Work Text:
The whole of his exile had taken a toll on Wilbur.
Ever since the duel that had decided Jschlatt as the new Leanan Sidhe of L’Manberg, ever since that same title had been taken from him, it itched and dug at his very being. L’manberg had been his ambition, his symphony, however unfinished it had been. The land had responded to his every whim, lived and breathed with him as it’s avatar. He could still remember the magic, the roots of his land winding in between his ribs and his spine, swaths of it heavy and honeyed on his tongue.
Every breeze had been his, every blade of grass was just an extension of his own senses, every rock, tree, spire had all been his, part of him, been him. It was the closest to an Archfey he was sure any Fey could be, on par with Dream’s power over the whole of the Feywilds. He had revelled in his power and control, so consumed with keeping hold of his domain he hadn’t realized how close to Dream he had become. But even with that he couldn’t truly bring himself to let go.
The duel itself had been more of a joke than a real idea in the beginning, fighting for the right to be the embodiment of L’manberg, a few letters of Sylvan left on a wall or two, then suddenly Wilbur could feel the anticipation for the event growing in every Fey and lesser fey that lived in his domain. The chance to watch worthy Fey fight for manifestation, to support or hinder whatever Fey they like, all coming together in a culmination of celebration and drawn blood.
Wilbur had felt the expectations of all his people like a physical weight, like sharp horns being pressed from the inside of his skin, threatening to crack his ribs open with the swell of emotion that didn’t belong to him, that didn’t fit inside him, that made him almost gag when he even thought about ignoring it. The creation of the town square had been an accident on his part, the land, while feeding him the ambitions and excitement of those around him was also fed by his own aspirations, and manifested as such, creating a wide open space with floating lights and barriers of iridescent crystal spires curling into each other, like a clawed fist or the exposed ribs of some huge monster.
Wilbur had almost hoped he would remain uncontested, but the allure of power proved to be too strong, no matter the reservations some Fey had about shedding their own Nokkam from the resulting victory like Wilbur had. A few groups of Fey had teamed up, eager to prove themselves against both him and Tommy, Nikki and Fundy, some of the newest Fey in L’manberg, Quackity and George, which Wilbur was the most concerned about initially, believing Dream would put himself in their corner to support the Fey he was bonded with, and Jschlatt, who simply seemed eager to cause chaos as he was wont to do.
Dream had been the first to assure his neutrality in this duel, pleased with his control of Tommy’s Nokkam enough to not take advantage of the situation, and with that, the event was set in stone. The following days filled with citizens gifting charms and spell components to the group they supported, the more powerful among them even presenting armor or weapons of Hag’s-make, others subtly attempting to chain the opposing side with curses and poisons.
The final duel itself had been a rather extravagant affair, Wilbur’s anticipation of the even getting the better of him in the form of hanging vines of glow berries and clumps of hollyhock sprouting where ever he wandered, other fey decorating with frozen aquariums, swirls of colored clouds, mosaics of flowers and glass shards. It had felt like dream to walk out into the middle of the courtyard, lit with gently floating motes of dust, glowberry vines, and the ever-present light of the setting sun, and Wilbur could still remember the feeling of his L’manberg cradling his mind and senses a final time before the confrontation.
Wilbur had never been much for battle, but it had been a rousing display for all involved. The inexperience of both Fundy and Nikki had been their downfall, no match against the prowess of the more experienced Fey among them. Quackity had proven himself to be the competent adversary Wilbur had feared him to be, but Tommy was more than a match for George, and together both him and Wilbur had pushed Quackity to the edge of their arena. Of course until Schlatt, who had amused himself with teasing all sides, summoning vines to trip them up, conjuring bouquets of flowers to well up in their throats, summoning bolts of lightning to distract them, decided to make his move.
It was over in a matter of seconds. Tommy, who had taken the high ground in the fight to force Quackity to the ground, suddenly found his wings matted with thick webs, stuck to his back as he quickly plummeted to the ground. Quackity had been quick to take advantage of Wilbur’s distraction, flipping him over one shoulder onto the ground outside the bounds of their arena, Jschlatt throwing Tommy down beside him.
The crowd around them had held their breath as both Schlatt and Quackity regarded each other slowly approaching, before Quackity reached out and grabbed Schlatt’s arm and raised it above both their heads in victory.
“The new Leanan Sidhe of L’Manberg!” Quackity crowed as the crowd surrounding them exploded in a clamor, some disbelieving, some furious, but most lost in celebration, showering the winning duo in colored powders and flickering sparks, all while Wilbur looked on from his position on the ground next to Tommy. “Jschlatt of L’Manberg!”
Wilbur could feel the truth in the declaration, could feel the presence of L’Manberg retreating, leaving him hollow and gutted, like a mortal robbed of their name, watched as Tommy felt the same, as all he had created fall into the hands of Jschlatt and Quackity. It was worse than anything Wilbur had experienced before, being stripped of something that had been his, part of him for so long. He felt like a shadow of his former self, dust of a crumbling monument scattered to the wind, a stem of hollyhock crushed under a careless boot.
“Wilbur, come on.” It was Tommy, shaking his shoulder, talons digging roughly into his scaled skin. “We should at least get out of here. We need to go find Tubbo and Jack.”
Wilbur wanted to move, but found he couldn’t., still paralyzed as his symphony was taken from him. Couldn’t Tommy feel it too? The emptiness, the cold dread of being left bereft, of reaching for something that had been so closely intertwined with who you were, only to find yourself grasping at empty air?
Tommy didn’t seem willing to wait for a response, hoisting one of Wilbur’s arms over his shoulder and standing both of them up, wings flapping wildly to accommodate their shared weight.
“Come on, man. I know it sucks, but you can push through it okay?” Tommy muttered as they slowly shuffled away. “Just… I dunno, focus on before L’Manberg. Remember stealing Spirit from Dream? Or, um, when Philza and Kristen wanted to see who was the best at terraforming and how badly Philza beat her?”
“I- I don’t...” Wilbur started, turning to look at Schlatt over his shoulder and freezing when their eyes met. A well of dread opened up in Wilbur’s chest as Jschlatt smirked and winked at him, before turning to address the crowd.
“Well, that was pretty easy.” Jschlatt said, lifting a hand to summon a pillar of obsidian to raise him the air, pausing to appreciate the ease at which his gesture was obeyed, then turned his attention back to the crowd. “And you know what? The day I heard of this duel was the day I said I was fighting, the day I asked you all for support and told you all what I would bring to the table. I said ‘things are going to change’. I looked every citizen of L’Manberg in the eyes and said ‘you listen to me: this place will be a lot different tomorrow’.”
He paused again and spread his arms wide, ever the showman.
“Let’s start making that happen.“
Quackity whooped, and was followed by the crowd doing the same, excited for the new direction, the promise of more change. Jschlatt was surrounded by them all, looking up at him with eager eyes, appetites whetted on the battle just moments before.
Tommy had stopped as well, turning to look Schlatt in the eyes and standing tall despite it all. But Jschlatt had eyes only for Wilbur now, grinning widely as he stared Wilbur down, his yellow eyes boring holes into him.
“My first decree, as the Leanan Sidhe of L’Manberg- the Avatar of this great Court. Is to revoke the citizenship of Wilbur Soot and Tommyinnit.”
The power he put behind his word struck them all like a shock wave, rippling through not only every Fey present, but through L’Manberg itself, the very air shifting to make room for this new presence. Every head turned toward them, a few started drawing their weapons, some looking at them with fear or hunger. Wilbur could feel himself take an unconscious step back, dragging Tommy back with him.
The emptiness was still there, but Wilbur could recall enough of himself to whisk them both out of there if he needed to. He just needed to find Tubbo and Jack, no doubt those who were the most public with their support would be next on Jschlatt’s list, and Tommy wouldn’t leave without them. He scanned the crowd, slowly backing away, looking for any signs of them.
Unfortunately, Jschlatt seemed to have spotted Tubbo before Wilbur could.
“Tubbo- get up here. Take my spot at the podium. I love-“ Jschlatt laughs at Tubbo’s look of surprise and discomfort, looking back at both Tommy and Wilbur. With a flick of a wrist, Quackity summoned wings that sprouted from Tubbo’s back and flug him up to Schlatt, who deftly caught him around the waist.. ”I love this guy. Ohh, my very own Tubbo. Tubbo, as my Camaccīr, my knight, as my right hand man… of L’Manberg, I need you to do something for me, Tubbo.”
He leaned in conspiratorially, meeting Wilbur’s eyes with his own half-lidded ones across the courtyard.
“Wilbur, come on man!” Tommy shouted, pulling at him now. “We need to get out of here! It- I think it's Schlatt!”
Wilbur shook himself out of it, finally realizing the black thorn vines winding their way around both of their feet, an attempt to keep them in place. He was quick to wrap his own arm around Tommy and open a rift to a near-by rooftop, out of sight but close enough still to hear, to swoop in for Tubbo if he needed it.
“I need you… to find Tommy, and I need you… to show him the door.” Schlatt’s voice rung out all around them, an unmistakable order from the Leanan Sidhe of L’Manberg, and Wilbur knew they had to leave.
The next half an hour or so was a mad scramble to get past the borders of L’Manberg before they were caught, a task made infinitely more difficult when Jschlatt could practically feel where they were through the very ground itself, but being up in the air left them exposed to who ever came across them.
Even after their attempts to sneak them out, Tubbo still found them just before L’Manberg’s limits, alone and armed with a single curved sickle of ruddy amber. He raised it against them with a trembling hand, though his face was stoic and his gaze steady.
“Tubbo...” Tommy whispered, reaching out a hand in offering. “You don’t have to do this. You can come with us.”
“Where?” Tubbo says brusquely, blunt in a way he rarely is when he’s not joking. “Where are you going to go? Outside of L’Manberg is where Dream is, so it’ll be like nothing happened. The Badlands won't be much better, they would sell us out in a second. Jschlatt isn’t ideal for L’Manberg’s avatar, but I at least need to be here to help make it easier for everyone.”
Wilbur couldn’t let this go on. Tubbo seemed so defeated, the resignation in his voice making Tommy’s shoulders sink under the weight of processing what this all means. They had been exiled. They hadn’t just been stripped of their power, but also the land they had created to begin with. But Wilbur could feel something stirring in his chest, something familiar and filling, even after feeling so deprived, he knew he wouldn’t let this end here. L’Manberg was his, had been made from him, was a part of him, and this coup wouldn’t change that Wilbur had been first.
“Tubbo, I know this feels like we lost.” Wilbur starts, stepping forward to put a hand on Tubbo’s wrist to angle the sickle away from himself. “But I won’t let this be the end of us. People will see this isn’t good, that this will only destroy them. I made L’Manberg for me, not Jschlatt, and I'll take it back, make sure it’s as it’s meant to be.”
Tubbo chuckles, his mask breaking as tears started welling up and soaking his fur.
“No, man listen! We just got a couple weapons, some armor. We got you and Tommy, and I'm sure some of the others won’t be hard to convince to join the right side, and-”
“Alright, alright, I get it!” Tubbo laughs, scrubbing a closed fist across his eyes to clear them of tears. “You’re gonna come back bigger and better than ever and save the day, right? Count me in.”
“Awesome!” Tommy says, quickly looking around to make sure no one else spotted them. “Now let’s go. I don't want to know what’ll happen if one of Schlatt’s fangirls catches us.”
He’s quick to loop an arm around both Tubbo and Wilbur and pull them both towards the archway that marks on the entrances to L’Manberg, but Tubbo detangles himself and takes a step back.
“No, wait. You guys don’t have a lot of resources right now. You need a man on the inside.” Tubbo’s face hardens with determination. “I’ll stay and meet up with you when I can and let you know what’s going on.”
“You don’t have to do this.” Wilbur says, not trying to convince Tubbo otherwise, but wanting to make sure he knew the option to leave was there. “We can manage without a spy if we need to. I’d rather you be safe than risk yourself for our sake.”
“I know.” Tubbo nods. “But L’Manberg is my home too, and I'm not going to abandon it just because two dudes decide to pull a plot twist on all of us just to win. Here.”
Tubbo plucks one of his bees from the perforated hive layered in his chest, pausing to crystalize it between his fingers before pressing it gently into Tommy’s palm.
“Eat that when you get the chance. It’s what I could get so far. I guess that being the Leanan Sidhe's right hand man has its perks.” He gives them both a wobbly smile before turning and darting off.
Tommy watched him go, looking more lost than ever.
“Come on.” Wilbur sighed as he slung an arm around Tommy’s shoulders and tugged him across the threshold, shuddering as they adjusted to the change in atmosphere of the greater Feywild.
“We’ll get to see him again.”
----------------------------------------------------------------------
Tommy pops Tubbo’s crystalline insect into his mouth as soon as they get settled in their new base, a goblin colony in the Murkendraw swamp. Wilbur said he knew a few people that lived around here who would be willing to help, and now they were just waiting for this mysterious helps’ arrival.
The bee shatters against easily between his teeth, giving the impression that it was made of glass rather than crystal or amber like Tommy had assumed, and the shards melt into honey on his tongue, filling his mouth with its sickly sweetness.
Closing his eyes, Tommy swallowed.
His senses were immediately assaulted with sights and sounds that were foreign and yet familiar to him. A feeling of anxiety and elation rose in his chest, as well as a buzzing sensation he was sure could only belong to Tubbo. His mouth quirked into a soft smile at the thought.
He recognized the sensation of power building in him now, a memory of Tubbo’s he was reliving to parse what he could. It was a similar feeling to when Tommy had been declared Wilbur’s Camaccīr, his right hand man when L’Manberg was first established, the feeling of being taken under someone's wing and shouldering a powerful burden together, of having his senses taken and expanded to encompass all he held dear.
It explained how Tubbo was able to find them, he could most likely feel where they had been in L’Manberg in a vague way, nowhere close the accuracy Wilbur and now Jschlatt had, but enough to track someone day if needed.
It felt strange to relive this event though, so similar to an earlier part of his life and yet so tainted by dread and fear.
He rewatched the events of the duel through Tubbo’s eyes, felt the anticipation and worry almost as intensely as if it had been his own. Watched as he was left immobile by Jschlatt and shuddered at the thought of those disgusting webs gunking up his feathers. They had been hell to remove after they had gotten to a safe place, the sticky threads persistent through attempts to remove them. He could still feel them, hours after he was fully preened and web-free.
He felt when the ownership of L’Manberg passed from Wilbur to Jschlatt, and the stomach-dropping dread that accompanied the scene as Tubbo realized what had happened. Tommy could still feel the hollowness of the loss sitting in his chest, could remember the toll it had taken on Wilbur to experience such a huge loss. He had been rendered speechless for a few minutes after, and Wilbur was never short of words. It was a similar feeling to having lost his Nokkam to Dream, that same emptiness, lack of direction, and consuming need to restore what was taken.
But Tommy had gone through that loss over and over again during his conflict with Dream. That had been a continuous campaign between them ever since they had shed their Nokkam in the first place. While the experience had been devastating, and still was, he was able to slot that loss in with the others, and save it for a better time. Fey didn’t change, not really, but they could learn.
Tommy watched and felt with a sudden sense of vertigo as Tubbo was flung straight into Schlatt’s arms and was named Camaccīr, second only to Schlatt himself, could feel the shock, the numbness that had suddenly settled into Tubbo’s bones as he attempted to mask his emotions from all the eyes surrounding him. Tommy could feel Tubbo’s bees as they had swarmed up his chest and neck, trying to create a sense of comfort that was absent in the moment, as a cold sweat of fear began to dampen his short fur. It was nothing like Tommy’s own Knighting. That day, when L’Manberg had been declared independent from Dream and the rest of the Feywilds, it had been like being reborn. Flooded with a wave of renewing strength and energy, emboldened and supported by the very land he had stood on.
It had been a moment of elation, their defiance and determination solidifying and recognizable as a name and rank, as power gifted by the very Court they had founded in the first place. Both Wilbur and Tommy had almost glowed with the sudden influx of power they both wielded, had coasted on that high for months after. It was a wave of energy that had carried them through the first few battles for their independence a from Dream, had given a near-limitless supply of magic they could call on when they needed, a swath of comfort and support when they needed it most, a metaphorical hand to hold when they were at their lowest.
That's what L’Manberg had been to Tommy.
Why it had been so hard to lose in the first place.
And why Tommy was so worried about Wilbur now.
It had been such a deprivation of a fundamental part of who Wilbur had built himself up to be for years, decades, for an immeasurable amount of time. Wilbur had funneled everything he was into the creation and war for L’Manberg. It had been a part of him, in a very real literal way, his own airs and essence woven into the landscape to embellish what was already there, to encourage growth and change from his own land. Had sung it songs of praise, made speeches, lived and breathed his role as L’Manberg manifestation.
Words hold meaning to Fey, possess their own weight.
An oath taken by a Fey is binding, their word given and broken is worth more than their honor, it's a piece of themself put into every promise they make. Meanings that are arbitrary in the mortal plane are given strength in the Feywilds. Familial bonds could be compared to shackles holding them down for some, oaths and promises threatening to tear their creator apart if not held true, any song made filled to the brim with magic and emotion, until it was a physical thing to wear on it’s own.
Wilbur had put everything into L’Manberg.
And now it was gone.
Tommy could feel Tubbo’s panic as his role as Jschlatt’s Knight was made real, felt the flood of new control and vitality that was already familiar to him, but it was tainted somehow, instead of the uplifting presence of L’Manberg, often filter through Wilbur like Tommy was used to, that power settled oddly in Tubbo, pressed down on his back and the crown of his head, prickled the hair on the back of his neck, as if he suddenly had a room full of people just staring at him. It felt so wrong to what it could’ve been, should’ve been.
Everything after that was a blur of emotions, sudden urges, and the weight of Jschlatt’s command, “show them the door,” culminating in Tubbos' voice in his head, going over his own thoughts on the situation.
“Jschlatt seems to be set on being the sole ruler of L’Manberg, but he seems to have given Quackity the impression the power was meant to be split between them somehow. Might be useful to leverage that tension between them.
The only way this is going to work is if we take it slow and plan it all out. We don’t have enough resources as it stands to take L’Manberg on head first right away. I might be able to stir up some contention in the more common folk, but it’s all going to depend on what Schlatt does from here on out. Tommy or Wilbur, if I'm able to get this to you, I'll meet you by the Watch Tower on the eve of the Wild Hunt’s ride. If I'm not there, I'll leave another message on the alliums there so you can find it. Please be careful, both of you. I’ll talk to you soon hopefully.”
All told, it wasn’t too much to go on, but based on how much time Tubbo had to even process what was going on and formulate this message at the same time was very impressive. But he was right, the only thing they could really do was wait and see what would happen now.
If only Wilbur’s mysterious help would show up, then maybe they could get started on anything at all.
“Will,” Tommy whined, using his wing to catch himself as he flung himself down from his little alcove to where Wilbur was, back turned and surrounded by a cluster of goblins. “When is your mystery man meant to be here? It’s been hours.”
“Stop whining, Tommy.” Wilbur said, turning to flash a good natured smile at him. He already looked better than that shock state he had been in back in L’Manberg. The hollyhock in his hips perking up and his green eyes glowing vibrantly again, and not that horrible dull glint from before. “You’ve arrived just in time!”
As Tommy landed, clawed feet scraping against the rough cobblestone path lining the floor, he was able to get a good look at the figure hidden in the shadowed entryway of their new base. They had a porcorine face, with a pink snout and jutting tusks, a heavily jeweled crown of gold sitting on top of their elaborate braided pink hair. They were tall, taller than Wilbur, and loomed over everyone even from their distant position in the corner, a cloak of violent red draped around their shoulders.
It was Technoblade, a legend even amongst the most common of Fey. He was a Hag-spawn fey, a being created to service a Hag and their chosen customer. The power of the Hag-spawned varied wildly, often depending on the power of the client involved, as well as the Hag that created them in the first place, but Technoblade was rumored to be the most powerful creation period. It was said he had travelled with his creator to the pits of Pandemonium to usurp the elder God that had taken control there, that the God of blood was the one who commissioned the Hag in the first place, and allowed Technoblade to live after his purpose was finished as an act of gratitude for a job well done.
One of the most powerful Fey in the Feywilds, and here he was, imposing as ever and looking over the place with a shrewd eye, before sighing and turning to look Wilbur in the eye.
“So I hear you need help staging a revolution. Let’s get started”