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Technoblade insisted that Dream take off his mask, and this insistence was backed by the fact that Dream was in a prison cell in the dungeon below Technoblade’s castle. Dream knew to pick his battles, and this one was simply not worth it, so he sighed, undid the simple knot, and the mask fell softly into his hand.
Technoblade showed no reaction, only a satisfied “thank you” and a gesture to hand it over.
“Why hide such a face anyway,” he said, taking the mask. Dream didn't manage to express his confusion at the weird remark as he was immediately cut off by: “How do you even see through that?" Technoblade looked through the mask at the small barred window. “Is it enchanted?”
“I won’t reveal my secrets to you.”
“Enchanted, then,” snorted Technoblade.
After this small exchange, Dream was left to himself. Locked in the cell. Exciting stuff. He explored every inch of it in the first hour: no secret doors, no means to escape. Eh, the opportunity would surely present itself, it always did.
Technoblade must’ve taken the mask to his trophy room or wherever he kept his dragon heads and magic swords. Perhaps he already bragged about defeating the legendary bandit and even managing to take him captive. What was he planning on doing with him, anyway? Hopefully, a public execution: Dream loved escaping those, it was always exciting, with the crowd cheering and all.
Or maybe something worse. Technoblade wasn’t known for being exceptionally cruel, but he didn’t seem particularly merciful either. Surely he would want to learn about the secret hideouts, about how to find the rest of Dream’s gang to stop them once and for all.
The sun behind the tiny window started going down. Dream fell into a nervous half-nap, plagued with heavy thoughts. When the guards awoke him (wait, it was morning already?), he was prepared to endure torture and keep the whereabouts and identities of his friends secret no matter the cost.
However, instead of being taken to the torture chamber he already vividly pictured (it was dimly lit, with pointless chains hanging from the low ceiling), he was led higher and higher up the endless staircases, out of the dungeons and to the more civilised parts of the castle. He started feeling carpets under his boots and seeing portraits on the walls. Dream didn’t recognise anyone except for one: the old portrait of Technoblade. He was looking at the viewer with a reserved, if a bit tense expression on his face, which the artist had clearly made look slightly more human-like than in reality. He was a teenager there, barely a teenager, but already leaning on a sword, wearing a uniform, a mantle and the royal crown.
After even more stairs and corridors, they finally stopped at a large door, behind which Dream could hear… fighting? Yes, it was clearly fighting, swords clanging and dry punch sounds. The guards didn’t seem surprised and silently opened the door, letting him in.
Dream stepped into the combat training hall. It obviously used to be something else, probably a ballroom, because there still were chandeliers, large windows and heavy curtains letting in the morning sun, but now it was a training room with stands full of weapons and box-like wooden structures for exercising and acrobatics. The beautiful parquet was covered in cuts and the colourful paint on the walls suffered the same fate - ever since this room was repurposed, it seemed to be used for fighting practise extensively.
In the middle of it was, of course, Technoblade. Now in more comfortable clothing, without his coat and waistcoat, he was fighting two men at the same time with frightening ease: the poor guys just couldn’t keep up and land even a single substantial hit. With a move similar to the one he used on Dream, he disarmed one of them, mimed killing him and went for the second guy. He didn’t last long: Technoblade’s practice sword was soon pointing right at his throat.
He nodded to them, they bowed and went to the exit, throwing curious glances at Dream, but not saying anything. Technoblade took a towel from one of the stands and wiped sweat off his narrow forehead.
When Dream approached him, he threw one of the practise swords, which Dream easily caught.
“Let’s not waste time. Fight n’ talk.”
For a while though, they crossed swords in silence disrupted only by loud ringing of metal with the echo of the large hall. Both of them were not wasting their strength, allowing themselves a warm-up.
“Saw your old portrait on my way here,” Dream broke the silence, “You were a cute piglet. The crown seemed a bit too large for you though.”
“Glad you enjoyed the tour. Nicked any golden trinkets from the palace, thief?”
Dream didn’t respond as he was busy countering a slightly more aggressive attack, but soon they both stepped back and continued as they started, using half their strength, just testing, evaluating each other with lazy swings. They were silent again, listening only to the rhythmic ringing of the swords.
“Aren’t you curious?” said Technoblade, being the first to speak this time, “To know what plans do I have for you?”
“I don’t care, I’m escaping soon anyway. But you can tell me, I don’t mind. What plans do you have for me?”
“I don’t know yet.”
Dream laughed and focused on fighting again, getting a bit more daring and even pushing Technoblade to retreat a few times. After that, they stepped up their game, and talking became harder.
“How do the people feel about me?” managed Technoblade after Dream dodged his attack.
“What?”
“You said they love you more. What do they think of me then?”
“Uhh, respectful... fear…” said Dream in between the metal clanks.
“I’ll take that,” said Technoblade quietly, as if to himself.
“They’ll hate you if you kill me.”
In response to that Technoblade launched his first real attack today, the “overwhelm your opponent with strength” kind, but Dream was ready this time and took it far better. He lured Technoblade closer to the wooden boxes, jumped on them, used them as an advantage, and landed a kick right at his snout. Technoblade stumbled back.
“Although it seems like you wouldn’t be able to anyway,” teased Dream with a laugh.
Technoblade kicked the box from under his feet. Dream fell, rolled on the floor nearly getting hit, jumped on the boxes again and started climbing. He wanted Technoblade to follow, counting on him to be less nimble and risk falling, but Technoblade was perfectly aware of his disadvantage and instead focused on bringing down the stacks of boxes Dream was on, making him jump higher and higher.
The loud rumble of boxes falling on the floor filled the hall with cacophony of noise. Soon enough Dream was on the single highest, unstable stack with nowhere to go - and Technoblade already put his foot on it, ready to bring it down.
In the last moment, Dream jumped towards the window and grabbed the curtain rod. He hanged on it and looked down: Technoblade was already right below him, playing with his sword.
“Come on, jump. I will get you before you even hit the floor.”
Instead, Dream grabbed the curtain, gathered all his strength and ripped it off the rod, throwing it down and as far from the window as possible. The curtains in the palace were huge, and Technoblade didn’t have time to get away, so he got caught in it, disoriented and open for the final attack.
Dream jumped, and by the time Technoblade got out of the fabric, he was already pressing the sword to his back.
“Alright, that’s… The score is one-one,” he muttered, angrily shaking the curtain, which hung on him like a red cloak, off his shoulders.
“Your majesty,” they heard the voice coming from the door. Oh, it was that guy, Phil. Dream vaguely remembered that he was actually quite important here, but he didn’t care about the politics enough to know anything for sure. “Your cousin sent his apologies, he won’t be able to attend the ball tonight.”
“Oh, do I get to cancel it now?” asked Technoblade with that indistinguishable tone of his.
“You know you don’t,” sighed Phil, “God, this place is a mess…”
“Oh, a ball? Am I invited?” joked Dream, “I mean, I am your guest”.
“You are a prisoner,” noted Phil.
“So? That’s kind of a guest-”
“Invited,” snapped Technoblade and they both looked at him, confused. “You are invited. Congratulations. See you at the ball,” with that, he started quickly walking away to the door, “Phil, can you get someone to give him food, by the way, please? He’s probably starving”.
“Has he hit you in the head or something? How can we allow him to the ball? He’ll escape!”
“And miss the chance to break the tie?” he smirked, already going out of the hall, “I don’t think so.”
This phrase haunted Dream for the rest of the day. On the one hand, god knows Technoblade was right and Dream already wanted another re-match to show him that his latest victory was not accidental. On the other hand, if he escaped, that would show Technoblade that he didn’t see right through Dream like he thought he did. (Why would he, anyway? They met yesterday and were swordfighting most of the time spent together!) So escaping would subvert his expectations and count as a moral victory. But what if Technoblade knew he would think that and was actually urging him to escape, knowing that he wouldn’t win another fight?
And this sudden decision to allow him at the ball… It had to be some kind of a trap. There was no way the ball was actually happening. He was just playing some devious game. A bit of an overcomplicated game, since there was no reason to set a trap for Dream since he was already captured, but there was no other explanation for such a decision.
So yes, Dream had to accept the invitation.
He persistently declined any new, more ball-appropriate outfits he was offered (clearly a ploy to limit his movements!), half-listened to some stuff about how to behave and how to introduce himself to the guests if they were to ask questions, and nicked a rather dull silver knife he was carelessly given to eat his meal with and hid it in his boot. For self-defence.
To his surprise, when the sun started going down and the sky became that pleasant deep evening blue, he found himself at an actual, real ball.
It was held open air, next to the castle, on the square lit with the warm light of the yellow lanterns. He missed the official opening ceremony: people had already gathered, music was already playing, melodic ringing of crystal glasses filled the clean summer air. Dream wandered around, blending in with the laughing and chatting crowd. Someone asked him what kind of an outfit he was wearing and he said that he thought it was going to be a masquerade so he came as Dream. “That’s not a good costume, you are missing the mask!” a girl smiled at him and he laughed with her, allowing himself to be pulled away by the moving crowd.
What was he doing here? He was told that he was going to be watched, but with so many people around he can get away easily. He should just do it. He should return to his friends, who were probably already looking for him, and…
Oh, is that where the throne was? Dream effortlessly moved through dancing pairs twirling in hypnotic waltz. Yes, there he was: king Technoblade, back in the uniform now complete with the mantle and the crown. This time the crown definitely fit, unlike on that portrait - it was just the size, glistening in the light of the lanterns. He was talking to a tall guy with dark curly hair who was standing with one leg on the chair and fiddling with his lute.
The guy smiled at Technolade and started playing the instrument, singing something. Dream couldn’t hear the lyrics, he was too far away, but it seemed like Technoblade got embarrassed, laughed and told him to stop. The guy’s eyes skimmed the crowd, he looked right at Dream, smiled wider, and started singing again, this time something even more cheeky, judging by his expressions. Technoblade quickly looked in Dream’s direction and grabbed the fingerboard of the lute, making him stop playing. They shared some more laughs, until someone else came up to Technoblade, bowed and asked for his attention.
The guy with the lute came down from the little podium and was now headed towards Dream with a cunning smile on his lips.
“So you are that Dream guy?” He took his arm and pulled him slightly away from the throne. “I’m Wilbur, nice to meet you. Is that your real name?”
“For all intents and purposes.”
“That’s very cool. Good job. So how did you two meet?”
“Me and the king? I tried to rob his carriage. You?”
Wilbur laughed and fixed his unruly hair falling on the forehead. “I am his childhood friend. With nobility of that level, you are kind of assigned childhood friends, but we actually got along. He told me, ‘You are my best friend, resistance is futile’, and that was it. It’s very characteristic.”
“Very. What were you just singing to him?”
“Some silly lyrics about him... Don’t ask me what exactly, he’ll kill me if I tell.”
“He won’t know.”
“He has large ears and he’s always listening. See how he twitches them?”
They both looked at the throne. Technoblade looked positively miserable talking to that nobleman, it could be seen even through his relatively limited mimics. Behind that nobleman were more of them, though, so it seemed like he had to go through more of the similar conversations.
“He hates this social stuff,” commented Wilbur, “and most of the court”.
“Why?”
“They hate him ,” he answered plainly but with such a heavy note in his voice that Dream lost all wish to ask him to elaborate.
Technoblade rose from the throne, carefully holding his long mantle so not to step on it.
“Oh, is he going to dance?” Dream heard excitement in his own voice and had no idea where it was coming from.
“He doesn’t dance, he just leaves early, as always. See? Thanks everyone for the pleasant evening and retreats to his study”.
As he was leaving, everyone bowed, including Wilbur, but Dream didn’t feel like it and stood straight. Technoblade saw him, the only one standing in the bowing crowd, threw a quick glance at him and walked away.
“Where is his study?” asked Dream with sudden urgency. What is it with his voice today, it just doesn’t behave right.
“He’s probably going to the library. Just ask a servant to take you there.”
“Hope to see you again, Wilbur.”
“The chances are you will be robbing me next time we meet, but I’m sure it will be a pleasant experience.”
Dream laughed in response and hurried to the library.
The library was large but cosy: uneven rows of shelves, stacks of tomes, soft chairs and that nice smell of well-kept old books. As there were only a few candles lit, Dream quickly found Technoblade by following the light. He was sitting at the desk, looking in the thick book in front of him, his mantle and the red coat were hanging on the chair near him, his crown was put aside.
He raised the head to the sound of Dream’s steps. “I invited you to stir up trouble and make the ball more entertaining. You disappointed me,” he said, mocking regret.
“You left so early, you risked missing something fun.”
Technoblade rose from his seat and went to the window, which was an entrance to the balcony. He opened the door with trembling glass and stepped out to the fresh air, inviting the chilly wind into the warm room.
You couldn’t see the square from here, as it was probably on the other side of the building, but you could hear the music. “You can hear the music,” noted Dream, walking up to him.
Technoblade leaned on the stone balustrade and looked at the night sky. “Do I really inspire fear?” he asked quietly after some silence.
“Kind of,” sighed Dream.
“Maybe that’s how it should be. Maybe I should kill you then.”
“You have to try first.”
Technoblade snorted, amused, and snapped out of the melancholic mood. He nodded at the rooftop below them. “Can you make that jump?”
“Are you daring me to escape now?”
“I am just asking if you can make that jump. You’re quite the acrobat.”
Dream smiled mysteriously and also leaned on the cold stone. “The music is great. Why didn’t you dance at the ball? Are you embarrassed?”
“Are you daring me to dance?”
“Yeah, maybe!”
“Well,” Technoblade turned to him and extended his hand, “I am greedy for a challenge.”
Oh, what the hell. “Me too, actually,” said Dream and took the hand. Technoblade didn't expect him to actually accept, but he tried not to show it and gently pulled Dream closer. The hand was in a white glove, very pleasant to the touch, and his other hand was already under Dream’s shoulder, laying there with experienced firmness. Dream accepted his lead (he himself wasn’t big on waltz), but he was nothing if not a quick learner.
The only problem was that the balcony wasn’t that big, and Dream constantly stepped on Technoblade’s feet.
“Stop it, this is not a fight,” he said, when it happened once again.
“Or is it?” laughed Dream.
“Oh yes, come on, this is the third round,” joked Technoblade in response, and they started mockingly fighting for dominance, which made the dance even more fun. The music swelled, as if taking the queue from them, Technoblade managed to get Dream to spin, and when he pulled him again, it was closer than before.
Dream felt the warm breath from his snout and the tight grip below the shoulder.
“Alright,” said Technobalde, embarrassed, and let him go.
Dream leaned on the stone, feeling a bit dizzy from that spin. “So who won this one?” he said without thinking. If he did think, he wouldn’t have said it, because the obvious answer was “no-one”.
Technoblade silently reached down his waistcoat and pulled out Dream’s mask.
“How did that fit into your pocket?” said Dream, “Do you have enchanted pockets?”
“I won’t reveal my secrets to you,” he answered and handed the mask over.
“Enchanted, then.”
Dream glanced at him one last time before putting on the mask. His small eyes reflected the lights from the distant windows and lanterns, and his expression was as unreadable as they can get.
“It was nice meeting you,” Dream said, climbing on the balustrade, “And, uh, nearly forgot…” He pulled a silver knife he stole before the ball out of his boot and handed it to Technoblade.
“Thief,” he snorted.
Dream smiled behind the mask and jumped on the rooftop, leaving the king at the balcony alone.