Chapter Text
The heavens shone rays of light upon the earth, never faltering in their heat and brightness. The canopy of trees under which the blonde laid provided precious shading from the sun's constant attack. The midsummer heat; always abhorred by those travelling to and fro through the kingdom, yet praised by the inhabitants. A welcome change from the winter chill rushing from the northern kingdoms throughout the last months.
A small breeze rustled the leaves in the forest, cooling the boy down as he lay upon a worn chequered blanket at the edge of the treeline, a welcoming gift from the fletcher in town upon Tommy’s arrival years earlier.
Quiet stretched across the fields, a distinct change from the bustle of the merchant square in town. Always rowdy. Always dangerous. For when someone attempts to escape the royal family in what could be labelled as the most dangerous and bloodthirsty dynasty ever recorded in history. One might take precautions.
And for fear of being recognised, Tommy made a point to only take a trip into town every fortnight. A ritual that had become something of a solace in solitude for the boy.
Not that he would tell anyone this for fear of appearing like a prick, but Tommy thought he did rather well at the whole isolation from society thing. The once overwhelming fear that a mercenary would show up at his door in an attempt to haul him back into the life of polite snideness and careful conversation had passed.
Good riddance; the only thought Tommy could bring himself to think in regards to his homeland. The spring chill that morphed into cold summers and somehow even colder winters were nothing but a distant memory for the boy. Now the warm sun graced his skin every day, and without an inkling of regret the blonde could bask in its light, guilt ever a passing thought. Yes, undoubtedly his father was most likely raging across the kingdom ripping through every town in search for his littlest prince, and yes, his older brothers would scour the world for him. But, Tommy reminded himself, that was of no concern to an inconspicuous weaver living in a small town in the south, and who had absolutely no connection to the northern crown as far as anyone else was concerned.
Yet, the disappearance of the Antarctic Empire's third prince had stood to be the only subject spoken to Tommy upon his arrival. The baker he visited within his first week within the town had proclaimed a flurry of ridiculous theories towards the boy after the pink haired women had brought it up when Tommy had mentioned his travel from the northern regions. He made a point never to broach the subject again in fear of appearing too eager. At the time, Tommy had thought that knowing the movement of his family was a smart decision, though that later appeared incredibly stupid after one to many run ins with the fearfully accurate gossipers in town.
Tommy stood from his position in the sun, stretching like a cat in the heat, before picking his things off the ground. His cotton blouse scratched his skin as he raised his arms above his head. Tommy revelled in the rough texture; an all to welcome change from the overtly soft silk and ermine lined clothing he had uniformed in the Antarctic.
Midday was when the small children from the town found their way into the fields behind his house, and the boy rathered his roses to stay intact.
The walk back to his cottage was not long yet Tommy took his time, basking in the sunlight. Tommy found that no matter how long he was apart from the northern kingdoms it still shocked him how warm the sunlight could be -a contrast to the cool light that shone upon the north- its warmth a welcome change from the chill that would batter outside of his windows in the empire.
Even to touch the glass panes of which you hid from the cold behind was to be scalded by the frost.
Tommy was firm in his decision that if this was to be his home for as long as he pleased, then it must resemble him, right? So he plucked as many dandelions as he could possibly find amongst the stinging nettles and their accompanying dock leaves to decorate his home.
The trail towards his home widened as he arrived upon the front gardens, which beheld his small house, a quaint thing that squatted amongst the boughs of sturdy oaks, and the sickly white birch that dabbled the moss covered forest floor. The window pains were coloured stained glass, depicting rivers and flowers, all scenes he had stared at in awe in the early months of his arrival. Carefully nursed ivy ran across the stone walls and cradled the oak door, above which hung a silver horseshoe. It had been a gift from the blacksmith in town; Sam. A kindhearted man who had single handedly supported him with his rebuilt life. Though despite his kindness, Tommy always found a reclusive guilt within his eyes in the recent latent months of summer. His face was young, no more aged than Tommys eldest brother, though his eyes, oh his eyes, they held the pain of thousands. His brow always creased, and the blonde longed to reach his hands up and smooth out the frowns that had made its home upon his pseudo-fathers features. Long nights of chill in the winter months spent in the company of the man begged to cradle the older man's face, to alleviate the pain that crawled on its belly into the man's soul.
Tommy gently tucked the flowers he had collected into a burlap satchel sitting upon a badly built wooden bench that squatted before his front window. The lightness of the action hurt, it was all too nice, too gentle. A characteristic that Tommy had never been awarded, yet now held. Though he left his satchel in the open, Tommy had no fear of theft, having never experienced even a bad word from the inhabitants of the village he fled to four years prior. The blonde had always inwardly thought them stiff for this, but no matter.
The door cracked open and the blonde found respite from the scorching midday heat in the shade of his home. The sun’s gaze having lost its battle with the moth eaten curtains that sat decadently over the window panes. The drapery made Tommy ache. And though it sounded ridiculous, it pained him to even see it. The heavy cotton and silk reminding him of the winters spent in the arms of his family. Thick fabric blocking out the frost surrounding the windows. Tommy felt no regret of his decision to flee, yet the childhood he spent in the north stood to haunt him. A hiraeth to return, yet, a deep, innate want to flee at any chance he could be caught and returned to his family.
Tommy raked the curtains away from the window and let the light in. No longer fearing the afternoon heat. The blonde toed his shoes off and padded on bare feet towards the kitchen at the end of the hall. The boy could hear bird song drifting through the open window, loud due to their position in the bird bath that sat outside of his kitchen window. He had walked this entranceway for 4 years, the chipped wooden planks beneath his feet worn with the movement. Though, something felt off. Like he was staring into the mouth of a bear and knew he was to be eaten. This intrinsic dread was out of place -strange- in the cottage at the outskirts of the forest, yet, Tommy felt as if his very soul was begging for him to leave the kitchen door untouched. To leave the passageway between him and uncertainty ajar.
Now more than ever, the blonde wished he had been quieter when he entered the house. Perhaps then this irrational fear wouldn't be as all encompassing. The more Tommy stood, shaking in the hallway, the more he realised that he couldn't place where the feeling arose from. He shook his head - attempting to clear his head - jostling his golden curls with the action, and continued towards the kitchen.
The metal handle was cold beneath his hand, not quite warm with the afternoon sun yet. Bile creeped up his throat and laid claim to it. Panting and whining like a sickly dog. He quickly swallowed.
The sun shone around a figure, hunched over the sink. Staring out towards the garden. Brown hair turned auburn in the summer heat. Pale skin covered in freckles. And the figures' hands were worn from hours of working in their fields during this spring's harvest.
“Tommy….” he spoke, quiet and dejected. The blonde's breath hitched. Not out of fear. No, for who could be afraid of their best friend.
“Tubbo.. You okay man?” it was as if everything had collapsed. The entire world fell away and Tommy was left stagnant in the destruction. A pulsing relief was sovereign over the boy of golden hair and petulant wit.
Tubbo turned, his hair set aflame in the kiss of the afternoon sun. It was only now in the homely lighting of Tommy’s ramshackle kitchen that he could see the tear tracks that laid claim across the older boy's cheeks. Sunburn gave way to an anguished flush only brought along with hours of sobbing. The brunette gave a dejected head shake. Tommy took a step forward, hand raised and ready to comfort his friend.
“No.” Tubbo insisted. The blonde furrowed his brow, giving a confused head shake at the way his friend was reacting to him. He cocked his head to the right, hoping the action showed his confusion.
It was silent in the kitchen, even the ever leaky tap ceased in its drips as Tubbo raised his hand. Grasped tightly in his fist was a letter. A square of parchment sealed with cobalt wax. The brunette's hands shook as he cleared his throat and brought his gaze up from the vacuum he had previously been staring into. Green eyes met blue and in a moment of dejected anguish, Tubbo smiled. A sad little thing. The type of smile you gave a child when their pet rabbit had gotten out. A comforting smile, but not absent of angst.
“Tommy, I need you to understand I didn’t do this because of you, I had no other choice, they threatened Micheal! Ranboo! Please understand, I love you, but this is for the best.” the elder boy's voice waved as he spoke. Mock confidence in his actions spilling through. The brunette had never been one for tears.
“What are you talking about big man? Have you hit your head? Do you need a seat?” Tommy scoffed, confused, and unwilling to address the sorrow that reigned over the kitchen.
Silently, Tubbo passed the letter over into the blonde's soft hands. Untarnished by field work, hands that had instead busied themselves with fabric, and embroidery rather than tilling the ground for wheat.
The paper was soft beneath his fingertips. It was only now, when he could see the seal of the letter, that he allowed himself a sob. His hand shot up to his mouth, hoping to silence the cries that would surely tumble out. As laid in his hands, was the crest of the Imperial family of the Antarctic Empire.
The boy ripped the wax off the paper, and unfolded the parchment harshly. Surely enough, written in the painfully familiar sloppy handwriting, was a letter addressed to Tubbo. How his wretch of a family had become aware of the boy, Tommy feared to think.
To Tobias Underscore, and whomever else it may concern,
Over the past few years, as I am sure you are aware, the Imperial Prince Theseus Watson, my third son, has been lost to our family. And it is by trusted intelligence, that I am informed, you, Tobias Underscore, may be aware of his whereabouts.
And it is with no remorse that I apprise you that in accordance with the announcement given mere months after the Imperial Princes disappearance, it was made law that any reluctance to share knowledge of his location with the Empire would be punished with the immediate execution of you and any related associates.
Though this may seem abrupt, I am willing to give leeway. If you or anyone you know, has any information about the location of my son, and pens this knowledge back by the summer solstice, I am willing to forgive this injustice, and allow you a pardon of the consequence of execution.
Further details will be discussed after the information has been handed over.
You may send this returning letter directly to me with the enclosed seal, so that it will be given top priority in its return.
Sincerely, His Imperial Highness, Emperor Philza Watson
Water hit the paper, streaking the ink, as Tommy cried in anger. His body culvused with both wrath and sobs. And through gritted teeth the blonde spoke
“What did you tell them….”
There was no response, the elder boy instead stood, fingers picking at his nails in a nervous tick Tommy had grown accustomed to. Though now, facing imminent doom, the younger of the two found himself uncaring of this.
“What did you tell them dammit!!?” Tommy all but screamed, tears streaming down his face.
“What I had to! You would too!” Tubbo shouted back. His stance offensive, no longer tuned in on himself. “ I love you Tommy. So much, but if they know where you are, you aren't going to suffer. What!? You living in a life of luxury, is that bad?! You’re being selfish!” As soon as the words came out of his mouth the brunette stopped. His entire body halted in regret as he watched the blonde in front of him grow cold.
The boy assumed an off hand air. Tubbos least favourite of his skills. He quickly dried the tears on his face and lightly placed the tear stanced paper on the old oak table beside him, before turning and resting his left palm on the wood.
“Get out.” Tommy promulgated, his eyes cold. A learnt behaviour from the years of shallow galas spent dancing in the arms of strangers in order to appease his fathers cohorts.
“I-” he took a pause “I’m sorry, that wasn't fair. I know how hard it was fo-'' He was cut off by the slam of the blondes hands on the cluttered table.
The younger boy seethed as he spoke his next words “No. You don't know. You never did. Now, Get. Out.” All the blonde could think of, as the brunette scurried past him and out the doors that he had spent near crying a only minutes earlier, was the possessive touches of his brothers, his father. Their harsh whispers of brutality should he even dare think of flying the nest. And Tommy found himself unable to cry, his misery replaced with towering rage.
He was fucked, well and truly fucked. There was no leaving. No amount of running that could escape his family's grasps. His entire life would be spent behind golden bars, he would never bask in the summer light, nor complain about the scalding burns left upon his nose after he fell asleep in the afternoon sun. Tommy found himself realising that when his family arrived, his days would be spent, within the heavy arms of his kin. Unable to move, paralysed until his brothers or father saw fit. A prisoner within his own skin. Draped in furs and blankets, their softness too revealing of his nature. It was painfully reminiscent of the times Tommy and his brothers had sworn to each other in a makeshift blanket fort, upon his older brother Technoblade’s bed, that they would never leave each other. How ironic that Tommy be the one to have initiated that oath.
The blonde heard the door to his house unlock, and the hinges that were well overdue an oil screech with their movement. Ire claimed his being as Tubbo walked back into the house. Tommys eyes didn't move from the wood on the table, hands scrubbing violently at his skin in an attempt to calm his inconsolable tears. Red stained eyes stared daggers into the stained panes of glass that gazed out towards the lilac covered garden as he moved his head upwards. Blue eyes turned diamond on their backdrop of bloodshot veins.
The blonde's face quickly screwed into one of disgust, upper lip curling as he heard the not quite yet discernible footsteps break the threshold of the kitchen. Blonde curls bounced as the boy threw his head around to stare at his best friend. Only to be met with the mouth of the bear he had feared to meet. A toothy grin graced the face of his second oldest brother; Wilbur.
The roots of Tommys strife bore fruit in the form of the little pained gasp that barely escaped his lips. No words could be said at this moment. There was nothing that could be supplied to quite describe the oppressive grief that made its home in his once adored kitchen. Not a single poem nor sonnet could have held justice to the not quite cruel grin breaking the usual chagrin face of his brother.
It hurt to see the far too pronounced eye-bags that sat under his Wilbur’s eyes, a stark difference to his once youthful face. The brunette's hair was longer now, tangled yet still tamed from where it sat just below his chin. Stray curls twisted around the perfect golden rimmed glasses on the bridge of his brother's hooked nose, ever so slightly crooked as a result of Technoblade sparring a bit too harshly in their youth.
Tommy opened and closed his mouth as he moved slowly away towards the backdoor, hoping to make a mad escape into the wildflower fields behind the house, though with every step he took, Wilbur stepped two. He was unsure of what to say, unsure of a single word or phrase that could be uttered that wouldn't cement his brutal future.
The toothy smile grew kind as taupe eyes met cobalt.
“Hello dearheart, have you had fun?”