Chapter Text
[ an image of a map of the Strait di Aria, separating Thessary and Paeris, two kingdoms from the region of the Southern Esempi, both bracketed by the Artemus and Halycon Ocean ]
Crown Prince Fundy is at that age his grandfather commonly describes as “troublesome”, although his grandfather tends to find anything that causes his eyebrows to furrow slightly troublesome. Fundy wouldn’t consider himself a bad son per se—he’s never quite had that rebellious spirit his father did when he was Fundy’s age. He’s heard stories about his father sneaking out of the castle in order to chase after the skirts of local town girls and play illegally in the pubs for a pint of lager. Fundy’s father had been a popular figure even before he had been formally recognized as the king’s successor. Fundy’s rebelliousness is based more on petty pranks he can easily get away with than grand displays of defiance like his father. Fundy doesn’t want to cause trouble so much as he wants people to constantly be thinking about him. His father doesn’t bother to reprimand him when he does something especially stupid, such as the time he had taken his uncle’s enchanted sword and lost it somewhere in the royal gardens. His father doesn’t care much at all when it comes to Fundy’s pranks.
That’s not to say that his father doesn’t care about him. King Wilbur is an adequate father. When Fundy was younger, he could even go as far as to say that King Wilbur was a great father. But ever since he inherited the crown, it’s been harder to separate Wilbur, his father, from Wilbur, the king.
Which is fine. Fundy is fine with it all because he’s too old to rely on his father for happiness anyway.
He sighs. “You look stupid,” Fundy tells his reflection. It doesn’t answer.
He turns his head slightly to watch the facets of the emerald earring glint in the light of the oil lamp on his vanity. He had stolen it from Wilbur’s room earlier that week when he was wracked with boredom, and because Fundy has never been great at dealing with his impulsivity, he decided to pierce his own ears with a sewing needle he "borrowed" from one of the maids. He usually prides himself on being intelligent, surprising his tutors on how quickly he is able to master every lesson taught to him. Fundy is intelligent, but unfortunately, that intelligence disappears when there’s the potential to do something impish. So now he has one pierced ear that throbs like a vendetta and a reflection that asks if it was worth it.
“It’s not like Father will be upset,” he admits to himself, drumming his fingers against the mahogany surface. The sewing needle rests on top of the stacks of parchments he never bothers to clean up. “He had his own ears pierced when he was much younger than I.” In fact, fifteen-year-old Wilbur wearing crystals on his ears is the reason why it has grown in popularity among young men in the capital. Thessary has never been a kingdom known for its innovations in fashion or creativity in appearances, but his father changed all of that the moment he decided to betray protocol and do whatever he wanted. He’s heard from others in the castle that Wilbur was looked up to as a fashion inspiration for most of his life, popularizing jewelry and laces tied up to the throat, beads embedded on corsets, and boots with impressive heels. His father wouldn’t mind if Fundy decides to follow in his footsteps and adorn himself with more jewelry; that is, if his father would even notice at all.
He frowns and presses the palm of his hands into his eyes. He’s being ridiculous again.
Fundy’s startled out of his thoughts by loud knocks on his bedroom door. His wide-eyed amber gaze stares back at him through his reflections, his ginger hair mussed from the hours he spent running nervous hands through them. “One minute,” he calls out, patting down his hair in hopes of looking a bit more dignified.
“Too late,” a clear voice calls out, the only warning before his bedchamber door bursts open. Fundy wonders where his guards are briefly before he notices pink blossom hair and fluttering skirts. “Are you talking to yourself again?”
“What did I say about barging into my bedchambers?” Fundy sighs, turning back to his mirror as Niki pushes the door closed and walks over to him. His chambers have been his oasis for most of his life, the only place he is allowed to be without worrying about if this is what a proper prince is supposed to be doing. It's not like he has a lot of options when he's stuck behind these castle walls.
“Well, I knocked.” Niki is the closest thing Fundy has to a sister and the only person in this castle he can talk to normally. She’s been there since he was born, raising him when his father was too busy grieving to remember the son left behind. Niki is his best friend but she tests his loyalty towards her every time she enters his bedchambers unprompted. Fundy has nothing to hide, but it’s the principle of things. Regardless, he lets her perch on the part of his vanity that isn't a mess, her pleated black skirts bunched underneath her.
"To what do I owe this pleasure?" He asks wryly.
Niki's smile is lopsided, her brown eyes twinkling despite the low light from his oil lamp. "Dinner is ready."
Fundy's eyebrow lifts in surprise. "Don't I have servants to announce that for me? From what I remember, you don't work here."
"I might as well," she laughs. "Prime knows that I'm the most integral person in this castle."
"Even more so than the king?"
"Of course, he will be nowhere without me."
Fundy chuckles. To anyone else, this casual disrespect towards the monarch would be severely punished, but Niki is allowed more freedom when it comes to King Wilbur than others. She doesn't mince words and yet still stays kind.
He focuses on tidying up his appearance, tying up the laces of his white shirt before his grandfather makes another comment on his appearance. "Is that all? You just wanted to take over as a servant for the day?"
Niki purses her lips. Their eyes meet in the mirror. "To be truthful, I needed a moment alone with you. We need to talk."
His smile melts away. He had hoped this wouldn't happen. "I beg you not to give me another lecture."
"Fundy—" She begins, frowning.
"Why is it that every time we talk, you need to add some sort of lecture?"
"That's not true!"
"Yes, it is," he retorts. "I've been getting nothing but lectures for months now."
"It's because you are the crown prince." At Fundy's withering glare, she stops herself. There's a moment of tense silence that coalesce into a shared understanding. They know each other too well to hold a grudge. Niki holds her hand out in supplication. "I apologize, your royal highness."
Fundy deflates. He feels chastised although it's just his royal rank; it stings more than any insult could. "Please don't call me that. I'm sorry, I just don't—"
"I know," she exhales softly. She tucks an errant strand of hair behind her ear and looks away. "I have been . . . meditating between you and your father for some time, and I suppose I have forgotten that it's not my job to meddle. I realize that we have not spent time with each other in some time that isn't me persuading you to be more kind to your father. I'm sorry."
Fundy swallows harshly. Niki is not formally a member of the royal household, nor does she have any special role. She's the daughter of a bakery owner in Allium, their kingdom's capital, who met his father Wilbur back when he was an unruly prince looking for adventure. She had charmed her way into becoming his close friend and when Wilbur had to return to the castle to take his princely duties more seriously, he brought her with him. It's something Fundy had to come to terms with early in his life; no matter how close he is to Niki, she was Wilbur’s best friend first. It shows when she would mediate between Fundy and his father when they had disagreements, an occurrence happening more and more often as Fundy grows more and more restless.
"It's not your fault," he mumbles, also looking away. His face burns with embarrassment. "I'm overdramatic."
"You get that from your father."
Fundy snorts. The tension easily dissipates, and he flicks her arm playfully. "The only thing I've inherited from him, it seems."
"You have his smile," Niki disagrees.
"If I do, I don't recognize it."
Her eyes soften at his reluctant words. Once upon a time, Fundy would have done anything to be like his father. He would often play in his father's bedroom and play pretend in his wardrobe, to the displeasure of the cleaning maids. His ears would be hidden beneath leather caps and his tail tucked into his father's too big breeches, as if hiding his natural hybrid traits would make him human, like his father. He even begged to have his long, red hair cut short like his father’s, long before he realized it was more than just the long hair that made him feel strange in his body.
Niki tilts her head to the side, her eyes searching his face. As always, it feels that she understands his thoughts better than he does. "Have you pierced your ears?"
It’s not what he expected to hear, and he startles in his chair. "What?"
She reaches out a hand to gently push his side bangs over and tuck it behind his ears, exposing his self-inflicted piercing. The emerald seems to shine in the low light. "You did not have this yesterday."
You noticed? He wants to ask incredulously. "It was an impromptu decision."
Niki’s eyebrows furrow, but not necessarily in distaste. "Why didn't you ask me to help? I pierced Wilbur's ears when we were younger."
"I know." I don't look like Wilbur, is what he does not say. “I wanted to do it on my own."
“You don’t have to do things on your own,” she chides. Niki pats his cheeks the way a mother would, not that he has any experience with those. “I wish you would ask for help more.”
Fundy shakes his head and pushes her hands away. He pushes back in his chair and stretches. It’s getting late. "Not when you’re me. If we are done questioning my aesthetic decisions, do you mind telling me why you barged into my bedchambers?"
"Hmm?"
"You needed to talk to me?”
Niki sighs and leans back. "I know this may be hard to believe, but I do not think of you as a child. You're nineteen, you're old enough to know what you want and we never give you the chance to do so."
Fundy pauses, sparing a curious glance at her. "Where is this coming from?"
"Your father is still scared to lose you. He sees—" She hesitates, looks away for a moment as Fundy stews in confusion. When exactly did his father enter the conversation? "He sees Sally in your eyes, and he doesn't want to lose the last thing of her on this land. But I need you to disregard all of that and be selfish."
"I don't think I follow."
She sighs and slides off the vanity, landing gracefully on the ground. Niki paces around his room with her hands held behind her back like a war general, her satin slippers whisper-soft against the stone floor. He watches her with raised eyebrows. "You have never, truly been outside the walls before. You have never explored the land and I don't think that's fair. Not for a crown prince, not for anyone. So if you ever get the chance to leave, take it. Just don't forget to come back."
"I don't under—" He begins.
"You will," she interrupts, whipping around so fast that her skirt fans out. There’s a fire blazing in her eyes and confusion swirls in Fundy like thunderclouds. "Your father requests your presence after dinner. Remember my words."
He's saved from replying— although what exactly he would say in response is unknown— by a knock on his door. They both glance at his door with surprise.
“You don’t suppose that’s him right now?” Fundy asks, tone half-joking. Niki’s glance at him is unimpressed.
"Your royal highness," a familiar voice calls out. “May I come in?”
Fundy sighs. “You might as well.”
The door opens and the curly hair of one of his personal servants pops in. Emilo isn’t that much older than Fundy, and it’s still strange to see him bow his head in Fundy's presence. “Good evening, your royal highness. Lady Niki.”
“Good evening, Emilo,” Fundy replies.
“Hello, Emilo,” Niki smiles.
Emilo lifts his head slightly, not surprised to see Niki in his bedchambers. "I have been instructed by the kitchen staff to let you know that dinner is ready. The royal family is already at the table."
Prime help him. Fundy and Niki share a glance. “Shall we brave the trenches together?” Fundy asks, eliciting a laugh from her. “Tell my family I will be there in a minute.”
Emilo nods and exits. Fundy holds back a groan and covers his face with his hands. Dinner is always an event he has to mentally prepare for or else the white streak in his hair he inherited from somewhere will grow bigger. A hand on his shoulder makes him look up. Niki’s smile loosens some tension in his shoulders. “Come on, your highness, it’s time for dinner.”
Fundy doesn’t often see his family together for most of the day, but they’re all required to attend dinner. It’s a family tradition that has existed even when his father was a child, and it serves to make them pretend that they are a normal family.
The Great Hall is, simply put, cavernous, oil lamps lighting up every corner of the room and displaying every hidden expression on their faces. At the head of the grand oak table sits Fundy’s grandfather, Philza, a war-weary angel of death who ruled as king of Thessary for so long that his abdication sent a ripple of surprise through the entire kingdom. It has only been five years since then, yet it feels like an eternity has passed in Fundy’s eyes. Philza’s large white wings are tucked behind his back. Fundy has vague memories of playing underneath the feathers as a child. His current relationship with his grandfather is rather lukewarm at best, but they know how to be civil around each other.
To his right sits Wilbur, Fundy's father and the current king of Thessary. Wilbur still has his round lenses sitting on the bridge of his nose, his eyes trained on a stack of paper he's reading at the dinner table to his father's displeasure. His linen shirt is still tightly laced up to his throat, his richly embroidered vest left unbuttoned. Fundy takes a seat gingerly next to Wilbur. His father doesn't look up and Fundy pretends not to feel hurt.
Sitting side by side at the table, they don't look alike. His father is tall, almost abnormally so for a human, with hickory brown hair and skin the color of fine sand. Fundy is painfully aware of the differences between him and his father, with most of his appearance inherited from his mother and the only woman his father had ever loved, Sally. From what he gathered from stories told by Niki, he was born with her red hair, her shapeshifting abilities, and her wide smile. Fundy has a hard time finding hints of his father in the mirror, and he wonders what people think of them when they sit beside each other.
To his grandfather's left sits an empty seat. As usual, there isn't a plate sitting in front of it. Beside that seat sits his uncle Tommy, the youngest of Philza's children at only fifteen years old. Tommy is last in line for the throne of Thessary but he never seems to care. Tall but gangly, he spends most of his days skipping lessons and swinging the practice sword he steals from the training grounds in the garden. Tommy was born sickly but too stubborn to stay in bed, so Fundy slightly understands why he gets more freedom that he can only dream about. It doesn't make it easier to listen to Tommy ramble about seeing the bustling city just outside their castle walls. Sitting beside Tommy is his personal valet and best friend, Tubbo, a teenager only slightly older than Tommy in age but much shorter in height. He was dropped on the castle doorsteps almost nine years ago and taken in by Philza without complaint.
Tubbo is a small but crafty ram hybrid, knowing the best ways to escape punishment and how to steal pastries from the cooks when they're not looking. Philza, for some reason, finds amusement in Tubbo's antics and doesn't chide him as much as he should. He treats Tubbo more like a grandson than he does for Fundy, but he's not exactly bitter. He would have to want the attention of his grandfather in order to be bitter.
Niki takes a seat beside Fundy and dinner begins.
The cooks have made a beautiful meal of roasted duck and boiled potatoes, one of Uncle Techno's favorites. Fundy takes a sip of his wine. (It took a lot of convincing and a few sulking sessions to convince his father to let him drink wine like the rest of the adults when he turned eighteen. It's not that his father finds it irresponsible; there are tales of him waking up sick after a night of drinking when he was Tommy's age, to his grandfather's dismay. Wilbur simply doesn't like reminders that Fundy isn't a child anymore.)
"Where is Uncle Techno?" Fundy asks, awkwardly cutting into Tommy's loud conversation with Tubbo. Philza is quietly cutting into his potatoes, a deep line between his eyebrows. His mouth is tightened in a way that tells Fundy he has a lot to say but won't say it. Wilbur squints at his papers and makes a note of something with his quill.
Tommy is the one who answers him. "He's on a patrol."
Fundy frowns. "He's been on military patrol for months now. When is he coming home?"
Tommy shrugs, scooping a large portion of meat into his mouth. "That's the Blade for ya. Always on the job."
Fundy resists the urge to roll his eyes. Techno is his father's twin, younger by a few hours but acts older. He's well-known far beyond their lands as a famed warrior and a force to be reckoned with, a brilliant fighter with the death of hundreds on his hands. Although it has been decades since they had last been at war, Uncle Techno occupies his time by going on military patrol after military patrol, leading a small squadron of soldiers to the far borders of Thessary, where insurgents are more likely to occur. Fundy sometimes wonders if Techno is doing it as an excuse to not stay at the castle anymore. He wouldn't blame him.
"I'm sure Techno will be back soon," Niki speaks up, her warm eyes seeking his out. "He'll be disappointed that he missed his favorite dish again."
"Even if he won't, he'll be alright," Tommy drawls, food peeking out from behind his molars. "Nothing can kill The Blade." Of course, Tommy, who worships the ground his uncle—nicknamed "The Blade" because of his prowess with the sword—walks on almost as religiously as he worships the god Prime, doesn't see a problem with this.
Tubbo nods his messy brown head, his bangs falling into his eyes again. "He's invincible."
"Invincible," Philza scoffs quietly, swirling the wine in his glass as if it has wronged him. His feathers flutter minutely. "Does such a thing even exist?"
It's an odd line that captures the attention of everyone in the room, except for Wilbur. Tommy frowns at him. "Father?"
Philza waves away his questioning gaze and takes a large swallow of his wine. "Ignore me and continue eating, the old age is getting to me."
Fundy doesn't believe him. He considers questioning Philza on what he meant, if his second son's absence bothers him more than he lets on. But Fundy isn't particularly brave, so he swallows down his curiosity and continues eating dinner.
Wilbur still doesn't look up from his work.
Conversation picks back up and Fundy mostly tunes it out. No one speaks to him other than Niki but her gentle voice isn't enough to coax him out of the dark cloud he has unceremoniously found himself. Even in a room full of his family, he feels so alone. He stuffs his face full of potatoes and ignores the displeased look his grandfather sends him. Tommy is making an even worse display, gravy dripping down his chin and bits of the soft potato scattered all around his plate. Tubbo is a bit cleaner but that’s not saying much. Why those two boys don't get scolded as often as Fundy does when it comes to the messy way they eat is anyone's guess. Tommy may not be the crown prince but he is still representing the kingdom as a whole, and that means learning not to talk with his mouth wide open.
Fundy stabs a piece of duck in annoyance. Honestly, he isn't a child anymore. Why does everyone treat him like one?
"Wilbur," Philza finally sighs. A servant steps up to clear away his empty plate and refill his glass with wine. "Will you please put away those papers? I have told you how much I dislike you working at the table."
Wilbur barely glances up, his reading lenses falling further down his nose. His father's hair has gotten long, the strands brushing at his shoulders. He has the front part of his hair pulled back with a simple ribbon in order to keep them out of his eyes. Underneath his eyes are dark circles that weren't there when Fundy was a child. "I know, Father, but Duke Summers has the most dreadful proposal to Duke Dante and if I don't find a way to revise this soon, they'll wage war on each other."
"I'm sure the petty feuds between two dukes can wait until after dinner," Philza says.
Wilbur snorts. He lifts his lenses off his nose and rubs his eyes. Fundy wonders if the responsibilities of the crown hurt to carry. One day that will be him, face buried in papers in order to ensure that their kingdom thrives. Fundy isn't looking forward to it. "Not between these two. If you want me to not be behind on proposals and expenditures, you would let me finish this."
"How did I raise a child so shameless?" Philza mutters.
"You didn't," Wilbur snipes.
"Wilbur," Niki interjects. Her voice is stern in that way it only is with the king. "Can we have one dinner in peace, please?"
"We had one dinner in peace last week," he complains but sets aside his work to eat his now cold dinner. Similar to Fundy, Niki is one of the few people Wilbur will listen to unconditionally. Perhaps that's her job in the castle, to serve as Wilbur's conscience. "Too much peace and I become boring."
"That's an irresponsible way of living," Philza criticizes.
"And yet you made me king," Wilbur says with an ironic twist to his mouth. He takes a small bite of his potatoes. “I wonder what that says about the fate of this kingdom.”
"After dinner, Tubbo and I are going into town," Tommy announces without prompting, cutting through the growing tension between Wilbur and Philza. For once, Fundy is thankful for Tommy’s lack of tact and obliviousness towards most of the problems in this family.
"We are?" Tubbo asks, tilting his head. Tommy knocks his shoulder against Tubbo’s, which starts a brief but rambunctious tussle between the two. A servant scurries up and snatches their cups before they can knock their drinks all over the table again. Philza doesn’t take the moment to chastise them because why would he? The two teenagers are allowed to be messy and childish while Fundy isn't.
"What's in town?" Wilbur asks after swallowing down another forkful of meat. His father eats the same way he speaks; carefully, slowly, and in a way that makes him look better than you.
"There are colorful lights tonight," Tommy gasps with excitement, pushing away Tubbo before he can pull at his blond hair. Tubbo's face lights up in recognition. "I heard from Niki that there will be a large gathering in the city square just before the moon breaches the horizon. The last time they appeared, they were a day’s ride away from us and you said we were too young to see them. You promised next time we could see them."
"My family promised to pass around sweet buns during the lights," Niki explains almost embarrassingly. "I can take the kids with me so you don't have to worry."
Fundy's ears twitch in interest. He’s heard of the beautiful streaks of light that paint the night sky in extraordinary shades of blues and purples and greens but has never had the chance to witness it in person. Excitement causes his tail to sway at the thought of being able to join the three and watch the lights like a normal child, although he knows that he won’t have the chance to. The bitterness is sudden and sharp, but he welcomes it. It grounds him in reality.
"Take the guards with you," Wilbur tells Tommy, who lets out an excited yell. "Ambers and Jack are on rotation to protect Tommy tonight anyway, so there shouldn’t be any problem. As long as you two are back home by the twelfth hour."
Tubbo’s eyes widen. “Really? Tommy, we get to see the lights tonight!”
Tommy twists his head to the side quickly to look at Philza. His voice drips with earnestness as he asks, "Father, do you want to come with us? We haven’t had a chance to explore the city together in some time."
Philza’s mouth quirks up. It’s not difficult to see the fondness for his youngest son. "I have seen many colorful lights in my lifetime, Tom, I'm sorry. Perhaps we can plan another day for us to spend time together, just the two of us. I’m sure you and Tubbo will have fun by yourselves."
Fundy’s mouth presses tightly together. He's not a stranger to being forgotten, but he had hoped, potentially, that someone would— "I have never seen the lights," he says into his wine, a bit too loudly and displeased. "I want to go."
Tommy's face pales, and he glances around as if looking for the correct answer. "Oh, uh—"
"Fundy," Wilbur cuts in, pushing his plate away to signify that he's finished eating and taking another look at his papers, "don't start."
Fundy sets his cup down harshly, the clatter of glass against the table thunderous in the sudden quiet. From the corner of his eyes, he can see the servants share nervous glances. "What is that supposed to mean?"
"You always do this," Wilbur complains. Although they are sitting next to each other, Fundy has never felt farther from his father.
"What is 'this'?" Fundy demands. "All I want is to see the light for once in my miserable life."
The wrinkle between Wilbur's forehead deepens and he pinches the bridge of his nose as if to stave off a headache. Everyone else at the table is uncomfortably quiet. "You know the rules, you are not allowed beyond the castle walls."
"Not even with Tubbo and Tommy with me?" He questions, already knowing the answer. The irritation settles underneath his skin like sandpaper. "Or Niki and the guards keeping a careful eye on us? It's not like I will be alone."
"The rules are to keep you safe," Wilbur begins his lecture. "It's too dangerous—"
"Fuck the rules," Fundy snaps. It's impudent and slightly out of character for him to swear so aggressively at his father, but Niki's earlier words curl behind his ears mockingly. You have never explored the land and I don't think that's fair. Not for a crown prince, not for anyone. He wants it suddenly, like a lost man seeking water in a vast desert. He wants to be normal and live a life not constricted by these mossy granite walls. "I don't see why they can't be amended now that I'm an adult. I'm not asking to sail away to a new land, just a chance to live like everyone else."
Wilbur's brown eyes search his face. There's an intensity to them that Fundy is rather used to. He had always been intense in everything he did, whether that be pranks on the castle staff as a child or signing off treaties he thought was best for the country, Wilbur has never done anything half-heartedly. Including denying his only son access to the outside world. "You're not everyone else, Fundy."
"But Tommy is ?" Fundy explodes, pointing an accusatory finger at his young uncle who, with a face as bright red as a tomato, jumps at the sudden attention. Pressure behind his eyes builds up but he refuses to let the tears welling up fall. "What makes him any different from me, we're both princes of Thessary, are we not? Why is he allowed every freedom under the sun when I can't even breathe in the courtyard without guards dragging me back inside?"
Wilbur's face flickers with unrestrained emotions. It's not anger, but a close second cousin. "Because Tommy isn't heir to the fucking throne, Fundy! That's the difference."
"Tommy isn't your son either but you treat him like one more than you do me!" Fundy's throat closes up suddenly. Embarrassment rushes through him like a flood and he shrinks into himself. This hasn't been the first time the thought crossed Fundy's mind, but he's never said it aloud. Until now.
He doesn't believe it, not entirely. But it's not uncommon to see Wilbur taking time out of his busy day to humor Tommy in a way he hasn't with Fundy in some time. He doesn't hate Tommy for it, why should he? It's not the younger boy's fault that everyone seems to prefer him over Fundy.
"Boys, that's enough," Niki interjects sharply, pulling the two from their screaming match. Her mouth is twisted into a scowl. "You're ruining dinner."
This isn't the first time they have had an argument during dinner, nor will this be the last. It never fails to fill the others in attendance with discomfort.
Wilbur's face falls slightly and he looks away, shoulders slumped. He finishes his drink in one long swallow and wipes away a droplet of wine on the corner of his mouth with a thumb. He waves forward a terrified servant. "I think we can officially consider dinner to be over. Give my thanks to the head cook, Marcella, and have someone send the rest of the wine pitcher to my study in a bit."
The servant bows down deeply. "Yes, your majesty."
"Isn't that a bit much?" Philza asks. Fundy peeks at his grandfather, who has his face twisted into a displeased frown once again, but this time he is only looking at Wilbur. "You'll start rumors again with your drinking habits."
"Don't I always?" He says under his breath, so quietly that Fundy is the only one who hears it. Louder, he says with a false smile, "Thank you, Father, I will take that into consideration next time."
Philza watches Wilbur carefully for a few seconds. He sighs and stands up, his wings unfolding carefully behind him. "It's time to depart lest we both say something we regret. Have a good night, Wilbur."
Tubbo and Tommy scramble up out of their chairs as well, both boys shifting anxiously on their feet. They do a terrible job of pretending not to sneak glances at Fundy, whose own embarrassment threatens to overtake him. He wants nothing more than to hide underneath his bed covers and not come out for a year. Before he can even think of rushing out of his chair, a hand on his shoulder roots him to his spot.
"I think it's time we have a chat," Wilbur says, his expression unreadable.
Fundy looks back at Niki, who carefully watches the two of them as a servant clears away her plate. "But, I—"
"Fundy," Wilbur's voice softens, tinged with a slight hint of desperation. "Please."
Niki's eyes urge him to go. She had mentioned something about his father requesting his presence after dinner, hadn't she? Fundy is suddenly terrified of speaking with his father after this disastrous meal, especially with his last accusation ringing in the forefront of everyone's minds. He wants to refuse but Niki's cautious smile fills him with more guilt than he is used to. He's not a child yet he feels chastised like one.
Fundy turns back to his father with a sigh. "As you wish," he relents.
- - ┈┈∘┈˃̶༒˂̶┈∘┈┈ - -
Fundy has spent most of his childhood surrounded by the walls of his father's personal study, where Wilbur spent most of his time rereading through proposals and handling the boring politics that accompanied being heir to the throne. When he was still a kit, he would curl in front of the large fireplace and fall asleep to the sounds of a quill scratching on parchment. Wilbur would chide him for falling asleep on the cold hard floor but never quite dissuaded him, deciding instead to pick little Fundy up and cradle him in his arms. On days when his father wasn't busy with work, Fundy would sit on his lap while he read him children's stories of princesses in danger and knights destined to slay dragons. Before his father became king, his study used to be Fundy's favorite place in the world.
Now, he often only finds himself here to be scolded.
Wilbur slouches at his desk, one hand rubbing at his eyes with unhurried movements. Similar to his own, his father's desk is messy with stacks of parchments occupying most of the space, along with a quill and ink, small books with leather covers opened to random pages, and a stray piece of ribbon.
Fundy rocks on the balls of his feet, hands clasped behind his back so that he doesn't pick nervously at his nails. His tail exposes his frayed nerves with how quickly it swishes.
His father shatters the silence. "I'm sorry."
Fundy blinks quickly, taken aback. "What?"
"I'm sorry," Wilbur repeats, tone soft and regretful. The circles underneath his eyes have never looked darker. "I should have resolved the argument in private, not in front of the entire castle. I was being unfair and harsh."
He shakes his head, throat closing up again. "No, I'm sorry. What I said about Tommy—"
"Isn't entirely untrue," Wilbur interrupts. "While it hurts coming from you, I think I need to hear them. It's too easy to get swept up in—" He waves one hand idly. "—this, that I overlook some things. Some people. I'm sorry."
Fundy drops his gaze to the ground. "I didn't mean to yell."
"Yes, you did," he laughs lightly. "You are my son, you always mean what you say. You inherited my lack of filter."
"But it still wasn't fair to Tommy."
"It wasn't," Wilbur agrees. "But Tommy has thick skin. We allow him more liberties than most because we don't know how long he'll live. You already know that he was born rather sickly, but he's never quite been able to escape his illness like most children. We don't know if he'll get better. It's better to allow him to live his childhood to the fullest knowing he won't make it to eighteen."
Fundy swallows. Oh. He didn't know Tommy's health was that bad. He has always been a bright and energetic child, it's difficult to accept the fact that he won't make it to Fundy's age.
"I just," he begins softly, heartbeat still rattling in his chest like an empty coin in a metal jar. "I don't understand why I can't have a fraction of the freedom anyone else in this castle has. Why can't I leave these walls when you made it a point to never be imprisoned behind them when you were my age? Why am I so different?"
Wilbur's face softens. "You're not—no. It's not because of you." He chews on his bottom lip, thinking over his answer carefully. He has always been meticulous with his words, skilled in knowing exactly what to say and how to say it to elicit his preferred reactions. He once told Fundy that he wanted to rule this kingdom with his words as opposed to his fists. "It's difficult to admit that I am wrong and perhaps too overbearing. I've realized this for a while now but it's not easy to change when I'm filled with all this fear."
"Fear?"
"Of losing you."
Fundy's mouth dries. "Oh," he forces out.
Wilbur groans, his hands running feverishly through his tangled hair. "It's irrational, I know, but no amount of logic stops me from acting illogical. I don't want to lose you, and although you are in no danger visiting the lights tonight, I can't let you go. The thought of you not being behind these walls, safe and sound, fills me with anxiety."
"The castle isn't a guarantee for safety," Fundy points out while his ears flick anxiously down. Guilt and frustration swirl in his chest at his father's admission. "I could just as easily get hurt here as well."
"I know, and yet I can't risk anything else. I already lost your mother, if I lose you too—" He stops himself and buries his head in his hands.
Fundy feels rooted to the spot. They don't talk about his late mother much. The past fills Wilbur with melancholy, especially on the topic of his dead love, so Fundy does his best not to ask too many questions unless Wilbur is warm with alcohol and more willing to reminisce. Sally died in childbirth, so all of Fundy's memories of her are second-hand. He knows that she was a shapeshifter from a kingdom under the sea, she was beautiful and brave, and her pregnancy with the next heir to Thessary was a scandal. His parents were never married, so she wasn't remembered as a queen but as a mistress. He knows it bothers Wilbur.
"You couldn't have done anything to save her," Fundy says. "No one could."
"I promised I would keep you safe," Wilbur mumbles, "because I couldn't do the same for her."
"I am not my mother."
He looks up. "No, you are just the parts of her she left behind."
A knock on the door distracts Fundy from replying. Wilbur allows the servant to enter his room with a jar of wine and a cup, as he requested. Fundy watches the two exchange pleasantries, his father reassuring the servant that he doesn't need anything further. He waits until the servant bows respectfully to both of them before leaving, and then he pours a generous amount of wine. Fundy thinks back to his grandfather's words. You'll start rumors again with your drinking habits. It seems that his father doesn't care.
"Just in time," Wilbur murmurs, taking a large swallow. "I need the liquid courage."
"I still don't understand," Fundy says desperately. "Am I never to leave the castle because of your own guilt?"
Wilbur doesn't say anything for a moment. His eyes are trained on his wine, expression inscrutable. Jewels glitter from earlobes. They truly do not look anything alike. "I wish I was different. I know I have been a terrible father, Niki tells me as much daily, but there are parts of me I can't change. But one thing I know will never change is my love for you."
Fundy's response is locked behind his embarrassment. As easy and often as it was for Fundy and his father to argue, these moments of sincerity and affection between them hit the hardest. He has never doubted Wilbur's love for him, not even during their worst fights. It's not a lack of love that the two suffer from, but too much of it.
"You mean more to me than the world," Wilbur continues. "I just have to learn how to share my little champion with the world."
His face burns at the familiar nickname. "Father, please, I am not a child."
Wilbur’s smile is sad, but he doesn’t hide it. “I know, but you must understand, you will always be my little boy. That I promise you. That’s why this is going to hurt so much.”
Fundy frowns as his father pulls a thick parchment tied with a thin, golden ribbon out of his mountain of paperwork. He passes it over to Fundy, who holds it gingerly like it is a very dangerous weapon. It’s rich under the pads of his fingers, so thick that he can’t make out any traces on ink from the outside. He looks at his father.
Wilbur nods. “Open it.”
Fundy carefully unties the ribbon, letting it fall to the floor as the parchment unfolds, the barest scent of jasmine hitting his nose. His ears twitch as his eyes greedily roam the contents of the parchment, the impressive swirls and dips of the handwriting in dark ink, the thick wax seal at the bottom near a signature that takes him a few moments to decipher. Fundy’s heart thumps in his chest as the words ‘invitation’, ‘commemorate’, ‘guest’, and ‘royal’ pop out at him. His head jerks up. “Father? What is this?”
Wilbur pours another cup of wine, his mouth twisted in a foreign expression. “An invitation,” he begins with a light voice, “from the royal family of Paeris.”
“Paeris?” Fundy exclaims. It’s not what he expected. The kingdom of Paeris is their closest neighbor to the north, separated by a strait that connects the Artemus and Halycon Oceans together, serving as a very integral route for trading ships and military battleships that need easy access to other kingdoms in the Southern Esempi. Paeris and Thessary had been in constant conflict over access to the strait, as well as a general distaste for each other in general. Philza, during his reign as king, had made it his mission to improve relations between the two and strived for a close allyship. A peace treaty was discussed and signed when Fundy was eleven, only three years before Wilbur took the throne. “What do they want from us?”
“Not us,” Wilbur corrects, “you.”
“Me?” He looks back down at the letter, focusing on the words this time. He notices rather abruptly that it’s addressed to him. Greetings to his Royal Highness, Crown Prince and Heir Apparent of Thessary . . .
“The royal family requests your participation in their annual Festival of Light,” Wilbur explains, running his fingers through his hair. Fundy can't describe his tone of voice.
“The Festival of. . .Light?” He questions.
“It’s a religious holiday that spans over a month celebrating Prime.” Wilbur’s mouth twists mockingly. He’s never been the most devout, viewing religion as a hindrance more than anything else. Fundy has no strong opinions on the old god, but in moments of distress, he tends to find himself on his knees, a prayer on his tongue. “Officially, it’s called Daerus, and it’s spent, as the name suggests, with light displays and music and theatre projects. From what I remember, it is supposed to be full of color. I even heard there would be fireworks.”
His eyes widen almost comically. “Fireworks? I get to see fireworks?” When Fundy was young, just barely old enough to lace up the ties to his shirt on his own, Uncle Techno had brought back a stack of fireworks he had acquired during his travels across the kingdom, back when he didn’t bury himself in military patrols. As the only child in the castle at that time, Uncle Techno spoiled him rotten, lighting up the sky with bright colors like an artist spilling paint onto their canvas. Wilbur had fretted over him, worried that he would get too close to the fireworks and get burned. Fundy’s heart aches at the memory and his fingers twitch with the urge to see them again.
“If you accept,” Wilbur says after a long pause. “ Daerus falls on the Crown Prince of Paeris’ birthday this year so the celebration will be for both Prime and the prince, which is why your presence is so greatly requested. What greater honor is there than to honor the birth of the heir to the Paeris throne and the existence of the god of prosperity?” His tone is slightly mocking.
Fundy doesn't know where to start. His mind spins with all the new information, the possibility of seeing so much more than he is allowed at the castle. After a lifetime spent with limited amounts of freedom, the thought of being given so much is dizzying. It feels like a dream he is yet to wake up from. "Why me, exactly? Wouldn't you be the better choice, seeing as you are the king and have more authority than me? Or perhaps Uncle Techno, since he has more experience traveling? I'm not particularly special, nor do I have any connections with Paeris. The Crown Prince and I have never interacted beyond one instance of brief pleasantries. This has to be some kind of mistake." A mistake he never wants to be corrected.
Yet it says so on the invite: to his Royal Highness, Crown Prince and Heir Apparent of Thessary. This is meant for him and him only. Someone in Paeris thought it would be beneficial for Fundy to be in attendance at the Festival of Light. He exhales shakily.
"You are more than special," Wilbur corrects. "You're my little champion." The term of endearment still catches Fundy off-guard. As embarrassing as it is, fondness burns in his chest. Despite everything, Wilbur is still his father, and he still wants his father's adoration. "You're the best choice to send to Paeris to strengthen diplomatic ties between our two kingdoms. I'm far too busy and it's inadvisable that I leave the capital for an extended period of time during this time. You have fewer responsibilities yet all the authority as my heir. You and Crown Prince George are of similar ages—"
Fundy's mouth twists. "He is three years my elder."
Wilbur waves his comment away with the flick of his hand. "Similar enough. In the future, the two of you will lead your respective kingdoms and, hopefully, establish a strong alliance for years to come. If we play our cards correctly, we can benefit from good relations with Paeris, as well as a potential trade agreement that gives us primary access to the strait. It is still a point of contention between us that I am working with King Aleyn on, but having you there physically may aid in the persuasion. The fate of our interpersonal relationship lies with your diplomacy skills."
The sudden weight of responsibility rests awkwardly on his shoulders, dimming his enthusiasm. "Oh," he swallows. Of course, this wouldn't just be a vacation away from home but a chance to prove himself worthy of his inheritance. Fundy has always known that he will one day be called to take on more responsibility with the crown, but he had always assumed it would be by having his father explain to him what exactly expenditures are.
"It's a lot of responsibility, I know. I was hesitant to even tell you but I was advised to since you deserve the right to know. Even though you have barely been outside of these walls and, most importantly, the kingdom for most of your life."
Fundy's eyebrows knit together. "And whose fault was that?"
Wilbur winces. He finishes his wine quietly. "I deserve that one. It is my fear that keeps you far behind where a prince your age should be. I apologize for that, but I don't regret it. I don't want you far from home, there is only so much I can do to keep you safe."
Fear seeps into Fundy's heart. He's so close to actual freedom, he can feel it slipping from his fingertips. "Does this mean I can't go? Father, you can't do that! Not when it was requested by the royal family!"
Wilbur shrugs carelessly. "As king, I can do anything."
His eyes burn with unshed tears. "But—"
"But as your father," Wilbur interrupts, "I need to learn to let you go. No matter my feelings on the matter. At least this way, I can prepare myself for it."
Fundy wishes he knew the right things to say. He wishes he could reassure his father with a hug, or remind him that he's more than capable of taking care of himself, but Fundy has never been as eloquent as Wilbur, or even as naturally warm as Niki. He settles for awkwardly scratching the back of his neck. "You wouldn't be letting me go. I'll come back, and you can continue being overbearing once I return."
Wilbur's chuckle is dry. "I have been suffocating, haven't I? I don't know if you have noticed, but I'm not very good at being a father. It's not something someone teaches you, and it's not like I have a model to fall back on. Your grandfather—" Here, he hesitates, pushing his hair back in an unkingly manner. His sigh is deep and full of untouched memories. "What I am trying to say is, I know I have made mistakes and I will continue to make mistakes. But I'm not doing this because I don't care for you, or because I want to cause you pain."
"I understand," Fundy croaks out.
"Do you?" At his continued silence, Wilbur leans back in his chair, troubled. "From a political standpoint, your trip is the best course of action. It will show both our kingdoms that we are bringing in a new generation of peace and friendship, and perhaps persuade them to be more receptive to future agreements. It's impossible to rule a kingdom with citizens who do not trust your judgment. It won't be difficult to gather a small envoy to go with you, no more than thirty people, along with gifts for the Prince. All logic is pointing towards letting you go and yet my heart is still conflicted."
"I. . ." Fundy hesitates. "I cannot tell where you're going with this."
Wilbur's stare is intense. "If I allow you to go on this diplomacy mission, will you promise to come back home?"
Fundy wants to scream yes, he wants to fall on his knees and beg like a child craving a toy at the market, but he forces himself to slow down. His father is dealing with Prime knows how much pain at the thought of Fundy being away from home, he owes it to him to think through this slowly and seriously. Fundy doesn't understand Wilbur's feelings, doesn't think he ever will, but he understands that not everything in life is as simple as he wants it to be.
He picks his words carefully. "Isn't it a given that I will come back? Where else would I go?"
Wilbur smiles sadly. "Anywhere. Everywhere. Sometimes I wonder if you even like being the crown prince."
"It's my birthright," Fundy says. "Liking has nothing to do with it."
His father sighs as if Fundy said the wrong answer to an easy question. He pulls a fresh parchment out of his mess of a desk and grabs the quill. He begins writing in his neat and unhurried handwriting. "Do you accept the invitation to Paeris by the royal family and your role as a diplomat of Thessary?"
Fundy nods, confused over his father's sudden change in demeanor but too excited to call it out. "I do."
"Then I'll have this letter of confirmation delivered at first daybreak. We have less than two weeks to prepare an envoy for you. You'll need to spend more time brushing up on your lessons on Paeris, specifically customs and traditional Sir Kahn sees as important. We will specify the details later but I will keep you updated on any further developments in the meantime." Wilbur pauses. "I am of my right to cancel the invitation at any moment if I believe it to be too unsafe. Do you understand?"
"Yes," he exhales. "Prime above, I understand."
Wilbur watches Fundy for a few seconds. His expression is, once again, unreadable, but Fundy understands, if only slightly, his father better than he did during dinner. He's ecstatic, veins thrumming under his skin like drum beats. This is so much better than the colorful lights that Tommy and Tubbo will see, so much better than any fantasy he's ever had. He doesn't get to just leave the castle walls, but his kingdom as well.
"Go," he finally says. "It's been a long day, and you have a lot to cover these next two weeks."
Fundy bows deeply, unable to stop the smile from creeping onto his face. "Good night, father."
He exits Wilbur's office in a daze, nodding his head at the two guards stationed outside his door, and barely notices when one leaves his spot to walk Fundy back to his chambers. When he opens his door, he's greeted by the sight of Niki and Tommy playing with cards at his settee, quiet conversation occupying their attention.
He closes his door and Tommy's head jerks up. At the sight of Fundy, his face crumbles. "Fundy, I'm—"
"Trespassing into my room," Fundy notes lightly, his fingers tugging at the laces on his shirt while he crosses his room. Typically, he would wait until Emilo appears to undress him and get him ready for bed, but he's filled with too much energy he doesn't know what to do with. "Hello, Niki."
"Hello, Fundy." Niki's eyes are apologetic as she watches him undo the laces hooked into his corset. "He was adamant in talking to you after dinner. I couldn't leave him alone in your room."
"Is that so?" Fundy murmurs, pulling off his vest with a sigh of contentment. He still has his silk shirt on, although it is loosened and draped on his figure messily, and his trousers, but he kicks off his boots without a care for where they land. He wonders if he'll have to have new clothes commissioned for his trip, if he'll get shiny new boots with buckles that travel down the sides like moss.
"I'm sorry," Tommy blurts out, startling Fundy out of his thoughts. He glances at the boy, who has his fists clenched at his knees and face turned down at the floor like he's about to be reprimanded.
"What for?"
"You aren't able to see the lights with me and Tubbo," Tommy says glumly, sinking into his seat.
"That is hardly your fault," Fundy says.
"But me and Tubbo didn't even think to invite you," he confesses. "I mean, you've never been able to come with us to Allium before but we still shouldn't have assumed. We wouldn't have minded if you wanted to—"
"Tommy," Fundy interrupts. "It's fine. There's nothing you could have done and I knew the risks in asking. I'm not mad at you."
Tommy's eyebrows furrow. At that moment, he looks so much like Wilbur it's disconcerting. "But, during dinner, you said—"
"I said a lot of things during dinner that I didn't mean," Fundy lies lightly. "I was mad, but not at you, just the situation. It would be unfair to blame you for the things Wilbur decides to do."
"But I don't want you and Wilbur to be mad at each other," Tommy mumbles. Although he adores Uncle Techno more than anything, Fundy knows that Tommy is closer to Wilbur than anyone else in the castle. Wilbur had been the one to teach Tommy how to tie his laces and ride a horse, and Tommy had been the one to make Wilbur smile when he was upset. Fundy is slightly jealous of their close relationship, but not enough that he despises it. He is an only child, he will simply never understand the bond between two brothers.
Fundy's face softens. "You're still a child, Tommy, don't worry about me and Wilbur."
Tommy scowls. "I'm not a child. You're hardly that much older than me."
Fundy hums. "Old enough. Besides, Wilbur and I already discussed it and the matter is settled."
Niki interjects for the first time in a while. Her eyes are questioning. "You did?"
It's hard to contain his excitement. Fundy nods, a wild grin on his face. "We had a lovely chat about my current predicament and found a satisfactory solution." He pauses. "If he doesn't end up changing his mind."
"Wilbur is letting you see the lights?" Tommy gasps, bouncing in his chair. "I was going to talk to Father anyway to try and convince him—"
"No, I'm not going to see the lights," Fundy laughs. "It is far too late for that."
Tommy's face drops. "But— surely one night wouldn't cause too much trouble?"
"I'm not going to see the lights because I have a lot of work to do," he explains. "My diplomacy skills are lacking and I need to be prepared for when the envoy leaves."
"Di. . .plomacy?" Tommy questions.
Niki's eyes widen. She understands. "He said yes?"
"He said yes!" Fundy confirms. "Or at least, he said yes unless he grows too anxious and then will revoke the invitation. But it's enough."
"Invitation?" Tommy interrupts, voice aggravated. "Will someone fucking tell me what you two are talking about?"
"Language," Niki reprimands.
Tommy's mouth flops open. "But Fundy swore at dinner!"
"Fundy doesn't have a dirty mouth unbefitting of a prince," Niki says. "And Fundy doesn't swear at his teachers when he doesn't want to do his lessons."
Tommy pouts. Fundy decides to take pity on the fifteen-year old and answer his earlier question. "I was sent an invitation from the Royal House of Paeris to participate in their annual Festival of Light, and I accepted. I'm to leave in a fortnight if all things go well."
"Paeris?" Tommy exclaims.
Niki leaps up from her chair and crushes Fundy in a hug. She's short but deceivingly strong. "I am so happy for you," she whispers into his ears. "I was so afraid that Wilbur wouldn't agree to it."
He squeezes her back. "Thank you for convincing him to let me go."
She pulls back with a smile. "I didn't convince him, I simply gave him my counsel. He chose to take it."
Tommy's loud and incredulous voice interrupts them. "How did you of all people manage to get invited to Paeris? What about the rest of us?"
Fundy laughs. "The Royal Family wants me specifically to come, they didn't seem to care about the rest of you."
"That's not fair," Tommy whines, but his face is flushed with excitement. "Could you let me come? A Festival of Light sounds far more interesting than the colorful lights happening tonight."
"And risk a war sparking the moment you open your big, fat mouth?" Fundy raises his eyebrows. "Perhaps if you were Crown Prince."
"That's—" Tommy struggles to find a word that isn't 'not fair'. "I don't see why I can't come."
Niki comes up behind Tommy and places her hands on his shoulders, squeezing them. "Maybe once you stop skipping out on your lessons with Sir Felitz. If you want to go to Paeris, you have to be diligent in your studies."
Tommy frowns. "You wound me, Niki."
"You wound yourself," she laughs. "Now come on, the Crown Prince must be very tired and you have to get ready to see the lights tonight. Tubbo is likely waiting for you in your chambers."
Tommy's face brightens, but he still spares a guilty glance at Fundy. "If you're sure. . ."
"Go, have fun," Fundy says. "Save me a sweet bun."
"I will!" Tommy exclaims. "I have to go, I told Tubbo he had to stare at the wall until I came back."
He rushes out of Fundy's chambers before Fundy is able to find a response. Niki gives Fundy one last smile. "Would you care to join me tomorrow afternoon for lunch in the gardens? It has been a while since we last spent time together."
"Of course," Fundy says. "I can send a servant for you when I'm done with my lessons."
She bows slightly and leaves.
Fundy exhales, all the emotions from the day slipping away until he's left surprisingly exhausted yet sated. He slips into his chair and covers his face with his hands, heart still jackrabbiting as he goes over everything that has happened. "I'm going to leave these walls," he murmurs to himself. "I'm going to taste freedom."
He looks up and catches his gaze in the mirror. Despite all that has happened today, he looks the same. The same ginger hair, the same wide-blown stare, the same circlet on his head. The emerald earring catches the light from his oil lamps. Fundy grins.
Everything is going to change soon.