were again.

"Goodbye." Tommy whispers to himself in the quiet of his carriage, sniffling with his knees to his chest, hands pressed to the sides of his ankles, the flowers sitting dead, his ring cold on his finger with the reminder that nothing will ever be the same as it was. 

They ride with little pause throughout the day, Tommy eating his meals in the comfort of his carriage, scared to step outside lest the truth become real. He doesn’t want his surroundings to no longer be his home, to instead become the traveling, winding roads of the realm beyond. He wants to stay here, pretend for a little longer that they’re still within the streets of his people. 

He keeps his eyes away from the window, lets his attention drift meaninglessly around the barren carriage, and while boredom looms over him like a daunting threat, it never has the chance to sink in with what effort he makes to keep his trembling emotions at bay. He doesn’t sob, but it’s a near thing, resting at the back of his lungs, waiting to be poured out. He focuses on breathing, on the engraving in his family ring, on the bump of flowers stuck in his boots. He focuses on that and that only. 

The minutes pass like seconds, the sound of the men outside muffled in his ears, and when he opens his eyes to the loud knock on his door, he finds himself curled up on the plush seats, head kept in the crook of his arm, face hidden into his sleeve. The sun has gone down, darkness pressed against his eyes. His body sits sore as he gets up with weary limbs, a faint groan pushing past his teeth. When had he fallen asleep? He doesn’t remember even laying down, but then again, this entire day has been much of a blur since the moment he woke up and was dressed within those prim, dark clothes. 

“Your Highness.” The door is rapped at again, Tommy flinching with the noise, uneasy with the shadows sticking to the walls around him. “We’ve arrived.” 

He stands hesitantly to his feet as the door clicks open, the light of a lantern flowing in as the door is pulled outwards to allow him to step out and climb down on the steps placed outside. When he falters at the doorway, staring down at the stairs like they’re the path to his doom, one of the guards shares a small look with the others, hidden in the dimness of the approaching night.

With a closer step taken to the side of the carriage, one of the guards bow their head low toward Tommy, then slowly hold out a hand. 

Tommy looks up with surprise at the offer, but takes it before he can even give a hint of refusal, clinging on as if he’s a stumbling boy who’s only just learnt to walk. A small thanks is pushed out from underneath his tongue, and he tentatively climbs out from the carriage, finding the air to be a touch cooler against his cheeks. A gentle squeeze is given around his fingers before he’s let go at the bottom, his boots now firmly on solid ground. With his heart in his throat and the little bit of support he had now gone, Tommy lifts his head up to look back at the carriage, then he turns his gaze to observe the rest of his surroundings. 

They’re no longer in his kingdom. 

Tommy knew that would be the case, but the confirmation of it makes him want to run back up those steps and hide in his carriage until he finds the familiarity of home again. They’re in the middle of a camp. He stands hunched, eyes wide at the bustling of movement around him, people setting up tents and fires for the night, tables being laid out for a late dinner. There’s horses being guided, men yelling out orders, wagons being unloaded, and past it all, Tommy knows there must be the sight of the wilderness, the open field with tall grass, his kingdom long out of sight. 

It’s all so much, too much, and Tommy isn’t sure where he fits in it all. He feels misplaced. If he were a king, he’d be walking amongst his men, checking up on their health, making sure that they’d be ready to ride again tomorrow. If he were a simple prince like before, he’d run off with his guards chasing after him, his father laughing at his back as their men would try to contain a hyperactive child. 

Here, he’s the prince, but it’s not the same. He doesn’t know what to do. Everyone looks so serious, their expressions rough, not a single face giving him a smile as they pass, and Tommy wonders how long it takes to travel on the road until he’s just as grumpy as they are. Maybe they are all just tired.

It dawns on Tommy suddenly that their travel is nothing like his. He had a carriage the entire time, the seats soft underneath him and the air quiet against his ears. Some of them had to be on the back of a horse, or maybe even on foot for the whole way. They’ve been on the move for months as well, the king’s conquest having been a constant thing. It’s no wonder they seem a touch weary, starting up that routine again with little rest given at his kingdom. 

Quiet pity for their exhaustion presses down at him, with a kindness that was always nurtured before coming to life in his chest. He purses his lips and thinks of what to do, hands clenching tightly at the front of his shirt. 

“Will you sit with me tomorrow?” Tommy finds himself asking, head turning over his shoulder to look at the same guard that helped him down a moment before. They haven’t moved one bit since Tommy walked out, but the tall guard blinks and stands very still at his question.

Tommy realizes now that such a question sounds a bit childish. He bites at his tongue and refuses to take it back, however. 

“...sir?” The guard asks after long silence, confused, and Tommy scrunches his nose at the word, as if he’s smelled something foul. 

“I’m not a sir.” He mutters a little.

“Your Highness.” The guard corrects, bowing their head again, low and respectful. Tommy tilts his head to the side with a slight frown. “I’m afraid I don’t understand.” They tell him.

“I, uhm.” Tommy falters, thinking of his role, thinking how he’s meant to represent the crown. He doesn’t want to seem weak or naive on the first day. He’s the prince. The prince.

But he also doesn’t want to sit alone in there if someone else could be there with him. If he can get one person to have a more comfortable travel, then all's well, and if he could have a bit of company as well, then even better. What harm is it to just offer?

“Do you want to sit with me in the carriage? Tomorrow?”

The guard blinks. Again. They glance around, almost a little nervous, as if looking for an answer from the people around them. No one is paying them any mind. They slowly nod. “If his highness commands it...”

“Well, no, I’m not commanding.” Tommy finds distaste in phrasing it like that. This isn’t a serious, grave order, a matter of life or death. It’s just an offer. “I’m asking. Do you want to?”

“If you wish it.” 

Tommy gives an unhappy little noise. This is nothing like the guards back when he was in his castle still, the occasional few following him around to carry out their duties. Those were like silent, ominous spirits, the threat of a weapon in their hands, a lack of a voice in their throats. Despite their poor conversation skills, Tommy found speaking to them easy. They were expressive when needed. A shrug there, a head tilt here. A nod, a squint, a raise of the eyebrows. They were never one to be frustrating with unmeaningful responses like this.

“Do you want to or not?”

“Yes.” The guard says at last, bowing his head low, and Tommy brightens up. “I’ll sit with you when we leave tomorrow, your Highness.” 

Tommy smiles gladly as the guard stands tall again, taking a lantern from another and raising it high to chase off the dark of the night. Tommy’s guided away from his carriage, his chin lifted high, but his eyes looking downwards, and he’s led towards a large tent, two men already stationed by the front of it. They both lower their heads at Tommy as they pull open the flaps of the door, and Tommy lowers his head in return as he steps inside, even if that’s not how it goes. 

The inside of the tent is lit up with lanterns hanging at the corners, the light soothing and warm compared to the dimness of night outside. A deep red rug is laid out across the ground, not a speck of dirt or grass to be found on it, and Tommy almost wants to pull his boots off to preserve the cleanliness of it. To the right side of the tent, there’s a spacious looking bed, and it’s so piled with blankets and pillows that Tommy could never imagine complaining about if it'll give him discomfort. A small wooden nightstand sits beside it, a single drawer in it, the handle and edges carved with intricate little designs. Tommy thinks it might be roses.

Walking with light steps, Tommy approaches the bed with a bit of eagerness, sitting down and flopping back with a sigh as he practically sinks into the fabric. He may have slept for a while before, but he could drift off to sleep all over again like this, with how soft the pillows are up against his head, with how silky the blankets are.

The guard with the lantern, the same one who helped him down earlier, looks at the other side of the room with narrowed eyes, a sort of disapproval crossing over their expression.

 “Where are the prince’s items?” He asks, lifting his light up as if that’ll show something in the empty spot of the tent. 

“Items?” Tommy repeats, sitting up. He hadn’t packed anything for the trip. The only thing he took was the flowers in his boots and the ring on his finger. Everything else was up to others, he was told. Anything else would’ve been a painful reminder of the before. 

“There should be a chest of clothes, a chest of books, a mirror. It shouldn’t be this barren.” There’s an undercurrent of anger in the guard’s voice, but there’s also something of dread, a quiet type of fear that makes Tommy worry for them. 

“There was- some trouble with the sorting of things-” One of the men at the door hesitantly stammers out, and the guard roughly shakes his head. 

“Fix it. Fix this!” He hisses, both Tommy and the men flinching back. “His Grace won’t accept this.” At the mention of the king, everyone stands a little taller, expectations at their throats.  “Go retrieve the items, quickly!” 

Immediately, the guards at the door go, rushing off from their post to right the wrong before word makes it to their ruler. The guard with the lantern takes a stand by the doorway, as if to replace their spot, his lantern held by his hip. His eyes stay pointed forward, looking at nothing in particular, but Tommy can see the furrow in his brow past the gap in his helmet, a little sign of stress. He doesn’t care for it. 

“...It’s okay.” Tommy reassures, and at his words, the guard’s eyes fall back onto him. “I won’t- I’m not going to complain. I don’t really need anything right now, I’m only planning to sleep.” Tommy was raised to be patient as a child, to be understanding if something didn’t go his way. Never did he throw tantrums that lasted for too long, his father making sure to put a stop to them and settle their emotions out. 

Even if he was truly upset about not having his things, he wouldn’t be drastic. He definitely wouldn’t go straight to the king and get them in a world of trouble. That seems a bit much. 

But it’s what they expect, it seems. The guard doesn’t relax with Tommy’s reassurance, and instead, he goes even more rigid, lifting his chin up higher with his eyes looking straight ahead again. 

“It’s not about what you may need, your highness.” He says. “This is just a matter of expectation.” 

“I don’t expect everything to be perfect.” Tommy insists, wringing his hands together. “It’s alright.” He repeats, trying to lift the tension in the air, to let them both breathe. The guard looks at him for a long moment, then takes a different approach in his stance. 

“Everytime our king arrives at his quarters, his items are always placed where they should be, exactly the same as the night before, exactly how he needs them. Not one thing is missing, nor misplaced.” The guard bows his head. “That is the standard for a king, because he needs things to be correct in order to be efficient.” 

Tommy supposes that’s reasonable, for a king. But he’s the prince. What work is he doing that he needs his items in the same spot every night, needs his things gathered together the second he steps foot out of his carriage? He was just going to sleep.

“Those standards should be the same for you, yes?” The guard presses on. “You’re the prince. You’re of the crown. It can’t be any less.” 

“Right.” Tommy agrees, but he doesn’t actually agree. It seems too strict, having such expectations placed for him, when he doesn’t truly care about the little details, but this is the empire now, not his kingdom. Things are- different. “But I really don’t mind.” He tries again, unable to let it rest.

The guard huffs a little, just fond, not annoyed. “Your highness, even if you do not mind, his grace surely will.” He speaks low, a pointed nod to outside, like the king is out there now, listening in. “And we do not want to upset him in any sort of way by implying we don’t respect his choice of heir.”

Tommy presses his lips together to try and not outwardly frown. That’s right, he’s the heir. The king’s prince. 

“Is he scary when he’s angry?” He asks out of the blue, and the guard falters. He stares at Tommy again, like he’s not sure what to say, and Tommy wonders if something is on his face. 

“He’s…he’s intimidating.” The guard replies at last. “He’s the strongest of all of us, as you know.” He nods, and there is pride to be said with that. A hint of that loyalty, the reason this man picked up a sword and chose to fight underneath his king’s colors. 

Tommy gives a vague noise of affirmation, letting him know he heard it. He knows what the king is like. He knows he’s strong, he knows just how many armies he’s slain and how many rulers he’s taken underfoot. There’s no need to tell it again, and give faint memories of when he still wore that golden crown, trying to make a choice with his advisors before the storm fell upon them all. 

“What’s your name?” Tommy asks, scooting to the edge of his bed. The guard makes a funny look at him, and Tommy waves a hand, trying to not stammer. “It’s just- You’re going to be around me, it looks like, and I can’t call for your attention if I don’t know what to call in the first place.”

There’s a crinkle in the guard’s eyes. He’s smiling. “We switch shifts by the day, your highness, and my attention is always yours.” Tommy can’t help but notice he hasn’t answered the question. 

“Can I- have your name?” Tommy asks again. He scolds himself quietly for not saying it louder, for commanding it with authority. It’s what he should do, as an heir. But as himself, as Tommy, he doesn’t want to be rude like that. 

The guard looks contemplative, but nods in that same obedient manner, as if given an order. 

“Sam.” He says, and Tommy smiles.

“I’m Tommy.” He responds, even if that might’ve already been known. “You can call me Tommy, if you’d like.” All his personal guards before did so. They hardly ever used titles with his father outside of court. The entire castle was a friend to the king, and so they were also a friend to Tommy. 

Such friendship did become- strained, however, when the king passed. Tommy bites at the inside of his cheek to forget the memory. 

“That’s-” Sam clears his throat. “That’s a gracious offer, your highness, but I cannot.”

“You can.” Tommy stubbornly says. “I’ll let you.”

“I’ll rephrase. I won’t.” Sam has a teasing little glint in his eye, and Tommy huffs, not all that upset. He looks away to end the conversation, trying to take in the room a bit more, but his eyes still drift back towards Sam. 

Sam is looking at him, as well. Waiting for Tommy’s next words. Tommy finds himself wanting to give it, feeling like it’s been so long since the last time he’s talked with someone. 

“Excuse me.” He calls, as if to get the guard’s attention, even if Sam never quite looked away in the first place. Sam lifts his chin in acknowledgement. “Can you take off your helmet?”

Sam blinks, clear surprise. Tommy justifies himself without a pause. 

“I don’t know what you look like.” He says, like that’s something pressing. Like he has to put a name to a face, like Sam is an important guard out of the many that will be watching over the prince. 

Sam only hesitates for a moment. It’s uncommon for guards to remove their helmet when on duty. He is indeed on duty right now, but there isn’t really a present danger to insist upon it. Letting the prince see his face-

Well, Sam supposes he has to. Not for the sake of an order of a crown, but rather, because Tommy seems honestly curious about it. Genuine. Who is he to deny such a face?

He listens without another word, pulling off his helmet in one quick movement, revealing short-cut hair, a jagged looking scar over his left brow. His eyes are very green with the shadow of the helmet no longer hiding it. It makes Tommy think of the grassy fields that must be surrounding them right now. 

“Hello.” Tommy greets again, to seeing a new face. Sam gives a weird expression, almost seeming to frown. 

“Hello, your highness.” He responds, very softly. Tommy feels confused at the tone, but comforted all the same. He feels he’s done something right. 

Just then, Tommy’s items finally come in, people bustling with bags and trunks and furniture, all a bit too much for a single night, in Tommy’s opinion. Back during the hunting trip he and his father used to go on, they would just sleep together in a small tent, with nothing but a cot and a lantern. It was simple, but it was fitting. 

“Let us hope the king doesn’t hear of your tardiness.” Sam scolds, and the servants bow their heads towards Tommy in apology. Tommy wants to tell them all he truly doesn’t mind for them stumbling on the first day, his existence not having been part of the routine before, but he doesn’t say anything. He has a feeling Sam would insist on something about respect. 

When everything is then set properly, the rug brushed off to hide away the evidence of people coming in and out, the lanterns dimmed down and Tommy dressed into something for the night, he’s left alone underneath soft, warm blankets. All that there is to hear is the business of people moving outside, but that’s a muffled thing, past the tent walls. It shouldn’t be hard for Tommy to block it out, to turn over on his side and close his eyes and fall to sleep. 

It’s not the noise that’s the issue, though. 

He stares up at the ceiling of the tent, his eyes dragging over the dip of the roof. There’s a faint memory in his head, thinking of the times he would crawl into his father’s bed. He wonders if this is the beginning of his new life, the start of plenty more memories like that. Maybe not. Maybe the actual start was when the king made the decision in front of the whole court, letting them know what Tommy’s role would become, or maybe the start was when he made that crown of flowers and gave it to the king. 

Flowers. 

Tommy jolts up in his bed, remembering the flowers in his boots. He slips out from his blankets, squinting through the dark to find where they placed his shoes, and he falls to his knees to dig through them and grasps the thin remains of the petals shoved in there. 

They’re really not much. They’re mostly dead and crumpled up now, but Tommy holds the bit he can salvage with a wide smile, squeezing them in his palm and holding it to his chest, like he can keep his old life close if he keeps this close as well. Maybe, later, he’d be able to find flowers along the road, pick them like he used to pick them in the royal gardens, and try to twist them together into another crown…

The tears in his eyes burn up before he can push it all away. He sits up straight with a shaky suck of air, and looks around for a distraction from bursting into sobs. His eyes land onto a small bookshelf, the shelves holding plenty of thick-looking books that Tommy before would’ve rather done anything to prevent from having to read through. 

Now, though, he reaches a hand up to take one off the bookshelf, and he opens it up to find the scribble of words within, impossible to read in such dim light. He snatches one of the lanterns from the corner of the tent, the light still dim, but enough to let him read when put on the ground next to the pages. He sits there, on the red rug, crushed flower petals in one hand, the page of a book in the other, reading words until the sun comes up. 

He’s found there in the morning when the people come into his tent, looking to have him ready for the day, only to find that he had been reading fairy tales for the whole night and had fallen asleep on the book, the story of a brave knight sitting underneath his cheek.

Chapter Text

Tommy is more-or-less fully awake by the time he’s led back into his carriage, his vision no longer bleary against the sun of the day, and his energy sufficiently refilled with breakfast served personally to him in his tent. 

He’s dressed up in the colors of the empire, all dark tones and blood-red accents, but curiously enough, the shirt given over his torso is more of a light pink today, rather than a deep red. It’s a sweet, soft color, one that feels slightly out of place, but he doesn’t really mind it. It’s not his choice how he’s to be dressed, he’s never been one to go picking out every aspect of his wardrobe, anyway, and on top of that, he feels like with the position he currently holds, the manner in which he dresses now has a higher sense of importance than it did before. He’s not just the king’s boy anymore, with the occasional wrinkled outfits and dirtied shoes. He’s the crown prince of a fast-growing empire. He needs to look the part. He needs to look regal, even if all he feels is the opposite when he steps outside the safety of the tent. 

He’s guided through the camp just like the night before, the scene now in reverse with soldiers packing everything up with an efficiency that tells they’ve done it a hundred times over. Tommy climbs up the same steps that he was helped down the night prior, and a tiny sigh lifts itself from his lungs as he sits in his seat, his mood slightly bitter from having to be put back on the road. 

This is how it’ll be, he thinks to himself. From today, to tomorrow, to the day after that, and the day after that, he’ll be on the road, in this carriage, and in a tent, at night. He’ll be moving across practically the whole world, only pausing within kingdoms that have had their rulers slaughtered, their armies broken. Surely, amongst it all, they will be sight-seeing, new experiences found in lands he’s never explored to, but it’s hard to be excited for that part when he knows it’s all part of a conquest to take the very world underneath one crown. It all seems more daunting than anything. 

The entire prospect gives a miserable weight to his shoulders, dragging him down and making his head hang low. He’s distracted from the beginning of a sulking session when he’s caught in a mild surprise upon seeing Sam suddenly climb into the carriage with him. 

The soldier sits across from Tommy with a straightened back, the same gleaming armor as before, but his helmet now held in one of his arms. His face is stoic, almost deadly-serious, and Tommy tries to discreetly avoid his gaze, not out of intimidation, but more so as to hide the fact that he nearly forgot he asked him to come keep him company at all. As the door closes and the carriage jostles to the pull of the horses outside, Tommy stares determinedly at the window, watching other soldiers and horses pass by and fall into the routine of making distance. 

An awkward bit of silence stretches on between the two of them. In the quiet minutes that pass,  Tommy can’t help but begin to sneak small glances at Sam’s armor, intrigued from the stories he had read all night. Sam…he’s quite similar to a knight, isn’t he? What’s the difference between them and soldiers, anyway? They both wear armor, they both carry swords. They slay the enemy and save the day, and are sworn to their crown. 

Knights, in Tommy’s head, though, have a more noble appearance about them. They’re more dignified, more- royal, almost. Is that because they’re more directly connected to the king they serve? That could be it, Tommy thinks, but he’s not so sure about it. Maybe a knight is just closer to a king? And a soldier still does the same as the knight, but they do it at a distance. Or maybe the proximity doesn’t matter at all. Maybe it’s some other secret factor he’s not considering. He doesn’t know. 

He subtly glances back at Sam as if the answer will present itself in his face, and he jolts at seeing those green eyes look right back at Tommy in return. 

“Apologies.” Sam bows his head at the reaction, averting his gaze again into a far-off look, but Tommy brushes the moment off, and takes it as a chance to start a conversation. 

“Sam?” He asks, and now it’s the soldier’s turn to flinch, although it’s less of a flinch, and more of a surprised blink. Tommy leans forward in his seat, curiosity fueling him. “What’s the difference between a knight and a soldier? Aren’t they the same thing?”

Sam blinks again at the question, a very blank expression written over his face. He seems to be frozen for a moment, then he slowly nods with an answer. “A knight has certain oaths they swear towards their ruler.” 

Tommy hums, unconvinced. “But a soldier has the same oaths, don’t they? I mean, you have oaths towards the king.”

“Yes.” Sam confirms. There’s a touch of pride in his eyes for that. 

“Then are you a knight?” Tommy asks. A trace of eagerness hides under the question, and Sam’s eyebrows make the tiniest furrow, as if a little confused. 

“I think…it’s also a matter of experience, your highness. Titles and knowledge and such. That’s also what makes a knight.”

“Oh.” Tommy sits back, turning his head away for a second as he digests that information. He glances back at him, cautious with it. “Are you going to be a knight?”

“I don’t plan on it. I’m content with my current position towards the empire.” At Tommy’s slight pout with a slouch of his back, disappointment not so well hidden, Sam speaks again with a hint of a smile on his lips. “Did you want me to be a knight?”

“Well.” Tommy huffs. “I never really got to meet any knights back in my kingdom. We had old warriors, but they were all…old.” Sam resists an urge to chuckle at Tommy flapping a hand up with something unimpressed. “I want to meet an actual one, someday.” 

“If the gods are good, maybe one day I’ll become one of your knights.” It wouldn’t be unthinkable. As the empire grows, so will the need to keep Tommy safe. He will always need soldiers at his back. Sam wouldn’t mind becoming one of the swords meant to keep threats at bay. 

Something about the thought of protecting this face for the rest of his days-- it is a reasonable cause to devote himself to. The prince of their empire. The future of their world. 

“Can you do that?” Tommy asks, a small shock held in the words. “You can- I can have my own knights?” With Tommy’s kingdom being in peacetime before, he’s never known the process behind gathering new knights. There’s never been a real need. 

“You will need some eventually, when the conquest is done.” Sam answers. “With the king’s approval…” He trails off, and Tommy’s excitement immediately dulls within his eyes. He looks towards the window with his attention now moved away, and the conversation cuts there. Sam can’t help but feel unbalanced at the response, or lack thereof. Perhaps he misspoke.

He doesn’t press to give an apology, but there’s something in him that wishes to. The look on the prince’s face isn’t cold, or bitter, or even angry, despite the fact it’d be justified to feel so in his circumstance. He’d be right to have a grudge at his current position, have a lasting frustration at the king for swooping in and taking his people, his crown, uprooting life as he knew it. But there’s no spite in his posture. No sharpness of a man crossed. 

Instead he just looks…sad. There’s a grief to the curves in his face and there’s a shiny sheen over his eyes, like the threat of tears. Just a minute ago, he was wary, but curious, cautious, but giddy, like any other boy his age would be, asking of knights, wanting to meet one. Now, he holds such sorrow to his expression that it feels wrong . 

He looks like a child who’s been wounded. 

Sam’s heart twists within his ribcage. Should he do something? Could he, even if he tried? He’s just a soldier who was asked to sit within the carriage. Nothing more. But what if it was? Sam falters again at the likely possibility that the boy asked him to be here because he simply didn’t want to be alone. 

“What do you know about the king?” Tommy asks after a while, eyes kept to the terrain outside. Sam collects himself from where he was lost in thought. 

“His majesty-” Sam wants to speak on his ruler’s skills in battle, his piled victories and his feats of impossible strength, but mid-way through it, he has a sense that that’s not what Tommy is hoping to hear. And maybe it’s unneeded. Everyone knows the rumors across the lands, and Tommy was once indeed one of the kings waiting for the kingdom of blood to arrive at his gates. He must already know of all the power the king wields on the battlefield, of how he’s seen as more god than man. 

Sam considers the other aspects, reigns in his shining pride for his kingdom. He struggles for a few short seconds before settling on a single fact. 

“He’s soft-spoken.” 

Tommy straightens in a short shock, looking away from the window. Sam is in realization with him, too. He’s never actually considered this part of his king. Never quite looked it in the eye. It’s never been important. But he continues on at Tommy’s interest. 

“He can project his voice when needed, he knows how to make sure his men hear him, but… I’ve never heard him outright yell. He’s a very calm man.” He’s calculated, strategic. He’s not kind, especially in the face of the obstacles in his way, but he’s got an unwavering focus around the cruelty he holds. He’s not a brash man. Noble he is for the way he speaks, and formidable he stands for the way he charges his army on, emotion never steering him off-path. That is why Sam follows him and gives his sword to his cause. That is why he serves. 

“Huh.” Tommy nods at the new fact, the sadness pulled from his mood, a thoughtful confusion taking its place. He looks back at the glass of the window, not to escape the conversation, but just to think. Silence sits in between them again. 

This time, it’s something more comfortable. 

The next few weeks pass calmly, like the warm sun after the storm. Tommy was right to find dread in the idea of his new routine, because the cycle of it quickly becomes insufferable more than anything.  

There’s a few factors of change; the conversations with Sam, the meals given, the scenery outside, but for the most part, he finds himself always returning to the road, sitting in the same plush seat. 

Travel is a thing that takes time, and so it requires patience. But on and on it goes. Again, and again, a repeat of staying within the carriage with mellow conversation kept with Sam, with a tent built the same every night, with books read beside a flickering candlelight. 

Tommy isn’t sure what he expects. Maybe he’s awaiting another face-to-face with the king, but it never does come. He stays on the road, stays in his seat, stays in the routine of waking up, riding in his carriage, heading to his tent, reading by the candlelight until he falls asleep. He feels like a ghost kept in a dream. He feels like a puppet being pulled by the strings. Fear keeps him from trying to take a step out, and grief keeps him from building courage against it. He’s both at a loss and on the edge of snapping. He’s never been a very patient sort. 

“Will anything more be happening soon?” He ends up asking Sam one day, again within the carriage, again with the scenery moving by. He’s slept many times here up against the window, and he’s half-tempted to try and take another nap again. 

“Your highness?” Sam asks. 

“Are we going to be doing anything?” Tommy stresses, and he’s not whining, he isn’t, but there is a very present annoyance showing itself within his voice. 

“Finding yourself bored?” Sam questions with a small tease, more comfortable in their hours of sitting together. He no longer gives strange pauses to Tommy whenever he speaks, and the smiles on his face flow far more freely these days.

“Yes.” Tommy deadpans, Sam’s lips twitching ever so slightly higher in a hidden amusement. “There’s nothing to do. The lands are repetitive. Your conversation is getting repetitive. And I’ve read all my books. So I can’t even do anything better in my tent now.”

“...you’ve read all of your books?” Sam asks slowly, looking slightly surprised. 

“Yes.” Tommy answers, not noticing it. “Look, Sam, the fields can only be so interesting for so long, and talking with you can only last for so long, so please, tell me, is this all we will be doing?” He huffs, sagging down in his seat with his boots nearly hitting the edge of Sam’s. “Won’t there be more?”

Sam relents with a sympathetic look, leaning forward with his elbows resting on his knees. “Please, revive yourself, your highness. If it helps any, we will be stopping by a town soon.”

Tommy’s face lightens up in intrigue. “A town?” He repeats. He sits up. “Really?”

“It’s routine to visit what towns we can during our travels. For both supplies and to spread the king’s name and mission. I’ve been told personally that you’ll be let off to explore. The king himself has ordered for you to have…” Sam pauses, thinking for a moment. “Time for leisure.”

A smile begins to form upon the prince’s face, hope rising fast. “Will the king be joining me?”

“No.” Sam shakes his head, confused by the question. “He has his duties to attend to.”

“Oh.” Tommy blinks, and Sam immediately regrets speaking, because the wash of disappointment is not nearly well hidden enough in the boy’s face. “Right. Of course.” He clears his throat, sitting properly and turning to the window as he always does when the conversation is seemingly done. 

Sam bites at the inside of his cheek in thought. It’s not his place to advise the king’s heir. In all honesty, it’s not his place to even interfere in any sort of royal go-ons, but this returning look on the prince’s face- it’s starting to become too familiar. It’s upsetting to see it become an often used expression. 

Sam has his loyalties to the crown, that much is set in stone. He reasons if reaching out is a part of serving the crown as well. The prince is meant to be kept at a distance, but (traitorous as it might sound) he doesn’t look much of a prince right now. He just looks like a boy. 

“Your highness.” Sam begins carefully, Tommy tilting his head in a gesture to show he’s listening. “I’m sure if you request an audience-”

“I don’t have to request anything. I don’t need anything from the king.” Tommy cuts him off, a touch defensive. “He’s already told me of my duties.” 

That’s not what Sam meant. He tries again. “I only thought-”

“I know what I’m supposed to do, Sam.” Tommy insists once more, and when he turns to the soldier, his soft disappointments have hardened into anger. There’s not a threat in those eyes, none to Sam’s safety, at least, but there is the warning of a short temper being unleashed within the confines of a carriage, so Sam chooses to wisely bow his head and let go of the topic. 

“Of course, your highness.” He agrees, and Tommy nods with him. The confidence within his anger slips as he turns his head back to the window, and against the reflection of the glass, Sam thinks that Tommy’s expression could almost be described as scared. 

The town is a welcome change to Tommy’s eyes when they finally arrive on its roads, past all the fields surrounding it. He’s almost near climbing out his carriage window to explore when they come near, his very blood buzzing with a held-back eagerness. 

Sam explains the area needs to be secured before he’s allowed to wander, that posts need to be set up, but the words go in and out of Tommy’s ears as he leans up against the glass, impatiently watching the king’s soldiers march on past. He needs to see something different. Something new . The bustling of townspeople, the day-to-day life of citizens, that’s something he knows- knew fondly. That’s something he can be beside, rather than the cold demeanor of a war camp. 

It feels like eternity before the door is opened, and Tommy scrambles to climb out as quickly as possible without looking like he’s a child who's trying to run off to get free sweets. The sun is warm overhead as his shoes hit the cobble road, and the air is fresh on his face as he spins to take in the sight before him. This is a proper town, with shop buildings and scattered crowds of the inhabitants, but the mood-

Oh.

The air is stifling. It is silent here, almost unbearably so, the only true noise being the shuffle of soldiers taking their posts up and down the street, orders being passed on through word of mouth. 

Tommy sees how the people eye them warily, afraid and unsure, but not giving protest, and he’s reminded harshly of the circumstances at hand. Everyone in the realm knows what happens to the enemies of the empire. This town cannot fight off an army of this size, so they take the result, and watch in fear as the king they hoped would never arrive comes to claim their lands as well. 

In an instant, Tommy’s previous joy has sunk into his stomach. What is he, to these people? Not a beloved prince, but an heir to a conqueror. A promise to a long-lasting reign that was won by blood. 

Suddenly, this is not a safe place to be. He cannot face them. He cannot walk by them, smile at them, for they fear the colors he wears. They will see the crown before they see his efforts, they will fear him before anything else. That’s not what he wants. Not yet, not yet - he cannot face that yet!

He takes a hesitant step backward, a request to get back in the carriage climbing up his throat, but Sam in that moment puts a gentle hand to his shoulder, just for a second. “Where do you want to go first?” He asks, pleasantly eager. Tommy internally screams a little. “We have quite some time before we have to head back to camp for dinner.” 

Tommy presses his lips tightly together, fists pressed to his sides. The king specifically gave him time to explore. Sam said it himself. This is clearly an opportunity for Tommy to try to fulfill the role he was given, is it not? He can’t turn it away. He can’t just run off. He cannot hide. 

He rolls back his shoulders, feeling eyes collect towards him, being drawn to his attire, his crown, the soldiers at his sides. He is the prince, and it is known. And he will not hesitate in his own thoughts. He will not falter. He will make his choice, he will walk with pride, he- He’ll-

Shit, but honestly, where does he go first? 

Tommy knows the silence in answering is dragging on too long. He picks the first place that comes to mind in trying to think of what makes up a town. 

“I want to go to the bakery.” He declares to Sam. Sam nods without a hint of question, seeming satisfied. 

“Then let us go and find it.” 

They walk through the streets at Tommy’s pace, the other soldiers at his heels, Sam at his right. The staring doesn’t get any better as they head along. Realization seems to spread through the town, at who Tommy is, but since there isn’t really much information to what sort of person he is, all they can be is wary. He could be a spoiled brat, for all they know. A cruel little monster who takes after the king, and views the enemies as nothing more than playthings. What evidence do they have to think otherwise?

Maybe awkward, hesitant kindness will do it. Because that is what Tommy does. As he passes by the people, he offers small smiles, waving and greeting them like they are old friends, wishing them a good morning. They seem more perturbed than touched by his actions, at first, and Tommy tries to not let it dissuade him, tries to pretend that the tightness in his throat is from something in the air rather than the nerves running over his skin. He continues on.  

By the time they walk into the bakery, the smell of fresh pastries is a needed relief to Tommy’s tense mood. He makes an honest grin at the chiming of the bell overhead, and he moves over to the display of baked goods with pure joy. The sight of them- and what a sight!- he’s tempted to tear into each one and eat until his stomach is hurting from it, his father forced to scold him later in the day for lack of self-control. He’ll comfort Tommy in his discomfort, of course, he’ll sit with him until the worst has passed, but once it has indeed passed, he’ll also sit him down, and insist upon making an effort to please restrain from impulse decisions, even if the action of eating so much makes the royal bakers stand with pride. 

“Your highness?” Sam’s voice asks, and Tommy realizes he’s once again in a memory of the past. This is the bakery of a town he’s never met. His father will not scold him anymore, not ever again. The bakers at the castle will not be making him anything any time soon. “Do you want to buy something?” Sam continues, Tommy stepping back and looking over to the counter, where the baker, presumably, stands with a hard expression, big burly arms crossed over his chest. 

Tommy looks over the display of breads again. They’re all beautiful, made with clear time and effort. He should buy one and leave, but his heart hurts in his chest at the thought of his late father, and he’s desperate enough with it that when he walks over to the baker, his mouth makes a stupid request.

“Do you have any cookies?” He asks, his brows furrowed together, lip twisted in a frown that’s expecting a no. He realizes what he’s said, and he stumbles over his words for a second in trying to fix it, lifting a hand in the air like he can draw the shape out. “Or- maybe biscuits, sort of? I remember there were these ones that I used to love-” He pauses, tensing up, not sure how to put it, not sure if he should really ask for it. “Uhm.” Can he even ask for this? Do bakeries take specific requests? He forgets, since the royal bakers were truly at his command whenever he stepped into the kitchen. 

The baker looks down at him with that same wide-eyed expression Sam first gave him when they spoke. The grumpy demeanor to him has vanished in the face of Tommy, and his voice, while low and deep, thick with an accent Tommy can’t place, is only confused when he repeats- “Biscuits?”

“Yes?” Tommy nods, shoulders coming up to his ears. Oh, gods, this is embarrassing. He wishes he could sink into the floor. He wishes he could just throw himself into the oven somewhere behind the counter. “I- Are they not made here? I’m sorry. We will buy bread, instead, then-” He goes to point to a random loaf, meaning to have Sam take it and pay so they can leave out the door as fast as possible-

“We do sell treats.” A woman in the back speaks up, the baker’s wife, Tommy assumes, her face a touch wrinkled with age, her apron covered in flour. “They tend to sell out early, but we’ll make a new batch right away.” 

“A new batch?” Tommy repeats, looking up to the baker in confirmation, and the baker nods with a resigned agreement, his wife giving him a certain look from where she stands. “Uh- Will that take you a while? I’m- we can buy some bread, instead, really-”

“No, no, I’ve already got the oven going! I’m already in the motions! You’ll have to give your patience!” The wife calls out, retreating away to the kitchen as if she can’t help it, almost running in her pace. “You may try some of the bread while you wait! We’ll have those biscuits!” She sounds oddly determined. Tommy wonders if he should be stopping this. 

“Uh.” He says, staring down at the wood of the counter before him. Should he be allowing this? He should be exploring the town. He can’t just sit in a bakery, picking at bread, waiting for biscuits to be done. He isn’t a child, he can't indulge in this like one. He has duties-

“Do you like cinnamon?” The baker asks, pointing a large finger towards Tommy’s face. Tommy nods automatically to the question, caught off guard. The baker narrows his gaze, then rounds the corner of the counter, marching over to one of the display tables and picking off a roll of some sort, handing it into Tommy’s hands. 

Tommy blinks down at the roll. When he looks up, the baker looks very expectant, waiting on him, and the social pressure is a heavy thing. Logically, he should be politely refusing. This feels like a temptation that will result in poor choices. But the bread looks irresistible in his hands, perfectly made, and he can smell the sweetness on it, the flecks of cinnamon scattered throughout. 

“I want an opinion.” The baker insists, when Tommy still hesitates. “A royal opinion. Tell me what you think!” There’s a sense of genuine determination for approval in there, like Tommy’s word might give his bakery a boost in their sales. It possibly could. 

Tommy relents and takes a chunk of the roll out with his teeth, chewing slowly, then pausing in the pleasant realization that it’s absolutely delicious. He takes several more overly ambitious bites before remembering that he is not in his own kitchen, and that he technically has company with him, and manners are also a thing. He tears off a bit in whatever is left and holds it out towards Sam, who stands guard by the door.  

“It’s really good.” He promises, at Sam’s baffled reaction to the offered food. “I promise.”

“I have no lack of trust in your opinions, your highness.” Sam responds, which, okay. Tommy doesn’t know what that’s supposed to mean, but he takes the bread anyway, so everything is fine. Tommy asks for another roll of the same, allowing the baker to pick it out again and give it, and this time he tears it into parts to distribute amongst the other soldiers who were following him around, the rest of them waiting right outside the door. They all have vaguely similar reactions as Sam did, but they take the food offered without any denial. They all stand there, chewing together in tasting the sweet hints of cinnamon, and for a moment, Tommy allows himself to smile and think of the memory of the kitchens again. The fact they are only memories makes his mouth go bitter. He’s conveniently offered more bread by the baker within the next minute to fix it. He takes bites of slices, of loafs, of rolls, and he offers the parts he cannot finish to his soldiers. By the time the biscuits are declared done in the back, Tommy realizes he’s accidentally finished the nearly whole display of bread, sharing it amongst his guards. 

“It’s good for business.” The baker nods, when Tommy tries to point this fact out with an attempt at an apology. The man refuses to see it any other way, only satisfied with happy customers, and prideful in the fact that Tommy’s had a taste of every bread they were able to offer. “It was good?” He asks Tommy, back behind the counter, his palms leaning down against the wood.

Tommy nods quickly, so vividly reminded of home, his stomach full, the air warm, the bakers interrogating him to make sure he enjoyed what he was given. 

“Good!” The baker nods, very satisfied. His wife returns from the back with biscuit cookies upon biscuit cookies piled on a plate, and she slides it across the counter with a matching expectant look of her husband. Tommy considers for a split second to say he’s eaten quite enough now, but her hands then rest on her hips with the expectant look turning impatient, and he quickly snatches up a cookie. 

It’s not the same as his bakers used to make it. He didn’t think it would be. But it’s warm and delicious all the same, and it makes his stomach twist, not with the pain of overeating, but with a quiet grief sneaking up on him again. 

He wants to go home.

But there is no home there anymore, he reminds himself. He must move on. 

“Thank you.” He says though a full mouth, and as impolite as that may be, the bakers don’t seem to mind. “It’s very good. Thank you.” He repeats, trying to make it sound stronger, blinking away any small threat of tears, his eyes suddenly watery. The baker and his wife look down at him with something too soft, too much, so he turns away to Sam to have him pay for all the bread they’ve had. 

Once the fees are sorted out, a good pile of coins handed to the baker’s hands, Tommy allows himself to be moved off to the front door, the biscuits freshly made now packed up in his palms. 

“Thank you.” He calls again, earnest to let them know that he appreciates their food, and the short joy it gave him. They echo goodbyes in return, and the bell on the door dings as he steps out into the street. Tommy wanders in a random direction for a minute before coming to a halt, realizing he doesn’t know where to head off next. 

“Your highness?” Sam asks, at his sudden pause. Tommy stares down at his biscuits, knowing that he should be thinking about his next destination, but all he can focus on is the fact he might’ve eaten a little too much bread. And with all these biscuits still here to finish…

“I don’t think I’m going to be able to have dinner.” He mutters with an expression of doom, more to himself than to anyone else, really. “I have far too many cookies.” 

One of the soldiers behind him suddenly snorts, and he turns his head to see another soldier smack them into silence. Tommy huffs a little at the antics, the thunk of a metal helmet sounding funny. Sam’s smile looks slightly strained as he leans down beside Tommy’s shoulder. 

“I’m sure your dinner can be held off until you’re later hungry, your highness.” Sam reassures. “For now, is there anywhere else you want to go?” 

Tommy rocks back and forth upon his heels for a moment. Where else should he go? They really shouldn’t linger in the middle of the road like this, but his mind is again blanking. He’s got to pick somewhere. People are beginning to pause and stare. 

“Is there a library around here?” 

The old library of the castle wasn’t exactly someplace fond to him, not with the constant awful lessons and teachers rambling on, but there were times in there that he found peace, curled up upon the cushion of a chair, reading through the stories that had nothing to do with history, and everything to do with dragons and beasts. Those were easier days. Calmer ones. The best were when his father kept him company, read him the books with the character’s voices made unique, the descriptions made elaborate. Those times are part of the reason Tommy tore through the books in his tent so quickly, wanting and trying to grasp at any feeling of the before. 

To his relief, he doesn’t have much difficulty in finding a similar, old comfort in the aisle of a library within this town. It’s far smaller, far less well-maintained, but the smell of the pages is a consistent thing. It’s simple. It’s enough. 

Tommy picks through the selection with curious eyes, finding interest within the words as he skims through pages found upon the worn-down shelves. He looks at journals, novels, drawn out sketches, book after book until he’s settled on something about the legend of some sea creature far, far away. 

There’s a few places to sit within the building, a cozy seating area beside the entrance, but Tommy doesn’t go to it, and instead hunkers down within the aisle of books itself, legs crossed over the floorboards underneath him, head tilted down into the book. He stays entirely unaware of the librarian watching him from a distance. A distance, because the guards at the door give warning looks when he looks as if he’ll step too close, and a distance, because there is something unexpected in the sight of Tommy sitting there on the ground, holding the same book that so many other children within the town have waved around in excitement, giddy over the concept of mythical monsters in the great sea. 

The prince looks too at home there, despite his crown and his attire, expensive and royal. It does not matter what one wears, does it? This is what the librarian thinks. It does not matter how you dress a child up, in gold, in silk, in a crown that holds the power of thousands. They are still children. 

There is a boy reading in his library, and he’s smiling at the page mentioning pirates. 

A good chunk of time passes before Tommy finally stands back onto his feet, the book closed within his hands, the pages finished. He checks with Sam to see if they are alright with time, and when Sam confirms yes, he tries to head on his way. The librarian stops him before he does. 

“Would you like to take this with you?” They ask, holding out the same book Tommy had been reading. 

“We won’t be staying within the town for all that long.” Tommy glances at Sam in confirmation. Sam gives a so-so gesture. He stares off to the side in thought for a moment, and takes the book within his palms. “Well- I mean, I suppose if I could return it within a few days-”

“You don’t have to return it.” The librarian says, and Tommy goes still. He looks up in surprise, and finds only a quiet smile pointed towards him. “Take the book if you wish. It’s old, anyhow. Look at how that cover has faded.” Tommy looks down, following the librarian’s pointed hand, and sure enough, the outside of the book is worn, discolored with age. “Ah, no one has picked that one up in weeks. It’ll do better in your hands, yes?”

“I- Yes.” Tommy nearly hesitates, but stands up straight, nodding with a quick confidence thrown up. “Yes, it will. Promise.” He bows his head, quick and simple. “Thank you.” 

The librarian bows back. It’s not a deep sign of loyalty, of sworn devotion that Tommy has seen hundred times over, but it’s respect. It’s a reminder of gentle love that he’s grown up with, and he hates to do it, but he turns his back upon it, trying to swallow past the lump in his throat. 

“Thank you.” He repeats, halfway to the door, and with the jingle of the bell over the door, he doesn’t quite hear the librarian’s soft goodbye. 

The sun must be a touch too bright outside as Tommy steps into the street, because his eyes are again watering against the light. He brushes his fingertips over his lashes and continues on, because that’s what he’s meant to do. He was supposed to be exploring, wasn’t he? He needs to see the town. 

Sam trails behind him as he wanders through the roads, not daring to pause in his steps, not quite looking away from the road before him. He can see the way the people glance at him as he goes past. The way they lean into each other, speak hushed words behind their hands. It could be nothing. It could be insults. They would be quite justified to whisper insults, wouldn’t they? Tommy’s come as a symbol that they’re a stolen town, he’s no right to want them to smile back, to love him back as much as he wishes he could love them-

The noise of bells makes his head turn. There’s a small cart of some sort to the side of the street. It’s insignificant, made of old wood, a string of bells on its handle, a bored looking man pushing it along but also- it’s carrying flowers. 

Tommy’s feet move underneath him, and he makes a sharp turn. 

“Your highness?” Someone calls, but Tommy is hardly listening. He follows the bells like they’re a calling chime. The cart stops as the man starts up a conversation with someone in passing, and Tommy keeps walking, closer and closer, the bells gently ringing in his ears. People are looking, watching him approach, except for the very man with the cart, whose back is turned as footsteps come up behind him. The person he’s talking with points a finger at the new company, and the seller looks over his shoulder with wide eyes. Tommy pays him no mind. 

He stands before the flowers with an aching pain so vivid, a thought at the back of his mind wonders if he got stabbed when he wasn’t looking. A dagger to the heart, maybe. Swift and quick. A glance at his shirt confirms no such thing. Well. 

Maybe he truly just misses the sight of flowers. What a stupid thing. He’s so helpless to it. 

His hand reaches out before he’s thinking, fingers brushing at the petals so carefully and so kindly, it would take a true idiot to not know that these flowers must have some sort of meaning to him. The guards are exchanging near frantic looks behind his back, Sam digging into his pocket for a coin so that a flower, or maybe the whole cart, could be bought, but the seller himself beats him to it.

“A gift for his royal highness?” They ask, plucking the same flowers out from their spot, holding an entire bunch of it out to Tommy. “They're precious beauties.”

Tommy takes the flower with wide eyes, not having expected the gesture. “Are-” The words lodge in his throat. “These are lilies?” At the seller's nod, “Did you grow them?”

“My mother has a garden behind her house. It takes over most of the land there, honestly.” The seller laughs lightly. “We sell them when we can.” 

“They’re lovely.” Tommy murmurs.

“You know your flowers?”

“I-” Tommy hesitates, hugging the flowers close. “Yes. My father used to show me all sorts that we grew within our own garden.” The past tense of it is not lost on the man. “How much for these?”

There’s a pause in getting a response, and Tommy raises his eyes to find a strange expression being given towards him. The man clears his throat and shakes his head. 

“Please. A gift, your highness.” He declares, gesturing to the flowers. “Consider it something of a welcome and a goodbye, since you are- passing by.” 

Tommy stares. “...Really?”

The man almost stammers as he gives a quick nod. “Yes. Of course.” 

“Oh. I- Thank you, then. That’s generous of you.” Tommy squeezes the flowers tight, then remembers to be cautious, and lightens his grip. He turns with the same haste as all the others before, focusing on only the flowers, and not the funny feeling that’s fighting in his chest.  “Goodbye.” 

The seller bows their head at his back, unbeknownst to him. Tommy walks away with the thought that today's exploration has been enough. He looks to Sam and asks to head back to the camp for dinner. 

He wonders why Sam's voice is so soft when he agrees.

Chapter Text

“Your highness, are you awake?”

Tommy startles in place, head jerking up to the sound of Sam’s voice. 

For a second, in his drowsy, bleary state, he’s filled with pure, honest confusion, unaware of where he is, when it is, who he is-- then he remembers. He blinks a couple of times, taking in the world around him, and it all floods back, like a wash of cool water over his naive head. It's the morning. He’s in his tent, as always. He’s Tommy. Of course. 

His head falls back down as he groans quietly to himself, face pressed snug into the crook of his arms. It is morning, indeed, and he doesn’t want to be awake. He doesn’t want to begin the day. He was having a perfectly fine sleep, and there’s no reason to wake him up, because it’s not as if they’re even going anywhere at the moment. The camp is still at a halt, aren’t they? Honestly, the nerve. He should shoo Sam away and roll over and continue snoozing until the afternoon comes. 

Ah, but then again. He’s meant to be better than that. He is the prince. 

Uhhgg. Responsibilities. 

As he lies still for a long moment, lamenting the idea of having to face the sun, mourning the pleasant idea of rest, he takes sudden note of the fact that he’s on the ground. And not on his bed. He lifts his head back up, staring at the rug under him. Why is he on the ground? 

His face is sore as he shifts his jaw, and judging from the book before him, the soreness is probably from sleeping on these pages. The lantern sitting beside him has long since gone out, and when he turns his head over his shoulder, he finds the blankets on his bed sitting pushed to the side, abandoned in the night. 

Did he not make it into his bed before growing too exhausted? He’s usually good about that, especially after the first time Sam found him on the floor in the morning. That had been an embarrassing instance, with too many questions about if Tommy’s bed had an issue of some sort. He couldn’t quite admit that he was just reading late into the night, but he has a feeling Sam knows regardless. 

Tommy pushes himself to his knees with a quiet grunt, blinking tiredly at the book left before him. He hadn’t meant to burn through this one so quickly. It was simply just a good book. The great majority of the texts in his shelves are things of knights, a lot of them more instructional than fantasy, and whatever interesting stories there were, he’s since read them three times over by now, and they’ve grown boring. 

This one was new, fresh. A gift. He couldn’t let it go, or even think to put it down. He supposes he doesn’t regret it. He just wishes he had more time to sleep. 

“Your highness?” Sam calls again, waiting for Tommy’s response. 

“I’m awake. Come in.” Tommy replies, standing to his feet and giving a great big yawn as Sam allows in the usual servants through the entryway. They carry clothes, a tray of food, water and cloth to wash off his face, and Tommy looks upon it all with nothing but fatigue. Someone prattles on to him about the specifics whichever meal he’s being served today, handing him the towel to refresh himself, and he looks to his bed with more yearning than he does the warm food.  

“Are you ready to visit the town again, your highness?” Sam asks, standing guard at the door, as always. Tommy pauses in cleaning his face, his gaze falling to the floor as he processes Sam’s question. He glances at the book sitting by his feet. 

“We’re going back to the town?” He echoes, feeling a little bit like an idiot. He lowers the towel in his hands, a strange dread rising up in his throat. 

“If you wish to.” Sam nods, and with the tone of his voice, he seems convinced that Tommy will indeed wish to. There’s a hint of eagerness to his words, encouragement wrapped up in the slight grin of his lips. “There’s still plenty to look at. I hear there’s a tavern that serves a decent meal farther by the north side. Would you like to go try that?”

Tommy bites at the inside of his cheek, his stomach giving a sudden twist that has nothing to do with a pang of hunger. A tavern. A meal? He thought yesterday was the whole of it. No. There is still plenty of the town, isn’t there? Tommy should take the time given to him, the job assigned to him, and he should be ready to go. 

But there’s a wariness that calls to his ears, a fear that curls in his gut. It’s only one town, and the trip the day before was nothing horrible, but-

The mere idea of returning- his fingers squeeze at the cloth in his hands. Every gift he received yesterday, every person he saw, it left him more raw than anything. Like rough fabric rubbing upon a sore wound-- It wasn’t a comfort. It wasn’t even fun. He left that town with nothing but a small relief that it was over, shaken for no reason at all. And now he’s meant to do it again? 

Tommy’s mind, riddled with exhaustion and self-doubt, makes his memory go sour in his head. He thinks back and recalls the townspeople as more hostile than they were, he imagines glares and curled scowls having been pointed at his back, because that is what he expected yesterday, and while it is not what he got, what is reality against the overthinking mind of a young boy? What is truth against the image he’s cemented in his mind?

For right now, as terribly weak as it is, as much as it shames him to know it- the town scares him. He doesn’t want to make a fool of himself. Doesn’t want to upset the wound in his chest. He doesn’t want to somehow manage to make it all worse. 

He’s tired. 

“No.” He answers softly to Sam, blinking slowly at nothing in particular, handing the towel back to his servants. “I don’t.” 

Sam falters at the response, taken aback. “...My prince?” He questions, confused by the sudden sullen mood. He thought the boy would perk up a bit at being able to head out again, the drowsiness shaken off, but-

“I don’t wish to visit the town again.” Tommy repeats, and he waves off the servants as they try to approach him with his food. He turns his back, arms crossed over his chest in a way that looks like he’s holding onto himself, or maybe holding himself together. “I’m tired.”

Sam blinks with surprise. “You’re tired?” He repeats uselessly, sharing a glance with the servants in the room, who are all giving varying signals of worry. Is it just the morning, or is the prince speaking too softly, too quietly, his posture slouched, his focus somewhere that they can’t reach? He’s always been a bit shy, ever since being named prince and joining the empire’s travel, but this isn’t a hesitant sort of emotion on his shoulders. It’s something deeper, heavier. 

Sam’s heart sinks in concern as Tommy, either unaware or uncaring of the tense silent communication behind him, moves to crawl back into bed, blankets slowly pulled over his shoulder. 

“I’m going back to sleep.” Tommy announces, like a dismissal to them all. Sam pauses in a second of consideration, then he waves out the servants, all of them leaving the items within the tent, their eyes sending insistent signals at Sam to fix it.

Sam doesn’t know how. Or even where to start. He cannot drag the boy out of bed. He isn’t even really allowed to touch him, honestly, outside of life-saving concerns. What is he supposed to do?

“Your highness, it’s time to rise.” Sam tries, stepping away from the entryway, not quite approaching the prince’s bed, but more just lingering in the middle of the room. A comfortable distance. 

“What are my duties today?” Tommy asks in response. “Is it only to go to the town?” Sam falters at the sheer dryness of the question, and in his silence, it’s taken as the yes it is. “I won’t go. So then, I have nothing else to attend to. Leave me to sleep.” 

“I-” Sam’s mouth hangs open, his thoughts running faster through his head. What is he meant to do if he can’t get the prince to leave his bed? Oh gods. What does he report to the king? “Your highness, I mean no disrespect, but are you sure you don’t want to return to the town? We had a beneficial visit yesterday.”

“Mhm.” The prince doesn’t seem to agree all that much. “I am sure.” 

“But- What of the bakery? We can collect more treats to bring back with you on the road.” 

Tommy scoffs in an unkind way, the blanket pulled tighter over him. He turns smaller in the way he curls up on his bed. “I don’t need more cookies like a needy child.” 

You are a child, Sam thinks. You look like nothing but a child at this moment, with the way you hide under that blanket, with nothing but the mess of your hair poking out. 

He stays smart and holds that thought behind his tongue, though. He takes another step closer, head leaning in. “What of the library, then?”

“...What of it?”

Sam’s eyes drift over to Tommy’s books, then he looks down at the singular newest addition still laying on the rug. He leans down to pick it up. “I’m sure you can find more books to bring here. Add them to your shelf.” 

Tommy has a moment of pause. Of thought. Sam brushes his thumb through the pages as he does, and as the book turns and lands on his palm, Tommy speaks in a small voice. “I have enough books.”

This is nothing like the boy Sam knows. What’s happened in the night he was meant to be asleep? Was there something he missed in the town? Maybe this is a matter of grief, of stress, of teenage behavior. A mix of all three. Sam is not qualified for this.

His eyes land on the lilies laying on Tommy’s table.  

“The flowers.” Sam says desperately, now feeling all too fretful. “We can track down that cart again. I’m sure the seller will be happy if we buy a few more-”

“There’s no point in that.” Tommy sits up, his eyes narrowed, words turned sharp. The anger in him makes Sam step back, and he stands frozen still as Tommy’s harsh, bitter sentences cut into him worse than any sword. “They’re flowers. They’ll wither off and die, anyway. Even the ones I have now won’t last more than a week.” 

Oh. 

The prince’s face is furious. His face is twisted into something ugly, but past the harshness of it, his eyes shimmer with tears. Sam’s surprise fizzles into a low, humming panic at the back of his mind. Oh, dear. 

“It won’t last.” Tommy continues, his fury now burnt out too quickly, and left to ashes. His words could be for something else than the flowers themselves. “I want to sleep.” He says, like a begging plea. 

Sam stares in a helpless manner, his speech stuck in his throat. He is unable to do anything but simply listen to the order, his head bowing down in respect. “Of course, your highness.” He turns his back to Tommy, and leaves through the entryway of the tent, the book still in his hand. 

He stands outside for no more than three seconds before immediately being swarmed by the servants and guards outside, pulled forward by the arm so that they can speak freely out of hearing range of the doorway. 

“Well? Did you speak with him?”  

“He’s not well, is he? I knew it! I knew it. That’s not how a tired boy should look.” 

“Oh gods, shut up- what do you know of his highness?” 

“Is he really just tired? It looked worse. Shall we request a medic?” 

“If he’s not to leave his bed, we should report to the king, should we not?”

“Please-” Sam holds up his hands in surrender, headache already trying to dig through his skull. He tries to use the book as a poor little shield. “Please, mercy. I’m trying to process.” A hand pushes the book down, not letting him have any leniency. 

“What did he say that you need time to process?” One of the servants ask, the question intense. Everyone else nods and leans in with focus. 

“I think-” Sam replays the prince’s words in his head, the false, quick anger, the threat of tears. He frowns at the inner thought, his response grave-sounding. “I think he’s unwell.”

“So we need a medic.”

“How could have he gotten sick? Oh, the town-! I bet it was the town-”

“Too much exposure to strangers. It happens, especially to young ones. And after all the time on the road-” 

“We should change out his breakfast then, shouldn’t we? Ask the cooks for something lighter on the stomach-”

“No, no-” Sam hurries to keep the group from dissolving into instant action, one of the guards about to run off to a medic, one of the servants about to rush to the cooks. “No, he’s physically alright, as far as I can tell. Well, he seems honestly tired. But I think it’s- emotional. He seems upset- emotionally.”

“Well, no shit.” One of the guards says, her deadpan tone making one of the servants laugh a little, and then immediately slap their hands on their face to stop. “He’s a boy, he’s an orphan, he’s an orphan boy. I’m surprised it took this long for him to show the signs of grief.” One of the guards push at her shoulder in a scolding manner. “What? It’s the truth!”

“Still! Don’t talk like that of the prince!”

“Do you think it’s because we’ve finally taken a stop from traveling on the road? The pause gave the grief time to sink in?” One of the servants suggest. There’s a round of small agreements, sympathetic nods. 

“I’d say so.” 

“Probably.” 

“Poor boy.” 

“What should we do, then?” Someone asks. 

Eyes fall onto Sam. He physically slumps a bit, gripping the book tightly in his hands.  

“Why are you looking at me?!” He asks desperately. 

“Because you’re the one closest to him!” They respond, like that’s an obvious fact. It is, really. 

“Not that close!” Sam huffs, brushing a hand over his face. “He’s still the prince. It’s not as if I’m entirely privy to the workings of his mind. He keeps me at a distance.”

“Well, you’re still closer than the rest of us. Surely we can do something to help him. We can’t very well let him lay in bed for the entire day, can we?”

“No, of course not.” Sam agrees, glancing back at the tent behind him, imagining Tommy still curled up underneath his blanket. “But what would help?” 

“When I lost my mother when I was little, I always went to my dad for his comfort, and he made me soup.” 

“He doesn’t want to eat. He already refused the breakfast.” One of the servants argue, crossing their arms. 

“Maybe he should just have company. Let him know he’s not alone.” 

“We can’t just swarm him.” A guard reminds. “And even then, what will we do? Stand in his tent all together? He’ll banish us out!”

“He needs a distraction.” One of the servants say, hand held to his chin. “He didn’t want to go back to the town, but we can surely give him something small to do here, to pass his time.” He raises his head in question. “Doesn’t he like flowers?”

“There’s plenty wildflowers around here.” One of the guards confirm. 

“What’s he going to do with flowers?” Another asks. 

“He can press them.” One of the servants suggests, pushing her palms together in an explaining gesture. She gets blank stares in return to her sentence. “It’s a thing! You take the flowers or the petals of the flower and press them into a page of a book. It lets you keep and preserve them. I did it when I was smaller, with my sister.” 

“Would the prince even want to do that?”

“He likes flowers.” Sam insists, sure of that fact if nothing else. “I think he would be happy to know he could keep the flowers with him, in some sort of way.” The idea is sound. The small makeshift group all huddle together for a minute more, discussing with Sam on what to say and how to say it, and then they send him back into the tent, the book still in his hands, his nerves unusually fried for such a mellow situation. 

“Your highness?” He asks, moving further into the tent to place the book back onto the shelf while he’s here. Tommy’s body shifts underneath his blanket, a small groan made in response. “One of the servants has suggested something I think you’ll find useful.”

“Really?” Tommy asks, head not even lifting from his pillow. He sounds miserable. Sam wonders if he should really just let him sleep. 

“There’s…ways of preserving your flowers.” Sam begins, clearing his throat and taking a rigid, set stance, hands clasped behind his back. “You can try pressing them.”

A moment of quiet. Tommy seems to lift his head a little, not to look at Sam, but more to- shift his ear in his direction. “What?” 

“Pressing them. We’ll- fetch you a journal, an empty one. Then you can take the flowers, press them into the page. Secure them and have them there for as long as you wish.”

Tommy’s posture sits still, before letting his head sink back into his pillow. “But- they’ll still be faded. They’ll still be dead.” He protests halfheartedly. 

“Some of the color will remain, if you do it right. And you’ll keep the memory of it for as long as you have the book. Isn’t that what’s important?” Sam takes a careful step forward, not too close, but not too far. “No one expects a flower to last forever.”

Tommy keeps his back towards Sam, his eyes wide to the side of his bed. The fabric of his pillow against his face feels damp. His heart feels heavy. He wishes he could turn and have his father behind him, rather than just a friendly face. 

“Why don’t you at least try it?” Sam encourages, taking the flowers sitting on Tommy’s nightstand. “Your lilies could be a good first page.” 

Tommy sits up a little, glancing over his shoulder. “Those flowers?”

“And any others you wish.” Sam nods. “There’s quite a few wildflowers out in the fields. If you want, I’ll send someone out-”

“No.” Tommy refuses, and Sam’s heart sinks. Tommy fully sits up from his bed, pushing his blanket off, wiping the back of his hand to his face before facing Sam. “I’ll gather them.” 

“...oh?” Sam asks, hands grasping at the lilies. 

“Yes. I’ll- I can head out there, can’t I? It’s just a field.” 

“Yes.” Sam agrees. He wonders if he should allow this strange sense of pride in his heart. “Yes, of course. Shall I hand your food to you, then? And call back the servants? So you can eat, be dressed, and head on your way?”

Tommy makes a grim face of determination, then nods. 

Sam calls the servants back in. Tommy doesn’t eat most of his food, but he dresses for the day and stands from his bed, and for that, Sam will take it as a victory. 

The odd thing with Tommy’s presence within the camp is that he is unprecedented. 

Another person of royalty, second only to the very king himself- most never considered the concept to actually come to fruition. With the way the king has since ruled and ordered his men for years now, standing tall in his rank, it seemed like, for a long while, he would be the only royal they would ever serve under. He would be the sole head to bear the crown. 

But then came along Tommy. Then came along the announcements, the letters and rumors passed on and on through the new empire, and suddenly, they had a prince. Reports were occasionally mixed, the story often twisted amongst the people and soldiers, but the main details sat true. 

The king went to take another kingdom under his hand, and instead of cutting down another false ruler, he came away with a new heir underneath his wing. A boy with golden hair, and a crown made of flowers. A stark contrast to their king. A gentle-hearted child. 

There were mixed reactions to the news. Some rejoiced, their devotion growing in the face of a true future for the empire, the decades now set in stone for the king’s crown. Others…well, they didn’t quite doubt the choice, but rather stood stunned against it. Baffled in the results, but supportive and loyal all the same. 

The latter is the reaction of the camp as Tommy walks through. For the weeks beforehand, Tommy’s never had reason to show his face to the soldiers during the day. Sure, there had been glimpses of him, word of mouth sharing how he looked, but intrigue over the boy can only last so long when all they see of him is the back of his head as he returns to his tent or his carriage. 

For the most part, news of him had died down, his role cemented into the empire like a background fact. They have a prince. His tent is located over there. The carriage he rides in sits over here. His guards stay consistent ever since he requested to keep the first one he met, and those same guards don’t give any information on him if anyone ever tries to press for facts. (Those updates are reserved for the king’s ears alone.) He’s a bit unknown, but rumored to be kind. His kingdom has got a thing with flowers, apparently? Respect him as you respect the king, and that is that. 

Until he’s then seen walking through the camp in the warm daylight of the morning. 

Sam leads the way for Tommy, guiding him and the other few of his guards towards the fields where the servants spotted the wildflowers, and in every step their group takes, eyes fall onto them. Conversations fall hushed, heads turn, hands reach out to hit the person nearest and turn attention to the boy with golden hair, the boy with a crown sitting on his head. The boy who is their prince.

The area around Tommy has quite literally stopped to stare, everything at a halt, and he would have to be an idiot to not notice it all. 

“Sam.” He calls quietly, tilting his head down to try and avoid the weight of it. Here he thought he made a smart choice in avoiding the town. It seems all he did was make a wrong turn into something twice as worse. “Sam.” He grits the name out when Sam doesn’t hear it the first time. 

Sam glances around with clear notice to the stillness around them. He keeps his pace. “Don’t mind them, your highness. They’re only curious.” He says, speaking of the camp like they’re just animals of the land that they’re passing. Tommy’s lips turn in a slight frown, and Sam glances back over his shoulder. “You’re still new as an heir, is all. They don’t mean disrespect. And as he says that, then comes the bows. People lower their head to him in a collected sort of unison, a reverence in their expression that makes Tommy’s nerve lift and sit odd.

It’s quiet, with everyone’s focus on him. It’s somehow familiar. 

Tommy stops where he is. His guards behind him stop with him, and Sam takes a step and a half before realizing Tommy’s come to a halt. As he turns to question, Tommy raises his chin, and projects his voice out in a way he’s only ever done a few times within court. 

“Good morning.” He greets, heads raising up at him with looks of surprise. “Please return to your duties.” 

And the world continues turning. Immediately, everyone continues on their way, conversation bursting to life, although Tommy would be a fool to not be aware of the fact that most of it is probably about him. He goes to let Sam lead the way again with a lump now stuck in his throat, the moment there just replaying in his head. 

When was the last time he had all his people look to him like that? Had it been when he was saying goodbye, leaving his kingdom for good? Or had it been before, somewhere within the hall of his father’s castle? He can’t recall. His memory blurs too much these days, and he hates the pain of it. 

When they arrive at the edge of the field, it is more or less what Tommy expected. It’s a vast thing of tall grass, flowers scattered throughout, and while there are proper crops farther on in the distance, there’s nothing of significance nearby, other than the rest of the camp curling around to the side of the field. 

“You can wait here.” Tommy says to Sam, to his guards, staring out at the land with a pressure trying to push in on his lungs. He breathes in the morning air to relieve it, and revels in the freshness of the breeze. 

“We can follow at a distance.” Sam suggests, and Tommy waves a hand. 

“It’s just grass, Sam.” He says, stepping into the field, the green brushing up against his hips. “It’s not terribly tall. I’ll survive.” He gives an unimpressed look behind him at the fact Sam could’ve thought there might even be a danger within here, and Sam relents, taking his stand on the dirt of the road. Tommy huffs under his breath. He continues wading into the field. 

It’s a little strange, to be walking out here by himself, the area so empty compared to the business of the camp, but it is also a relief to have a moment alone again, in a place that isn’t a mimic of a cage.

The grass here sways with the gentle wind, and Tommy leans down to carefully pull small flowers into his palm. Their stems snap against the tug of his fingers, and their color rests as a light yellow in his hold. He wonders if he should try gathering an entire bunch of them, to try and twist into a crown, maybe?

He swallows back a sudden wave of past fear, imagining the moment at which Technoblade first approached his gates. The utter quiet terror of his people, the numb acceptance he wore-

That is over and done with. He picks some more flowers, and wanders farther into the grass. There’s no reason to relive the experience, because it worked. The king took his crown, his gift. It seemed impossible, but it worked. Here he is. Here he stands. 

It should’ve been a failure. By all means, it should’ve ended with Tommy meeting his father once again. He had been sure that is how it would’ve gone. 

He isn’t going to see his father again for a long, long time, now. Not with being an heir. Not with an empire now set for his future. 

Tommy’s hands shake around the flowers he’s taken. His breath stutters within his throat, and he leans down into the grass, aware of Sam’s eyes on him from a distance, aware of the fact that he will need to walk out eventually, and continue with the day. 

He pretends like he’s just reaching for a few low-growing flowers. He then rises tall, and feels all too small. The sun glimmers brightly in the blurriness of his vision, and his shaking lip curls into a gritted grimace as he presses the petals of his flowers to his face, like he’s trying to catch their scent. 

There’s a rustle in the grass to the left of him. 

Tommy’s eyes slide over to the movement, confusion rising up through him. That’s…strange. It happens again, a little thing of movement, and just as he turns his head to take a closer look, another head pops out from the grass. 

“Oh, shit-!” Tommy swears, jerking back as he’s caught entirely off-guard.

“Oh, shit!” The stranger swears, panicked at the consequences of their actions. Tommy goes falling backward into the grass, arms flailing, flowers lost. The mysterious person who’s surprised him comes lunging forward, trying to grab at his shirt to keep him somewhat upright. He fails entirely. Tommy still lands into the ground, just with a fist bunched in the fabric of his shirt. He feels more attacked than helped. He wonders if he should be screaming for Sam right now. Faintly, he thinks he can hear Sam screaming for him. Huh. 

“Sorry, I’m sorry! I didn’t- I, uh-!” The stranger tries to say, tugging at Tommy like he can right the wrong, more jostling him than anything. 

“Get off- get off me!” Tommy yells, kicking a foot out, hitting his arms out, making the hand let go. He looks before him and finds a boy kneeling in the dirt, brown hair, green eyes. 

Who the hell is this? Where did he even come from? Tommy sniffles a little in his staring at the stranger, and the boy reaches his hand out again, to do what, Tommy doesn’t know, because he smacks the offending appendage away once more, with a bit more threat to it. 

“Oh- you- Fucking leave me alone!” He spits out, overwhelmed with sudden frustration. Who is he to just- to just-? Tommy was supposed to be alone out here! With nothing but the flowers and the freedom to grieve a little in the grass. 

The boy freezes still at Tommy’s exclamation, his dirty hand kept mid-air. “Oh my god.” He says, eyes ridiculously wide at Tommy, mouth left ajar. “You swore.” 

Tommy blinks. Squints. Judgmentally. “Yeah?” He says, a touch defensive. He scoots back an inch, wiping a hand over his face to try and quickly rid the evidence of tears there. “What of it?”

“I didn’t know you could swear.” The boy says, voice almost hushed. Something in Tommy bristles in his next sentence, the words easily taken as a tease. “You’re like, the prince, princes don’t swear-”

“Piss off!” Tommy yells, outright in spite, his grief now melted down into sheer anger, hands curled tight into fists shaking in the air. “I can swear all I want!”

The boy just laughs, baffled rather than threatened. “Holy shit, this is probably breaking a law or something. I’m gonna get beheaded.” He says that way too casually. It makes Tommy falter a little. “Look, uh- sorry, sorry I knocked you over-” 

“You didn’t even knock me over. You just- appeared in the grass like some sort of animal.” Tommy insults, gesturing at said grass around them. 

The boy huffs, leaning back. “Well, you’re in the grass too. So don’t go being high and mighty here.” 

“I’m not being high and mighty-” Tommy stops with a scoff, leaning forward with his hands slamming against the ground. “You scared me!”

The boy puts his hands up in surrender. “Not on purpose!”

“Well, you snuck up on me!”

“Hey- no I didn’t! I was looking for snakes!”

Tommy freezes. He suddenly doesn’t like this grass anymore. Doesn’t care for the flowers, doesn’t care for the silence. It’s not peaceful nor safe at all. “There’s snakes in here?” 

“Apparently not, judging by my lack of success.” The boy looks around him, as if a snake will surely pop up any moment now to prove him wrong. “I did find some beetles, however. That’ll be helpful.” He pats at his pockets, like that’s where the beetles are. 

…is that where the beetles are?

“Why are you collecting…bugs?” Tommy asks, a bit concerned and mildly intrigued.

“For purposes. Evil purposes.” 

Tommy frowns. Stares and waits for elaboration on that. The boy doesn’t give it. 

“I’m not confessing my crimes to the prince. You’ll snitch.” He explains, Tommy frowning harder in offense. 

“I do not snitch. I am not a snitch. I’m the opposite of a snitch.”

“A secret-keeper?” The boy drawls sarcastically. 

“No- Wait, yes, actually! Yes! I keep lots of secrets.” Tommy nods. The boy scrunches up his face in something bewildered. He doesn’t seem convinced. Tommy is going to have to sell it.  “I know so many secrets, you know. Like- a whole lot. So you have to tell me yours. Your secrets. Or else I don’t have any secrets and I will lose my job.” 

The boy raises his eyebrows. “You’re the prince. Isn’t that your job?”

“That- that’s a side job.” 

The boy chokes out a bit of laughter, Tommy’s heart going warm. Yes. He is funny. The boy then stares oddly at him, and Tommy is a little off-put, his sense of soft victory dying down. 

“What?” Tommy asks. 

“Nothing, I- You are actually the prince?” The boy asks, leaning close, trying to find some false tell in Tommy’s appearance. “You didn’t just steal his crown or something-?” He reaches a hand out. 

“It’s my crown.” Tommy holds his hands to his head, leaning back from the boy’s outstretched hand. At the skeptical look, “I am the prince!”

“Well, you are dressed all proper. But you’re not like anything I expected.” The boy hums, sitting back with a slight shrug to his shoulder. “Well. Anyhow. If you must know, your grand, radiant highness-”

“Tommy.” 

The boy freezes. “.....h-huh?”

“I’m Tommy.” He holds out his hand, not taking any other route as an answer. He will have his name be said by someone. It feels like he’s been too long since anyone has even said it. 

The boy falters, blinking strangely in a way that Tommy is starting to get a bit tired of. Then he grins. “I’m Tubbo.” Tubbo shakes his hand, strong and firm, and a giddy type of energy rises through Tommy like the bubbles in a boiling pot. Tubbo. He’s got a name in return. 

After letting go of Tommy’s hand, Tubbo then digs into his pocket. To Tommy’s great dismay, yes, indeed, that is where the beetles are. “I’m gonna put these on someone’s plate.” He says, and Tommy makes a scoff of bafflement. 

“Wha- why?!” 

“Because it’s hilarious, and the guy is an asshole.” Tubbo lets the few bugs crawl back and forth from palm to palm, his hands keeping them from falling to the floor. “He yelled at my friend this morning, so he deserves bugs in his food.” 

“That’s gross.” Tommy insults. Tubbo looks up at him with a blank expression, and Tommy’s self-control suddenly shatters, his impulse dragging him without a hint of mercy. “Can I help? I want to help.”

Tubbo straightens up. “What?”

“I wanna put bugs in food.” Tommy repeats. 

“You want to put bugs in food?”

“You wanted to do it first.”

Tubbo pauses. Thinks. “True.” He shrugs, putting his beetles back into his pockets. “Okay, then search for more bugs, but not over here, I already looked through that area.” 

They crawl off through the grass, Tubbo leading the way, dirt catching onto their knees and hands. The sensation of it is cool and sticky, but not unwelcome to Tommy. He’s always been the sort of boy to go into the mud without a second thought. He just- hasn’t had the time to return back to it, he supposes. The months have been long and busy. 

Bit by bit, they pick more beetles up from the ground, Tommy grinning wide each time he’s got one in his fingers. Tubbo makes a small tease at finding more, and it becomes competitive within seconds. Tommy zeroes in on the floor like he’s never done before, blocking out the world around him for the sake of seeing the small movement of little bugs. He finds a centipede at one point. Tubbo cheers a little at the sight of it, and Tommy’s never been so giddy to be sticking a bug into a random boy’s pocket.

Once they have enough, Tubbo deeming his pockets full, Tommy follows him out from the middle of the field, the two of them lingering at the edge of the grass at where the camp sits. From here, Tommy can see tables upon tables of the dining area, entirely empty at the moment, probably because it’s not quite lunchtime yet. He leans closer to Tubbo in intrigue as to how they’re going to get the bugs into one specific asshole’s meal. 

“Okay.” Tubbo nods, very focused on the few people briskly walking past, their faces uninterested in the dining tables. “We cannot be seen.” 

“How do we not be seen?” Tommy asks. 

“Run.” Tubbo responds, and then he breaks out from the grass, feet kicking the dirt to go into a full-on sprint. 

“Wha- Shit, shit!” Tommy struggles to follow, keeping on the boy’s heels and nearly face planting into the floor when Tubbo slides underneath one of the tables. Tubbo grabs him by the shirt and drags him into cover.

They poke their heads out again, like with the grass. 

“Run?” Tommy asks, not even sure of the destination here, but Tubbo seems to know what he’s doing, so surely it’s alright. (Tubbo doesn’t know what he’s doing. The boy is purely running on excitement.)

“Run!” Tubbo whispers back, and they go to the next table, giggling to one another, sliding against the loose dirt with a bit more grace than the first one. They take careful looks out once again, no one paying them mind, and they move to another table again, this time, one with cloth over the wood, perfectly keeping them out of view. 

As they hide together, catching their breath, Tubbo turns to Tommy with a poorly held back laugh, the joy contagious and bringing a snort from Tommy’s throat. 

“This is going better than I planned.” Tubbo notes. 

“You planned this part?” 

“No, but like- if I did plan it- it’s going better than I imagined. In the hypothetical plan.” Tubbo explains, and Tommy presses his dirt covered hands to his face to keep from laughing too loudly. He can hear people going past the table, their voices yelling out to each other. “Okay.” Tubbo sits back, digging through his pockets, bringing all the beetles out. “I got uhhhh- fuck, I can’t count them, they keep moving-”

“They want freedom. They crave the dirt.” Tommy says wisely, the silly words brought straight from his heart. 

“They-” Tubbo’s expression crumples, his words dissolving  into a giggle. “Why’d you say it like that?”

“The bugs crave dirt.” Tommy goes on, purely to make Tubbo amused. “They crave the soil.” 

“Mmm, soil.” Tubbo replies, and Tommy tries to echo him, his voice kept steady. 

“Mmm, the- the- haha!” He fails in keeping his voice. He breaks out in a laugh. “Mmm, soil.” 

They laugh at each other for a moment, their collection of bugs trying to escape in between them, and as they pause in a moment of calm breath, the noise around them suddenly reaches their ears. 

“Hey.” Tubbo turns his head, staring at the tablecloth, hearing people yelling all around them, footsteps circling around. “Is- is something going on?”

Tommy listens with him, a frown coming to his face. He peeks out a little past the table, and he can see all the soldiers moving around, searching and calling orders. “That’s strange.” He says, brows furrowed together. “The men outside are-”

The table suddenly shifts. The tablecloth in front of him gets yanked up, pushed aside, and Tommy comes face to face with the disgruntled expression of the king.

Chapter Text

“Oh, gods.” He hears Tubbo choke out, with all the terror of a criminal caught. 

Tommy feels the same. All past joy he had in the seconds prior dissipate within an instant, his chest filled with only a hollow, shocked surprise. 

“You- Your Majesty-” Tommy tries to speak, but Technoblade turns away before he can even finish a sentence, standing up to call out to the camp around them. 

“Stop the search! They’ve over here!” He announces, his words making both Tommy and Tubbo flinch. When he leans down again, his voice goes low--not quite terribly angry, but there is a sharp frustration to be felt. It’s akin to a knife being pressed against Tommy’s shaking heart. “Come out. Now.” 

They have no choice other than to mutely listen. Tommy crawls out before Tubbo, pushing himself to his feet, and as he stands, he can take in the state of the camp. The people around them stand scattered in their groups, now at attention with all eyes on him and his dirty, mud-stained clothes. It would be fitting for them to give something judgemental at the sight of their prince like this. There is only relief and small smiles given his way, and Tommy’s dread is momentarily lessened in confusion. Why are they looking at him like that? 

The king steps in front of Tommy’s view, forcing him back to the ordeal at hand. Tommy tilts his head up with wide-eyed nervousness, the king seeming all too imposing before him. Tommy’s shoulders hunch up beneath his ears as Technoblade then leans down towards his eye level, the proximity face-to-face far more scary than a looming height, in Tommy’s opinion. 

“Do you have any idea what has been happening right now?” Technoblade asks, but judging by the tense mood of the question, it’s not something Tommy’s really meant to answer. “A camp-wide search, solely for your disappearance. Everything placed on halt, while my men are sent searching through the grass fields for a runaway prince.” 

Tommy tries to shrink into himself even further, lips pressed into an unsteady grimace. Both embarrassment and shame roll down his back in waves, and while it would be unwise, he wishes for more than anything to go hiding back in the tall grass. Anything to stop the king from standing before him like this. 

“When you’re given the freedom to wander the fields, that does not mean you can wander off.” Technoblade continues, Tommy’s stomach turning in knots. 

“Your majesty- I wasn’t- I-” He stumbles over his words, eyes falling away to look somewhere at the ground near his feet. Something touches underneath his chin to raise his head back up, and Tommy freezes upon realizing it’s the king’s hand that’s preventing him from escaping his gaze. “I’m- I’m sorry. ” He blurts out, entirely honest with his regret. “I didn’t realize my disappearance would cause such a disturbance. I’m sorry.” 

Techno’s eyes narrow, and past the blur of panic, Tommy notes the fact how little anger truly lies in his expression, in his tone. There is a sharpness to him, yes, that is how the king tends to always be, but already, the worst feels to be fading. The king looks at him with nothing but a lingering, observing gaze. Then he gives a sigh that’s more weary than anything. 

His hand moves out from under Tommy’s chin as he stands straight again, and his fingers pick lightly at the curls of hair by Tommy’s forehead, Tommy staying perfectly still with a tense frown. 

“You were gone for not even a half hour.” Technoblade says, as if it’s now not a concern, and just a past headache. “How is it that you are covered in dirt?” 

Tommy’s face burns with humiliation, wondering of the picture they must pose. Tommy, covered in dirt, found at last to be scolded like a child, and the king before him, a stark contrast in his perfect, never-faltering excellence. 

“We- were in the fields.” Tommy answers shortly, wondering how he’s ever going to recover from this to prove himself as the heir. 

“Clearly. Were you digging through them, as well?” Technoblade responds, unimpressed with the answer. 

Tommy makes a smart choice to stay silent. He doesn’t look to the floor, as much as he wants to. Technoblade huffs, a ever so small sliver of amusement behind his eyes.

“You’ll wash up before you do anything else today.” The king commands, and Tommy nods his agreement wholeheartedly. He would do well to be out of his dirtied clothes, now that the fun has passed and gone. “And as for you.” The king continues, Tommy’s stomach dropping at the seething manner it’s said, at that fact that is directed towards Tubbo. 

“Your majesty-” Tubbo holds his hands up in surrender, stepping forward from where he had been standing by the table. The anxiety upon his face heightens into panic when the king takes a slow step forward. 

“Leading his highness away like that, causing all this to begin with-” There is the anger Tommy was readying himself for, there is the fury. There is a threat in the pull of his words, Tubbo shaking underneath the weight of it. 

“I wasn’t trying to-” He tries to speak, and the king silences him with a raised hand, not wanting to even listen. 

“Regardless of intention, this could’ve gone worse. The two of you losing your way, wandering away from camp, enemies approaching, the heir harmed- Did you ever consider that? That you could have him in danger, having him separated from his guards? They aren’t there for decoration.” Every sentence adds to the fire, the tension in the air forming so quickly and so thick that Tommy suddenly can’t quite breathe. 

Tubbo looks to be the same. 

“I’m sorry, your majesty.” He lowers his head into a bow, voice shaking within his throat. His hands clasp tightly to his chest, fingers trembling upon each other. 

The king is barely appeased. He scoffs unkindly. “I don’t want your useless words. There will be consequences for this.” Tubbo’s eyes peek up as the same time Tommy goes still, and the king raises an arm out to his men. “Take him.” He orders, and two soldiers immediately come, reaching to take Tubbo in hand. 

“Your majesty, please, I didn’t mean to-!” Tubbo begins to cry out, shaking his head, but not daring to try and resist the hands grabbing on. 

“Wait.” Tommy breathes out, the protest too quiet by mistake, his shock leaving him stunned.  “No- Stop-” He says, louder, but unheard, and Tommy fears for a moment that he won’t ever be heard, that the king won’t ever turn his head, and he will lose the one good friend he’s made. He’ll lose Tubbo. “Your majesty, stop it!” Tommy screams, and he reaches out, grabbing and yanking Techno by the arm.

Everyone comes to a halt. Technoblade twists his head down towards Tommy, and the king is more surprised than upset to be met with such a furious glare, a burning fire in the blue of his eyes, a horrible spite in the curl of his lips. 

“You-!” Tommy begins, ready to yell, to demand for this to be fair, but against the look of the king, his calm, unwavering gaze looking back at him, his anger falters. “You-” 

He realizes then what he's just done. 

He tears his hand away from the king’s arm, stumbling a few steps back. There’s an apology tumbling around in his throat, but it refuses to come out, bits of spite still lodged into his lungs. He looks to the floor, fists curled tight at his sides, and-

“Look at me.” 

Immediately, Tommy’s head tilts up. He expects that fury from before, terrible and merciless, but there’s nothing of it to be seen in Techno’s face. He looks at Tommy with something along the lines of a waiting expression, mood calm and expectant.

Tommy raises his chin higher as a sort of daring defiance. “You can’t take him.” 

“No?” Technoblade raises his eyebrows, and Tommy wonders if he’s seeing things, if there’s truly a smirk passing over the king’s face. “He risked your safety, leading you from your guards.”

“He wasn’t trying to lead me to anywhere dangerous!” Tommy insists. “We-” He takes a short breath. “We were just having fun.” 

Technoblade blinks in a blank sort of manner. “Still. His actions were made.”

“But you cannot take him.”

Techno settles him with a long look, and Tommy holds steadfast, heart hammering behind his ribs. “Why not?”

“I had hoped to invite him to have breakfast with me, in my tent.” Tommy explains, waving a hand out to a vague direction. 

“Breakfast?” Technoblade frowns. “It’s near afternoon.” 

“I-” Tommy clears his throat, glancing at Tubbo, who looks at him and the king with a stare he can’t decipher. “Well, a meal, regardless.” 

“Have you eaten?” The king suddenly asks. Tommy is caught off guard. He looks back at him, the king’s attention now a bit more heavy.

“...No.” He answers truthfully. “I wasn’t hungry when I woke up this morning.” 

Technoblade hums in acknowledgment, taking in that response. He turns to look at Tubbo, who bows his head rather than meet his eyes head on, and in the passing of what feels like the longest minute in the world, he seems to make a choice.

“Go eat.” He tells Tommy. “Take your friend with you.” Tommy’s worry lifts so suddenly, he has to swallow hard to not immediately start blurting out gratitude. “Don’t make a repeat of this, and I’ll forget it ever happened.” 

“We won’t, your majesty. Thank you.” Tommy nods, hand reaching out to Tubbo’s as the boy stumbles over to him, let go and pushed along by the guards. The king watches the gesture with nothing more than a curious glance, then he turns away to presumably return to his work.

“And please wash up.” He calls out, just before he goes. Tommy again is reminded of the dirt across his face. He slumps, looking slightly abashed, and Tubbo squeezes his hand, looking like his life just flashed before his eyes. 

Chapter Text

When the majority of the commotion has died down, the crowd scattering out to return to their jobs, the king out of sight as he returns to his own duties, Tubbo takes a breath, then deflates and slumps in place like a wilting, dying plant, his hands grasping at the side of Tommy’s sleeve for balance. 

“Ohhhh fuck, I’m so dead. He’s gonna kill me. He’s gonna kill me.” The boy bemoans, leaning heavy to one side. Tommy stumbles in trying to keep him upright, and struggles in keeping a straight face when Tubbo looks up at him with a face of dramatic despair. “Tommy. Your highness. Tommy. I’m dead. Pardon me. Pardon me of crimes, quickly.” He pleads, tugging at Tommy’s muddied shirt. 

“I pardon you so much.” Tommy responds, taking Tubbo by the arms in a solemn vow. Tubbo immediately brightens up, his spine straightening again in joy. 

“Pardoned!” He exclaims, Tommy snickering lightly. Tubbo smiles with him, then pats at his chest, as if checking if his heart still beats. “My life doesn’t feel saved. I feel doomed still.”

“Well, I made an effort.” Tommy shrugs, and in the corner of his eye, he can see a few guards waiting for him to begin moving, willing to escort him back to his tent. He tugs Tubbo along, the two of them starting to walk through the camp, guards keeping a loose circle around the both of them, as if they’ll make an impulsive run for it. 

“It’s alright. This is fine.” Tubbo takes an exaggerated sigh as they begin to walk. “I expected that to go worse, honestly.” Tommy gives him a double-take, eyes wide. 

“Wha- Worse? What do you- That was bad enough!” He groans, pushing his hands to his face in a sudden returning wave of shame. His words are slightly muffled. “I don’t even- Why was the king even there?!” 

“Well, obviously, he’s going to be probably a bit concerned about the fact his heir went missing-” Tubbo points out. 

“No, I mean- he was physically there.” Tommy specifies, lowering his hands to look Tubbo in the eye. “He stepped out to help search.”

Tubbo blinks, the sound of their footsteps on the dirt being the only sound for a few seconds. “...yeah?”

“No, I mean, he was in the search for us! In the camp! Walking around and all!” Tommy waves his hands up, clearly more baffled about this than Tubbo is. “He has his duties, he’s often busy. I haven’t even really talked to him since we left my kingdom- haven’t even seen him, really, so  you’d think he would just leave this to his men! Yet he was right there, and ohhh…” Tommy slows in his walking, shoulders slumping with a sour frown. “I had to look him in his eyes with dirt all over me-”

“Wait, you don’t-” Tubbo stops, facing Tommy directly. “You don’t talk to the king?”

Tommy shakes his head, stopping as well in place. “No.” He then hesitates, and pulls Tubbo along again. “Well, I mean- I’ve talked with him, of course, of course I have. But, that was before.” 

“Before?” Tubbo repeats.

“Yes. Before we- left.” At Tubbo’s odd look, “Back at my old kingdom…” He tries to elaborate.

Tubbo’s eyebrows lift up with something incredulous. Tommy flusters at the sense of judgment. 

“Well, it’s not like I need to talk with him much!” He defends, waving a hand out. “He’s already informed me on my duties, and that’s all I need from him, isn’t it?” 

“Uh.” No, not quite. Tubbo feels like there’s far more that’s supposed to go into that than just a conversation from weeks back. But then again, he supposes parental relationships are different with the crown. More strained, more distant. “Well, I guess.”

“Right.” Tommy nods, happy to have them on the same page. There’s a beat of silence before he turns his head to Tubbo, leaning in with a low voice. “Although. In truth, I think he’s given me false duties.” 

“What?” Tubbo’s face scrunches up with confusion, his head leaning into Tommy, almost bumping his skull by accident. “Why would he- how would he do that?”

“By not actually telling me anything!” Tommy whispers furiously.

“You said you guys talked before!” Tubbo whispers harshly back.  

“Yeah, and he told me nonsense! He said to go- pick flowers, or something. He dismissed me.” Tommy hisses. “I admit, in part, he said that I would be representing the crown, but that comes with the job, does it not? Isn’t that self-explanatory? And then he was vague with all my other duties, so they weren't actually real, I think.” 

Tubbo takes a moment to process all that as they approach Tommy’s tent at last. “He told you to- pick flowers?” He asks, watching the guards pull aside the covering of the doorway. 

“Yes! I mean- well. Not like that. I don’t think it was meant to be insulting.” Tommy says as he heads into his tent. Tubbo follows right behind him, only mildly caught in a sudden panic at the fact he’s been casually led into a royal’s living quarters. 

It’s a lot smaller than he thought it’d be. But still, far cozier than the tent he shares with Ranboo and the others. 

“It’s- it’s probably from the gesture of my kingdom.” Tommy goes on, Tubbo trying to pay attention to his friend rather than think about his situation at hand. “When we left, they showered us with flowers, and- I did make that flower crown for him.” He mutters the last bit, Tubbo barely catching it. Tommy wonders, maybe the king would want another crown? He doesn’t even have flowers to make it, though. He dropped them all back in the field…

“You made a flower crown for the-?” Tubbo freezes, stopping in his sentence. He stays standing still beside the doorway, eyes going wide. “Holy shit.” Tommy looks over his shoulder, frowning a bit. “No shit- The crown- it was made of flowers?”

“What?”

“It was of flowers. The crown you gave-” Tubbo moves forward, grasping Tommy by the shoulders. “You made a crown of flowers for the king? And he took it?”

“Yes?” 

“He took it!” Tubbo yells, shaking Tommy in place.

“Yes!” Tommy confirms, pushing off Tubbo’s arms so he can stop being shaken around. “Why are you surprised?!”

Tubbo holds his hands to his head in shock. “No one told me that detail! I knew you gave him your crown, or something along those lines, and then he took you in, but- He wore it? He wore the flowers?”

Tommy stares at Tubbo for a long moment in bewilderment, then nods. 

“Oh my gods.” Tubbo turns away, pacing around in the tent. “He wore a crown. He wore a crown of flowers. How did that not become widespread news? How did I not hear about that?” Tubbo always gets the fair share of rumors from around camp, but as warped as they might be from time to time, he feels that detail should’ve made it through. But then again, word against the king is also often taken rather harshly. Spreading the fact he wore flowers in his hair might be seen as a weakness, and if there’s one thing the people do, they do not spread the king’s weaknesses. (Although, usually, that’s mostly because the king doesn’t have any.) 

“It’s not a bad thing.” Tommy mumbles his words, looking slightly awkward for Tubbo’s reaction. 

“No, it’s not, I’m not saying that. Not at all. It’s just surprising. He’s the last man who I thought would accept such a gift.” Tubbo clarifies, shaking his head. “I mean- He’s- the king. Great, stoic warrior of the battlefield. He doesn’t wear flowers. He barely ever accepts offerings unless they’re of the highest quality!” And even then, he might still find them not worthy enough. The stories Tubbo has heard of kingdoms trying to bargain…the king ever unswayed by the promise of unspeakable riches, because his sights were dug into the goal of the crown. Gold, diamonds, lands upon lands-- Tubbo once heard that a false ruler once offered elephants at some point. The king wasn’t interested. He attacked their walls all the same. 

“Well, he wore my crown.” Tommy proclaims, crossing his arms over his chest, a little defensive. “And those flowers hadn’t exactly been fresh, either, so...” 

“This is unheard of.” Tubbo chokes out, feeling as if the world has been turned around him. “The blood king accepted day-old flowers-” 

“What was he meant to do with them? Crush them underneath his shoe? He’s not fucking heartless!” Tommy yells out. Although, quietly, the prince will admit, that is what he expected from Techno on the first day they met. He was thinking the worst, seeing that man approach. But-

Rumors are just rumors, though! People will say anything of a man they perceive to be their enemy, and those things said were what Tommy’s advisors had repeated to him. They considered him only an enemy. Now they stand, allied, joined, even, Tommy as a part of the kingdom. 

“He’s the king.” Tubbo argues, like that’s all that needs to be said, like he’s a man without a soul. Tommy doesn’t think that’s true, but to his defense, he does not realize he is the singular person who’s been given rare, unheard-of leniency from the king. 

“Yes, but he is still fair. He’s still- Agh. Look.” He holds out his hand to Tubbo in a sudden frustration. “See this ring? It belonged to my father. He gave me my father’s ring after having found it.” At Tubbo’s lost look, “It was presumably lost before, but when he found it, he gave it to me. He could’ve kept it. Or thrown it away. I mean, it’s not even technically of our crown, it’s of my old kingdom now. It’s purely sentimental. And he gave it to me. He returned it, because he knew I’d want it. Does that seem cruel to you?” 

Tubbo’s expression softens in wonder. “No, I guess not.” He looks at Tommy’s dirtied face with a sudden thought. “What- What did he say when he gave it to you?”

“Nothing. He just- told me how to be his heir.” Tommy’s fingers fiddle with his ring, twisting it in place. “He said to be curious. Take in the lands, make friends, if I wanted.” 

“That’s what he said?” Tubbo asks, raising his eyebrows. 

“I know, right?!” Tommy nods, unaware of the fact that he and Tubbo are on different thoughts here. “I feel like there’s something I’m missing.” He presses his lips tightly together in a thin frown, turning away. “I’m not sure what I’m doing wrong.” 

Tubbo’s mouth hangs open for a bit as he shakes his head. “I don’t think-”

“Your highness?” Sam’s voice speaks up, and the two teenagers turn their heads to the doorway, Sam bowing underneath their gaze. “I’m sorry for interrupting, but I think you’re both in need of a change of clothes. And a bath. Orders of his majesty.”  

“Oh.” Tommy looks down at himself, suddenly reminded of the dirt. “Right. Yes.” He turns his head. “Tubbo-?”

“I should head on my way, then. I have chores I need to have done. I’ve gotten wildly off-track today. Ranboo’s going to kill me when he hears what I’ve been up to.” Tubbo says, staring off to nowhere with a vague sense of worry. He then turns to Tommy, smiling kindly. “I’ll see you tomorrow, your highness?”

Tommy’s face brightens up in joy. “Tommy.” He reminds. “And, yeah. We’ll meet tomorrow, surely.” He glances at Sam to check in with that, and Sam gives no hint of protest. 

Tubbo makes a half-hearted attempt of a bow and then goes out the door, his footsteps rushing into a job as soon as he’s out the other side. Tommy’s attention lingers at the ground for a second as he lets the silence sit, and Sam comes forward with a long suffering sort of sigh. 

“You haven’t any clue what stress you’ve put me under, do you?” 

Tommy snaps his head up, blinking at Sam. “Huh?”

“I am happy you’ve made a friend. He seems like a good fellow.” Sam grins, and Tommy returns the sentiment with a small smile. “But gods, please, don’t disappear like that again, I am begging you.” 

Quiet embarrassment returns to Tommy, his shoulders hunching up as he winces in sympathy. “Sorry.” He says, and Sam just shakes his head. The emotions this soldier has gone through-- Tommy will never know. It’s half a miracle that the king hasn’t given some terrible punishment for losing the prince in the first place. Maybe he was in a lenient mood. He looks at Tommy, dirt still rubbed across his young, sheepish face. 

Maybe there was something else at play. 

“It’s no matter.” Sam says, and he reaches through the tent door behind him to take a bundle of awaiting flowers. “We collected these so your entire trip wasn’t for nothing. You can try pressing them after you’ve had a bath. And ate a proper meal.” 

Tommy watches Sam place the wildflowers down on his nightstand, a small, gentle relief placed over his back. He feels a little lighter. 

At a longer distance from Tommy’s tent, Tubbo slows down into a walk, huffing from the exertion of running. He knows where he is, recognizes the area around him, and so he knows he’ll find Ranboo or Niki around here within a minute. He just takes the time to catch his breath, and to gather his thoughts. 

The prince! Tubbo accidentally bumped into the prince while looking for those bugs! And said prince joined him, stuck up for him, when it seemed things would go absolutely to shit! What an event. What a day, despite it being only afternoon. He wonders if Ranboo will even believe him when he tells it. He’s hardly believing it himself, still in somewhat of a daze, momentum keeping him going without falling. He will start freaking out any moment now, he’s sure of it. 

Tubbo knows of the king, he’s seen the man in passing, but he’s never met him before, never had that cold demeanor pointed straight at him. Usually, he’s never had a reason to think he would be a victim to that. He wonders…

Ranboo’s older sibling, Eret, often tells them both that the king is a truly loyal man. To his enemies, he will burn and kill them without a second thought, but to his people, and to his soldiers, he’ll fight for them and protect them against the very world itself. That is why they are with him. That is why Eret is here, at least. For a while, Tubbo kinda thought that was a bit of an exaggeration. A king is meant to protect their people, after all, that’s just a part of being a king. It’s not a very surprising quality. 

With that entire situation with Tommy, the misstep of it- maybe it has some merit, though? The king had seemed relentless, in that moment, angry with teeth bared, a hound about to tear him to shreds. Maybe, for that moment, Tubbo was an enemy of the worst kind, a threat to the prince, and that would make the first reaction make sense. However, the mercy that was then given after, the sudden change of heart…

Tommy. 

Tubbo pauses in his steps, coming to a halt with the people moving all around him, carrying on with their days and their duties. 

Tubbo has heard this. The king has no weaknesses. The king is little more than human. The king does not have a heart.  

There’s always been the worry, before, that the king could be too cruel to rule. Tubbo knows it’s treason to say it, but they all think it, sometimes. What if the bloodshed makes him mad? Makes him beyond them, his mind lost to the heavens and his hands stained forever red? There’s trust in the king’s advisors to keep him steady, and trust in the people’s support to keep him tall, but there’s only so much one can do beside their fear, beside the crushing weight of the crown. 

Once, there had been quiet, passing conversation that the king needed someone to rule beside. Not because he was incapable of carrying his role, no, not at all, but because the burden of an empire is a heavy one, and as much as all the rumors sing and cry, their king is truly and wholly human. He is a man. One who, under enough intense pressure, can crack. 

Tubbo looks behind him, like he’ll be able to see the prince’s tent from here. The life of a royal must be lonely. He knows that from seeing Tommy. Knows it from the quiet sadness in his eyes that seems to linger too much, the tears he shed in the grass, Tubbo not daring to have brought it up. The king pretends to not need any connection, but there must be some sort of want there. If there isn’t, why would he take an heir? Why would he take a son? 

There was something there, when Tommy pulled at the king’s sleeve, and got only focused attention in return, rather than offense, disgust at being bothered like how the king might’ve been with anyone else. There was a kindness that most people insist the king does not have. 

An odd worry fills Tubbo’s chest, and he turns his eyes back to the earth, a hard resolve building within him. He continues on to his family, eventually finding Niki in the middle of her chores, and getting a crushing hug for his too-long disappearance. He gets the funniest reaction of a lifetime when he admits to where he had been. 

Ranboo’s shrieking of a lecture is a little less funny. Ah, well. Can’t win them all. 

It takes until nightfall for Eret to return from their own duties as one of the lower rank soldiers around camp, and it’s only then Tubbo tells them all the full, detailed story of what he’s gotten up to. 

Well. Detailed is pushing it. He does leave some bits out, like Tommy’s tears when he first found him, and as to what he was actually up to in the field- (“I was- picking flowers. Because as we know, Eret works oh so hard, and I wanted to gift them-”) Ranboo hadn’t seemed at all convinced. He did not snitch when Niki responded warmly to the lie, though. Eret was still mostly baffled by the fact the reason he had been out on a search was because of Tubbo kidnapping the prince. 

He mentions meeting with the prince again, much to both Ranboo’s and Niki’s worry, and after some questioning and a few warnings about manners, all is eventually settled, and they go to bed without issue. 

In the morning, the issue comes to find them. Niki shakes Tubbo awake saying that there’s a high-rank guard outside, and Tubbo peels himself away from Ranboo’s side, rolling out of bed and tugging his shoes on to throw himself out from the tent. 

“The king has requested your presence.” Is all he’s told by the soldier. That’s not worrying at all. (Read: Is very worrying, Tubbo internally screams at a high pitch only dogs can hear.) There is no refusing a king’s call, so he bids Niki goodbye, gathers his courage, and allows himself to be escorted off to what he’s sure is his delayed doom from yesterday. 

He’s not exactly sure what his defense here should be. The prince is entirely unharmed, isn't he? That’s good. But the king had seemed to hate the idea of him even possibly being in danger, so maybe that doesn’t matter at all. Tommy had warmed up to him quickly, though. Could Tubbo twist something about his disappearance making Tommy sad? Tommy would probably go looking for him if he didn’t show up today, right?

He considers it. Yeah. Tommy would go looking for him. There’s that, if he gets thrown into a dungeon of some sort, left to rot. Gods, the things Tubbo’s heard of their poor prisoners. Before, he used to not care about their fates, because the fighting was beyond him, and their enemies were more of Eret’s issue, if anything, but now he’s wishing he would’ve stuck his nose into what they usually did with their captured, because all he remembers hearing is the worst ones, failed assassins with their heads cut off and fed to the dogs-

“Your Majesty.” One of the guards calls, and Tubbo blinks, suddenly finding himself before an unfamiliar tent. A royal tent. Well, wasn’t that quick. 

“Come in.” 

Tubbo wishes he could do very much the opposite, and run the other way, but he is bound by the laws of this man, unfortunately, and he’s pushed on in by firm hands. He doesn’t stumble, thankfully, but he does freeze in place, every limb held tight as he realizes that he’s standing within what has to be the king’s meeting room. 

The king himself is sitting at a large, wooden table before Tubbo, his hand writing upon papers that seem a great deal important. He doesn’t even lift his head when Tubbo comes in, more focused on his work. He doesn’t even stop writing, hands grabbing at papers when needed, pen dipping in ink. 

“Were you planning to continue meeting with his Highness?” He asks simply, so matter of fact that Tubbo can’t tell if it’s meant to be accusing. For a second, Tubbo considers lying. Then he remembers the fact that Tommy would, indeed, go looking for him, and he knows that he can’t quite walk off from this new friendship he’s made. It’s not like he wants to try walking off from it, anyway. 

“Yes, your Majesty.” Tubbo admits, hands clasped tightly before him. 

“Good.” The king hums, pushing a paper off to the side. A servant that Tubbo hadn’t noticed earlier moves off from where they were standing by the wall, and they take the paper and add it to a small stack, before then taking that stack and rushing out the door. The king moves on to reading over something else, pen put down, but eyes still not even glancing at Tubbo. “The prince should have similar company, and from what I looked into, you and your current companions are good people. I know Eret is decently loyal, according to their reports.”

Tubbo’s heart jumps into his throat. He watches the king skim through the papers before him, and he realizes-- those aren’t just random, important papers, it’s information about him. About Eret, Ranboo, Niki. His family. 

Really, it’s within the king’s right to make sure that Tubbo isn’t some sort of secret assassin trying to get close to the prince, but- Shit. Now Tubbo’s frantically wondering if he accidentally committed treason or something when he wasn’t looking.

“Niki’s never caused trouble in her department. She’s a hard worker, and friendly, according to those who work beside her. Ranboo is much the same. Are you planning on introducing him to his Highness, at some point?” Technoblade asks, looking up for the first time.

Tubbo falters in answering, still thrown off-center by the knowledge that the king pulled all this info within a single night. He risks a look up, and feels even further speechless when seeing those red eyes narrow towards him. He bows his head towards the floor. 

“I would allow it, if you considered it.” The king goes on. There’s a shuffle of the papers being gathered, placed to the side. “Consider it.”

“Of course, your majesty.” Tubbo agrees, because what else is he meant to do? 

“Other than that, I also have a request to make of you.” 

Tubbo braces himself. A request. A request?! What would the king want from him? Is he going to get another warning of the prince’s safety? Oh, god, he is. He’s going to get scolded to hell and back by the king, and literally no one can save him from his fate. He’s going to die here. Bury him. Quickly. 

“For as long as you and the prince are on good terms, I want you to meet with me regularly, and give reports on your meetings with his highness.” 

“...reports?” Tubbo repeats. What?

“Of what you can notice about his well-being. Of what you can notice about any subtle issues that he might not bring light to. Or of any circumstances you think might cause problems for him down the line.” 

“You want me to-” Tubbo hesitates. “-to deliver you updates?”

“It’s not a difficult thing.” Technoblade says, a trace of judgment in his tone. Yes, right, it’s not a difficult thing. Why can’t he do it himself, then, Tubbo wonders. Last he checked, Tommy wasn’t his heir to take care of. What the fuck. “Do that well enough, and you’ll also be compensated accordingly.” 

Compensated. 

Payment?! 

The king wants to pay Tubbo to give updates on his own son. 

Again. Can he not just do this himself? Is this how royal families just are? Tubbo’s beginning to realize why Tommy was out crying in a field when they met. Their king is an effective and capable ruler, but apparently a terrible parent. He’s paying a kid to go keep an eye on his own kid. 

“I see.” Tubbo says, rather than voice his thoughts, because he’s smart and does have self-preservation. “I understand, your majesty. I’ll- do that to the best of my ability.” 

“Mhm.” Technoblade moves more papers to the side, papers, papers, papers, Tubbo is so glad his chores never have to involve this much paper. He’s never been so grateful to just be responsible for cleaning dirty items. Reading all this looks like a headache. “That’s all, then. Go meet with the prince. He should be awake by now, and once you get there, you can both share a meal, like how he had insisted upon.” 

The king glances up again, a knowing look on his face. Tubbo avoids meeting that gaze head-on by bowing his head in a respectful manner. He goes to turn and escape out the doorway, at last-

“One more thing.”

Tubbo stops. He checks over his shoulder. 

“You may not mention our meetings to anyone. I’ll know if you do.” 

Ah. There is a threat, in there, Tubbo thinks. There is also a heart palpitation rising through his chest. Fun! 

“That’s all.” The king repeats, brushing Tubbo off, and Tubbo makes a half-assed bow to the side, before quickly walking out like hell is on his heels. The air outside has never felt so fresh. The guards stare at him with something vaguely both judgemental and also understanding as he leans over on his knees with a sputtering breath. 

After taking a few seconds to compose himself, Tubbo stands straight, and goes marching on to the prince’s tent. Part of him wants to regret, wants to wonder if gathering those bugs were ever truly worth it, but it’s very simple to push away the fear and the worries when reminded of one thing-

Tommy needs a friend. Wants a friend. He is the prince, and he is also no more than a boy, just like Tubbo himself.

By god, Tubbo is going to be this boy’s friend. 

Even if, apparently, it’s going to be terrifying, at times. 

Gods, the king is terrifying.

Chapter Text

How is it that the king became the man he is today?

His upbringing isn’t really a thing shrouded in mystery, but there isn’t much detail to go along with it, either. He was a soldier, that much is fact. He was the best of his rank, and his conquest began with his very own home kingdom, his fellow men led by his sword, the castle swarmed and taken within a single, bloody night. 

From there, he became the king. From then on, he took control of the armies, set sights on a neighboring kingdom, and the wheel was put in motion. The conquest of blood began. 

But what was the king before ? Before the weapon was put in his hand, before he was put into the army of men protecting his home? Tubbo doesn’t know. No one really knows. It’s not a thing you can ask of the king, no one has the nerve to do it. But if there is one detail to note, it’s that there’s no past family to be seen now. There are no parents, no siblings. No aunts or cousins or any shared blood of the king. 

The king rose to power by himself, with nothing but the support of his soldiers and the relentless drive of his fighting spirit. With that, Tubbo wonders how such independence has affected him. And if it is possibly the reason for how he acts now. 

This man is terrible at parenting. 

Well. Terrible is a harsh word for his ruler, but Tubbo doesn’t have much praise to offer with what number of missteps his grace continues to make around Tommy. Every branch offered out, every chance to come closer, the king has waved it off and given the weight somewhere else. Which in turn leaves Tommy without his presence, which in turn, makes their already shaky relationship even worse . 

On the first day after having that initial meeting with the king, Tubbo makes his efforts into getting to know Tommy, not just for a report later on, but for the sake of knowing him. He is honestly curious. Their conversation falls away from casual talk rather quickly in that tent, and they share to each other of how they’ve ended up here. 

Tubbo tells him he came for work. He lives with his family and carries his weight where needed. Simple and to the point. Tommy doesn’t say much about his part, only a summary of the story everyone knows. The king took his crown of flowers, and he was taken as heir. He mentions his past kingdom for a moment, enough for it to linger in the air, and at that, Tubbo begins to wonder-

“How long were you king?” He asks Tommy, trying to put the timeline within his head. It’s only now he realizes it’s not so logical to have someone so young on the throne. He doesn’t know why he didn’t notice it before. “Did- Did our king-” Tubbo begins to ask, heart dropping in an already accepted hard truth, but Tommy quickly cuts him off. 

“My father was dead before His Grace even arrived.” Tommy says, voice sitting strained. He clears his throat, fist to his mouth for a second. “I was king for only a few weeks.” 

A few weeks. 

Tubbo puts the implications across a timeline. It’s- That’s too recent. That can’t be right. Tubbo lowers his eyes in silent thought, and wonders how Tommy is sitting so calmly across him. If he lost any of his family and was thrown into this sort of role so quickly, he’d- well, he wouldn’t be like this. He’d be inconsolable. 

And there, Tubbo is reminded of seeing Tommy in the flower field. Suddenly there is a sour taste in his mouth. 

“I mean-” Tommy speaks up, laughing lightly, lips curling into a grin. “It’s a good thing. Do you have any idea how fucking stressful being king is? Gods, I already had enough on my plate being an orphan, but with His Grace and his armies in the distance, my advisors were so annoying -!” 

Tubbo makes a baffled type of snort, hands slapping to his face. “You- I think they had reason to be worried!”

“Oh, probably, but I never got a moment’s peace.” Tommy waves his hand before letting it sit in his lap again, fingers clinging to the ring sitting on his finger. “And now it’s too much of it. Now I haven’t got anything to do.” He looks to the side, squinting in consideration. “Well, technically, I supposedly have princely duties to complete, but-” He makes an odd, stretched out whine, teeth bared in a wince. 

“Fake duties.” Tubbo repeats, remembering their last conversation. Tommy throws his arms up, nodding intensely. 

“Yes! Exactly! Honestly, I don’t even-” He’s so caught up in a sudden burst of energy that he’s standing up from his seat, pacing past Tubbo and around the tent. “He’s got to have plans for me, he does! What would be the point of me being here, otherwise? I just don’t know why he’s waiting-!”

“To give you time?” Tubbo asks, twisting around in his chair. 

“For what?” Tommy asks, face screwing up in confusion. 

To grieve, Tubbo wants to say, but the words are stuck in his throat. “To adjust?” He says instead. “To the whole…new environment.” He gestures to the tent around them, the door with guards outside. 

“I’m adjusted. I know my role.” Tommy speaks defensively, almost bristling. Tubbo raises his palm in a sort of surrender, but it’s unneeded, Tommy’s circling back around and collapsing into his chair with a frustration that is not meant for him. “I know I can prove myself. He just needs to give me a chance. I can be more!” The last bit is said with a huff, very dramatic, very fitting of a teenager.

In between the words as well, though, a desperation passes over the prince’s eyes for a second, his fingers passing over his hand again, over his ring. Tubbo glances down and sees the glint of metal before leaning back with a drawn out sigh of air. He then makes a resigned click of his tongue. 

“Well, I think you’re doing very well.” 

Tommy gives him a dry, unconvinced look, turning his head over to him. “...Am I?” 

“If you were doing a shit job, His Grace would probably be telling you off about it. Therefore, you could be doing worse.” Tubbo points out, Tommy’s face contorting into bewilderment before seeming to actually take that idea in. 

“Oh, shit.” Tommy blinks, sitting up proper. "You’re so right. You’re a genius.” 

“I am.” Tubbo nods, feeling victorious in this observation, but also dreadful for what Tommy’s current hopes to prove himself might end in. 

For some, they might take Tommy’s existence as a rare moment of kindness from the king, their warrior taking a child under his wing as proof of humanity, but Tubbo knows his ruler. Knows his reputation.  Taking Tommy as prince was just another battle won, a move made to take the people without a fight. Tubbo can see that rather clear as day, knowing the sort of man the king is. 

He doesn’t know how to explain that to Tommy, how to break it to him that he may just be a means to an end. But then again- what if he’s wrong in his own perspective? Tubbo was a witness to the mess that was the king finding them under a table. His Grace wasn’t exactly dismissive of Tommy. He was outright vicious to Tubbo, for the fact he jeopardized the prince’s safety. 

And Tommy, the boy himself, in that exchange, had looked like nothing more than a child scolded, eyes staring up at a parent who’s caught them in the act. 

A parent. Tubbo considers the timeline again. Considers the circumstances. Tommy’s got nothing left. The king has never had anything. 

Is there potential, in the fact that the king has made sure Tubbo will stay here, as Tommy’s friend? In the way he’s ensured he will get updates on any issues? Tubbo personally thinks it’s just outright lazy parenting on his part, but he’s not looking at it through the royal lens. Maybe the king doesn’t know how to do this properly. Maybe this is him trying.

Tubbo decides then that he can try and help. With the secret meetings being held, surely he could imply a need here or there. Give a nudge to the king, allow him and Tommy to build an honest bond. 

He assumes it’ll be easy, only slow in its build up. The king will take the hints very well, because he isn’t an idiot. He knows he has a child. He understands the role he must play, yes? He knows he should make an effort? 

Apparently not.

It begins with the first week after that day, both Tommy and Tubbo plagued with boredom. Tubbo falls into the habit of going through his chores quickly, meeting up with Tommy around mid-day, finding him within his tent acting like death is upon him, with Sam trying and failing to offer any remedies. Only when Tubbo is back, will the prince come alive, and then bemoan loudly of the fact he was waiting forever, and had nothing else to do but wait for his friend. 

In that, Tubbo lightly insults royalty by implying Tommy needs to have a hobby of some sort and stop being a loner, but instead of any offense taken, Tommy insults him back by saying he should really replace Tubbo as a friend, then, since their first meeting was him getting tackled in a field, then getting a manhunt called on them, and yes, I’m going to hold that over your head, forever-!

They grow into their own routine. Tommy waits on Tubbo day after day. Tubbo becomes so terrifyingly efficient at completing his chores early that Ranboo sometimes gives him looks of slight fear when he goes running off at having everything finished and done. The two boys, when they are together, talk about anything and everything with endless finger foods being served at their hands. 

For those first two weeks, Tubbo honestly finds the pattern of their schedule soothing. The food is always a delight, fit for a prince of course, bits of cheese, sliced fruit, meat and bread and even sweets, sometimes. Tubbo is happy to share the mundane aspects of his day, happy to be listened to, happy to listen. They joke light-heartedly and share stories back and forth, Tommy getting to know of Ranboo-- scarred skin from cruel people, odd-colored eyes, a devastating love for cats that has and will continue to bring him to tears-- and Tubbo getting to know of Tommy’s kingdom. 

Or what used to be his kingdom. 

What used to be his people, what used to be his home. Tommy’s words are fond and sweet, but after they’ve laughed and caught their breath, there comes an awkward pause on Tommy’s part. Like a sudden realization, face frozen for just a second, before he’s speaking again, moving the subject on.  

Tubbo pretends it doesn’t happen, doesn’t dare to point it out, but it’s an often thing. It’s hard to not notice, when all his attention is on him. Tommy sometimes hesitates over his words as much as he blurts them out without thought, and when he freezes still in that look of near panic, Tubbo thinks of Ranboo during the bad nights, when Eret leaves them during battletime. It is a familiar pain, worry and grief. 

His heart aches to do what he knows, what he’s been taught, to reach out and lean close and offer a reassurance that all will be well. 

He tries, just once. A thing of habit, being raised to be considerate. Tommy brushes him off, throws a grape at his face, overhauls the entire subject to change into something about the taste of the cheese. Tubbo knows then, what he knows won’t work. This isn’t Ranboo. This is Tommy, the ever clingy yet distant prince of an empire, a boy who swats at Tubbo’s arm as his way of gathering some sort of closeness, rather than anything else more heartfelt. He will turn away from any of Tubbo’s comforts with a stubborn denial. 

So when his arm is hit, Tubbo swats him back. Lightly, of course, that’s still the prince, but Tommy’s choked laughter at getting whacked at the back of the neck seems more effective than any hug Tubbo could try and offer. 

In the next meeting Tubbo has with the king, he tries to give his first hint. In explaining the week, glossing over shared conversations and such, he mentions how he and Tommy don’t have anything to do other than talk. He mentions Tommy’s boredom, how he waits in the tent for the first half of the day for Tubbo to go to him. 

He means to frame it as Tommy needing someone else to go visit him, someone else to go do something with him, or maybe let him tag along on kingly responsibilities. He does imply that Tommy wants to do more. 

But instead, the king responds by cutting out Tubbo’s chores entirely, heightening his pay from the meetings to cover for the lack of work, and having servants pile in box after box of games into Tommy’s royal tent. There are playing cards, which Tubbo knows, and then there are seven other games he doesn’t know, with pieces of carved wood, shiny little pebbles of glass kept in shiny little bowls, a painted board of some sort, with a pair of dice. There’s written instructions, folded neatly with their respective games, and Tubbo, having no chores that day, finds Tommy reading through them in the morning, all the new items strewn out around him as he sits on the softly carpeted floor. 

Tubbo isn’t sure what to make of it. He supposes it’s a step in the right direction? Not what he was hoping for, but the delight in Tommy’s eyes when Sam tells him the king had all the boxes moved in on his order is decent enough, he supposes. Him and Tommy have plenty of time to go through it all, to try out the games and see what is their favorites. 

And when the camp is finally packing up, back on the road once more, they play those favorite games within Tommy’s carriage. It’s an adjustment for Tubbo to sit within something meant for royalty, instead of keeping at his family’s side as their people move, but it’s also a fantastic improvement, because the seats are soft, the sun is off his face,  and Tommy makes the hours speed by. Being friends with the prince has never been so good. 

He gets so caught up in the fun of it, he and Tommy racking up competitive scores, screaming at each other in winning and losing, that by the time the next meeting comes by, only there, in the moment, does he remember that the king did not respond the way Tubbo was hoping for. He remembers that there is an objective here, and the king sidestepped it and distracted Tubbo within the span of a single afternoon. 

Luckily, it’s simple to pull a possible problem from the ramblings of the prince, his light-hearted complaints as dramatic as they are plentiful to Tubbo’s poor ears. Tubbo tells the king that the prince has been spending his time well, has been happy as of late, but he’s also been wishing to do something else other than games, to do something productive. The prince has mentioned the king’s sword skills time and time again. The admiration is as clear as day, hint, hint. Truly, there’s no other swordfighter who is as skilled as His Grace himself. If only someone would begin giving Tommy lessons…

The next day, Tubbo shows up to an empty royal tent. Hopeful delight swells in his heart when he’s told the prince is in the middle of a lesson. He’s led by a waiting guard to a cleared off area, where Tommy is being lectured in proper grip by a tall, gentle voiced man who is very much not the king. 

Tubbo stares at the instructor with a vague sense of shame, observing from afar as Tommy listens and holds a wooden sword with an intrigued attention. Tubbo should’ve expected this. The king is a very busy man, he probably can’t take time out of his day to train the prince. The most responsible thing to do, as such an important man, is to hire a trusted trainer instead. But- come on!

It’s not- bad. It’s fine enough. Tommy takes to the short daily lessons with an earnest focus, and he tells Tubbo gladly of how the king had ordered the lessons for him. It’s really not what Tubbo was trying to do, though. He was hoping for the king to make an effort, to show his face. Tommy hasn’t even seen the man since their incident with running off in search of those bugs. Tubbo’s been seeing this man more often than him, weekly, at that, which, in deeper thought, is a bit insane in Tubbo’s opinion. It makes him a bit fired up. 

He lets the feelings slip out one day, wondering out loud why the king isn’t giving these lessons, rather than sending an instructor. He regrets saying such a thing the second it's said, because he can see the idea take root in Tommy’s head, souring the entire experience into a half-made effort. Tommy snaps at Tubbo in a moment that’s a bit deserved, insisting that the king has his own duties to focus on. Tubbo agrees, moving the topic on, but what’s done is done. Tommy becomes a little more snippy during his lessons after that, frustrating his instructor at times, swinging his sword with gritted teeth and annoyed anger. 

And after, when the lesson is done, and they climb into the carriage to go onto the road, the anger fizzles out into a defeated exhaustion, eyes staring at the window with a tight frown pulling at his face. 

Tubbo sits with him and swallows down regret, having it fester and mold into an upset disappointment within his stomach. He imagines Tommy has much of the same within his own. 

He tries to mention Tommy’s mood in the next meeting with the king. Tries to begin with wanting to frame it as a pressing issue where the only solution is the king’s presence itself, but the king cuts him off. He suggests, like how he did all those weeks ago, having Ranboo join their company now. Tubbo isn’t someone who can refuse. 

And so Ranboo comes. The next morning, he is brought along with Tubbo to share breakfast with Tommy, the prince’s usual early sword lesson canceled for the day. 

Ranboo is fidgety and nervous in the presence of Tommy, even with Tubbo’s ever constant assurances before that he really isn’t all that scary. He’s just slightly intense, at times. Stubbornly annoying. Clingy to a point. Endearing, overall. If you squint. 

They eat on a wooden table set on the carpet, plates of food set out, and while Tubbo has since become used to such meals, always sharing lunch with Tommy, Ranboo is not. He stares at the food with wide eyes, his two-toned gaze staring at Tubbo with a look of disbelief. The food, paired with meeting the prince, topped off with the slight awkward silence between them all, overwhelms him, and as such, he blurts out, under his breath-

“ This is so fucking unfair. ”  

Tommy blinks in surprise as Tubbo stares in a similar feeling, and Ranboo has a few passing seconds where he realizes he’s said that outloud, and then shrivels up into himself, hands over his face with a ‘oh god, please kill me’ muffled against his palms. 

Tommy chokes on a sudden snort. Tubbo’s lips press tightly shut as he turns away in a poorly smothered laugh, the sheer desperate delivery making the situation impossible to take seriously. Ranboo lifts his head with his face burning warm, trying to smile along. He defends himself in pointing out the quality of the food, the fact Tubbo’s never brought them leftovers, and in that, their conversation snowballs into talking about the shared meals they have back in their own little tent. 

They speak of comparing things they’ve had, Ranboo making an almost betrayed expression when Tommy brings up the treats he and Tubbo have devoured on occasion. Tubbo makes several gestures for him to stop talking, but a prince listens to no one but the king, and Tommy lives to make problems for his best friend. Ranboo turns to Tubbo with a fire in his eye, starting up an argument that’s not exactly serious, but convenient enough to blow off some steam. 

Tubbo gets caught up in the bickering of it, Ranboo bringing up their family dinners, insisting that they reign superior and Tubbo’s lost his marbles, and Tubbo, in response tells him that no, the one time Eret brought fish home was not better than literal bacon right here, Ranboo, what the fuck are you on about. Niki might be a decent cook, but don’t lie to our faces- your taste buds are wrong, then! They’re WRONG!

They struggle to not fizzle out into laughter together in the bizarre argument of it, Tommy greatly enjoying being a witness to their back and forth debates over what qualifies as the best of meals. His smile, while amused, falters when they bring up Eret and Niki. He chews his bacon quietly and makes agreeing faces whenever his input is called for, and eventually, when a beat of silence passes, the fight at a truce, he speaks in a tense politeness. 

“Your dinners sound nice.” Tommy tells them, glancing down to his plate, the grin on his face not entirely reaching his eyes. “Even if the food isn’t all that good, it seems nice. With you all sitting together.” 

“Yeah.” Ranboo agrees, unaware of how Tubbo’s heart is slowly sinking down into his stomach. “I do like cooking with Niki.” 

Tommy hums, nodding with that same little smile, and Tubbo feels enveloped in a soft type of guilt, all the joy in familiar bickering now gone. He feels like an idiot now. He knows of Tommy’s past. He knows of the fact he hasn’t had a family to even sit with in a very long time. And here he was, speaking so carelessly, as if it wouldn’t make the boy feel so terribly bitter at what he’s lost. 

His hand, without even thinking about it, stretches out on the table, fingers nudging against the edge of Tommy’s plate. It’s as close to grabbing his hand as he can get. 

“You should come over to eat with us.” He offers. Ranboo looks at him with a near horrified look, then quickly nods along when Tubbo sends him a withering glare to agree. Tommy pauses oddly for a second, and Tubbo goes on in his moment of hesitance. “You could meet Niki and Eret. We can make a whole occasion out of it. Oh, it’ll be so funny, having Eret literally just show up to dinner with you in their seat-” 

“Uh, that’s-” Tommy stumbles on his words, jaw shifting in thought, his eyes glancing to the side, like he doesn’t know how to look them in the face right now. “I don’t- I don’t know if-”

“It’s not like we wouldn’t be happy to have you. Ranboo and Niki could cook something nice. It won’t be as good as this, but- the effort will be there, probably.” 

Tommy gives a conflicted look, almost confused in his distress. Tubbo isn’t sure if he should persist again, stay stubborn with this. It’s overstepping, really, to offer a prince to join them in their humble little tent, but he can’t not do so. He wants to do something, as an apology for rubbing salt in a still healing wound. For not being able to help as he wanted. 

With a light huff, Tommy lifts his chin with a set smile, shaking his head. “No, that’s…” He trails off, the edges of his smile faltering, wavering. “It seems a bit awkward.” He says, and before Tubbo can really press onto the topic, before Ranboo can team up with him on getting him to say yes, he holds his palms up, his smile thin with a nervous tone. “I mean- I really shouldn’t. I’d rather not.” 

So they don’t. 

They continue eating their food. The topic rolls over into something else, and while Tubbo tries to brush the exchange off as nothing more than a disappointing, failed opportunity, it stings more than that. 

Tommy pretends to act as if the mention of those dinners didn’t make him falter, didn’t make him go quiet for a minute too long. From there on, for the rest of the morning, he talks louder, chats more than he eats, like he’s trying to soak up the meal they’re having now, the company they’re sharing together. 

It’s a little too much. It’s a little too obvious. Tubbo’s food sits heavy in his stomach, thinking of shared dinners and family. His thoughts are still turning when they climb up into Tommy’s carriage, carrying a board game in his hands. In between the pieces of the game they play, Tubbo reciting memorized rules here and there to Ranboo, the conversation comes back around to family, or more specifically, Tubbo and Ranboo. 

Because they’re not really brothers. Not quite. 

“We’re not related at all, actually.” Tubbo says with a wave of his hand, gesturing for Ranboo to roll the dice. It clatters against the board on his lap, Tommy’s confused face not paying attention to the numbers. 

“You’re not-?” Tommy goes to say, then he stops, and looks at them both. He tilts his head in consideration. “Well, no, you don’t look anything like each other, actually.” 

“Ha!” Ranboo laughs abruptly, the dice nearly sliding to the floor. “Uh- sorry.” 

Tubbo rolls his eyes, continuing on, because there’s something in him that knows this is important for Tommy to know. “Niki knew my uncle first, before me, and when the empire began really growing, he wanted to pass me along to find work within it.” He explains, moving a piece across the board, overtaking Tommy’s spot. “He thought that being part of the main traveling group would do me well, and- well, they do always need more hands.” 

Tubbo wants to say he misses his uncle occasionally, but really, not all that much. They went their separate ways when he was nine, and he’s thirteen now, nearly fourteen. He’s learnt to settle in with Niki and Eret watching over him, with Ranboo sticking to his heels throughout the first few months, and then long after. It’s hard to feel truly abandoned by distant family when you are persistently loved by a new one.

“We’re practically family at this point, though.” Ranboo points out, turning his face over to Tubbo, who smiles in return, then calls him gross for being a sap. Ranboo sputters, but doesn’t throw back an insult, and instead, he proceeds to focus all his attention on crushing Tubbo within their game, setting him back through any means necessary, even if it means having Tommy reign supreme by the end of it. 

Tommy doesn’t say much else to the reveal of Tubbo’s odd sort of family. Although, Tubbo hopes he knows it’s not odd, really. Just unconventional. Niki and Eret are siblings who have grown up together from birth. Ranboo was taken under their wing when he was little. Tubbo was added to the mix with the rush of trying to stay in the empire’s shadow when his kingdom got taken, and things have been good ever since. They are family. 

Shared blood has nothing to do with it. Only the time spent and the effort made. 

Tommy claims victory over their board game that day. It’s not as smug as it usually is. There is a subdued mood about it, like a weight pushing down on his shoulders, and Tubbo frets a little on if he’s said too much, pushed the topic a bit too close. Tommy’s situation is a painful one, and in acknowledging that, Tubbo can’t help but wonder- that breakfast shared at the table this morning, this game played in the carriage, on their laps- is this the closest thing Tommy has to family right now? The three of them, now together? 

He thinks over it later on that night, and makes a terrible mental note that Tommy isn’t really close with anyone. Sam is the third person who he might call a friend, but even then, that’s not- he’s a guard. He’s paid to be beside Tommy. 

And so is Tubbo. 

His lips twist into a sour frown at remembering that fact. It’s not like he’s solely in this for money. He’s trying to do more, he wants to yell in defense to the gods watching. He is not just a friend for hire, he is going to do more. He will give Tommy something, not just for pay, but because he’s seen him hurting, and he doesn’t want him to hurt any more. 

He recounts that morning to the king at the end of the week. He tells him about Tommy’s silence when mentioning family, about how the prince might be bothered by having to sometimes eat alone, whenever Tubbo and Ranboo have to leave early. He mentions the grief, passingly. His optimism tells him that the king might try sharing dinner with Tommy to fix this. His expectations tell him that’s not going to happen. But he can only hope. He hopes. 

The next time they have breakfast, it is by the public tables, Sam leading them to a table of their own amongst the noise. The passing people and soldiers witness them as they talk together and eat, and the stares, the passing greetings, the constant bows of respect- it’s a bit much. It’s kind, it’s nothing but positive, but it’s constant. Tommy takes it with grace, ignores it with a forced casualness, and Ranboo and Tubbo have nothing else to do but follow suit. 

The next day, when they are there again, it is the same. They have a semblance of privacy, with Sam beginning to shoo the bravest people away, but their eyes are still looking. They still speak, still give out called greetings in respect, smiles wide and warm. Tommy greets back, but after the seventh good morning, it gets tiring. He seems a bit confused with the annoyance. The day after that, it continues. Same for the day after that. Tommy seems to shrink in on himself throughout the week, until he’s left quiet and awkward in the environment, his plate of food not as finished as it should be. 

Tubbo drags them all back to the tent by the sixth day. He is annoyed at himself and the king for this turning out as it did. A poor action made. Having the prince dine outside with his subjects seems like a fine idea by itself, but that was literally not what he was asking for. Honestly. 

Ranboo tries to help the entire mood by following up on Tubbo’s invitation for Tommy to join their family dinner, explaining to Tubbo that if Tommy feels as if he’s intruding in coming to dinner, then they will be the one to intrude instead. It’s an odd type of logic, but Tubbo supports the endeavor, wanting any distraction at all from the king’s selective hearing. 

Niki comes to visit during their lunch. She brings bread made by her own hands, small rolls piled into a homely-looking basket. They’re familiarly delicious-- she’s always had a knack for baking-- and Tubbo gets elbowed in the gut by Ranboo so that Tommy can have the first one. She doesn’t stay long by Tommy’s carriage, only enough for passing conversation, hellos and goodbyes. She’s polite towards Tommy, head bowed, her smile kind. 

She is warm towards Ranboo and Tubbo in comparison.  

She looks at them with fondness, telling them that she’ll see them when they get back home, and Tommy watches, stares outright, with a cold envy wanting to eat him whole. The bread in his stomach sits heavy as a stone. He watches her go, and feels sick. Feels sharp jealousy twist his insides up. 

Eret comes to visit later in the day. Ranboo rushes to excitedly embrace them, uncaring of any manners they insist on, with the prince being right there. Tubbo says Tommy doesn’t care that much about manners, and Eret reminds Tubbo about having at least some respect. 

Eret shows respect to Tommy. They bow, just like Niki, Ranboo hanging off their arm with a giddy joy. Eret is a soldier indeed, someone to be prideful of, someone to feel safe behind. Tubbo once mentioned that they helped Ranboo back then, when something terrible happened. Ranboo has all the right to be so close. To be excited that they were able to come visit, leave their station early. 

Tommy clutches at his family ring, the single remnant left of his father, and tries to feel that same protection through the cool metal on his fingertips. It’s not the same. What a joke, to think it would ever be. 

Eret leaves with Ranboo in tow, the teen wanting to walk with them back home. Tubbo says he’ll head back later on, and Tommy waves goodbye, staying looking at the door, glancing at Sam outside. He feels Tubbo’s eyes sticking to the side of his face. He huffs, a little annoyed. 

“What?” He asks, turning his head, and immediately feeling bad when he sees the vulnerable expression written over Tubbo’s face, lip curled in a look of guilt. 

“...I’m sorry.” He apologizes, and Tommy just honestly stares at him for a solid few seconds, in both worry and confusion for what he’s on about. 

“What?” Tommy repeats, and Tubbo leans his elbows onto the table, pushing a plate away. 

“I thought-” He hesitates, teeth passing over his lip. “I thought seeing them might make you happy.” He says, eyes downcast and passing over the partially-eaten food, the bites that Ranboo left behind. The half that Tommy hasn’t touched. “You don’t seem happy.” 

Tommy furrows his brows with a frown. “It’s nice to meet them.” He smiles, trying to make the mood lighter. “You guys talk about them all the time, now I actually know what they look like, instead of having to listen to Ranboo try and describe them badly.” 

Tubbo hums in reply, not really taking the joke. Tommy is left off-centered for a moment, waiting in silence, and after a minute of wonder in what is going on with Tubbo, his friend speaks up quietly. 

“Do you…” Tubbo trails off, a little hesitant, then sitting up straight with a direct eye contact. “I’m going to be a bit rude right now.”

“...Okay?” Tommy looks right back, mildly concerned but curious. He leans forward, expecting some sort of insult or roast. “Give me your worst.” 

“Do you ever wish-” Tubbo pauses for a second, then goes on. “Do you ever wish to have a chance at family again? With our king?”

Tommy’s breath stops. 

Chapter Text

Tommy stares unblinkingly, lungs held still so suddenly, it feels as if the breath was punched out of him. 

He opens his mouth, only for nothing to come out, not a single sound. He closes his lips, pressing them tightly shut as he scoots his chair back, sucking a gasp in with a quick clearing of his throat before having to try again. “Have- have what?” He repeats, as if hoping he just misheard Tubbo. As if giving him a chance to say something else, and avoid this topic entirely. 

“Do you ever wish to have a- closeness, I suppose? A sense of trust?” Tubbo explains, looking off to the boxes of games tucked away on shelves, his chin resting in his palm. “I know he’s the king , our blessed ruler made from blood, our greatest warrior of the battlefield, and all that, but- You’re technically his ward.” He points out, lifting a hand up to Tommy. “He’s your equivalent of a parent, isn’t he?” 

“Well, that’s- yes.” Tommy tries to scoot back further, feeling a need to turn his back and just run. He steadies himself. “But I don’t mean to expect anything from him.” He shakes his head, trying to phrase it without any weight. No pain, no envy. It’s not prince-like to act bitter. “It’s not like I’m- I’m not really his son, you know. I’m his heir. That’s different. He chose me to be his heir. So.” 

“Yeah.” Tubbo doesn’t seem to care about that. Family is not just blood to him, so Tommy’s point is useless. His eyes land upon Tommy in something unmoving, searching, no longer hurt with guilt, but colored with a persistence. “But do you want to be more than that?” He asks, and Tommy can’t look at him. He turns his head away, to the floor, both baffled and annoyed. 

What is this conversation? Where did this even come from? Tommy isn’t sure if he should humor it at all, even if something in his heart finds relief at the chance to say something. This doesn’t matter. It’s stupid . He pushes it all away, swallowing hard. This is stupid. 

Tommy breathes in shakily, and ignores the way his chest twists in both grief and want. Tubbo either doesn’t notice or doesn’t let the reaction stop him. He leans forward in his seat towards Tommy, whispering quietly, like they’re sharing a secret that no other ears can hear. 

“Would…would you want him to try to be more than that? Like- a father?” 

A father. 

Bitterness fills Tommy’s mouth, his stomach twisting with the urge to be sick. He feels so small in knowing the truth in his head. Really, it wouldn’t matter if it were the king or not. It doesn’t matter who it would be. Most of all, beyond all, the thing he wants most? 

He just wants to have a family again. Wants to go back into being someone’s child, someone cared for. Someone still young and naive, without the pressing weight of being unable to breathe whenever it gets too quiet in being alone in his tent. 

Stupid. Leave it, he tells himself. Leave it!

Tommy stopped having a father the day he put the late king into his tomb. Tommy stopped being someone’s son the second that door closed, stone separating them both. He’s not a child. He isn’t. He was a king. Then, he was a king who lost his crown, a king who protected his kingdom, and then he was a newly claimed prince who will now play the role right. 

What does it matter if he wants anything more than that? He shouldn’t. He can’t. It would be foolish to even try. 

“The king isn’t exactly a man who would care about family.” Tommy says, because he’s not an idiot. The king extended kindness to him, mercy, but he knows he will not get anything more. His life was the greatest gift he could’ve been given. “He doesn’t care for me.” 

All that Tommy can pray for from now, to the rest of his years, is an approval of some sort at playing his role correctly. All he can have now and forevermore is a sense of satisfaction, of duty. It is the closest to love he will get. Because he is not allowed more. 

“He cares.” Tubbo quietly protests. 

“Yes- I- I don’t mean he doesn’t, I mean- He-” He takes a breath, shifting in his seat. “He has a sense of value for me, but it’s not like yours. Your family. You and Ranboo, and Niki, and Eret- it’s not like that.” 

No, it’s not. Tubbo knows that. 

Everything he’s seen, everything he’s since influenced-- he knows it very well. He’s been trying and trying to push the king the right way, to treat Tommy right, but he never does it correctly. Never steps in like how family should, like how Niki and Eret and Ranboo have never failed to do. 

He keeps at a distance, fulfills Tommy’s wishes with a silent action. He is there like a ruler, rather than a father, and Tubbo should’ve expected that, should accept it, but all he can be is frustrated on his friend’s behalf. It’s not fair. 

What is the point of showing love like this? This isn’t how it’s meant to be.

It’s not Tubbo’s place to speak harshly on these sorts of things. It never has been. He knows he must make endless mistakes in every aspect of this relationship with the prince. He goes too far. He went too far when he first took Tommy’s hand, first grabbed him by the shirt in that field of grass. He goes too far now, pressing at still tender wounds, questioning a relationship that he has no authority in. 

Maybe that’s just what he’s meant to do, though. After seeing Tommy on the day they met, a boy grieving with flowers in hand-- he doesn’t think he can be anything else. There was never going to be any other choice for Tubbo, who knows how it feels to lose the one family you’ve known, who was lucky to be given warm comforts after with a new family to hold him close. 

He was always going to be Tommy’s friend, from the second they met. 

“But do you want it to be like that?” Tubbo asks, and he doesn’t know what he’s expecting to hear. Maybe a confession. A solid piece of evidence to hold up, at last, to chuck at the king’s face so the man can get one thing correct in all these missteps. A chance to let Tommy vent his frustrations. A chance to let Tubbo help, to get this right.  “If you could- if it was possible, would you want him to-”

Tommy pushes himself onto his feet and stands suddenly, turning his back to Tubbo. Tubbo goes still, looking at the back of Tommy’s head, glancing over his shoulders for any sign of shaking. Has he pushed too far? Said too much? 

Tommy’s shoulders move slightly in heavy, quick breaths, and after a moment from what looks to be self-composure, he steps towards the entryway. 

“Sam.” He calls gently, hand pushing at the curtain of the door, and Tubbo can see Sam leaning in, his attention caught. “Can you walk Tubbo back home?”

“Wait.” Tubbo’s heart falls in fear of having fucked this all up. “Tommy.”  

“It’s fine.” Tommy says over his shoulder, eyes not quite meeting his gaze. “I’m just tired.”

“I-I wasn’t trying to-”

“I said it’s fine. Leave it.” Tommy snaps, a sudden anger rearing its head, his voice wavering. Sam shifts slightly in a near surprise, and Tubbo grimaces in guilt. Tommy’s frown fizzles out into something apologetic, his voice very quiet. “Can- Can you please not mention this to Ranboo? This- talk?”

Oh. Tubbo has nothing to do but nod. “Yes, of course. I won’t say anything.” He gets up in a stumbling movement, and when Tommy moves forward to step past him, Tubbo sees, for just a second, a shine of tears in his eyes. He’s never felt more like a failure of a friend than now. 

“Goodnight.” Tubbo says, not turning around, allowing Tommy to hide away. “I’ll see you tomorrow, first thing, okay?” He promises, and there’s an intake of air that’s almost a sniffle.

“Mhm. Night, Tubbo.” Tommy gives in return. Tubbo goes to Sam’s waiting side, and faintly, he hears Tommy sigh, long and heavy, too much for someone his age. Sympathy flows through him like the current of a river, overpowering and cold, and in each step he takes back home, the bustling noise of the camp around him, that river grows warmer and warmer, into a boiling anger.

When Tubbo is called by the king early next morning, he pulls on his shoes, steps through the cool, wet grass, and vows to set things right. 

He stands before the big, wooden table, hands clasped behind him, shoulders drawn back, like a soldier in waiting. The king gives him no attention other than a listening ear, as he’s done all the other times. He appears to pay more focus to his paperwork than to Tubbo, but by this point, Tubbo knows for a fact that it doesn’t mean he isn’t carefully taking in what’s being said. 

Tubbo speaks of the past week, goes over each day with insignificant detail, all of it summarized neatly with no grand issues to be presented in his polite, quiet tone. He says the prince simply wanted to dine inside, without noise. He says the other members of his family passed by because the prince was curious to meet them. The prince went to sleep early last night. He was more tired than usual. 

But overall. A normal week. Simple with nothing to note. Tubbo doesn’t care for how he’s passing over what he’s truly seen. This summary isn’t what he’s really hoping to say. He’s just playing along for a bit. Gathering the courage, while standing here.  

“All’s well, then?” The king asks him when he’s gone quiet, seemingly finished. 

“More or less.” Tubbo trails off, keeping his eyes to the wood of the table, as he’s always done. Bit by bit, this time, his eyes begin to creep up across the papers, towards the king, taking in the sight of him for once. He’s always been such an imposing figure. His scars alone make Tubbo want to turn away, such clear evidence of the sort of warrior he is standing in the presence of. This is Tubbo’s king , and even when subdued with distractions, he’s still intimidating in the power that runs through his veins, the marks of war on his skin. 

“More or less.” The king repeats Tubbo’s words, not mockingly, but more as a way to confirm. Tubbo breathes in, then clears his throat, fist held to his mouth for a moment. 

“There is- one more thing?” 

The king makes a small, tilting nod of his head. “Go on.” 

Tubbo does not. He stays quiet, lips pressed shut until the king’s hand stops, pen paused over a half-written sentence. Once the room is free of the sound of distracting work, it is then that Tubbo opens his mouth.  

“May I have permission to speak freely, Your Majesty?”

The king suddenly lifts his gaze, narrowed red eyes put upon Tubbo like a warning. Tubbo meets the look head on like an idiot. 

It’s a freezing thing. Suffocating and heavy, such a threat of danger within it that Tubbo wants to bow his head and apologize, for even daring to look at the king at all, for daring to have stupid, wandering eyes. This is not a man you cross. This is someone who has crushed hundreds under his foot to get what he wants, and he will add Tubbo to the pile of bodies if he so pleases. He can’t forget that. 

But he also refuses to look away. 

Within a few drawn out seconds, the intensity of the king’s suspicion seems to fade, Tubbo finding his footing as he somewhat adjusts to the shifted weight of a king’s glare. Technoblade’s brows furrow together, just the slightest bit, as if trying to figure out what Tubbo is wanting to say instead of having to hear him actually say it. When the answer doesn’t come to him, he relents.

“Speak.” He says, leaning back in his chair, the stage now his, and Tubbo tries not to gasp too obviously, his lungs having been held still for maybe a touch too long. He squeezes his hands tighter at where they’re clasped behind of him, and he swallows down the tightness within his throat, trying to make his words not shake. 

“You-” Tubbo begins, and the words get stuck in his teeth, anxieties running strong. The king tilts his head at the hesitation, not quite impatient, but Tubbo knows he could easily become that. He could deem whatever this is as a waste of time and wave Tubbo out before he even opens his mouth again. 

He can’t postpone and wait to do this. He’s got to have the courage now, he has to try harder now . If not now, then when? How much longer will this have to go on? How much longer will Tommy stay suffering in silence, stubborn in the mindset that this is how things are meant to be?

It’s just not fair. 

“You need to be kinder to the prince.” Tubbo declares, with all the determination of making sure that boy, that prince, his friend, Tommy -- won’t ever have to hold such a terrible grief by himself again. He’ll have someone to depend on. He’ll have the family he quietly wants. 

The king raises his head with a near confused look, the edges of his lips almost tilting downwards into a frown. Tubbo goes on before he can make a response. 

“You aren’t cruel to him. You’re not evil to him, not in any manner that I’ve seen. But you’re indifferent. And that’s-” Tubbo shakes his head, nearly disapproving, mostly just pitying. “You’re distant . It’s not much better.”

The king’s expression melts into a sort of subtle thoughtfulness, and Tubbo takes the tiniest of steps forward, willing to stand here and explain it all until it’s made right. Until Tommy will be alright. He deserves to be alright, doesn’t he?

“He’s the prince, yes? He’s the heir. He’s your heir.” Tubbo stresses. “How is he meant to be your heir if he barely even knows you?”

Technoblade gives a short huff, unimpressed. “For now, and for a long while, he doesn’t need to know me to be my heir.”

“That’s what you think?”

“You think it should be otherwise?” Techno asks back unkindly, an edge on the end of his question. 

“It does .” Tubbo argues, ignoring the fact that he’s talking back to the king. He got the freedom to speak, he’s using it up. “You may have a different look on it, you might not think it- necessary, but he needs more than just the- the occasional nod at a court and the acknowledgement of his position. There is more to this.”

Technoblade’s response comes out slightly amused. “I don’t think you’re one to speak about how the royal affairs should be played out.”

“No, I’m not. You’re right in that.” Tubbo nods, looking away for a moment, before returning with a fire flaming bright. “But I also know I’m right in the fact that he needs support .”

“Yes. That’s why he has you.” Technoblade speaks slowly, aware of Tubbo’s tone. Tubbo’s throat goes tight. 

Yes, he has me. 

That is why I’m doing this. 

“I’ve tried my best, Your Majesty, but I don’t think I’m what he’s hoping for. I’m not enough on my own.” He steps closer, heart pounding in his chest. “And it makes sense why. I am not what his entire position and purpose is circled around. I’m not-” Tubbo stops, glancing away to try a different angle. “He’s been- mourning. For his father.”

Technoblade outright frowns. “Grief still holds onto him?”

Tubbo is silent for a second, before narrowing his eyes in a slight judgment. “...How long do you think it takes to accept the loss of a father?”

“I’ll admit, I wouldn't be one to know.” Techno makes a light shrug with one shoulder, and Tubbo supposes that the king could possibly not hold sentimental value to people as much as Tommy would. The king is a man of war, his heart carved out to make room for the ruthlessness needed for constant victory. Tommy is- something else entirely. Something softer. A stark contrast to the man he’s supposed to take after one day. 

“It’s not even been a year.” Tubbo reminds. “Everything he's known has changed within- weeks of each other. He often pretends it doesn't bother him. I fear that's going to hurt him later on down the line.”

Technoblade takes in Tubbo’s words with a light hum, finger tapping at the end of his armrest. “What is meant to be done, then?” He asks, and at Tubbo’s slight confusion, he holds a gesturing hand out. “You're giving your opinion now, so tell me your answer. What should be done?”

Tubbo lets his hands fall at his sides, standing straight. “He needs comfort.”

“From me?” Techno asks, raising a brow. “I am not the person for that.”

“But he’s-“

“What am I meant to do for his suffering? You think I would be the best suited to help with grief? I strike down bloodlines and orphan children in every battle I lead. You think I am the best choice?”

“It's alright if you don't know how. The effort is all that's needed.” Tubbo insists quietly, hoping that’s not taken as any insult. 

Techno huffs. “I make my efforts. I don't see any reason for change.”

“There is reason.” Tubbo protests, almost shaking his head. “You can't leave him wondering, leave him by himself-“

“He’s hardly alone-“ Technoblade begins to say, and Tubbo cuts him off. 

“He's hoping for something from you! Speak with him, listen to him, give him your shoulder to lean upon-”

“I am not his father.” Technoblade tells Tubbo, spoken like a type of reminder, a resolute fact, a conclusion to the discussion. Frustration boils up in Tubbo’s chest, anger rising so fast that he can’t choke down the words that come next. 

“But you’re the king! ” He screams, knowing that he’s speaking too harshly, eyes stuck to the way Techno sits up in surprise, but his fury not daring to falter. “You are our king, he is your prince, he is your people. You chose him!” Tubbo steps forward, hands lifted up in the heat of his sudden outburst. “You are not a ruler with loving, outstretched arms, I know that much! I’m not an idiot! But if you are to truly care for at least one person, to show that you do truly want your crown, it must be him. You cannot turn your back on this, you cannot neglect him!” 

A beat of silence passes. The king’s demeanor suddenly goes ice cold. Tubbo’s breath hitches upon realizing that his yelling can easily be taken for treasonous insult. He doesn’t mean to call his ruler incompetent in any sort of way, he doesn’t mean that at all, but- he is lacking. 

And that is hurting Tommy. So he must do better. 

“You- You have to do more. He needs to be cared for.” Tubbo insists further, forcing his voice to be steady, trying to not shrink down with his fears. “And it has to be you. Nobody is going to dare to get too close to a prince that belongs to you .”

Who else could do this? Not Tubbo. Not any other person out there. Tommy seeks approval, even if he will not admit outright, and the only one who can give that needed approval is the same man who refuses to even look at the boy unless forced to. 

Technoblade closes his eyes and sighs, long and nearly tired. 

“He is cared for.” Technoblade says, little concern etched on his face. “He has his guards to protect him, his servants to tend to him. You and your friend keep him company, and I’ll provide him guidance when it’s needed. Is that not enough? I’m not going to hold his hand through every hardship.” 

Something in Tubbo simmers alive, fueled by a sharp jump in righteous, loyal anger. Gone is hesitation, now. The people adore the prince, that much is true. Every soul who has met Tommy has been endeared, Techno has to have heard of it every day without fail. But does he think he doesn’t need to be the one to hold his hand? Does he think all he needs to do is keep the empire strong, ensure their enemies' downfall? 

That’s not how family works. Tubbo is sure of this. 

Family is kinder. Softer. Family is late nights, waiting for someone to come home, sharing dinner from the same plate, sharing a smile against candlelight. Family is knowing you can reach out and you’ll have a hand to hold. Family is more. 

This fucking king has got to be more. Not even he can be above the responsibility of this. 

“Do you fear the boy, Your Grace?” Tubbo blinks innocently, his tone serene underneath the king's stare.  

Technoblade blinks, taken aback. “Excuse me?” 

Tubbo hums, shrugging his shoulders with his hands held up, averting his eyes to some point over the king’s chair. “You can raze a kingdom to the ground and behead a thousand men, but the thought of offering kind words, support, or dare I suggest it-- an embrace, to the young prince is enough to send you retreating?”

Tubbo’s heart is sitting in his throat with such an actual jab being made at his king from his own lips, but he doesn’t swallow it down and bow his head in apology. He just lets the stunned silence sit, putting all his cards on the fact that if the king ever were to do anything to him, it would make Tommy rather unhappy. 

Then again, it doesn’t seem like the king is entirely preoccupied with assuring Tommy’s happiness, so maybe he’s just doomed. Well. It was a good cause to go for. 

“Is the idea of approaching him too much to bear for you? Is he somehow a threat, with his pain of loss?” Tubbo goes on. “Why, I can’t consider any other reason why you would be keeping such a distance from the boy you’ve decided to take as your own. I can’t fathom it!” Tubbo looks around, as if now speaking to a nonexistent audience. “Has our ruler's weakness turned out to be a single, young grieving boy?”

The king’s face goes sour, and his chair drags on the floor as he stands to his feet, hands pressed to the table before him. Tubbo resists the urge to step away at the gesture, to cower under his now annoyed gaze. He’s pushing limits, here. 

“ Mind yourself .” The king tells him, and despite Tubbo’s assumptions, there isn’t really any true rage in that warning. It’s more flat, if anything, just peeved, and Tubbo gratefully bows his head in relief. He’s only annoyed him. 

“I’m sorry.” He says, truthful in it. “I’m- sorry, Your Majesty. That was a bit much, but- I’m just trying to say-”

“Enough.” The king says, lifting a hand up. “Just- please stop talking.” 

Tubbo shuts his mouth. 

Technoblade sighs yet again, fingers pinched to the bridge of his nose, this entire conversation seeming to have aged him by a decade. He stands straight, a hand resting on his hip as he rubs at his face. “You have no ground to stand on in deciding how these things go. This is not a matter of me being his father, I am his king. He’s the prince. This works differently. You don’t know anything. You know nothing.”

“But I know him.” Tubbo replies, Technoblade’s sharp look still not making him quiet. “What if he doesn’t want it to be this way?” 

Technoblade huffs, a cruel, unbelieving smile forming upon his face. “You think the prince wants me as a father?” He seems to expect a no. That’s fair, considering the sort of man he is. Tubbo looks him in the eyes and tells him the truth. 

“He wants to hear from you.” He confesses. “Every day he just wants you to hear him. He won’t say that outright, I don’t think he ever will, that’s something you both share in stubbornness, I think.” Tubbo says, and Techno’s smile fades off. “Sometimes, the way he talks- he asks Sam very often about you, did you know that?” 

Technoblade turns his head. He did. He must’ve. Did he not realize why?

“He does want it to be different.” Tubbo insists. “I beg of you to give him that. He deserves that much.” And in that request, Tubbo bows his head to the floor, bangs hanging out as he closes his eyes. 

Please. Tubbo thinks. Please, just give him that. 

It takes a moment for the king to say anything in response. All Tubbo hears is his own breathing, his head hanging low, and then-

“There is no power you have to ask anything of me. But I’ll consider what you’ve said, if nothing else.” The king mutters, and Tubbo lifts his chin in hope. “I’ll think over this. Now return to where you’re meant to be, before His Highness wakes up and grows suspicious at where you’ve gone.” 

“Yes, Your Majesty.” Tubbo bows his head again, and then leaves the tent, heading on his way. Technoblade watches the flaps of the tent close behind him, and falls back in his chair, slumping down with a barely audible groan in his throat, head tilted back to look to the ceiling. 

Do you fear the boy? 

What a stupid thing to say. Technoblade does not fear anything. Not even death itself. He has no need for fear, he has nothing that could push against him so that it would make him feel something as benign as fear. He doesn’t fear the prince. There is- hesitation, around him. Techno knows he’s not someone who could raise a boy like him, so it’s better to put him into other’s hands. Allow him the freedom to be cared for by others who can do it properly. 

What if he doesn’t want it to be this way?

That question echoes lightly in his head, and he shifts in his seat, looking back to his desk. Does it matter what he wants? Techno knows what is the better choice. He is meant to make that choice. And how else would it be? Technoblade as a father? Treating the boy like a son? He wouldn’t know the first thing, how to even do it right. Tubbo had said it’s more about the effort than anything, but-

 This is a stupid idea, and that boy is an idiot for trying to have Techno consider it. 

But it doesn’t leave him be. He tries to push it off, return to his papers, but he can’t read them. It lingers even then. Slows him with an inner conflict. 

Technoblade finds prideful victory in having Tommy as an heir, for his power that he isn’t even aware of. He likes having an heir for the fact that his claim is now stronger, his legacy secured on. But has he ever considered the love of a son? The loyalty of a boy under his wing? Techno already has his own people to protect, to watch over, but a son is different. Personal. 

Family. 

What if?

No. What if- nothing. That's not something Techno can have, not for being unable to have it, but simply because he doesn't want it. He has no need for that. So he has no want for it.

There is no want. There is no point. 

What if? 

He has no desire for it. But Tommy does. 

And for reasons unknown, he feels compelled to give the boy what he wants. 

Chapter Text

Tubbo does not remember much of his uncle now, not with the very busy years that have passed, no love lost in their parting ways. 

He can’t recall how the man’s face might’ve looked. How he frowned, how he talked, the color of his eyes. Maybe they were green, like his own? Maybe they were brown, like his hair. 

Tubbo supposes he won’t ever know, for he doesn’t care to remember. He doesn’t care enough to keep the man in his heart. He lets all the memories drift, lets them be replaced.  

What he does remember of his uncle, what is too important to ever forget, was the relationship they bore, and what he learned from it.

It was a very distant, simple thing that the two of them had. They lived together, sharing a small house crammed into a narrow stone street. They ate together, sharing their portion of whatever food they were able to afford for the week. And that was all. 

Sometimes, they talked. It wasn’t of much. It was never anything important. They were strangers in all but name, really, and Tubbo assumed that was how it worked. That’s how family was. Two people bound together, connected by relation, yes, but ultimately, just two people. 

His uncle never spoke all that fondly of Tubbo’s mother, on the rare occasions he actually spoke of her. To his uncle, she was only someone who wandered off at the first chance she got, and then sent back a child when bad luck struck her and gave her poor health. Tubbo remembers her least of all, her face so blurry against the quiet pain of being sent off to walk along in the streets. 

To his uncle, family was- obligation. Tubbo was a second set of hands to keep their small house clean, a second working man to put more food on the table. That was all, for they didn’t have the means to focus on much of anything else. They were the struggling part of the people, but in those days, it seemed they all were struggling. 

But then their kingdom changed. A new king came riding in, taking the people as his own underneath a bright red banner, the color resembling freshly spilled blood as it danced against the passing wind.

Tubbo remembers seeing the soldiers come through the wider streets, remembers standing in the crowd, marveling at the armor and the weapons in their hands. They seemed so tall and strong, so fearsome in their victory. Their own soldiers never looked anything like that. 

Maybe that’s why the Red King took their kingdom so easily. 

There had been festive, merry joy flowing through the streets after the march, a new celebration to a new ruler, their old greedy king apparently beheaded for plenty to see, his vast, hoarded amounts of gold taken and used onto the people. Their new king was generous in his heavy wealth. Their new king refused to let the people starve, refused to let them rot in their struggle. 

From his refusal, fresh food was freely given in the streets, and Tubbo witnessed the new sight of warm, shared meals, experienced the rush of the other boys on the street giggling and dragging him into a game that he usually would’ve never had time for outside of work. He ate with them until his stomach was uncomfortably full, yelled with them in watching another kid puke to the side in eating too many sweets, and cackled along as they all worked together to try and carry the poor sick fool home. 

When the eventful night was over, his tired legs bringing him back to his own home, he found a stranger with his uncle. A woman with pink hair and unfamiliar kind eyes. 

(Niki, she said her name was. She was apparently a friend. Or was meant to be considered one.)

When the conquering king healed the pain of starvation in the people, the people, in return, were happy to give loyalty, swear to his name as if he had been the true head to the crown all along. 

When the king announced that he still had more kingdoms to take under their banner, more greedy kings to behead, and he was in need of fighting people, working hands for the cause-- the people stood and went to give their efforts. They joined in the conquest. 

Tubbo was one of those people, although not entirely by his choice. His uncle advised him to go with the king’s group, told him to go with this new family friend he had never even heard of. It seemed like a daunting and rash decision, but Tubbo didn’t refuse. He knew the new king must treat his people at least somewhat decently, if he restored order so neatly after killing the old, false king. 

He packed what little he owned and went with Niki the same night he met her.

He met Eret later on, when they arrived at the inn where they were staying. A soldier in pristine armor, a strong sword on their hip. He met Ranboo the next morning, a scared, meek child who couldn’t look him in the eyes, but liked to follow close. They were both unusual in how well they got on together, in how casually they smiled to both Niki and himself. 

Privately, Tubbo thought it was an odd company, the three of them, but regardless of his opinions, he knew he could deal with it. He knew how it all worked. He knew it wouldn’t be different from any other sort of family, for he would carry his weight, make himself helpful, and all would be as it was. 

He could handle this. 

Or he thought he could. 

The honest truth is he didn’t know how to react to Niki. As time went on, and he began to settle into his spot, it began to feel like everything she ever did was unprecedented, uncomfortable, and unfamiliar. Confusing actions made without explanation. 

On the first day they all set out, the crowds had run thick as they followed their new ruler on his journey of conquest. There were people in every which way, their belongings tied to their back, their horses being led along, their animals being taken with. There was noise and chaos and constant movement, and in the commotion of it, Niki had held an arm out and kept it over Tubbo’s shoulder to keep him close, to prevent him from getting lost. 

It was a simple gesture, one that Tubbo found a little unexpected, but he didn’t mind. Later, however, when the crowd dwindled, and they came out on the other side to the open lands, she still kept the arm on him. She continued holding him to her side, walking at his pace, and only when Tubbo eventually tried squirming out from her grip, only then did she let go, taking her distance. 

It was a bit of a clingy gesture, but Tubbo thought that would pass. It was the lingering action of the crowd, was it not? 

It was not.

Later, for the next few days in their travel, walking upon the road, she would do it again. Hold an arm out to keep him beside her, or just raise out a hand to hold, as if there was still a bustling crowd all around them, as if Tubbo was a child at risk of getting lost. He wouldn’t take the offer, he’d keep away, but she never pushed, which would only have him wondering why she was offering it in the first place, if it wasn’t out of worry of him wandering away. 

Aside from that, there was also the atmosphere of their shared meals, the food plentiful and delicious, Tubbo eating his part quickly and quietly, as he’d always done. He would try his best to be gone from their dinner table as soon as possible, return back to whatever chores were available to be done, and Niki would call him back before he could go too far. 

She would strike up conversation with him, then, trying to speak of anything in the world, the weather, the food, the color of his eyes. With Eret usually gone to their post, and Ranboo not being one for talking at all, Tubbo thought maybe she just wanted someone who could actually respond. He would fill the silence with stilted, awkward responses, and she would smile back, as if he had given all his effort to it. 

He thought that after the first instance, hearing such pathetic replies, Niki would let the silence sit and give up on conversation at dinner from then on, but she never did. She only kept asking small little things before he could leave, kept listening to him with an attentive ear, taking in his words as if they were something worth hearing. She later began talking when he was in the middle of eating as well, and he would be forced to slow down, to talk between his bites instead of inhaling it all down. He would end up being stuck at the table with her, talking over nothing and everything with her, until work would call them both, and they finally got on with their days. 

During the nights, when they would set up their tent, Eret returned late from their duties, Niki helping put their armor to the side, Tubbo began to find himself falling asleep to a hand adjusting the blanket over him, tucking him in as if he were a child. He would stir to the sound of her voice saying goodnight, to Eret, surely, not him. To Ranboo, not him, even if it was her voice that was over his head, even if it was her hand making sure the night air didn’t creep onto him. 

The next morning, he would wake up with his shoes placed neatly by his bed, his clothes folded to the side. He would hear Niki call good morning the moment she saw him. He would feel better rested than he had in a while, with it making no sense, considering the fact a tent and a cot isn’t the best place to sleep. 

He would sit at breakfast with Niki smiling and striking a conversation once again, holding her hand out, not even mentioning the small gestures she had done, not bringing up what she might expect in return for putting so much effort towards Tubbo. She did it all so simply. So casually. 

It was frustrating. The actions, all of them, while Tubbo knew them to be something sweet, could only become just frustrating. He couldn’t enjoy any of this, because he didn’t know why she was doing it. He couldn’t breathe easy and have this without feeling confused, unsure as to how he was meant to repay it all. How he was meant to react. What did he owe her, now, for all this needless effort made? What was he meant to do? What did she want?

Why was she acting like he was made of glass, like he was fragile and too young to bear the weights of life? She was too soft, too kind, and Tubbo wished he didn’t feel hesitant to demand that it stop. He could handle himself fine. He was handling it fine. 

A near month into his new life, he confronts Niki on it, right in the middle of their needed chores.

He speaks of all her past habits and gestures. He points them all out, lays it clear to see. Then, with a steady voice that doesn’t fit right in his throat, he insists for her to stop. To treat him as she does Eret. To see him as a working man, not a naive, stumbling boy.

And in reply, she asks him a question.

“Do you know why I took you with us?” Her voice is calm and low, and Tubbo frowns in seeing her sit still, her hands leaving the work she was doing, her attention now collecting entirely on him. It feels a bit too much, for a second. He resists the urge to step away. 

“For the king’s conquest. He needed working people.” Tubbo answers her, so matter of fact. He expects her to nod, agree with him, and continue with what she was doing. 

She doesn’t. 

“No.” She shakes her head, bangs swaying from where they’ve slipped out of her ponytail. She turns in her seat to further face him. “Why do you think I took you with us?”

Tubbo shifts his weight in where he stands, squeezing the dirty rag in his grip. He looks around at the other people cleaning items for the camp, restoring and repairing, ensuring they stay organized and strong. They all work together, exchanging conversation, smiling and laughing, such a change from any other job Tubbo has ever done. He keeps waiting for the true work to begin, but no one seems to push him to work harder. Everyone seems so content. 

“For help?” He answers Niki at last, after a too-long pause. 

“I carry my weight easily enough. We all do. That’s not it.” Niki gently tells him, Tubbo’s stomach doing an odd flip at the way she looks at him. It’s too direct. Too constant. All he was ever given from his uncle was passing glances, and he learnt to expect just that. “Tell me, why do you think I took you?”

Tubbo bites his tongue and turns his head away, looking downwards as if in shame for the fact he doesn’t have the answer. 

He stares at his shoes, repaired by Niki’s hands, cleaned by Eret’s, who puts them beside their armor when cleaning them on their rest days. 

He looks at the tied shoelaces, properly pulled tight now, instead of shoved within, because Niki took a minute out of her morning to kneel down by him and show him how. 

“I don’t know.”

Niki shifts in where she’s sitting, leaning forward and reaching out to Tubbo’s arm. “I will tell you, then. I took you because you were not being treated well.” She says, fingers squeezing his small wrist. “Your uncle…”

“He wasn’t being terrible to me.” Tubbo says incredulously, cutting her off before she can continue, jumping to his uncle’s defense. “He didn’t mistreat me. He fed me when he was able, he gave me a place to sleep- he’s never raised a hand to me!” Tubbo knows there’s worse caretakers out there. Boys left to sleep in the street, angry adults throwing things of glass in fits of fury. Compared to them, Tubbo lives happily. Compared to so many others, Tubbo is lucky. 

“And you think that’s decent enough?” Niki asks him, raising her eyebrow. 

Tubbo feels it must be. It’s how family works. It’s how he’s meant to be treated. But the way she looks at him, the way she asks that- he’s suddenly hesitant. “...Isn’t it?”

“No.” Niki says, and she’s not harsh about him being wrong. She’s never harsh. Persistent would be a better word for her, for all her kind looks and reaching hands. “No, it’s not. He may not have been cruel to you, but you were not being treated right .” 

Tubbo’s face screws up into a tight frown, wanting to pull away from her, but finding it hard to try. “I’m supposed to be coddled?” He questions, and Niki just laughs, so gently, so sweet. Tubbo’s face feels warm, his chest tight. 

“You’re supposed to be taken care of.” She tells him, like it’s obvious. Like it’s true. “You are a child. You are nine years of age. Nowhere near being a man. And you were his family, he was supposed to be taking care of you. Loving you, raising you as an uncle should.”

“He- He tried.” Tubbo insists, but it’s a weak thing. He keeps his eyes away from her. Looks at the ground. “He did.” Did he at all? Tubbo doesn’t know. He doesn’t know. 

“He didn’t. Or if he did, it was a poor attempt.” Niki pulls his arm, as if trying to coax him over. “I will make a better one.” She promises, and Tubbo falters at such a statement. “I’ll give my best.” 

“We’re not family.” He argues. There isn’t any obligation. There isn’t any point. There shouldn’t be. “We’re not- I’m not anything to you.”

Niki laughs a little, Tubbo blinking in surprise. “What does blood matter?” she asks in return. “You know, Ranboo isn’t technically ours. We found him being mistreated, and took him the same as you. He shares not a drop of blood with me, but he is still family all the same. He is still ours.” 

Tubbo swallows past a tight throat at that response. Finds a careful, rising hope in his chest. 

“You deserve better, Tubbo. I promise, I’ll try and give it, if you’ll let me.” Niki reaches out to his other arm, trying to have him face her, and he drops the rag in his hands and rushes forward to take her in a hug. She’s nearly dropped back off her chair at the weight of it, but she doesn’t let him go. She holds him tightly, squeezes him close. 

And from then on, he knows better. 

---

It is a bit later in the morning when Tubbo finally comes into Tommy’s tent, Ranboo wisely deciding to stay back with Tubbo having caught him up on the disaster of the result he’s gotten from meeting with the king, secrecy of the thing be damned. 

He barges in on Tommy in the middle of said prince eating his breakfast, food laid out on the table, Tubbo and Ranboo’s usual portion sitting and waiting across from his seat. Sam does announce Tubbo’s presence before he goes through the entryway, so Tommy isn’t entirely caught off guard by him coming in, but he is taken aback when Tubbo stops abruptly by him, lifting his hands, proclaiming loudly-

“I apologize!”

An awkward silence sits still for a moment. 

Tommy stares at Tubbo. Blinks. Then makes an odd little noise, like he swallowed the urge to laugh. He clears his throat, putting his fork down, setting aside his food. 

“You apologize?” He repeats, voice slightly strained. His lips are trying to turn upwards into a smile, and Tubbo frowns harder in response. His efforts are not being taken seriously. What offense. 

“Very much so.” Tubbo nods, lowering his hands with a low bow of his head. “I am- so incredibly sorry.” 

“Wha- it’s fine. Tubbo. Stop.” Tommy says, not very hurt, looking more fond, if anything. He turns in his seat to grin at Tubbo with a young, sweet forgiveness that was already set before he even stepped in the tent. “I mean- what you said earlier, it’s just-”

“I am also sorry for that.” Tubbo grimaces a little, thinking over the entirety of his actions, the entirety of this charade. Oh, why is it that he decided to meddle? Why must one have feelings for friends? Look where the feelings have got him. Oh, the horrors of sympathy and child-like kindness! Now consequences lay somewhere in the horizon, and the least he can do is have Tommy be aware of them alongside him. 

“...also…sorry?” Tommy repeats, smile washed away in confusion. He sits up straighter. “Wait, what were you first apologizing for?”

“In my defense, I didn’t mean for it to get to this point.” Tubbo tries to say, turning away from Tommy to lightly pace back and forth through the tent. “I thought I could do things bit by bit, and have it end well! And then it didn’t! And naturally, I got pissed at the fact that you were pissed, except, you weren’t really pissed, honestly- just more trying to hide massive disappointment and sadness with the mask of seeming pissed-” 

“Stop saying the word pissed.” Tommy deadpans. 

“Pissed.” Tubbo deadpans right back, Tommy having to turn his head away with a poorly held snort. He shakes his head as if to compose himself and focus on the situation. 

“No, okay-” He says, standing from his seat, food forgotten. “What did you do ?”

“I cannot be held liable for my actions.” Tubbo stalls, Tommy’s confusion turning more vivid, eyebrows furrowed tightly together. “It’s not my fault he kept missing signals, that he kept acting like an idiot. It was obvious! I’m pretty sure I was obvious-!” He begins pacing again, walking off from Tommy. “I mean, what else are you meant to do when it’s literally your job to take care-”

“What did you do?” Tommy yells at his back, now with a hint of worry. 

“I-” Tubbo stops, not liking the sound of concern. “Hmm. Well.” He halfway turns, already wincing for Tommy’s reaction, shoulders hunched up to his ears with his eyes to the floor. “Okay. Listen.”

“Tubbo.”

“This was needed. I felt it was needed.”

“Tubbo, I swear to the gods, what did you fucking do?” Tommy asks, a nervous laugh almost bubbling over his words. 

“I might’ve-” Tubbo hesitates. “...told off the king.” 

Tommy stands very still by his seat for a moment. It’s such a dragging moment, a long, long pause of silence that for a split second, Tubbo thinks the reaction won’t really be all that bad, but then Tommy hisses out two words, his voice low with shock.

“...you what .”

“I went up to his face, I spoke the truth, and told off the king for being a shit parent!” Tubbo screams high, deciding to go all in on his life choices. He isn’t truly sorry, honestly. Just angry beyond anything. 

“Tubbo!” Tommy shrieks, so panicked that it’s almost like he’s calling him for help, at a loss of what to do, how to react. 

“He should’ve acted sooner! He should know better ! He’s been ignoring you for so long-!” Tubbo continues to say, riling back up his anger from before. He’s still got plenty to say, if only the king let him keep talking. 

“So you go up to him and tell him off?!” Tommy steps up to him with his hands raised, face appalled. “That’s not- You can’t just-! Tubbo!” He gasps, running fingers through his hair. “What did you even say ?!”

“What had to be said!” Tubbo insists, turning away again in another pacing circle. “I told him he couldn’t keep ignoring his own kid, and he should make his efforts, he should be here, he-”

“ Tubbo .” Tommy cuts him off, making him stop in place, the tone of his voice being that of a prince, smooth, stern, and without room for argument. “I-” He takes a breath, less steady than how he’s trying to look. “That’s- I am not his son. I am not-” 

“You’re the prince. His prince.” Tubbo argues with a finger raised out, angry heat curling into his words. “Is that not similar enough? If all else, he should still be giving some attention your way, with taking you in.” He waves his hand up and down at Tommy, his movement jerky and wild. “Not ignoring you, putting you to the side-!”

“He makes his efforts, don’t you fucking speak for him!” Tommy snaps, Tubbo immediately yelling back. 

“Oh, yes, he orders men here and there to go give attention in his place-!” 

“You think it’s so simple?! You think he can just- put his duties aside to go, what, say hello to me?!” Tommy asks, coming close into Tubbo’s space, trying to stand so much taller than he truly is. “You think that’s actually something that’s necessary?!”

“Gods’ sake, he’s the fucking king! He is literally the highest power in all the lands, he cannot tell everyone to piss off for two seconds, so he can go see you?!” Tubbo yells, throwing his hands up. “And of course it’s necessary, of course it would be!”

“ Why would it be?!” Tommy cries, like Tubbo doesn’t know what he’s saying. 

“What do you mean why would it-?” Tubbo sputters for a second, raising a hand out and shoving at Tommy’s shoulder, making him take a step back. “So you can have somebody. So you can know him, so you can trust him, so it can be right! That’s why! So you can have a fucking family again!”

Tommy goes tense, shoulders hiking up, his feet taking him another step backwards. Tubbo immediately falters, mouth going bitter in a sudden regret of words. That’s a too-fresh wound to press on, and he knows it. 

“This again-” Tommy mutters, eyes downcast, turning his head away. “This again, are you going to keep bringing this up-?” He goes on, voice quiet and tangled in his mouth, strained in something hurt.

“Tommy.” Tubbo calls, trying to take a step closer. 

“You are just- Oh my gods, oh my fucking gods!” Tommy walks away, sliding his palms over his face, turning his back to him. “I can’t fucking believe you!” He laughs, anger folded up within the noise. “Really, I cannot!”

Tubbo grimaces at the bitterness pointed his way, a little rightfully deserved. He’s pressed too much. He always presses too much. But it’s all he can do. 

He holds his hands up, palms faced out,nearly pleading. “Please, listen. I just thought-” Tubbo begins.

“No! You will listen to me !” Tommy spins around on him, making Tubbo flinch back at his sudden yell. “This is not your problem to deal with! It’s- it’s not a problem to begin with! I don’t know why you think you had the right to go and- and pressure the king on something that’s so stupid -!”

“It’s not stupid .” Tubbo grits out. 

“No, it’s just you wanting the king to go out of his way-”

“You are his responsibility-!”

“What responsibility is there for him?! I am not his son !” Tommy screams, a bit shrill in it. 

“Your Highness.” Tubbo speaks, and the words make Tommy freeze. “What does blood matter? You really think this is different, just because you have a crown on your head? That you should consider yourself alone just because he’s apparently too high and mighty to properly take this burden he chose?”

“Don’t say that.”

“You should be taken care of. You can’t be left to bear all of this by yourself, you don’t deserve that.” Tubbo insists, and Tommy jerks back like he’s been hit, his lips pressing tightly shut with his gaze looking away to the side. 

He breathes hard, shoulders curling in, and Tubbo eases his voice even further, guilt now rearing its head. He tries to go on, ignoring the twist of his stomach making him sick.  

“He- he may be king, and I know he has a million things to focus on, with growing the empire, with his duty, but-” He falters. “But, you -”

“Stop.” Tommy grits out. “Stop talking.” 

“You’re still a part of that. You are important to that.”

“Stop talking .” Tommy insists, taking a step back, his hands trembling from where they’re held to his head, passing over his ears like he’s going to block Tubbo out. “I don’t want to talk about this anymore. I don’t want to talk about this.” 

His voice cracks at the end of his sentence, his words left in an almost desperate plea. He turns away, and Tubbo follows, following, always following. 

“Tommy?” 

“Please, I don’t wanna talk about this.” Tommy whispers, head bent down towards the floor. “It doesn't matter, it doesn’t. I don’t deserve anything from him, he’s- you’re making up these stupid things for no reason, there’s no- no point .” 

Tubbo twists his fingers together in front of him, gripping tightly onto his knuckles as a way to prevent from gripping onto Tommy instead. He wants more than anything to reach out, now, to make Tommy look at him, to make him see. 

“People are supposed to take care of their family.” He mumbles out to Tommy, the words feeling so solid in his mouth, for it’s like a fact of life to him. It’s a rule he’s learnt. It’s something he now knows. Family isn’t just blood. 

Aren’t he and Tommy, as well-?

“ We aren’t family.” Tommy denies, shaking his head, fists curled tight at his side. His words tremble in his throat as he breathes shortly, too fast, too little. “We’re not family, we’re never going to be- I don’t have family anymore.”

 He turns to face Tubbo with tears kept at the edge of his eyes, and a flaring, vivid anger trying to hide it. He speaks bitterly, sharp and frustrated. 

“I’m just a prince that he wanted. I’m just some child he thought would do well to secure his line, an orphan boy who didn’t even give a fight when he came to take my throne. Why don’t you see that?” He asks. “Are you blind or are you just an idiot?”

Tubbo lowers his chin whilst nervously picking at the edge of his nail, teeth scraping over his lip for a second.  “I could say the same to you.” He mutters.

Tommy’s anger wavers as he blinks fast. “What?”

“I could say- the very same to you.” Tubbo repeats. He lowers his hands, lifting his chin up. “Do you know what the king said to me, after I told him to do better? After I made my point?”

Tommy stares openly, waiting for a reply, but almost looking afraid to hear it. 

“He asked if you would want him as a father.” 

“I don’t.” Tommy instantly says, but it’s a lie. Tubbo knows it’s a lie. There is a desperate pain in the way Tommy looks at him. It is a lie. 

Tubbo wonders how long he’s been repeating lies to himself in an effort to be something he doesn’t know how to be. 

“He said he’d consider my words.” Tubbo tells him, turning over the king’s reaction in his mind, taking in every little detail he had been too angry at the time to truly notice. “And that sounds like nothing, I know, but he- Tommy, he still faltered.” Hesitated, for a moment. What does that not imply other than a want that’s already there? “Our king does not falter, not in anything. You know that. But he did, for this. For the thought of you.” 

Tommy looks away from Tubbo, his expression wide-eyed, nearly terrified. His hands come together in front of his chest, fingertips picking at his family ring, clutching at it like a lifeline. He tries to shake his head, the gesture coming too stuttered. “That’s-” He tries to say, and Tubbo doesn’t even let him start. 

“You can’t just give up on something that hasn’t even begun.” He says, shaking his head. “You say you’re just the prince, but- no. No, it’s more than that, I know it. Whether he likes it or not, our king has to give something for taking you along. He has to do better.” Tubbo takes a step forward, pointing a finger to the ground, his head raised high in a stubborn fight. “Not even he is above something like this. I forbid it.” 

A snort escapes Tommy’s throat out of nowhere, a wobbly smile breaking across his face. “You forbid it?”

Tubbo nods. “I do.” He makes an effort of a smile in return. “I will make this better.” 

“You’re ridiculous.” Tommy says, then he takes a breath, and his smile crumbles apart, eyes downcast, his voice shaking in the air. “You’re- You’re insane, Tubbo.” He whispers, gently, very carefully, as if he speaks any louder, it’ll tip him over. 

“Well, I…” Tubbo stammers, hands restlessly moving, wanting to reach out again, wanting to try. So many years of Niki pulling him into a hug for any hurting pain- he can’t help but have the habit ingrained into him. “I just want to help you.”

“You thought making the king treat me more like a son would do that?” Tommy hoarsely asks. 

“It would. No one else can do it.” Tubbo answers honestly. He leans back on his heels, going over his thoughts. “You’re both part of the crown. There is no one else in the empire who will stand on the same footing as the two of you. Even between you and me-” He gestures between them both, hand waving out. “I’m only ever going to be your family in here. In privacy, in leisure, in the times where there’s no duty.” 

Tommy’s eyes go wide at the word of family. Tubbo waves out to the door, to the rest of the world outside. 

“What about out there? In the rest of it? I can’t stay at your side at court, or at the big dumb royal events, not like how the king can.”  Tubbo can’t protect him from it all, not like how the king could. Tubbo, at the end of the day, is only another cleaning boy in the vast population of the king’s people. No one will respect his word like they would the king’s.

And if the king were to use his hand to keep Tommy safe…

“...Yes. That’s true.” Tommy admits slowly, and he takes a few deep, long breaths, trying to steady himself, and finding no good result in return. “That’s right.” 

He squeezes his eyes shut, leaning down, holding his heart, his ring. Grasping it in his palm so tightly, his knuckles go a pale white. 

“But this is too much.” He chokes out, falling further, knees to the floor. Tubbo rushes to fall with him, hands at his sides to keep him up. “I can’t- I can’t -” Tommy heaves, taking in hiccuping gasps, the start of sobs. “It’s too much.” He begs, as if hoping for Tubbo to stop the wheel that’s been put in motion. “Please, it’s too- I can’t, please.” 

“Tommy- Tommy, I’m sorry.” Tubbo sinks further to the ground, hands squeezing onto his arms. “I’m sorry, I should’ve- I should’ve waited, or said something- I thought I could fix this for you. I thought it could help.”

Tommy shakes his head, trying at a dry laugh. It comes out like a sob. “There was no reason to. There was no point. Why?” He looks up at Tubbo, tears rolling past his cheeks. “Everything has been fine the way it was.” 

Tubbo looks back at him with a blank sort of stare, unyielding in the concept of lying about everything he’s seen and witnessed. The quiet grief he’s seen- that’s not something he can just put aside. 

“No, it wasn’t.” 

Tommy looks almost surprised at the instant denial. He opens his mouth as if to argue further, but he loses all his fight in a crumpling expression, head falling back down. 

“It wasn’t.” He confesses. 

He moves back away from Tubbo to pull his knees in front of him, pressing his chest to his legs, wrapping his arms around his knees. Tubbo scoots over to be at his side, rather than be sitting before him. 

“The people fear the king. I know you know that.” Tommy mumbles against his knees, blinking against tears. “Sometimes, I think…I think they fear me, too, because of him. Sam, Ranboo, even my own servants, they all seem so hesitant sometimes.” 

Tommy tries to not let it get to him. It’s the effect of being such an heir to such an imposing figure of a man. But still, it grates down bit by bit. Still, he can’t help but see that slight nervousness in every person he talks to. 

Every person except one. 

“You don’t.” He says to Tubbo, eyes lifting to look at him. 

“Of course not.” Tubbo huffs, leaning over and bumping his shoulder to Tommy’s. “You’re my friend before you’re the prince. You know that, right?”

Tommy turns his head fully towards him, disbelieving. He looks at Tubbo like he wants so badly to say something, but he just doesn’t know how to say it. His eyes are wet with a fresh sorrow, and Tubbo struggles to not let his face become the same.  

“You- you know I’m here for you, right?” Tubbo says, trying to ignore the shake in his throat, the tight pressure behind his eyes. “I’m here. I won’t sit idle when you’re hurting.” He promises, trying to speak it so solemnly that Tommy will believe every word. “And if that means- telling off the king, or some other act of probably treason, then- I will do it.” Tubbo tries to lift the rest of it with a joking tone. It doesn’t quite land. His lungs are trembling within his chest, and Tommy is staring at him like Tubbo isn’t someone who could exist. 

“What have I done to deserve that?” Tommy asks. 

“I don’t know.” Tubbo whispers, not really knowing what the answer for that is meant to be. He has his own response to his actions, and it’s simple and true enough. “I just care for you. I just want you to be okay.” 

That is the last strike. Tommy’s face falls into something unsalvageable, the floodgates opening with another tear rolling over his cheek. “Tubbo.” Tommy cries, gripping at his ring, hugging at his knees. “I want my dad back.” He confesses at last. “I want to go home. I want him to hug me and take me home .” 

Tubbo can’t give him that. He can’t raise the dead, as much as he wishes he could. He does what his heart tells him to do, and grabs Tommy in a squeezing hug, his own tears pouring over his face. 

“This is all I can give.” He tells him, sorry that it can’t be more. He is only one boy. “I’m sorry. I’m sorry. One day, you will have enough.” He promises.

One day, it will be better. It’s not today, but one day. 

--

By the time they’re called outside, the camp beginning to set out on its way, the two of them have somewhat composed themselves. Tubbo looks remarkably fine in the aftermath of whatever emotions they’ve suffered, which Tommy supposes is because he wasn’t the one crying his eyes out. 

They leave the tent with their hands held together, Tubbo leading him out. Sam smiles with something sympathetic as they come outside, and Tommy doesn’t exactly meet his gaze, not wanting him to see the puffiness and redness of his eyes, his hands having not quite scrubbed all the evidence from his tear streaked face. 

The carriage, as always, is waiting for them with the door held open, guards at the ready around it. Tubbo, once he reaches the steps, lets go of Tommy’s hand and moves away. He’s not going with Tommy for today. Just not today. They’ve already discussed it in the tent, Tommy having already told him-

“I’m not really mad at you- anymore. But I want to be alone right now.” 

Tubbo hadn’t seemed all that upset. If anything, he seemed content, and squeezed Tommy tighter in the moment. 

“That’s fine.” He had told them from where they sat on the ground, Tommy trying to be rid of the wetness around his eyes. “I’ll be here when we stop for the night.” 

“Okay.” Tommy sniffs. “Bring Ranboo along. Maybe we can play something in my tent before it gets too late.” He had said, and Tubbo had grinned with a joy that Tommy could almost feel in his own chest. 

Tubbo smiles with that same sort of joy as he watches Tommy climb up into the carriage, his hand waving a short goodbye. The door is closed quietly behind him, and Tommy sits in his usual seat with nothing but the muffled sound of movement outside and his own slow, steady breaths pulling through his lungs. 

It takes a few moments for the carriage to begin moving, people calling orders outside, still moving things around. Tommy glances to the window to watch the familiar commotion of it all, letting himself just drift in the noise. 

A part of him still hurts. He had expected for it to stop, with admitting his grief, and letting Tubbo close, but it still hurts. It feels unfair. He feels like an idiot, most of all, for letting himself hurt. He wishes he just knew how to make it stop. 

He sits back in his seat with a long sigh through his nose, hands coming together in his lap, the edge of his father’s ring held tightly between his pointer and his thumb. What would his father think of him now? None of this could’ve ever been expected. The only outcome his father might’ve known would’ve been Tommy’s possible demise when the king finally would arrive to their kingdom, but nothing has gone as one would’ve thought. His father was meant to bear that danger, but he wasn’t there. It was only Tommy. 

Tommy lets his head hang back against the wall of the carriage, the movement of the cart shaking his skull in something that’s uncomfortable, but bearable. He closes his eyes and tries to hope that this will stop. The pain will stop, the discomfort will stop. His heart will stop hurting so much. He will stop hesitating and fearing and feeling like nothing more than a child crying by the entrance of the royal tombs. 

He breathes deep. Listens to the noise outside. The thought of Tubbo and Ranboo waiting for him later tonight soothes him a little. He wouldn’t mind spending time with them a little more often from here on. As often as he can. 

He thinks of what Tubbo had said earlier. Of family. Of how he can’t be there for Tommy out there. His mind drifts towards the king.

Tommy opens his eyes, swallowing hard and willing away his thoughts. He doesn’t want to think over this. He doesn’t want to think. Everything is over, it has all passed, and tonight, Tommy will spend his dinner with his friends, playing games like someone who doesn’t have all this weight on his shoulders. 

He shifts around on his seat to lay down, to curl himself up smaller. He lays his head on the cushion of his seat, feeling the rocking movement of the carriage’s wheels going over the ground. He closes his eyes, willing himself to think of nothing, willing himself to just rest.

He wakes to the sun being nearly gone from the window. The time has long passed. His stomach aches for something to eat, and he sits up in wonder of if he’s missed lunch somehow. Did they not stop? Or did they not want to wake him?

He looks out the window and sees the land slowly crawling by, sees the outer fields of a kingdom they will soon take. He watches it go for some more time, with nothing else to do, and eventually, when the last bits of sun have sunk down into the horizon, that is when they come to a stop. 

Tommy sits up straight with his eyes to the door, hearing the sounds of people rushing around to set the camp up. He wonders what Tubbo is doing now, if he’s still with his family or if he’s already making his way to where they’re setting up Tommy’s tent, putting every item carefully in place. 

The door opens with the light of a lantern pouring in, Tommy squinting against the sudden brightness of it. He gets to his feet and climbs out, and grabs onto Sam’s offered hand for balance, as he once did on that first night, and as he does for every night. 

“Did I miss lunch?” Tommy asks the soldier, Sam’s face lit up in a slight orange with the lantern he’s holding high. Sam gives a small nod. 

“You appeared to be resting, your highness.” He tells Tommy, not quite teasing, but something fond.

“You should’ve just woken me up.” Tommy mutters, cheeks feeling warm in embarrassment. His stomach squeezes with hunger again, and he looks towards the center of the camp, waiting for Sam to lead him on. Sam does not. 

“His majesty has called for you.” Sam tells him, and Tommy freezes in where he stands, looking over his shoulder with wide eyes, Sam’s expression giving nothing of for what reason he would be called for. “He wanted to see you as soon as you arrived.”

“He- He what?” Tommy can’t help but stammer in reply, not having considered the king wanting to talk with him after Tubbo’s actions. Of course he would want to talk about that. Tubbo is his friend. Technically his responsibility, in some sort of way.

“His majesty has called for you.” Sam repeats, calmly and matter of fact, and he leans down to Tommy’s level, the lantern seeming so bright. “Shall I lead you to him now?”

“I-” Tommy falters, then pulls himself together, clasping his hands in front of him, clinging to his ring. “Of course. Yes.” He nods, and then he ignores the pounding of his heartbeat in his ears as his legs move to follow after Sam, the two of them going a different direction than their usual. 

The camp is alive with noise, people settling in for the night, putting down their things until the next morning. Tommy is vaguely aware of the greetings given his way, bowed heads made in respect, but he more or less ignores it past all the worry in his head over what exactly the king is going to tell him. 

Is he going to be scolded? Told off, like a child again, like that first time he was caught covered in mud? Tommy feels a bitterness pass over him for a second, angry with Tubbo again, but it goes as soon as it comes. He knows why Tubbo’s done this. He knows it was only something of love. 

He will just have to deal with the fallout. He hopes the king isn’t too furious with him, or with Tubbo. 

Sam stops by the entrance of a large, red tent, several guards already posted around the corners of it. As the curtain is held open, Tommy steps in expecting to find some sort of meeting area, a place for the king’s work, something professional, something of those lines. 

There is a table with food. There are lanterns hanging down, lighting up the place in a warm, gentle light, there is a thin, clean rug laid out under his feet. There is a table, a rather long table, with several wooden chairs, plush red cushions on the seat. The tablecloth is a dark, deep red, swirling design scattered on it, and over that tablecloth, there’s plates upon plates of food, with what looks like chicken and potatoes and greens and other things Tommy can’t even recognize. 

It’s still kept warm, slivers of smoke rising in the air, and Tommy takes a step forward in wonder, his stomach crying out for something, anything out of the grand selection presented before him. Was this just recently made? It’s all just sitting here, with two plates and their utensils sitting before two chairs by the table. 

Two plates.  

There’s a murmuring of voices coming closer by the doorway, and Tommy spins around to see the curtain pulled back, two servants coming in and moving to stand to the side. The king hovers by the entryway, attention caught by someone else trying to speak behind him, and the tight frown on his face makes Tommy’s stomach twist in a way that has him forgetting of any hunger at all. 

“Send word back, then, and come to me when you get the response.” He hears Technoblade say, his tone stern and cold. “If there’s nothing else, I have something else to attend to.” 

“Of course, of course, your majesty-” The person outside says, Tommy wanting to wince at the fretfulness of their words, at the persistence made against such a warning tone. “But for the matter of the-”

“I have something else to attend to. ” Technoblade repeats, nearly gritting it through his teeth. Tommy takes a step back, eyes glancing around the room like a need to flee from his anger. “Leave it for tomorrow.” 

“I- yes.” Tommy hears, the person left dejected, and when he risks a glance back, he sees a glimpse of their eyes turning to him, surprise flickering to life. “Yes, I’m so sorry, your Majesty. Goodnight.” 

Technoblade doesn’t respond. He goes inside mid-way through their sentence, the curtain pulled closed behind him. He sighs as he slows to a stop, a hand touching at the side of his head, and Tommy takes the moment to stand even straighter, hands held together in front of him, his chin put high. 

“Your Majesty.” Tommy says, the king’s attention immediately falling onto him. Tommy braces himself for the worst of it, for the anger to gather up and strike him hard, but nothing comes. Technoblade lowers his hand from his face with his shoulders falling down. 

“You got here before me.” He says, sounding almost as if he’s a little disappointed. Tommy makes a quick nod. “I would’ve gotten here earlier, if one of my advisors could’ve stopped dragging on a conversation.” He huffs, the anger from before returning for a moment. 

“Your Majesty.” Tommy says, wanting to get to the point quickly, wanting to be over and done with this. “I wanted to apologize for Tubbo. He, uhm.”

“Ah, yes. The one to blame for this dinner.” Techno drawls, and he goes to the table to take his seat, Tommy staring at him for the odd response. 

“What?” He blurts out, confused. Technoblade waves a hand, one of the servants moving to fill a cup and begin cutting the food. 

“Come sit.” Technoblade calls. “From what I was told, you haven’t eaten since the morning.” 

Tommy flushes from where he stands. He quickly goes to take the other seat, the king put at the end of the table, Tommy next to him at the side. He watches as the portions are served to him in a neat, practiced manner, nothing like the way he’s been eating these past few weeks, the food gathered and given for his own hands to pick at and serve to his friends. 

When the servants are done, stepping away and out of the tent at Techno’s word, Tommy expects for something to happen then, for- something to begin. Some conversation, some sort of scolding. 

Technoblade just starts eating. 

Tommy waits, unsure of what’s the point of this, if there’s supposed to be an intention to the food. Is he just meant to eat? Are they honestly just having dinner together?

…is this just dinner?

Techno gives him a strange look when he doesn’t move for a solid minute, so Tommy quickly goes to pick up his fork, eating as fast as he can without having it looking mildly concerning. It’s a touch awkward with the silence between them, but the food is a decent distraction to focus on, and Tommy tries to keep his eyes to his plate. 

Eventually, when the king finishes his meal, done before Tommy, that’s when he finally speaks. 

“I’ve been keeping an eye on you, as of late.” He tells Tommy, putting his fork and knife down while reaching for his cup.

Tommy full-on freezes with a piece of chicken poking out of his mouth. He puts a hand over his mouth, chewing quickly. The king takes a long drink, and Tommy can’t tell if he’s seeing something wrong, but he thinks there’s a smile hidden behind the curve of the cup as he takes a sip. 

“According to your friend’s opinion, that hasn’t been enough.” Technoblade goes on after, leaning forward with his elbows resting onto the table. His demeanor is so awfully and unusually casual, nothing upset in his expression to note, but there’s such a focus in his gaze placed onto Tommy alone that it has Tommy wishing he could shrink into nothing, into nothing but a speck of dust. 

He swallows down his last bite of food and very gently lays his fork on his plate, shoulders trying to hunch together. 

“I’m sorry.” He says, and the king’s face instantly pulls into a bothered frown. 

“Don’t apologize.” He says, the warning firm, and Tommy almost automatically apologizes again, a feeling of panic flashing over him. He just presses his lips shut, leaning back in his chair, feeling too small within it. “There’s nothing for you to apologize for.” The king then insists, a little softer in a way that has Tommy less hesitant. 

“But Tubbo had said he-” Tommy goes to say, but he stops, not sure how to word it. “It’s not exactly his fault, that he-”

“Oh, I see.” Technoblade says, as if he’s now understanding. He leans back, cup in hand. “So, you told him to come into my tent and begin insulting me?”

“Wha- No! No, I wouldn’t do that! I would never ask that of him!” Tommy yells. “I would just go insult you myself.” He speaks honestly, caught up in the offense of using his friend to do something like that. 

Techno snorts into his cup. It’s very out of nowhere, and Tommy falters for a second, watching the king cough slightly and wipe at his mouth, realizing there’s still not a sign of anger to be seen. He wasn’t speaking seriously. 

Tommy blinks. 

He was- joking.

“Well. As brazen as your friend’s…suggestions were, I still figured there is some reason to it. He had his point. It’d be easier to ask you directly rather than relying on the reports of my men.” Technoblade starts, thinking back to his own considerations made over the course of today. It is true that words could always be changed, reports could always be wrong. Better to keep this boy close. His boy. 

Tommy’s brows furrow together in confusion. “To ask me of what?” 

Techno looks back to Tommy, a calm mood falling over him. “Tell me of your sword lessons. How are those coming along?”

“My- my sword lessons?” Tommy repeats, not sure if he’s heard right. 

“I would hope the instructor I hired is somewhat doing his job.”

“He is.” Tommy defends. He thinks for a second, trying to gather his thoughts, which feel intent on running away from him at top speeds. “I’m mostly just on the basics. It’s not…difficult, but I suppose it’s slow…” Tommy trails off. Why is this being discussed? Is there a point to the king wanting to hear this from him?

“I could have you try archery if you’re interested in that.” Technoblade suggests, seeming genuine.

“I think- I should stay with the sword, for now.” 

“Hm.” Techno’s lip twitches like he wants to frown. “There’s always the choice, if you change your mind.” 

“Thank you, your grace?” Tommy replies, the end of his sentence tilting up as a question by mistake. He can’t help it. He has honestly no clue what is going on. 

Techno looks at him with something curious, his eyebrows raising up, and Tommy isn’t sure if he wants to demand what he’s thinking or if he wants to hide under the table right now. The feeling of dread has left, but it’s all replaced with something baffled and confused. 

Technoblade looks as if he’s about to say something, hand moving up, then a servant interrupts, coming through the doorway.

“Your Majesty. Your highness.” They say, both Techno and Tommy’s heads turning to watch them bow low. “I apologize for interrupting-” 

“Wait outside, I’ll deal with it right now.” Techno cuts them off, his words having turned harsh and sharp. He turns back to Tommy as the servant leaves, and while Tommy braces himself, there isn’t even a need. The king proceeds to speak quietly, calmly. “You should return back to your tent. It’s getting late. We’ll continue this another day.”

Tommy opens his mouth, still unsure of what this even was. He wants to ask questions, wants to know, but there’s clearly things that the king has to get back to, and Ranboo and Tubbo are waiting for him. 

“Goodnight, then, your majesty.” He ends up saying, standing to his feet with a short bow of his head. 

Techno blinks up at him with his head rising a little higher, and he makes a nod. “Goodnight.” He replies, and Tommy leaves the tent, resisting the urge to rush back to his own tent without looking like there’s a demon on his heels. Sam walks briskly with him the whole way, and he’s there to open the curtain when they arrive, Tubbo and Ranboo playing a game of some sort on his rug, the pieces scattered by their feet. They turn to look at him, and Tubbo immediately climbs to his feet, almost tripping over himself, almost running into Tommy. 

“Where were you?” He asks, grasping onto Tommy’s arms, shaking him a little with Ranboo reaching out and trying to get him to let go and stop shaking their prince like a snowglobe. “Did something happen with your carriage? You took forever to get here-”

“I had dinner.” Tommy says, both Ranboo and Tubbo going still with his next words. “With the king.”

Tubbo steps back like Tommy is diseased, hands raised with his eyes wide. Slight panic is written all over his face, and Tommy won’t lie, it’s mildly funny with knowing that there isn’t any reason to panic.

“With the king?” Ranboo repeats. “Wha- Why? What did he want?”

“I’m dead.” Tubbo says, looking doomed. “I’m dead!”

“Oh, god, he’s dead, isn’t he? He’s dead.” Ranboo immediately agrees, looking fretful. Tommy holds back a laugh. 

“No, he just wanted to know about…my sword lessons? For some reason.” 

Tubbo lifts his head from where he was beginning to have a life crisis. “Your sword lessons?”

“Yes.” Tommy nods. “We had dinner, and then he- asked about my sword lessons. That was it. It was just dinner.” Tommy wonders if he missed something. Maybe there was some sort of subtle conversation he was missing, some signals he should’ve caught. “I think that was it.”  

Both Tubbo and Ranboo share a look with each other, telepathically communicating with their two individual brain cells. 

“Well, alright!” Tubbo exclaims, clapping his hands together, immediately moving on. “Did you still want to play something?” 

“...Sure?” Tommy replies, confused at the lack of panic now, but Tubbo’s already turning around and firing off into a rant of the game they were trying to play, complaining of the rules and insisting they make their own. Tommy lets himself be pulled into it, picking his pieces and sitting onto the floor. 

They play for about hour, until Sam comes in to call it a night, sending Tubbo and Ranboo on their way.

Later, when he’s dressed in his sleeping clothes, comfortable underneath his blanket, Tommy notes that for some reason, despite all the stress of today, his heart feels a little warmer. It hurts a little less. 

He supposes that maybe it was just about time.