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"You know that we shouldn't be doing this."
"Nobody's here to stop us."
"That's not the point. We were told what not to do, and yet here you are…"
"You've not left either. Care to explain that one to me?"
Wilbur's brows raised upwards with his last question, honey-like gaze piercing fiercely, and his expression was just a splash daring. He was daring his brother to try and go against it, daring Techno to pull himself out of the hole he'd fallen into - the trap.
And just as he'd expected, Technoblade did nothing of the sort. Instead, as surprisingly weak-willed as he'd always been, the pink-haired teen simply looked away, breaking that knowing eye contact and staring intently out over the wildlife before him, almost as if swaying trees and blades of grass were some of the most intriguing things in the world.
They weren't. Though beautiful, though enchanting and full of luscious blooms and sweetened scents, they left an equally bitter taste in the twin's mouths.
The garden before them was full of… unhappy memories, to say the least. It was a place that only served to remind them of the moments their lives had suffered a sharp change, a rapid shift of pace that left their worlds spinning and their minds crumbling into darkened voids of agony.
(Of spitting, scalding volcanos and the overwhelming reality that was decaying into festering rot around them.)
It was the sick reminder of their shared failures, of their shared disappointments and gut-wrenching losses.
Despite the enchanting atmosphere, despite it all, Wilbur and Technoblade, twin Princes and high-class Royalty of the Antarctic Empire, could only think back to the moment they'd had everything they'd ever known ripped from out underneath them and then thrown into a raging inferno.
Burnt to a crisp.
Smoked into floating ashes.
Torn, ruined, demolished-
"Look at this one!"
Techno grinned as he plucked a vibrant, yellow carnation from the ground, his sharp nails digging into its emerald stem before he finally had the delicate thing in his reaching grip.
He spun to face the rest of his family, who were all lounging around underneath the beating sun in various positions. It was a surprisingly sunny day within the Antarctic Empire, the scorching, blistering star high up above having deemed them worthy enough to make a brilliant appearance.
Technoblade liked it a lot. Sure, he was still undoubtedly fond of the typically nippy winds and the biting feel of ice against his pale skin (he'd grown used to it as he'd grown up around that sort of atmosphere, of course), but the occasional burst of heat was nothing to ignore or playoff.
It was nice.
Soft.
Comforting-
"Oh, that's lovely," Phil replied around a light hum, his tone surprisingly airy despite the outward appearance he was currently holding onto. "Let me see?"
Techno nodded, stepping forward through the grass and the odd patch of glistening snow. He held out the plucked flower towards his wearied father and then tilted his head.
Phil took it within his own hold, offering a nod of appreciation as he did so. "Ah." A breath. "It's truly beautiful, isn't it? The gardeners have certainly done an outstanding job caring for this outside area as of-"
"I would like to give it to mother, please."
Oh.
That was certainly a sudden outburst, and both of them were well and truly aware of it.
The King's brows slowly raised upwards, his facial features - heavily stained by leaden exhaustion - morphing into a look of slight hesitance and just a tinge of relentless, feverish agony.
He looked a mess, all worn down and sapped, dressed in unwashed garbs and his calloused hands holding just a slight shake. (Though, after spending every waking minute with his wife and nobody else, who could blame him? The rest of the Kingdom certainly wouldn't, and neither would Technoblade.)
"Oh?" He finally hummed, doing his best to keep any indisposition away from his lilted tone.
Firm and incredibly sure of himself, Techno nodded again. "Yes. Think- I think it'd make her feel better 'n stuff. Make her recover quicker."
Ah, the foolish hope of a wistful child.
Though, Phil was in no position to deny him. The King had been trying to spare his children for far too long, spare them from the sight of their sickly mother, the way she shivered and shook - the way she'd been reduced into hollow cheeks and empty eyes and nothing more.
He had to give them at least something after they'd been patient and waiting for so, so long, didn't he?
(He couldn't shield their searching eyes forever.)
"I think that is a fine idea, Techno." Phil conceded with a gentle, pulling smile. "Though, hm, maybe one flower isn't enough. How about we get together a whole bouquet for her? And we can place it on her bedside for when she next wakes up?"
That would at least buy the King a tad bit of time to ready himself for what was going to happen - to ready himself for the scenes that were soon to unfold and how many tears he was going to have to wipe away.
"Really? I'd like to-"
"Can me an' Tommy help too!?" Oh-
Wilbur, who had apparently been tuned into their conversation from the very beginning, suddenly exclaimed with a blazing fervour. He'd shifted back a little to look towards his wide-eyed brother and father, all while holding a babbling, drooling Tommy securely in his lap.
Ah, Phil really should have been expecting this beforehand, shouldn't he? Any chance to see the sickly Queen and his children would be running. (Even little Theseus - or 'Tommy' as the twins had dubbed him, though that was more so Wilbur - had been mumbling about his 'mama' on occasion. Both endearing and heartbreaking, really.)
There was no saying 'no' now.
The King stretched up lightly, doing his best to ease his aching joints as he did so. "Well, I don't see why not. But there have to be some ground rules, alright?"
The twins nodded, and Wilbur did his best to scooch around with his tiny, blonde brother to get a better view.
Phil smiled at the warm sight. "Alright. Now, we aren't allowed to pick the flowers with the thorns on the stems, okay? So check before doing so, please. I don't want any injuries." Two nods. "No picking the flowers that haven't bloomed yet so that we can give them a chance." Another set of nods. "And no going out too far where I can't see you or-"
"We got it!" Techno affirmed with a resolute nod of his head. "Right, Wilbur?"
"Right!"
A laugh, something uniquely foreign as of late, tumbled from the older man. "Okay, okay. And make sure to keep an eye on Tommy if you're taking him with you, please. Or I can look after-"
Wilbur began to shake his head rather vehemently. (Always overprotective of the youngest, he was. Always making sure the little Prince was right next to him, or at least within reaching grasp of the budding musician's grip.) "I got him! Gonna look after him really well, I pinky promise."
He pinky promised.
Their relationship was something sweet, almost sickly so. It was charming and kind, soft in the best of ways and constantly reminding Phil of just how much he adored his sons, just how much he needed them within his life.
"That's good, Will." The King praised, light and truthful. "Now go on, alright? I'll wait here and see what I can find to help put this bouquet-"
Oh, they'd need some string, and perhaps a few different silk items to wrap around it. Phil wasn't completely well-versed on how to pull together a nice bouquet for somebody you loved, but he was certain that-
A loud exclamation, harsh and gasped, splitting right through the rest of what Phil had been attempting to say and, similarly, his thoughts. "King Philza! King Philza! Your Highness-" Another gasp of air as a servant ran towards the group of four. He appeared breathless and sweating, all clammy and red-faced.
Oh.
Oh.
No. No, no, no.
Phil's heart sunk right down to his stomach.
"Breathe, please." He ordered, gentle, even despite the sudden, striking dread that was piercing through his acidic veins, and then, "What is it? What happened?"
"Your Highness," the messenger breathed once more, looking worse for wear and drenched despite the starkly cool climate. (It was cold. It was cold, and cold, and cold.) "Your Highness, please, it's the Queen-"
And the world slowed down to its grating halt.
Wilbur gave a thick sigh as he stared out once more, fingers occupied in their carding, gentle movements, but his distaste was still evident across his features all the same.
"I hate this place." He admitted, deep and honest. "I hate it so much."
Techno's brows raised a tad upwards, and he switched his gaze over to his twin. "You do?"
"I do. It's where everything went wrong, isn't it?"
"I suppose."
"You suppose?"
The pink-haired warrior gave a slight shrug, moving his hands down to pick at his own nails - a vaguely nervous habit he'd picked up over the passing years. "Maybe it was for the better, what happened that day, and then… everything that followed after it. Maybe this was the outcome that we needed."
What would have been different if everything had gone in the opposite direction? Would Technoblade be less callous? Less strict and closed-off, and more open with those around him? Would Wilbur be kinder? Less sharp-tongued and defensive? And their father-
The land was wrapped within a shocked silence - the birds had stopped their melodic chirping; the wind had stopped its finely tuned whistling; the very essence of mother nature herself had stopped playing along her calming flute of life.
Wilbur glared. He glared, and he glared, and he glared.
Full of disbelief, full of outrage and dubiety. "You can't be serious."
Full of truth, full of candour and honesty. "I am, Wilbur. Deadly."
Wilbur's fingers paused for a moment, halting in their touches, if only out of complete incredulity for what he'd just heard. The thin, small figure curled against his front gave a slight murmur, however, and so he quickly continued. (He couldn't stop again. He couldn't.)
"You're sick, Technoblade. You've got this whole thing all wrong." Sure, certain, spiteful.
A laugh, sharp and digging, something full of venom and the bitter hint of stinging lemon. "No, I think it's you who's got it all wrong, Wilbur. I'm doing the right thing. Father is doing the right thing. You're still attached to these… delusions of an old life, and you need to let it go. You need to let him go."
The warrior pushed upwards then, leaving the Crown Prince gaping and vaguely provoked.
He couldn't stay there, not with tensions rising, not with Wilbur's hatred and... and...
It was evident that the two had their differences, they had their clashing ideals and thoughts on what was right and wrong, but in the end, they would inevitably have to come together. Twins were always attached like that, Techno knew it, and he just had to remind himself to wait patiently for Wilbur to understand.
(He had to, eventually, right? They were doing the right thing. They were saving numerous amounts of people from what their mother had, if only at the expense of another. But what was one person against so many more?)
As Techno was stepping away - cloak flapping, hands shoved into velvet-lined pockets, posture as straight as a board, Wilbur spoke up once more.
"What changed, Technoblade? What changed you?"
(Flashes of bright smiles and childish grins; flashes of flower crowns and delicate bouquets; flashes of two twins and a tiny younger brother, all together and combined with their revolving, encompassing love for one another.)
A pause, a breath, a sigh.
Techno halted, for just a second. His head tilted back somewhat, and his dark eyes were piercing in their narrowed gaze.
His mother's death, his father's descent into insanity, the overwhelming loneliness and the loss of a youngest.
It was all-
"Everything, Wilbur. Everything."
.
.
Tommy was certain that he'd fallen asleep in the garden. He was certain that he'd fallen asleep amongst bushes of curling grass and blooming bunches of delicate flowers - sure of the fact, even.
(He'd been playing a game by himself again, trying to turn clouds into shapes and trying to remember how to pin different flowers together in a way that made them seem like a presentable bunch, so-)
So how had he ended up back in his room? How had he ended up somewhere so far away from where he was sure that he'd last found himself within?
The younger child pushed upwards for a brief moment, tugging the blankets away from his quivering legs.
In the back of his mind, he vaguely remembered hushed conversations and lulling tones; he vaguely remembered slender fingers threading through his curls and a rustic, gentle scent that was oh-so-familiar.
But...
His gaze was bleary, crystal eyes covered by a rough film, and he gave a little sigh, one that tickled almost like a growing cough.
Oh well, the youngest Prince thought to himself, doing his best to pull up that more aware, sensible front that had kept him sure of himself for so, so long.
It didn't matter what had happened or how he'd gotten wherever, because at least he was awake now, and that- that meant another chance to go and find his brothers!
Technoblade, and Wilbur and then-
Maybe- maybe they'd want to hear about Tommy's new favourite game, this time! Maybe they'd want to play tag outside or, or-
Maybe they'd-
Maybe.
Maybe today would be different.
(And the Crown Prince had made his decision, as he followed in his twin's footsteps. They would take the cold route, the route of violent sneers and broken bonds - the route of forced ignorance and the assumption of right decisions. They would be callous, they would be cruel, and Little Prince Theseus would be left to wonder for another day why his brothers couldn't stomach looking at him.)