Chapter Text
The map on the war room table is wider than you are tall, showing the breadth of the continent; from the shining cerulean seas on the west coast of Las Nevadas to the shadowy plains of the Holy Ovum Empire to the far east, past even the Dreamlands. Your great nation stood between the titans, carved from the Dreamlands by hard work and long nights in a bid for independence, for the empowerment of the common man. L’manburg, your first love, the country you had given everything to build, the first true democracy.
You approach the table, the sound of your boots on the marble floor echoing as a hush goes over the room. President Soot stands at the head of the table, looking over from the missives Niki was showing him as you approach. To his right were Tubbo and Tommy, the Vice President and Domestic Secretary respectively. They had been giggling, joking with each other before Fundy shot them a silencing look from across the table.
“Sir,” you nod, acknowledging Wilbur. He nods in response to you as you take your place at the other end of the table. You rest your hands on it in front of you, covering some of the small islands on the Las Nevadas coast.
“Have we received word back from Manberg yet?” he asks, jumping straight to business. He’s changed so much since you met him all those years ago, ranting about tithes and independence to the bartender of the tavern of your hometown. You rarely see him smile anymore, and his hair is already starting to go grey around the temples even though he’s not even 35 yet. Such is the price for liberty.
“Not yet, but we’re keeping the lines of communication open,” you relay. “They’ve refused to speak to us even after the Dreamlands finally fully recognized the legitimacy of our claim, so I have little hope they’ll change their minds any time soon.” Wilbur nods stoically, looks down at Manberg on the map in front of you, sharing your northern border. Great Leaders Schlatt and Connor had the country in an iron grasp, no information going in or out without their approval. You doubted the actual citizens of Manberg, even those that lived on the border, were aware that L’manburg had actually won their war for independence. It didn’t make sense for them to ally with the only country with a government that operated in direct opposition to the nature of their regime.
“We’d need their cooperation in the very likely event that the Empire declares war on the Dreamlands,” he points out, pointing to the place on the map where all three borders touched; a strategic choke point in the northern mountains that was so difficult to traverse that it was near impossible to do so in the winter months. “If they ally with Manberg they won’t have to go through the pass to reach the north.”
“I’m a diplomat, not a miracle worker,” you sigh, tossing up your hands and shrugging. “They’re not concerned about the Empire enough to reach out to us first, and their propaganda machine works so well that all the counter-material we produce doesn’t seem to make a difference. It’s going through the proper channels or nothing, and those proper channels hate our guts. My hands are tied.”
“Have you tried contacting Connor directly?” Fundy suggests, and you nod.
“I started with Connor. I got my own letter back with a big red x on it. I'm still not sure if it was blood or just ink.” A cold shiver runs down your spine as you remember opening that missive. “At least a non-answer from Schlatt isn’t an active threat, so we’re getting somewhere.”
“What about Las Nevadas?” Niki speaks up.
“We do have an open invitation to visit their capital with an envoy, provided we don’t bring troops past the palace gates and give them advance notice,” you think out loud, looking down at the large country to the west on the map.
“Isn’t that the place where nobody knows who’s in charge?” Tommy speaks up, fiddling with one of the little troop tokens on the board. Tubbo slaps his hand and he looks over at him, hurt, before putting it down.
“The Prince of Las Nevadas hasn’t been seen in public yet, that’s true,” Fundy confirms, and you’re glad he’s actually been reading the reports you send him. Somebody in this place had to. “But getting a positive response is a good sign. And they’re already allied with Manberg. If we manage to curry enough favor for an alliance it might be just the bargaining chip we need to gain their trust.”
“At least enough trust to start the negotiation process,” you finish for him. “Brilliant, Fundy.”
“Thank you, sir,” he smiles back at you proudly, as Wilbur clears his throat to speak.
“It could also be a trap,” he posits. “A faceless king giving an open invitation to his palace, but not allowing troops to escort the diplomats? You don’t find that strange?”
“I think he’s paranoid about preserving his anonymity,” you counter. “The more people that enter the palace, especially ones that might have incentive to find out, the higher the chance that someone makes it past the security measures.”
“And the anonymity to begin with?” Wilbur challenges, crossing his arms over his chest. “Is that not also incredibly suspicious?”
“My spies are saying that not even the people know who he is,” Niki rifles through the stack of papers in front of her before pulling out one of her reports. Sometimes you wonder how such a kind woman ended up as L’manburg’s spymaster of all things. “When King Sam died, he died without a trueborn heir-”
“King Sam died?!” Tommy looks up in surprise from where he’d been sulking.
“He died during the war, Tommy,” Fundy reminds him, his ear flicking to the side in frustration at having to constantly repeat things like this.
“I don’t remember that happening,” Tommy continues, as if he can argue the man back to life. “He fought with us at Avalanche Pass.” He turns, pointing to you, as if you’ll back him up. “You were there with us, you saw him.” You hadn’t just been there. You’d been the one to engineer the man-made avalanche that had WON that battle, burying several battalions of Dream’s troops with a few well-placed trebuchets.
“He was. And then he caught pneumonia because of it and died , Tommy. We’re lucky Las Nevadas didn’t hold it against us and declare war on us back then too.”
“They say that he DID name an heir before he died, but that his advisors had them crowned in secret, as a tactic against assassinations,” Niki finishes what she’d been saying before being interrupted. “It’s pretty smart, if you have a good inner circle.”
“He must have a great one, because it’s been almost a year, and we’re having this conversation,” Wilbur sighs, closing his eyes and rubbing his temples as if he’s got a headache. “Listen, the rumblings from the Empire spell disaster, and if we don’t have strong allies soon, it could mean all our heads on the Egg’s pike.”
“It would be hard for them to take the Dreamlands by traditional means,” Tubbo speaks up, leaning on his tiptoes to point at the map as he explains. “The border is too hard to reasonably hold if they’re opposed, and since most people believe Dream’s like...chosen, or whatever, they won’t accept anyone else as king, or emperor, or...”
“Bishop,” you supply him, and he smiles and nods gratefully at you.
“Or Bishop.”
“That just means that, should the Dreamlands fall, we’re next.” Wilbur gestures to the eastern border, partially following the river that splits the continent all the way to the southern sea. “We don’t have enough ships to patrol the river at full capacity, especially if we need to prepare to hold Avalanche Pass again.”
“I think sending an envoy to Las Nevadas is the best option we have.” You make eye contact with him as he raises an eyebrow at you. “We know we’re not going to find a trustworthy ally in Manberg, and the Dreamlands would rather eat their swords than stand beside us on a battlefield, rather than against us. Las Nevadas was enough of an ally to send their king into battle with us. Even now, we have an open invitation to their palace, even if we don’t know who sits on the throne. We have more of a chance there than anywhere else on the continent.”
“I could go,” Niki nods to you. You could always count on her to have your back. “I don’t need to be here to do my job properly, we can just reroute the crows to the palace there instead.”
“I could go as well.” You’re surprised to hear Fundy speak up, looking confidently at Wilbur. “I have the next most combat experience besides Niki and the three of you,” he gestures to Wilbur, Tommy, and Tubbo. “And they’ll accept me as a diplomat right away, so even if we can’t bring troops with us for protection at least a few of us will be able to fight.”
Wilbur pauses for a long moment, and you genuinely consider whether or not he’ll veto the idea on personal reasons alone. Everyone knew that Niki was his best friend, the only person he’d ever retreated from a battle for; though that was much later in the war. He tended to be territorial and somewhat overprotective of her, but it got even worse when it came to Fundy. Even though he was barely a decade older than him, he’d somewhat adopted the boy when he was a young teen. You and Wilbur had caught him lying about his age to join your first militia, and he’d pleaded with you to let him stay, to fight for his freedom himself. Wilbur hadn’t hesitated, welcoming him to the movement. He’d mentored him, given him the best education money and political power could buy. Second only to L’manburg, herself, Fundy was his pride and joy.
“Could we quarter a few troops in one of the palace barracks? That way they could be present, but still watched at all times to prevent any suspicion.”
“Possibly?” You consider it, thinking of exactly how you would word the request. “I could make it work.”
“Then alright,” he agrees, finally. “Send whatever missives you need, get your supplies together. I want daily updates.”
“Of course, sir,” you confirm, surprised beyond belief that that actually worked. “I’ll aim to be travelling within a week, is that alright?”
“Sounds fine. Dismissed,” he waves his hand back toward the door. You nod in acknowledgement, taking a step back, and then he adds, “Niki, Fundy, go with her.” They both nod silently, falling into step with you as you leave the war room.
“Can you have the crows rerouted in a week?” you turn to Niki, and she gives a beleaguered shrug.
“I can ask the Crow Keeper to help me, but we’ll have to see.”
“I’ll find some veteran troops willing to spend a few weeks under surveillance,” Fundy cuts in, following you and Niki out the front door as you make your way to the rookery. “It might be a tough sell, but the older guys that were around during the war might make the sacrifice for you.” He puts a hand on your shoulder and you’re reminded that you’re technically a highly decorated war hero, despite being practically unable to wield a sword yourself. Ah, the beauty of siege weaponry and a little bit of math.
“I don’t think we’ll need more than 10,” you respond. “I doubt we’ll encounter much trouble on the way there. The most direct route to their capital is exclusively through cities and farmland. What we really have to worry about is supplies. How much water can we carry on each horse? Can we put it in barrels and pull it in a cart?”
“That’s true, it's a desert, isn’t it?” Niki tilts her head from side to side a little as she thinks, as you all pause at the corner for a wagon to pass by on its way to the market. The streets were busy today, harvest season just having started and everyone rushing to sell their first crop. Pedestrians begin to step aside in front of you as they see your uniforms; the navy dovetail coats, the shining golden epaulets, the bright red sash. The city parts for you, and your heart feels heavy with worry. You never wanted this. To be treated like the Great Men that Schlatt and Connor built their ideology around, to be treated like you were special for simply fighting for something you believe in. “I can see if Tubbo can get us a few oxen and wagons for provisions, and a few extra horses, just in case.”
“Right. And you two are really alright with accompanying me?” you ask them. “I don’t want you to feel beholden to the idea just because you’ve already told Wilbur you’d go.” They seem uncomfortable at your use of his first name, as everyone seems to be these days. You ignore it. You knew him back when he was just Wilbur Soot, travelling bard instead of Wilbur Soot, President of L’manburg, you could call him Wilbur if you wanted to.
“I’m with you,” Niki reaffirms, and Fundy nods along with her. “I’m curious, you know? It’s not every day that I get the chance to be in on figuring out one of the world’s greatest mysteries. ‘The Prince of Las Nevadas’. Even their name sounds mysterious,” she smiles, and you can’t help but grin as you roll your eyes.
“I just can’t believe they’ve kept it quiet for this long!” Fundy adds, his ears flicking back with surprise. “A whole country, and not one person who knows that’s willing to tell.”
“That’s why I think it’s a good sign,” you explain. “How much more loyal of an ally can you get than one that kept their entire power structure such a secret?”
“That’s why you’re the diplomat and not me,” Fundy laughs as you finally reach the rookery, beginning the steep spiral climb to the top. “I would have never thought of that. If anything, it would’ve scared me off.”
A man comes down the stairs, pushing past Niki on his way down before you can even focus on his face, hard enough to make her stumble. You catch her before she falls, and by the time you turn to yell at the man, he’s already gone. You don’t catch anything but the end of his long, red velvet cloak.
“What an asshole,” you whisper venomously under your breath as Niki dusts herself off.
“It’s fine, it’s fine,” she reassures, shaking it off as you finally reach the top of the rookery. “Phil!” she calls out to the man tending to a crow in a cage across the open room from you. He turns, smiling as he shakes her hand.
“It’s been a while, Ms. Nihachu,” he laughs. “How are my boys doing?”
“The birds or the humans?” you add, as you and Fundy follow her up the stairs.
“Oh, you’ve brought me my grandson, too!” You can see Fundy looking hungrily at the birds already, his ears twitching just slightly as they fly around the perches above you.
“Who was just up here visiting you?” Fundy asks, shaking his head to distract from his instinct to hunt. “Because they almost knocked Niki over-”
“It’s fine, really,” she whispers, even as he continues.
“-and didn’t apologize, and that’s a bit-”
“Oh, him?” Phil cuts him off, though something is off about his tone. You can’t tell exactly what it is, but it’s there. “He’s a mercenary my son wanted me to contact. You know how they get sometimes.”
“He asked you to hire a mercenary without telling me first?” Niki asks, and he just shrugs in response, unwilling to say anything more. You make a note to ask Wilbur about it later. “Okay...well, I came by to ask for your help. Do you think there’s a way to resend the missives that arrive for me here to the palace in Las Nevadas?”
“I could figure something out,” he confirms, “but it would take a little extra work to get them acclimated to...wait, Las Nevadas?”
“We’ve decided to send an envoy,” she explains, pointing at the two of you. “Not permanently, just for a while.”
“Allies against the Empire?” he discerns very shrewdly, and you nod. He sighs, looks down at the papers scattered on his desk. “I could redirect the intel. It would leave us a bit more open to infiltration if we group it all together with a single bird once a day, but you would know if we’d been compromised immediately. I think that’s our best option.” You look over at Fundy, catch him licking his lips while staring up at the birds.
“Niki, is it alright if Fundy and I go check with requisitions?” you ask, before turning to Phil, apologetic. “Not that the intricacies of this aren’t absolutely fascinating.”
“It’s not for everyone, I understand that,” Phil shrugs. “Go on, you’re not offending me.”
You drag Fundy back down the stairs as he continues to stare down one of the fatter birds as it gives him the evil eye from it’s perch above his head. He snaps out of it about halfway down the tower, mumbling to himself about carrion birds carrying disease in their meat. He follows you as you hit the streets again, headed back toward the barracks at the edge of the city.
“Do you think President Soot really thinks we’ll be able to do this?” he asks eventually, throwing you off with the sudden seriousness of his voice. You pause, and he stops with you, looking off at the bustling market in the distance and fussing with the sash of his uniform.
“I don’t think he’d send both his spymaster and his head diplomat on a wild goose chase, so I’d say yes.” It hurts your heart a little that even Fundy refers to Wilbur by his title. “Why?”
“Sometimes...” he trails off, sighs deeply and shakes his head. “Sometimes it feels like he gives me busy work to do because he doesn’t trust me with the real stuff. I know it isn’t that, that he’s probably just looking out for me, but...”
“You just want him to be proud of you,” you finish for him, and he looks at you, surprised. “I get it. If it means anything, I think he only okayed this envoy because you vouched for the idea. I was fully expecting to be shot down.”
“Really?” his ears twitch again, flicking as he smiles to himself. “Well...we’ll just have to do a good job, then! A great job!”
“Wasn’t planning on anything less,” you laugh, putting a hand on his shoulder. “Now c’mon, we still have to see about these supplies.” You can see the extra spring in his step as he walks with you now, the hint of a smile that stays on his face for the rest of the day.
The pieces quickly fall into place over the next week. Fundy gets your escort together, 10 of your best men, and Niki prepares the wagons and supplies. You send a crow to the Prince, accepting his very hospitable offer and informing him you would be taking him up on it within the next week, so long as you could quarter troops in the city, not the palace itself. The reply arrives the next day, the Prince offering his best wishes for your travel and confirming that your troops will be not only quartered, but would be staying within the luxury barracks alongside his own Royal Guard. The day after Fundy relays this information to your men, you arrive at your office to find ten separate notes on your desk thanking you for choosing them for this operation.
You don’t see much of Wilbur that week, too busy running yourself ragged to prepare in time to give him your reports in person. So when someone knocks on the door of your apartment, you certainly don’t expect to see him on the other side.
“President Soot, hello,” you default to the usual formalities on instinct and he chuckles, shakes his head.
“Not you too,” he groans sarcastically, and you huff and roll your eyes. “Someone’s got to keep me humble.”
“Did you need something?” He winces, still smiling, and holds a hand to his chest.
“You wound me,” he whines, and you can’t help but laugh. “Am I not allowed to visit an old battle buddy without having some sort of agenda?”
“Our whole thing is agenda,” you point out. “We’re politicians.”
“We are...” He goes quiet, the smile dropping as he looks out the window behind you, already seeing the moon high in the sky. “I won’t keep you too long, I know you have to be up early tomorrow. What time are the three of you leaving?”
“We’re leaving in the early afternoon, actually. We plan on timing it so that we eventually arrive at the palace early in the morning, but travel predominantly in the dark. Deserts, y’know? They get hot in the sun.”
“That’s very smart,” he nods, seeming impressed by the concept.
“It was Fundy’s idea, actually,” you tell him, and he seems genuinely surprised to hear it. “You raised a bright kid. Sally would be proud.” He smiles again, but you can tell there’s pain behind it.
Sally’s death had been the low point of the war. You’d been pinned down by a particularly nasty contingent of Dream’s archers by the river, in the destroyed remains of her hometown. She’d thought she remembered a secret tunnel somewhere in the mayor’s office that led far away from the city, said she wanted to go see if it was still operational. Wilbur had tried to stop her, to argue that she needed to stay safe to help him raise Fundy, and so she had slipped out under the cover of darkness, intent to prove him wrong.
The group of scouts they sent out looking for the rest of you found her first. Your watchmen, all of whom looked haunted for months afterwards, reported that they heard a woman scream in the middle of the night, looked for Sally to inform her, and only then realized that she was missing. You never saw her body, but you didn’t need to to put two and two together. Wilbur had delayed the retreat as long as possible, desperate in his hope that she would mystically escape, that she would come back to him. It was the only time you’ve ever put your hands on anyone, when you smashed him in the face with your elbow and called the retreat yourself. You carried him out of that little village, unconscious over your shoulders, as they burned it to the ground behind you.
“I know she would be proud of him,” he confirms, wiping a tear from his eye. “ I’m proud of him. I’m so goddamn proud of him.”
“You should tell him that,” you counsel him.
“He knows,” he waves the thought off. “Of course he knows.” He clears his throat and seems to get back on topic. “I just wanted to wish you good luck on the trip. I have no doubt that I’ll be hearing good news from the west sooner than I can believe.”
“Thanks, Wil. Try not to worry too much while we’re gone,” you point to his temples where he’s starting to go grey and he laughs again. “I’ve got to get to sleep, but we should catch up when I return, okay?”
“That sounds wonderful. Good night, then,” he nods to you, already stepping away from the door.
“Good night, Wilbur,” you respond, and close it after him.