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[A Queen's Death Means For Less, But A King's Death Means For More]
"She's sick, my liege."
It's clear as day, a docter was not needed. But Theseus needed to hear it, hear it from someone not the echo in his head saying he failed. His queen is dying, and he can do nothing. Head held high still, he cries, for not even grief shall hide his face. His tears are known and expected. His queen, his beloved queen, she will pass on. She will find peace after her illness and be free. Even with the knowledge and intuition resting a breath away, he still cannot breathe. A gasp won't bring her back, and it will not settle his bones. His bones that ache of war and heartbreak.
"Come here darling."
His known long strides soon turn shuffled steps with hesitancy, something not felt in years with his angel of future. "Yes your highness?" He asks in a croak carefully beside her bed, she reaches up and takes his hand with a smile pulling at her black ink lips. "You are my friend Tommy, don't be a stranger in these days." He squeezes her hand and another tear drips off his chin. "Yes Kristin?" He says instead. "Sleep by my side this night, for you will guide me." A sob breaks through and he collapses. Knees digging painfully into the floor Kristin cradles the back of his blonde curls.
"Cry my dear, for no one will judge you for the sorrow of a lost one." His shoulders shake as he looks at her pale face gone of rosy cheeks. "What am I to do? Wilbur is not old enough to walk, he is not fit to rule." At the mention of her son Kristin's smile dips as her situation realizes. Then she looks back in his eyes of seas and smiles soft, and beautiful. "Time will wait for him." She finally says.
"But not of me." He replies back.
That night he stripes of his armor and holds his queen for she is at peace, but being alive tricks you to fear death even when it's a relief. A fear of home, and of the blanket of safety that will lead you to the arms of those passed yet still held dear. "May I ask a favor of you Tommy?" He clutches at the back of her dress and whispers into her hair. "Of course, anything." She sighs and traces the shape of the Anthanasios chest into his back. "Stay with Wilbur, though we never loved like that our love does run deep. He is yours as he is mine, we've been intertwined you and I. As our souls sever connect to him."
Tommy doesn't answer the rest of the night. It is not assumed he will guess of his statements, he will do anything for her. Has fought, bled, cried, killed, he has no regrets in what he has done. Still he wishes for change, anything to change. For Wilbur to keep his mother, for Tommy to keep his nest friend.
That night her body goes cold in his arms. He doesn't sleep, slowly becoming of holding her as she slips away. A caress of his cheek and a kiss to her forehead. The queen is dead.
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Sir Theseus is head of the kingdom, but he is no king. He's trusted, reliable, no one objects when they say he will fill shoes not meant for him until Prince Willaim is of age. As for now, Theseus treats Wilbur as his own. He is three months old, born of late summer and practically glowing. A sweet thing if a bit, unpredictable.
Theseus stares at William who stares right back from his crib with always curious eyes. Brown oak hair, eyes almost black, like Kristin. He could be a spitting image if not for the taunt curls springing on his head already. A maid sits on the rocking chair a few feet away and watches the two even if she shouldn't. She should apologize, rush from the room before he can memorize her face to punish her for creeping up on him. It matters not she was here first, he is the king. She will jump from the balcony should he order it, loathe he do. "He looks just like her." He whispers solemnly. Theseus rocks the crib gently, a large hand scarred and rough holding the side. Soothing, loving. She startles as he looks up at her with a smile. "Doesn't he?" She almost jumps to respond. "Yes my king."
He sighs and shakes his head looking back down at the baby who coos up at him where the prince chews on his clothe doll. "I'm not much of a king though, the real king sits here." She doesn't know what to say to that, she doesn't speak at all. "She asked me to raise him, a favor she called it. Told me Wilbur is mine like he is hers." He looks back up and smiles apologetic. "My apologies for rambling to you of course, it's impolite. What's your name?" She hesitates slightly before answering. "Drista, sir."
He nods then his smile brightens slightly. "Are you one of the nannys for Wilbur?" She wrings her hand slightly.
"I really just watch him, I'm not even allowed to touch him actually." He raises an eyebrow. "Not allowed to touch him? That's odd, do you have to fetch another to do anything for him?" She fumbles a moment in response. Is she supposed to lie? No one ever explained when she was put on this job.
"Oh, yeah yeah, older matrons gather in the laundry room to fold the linens. I just make sure he's well." Theseus furrows his brows and seemingly looks to be thinking something over if the consemplative look on his face reveal thoughts. She takes a minute to study his face in the moment of silence. He's solemn seen wandering the castle unlike what her elders had said. The older women speak of his kindness, how he'd stop training drills to help them pick up the dropped sheets. Dream admires him, his strength, courage, battle strategy. Has raved for years and still does when he gets to see the top knight fight. Drista can admit seeing Theseus knock grown men on their asses during tournaments is usually the best part of her day.
Tight spring blonde curls dipped white at the front falling over his forehead. His nose is narrow and his eyes are the deepest sea blue, matching for his jewelry. He's stripped of armor right now for the Sunday morning. Sunlight shining in and making him practically glow as he smiles at his prince. He's ethereal almost, a king though no crown, and a good one if she'll slip her bias. "Come here please." She's surprised to find him looking at her. Standing, Drista takes long steps over with her dress brushing the floor with slight motions from her lack of height. He towers over her with a broad chest yet his smile pulling even as he tries to straighten his lips. He leans down and gently pulls the prince from his crib.
He cradles Willaim for a few seconds, just admiring the sweet thing before holding him out. Drista slowly folds her arms to securely hold the precious boy. "I'd say he looks quite like you, his hair the same." She murmurs, he looks between her and William with a quirked lip.
"Maybe when he's older."
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Giggles ring through the halls as the small prince stumbles away from Theseus, his Tommy. He trips over a bunch in the carpet, as he braces for impact he's scooped up. Held against a strong chest and braced hip Wilbur grins at the knight. "Tommy! Tommy! Did you know whale sharks can grow up to 35 feet?" The blonde takes a moment to process the out of the blue question. "No Wil' I didn't, you have anymore facts for me?" Tommy asks turning the corner. Wilbur pouts his lip while he thinks as they round a corner.
It's for tough luck that he can't think of anything. It only serves to irritate the young prince who shoves his face into his brother's neck. The blonde cares not to ask for now, instead opening the door into a room. Wilbur whines as the dusty smell of books hits his nose, immediately wanting down. Tommy takes a few more steps before releasing him to sprint into the romance books he'll run screaming out of soon.
Two soft laughs, almost giggles, alert the king who turns. On the one side by cases is a large counter like desk where two people stand together. Tommy grins as he strolls over. "Aimsey, Ranboo." The two look at him and roll their eyes. "So now he wants to get formal, to good for us now huh king?" Aimsey asks but giggles mare her words. The joke's been made everytime, and yet Tommy still chuckles.
"Yeah yeah."
"Soooo, in important news, are you are to be attending the townhouse fall festival?" Ranboo eagerly asks, Tommy shrugs as he watches the predicted scene of Wilbur screeching while running into the fairytale cases. "Maybe, maybe not. Why are you going to ask Tubbo?" Ranboo tilts his head this way and that. "I don't know, besides my plans aren't as important as what the king is doing, servants get more excited about those things." Tommy wrinkles his face as Aimsey leans over to watch Wilbur in case he causes another book avalanche.
"Primes, you lot need hobbies."
------
Snow falls glimmering, sticking fast in the cold winter darkness. The kingdom is waking up even with the limited daylight as people rise to get the day started. If Tommy were better with words he'd wax poetry but that's what Wilbur does. All the snow brings Tommy is a grief of the loss of sun, something he craves every winter yet is never delivered for. The glass is frosted from the outside and cold under his touch as he looks into the barely seen courtyard.
Wilbur gets to start his day differently though. Tommy wants him to enjoy it, unlike him. So he's done this since the prince was small, before the prick outgrew him. The still early hour is both revenge for that and how insomniac Tommy is that drives him here. A gentle knock at the door not heard by the occupants before creaking open. A head pops in and smiles when seeing the teenager stretched out under his favorite quilt. Quietly closing the door Tommy steps lightly across the room settling a tray down on a table as he passes it. Coming around the side of the bed he reaches a hand down and carefully shakes at Wilbur's shoulder.
"Wil', c'mon it's time to get up."
Of course the prince doesn't want to get up, he's met with whines for more sleep immediately. Tommy shakes his head and sits down onto the edge of the mattress. "It's snowing, and I made caramel hot chocolate." An eye peeks open from a head barely sticking out.
"Is it on my tray?" He asks cautiously, Tommy nods.
Automatic shimming occurs as Wilbur attempts an escape from his bed. Tommy laughs as the prince falls into his carpet from tripping on his blanket. Wilbur glares back at his brother while angrily sipping from his cup. The effect is completely ruined by how adorable/ridiculous he looks, Tommy makes sure to tell him as such.
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Oh this war ground, the dirt will fasten with blood to mud for dear lives to end. Wilbur ears ring distractedly though, for not such enemies even as they beg for his attention. No, his heart screams and pounds for sight instead.
Tommy, his lovely Tommy. Raising him in parents absence as blood brothers even for friendship. His long golden curls pulled high still do not escape the muck of fight. A mighty warrior, entrusted with the royal families lives to strengthen them. His head whips around to stare at Wilbur who's been watching him already, enraptured with the cause. Tommy stops and it's his undoing.
His constant movement a saving grace that no longer graces him with aches in bones settling for dust. A sword, dull yet razored. Wilbur could almost swear the world stops as his breath is knocked forcibly from his lungs. Tommy looks down at the sword poking from muscle with flicking eyes.
A scream, hoarse and shredded sounds through the gored grounds. Fighting can only stop a moment to witness the wrenching scene. Wilbur stumbles, legs buckling, to his brother who's knees give out. Tommy slumps to the floor as blood spurts from between his lips with pain caressing features. It reveals a smaller man previously hidden behind Tommy who stares down at the King with shock on his face. Almost like he cannot believe what he's done.
Wilbur drops down and pulls the older close with desperate hands. "Tommy?! Tommy c'mon, it's alright, it's alright. You'll be okay just hang on the doctor'll come." He whispers hysterically, wide eyes crazed with terror. Tommy reaches a hand up and cradles Wilbur's face. "Wilbs', think. They're-" He stops and coughs roughly spitting blood down his own chest. He relaxes back with a wince and drags his eyes back to dull brown.
"They're not coming in time Wilbur, we've come so far, you're winning now." Wilbur frantically shakes his head as Tommy slowly nods in contrast. "You'll be okay, you'll become king and make me proud. Finish this war, find a wife, you're ready darling." Tears drip uselessly down dirt dried cheeks. He wishes so hard, he wishes to be like those princesses with magic tears to heal, he wishes they brought a doctor. He wishes, and wants, and needs. What will Wilbur do without his brother who cares for him so?
A kingdom needs a king, but Wilbur feels no entitlement to the crown even if rightfully his. Theseus is king, Theseus trains the knights, he works with the nobles, and he loves his people. Wilbur could not possibly take his place or fill his shoes much to big for such a simple man as him.
But Primes his Tommy, Wilbur cannot live without his Tommy.
"You can't, you can't die, you can't-" Willaim cries over and over again hitting at Tommy's shoulder. But it is no use of course, a wound is a wound. And a chest wound at that steals Tommy's life away in death's grasps. Cradled tight in a loving embrace, his chest no longer heaves. Eyes no longer stare lovingly and grip leaves like a dream, handprints carved in stone for flesh that cannot feel.
Wilbur looks at the clear and sunny sky that does not mourn as he even if it should. Tommy dies in Wilbur's arms, in his brother's arms, midday with the sun shinning on his pale face.
Tommy in welcomed into open arms of a long-sleeved purpled gown he oh so missed while the young prince must be dragged away from his king's corpse to be dressed in crown with golden thrones that fit long golden curls better than his cropped chestnuts. Wilbur's cold dull eyes match Theseus glazed ones with how life leaves him much the same way. Nothing helps, and the comatose prince runs from his castle one night, this one accompanied by rain to cased his grief.
The then prince, now king, will know a new day with the help of a struggled built family never replacing his old one, that the sun shone that day for a reason. And it is that Tommy, not King Theseus, deserved to revel in the shine one last time.