Archive of Our Own

Chapter Text

His fingers were digging, digging, digging – scratching and ripping feverishly into the coarse, rough dirt with an unrelenting, though similarly exhausted, pace. He was unyielding and persistent, thoroughly determined to a fault in his desperate, pleading movements as he shovelled and shoved and pleaded.

He needed, he needed-

"Please, please-" A choking sob, harrowing and heartbreaking and just a touch frightful, tore from his raw vocal cords with a harsh pull, escaping up into the thick air and curling away, away, away. It was a sorrowful, forlorn noise, but one the man was unable to take back.

He was despairing; he was hopeless; he was anguished. His heartstrings had been tugged and ruthlessly tugged right until they'd snapped into worn and ruined pieces inside of his concaving chest. (It was perhaps a perfect synonym for his devastated being – although, in the same breath, perhaps it was also something more, something different, something changed.)

Truthfully? He didn't know; he didn't know, he didn't know. He didn't know what to do, where to look, what to beg for from the overlooking God's up in their heavenly Kingdoms as they laughed and jeered and snickered at his encompassing failures.

Should he call for a second chance? An attempt to do something right within his virtually unforgivable wrongs? Should he seek guidance on his defeats? An aid in everything that he had broken and snapped? Should he request for-?

And then a sharp, stinging voice.

"Lords above." Sighing, sighing, sighing.

A shift, a step, a rustle.

And then a harsh, surprisingly forceful kick to his exposed side had the man suddenly reeling – it had him rolling and tumbling, tripping and aching, losing himself entirely amongst thick, spiked bushes and hard mounds of upturned dirt.

He was groaning and gasping, the air having been utterly knocked from his squeezing lungs with the rough and brutal movement just moments before. Gods, he hadn't even noticed that somebody else was there. He hadn't heard a single thing, not even a mere peep amidst his leaden distraction within the weeping ground below him.

It was pathetic. He was pathetic. He should have known better, done better; he should've been stronger and more resilient – a better man, a better father, a better husband, a better-

"You look pitiful like this, you know? Wretched. Vile. You're almost like a dirty beggar snivelling at my feet..." A hum. "Except it's a decrepit Monarch looking for a cure he won't find."

The voice, deep, hoarse, gravelly and gruff – pierced through the sobbing man's eardrums, hitting against delicately sensitive insides and sending shockwaves of panic through his shaking form. It was something commanding and forceful, a voice that could be used to direct thousands of ready soldiers and would have even the toughest of the Deity's lurching away. It was-

It was-

No, no, no, no.

"King Philza of the Antarctic Empire, what an abject sight you have become."

No.

Dumfounded, crushed, distressed, the ruler attempted to push upwards on shaking limbs - he attempted to elevate himself further in any way physically possible at that point, but alas, in his weakened state, it was to no avail. Instead, Philza ended up having to sluggishly tilt his head somewhat, shifting and shifting until-

Until crystal blue had locked onto beaded black.

Until swirling azure, an ongoing sky of stretching wisdom and the devastation that had ruined thousands, met against a gleaming void of nothingness, a spiral of endless empty space and the far-off hint of a ruinous destruction.

A breath, a swallow, a gasp.

"King Dream." Weak, weak, weak.

"King Philza." Strong, strong, strong.

(This was a man the blonde, Antarctic Monarch knew from distant tales and the occasional, far-off ball. Somebody sinister, strange in his ways and wildly unknown to most people. Somebody he didn't recognise too well but had lightly heard of all the same.)

Dream sighed, a heavy, weighted exhale that was so delicately laced in such a way that it made it seem as if he was carrying the entire world on the very tip of his flicking tongue. His expression was hidden behind that mask he wore, the rounded, eerie dots giving off not even a hint of those suppressed emotions.

Phil found it more than just a tad disconcerting, more than just a tad intimidating, even with the frightening titles of 'Angel of Death' and 'Slayer of Beasts' riding on the back of his own shoulders.

"What-" His voice was croaking, all rough and raw and so, so unlike the typical smoothness that came with his Kingly status. "What are you doing here?"

Here, in the land of the forgotten and the buried; here, amidst the frigid ice and the billowing snow; here, an isolated place so far away from Dream's own Kingdom, so far away from what the masked figure should be calling his home.

"Does it matter?" Dream tsked, condescending and disdainful in his speech. "Shouldn't you be grateful instead of questioning?"

A spark was lit. Burning and bristling.

"Grateful for what? Interrupting me?" Even despite the urge to snap back with words that were so vulgar and unlike his status, Phil was well aware he had to keep himself at least somewhat cool. After all, even in an area so isolated, he couldn't let the title he wore slip away. (Could he?)

A chuckle, dark and twisted, erupted from the standing figure. "Interrupting you and your little death sentence that you've got going on? Your useless actions? Please, Your Highness, you should see yourself. All covered in mud and grime, Gods, I wonder what your family would do if they could see you now-"

"Don't mention them! Don't- don't you dare even utter a single word about them, you heinous beast-"

Dream lifted a hand, beginning to flick down a finger each time he named somebody. "How about the twins, hm? Prince Technoblade and dear Prince Wilbur, I bet they'd be ashamed-" "Stop-" "-Or little Prince Theseus? I heard he's a sweet, bubbly thing-" "Dream-" "-And what about your lovely, darling wife, oh it was such a shame about what happened-"

Phil, throwing dignity and majesty completely out of the window even despite his prior musings, hurled himself towards the other King in a fit of unbridled rage, his eyes darkening from their typical crystal into something dim, into something stormy and bitter and lethal.

He just needed to get his hands on that-

The other man only took a mild step backwards, however, seemingly completely unaffected by the weakened movements – if anything, Dream appeared somewhat amused with the whole situation, from the very way he held himself to the cheerful guffaw that escaped him.

"Philza, Philza- King Philza, come on, do have some composure if you please." Amused, amused, amused.

"I'm going to kill you and string your filthy body up along the castle walls-"

Another laugh, chipper and bright and Phil was almost surprised that it had come from somebody who was so outwardly vicious and cruel. "Oh really? You'll kill me? You'll murder me in cold blood-"

"Yes, and I'm going to enjoy it!"

"-Right before I've told you how to get the cure for your soured bloodline?"

And the world came to a stop. An uneven, grating stop that caught against the jagged rocks of the universe and brushed between Mother Nature's desperately reaching hands.

It was sudden and abrupt, something that had Phil's head spinning in rapid, turning circles; something that had Phil's hands shaking frantically where they lay bloodied and bruised and smeared with dirt; something that had Phil's entire being filling with an icy numbness that appeared even worse than the Antarctic breeze swirling around him.

His heart had sunk right down to the crumbling pit within his stomach, and oh, he felt nauseous. He felt so, so nauseous.

How did he know? How did he know? How did he know?

"What-" Choked with emotion, thick with pain and misery, "What do you mean?"

Dream waved a gloved hand, unaware – or just uncaring – of the acidic turmoil running its course through Philza's body as he carried on. "No, no, you were talking about how you were going to kill me, remember? Let's get back to that. How are you going to do it? An arrow through the heart? A sword through the chest, or how about-"

"Tell me! Just tell me, just- just- what do you mean!? ...What do you know?"

"I would've appreciated a tad more kindness layered within that, y'know-"

“Dream.”

The masked figure sighed once more, dropping that overly merry, sweetened cloak that he'd thrown over his broad shoulders as his emotions mellowed out into something even and cold. It was a quick demeanour switch and something that the minacious King was obviously used to as he did so with such ease and precision.

He lowered himself down into a crouch, narrow and sharp and ready to pounce if need be. Gloved hands on pointed knees, a head tilted and lowered down somewhat so that the eerie mask was angled towards Philza.

A deep breath in, a deep breath out.

Nothing about the situation was even vaguely trustworthy, nor did it make sense, but at that point, what could either of them do? Dream was the one with the overwhelming power in his palms, and Philza was cowered against the ground with a fierce heart but a weak body. Fighting would get them nowhere, not with what both the Kings craved. (Even if those things were unknowingly wildly different.)

Philza had to comply, and Dream had to tell his tales.

"Do you think you'll stay awake long enough to hear what news I have brought for you?"

“I’m exhausted, not dying.” (True, partially.)

The masked man waved a hand once more. "It's all the same in some sense, is it not? But fine, fine. Settle down then, Your Highness, it'll be a lengthy story I have for you, and you'll certainly know some parts already."

That was alright. It was okay.

Phil, truthfully, didn't care. This narrative could take days upon days, and he wouldn't bat an eyelid as long as, in the end, he was granted with the answers that he was looking for. As long as the Antarctic King had the truth bestowed upon his bared palms, all would be well and sated in his turmoil-ridden mind.

"That's fine; I wish not for theatrics. I'm uninterested in any prior warnings to this, please, just-" A breath, "Just continue."

Glee, glee, glee.

And so, Dream did, all grinning and exultantly sparking underneath his defined facial covering (even if the other King was utterly unenlightened of that).

"How do I start... Your wife, she died, didn't she? Death and sickness - poor, Lady Kristin, lost to an illness that nobody could figure out, that nobody could aid her with and help her recover from." Dream tipped his head down a tad. "I heard she was left feverish and burning, hot to the touch, yet her veins were made of the ice surrounding your Kingdom. Such a sad fate, yes?"

"She died alone, too, didn't she? Alone, left by herself while you finally took a moment and tended to your sons in the garden, laughing and smiling as best you could as the three tiny Princes ran around carnations and hyacinths and the likes."

Phil's hands twitched; his brows furrowed; guilt pooled in his deepest crevices. (He didn't like this, he didn't like this, he didn't like this. How was any of it necessary? Why was it necessary? Why was Dream reminding him of all of this, and how did-)

The information about the Queen's untimely departure was something that was known around the Kingdom and had most likely spread to outer places, but the details had been kept unsurprisingly hidden – buried six feet under and trapped by lock and key.

So, how-

"How do you-"

Dream huffed out a chalky laugh, "I have my ways of knowing these things, King Philza. I have eyes everywhere, as you'll come to learn." A shrug. "Now, may I continue? This is all equally as important."

The two stared at each other for a moment, fake, black beads against shining, blue orbs.

Phil nodded carefully, and Dream took his chance to speak up once again.

"As I was previously saying, the sickness that the late Queen suffered from, it was... supposedly incurable, correct?" Rhetorical, rhetorical, rhetorical. "Said to be something immune to any healing elixirs or regenerative tonics, immune to everything that you tried and tried."

A hidden grin. "And, amongst that, it was also said to be something perhaps hereditary, right? An ailment that could be passed down to your darling children. The three beloved Princes of the Antarctic Empire."

Now, that was partially true. It had undoubtedly been suggested before, the idea of a genetic disease, an unheard-of sickness that could potentially be passed down, had been offered up by a few different physicians that the older King had brought in to look at his wife, but it had never been confirmed.

If anything, Phil was the one who had convinced himself of its sincerity and validity, and Phil was the one who had convinced himself to go out and search for a cure that had originally been unfindable. (To venture through mountains and caves, through oceans and rivers, in search of something that would work. That could save his bloodline and his three treasures.)

Gods, the sights it would be to see his boys suffering just as their mother had. It would break his heart, well and truly.

"Right." Philza nodded, still unsure of where the discussion was headed but unable to do anything about it all the same.

"And you've been out here looking for a cure that you haven't been able to find?" Dream questioned.

A little more dubious this time, a tad more doubtful and hesitant. "...Right."

"So, so, so. You want the cure, no matter what, hm? You would be happy to have it in your palm even if you had-"

An interruption, flashing and fringing on brewing excitement.

"I would, Gods, I would be so happy-" And then sudden, aggravated confusion. "...No. Wait." Phil paused, brows furrowed and lips downturned as he tried to push up, pulling on a braver façade as he desperately did so. "No. Why are you doing this? You're dancing around the answers I want. Spit it out unless you're just trying to play me as a fool."

(He'd previously been fine with a lengthy explanation, but this... this was going overboard. This was unneeded and was making his heart sting.)

Anger was suddenly flaring within the thick atmosphere, that much was obvious, and Dream immediately moved to hold his hands up placatingly.

He quickly cleared his throat. "No, no, Your Highness," The title was used even despite their largely similar status'. "I'm merely laying it all out for you – presenting everything that is necessary to complete this build-up. You do want to figure out what I know about the cure you've been oh-so desperate for, don't you?"

It was true. It was wrong. It was infuriating and had Phil's blood boiling aggressively. Alas, he nodded anyway, slow and just somewhat contemplative. For what else could he do? The anger didn't dissipate from his emotions, but it had from his words. "...Of course, apologies for my... prior outburst. Please, do carry on."

(Oh, if only the smug expression underneath the intricately designed mask was visible to the circling outside world.)

Dream just hummed. "It's no bother at all - as I was informing you of before, there is a cure. Or at least, a story in which there is a way - a lead to finding the remedy even within its dire conditions."

"See, it all starts with a disease, an ailment and a malady. A condition that affects the lungs, the throat and the very tip of your tongue. It's rare, something quite unheard of and hard to properly achieve, a lot more difficult than you might initially expect from it."

"Flowers, petals, thorns, these things will- they'll grow, over a period of years, they'll fester and spread within the victim's body, as outlandish and unexpected as that sounds. I'm aware it's strange and typically unknown but hear me out, please. These growths will be your saviour and your salvation for what you're looking for."

"Born from a ruthless unrequited form of love, whether platonic or romantic. They begin to emerge when the sufferer truly feels alone, truly feels abandoned and left behind by everything that they've previously known."

"And these natural blooms? The petals from these blossoms? They are the cure; whether they're crushed and smoothed into a paste or squeezed out into a dripping liquid, it doesn't matter. They'll heal any unknown ailments, soothe any burns and save your children from the awful fate that their mother suffered through. A perfect solution."

Dream pulled back slightly, and Philza stared onwards.

Oh.

It all... truthfully, it all sounded too good to be true, and it was making the Antarctic King's head spin wildly around and around. Flowers from the lungs? Ruthlessly unrequited love? A perfect solution to the problems that were quickly and aggressively arising?

Phil was tempted, undoubtedly so, but he had questions. Lots of them. (He was also suspicious, oh-so suspicious. Why was Dream showing up now? And why him of all people? Why did he seem to know so much? And why hadn't he told them about the remedy earlier? Back when Kristin was...)

"And how do you harvest these flowers? These petals and the sorts..." Philza inquired after a beat. "Surely you cannot cut right into the lungs to pluck them free-"

"Oh, Gods no, not at all! It's actually a completely harmless and painless procedure for the person holding them inside. They'll cough them up as you would with any sort of croak or common cold. A huff into your fist, and there they are."

Painless? That sounded... far better than what Philza had been initially imagining. (He'd initially seen pain and suffering, coughing and aching, bleeding and sobbing - a whole mixture of burning agony for years and years and years.)

Oh, the irony.

Phil nodded slowly. "Of course, and- and the person feeling this unrequited love, who..." Who is it supposed to be? How do you choose? What does it entail? What choices are you supposed to make?

Thankfully, Dream seemed to understand completely, almost like he knew exactly where all of this was heading to. "It needs to be somebody you already love - somebody you're already devoted to that you... as horrible as it sounds, can push away. Isolate. Force them into this disease without letting them know what's going to happen."

And then, as if the masked man was wildly aware of growing doubt within the other King, he quickly continued onwards. "But it'll be worth it! Completely worth it and harmless to the person subjected to this. Eventually, you'll have your cure, and your bloodline will be safe, and you can mend any bridges that have been broken over time."

Oh.

Oh, oh, oh.

Now, Philza was no fool. He wasn't a dimwit, nor was he utterly stupid when it came to specific situations, and he certainly wouldn't let anyone get the very best of him. However, as abstract and vaguely unsure of it he was, this prompted offer sounded good and something that he could blindly follow. (Almost too good to be true, as he'd thought before, but good all the same.)

His fingers, caked in mud and grime and all sorts of wounds, folded neatly against one another. "And how... how do I know you aren't lying to me? Stringing me on in this dire situation?"

(Perhaps this was his chance to return home to his family, to come back from far-away travels and rejoin the son's he'd left behind in their own pools of grief. Perhaps.)

"Oh, Your Majesty, I would never, I swear on it. But I'll send a man with you to your Kingdom too, if it eases your worries. One of my most trusted knights - a man I know for a fact would lay his life out for mine and can aid you in this time with everything that you need. Plus, we can always talk more on this at a later time."

"...Alright. And who is this knight?"

If only King Philza had seen the sinister grin, had seen the manipulative aura and the spirals of prideful glee.

"Sam. His name is Sam."

The night before the Festival had quite quickly turned into the morning of the Festival.

It was a time of bustling and cheering and exploding happiness that was easily spread wide throughout the great Kingdom; it was a time of joining in with the festivities, throwing away any prior anxiety and making the most of the unique day; it was a time to reflect on everything that had happened over the past years, everything that was good, bad and just about mediocre.

The birds were chirping their melodious songs, twittering and cheeping to signify the start of the day, townsfolk could be heard arising from their slumbers, laughing and giggling amongst each other, and Tommy was well aware of the joyful chaos that was happening around the entire castle.

(Even up and away in his isolated tower, the merry chatter was nothing to ignore. Nothing to disregard.)

But alas, he couldn't similarly immerse himself within the pleasure and contentment. No, see, he was lost within his own exhaustion and fatigue.

Weariness clung to him like a leech against bare skin, gripping onto his heavy shoulders and digging its claws in deep. After he'd returned from his lengthy outing with the King, Tommy had found himself tossing and turning in his bed, plagued with racing thoughts and unable to drift off into a slumber.

He had pondered over what had happened in the area of remembrance for his late mother, glanced back in his mind at the way Phil's serious demeanour had dropped in an instance, bleeding out into a kind tone and even kinder smiles. "Ah, it was just a flower, in the end, mate. Something we hadn't had the means to harvest then, but we do now. Don't worry about it; everyone is going to be safe and sound from it all."

It was good that they now had the cure, Tommy had initially agreed. But he couldn't help but feel somewhat saddened over the fate of the Queen and the situation surrounding the ordeal. If only she hadn't been sick with it; if only they'd been able to get her the cure sooner; if only she...

But he also supposed that you couldn't get lost within the past, you couldn't lose yourself thinking about 'what if 'and 'if only', or you'd never be able to pull yourself free from it all.

You'd never be able to get rid of prior regrets and remorse, prior sorrow and contrition. (Not that Tommy had much of that, of course, he had only been a young, young child when the Queen had passed, if his lack of memory and inability to recall much of his childhood was anything to go off of.)

But still.

Still, still, still.

His fingers, as delicate and as bandaged as ever, tapped against his propped-up thigh. Tommy had perched himself against his wall, sat on top of a smoothed-out window ledge as he overlooked the beginnings of the festivities outside.

It was a pleasant sight, something that caused warmth within his chest where it had previously been cold and ruined, and for once, surprisingly enough, Tommy didn't feel envious and green.

He'd be down there soon, see, when he soothed under-eyebags beneath layers of a comforting cream, when he ran a few fingers through his hair and made sure his appearance wasn't too awful, and when he figured out how to calm the nerves that were running across his skin like electric bolts of ferocious lightning.

Oh, was he excited - perhaps a tad skittish and a hint too restless, but excited all the same.

This was his first Festival in so long, the first time he would be around people that didn't feel like complete strangers, the first time that he felt even a hint comfortable in his own, aged skin.

Sure, he was still riddled with anxiety – there was still the underlying unknown about the petals that had made a home in his throat, the underlying unknown about where Sam was and what he'd meant about the whole 'secret' thing, and then why, why, why his family had just started to reach out now, but...

But Tommy should most definitely focus on the positives, shouldn't he? He should grin, he should laugh, he should enjoy the time he was given and throw himself completely into this bustling Festival. He should-

A knock, a jolt, an intake of sharp air.

What?

The teen's brows furrowed, pinching together and forming a small frown along his delicate features. Had he heard something, perhaps? Was his mind playing tricks on him? Was there a-

Another knock, and then a sound. Or, well, a voice if you were going to be a bit more specific and clearer with your observations.

"Theseus? Are you awake?"

Ah, they were definitely calling for him then, whoever it was. (And it was definitely real.)

Tommy was far too tired to discern whose voice was who's and who exactly it was stood behind his heavy, wooden door and didn't really mind that much anyway. He just gently folded one leg over the other, as neat as ever in his movements, and parted his lips to respond.

"I'm awake! The door should be open if you'd like to come in."

(A knock interrupting his inner monologues and thoughts was beginning to become a common occurrence in his life, and Tommy found himself not minding that much, honestly. Maybe it could become a nice tradition...)

The entrance began to part, with the door being pushed open and quickly revealing a well-put-together figure. The Crown Prince of the Antarctic Empire draped in fine blue and deep velvet; a tumbling cloak draped over his shoulders and clasps of gold accentuating the outfit altogether. He looked good, proud and proper; that much was starkly obvious.

With fond memories of hummed songs and soft smiles easily overshadowing years of isolation, Tommy found himself grinning.

"Prince Wilbur," He greeted, with a slight half-bow to add that apparent appreciation.

A snort as the door closed behind him. "Haven't I told you that Wilbur was more than enough?"

"Perhaps. I just chose to ignore it, that's all."

It wasn't hard to fall back into aged habits, to fall back into joking and bantering with his gleeful older brother. Tommy was almost lost within memories of his younger self clinging to a brunette and begging for just another song, for just another round of tag in the gardens. Oh, how he'd missed this endearment and brotherly bond.

(Tommy's heart panged, his chest ached, and it sparked, but the blonde Prince just gave a thick swallow. Not now. He was fine. He was okay.)

"Aside from that," the younger carried on after a beat, waving his hand somewhat through the air. "What brings you here this early? Shouldn't you be helping out with any last-minute preparations? "

Wilbur's brows raised up. "Shouldn't you?" He shot back.

And... and Tommy wilted. "I was never asked, nor was it requested from me. I didn't want to intrude."

Well, at least it was true, if a little blunt.

"Oh. Oh. Of course, I- yes, that makes sense." Wilbur seemed eager to move on from that brief flash of stilted awkwardness. His hands smoothed over the front of his pristine outfit. "Sorry about that, but I was actually told to come and get you to escort you down to the Festival, if you'd like?"

A flash of warm, pink-tinted cheeks and a slight murmur from the youngest.

"I would like that, though- you were told to come and do so?"

A sheepish laugh, with the older Prince immediately reaching and rubbing at the back of his neck. “Well, not exactly told. I just wanted to. I thought it would be fun to head there together instead of separately."

Ah.

It certainly would be, Tommy could admit that much, and it would most definitely ease his worries a tad if he didn't have to venture down all by himself and figure out what on Earth he was supposed to do without any guidance. (He was quite prone to getting lost and overwhelmed.) So...

"I think it would be fun too." The blonde agreed with a slight snort. "Just need a moment to fix up a bit more, if you please."

"Of course! Want me to wait outside?"

"That'd be good; I won't be long, promise."

And, just as he'd said, Tommy didn't take too long.

It was only a few minutes after Wilbur had retreated outside of the room did Tommy emerge behind him, looking far less bone-dead exhausted and arguably decently fresher than he previously had. There was a pep to his step, a smile to his lips, and his under-eye bags had been carefully smoothed over, just like he'd wanted.

Wilbur spun around to glance at him and then brightly grinned. "Looking as sharp as ever, Prince Theseus."

Oh, the joy of having your brother back in your grasp.

"As do you, Prince Wilbur." Tommy returned with a snort. As he'd noted before, it was seemingly far too easy to glide back into old habits and even older dynamics; he knew that, but at the same time, he didn't really want it to outright stop. "Shall we be on our way, then?"

"Of course." The brunette stuck out his arm, crooked in a way and held out so that Tommy could latch onto it. It was a nice gesture, something kind and sweet and just a little playful. "Let's go and find the rest of our family so we can actually head out and about."

"Let's."

Tommy let his hand grip onto Wilbur's arm, easily linking up even despite the few inches of height difference that could have otherwise proved to make their movements a bit difficult.

It was a peaceful (though vaguely excitement-filled) walk through the halls and the archways, through the rooms and past the guards. Something that Tommy had found himself doing a lot recently, with various different people, but an activity he still thoroughly enjoyed.

As mundane and as boring as it may seem to some, Tommy was fine with it. He liked seeing everything, taking in what he could and perceiving people that he might not have had the pleasure to meet before. (Of course, he wasn't overly social when it came down to it, but he still tried to be friendly... well, as friendly as he could make himself appear.)

Ah, well.

...One foot in front of the other.

Right, left, right, left, right, left, right-

"You know," Wilbur started up after ducking under another doorway with his youngest brother. The sudden noise made Tommy jump just a tad, but the brunette didn't notice (or didn't deem it important enough to comment on.)

"Hm?" Tommy hummed back after recovering from the slight fright. They headed down another corridor.

"There are actually other Kingdoms coming to the Festival this time."

Tommy's brows raised upwards. Now, he wasn't too well versed in what went down at these things, but... "Don't they usually come anyway?"

A splutter. "Well, I guess, but this time it's like... well-known Kingdoms, not just the far-off, distant ones that father likes to make deals with every so often and then invite over to watch and eat fancy foods."

Oh?

"Oh?" Tommy hummed. "Like who? Are they going to do something special?"

A form of entertainment, perhaps? Maybe some sort of show? Or a play? Or, hell, maybe they'd be partaking in one of those tournaments that would be held and were widely respected. Now that would certainly be something. Gods, Tommy had forgotten how much he missed exploring these sorts of activities... how long had it been?

"I hope they're going to do something special; maybe it'll add a bit of action to this. Not that there won't be action already, but still." Wilbur waved a hand and sighed somewhat. He'd never really been one for formal get-togethers. "Anyways, y'know, I think that this guy called-"

"Boys! There you are!"

Two heads snapped upwards at the loud call, matching in their brief shock and blinding confusion before it similarly melted into a muted realisation of, oh. Neither had really noticed that they'd moved closer and closer to the entrance of the grand castle, closer to the opening doors that towered up and up and up, but there they were.

And there was the rest of the family, too.

Prince Tubbo and Prince Ranboo, looking as equally dashing and debonair in their sparkling get-ups. Prince Technoblade, with his plaited pink hair and sharp features that somehow were oh-so accentuated by his crisp royal garbs. And then King Philza, in all of his glory and prestige, appearing as tired and weary as Tommy felt, but somehow still kind, kind, kind all the same.

The eldest man was the one to have shouted their names, lacking no dignity whatsoever, as he strolled over to the somewhat stunned pair. (He was the King, after all, it didn't really matter what he did - he would never be outwardly judged for it.)

"Father," Wilbur pushed himself from his stupor first, glancing to Tommy and then back up. "I thought- well, not that I'm unhappy about this, but I thought you and the others would be waiting outside? More so a bit further down and what-not?"

Phil quickly waved a hand. "Ah, I know. We were initially going to, but I decided it would be nicer for all of us to go together instead. A bit of family bonding as we walked would be pleasant, don't you think?"

The brunette hummed, tilted his head, thought on it for a moment, and then nodded. (Quite a show of theatrics for a simple answer.) "No, no, I agree. It would be nice, right, Theseus? "

Huh?

Oh.

Oh, right. They were speaking to him now, weren't they?

Five different pairs of glinting eyes landed on the blinking blonde, and Tommy already felt intimidated. It was odd, being so scrutinised and watched by people he hadn't properly interacted with in so long. It was strange; it felt foreign and a little wrong.

Sure, he'd been with all of them separately (and recently, too), but everyone together? That was a completely different story and most unmistakably had his nerves going absolutely haywire.

Tommy nodded anyway, however. He barely knew what they were talking about as it was, but it would probably be worse if he just point-blank didn't respond at all. "Yes, I think- I think that would be nice too. It'd be good, right?"

"Right!" Wilbur grinned, giving the shorter a slight, gentle nudge.

(Was that perhaps some sort of appreciation? Or a 'good job nudge' for actually remembering that his mouth worked, and he could form actual responses? Tommy didn't really know and just decided to go along with whatever was happening with his older sibling.)

Well.

A silence rode out for a beat or two, then.

It seemed to go on and on, looping around for decades to come and lost within the hum of a frigid wind. A heavy quietude, one made up of stares and inspections, judging and hushed thrums that still appeared to vibrate across the thick walls, bouncing, bouncing, bouncing.

Tommy swallowed once.

He swallowed twice.

...And then a third-

Tubbo gave a grumble, Technoblade cleared his throat, and Phil clapped his hands together – two, engraved rings hitting against one another as he did so.

"How about we start heading down then?" The King prompted, oddly bright and bubbly even within his typically calm demeanour. He seemed excited, hopeful, and repentant all at once, all of it mixed into one. (Not that anyone was truly deceptive enough to properly notice.) "Boys? Wilbur?"

"Sounds great to me." Wilbur shrugged lightly, arm still clasped within his brother's grasp, and he took a moment to glance to the younger Prince. "You ready to go?"

Tommy nodded quickly. "I am, thank you." An immediate answer that was soon smothered by the realisation that he was nervous. He was worried and curious, and everything still seemed to be happening so quickly. (A part of him wanted to retreat back to his tower, back to where it was safe and back in time when he was left to his own devices. But...)

"Although," The youngest prompted once more, tongue heavy and flicking. Hesitant. "What is it that we... that we do during the Festival? Apologies if I come off as... unaware. Though..."

Was he supposed to sit somewhere and stay there? Was he supposed to go out and greet the townsfolk? Was he supposed to partake in the activities? Or should he be doing something different - something changed?

Tommy was clueless when it came down to it, though he supposed that was just how it would be after missing so many things like this.

"Oo! I know this one!" Prince Tubbo, in all of his somewhat unhinged glory, called out from the side, swiftly bounding over and dragging a - tad more reluctant - Prince Ranboo with him. (Tommy did best to quell his mounting jealousy at the sight.)

Phil laughed. "Go on then, Tubbo, do tell Theseus what he needs to succeed during the festivities."

Well-

Tubbo looked to be rearing himself up for some big, expressive speech, some lengthy scroll of the dos and don'ts of the Antarctic Festival. His cheeks had puffed, his lips had stretched into a grin and then- and then, "Have fun!"

...

...Eh? Have fun? Was that it? Was that all there was to it? Surely not. Tommy doubted it, honestly, and he'd been expecting some sort of explanation for everything that he was going to be doing, not just some vague, off-handed comment.

Gods, this was going to get him nowhere. Absolutely nowhere. How was he supposed to do anything? Not that he was against Tubbo's answer, it just didn't really help to quell his worries or his-

Ranboo, as if sensing Tommy's internal turmoil and confusion, attempted to add on. "Let loose, maybe? Try and relax a little bit?"

The blonde Prince's brows raised upwards.

...Well, that was certainly a longer offer than what Tubbo had given up and attempted, but Tommy still wasn't really getting it, and it wasn't helping. He'd wanted specifics, details, facts and pointers that would push him in the right direction and stop him from making a complete fool of himself when he went out there.

It'd been so, so long since he'd been in a situation like this, and he didn't know... it was just confusing. It made his head hurt, and his throat ache and his chest squeeze uncomfortably. Anxiety, perhaps. Or perhaps something else.

"Sorry," Tommy started slowly. "I'm still not really understanding what you're trying to-"

"Just enjoy yourself, Theseus. Embrace the Festival for what it is, both the traditions and the festivities that will be shown and involved. Immerse yourself within it, let go of Royal titles and the likes, and instead make the most of your time there."

It was Technoblade who had spoken up that time, voice smooth like a lick of salted butter, deep against some pronunciations and timbre all over. He was a deep, brass baritone and achingly familiar.

Tommy didn't really know when the pink-haired warrior had stepped closer, maybe it was after Tubbo and Ranboo, but there he was, saddled up next to Wilbur (the two of them looking like polar opposites instead of twins, as per usual), with his arms crossed neatly over his chest.

Tommy inhaled sharply. He still hadn't completely forgotten what had happened during his last conversation with the older Prince, he hadn't forgotten their brief falling out, and the lonesome, weak stumble back to his room. He hadn't forgotten any of it.

And yet... the explanation from Techno was still oddly comforting and warm, wrapping around the blonde teen like a thick, winter blanket – perfect for the Antarctic chill.

"Oh." Tommy's lips parted around the syllables. "So.. there are no formalities needed? No walking around greeting everyone? No trying to-"

Phil waved a hand. "Well, there'll certainly be a bit of that, as there are a few people I'd like everyone to meet and a few Kingdoms we'll have to share pleasantries with, but other than that, no. You boys won't have to do much. This Festival is a time to ease up, to reminisce of.... other times and bring back a point that was once lost. A time to joyfully celebrate."

"Oh."

Tommy blinked, and Phil smiled.

"If that sounds fine to you, Theseus?" The King prompted gently, voice curling and flowing as he spoke.

Yes, yes, yes.

The youngest nodded vigorously (just enough that it made his hair flick out even more from the messy style, but not enough to raise a headache within him.) "Sounds excellent, thank you-" A pause, "All of you, uh, it was very helpful." Well, not like Wilbur had aided him much there, but...

But still. Tommy was grateful and appreciative, even if his heart panged irritably, and he wished that he'd just had this sort of environment from the very start, from the very beginning instead of so many years late.

Despite that, he was still wildly grateful.

Phil hummed lightly as Tubbo began babbling about something or the other, and Ranboo attempted to shush him. An amused grin tugged at his lips. "Alright then, let's really go down this time, okay? We can't leave everyone waiting forever; after all, it would be bad manners."

Five respective nods were given in response to the King, and then they were off.

They were off, and off, and off.

Grouping over trailing paths and walking alongside great, cobble walls; dancing over the fairy-light snow with gentle footsteps and thanking guards for their diligent service. Perhaps they should've taken some sort of carriage - ridden a powerful horse into the town instead of wearing down their thick, winter boots and letting the chill nip away at their rosy skin.

But that would've also brought attention, too much unwanted attention where they just wanted to enjoy everything as anyone else did. Of course, they were all well aware that with the statuses that they held and the titles to their names, it was quite inevitable to have at least some followers and gasps of glee surrounding them everywhere that they went from their subjects, but still.

Still, they could make some effort to keep a more down-low profile for the time being and walk adjacent to their guards and knights instead of climbing into golden-tinged carriages and the likes.

Plus, at least this way, they got to admire the beauty of the Antarctic Kingdom as they passed through certain parts of it.

From the trees that glistened with sheets of enchanting crystals, that held onto gliding icicles and played home for the songbirds and the squirrels; from the rivers that swerved through specific parts, darting and dipping, cutting into frost-licked land and swirling with beautiful blues; from the towering mountains that made up a picturesque background image, all white-tipped and bleeding up into a lucid sky.

The Kingdom, the country, the land.

It didn't particularly matter how you bunched it up; in the end, it didn't matter how you may name it or come across it because it was all as beautiful as the rest. It could be called a state full of monsters, an area of acidic poison, and yet the land would still shimmer with crystalline shards, the stars would still twinkle amongst constellations and auroras, and the enchanting attraction would be as alluring as ever.

Everything would draw you in completely, send a bewitching, captivating film over your blinking, bewildered eyes until all you could see were exquisite features, divine attributes and the sudden realisation that all that was around you was downright mystical.

(Hidden, were the lies and the treachery, the mysteries that followed blonde Prince's and the likes; hidden, were the dangers that surrounded the cold, frigid Kingdom, the hazards and the risks and the perils; hidden, were the secrets that had been buried deep, deep, deep underneath blankets of snow and fields of creeping flowers.)

Tommy was enamoured by it all.

All of it. Every single last dewdrop. (Gods, it had been so long since he'd been out this far from the Kingdom. It was all so mesmerising; he couldn't get enough of it. He wanted to drink it all in, sip by careful sip.)

But he was especially enamoured by the decorations that began to pop up every so often the further they got towards the lively town centre, to the large, bustling streets and the forms of tempting entertainment that had been set up in certain places.

Of course, he'd certainly seen the decorations that had been put up in the banquet hall earlier for a feast later to come, but this was different. This was good. This was unique. These ornaments and paper-based buntings hadn't been made by top designers and the finest craftsmen; no, they'd been made by the people. Normal, relatively ordinary people had spent their time doing it all.

And that just made it so much more special. All the more enjoyable.

"Wilbur, look!" Tommy grinned, all wide-eyed and exhilarated, as he gestured towards just about anything he could set his eyes on. From paintings of their Kingdom's flag to paper crowns and bemused townsfolk who were idly wandering - the young teen wanted to look at it all.

He wanted to be involved; he wanted to be noticed; he wanted to be seen. He wanted to feel as if he was a part of something for once, and not just locked away in his own inner circle, away from everything and everyone that he knew or had previously known.

Plus, realistically, this was his first time being to something so grand like this (fancy balls certainly didn't count) in years, and that was surely something to note down. Let yourself be excited, his mind had screamed at him, tangling in his brain as it urged him to look and explore all around, and so Tommy would.

As they arrived, step after careful step into the teeming festivities, Phil - who had been walking at the front - came to a stop. He glanced back a little, a smile pulling at his delicately aged features. "I'll have to step up to give some sort of welcome, an introduction of sorts if you don't mind my absence for a tad?"

Oh.

(No, that was fine. Of course, it was.)

Well, Tommy didn't mind, and he certainly would have voiced as much if Wilbur hadn't been the one to speak up first. "No, no, that's fine, father. Would you prefer for us to wait for you, or should we...?"

Phil waved a dismissive hand. A quiet chuckle escaped him. "Not at all; I shouldn't think it's required for all of us to be up there speaking, so... go and have fun. I'll find you all later, alright?"

A shy relief.

"Right." Wilbur nodded as the older man began to step away, already beginning to greet townsfolk and those asking for his attention. He was a kind man in that one sense, utterly open to speak to anyone and genuinely enjoying the company of his people - not snobbish, not arrogant or haughty. Just... him.

Tommy smiled lightly as he watched his father go, walking on and on and on. Hm. Well. He wondered what they'd do next or what they'd do now that they'd finally arrived in the real heart of things. Perhaps watch some sword fighting? Entertain themselves with a jester? Listen to some cheerful music that had been put on around the area? Or how about-

"C'mon, Theseus! You're coming with us first, alright? Gotta go look at some stalls n' stuff!"

Before Tommy could properly realise or comprehend, he was being forcefully ripped (and most certainly dragged) far away from where he'd been standing in contemplation next to Wilbur. He was shocked, confused, just a tad put-off and... and as it turned out, Tubbo had been the one to make his declaration and claim on the youngest Prince, though... that was no real surprise with his rather brash and typical behaviour.

(Tommy should have known.)

Ranboo wasn't far behind, either, though he definitely looked more flustered than whatever Tubbo's wide, excited grin was. He seemed awkward and nervous, muttering repeatedly from the back of them and appearing a lot too stressed for somebody who was meant to be there to relax and really enjoy himself.

Tommy couldn't bring himself to be too aware of it, though, as he was offering a short wave to where the somewhat stunned pair of twins had been left behind and then Tubbo was pulling him over to stalls upon stalls of certain goods and food items that had been neatly lined up along the streets.

It was magical, it was fascinating, it was completely packed, and Tommy was immediately entranced. He'd never really seen anything like it before – or at least, not that he could adequately remember - but it was so interesting to take in and examine.

From the ways these vendors would offer up different types of charms, of necklaces and bracelets that had all been so delicately and carefully made; from the ways these vendors would show off how much food they could bring to the table, all sorts of different flavours and spices from all around; from the ways these vendors would draw him in, whispering good-tidings and the likes that had the blonde hanging off of every word.

It was so incredible, such a unique experience that Tommy found himself truly immersing himself within.

He was lost in the way that Tubbo would so eagerly drag him around, trying to show off every little thing that was there and letting Tommy gawk at whatever soon came up. Both the brunette and Ranboo were, admittedly, incredibly patient with the younger blonde as he ogled and stared.

They weren't angry or even irritated; no, instead, they were happy - laughing and smiling at the entranced look on Tommy's face, occasionally making fun of him, too. "C'mon, Theseus, if you like the look of that, we can just buy it for you. No need to drool everywhere!", and then, "We can't stay out here forever, Theseus. You're- you're acting like a wolf salivating over a piece of meat!"

Truthfully? Tommy didn't mind that much about the teasing. It was harmless, both lighthearted and spoken in such a way that it was more than obvious they were both just messing around in their own enjoyment.

If anything, the youngest was too immersed within the world of craft stalls and unique scents of a perfume booth to care that much. Too lost within looking and pointing at everything that he'd missed over the past few years.

(Of course, a part of him still ached as he hung around both Tubbo and Ranboo. A part of him craved for their touches, for their laughs and their smiles, if only to be able to remember the friendship that they had all once had when they were younger. A friendship that had been ruthlessly snatched away. But alas, what was the point of holding onto grudges and despair? He needed to move on, after all. He needed to. He needed-)

"Theseus?"

Tommy's eyebrows raised upwards as his attention was pulled away from the locket he'd been looking at rather intensely. "Hm?" He replied quietly, turning to where his name had been called from. (It had to be Tubbo or Ranboo asking for him, for a lower citizen would never refer to him without his title... and also due to the fact that everyone was giving him... strange looks, to say the least, almost as if they couldn't quite remember him properly and wouldn't dare approach either way. Ah.)

The two older Princes were stood side-by-side, looking equally as impressed with themselves as they regarded the blonde. Tommy was a tad suspicious, and largely puzzled when Tubbo suddenly held something out.

"Huh?"

"A flower crown!" The shorter brunette exclaimed with a slight gesture of his already full hands. "We bought it for you! If you'd like, of course, or we can probably ask to send it-"

Oh.

Oh, oh, oh.

This was nice. This was really nice.

Tommy grinned. He grinned wide, wide, wide. "No! No, I like it- I love it, thank you." Taking the flower crown with dainty fingers and even daintier touches, Tommy began to pull it upwards and over his messy hair. (It felt a little bittersweet, with what had been rising in his throat and vaulting over his tongue just days before, but what could he do.) "Do you know what they mean? Is there a reason behind this choice?"

Ranboo shrugged somewhat. "No? We, uh- we don't actually know. Well, we know that they're pink camellias, but the lady from before wasn't very straight when explaining. She seemed a little frazzled, my- my apologies. But! But you look very nice!"

Well, that was quite kind of him, at least. Ranboo always had been kind to a fault, hadn't he? Never really looking out for himself, or caring for his own well-being, but adoring everyone around him. An angel, even if Tommy would never outwardly admit it.

The blonde snorted, pushing away those thoughts. "Thank you, I'm sure I look very-"

"Very odd." A gruff voice from behind suddenly supplied, and Tommy found himself rapidly spinning around only to come face-to-face with a somewhat disgruntled appearing Technoblade. The man looked a little put-off, a tad out of place, as if he didn't know what to do with himself amongst so many people and stalls.

Though, honestly, Tommy wasn't overly surprised. Techno had never been known to be the most social butterfly of the Royal family and wasn't the biggest fan of large outings, especially not into town. (Rightfully so, however. Plus, with his large stature he looked a little cramped. Ha.)

"Odd?" Tommy repeated, and he could distantly hear Tubbo's indignant squawking.

What was Technoblade even doing there? Hadn't he been with Wilbur? Shouldn't he be throwing around a sword or something of the likes? That seemed like something he would do, right?

What was happening?

"No. Nice. I don't know." Techno shook his head a little as if his brain had been well and truly scrambled. "Does it matter? Anyway, you're coming with me, now. My turn. Come on; it's time to watch the entertainment."

Oh? Tommy hadn't... he hadn't been aware that he was going to be shared around like this, spun to one person and the next, but. But. Well, it didn't seem too awful, and it at least gave him a chance to talk to more figures and expand some hopeful olive branches where he could and was allowed to.

Huh. Maybe the stalls could wait till later then; that seemed relatively alright. Though, wouldn't he then be leaving behind-

"Can't we come?" Tubbo spoke up just as Tommy was about to ask and head off to follow his stoic older brother.

Well, surely, they could, couldn't they? Tommy personally didn't see any harm in it, and it would be rude to leave them behind, would it not? Plus, they always did say 'the more, the merrier', right? Right? Right-

"No." Straight to the point, unmoving and obviously set in stone.

Techno, as blunt as ever he was.

(Ah, well, goodbye Prince Tubbo and Prince Ranboo, the blonde internally thought.)

And then Tommy was off once more, whisked away into another section of the booming Festival. Although, this time, it wasn't a place full of cutesy stalls and delicate, tiny crafts that you could put up on your shelves or dressing tables. There were no buckets of roses, no steaming rolls of bread or hot cross buns. There were no snowmen dotted around and no happy smiles.

Technoblade had brought him to the 'entertainment' if you could even call fearless knights fighting against each other with clashing swords and loud growls anything like that.

Now, it wasn't like Tommy was particularly against these sorts of things; he actually quite enjoyed watching, but it was all so very, very loud, and Tommy still had vivid memories of having to fight against Technoblade for 'training' or whatever that was.

Gods, that gave him the shivers.

"You're not going to make me go down and fight, are you?" The teen questioned as he stepped next to the pink-haired Prince, all curious and wide-eyed. (And definitely hoping for a shake of the older man's head.)

"You? Not at all. You'd snap in two the minute you picked up a sword."

Oh.

Oh.

Oh! Hey!

"I would not! Didn't you see me when we were together those few days ago? I was good! I held up amazingly!" Tommy scoffed, all indignant and vaguely offended, though it was more playful than anything.

Technoblade's brows shot up. "And you ended up collapsing halfway through and then could barely walk back to your chambers. "

"That was merely a fluke-"

The aged Prince waved a hand indifferently. "Sure, sure. But no, that's not why we're here. We're just going to watch. It's the jousting next, and I'm sure you'll like that."

Tommy blinked. "Jousting? The one with the horses?"

Oh, this was so, wildly different from looking at pretty stalls.

"With the horses and the blunt lances," Technoblade confirmed with a firm nod, leaning back against the wall they were perched at. There was a good vantage point there, one that gave them full access to what was happening on the land before them but also didn't exactly put them in the spotlight. "See? It's starting now."

It certainly was; that much was evident as two horses began to be ridden out.

"Are you not going down there too?"

"To fight?" Techno hummed back.

"Yes."

"No, I'm not fighting today. I was going to but..." The Prince shook his head somewhat, giving Tommy a slight nudge with his hand as he did so. "Just focus on the art of this. Like I said before, you'll enjoy it; I'm certain of it."

Well-

Well, if Technoblade thought he'd like it, it would probably do Tommy some good if he actually paid attention to the whole thing then, right? (At least he didn't have to watch knights trying to genuinely kill each other or something, though. That would be quite horrible if he did say so himself.)

"Alright, alright. I'll watch."

And watch he did.

Tommy stared as the dressed-up knights readied themselves on their steeds, giving the horse's necks a gentle, reassuring pat before setting off on their combat adventures. There was some sort of announcer there too, calling out to the lords, the ladies, the royalty and the common folk to come and watch. It would have typically been the King's job to do as such, but Phil was.. elsewhere, apparently.

Nobody seemed to mind too much about any inaccuracies (having far too much fun to initially care) and were more invested in watching as the knights surged forward on their horses, lances at the ready and pointed outwards until being thrust against one another.

A point for one, a point for another.

It was going on and on, a work of art that wasn't played out too often (mainly kept for tournaments that were a tad more serious and had people coming from far and wide to participate), but was still definitely a sight to watch if you were ever given the chance.

Tommy was regretful of his prior hesitance, remorseful over wishing that he had instead rather been back with Tubbo and Ranboo (not that he didn't want the be with them), because - against Techno's cheering and shouting, and his own, thrumming excitement and bewilderment - it was great!

Another point here, and another point there.

The winner was looking a little clearer as the minutes ticked by, and a further round was set up. There were crowd favourites - knights who had reputations or were just well-liked within the community, but skill could not necessarily be outmatched by friendliness, as most knew.

Oh, was it exhilarating.

Tommy was grinning, grinning, grinning – wide-eyed and amazed. He'd never had so much fun in his life, he was sure of it. Gods, being alone for so long really did something to you, because Tommy felt as if he was on top of the world!

He felt as if he could raise a mountain or bring a whole Kingdom to its knees, he felt as if he could-

"You guys having fun?"

And then Wilbur was there, ginning in such a similar way to the young blonde. He was pressed against Tommy's side, having shot a playful grin towards his twin before focusing on what was going on before him.

Tommy was a little shocked at first, a little put-off and momentarily scared, but then the reality set in of just who exactly he was conversing with and just who had stood next to him. (His big brother, his brother, there was no reason to be afraid for any longer.)

"Wilbur," He grinned, puffing his rosy cheek a little. "It's lots of fun! This whole Festival has been great, and we've barely even been here for an hour!"

"I'm glad you're having fun, Theseus. I see you've got a little crown of your own now, too."

Ah, right! "It's nice, isn't it? Tubbo and Ranboo gave it to me earlier; I thought it was a very sweet gesture from them." It was, it was.

Wilbur nodded immediately, all fond and smiling. "That it was. Speaking of those too, actually-" A wince as one of the knights fell from their horse. "-They're actually waiting with father right now."

Now, that last statement had Technoblade's interest piqued too, and the twin turned to glance towards the pair next to him. Even Tommy was a little intrigued now, when his attention had previously been so devoted to the sport in front of him.

"Waiting?"

"Waiting," Wilbur confirmed with a nod. "For us three, actually. He wants to introduce us to somebody, I heard. Or somebody wants to meet the rest of the Royal family; I'm positively unsure. Sorry to burst this little... thing."

Oh.

Oh.

Perhaps this was one of those other Kingdoms that Wilbur had mentioned long before, then. That wasn't too out of the ordinary, and Tommy could understand it completely. Though, he was a little disheartened about leaving before the final scores were revealed.

"I imagine we have to leave now, then?" Technoblade spoke this time, already beginning to properly strap his sword back to his waist. (He'd taken it off a little earlier to get a bit more comfortable but was now back on high alert, as per usual. Once a warrior, always a warrior, as they say. Or they don't.)

"We do, we do, I'm afraid." Then, Wilbur reached to ruffle Tommy's hair between the pink flowers. "But I'll find out the scores for you later, alright, Theseus? Don't be too disheartened."

Tommy stuck his tongue out a tad, contemplative. Well... "Promise?"

"I swear on my life, now, c'mon, can't keep the King and his guests waiting forever, now can we?"

(A sin, it would be. Well, maybe not necessarily a sin, but it certainly wouldn't look good. And right now, Tommy wanted nothing but good impressions for himself.)

Overall, the teen supposed not and began to walk after the brunette Prince, stepping right behind him as Techno stuck to the back. One foot in front of the other, just as it had always been for him. Right, left, right, left, right, left, right-

(Walking away from the festivities, walking away from the groups, walking away from the lively atmosphere and towards something wrong.)

If little Prince Theseus had been a tad more observant, if he'd stepped a different way or arched a little to his right, he might've caught a rare glimpse of the guilt that flashed over Crown Prince Wilbur's features - he would've seen the remorse and the sorrow, the contrition and the repentance.

He would've seen how Wilbur's dark, swirling eyes had stuck to Tommy's face for just a tad too long as the older Prince, much to his own chagrin, found himself momentarily lost within burning memories.

Phil gently knelt before the two twins, all soft-eyed and just a hint apologetic in his contorting expressions. There was something in his gaze, something caught and shifting that had suspicion rising within the pit of Wilbur's stomach, beginning to grow there into a raging, snarling beast.

He wasn't often wary of his own father, maybe only when the man was trying to trick his sons into doing something like going to bed early in exchange for their favourite treats, but…

But this time, it felt different. It felt wrong, as if something in the universe wasn't quite right anymore, as if whatever would next be said would completely shatter how Wilbur viewed the world and everything that was residing within it.

"I know this might be hard, and it might sound so, so awful to the both of you, but…"

'Please don't,' is all little Wilbur could desperately think, his mouth unable to make any sounds, not even the tiniest peep, as he gripped onto his twin's clammy hand.

"...Your brother, Tommy… Theseus. We need… he's going to have to be left alone for a little bit now, alright? Isolated, do you know what that means?"

Was he ill, perhaps? Sick? Was it the flu? Was it what mother had? Was it-

Two identical nods had the tired King continuing onwards with his speech.

"He's going to be getting a new room-" One that wasn't right next to Techno and Wilbur's. "-There will be new servants for him-" Servants that weren't the lovely ones looking after the three of them now. "-He'll be having separate dinner times, and you… you won't be able to talk to him, or play with him, or-"

Techno looked a tad affronted, his face burning and his eyes already watering. (He'd always been the more sensitive of the two twins, after all.) "We won't even get to- to play tag with 'im? Not even one game? Not one?"

"Not one," Phil confirmed with a slow shake of his head, and oh how his heart was burning. "As I mentioned before, Theseus is going to have to be alone for a while. He needs some time to himself, some time where you won't be able to interact with him."

Theseus.

Theseus.

Wilbur hated it. He hated the name with everything that he had in him. That wasn't his little brother's name. It wasn't. They all called him Tommy, now. Little, blonde, blue-eyed Tommy. Even their mother had called him that, and yet now she was, she was, she-

"Wilbur?"

The brunette's head snapped up, and he felt Techno squeeze his hand.

"Yes, father?" Croaking, croaking, croaking.

"You won't disobey me, will you? There will be…" A thick swallow, as if the King didn't want to speak his next words. "Severe punishment if you think about talking to Theseus. He needs to be separated now, and there's nothing we can do about that."

It wasn't fair. It wasn't fair. If Tommy was sick then they still would be able to- to do something!

"For how long, then?"

"As long as it takes."

"Takes for what?" Wilbur was curious; he was demanding; he wanted his little brother back.

A sigh, heavy and laced with weariness. "...Your brother has a cure inside of him that needs this isolation. Or, he will. He'll be able to heal a lot of people if we do this, Wilbur. And you want that, don't you? You wouldn't want other people to suffer the same way- ...the same way your mother had, do you?"

No. No. A cure, that was good, wasn't it? But… but this was Tommy, and they couldn't just leave him behind. But. But a cure, it was a cure and- and-

"We won't disobey you," Technoblade confirmed, voice unwavering and set completely in stone. Wilbur, even despite his own inner turmoils and disagreements, knew that Techno answering for the both of them was nothing new.

Especially not after what they'd just heard.

(Techno, next to being the more sensitive one, had always been a mother's boy, too.)

"Promise?" Phil questioned, holding out a pinky to the both of them.

A beat, a moment, a breath, and then they took it in their own. "Promise."

It hadn't been that easy, of course. There had been months of trial and error, of slip-ups and accidentally talking to the overly-excitable young blonde, but they eventually got better. The twins listened to their father more, grew up inside of the castle walls and realised what was at stake.

They heard tales; they heard stories and promises that had been made. They met a man with green hair who seemed to know everything and anything, they and grew ever further away from the child they'd once known as a brother, as their equal and other half, they understood.

Soon, it grew to be a normal in their life to ignore the looped, third bond that had twisted and broken. It grew normal to not know the third Prince; it grew normal to hate his voice and his words and every little thing about him.

(Or at least, it had, for Technoblade. Wilbur still pined; he still begged and cried for his mother's blessing in being able to talk to little Tommy once more. He still grew up yearning and needing, although to no avail.

For a while, at least.)

And Phil, King Philza knew. He knew that Wilbur hadn't ever been completely there, had still had that missing piece in his heart, but this was all for the best. Every decision he'd made concerning the matters would help everyone in the end, including Theseus.

Even if he had taken away his best friends, conditioned them into perfect little Princes that could aid as little brothers to the two, older Princes; even if he had locked away his youngest son as if he was some sort of delicate flower that needed to go untouched; even if he had been unable to look at his late wife's portraits without sorrow and guilt.

Even then.

Technoblade had grown up cold and callous.

Wilbur had grown up craving and desperate.

Phil had continued on, certain that he was doing the right thing and attempting to convince both himself and his sons of that fact.

"Boys! There you are; we were waiting for you." Phil's voice rang out, kind and evenly hinging on quietened excitement as he regarded the three siblings who had soon wandered up to them.

Tommy smiled, Wilbur offered a slight wave, and Technoblade nodded stiffly. All of them were clearly not too socially aware of themselves and their actions, but who was to care? It wasn't too big of a deal, of course, and could easily be smoothed out with a continuation in the interaction.

Which is exactly what Phil had intended to do. (...And then did so.)

"I have somebody who would like to meet you if you don't mind?" His gaze was flickering to Tommy most often, something not too noticeable and something that the younger blonde didn't really catch onto.

He was distracted, anyway, only half-nodding and throwing out a grin towards where Tubbo and Ranboo had stationed themselves.

"Of course we wouldn't mind, father," Wilbur replied instead, keeping a hand steady on Tommy's shoulder. "Who…?"

Phil swallowed once, twice, and then a third time. A smile tugged at his lips, just vaguely hesitant and the slightest bit unsure, before gesturing towards the side where a group - though a quite small one at that, if you could even call it a group - had gathered.

There was a slight shake to his hand.

"King Dream! If you please, my sons have finally arrived."

And then a head snapped up.

Tommy felt his heart sink right down to his stomach.

He didn't know them, he didn't know them, he didn't know them. But-

The sight of this… figure was unnerving, to say the least. All tall and muscled, large hands, sharp nails, hidden characteristics. He was dressed up in dark green garbs, the odd hint of a deep black spreading across his defined features through void-like garments. He was a mix of extensive colours that seemed to stretch over him - all over.

It was as if he'd been cloaked in an endless veil of mystery and enigmas - a mental image that had Tommy undoubtedly unsure. (Even if he wasn't particularly knowing of just why exactly.)

Everything seemed wrong, wrong, wrong and bad, bad, bad.

However, the most unsettling thing? The thing that was spine-chilling and alarming, startling and distressing, resting heavily on Tommy's plagued and frantic mind as he stared and stared?

It was the mask the man wore over his face, all-porcelain and intricately designed as it laid claim over the King's hidden expressions. In all honesty, the blonde Prince felt as if those beady, black dots were staring right into his soul and then even deeper, seeping and flowing right into those scarred layers that he had been buried under lock and key.

The teen almost gulped.

"Ah," The man finally spoke as he took a step forward. Two figures behind him kept just a step back. However, one seemingly made up of monochrome and brunette hair, and something oddly familiar moved to retreat off to the side relatively quickly. (Out of sight, out of mind… or something like that.) "These are them, then, I presume? Prince Wilbur, Prince Technoblade and…"

A pause.

Tommy held his breath.

"Prince Theseus."

The sound of his name and his title coming from this distant King's lips had Tommy unintentionally shivering. It was, admittedly, completely rattling. The younger man already hated it. He hated it so much.

He hated it, he hated it, he hated it.

He wanted to run away, to desperately hide behind his brothers, to clutch at Wilbur's sleeve and beg for some offered protection against this creepy, creepy Monarch, or to plead with Technoblade that he needed some sort of aid. Oh, how Tommy also wished that he had his servant back, that he had Sam back with him to soothe his nightmares and-

And-

Brows furrowed, head tilted, heart-stopping.

No, it couldn't be. It couldn't. It couldn't, could it? Surely not, surely not. It wasn't-

"Sam…?"

Oh.

There he was.

There he was. There he was. There he was.

Flashes of deep, green hair and a towering form; swirling, forest eyes that appeared to lack their usual kind spark; a draping outfit that was dark and gloomy and so, so unlike the brightened colours of the Antarctic Empire.

If anything, Sam, this Sam, looked more like a Lord than anything else. Certainly not a servant of all things. He looked a tad like Dream.

But-

But that didn't make sense. That didn't make sense at all. It couldn't. Because Sam was meant to be keeping up with the decisions and relations, he was meant to be sorting out deals with other Kingdoms, and he was supposed to have been trying to build up certain agreements for the festivities that had been soon coming.

He wasn't supposed to have been trailing behind this King Dream of all people.

Unless he- no.

No. But...

Unless… unless he had just been sent to that Kingdom in particular. Yes, maybe that was it. Maybe that explained it. It surely did, right? It surely, it surely-

(Why was everything spinning?)

"Prince Theseus," Sam replied, deep voice smooth and curling, so familiar to Tommy's thrumming ears and yet, then, it somehow only made the teen's hairs stand up on edge - something that had never happened before. Not with Sam. Never with Sam. "I see you've now met my King, then."

No.

No.

A laugh, Tommy's throat was suddenly hoarse, and his eyes were widened with a burning confusion. He was being stared at. They were staring and staring and staring. "Sam- Samuel, don't be ridiculous. King Philza is your… Well, King. Not this- not-"

Not him.

It was Dream's turn to chuckle this time, all dark and twisted in such a menacing way that it had even the great Technoblade flinching somewhat, too. "Ah, ah, little Prince Theseus. Sam is my knight. He's my guard and my trusted advisor. Oh, didn't they ever tell you?"

Tell him what? Tell him what? What was going on? Why… Sam had been with him since forever! Since he'd started to be… to be…

"Tell me; I don't- I-"

Dream took a step forward, even as Phil tried to mumble something placatingly, attempting to ease whatever was going on in front of him, but it was inaudible to the blonde teen, and the other, masked King didn't seem to care for it. (Not now, not when he had the destruction of the Antarctic Kingdom in his grasp, right as he'd wanted from the very beginning when he'd spat lies and deceptions to desperate ears.)

"You've been oh-so left in the dark, haven't you, hm? Left with the cotton pulled right over your watering eyes and the windows to your room glazed over with a burning darkness." Dream's voice was so, so featureless. It was flat, bleak, and smeared with an acidic bitterness that had Tommy's head spinning.

"Left alone, just as the book had said. Just as the God's had told me."

"King Dream, I must- what are you doing? We agreed not to do this. It's not ready. He's not ready! You said that you wanted to-"

"And I wonder," The masked figure continued on towards Tommy's panicking figure. (Why was nobody helping him? Why was nobody saving him? Wilbur or Techno or Tubbo or- Why couldn't he breathe?) "I wonder." A finger tapped against his mask, the sound ringing out and out and out.

"I wonder how those flowers are coming along."

And the world came crashing down.

Down, down, down. Down into a cavernous pit of burning and melting, of screaming and wailing, of insanity and more and more insanity.

It wasn't quiet; it wasn't smooth; it wasn't gentle or lulling. No, it was hell.

Dream hadn't whispered that last phrase; he hadn't been bothered when Philza had tried to offer a word or when Technoblade had grunted. Instead, he'd laughed. He'd burst out into manic, uncontrollable peals of deep chuckles and flaming, hissing wheezes that had resonated around and around and relentlessly demanded an answer from Tommy.

How were the flowers coming along?

How were the flowers coming along?

How were the flowers coming along?

Dream knew. There was no way he didn't with what he'd just asked; he knew, and he knew, and he knew. He knew everything; Tommy could sense it, he could feel it, he could hear it in his ringing eardrums. Sam knew, Dream knew, and- and-

All around him was guilt.

It was splashed along the darkening, looming sky; it was stained into the crumbling ground beneath them; it was etched into the very fabric of the burning universe in tightened knots. And worst of all? Worst of all, Tommy could see it on everyone's faces and their harrowing features.

He could see the regret delicately placed along Technoblade's hunched shoulders, the way he seemed to curl in on himself and his eyes - those angry, narrowed eyes - had begun to burn with unshed, brewing tears.

He could see the remorse that was embedded along Wilbur's face, stitched over a sharp jawline, pressed against the slope of his pointed nose and wound around a constricting, bobbing throat. It was obvious and inevitable.

He could see the contrition storming within those wise, aged crystal orbs that had been positioned along Phil's pale face, those shimmering lakes that had been suddenly soured and polluted, lost within a world of wrongdoings and inky destruction.

He could see the repentance that oozed from the people who had used to be his best friends, from both Tubbo and Ranboo as a bleeding pair, from the people that he'd grown up with - just like his siblings - and who were supposed to be there for everything that he needed, no matter what.

It was everywhere.

The guilt was everywhere, and Tommy felt sick. He felt sick because they knew. Every single one of them knew - they knew, they knew. They had to, didn't they?

The flowers, the petals, the vomiting and the vines. They knew about every last drop. If not, if they'd been as clueless as they'd previously made it out to seem, then they would've been curious, wouldn't they? They would have asked Dream what he was talking about, confused and lost within the words that had been outwardly spoken.

And yet they weren't, and that-

That-

That had Tommy's throat burning more than it ever had. It had his throat sweltering and scorching, licked by a raging fire and smouldered black by a ruthless wildfire that had no means of stopping now that it had started.

It was aching, aching, aching. It was painful. It hurt, it hurt, it hurt.

Tommy couldn't breathe. He was choking; he was choking on plumes of smoke, he was choking on the charcoal sticking to the roof of his mouth and- and…

He couldn't find his next, desperate gulp of air. There was no oxygen; there was nothing left but sizzling embers and the abhorrent realisation that everyone had… they'd betrayed him. They'd left him behind, they'd used him, treated him as if he was nothing but dirt on the ground, and he couldn't understand why.

Why had they done this? Why had they known and not said anything? Who was this other King? Why did he know? What did he mean? What had he done? What was happening? What was-

A gasp, a sob, a desperate cry for air, and Tommy was falling down, down, down.

It was as if the ground had been sucked from underneath him; it was as if his legs had been shattered into jagged pieces; it was as if the ability to stay upright had been cruelly ripped away from him without another thought.

He was lurching, staggering and scrambling for purchase in his descent, hands outstretched, flower crown slipping from his tousled hair and tears spilling over sunken cheeks.

The Earth below was welcoming him with open arms, beckoning him forwards as Mother Nature reached out with her increasingly gentle grasp - hands clasping around his wrists, grass swirling along his bare skin, and his quivering, thin form turning into putty against her.

No-

And then a rough, calloused grip was overtaking that, pushing against gravity itself as it wrapped around a covered waist and hoisted Tommy back into a firm chest instead of collapsing forwards.

A gasp, a shudder, a plead of his name.

There were lots of people talking. Though, talking was certainly a vague term for it all. It was more so a moment filled with shouting and demanding and whirling, roughly familiar sounds that pierced Tommy's weeping mind with the force of a thousand wolves.

Distantly, he was sure that he could hear Tubbo's concerned tones; he could hear Technoblade's grating timbre; he could hear Phil's hopeless begs for further explanation and the crazed response of bubbling laughter.

It was everywhere. Everywhere, everywhere, everywhere.

What… what was odd, though, was that Tommy couldn't hear the Festival anymore. He couldn't hear the bright, chiming giggles or the strum of an old guitar - he couldn't hear the mixing of joyous, glee-filled voices or the tell-tale hum of a starting song.

Tommy wanted it back. He wanted the thunderous, booming vibrations and the blares and the blows. He wanted to be immersed within that atmosphere once more, turning back time to a few moments ago when his world hadn't been completely shattered, and his throat wasn't closing up with each second that passed.

He wanted-

He-

A thumb swiped against his chin, brushing over a broken bottom lip and then pulling back.

"You're bleeding," A voice whispered, all choked and strained as if they were the one with the wildfire raging inside. And then, though not to Tommy this time; "Father, why is he bleeding?"

The blood.

The crimson, keening droplets that would stain Tommy's mouth with the sickening taste of iron and an ever-lasting reminder of his pain. Those ruby floods that stuck to loose, vibrant petals and rigorously wormed themselves in along with each raw rasp that escaped him.

A stab of shocking pain through his heart, and Tommy's eyes were oozing once more.

Gods, did it hurt. It hurt as he convulsed, and he shook, it hurt as he shuddered, and he grasped out for reprieve, it hurt, and it hurt, and it hurt as bundles of petals tumbled from his lips in unyielding waves of agony.

"Theseus!" Panicked, panicked, panicked. Wilbur, Wilbur, Wilbur. The one holding him, the one gripping onto him, the one desperately trying to keep him upright as Tommy coughed, and he coughed, hugging him even despite the fact that Wilbur had been the one to betray him.

Wilbur, Tommy's big brother; Wilbur, the one who was meant to protect him; Wilbur, the last person that Tommy had hoped had truly loved him.

Out of everyone, out of every single person in Tommy's family, he had hoped that the Crown Prince had been the one to hold even the tiniest bit of adoration left for his youngest brother. He had hoped that maybe, just maybe, Wilbur wasn't as cold and as shut-off as everyone else, that he didn't hate 'Theseus' as all the others did.

But Wilbur knew. He knew it all, and he'd done nothing except watch. He didn't love Tommy. He didn't like him; he didn't need him; he didn't want him. Everything had been a lie, a deception, a way to draw him in just to ruin the youngest Prince once more.

Tommy had loved him, he had loved Wilbur, even despite everything, and yet this was his return. This was his salvation. This was his reward.

A cough, a splutter, a waterfall of yellow, yellow, yellow and then purple and then red.

Red, as bright as a burning fire's core, red, as daunting as a festering wound of agony, red, a dash of spilling colour that wasn't just smeared across his lips as it symbolised the residue from his torn insides, but red, red, red petals.

Mourning, red rose petals that flooded from his decaying body.

Tommy loved. He loved, he loved, and he loved. He had a heart of gold underneath the ice-licked sheet; he wanted to be adored and to adore, he wanted to love and be loved, and yet that never seemed to be the case.

It was never returned; it was never granted back. Tommy had only been met with cold glares, slammed doors and that inevitable sinking feeling inside of his chest.

Tommy had spent the first few years of his life in bliss, with a caring family, two brilliant best friends and the whole world at his fingertips. And then he'd been shunned, locked away, pushed far into a corner where the ice of the Antarctic was ready to eat him whole and leave nothing but hollow bones.

He'd lived his given time cold and alone, deserted and solitary with a servant that had never truly been his servant, as it seemed.

He'd grown to harbour flowers within his lungs, petals that rubbed his throat raw and vines that threatened to choke him until his lips were as blue as the raging oceans.

Tommy had aged, he'd seen, he'd heard, and he'd learnt and yet still nothing made sense to him. His mind was spinning, frazzled with rapid thoughts and a sickening sense of the unknown that made him all the more nauseous.

Even now, he didn't really understand.

Why had he been pushed away when he was only a child? Why had he developed this uncommon disease? Why was Sam not his Sam? Why had his family tried to reconnect with him so suddenly? Who was King Dream, and what did he know?

Why did everything hurt, and why did everybody seem to know what was going on except for him?

Why-

Why-

Oh.

Oh, oh, oh.

Tommy, he- he couldn't, he couldn't breathe. He couldn't breathe. He couldn't breathe.

Before, there had been gasps - as desperate and sparse as they were - there had still been gasps that had filled his quivering lungs with even a hint of that craved oxygen.

But now- but now there was nothing. There was nothing but dry heaves and blood-filled vomiting; there was nothing but sobbing cries and a trembling spasm in his older brother's lap.

He couldn't breathe, and Tommy was dying.

He was dying, he was dying, and he was dying.

"Father, father, what's happening!? The petals, the petals, you said that's all we needed, and then he'd be fine! Why isn't he fine!?"

"Dream! King Dream, please, you told me that he would be okay and that this would pass. You said it wouldn't hurt - a painless sickness, that was all!"

"Theseus? Theseus, please, hey, c'mon, c'mon, you can't, you can't-"

"I did it! I did it! The fall of the Antarctic Empire and it's because of me! Another loss is something you can't take, something you can't handle, but I've done it! I've won it all! Me!"

Tommy's fingers curled around a velvet sleeve, his digits bandaged and bloody and yet oh-so-delicate in their searching movements. He gripped once, and then twice, and then a third time, just to be sure.

Everything felt cold now. The cold realisation that his death was inevitable; the cold feeling of his lungs thriving on nothing but a void emptiness; the cold touch from his mother's gentle hand as she reached out for him.

Fingers were soothing over his scalp, running through his curls and untangling the blonde knots. He was certain that he could hear some distant begging, too, amidst the shouting and the mild, unknowing chaos.

Begging for him to keep his eyes open, to hold on for just a mere moment more.

But, in all honesty, Tommy didn't think he had it in him to 'hold on' for any longer. He'd been doing it for a while now, he'd tried, and he'd tried to push through the loneliness, through the abandonment and the fear that had struck him down.

Maybe it was time to have his rest, to have his break from everything that seemed so wild and uncontrollable - everything that was so far from his failing reach.

And sure, he would slumber confused; he wouldn't ever understand why they'd done this, why they'd known and why they'd left him. Tommy wouldn't know what had changed and what had happened; he wouldn't be able to find out why he couldn't have grown up with his brothers as he had when he was younger.

He wouldn't be able to have his reconciliations and his apologies, he wouldn't have his embraces or his royalty, but maybe… maybe that was okay.

Maybe he did just need to close his eyes for a moment, to let his lips part and let those petals stay stuck to his clammy skin.

Maybe it would be okay.

For at least this time, at least this time as he coughed and he spluttered, and he cried, at least he was surrounded by people, by family.

At least this time, Little Prince Theseus wasn't alone.

.

.

A thumb, pale and trembling, treads gently over a thick book of thousands and thousands of words, a story ends, as it had always intended to from the very beginning of the traveler's tale, and a Prince closes his eyes for the very last time.