Chapter Text
The silver moonlight danced across Tommy's face, illuminating his tear filled daylit sky-colored eyes. The trees rustled with the blowing wind, the silence of the garden doing little to silence his racing thoughts. No birds sang their little songs, no squirrels racing against family. It was silent. A frightful, deafening silence, only broken by the whisper of wind and shaky breathing of the king.
"Are you mourning?"
The blond whipped around, his eyes clouding as they rested on his brother, darkening like a storm on the horizon. The brother in question leaned heavily on his cane, a plain silver one he used for informal events or strolls.
"It's King Thomas to you," Tommy muttered, all of his watery sadness swept away by a single blink. "and it's rude to intrude on my private time, Prince Wilbur."
The brunette let out a joyless laugh before his face crumpled. "Are you—real?" He reached out a shaking head, attempting to touch the king, who stepped back, frustration beating his face.
"I'm not a hallucination." Tommy insisted before sighing and letting the struggling prince touch his arm. Relief melted down his face, seeping into the sparkles in his eyes.
The prince quickly straightened as best as he could while still forcing his cane into the grass. "It's late, Tommy. You should be in bed."
The king tightened his hand into a fist behind his back, shielding in from the prince. "And you, Prince Wilbur, are ill with fever and should be resting."
The brunette faltered, causing Tommy to fear he may fall onto the garden floor. "I'm perfectly fine." His voice was cracking like a frozen river. "Are you worried about Father?"
Tommy's patience was wearing thin, and the mention of the late king shaved away a layer. "He's dead, Prince Wilbur."
"No, he's upstairs in bed, resting."
Tommy raised his hand to face and pinched his nose, sighing as if that would rid him of his older brother and the annoyance he carried. He felt guilt seep through his skin—the boy was sick, after all—but his delusions were interrupting the silence he rarely got to savor. "That is exactly where you should be." He managed through gritted teeth. "You'll catch a cold out here and then you'll be bedridden."
Wilbur frowned, shifting his mobility aid to his other hand and leaning on it. "I suppose I can leave if you'd like, Tommy."
"King Thomas." The younger corrected, sighing.
Anger quickly replaced the misery that flared in Wilbur's dark eyes, the fury reflecting like fire in a black void. "You're not the king! Father is, and he always will be!" And with that, he hurled his cane at the blond boy in front of him in a feeble attempt to harm him; the cane fell uselessly at the king's feet as Wilbur toppled over with it. His face slammed into the grass, causing Tommy to cringe away. Wilbur clawed at the blades, ripping them from their roots as his shoulders began to heave from pitiful sobs he cried into the grass. He lifted his head, his eyes teary and face smeared with the green floor.
"Help me, Tommy."
Tommy hesitated before stepping over and offering Wilbur his arm. Grabbing the prince's cane with the other, he handed it to him, allowing the brunette to stand and wipe the stains away from his face. Wilbur smiled and he sniffed, causing him to nearly choke on his own tears. "Thank you, Tom."
Tommy straightened at the nickname that he hadn't heard used in ages. "Go inside and go to bed. Immediately."
His elder brother nodded. "Alright." He turned, heading toward the castle steps before throwing a casual wave over his shoulder as though his storm emotions was nothing but a small breeze.
The absence of the prince wrapped Tommy in the blanket of quiet once more—but it was worse this time. No wildlife moved, his own breathing set him on edge, and his brother was gone. He sighed. "Both of them gone in different ways I guess." His own thought sent an ache through his heart and his stomach felt hollow.
Sleep tugged at his eyelids yet he had no desire to go inside to bed. The short walk seemed like a treacherous journey to his tired mind, the steps as steep as a mountain. He didn't want to tear his gaze away from the cluster of red and white roses that were gently waving at him, their stems rocking back and forth.
He involuntarily stood, his legs taking him to the flowers and kneeling him before them. His fingers brushed against their soft petals, sending a shiver through his body and down his spine. He took in a breath, their scent flooding his nostrils and a small smile began to form across his pale face. "Mother always smelled like this--just like the flowers she planted."
He ventured to pick one, his hands reaching for their stems.
He gasped, then cursed as a thorn pierced his fingertips. He quickly yanked his hand away, a single drop of blood splattering on one of the simple white roses, its pure design permanently stained by the king's foolishness. He scowled at the flower as though it would sense his anger and apologize.
Of course, it didn't.
Tommy stood, still glaring at the flora with disdain. He turned, his red cape being carried by the wind and flowing like a red river behind him. His footsteps were hard and frustrated as he stomped across the garden grass and into the castle, the sounds of his shoes on marble echoing across the empty place he usually called his safe haven.
"I'm being irrational." He tells himself, but that does nothing to calm his storm of emotions that was attempting to capsize his ship and drown him. He pauses at the top of the stairs, turning to look one last time at the flowers that reminded him of his mother--of a time when things were safe.
A time when his parents were there.
A time when his big brothers would care for him.
A time when Wilbur would have reigned and taken the burden of leadership away.
The times he longed for hand slipped out of his hands like sand in an hourglass, leaving him with heartbreak and fear.
He shuddered as he turned away from the flowers. "Every rose has its thorns." He thought, his hands shaking at his sides with spite for whatever god had done this to him.