Chapter Text
There is mention of a little city high up in the mountains, where the thin air chokes the unexpectant throats of those who dare venture up there, where they are protected by the atmosphere and the cold. The villagers are quite used to the lack of oxygen around them, having evolved to the point where they no longer need it. They are isolated from the rest of the world and they are happy. The town square is always bustling with citizens running around, selling and buying, trading and bartering at their little market stalls. They all wore parkas lined with polar bear fur to cut the wind and fare against frostbite. The children, with rosy cheeks and gloved fingers, build a snowman by the church, laughter resounding within each of them. The butcher was curing meat in his little shop, taking each hunk the hunters sold to him and rubbing them precariously in salt. The carpenter took care of the table he was perfecting for the old lady across the street, with calloused hands and a smile on his face. Guards with full bellies and warm coats stood guard in front of the castle, joking around with each other, not paying much attention, knowing they never needed to. This little town is safe and it is all because of their King, who hardly ever leaves the castle.
Deep in his chamber, hidden in the dark depths of his sheets, the ruler of a snowy, peaceful land tosses and turns, despite the sun having risen hours before. He wanted to sleep, his brain running rampant with thoughts that cursed him and haunted him. Thoughts of encounters, past and future, beginning and end, splattered across his mind like a hit-and-run. He wouldn't say he had any sort of anxiety but in this moment, he definitely did. There was a furious knock on his door, his overeager and persistent servant trying to check on him, seeing as it was nearly noon. The man groaned loudly, sitting up and slipping out of bed, carelessly throwing open the curtains, hissing like a vampire as the sunlight burned his light-sensitive red eyes.
"Your Majesty," his servant called out to him, having already entered the room, "There's breakfast in the dining room for you. The chef has already prepared dinner and is trying to figure out supper. What would you like?"
The King walked over to his dresser, where he had laid his crown the night before, already sifting through his clothes. "I don't care. Make anything," he grumbled in a deep, monotonous voice, clearly not a morning person (reminder that it is noon). His servant hesitated for a moment before they nodded and left in a curt fashion, shutting the door to give Technoblade privacy. The man decided on a white button-up shirt with puffy sleeves and a pair of black pants. He was not one for vanity but he did want to look nice. He took a glance into the mirror, taking note of the bags under his red eyes, which were very clearly visible and contrasted against his pale skin. He also noticed his tusks were in need of a cleaning, a yellowish tint already apparent on their worn ivory. Technoblade glanced over at his crown and begrudgingly put it on, having his own gripes about being a royal.
Unfortunately for Technoblade, he became King at the ripe age of thirteen, forced to hold the responsibilities his late father put upon him simply because they shared DNA. It wasn't like he had any siblings who could take over, so he alone was forced to bear the monarchy. As he slowly got older, he realised that government fucking sucked and shouldn't exist, having perhaps found a few books or so on anarchy in the library as an angsty teen (he read them all, obviously). However, as much as he doesn't want to admit it, he does care deeply for his kingdom and doesn't want it to fall to ruins. He feels like every time he puts the crown on, he's putting the heavy burdens on his shoulders as well.
The only thing he liked about being King was wearing the flowy capes that blew like a flag in the wind, and up in the quiet mountain town, they got quite a lot of rambunctious wind. It made him feel quite dramatic because they never got enough action.
Deciding that he was done primping and preening, he finally left his chamber, making his way down the halls, where the roof was at least thirty feet above him; he doesn't know, he never checked. Tapestries hung on the walls depicting wars of old, wars that Techno had studied, having never been a part of anything remotely similar. He finds he yearns for violence and bloodshed, much to his own dismay. A small young woman, a maid, nervously walks by him, an old feather duster in hand. Techno knows he is intimidating and his lack of facial expressions tends to drive the point along even further with his constant resting bitch face. Regardless, he nods to her in greeting, a pathetic attempt at being social.
The dining hall was even more elegant than the hallways, the table at least as wide as the town square, clearly meant to feed more people than there are citizens currently living in the village. The King slumped into his dark oak chair with a huff, having not yet taken notice of the man who was sitting a couple of seats away from where the head chair was. The mysterious man cleared his throat and Techno glanced up from his food, eyebrow arched in disdain. "What," he asked, making it sound more like a demand than a question.
The man wore a giant, green and white striped brim hat that nearly covered his face and did not look very happy to see the King. "I knew your father. Shame he passed," the man looked nostalgic and almost sad, and Techno could not for the life of him place the stranger's accent. "My name is Philza. And I take it you are Technoblade." There was a lingering beat of silence that made the blond man- with large black wings, Techno supposes, wondering how he missed them before- very uncomfortable. The man cleared his throat, about to say something but Techno quickly interrupts him.
"Just tell me what you are here for. No fancy jargon, no dancing around the issue. Cut to the chase, Philza," Techno spat, venom already dripping in his bass vibrato. As with anybody Techno talks to, it took a moment for the stranger to recollect himself after the sudden harsh words he just received. The King casually eyed the man, shovelling food into his face with no care, realising his stomach was empty.
Now this, my dear readers, is the turning point, the conflict, the action Technoblade yearns for. "Something is coming," Philza sighed, stating the fact very calmly, trying to deliver the news with as much grace as he could offer. "Something dangerous. Whoever- or whatever- it is has made its way through my village and absolutely devastated it," he took a moment to breathe, his expression becoming sad. "My wife... She..." Techno could care less about this man's wife. The man shook his head and then continued, "Either way, I've done some calculations, pinpointing its path of destruction to try and find where it's possibly going." He paused once more. "It seems your little kingdom is next."
Techno felt his stomach do little backflips at that sentence. He wasn't sure if he was excited or worried, maybe even a varied mix of the two. The need for anything to keep himself busy from his boring life was too strong to resist. But, he still didn't trust the blond in front of him. "How do I know you aren't this... this thing that's coming to destroy this kingdom?" Technoblade accused pointedly, food still in his mouth, muffling his words quite a bit. Though it seems Philza understood exactly what he was trying to say through the chewed up bits.
"I understand your reservations toward me. I showed up out of nowhere and started telling you of atrocious horrors that are on their way. I apologize for that." Philza leaned back in his chair, his wings crushed slightly against the back of the chair; Techno wondered if it was painful at all, squashing one's wings like that. "But if you don't act now, everyone will die." Philza removed his big-ass hat, setting it down on the table in front of him and Techno could see his ocean-blue eyes very clearly, crinkles near the corners of his eyes from age and stress. Mostly age.
Techno has had enough already, not wanting to hear all of this when he had just woken up. He's going to fire the guard that let him in. "If you do not leave in the next sixty seconds, I will kill you and make sure no one finds your body," the King threatens, his chin resting on his hands, already annoyed with the guy. He gave absolutely no reason for Techno to even trust him, telling him of something he doubted would ever even happen to his small, forgotten kingdom. "Go," he seethes, his jaw clenching. Philza hesitates but complies anyway, gritting his teeth, grabbing his hat before he turns on his heel and leaves the dining room. Techno hopes he never sees that man ever again.
Having decided he has lost his appetite at that very moment, Techno pushes his plate a couple of inches forward, away from him. There was at least half a roll and a huge heap of mashed potatoes left on the plate. He's sure the servants will eat his leftovers. They always do.
King Technoblade storms down the halls, heavy-footed with no real purpose or end destination in mind, walking wherever his legs take him. A mild-mannered guard opens a door for him and he's hit with the chilly air, glad for it, needing a moment to cool off. His knee-high boots crunched in the snow and the snowflakes dusted his braided pink hair with their crystalline specks. Techno thought as he walked, letting each string of mental strain define his pace.
If this Philza character is telling the truth about the dangers coming, then Techno needs a plan of action. First, he needed credible confirmation that something was on its way and then, he'd rally his citizens together. Most of them- aside from the hunters- are soft and round at the edges, never having seen any conflict a day in their lives. He's positive they've never even been in the same room as a sword, hell, his guards don't even have swords. And Techno himself has barely had any war training at all. There was never any need for it. All the same, Techno knows that war will be inevitable. He has a feeling he will like it.
"Uh, Your Highness?" a small, meek voice broke his train of thought. He recognized it belonged to the stable boy, who was staring at him in blank confusion. "Would you like your horse, sir?" he asked, his messy blond hair covering his eyes a tad bit. Techno silently nodded, watching the teenage boy open the stall where his horse lived when he wasn't out riding. The boy's rough ram horns snagged on something hanging on the wall and he let out a small, strangled groan, taking a moment to unhook himself before muttering something under his breath. He gently pulled Techno's horse by the reins and led him over to the King.
"Thanks," Techno mumbled, his lack of facial expressions getting the better of him. The stable boy pursed his lips, probably thinking that his King wasn't very appreciative of his services. Either way, he didn't change his tune, pulling himself up onto the dark red horse, snapping the reins and taking off into the woods. The careful clopping of the hooves against the rough terrain brought Techno back to a peaceful moment, allowing his thoughts to run through his brain at a normal pace. Mindlessly, he led his horse through the forest at unimaginable speeds- speeds this horse was bred for.
Again, his mind wandered over to what Philza had said to him, the way he looked... oddly familiar. "Dumb old man," Techno found himself mumbling under his breath, a white mist making his words visible with each little huff and exhale. The winter sun was starting to lower, suggesting a later time, the rays elongating into a deep orange. His horse slowed its pace when he tugged on the reins a little, putting its full trust in its master's directions. "Woah," he gently coaxed, one hand moving to its mane, stroking it affectionately. "Good girl," he huffed, jumping off his horse in one swift movement, a loud thud as he hit the ground.
He led his horse towards a tree, tying it where there was a small patch of grass visibly poking through the snow. Techno stepped once, twice, three times, his walk staggered with hesitance, uncertainty, and the fact that his fingers were starting to turn a light shade of blue. Do you think he will regret not having put on gloves, my dear reader, for pride is but a sin and I know a thing or two about that.
Precariously, King Techno rubbed his hands together in an attempt to keep them warm, gazing out at the wonders several hundred feet below him: his kingdom in all its glory. Little houses with puffs of smoke billowing out of them eagerly sit in jagged rows against the face of the mountain, slowly climbing up until it reached the castle, standing loud and proud for all to see. A little church, currently closed as it is a weekday, rings its hourly bell, telling everyone it is three in the afternoon, no matter what the sun might say. The plump cattle grazing on the small, frozen shrubs lazily move along, preserving their body temperature for when it really gets frigid out. "Beautiful, innit?" an annoyingly eager voice interrupted Techno's thoughts.
Atop a white horse, there was Philza, his black ebony wings stretched to their full length. "I thought I told you to leave." It seemed this blond man was like a boomerang, coming back no matter how far you throw him. Typical. "I don't care who you are or what war is coming. Fuck off," Techno folded his arms across his chest, giving the illusion that he wasn't on edge.
Technoblade watched the man hop off of his horse, wings tucked in tight to himself. He wondered why he even needed a horse if he could fly. Philza cautiously took a step forward, his hands up in surrender. "Look. You don't trust me," he started and Techno scoffed; he didn't know the half of it. "But all of this," he gestures to the happy, unassuming town below. "Will disappear in an instant," he snaps his fingers at that last word, "If you don't act now." He still had his wide-brimmed hat on, his pallet of green and white still very off-putting, causing even more distrust in the King.
Techno looked out at the town below once more, knowing that he truly did care for each and every one of the simpleminded villagers he watched over and took care of. A rare instance of sympathy twinged in the pit of his stomach, leaving a heavy feeling as though he swallowed a stone. "Philza," Techno began, his face pulled into a grimace, as he considers everything all at once. And we all know he loves war. "Fine." He wondered why he gave in so easily.
The stable boy looked between the white horse and the red horse, knowing not to question the ownership of the white one in fear of being fired. His King was silent when he dropped off the two animals, another person with him. The boy thought the other man looked a bit familiar, having made brief eye contact for a moment, staring into the deep, blue eyes, wondering why the stranger was looking at him in such a way, remembering he was looking at him the same way. He sighed, shaking his head in disbelief for a moment before he hurriedly led the horses to their respective stalls.
"Do you have a plan of action to protect the town from total annihilation?" the boy overheard King Technoblade whisper accusatorially at the winged man. He didn't want to eavesdrop, but he couldn't help but listen, pretending he was just brushing a horse's mane. They had been bickering back and forth for a solid minute before the boy had gotten curious and focused in on their conversation.
The blond whispered back, "Do the citizens know how to fight at all?" The boy's eyes widened in surprise, wondering what the hell they were even talking about. His interest was peaked, knowing that a certain someone at home would love to hear about this. He couldn't catch what Techno had said next but he did hear the bird man's voice, "Well we need to alert them of the situation in a diplomatic manner. Inform them gently without inciting panic." The boy looked down at his hands, which were covered in old callouses from working long hours, wondering if he even knows how to fight, questioning his instincts.
The horse in the stall next to the stable boy whinnied nervously, instantly picking up on the vibes the two men where emanating. Techno huffed, "I'll have you know I am not a great speaker. I've been told I'm too abrupt." That's an understatement.
"I'm not a great speaker eithe-"
"I know someone who is a great speaker," the stable boy interrupted a bit too loudly, turning around instantly. He was met with the steely, cold gaze of Technoblade and an inquisitive look from the blond man. The boy lowered his head, his hair covering his eyes. "I apologize, Your Majesty, but I couldn't help overhearing." He smiled sheepishly, knowing he could possibly be in deep shit for this. His best friend is going to kill him if he gets fired. "I could take you to him."
"What's your name, stable boy?" Technoblade asked, an eyebrow arched as his arms crossed across his chest. It was obvious the man did not trust the young boy, nor liked him.
He stuttered for a moment, nearly forgetting his own name in that moment (he wonders how in the world he managed that). "My uh. My name is Tubbo." Then, he swallowed the lump in his throat and tried to pull himself together. "He lives in another country nearby. He knows how to convince anyone of anything. If you want to break some sort of bad news to the people, he's your man. And, he owes me a favour." Again, his hair, fluffy and dirty, fell into his eyes and he brushed the strands out.
The blond man smiled, a gentle demeanor about him that put the humble stable boy at ease in an instant, his shoulders relaxing and his muscles no longer tensing. However, Technoblade did not seem happy, causing Tubbo to recoil in on himself just from one mere glance, murderous intent obvious in his eyes. When the King spoke, he spoke with authority, "I am already taking enough risks trusting Bird Brain over here." He gestures to said blond man, who takes offense to that, his feathers ruffling slightly in brief anger. Technoblade continues, not a care in the world, "I can not go with you. If you want to go get this man you speak of yourself, be my guest. But do not expect an escort."
Tubbo nodded gingerly, a cheeky smile on his face. "I promise I will not disappoint you, Your Highness." He bowed quickly and firmly, his arm across his chest as he bent over slightly. Then, the King waved him away with disdain and attitude and off he went, the darkness of a promising suppertime making his stomach growl with such intensity, he thought a bear was following him for a moment.
The street lamps glowed a faint whitish-yellow light that lit the way just enough that he could make his way home past all of the identical houses where all the people with better jobs and steady income lived. His frostbitten nose was starting to go a bit numb, the skin becoming slightly rough, and as he walked, he tried to rub it gently, bringing friction and body heat back to it for a brief second. His street was covered in months-old frozen horse feces, having not been cleaned up due to the fact nobody ever comes all the way out here- besides the few who live on the edge of town. The houses were smaller and poorly built The young boy found no relief from the freezing temperatures until he got inside his little one-roomed wooden house, a huge smile on his face. One which I would describe, my dear readers, as 'shit-eating'.
Inside, he was hit with a wave of warmth from the fireplace, melting him to his core. The snowflakes that had stuck to his hair was starting to become water droplets, his heavy layers slightly damp. It made him feel like a puddle, slowly dripping his way over to the table where his best friend, Tommy sat, waiting for him to return. "Hey, Tubbo. How was work?" he asked, handing his friend a red blanket to warm him up. Just like he does every night. Tubbo likes routine.
Gladly, the teen boy took it, wrapping himself up in the striped fleece. "It was fine. I have to go somewhere top secret soon," the corner of his mouth quirked up. They both dug into their food, too hungry to continue the conversation at the moment. Food was hard to come by for the two of them, orphaned before they could remember. They weren't even sure if they were biologically brothers or it just felt like it. At least they found solitude and peace with each other.
Tubbo looked at his friend, taking in the dark circles and pale skin. He hasn't been outside in a really long time because of an incident a year ago, something spontaneous and mysterious. Suspicious. No matter who Tommy had touched, no matter if it was an accidental brush or a friendly hug or high five, they got incredibly sick within hours of said physical contact. The kind of extreme sick that brought hot flashes, shaking, and body aches. As well as life-threatening seizures. Everyone Tommy had touched all died within days, the youngest being only five years old. While nobody in the village had ever made any connections back to the boy, he had decided it was safer to just stay inside for the rest of his life. Nobody noticed, nobody cared. He was an orphan, after all. It was an unexplained curse he had but for some reason it didn't affect his best friend, Tubbo. And that was the only person Tommy needed in his life, anyway.
Isolation is always tough on a person and it is obvious on Tommy's face that his self-exile was doing numbers. "You know," Tubbo started, food still in his mouth, "You could come with me. We'll be journeying by ourselves for a few days and then we're picking someone else up. As long as you don't touch him, everything will be fine." He knew his idea would is not the best one but it was still a nice thought.
Tommy sighed, adjusting the green bandana around his neck a little. "What if I accidentally do touch the person?" he asked, his worry apparent on his face. Tubbo felt small, sympathetic pangs in his stomach as his heart yearned and he instantly grabbed the other boy's hand. Tommy's hands were a lot softer compared to Tubbo's
"Hey. We'll be extra careful. Gloves, long sleeves, the whole nine yards," Tubbo comforted him, offering more suggestions that could possibly work, "I don't want you to be in the house alone for that long. You might go insane." Though, he wouldn't doubt it if Tommy was insane to begin with, considering the fact that Tommy's eyes were darting across the room, running around like a rabbit from a wolf.
There was silence for a long time and Tubbo took that as an understandable no, until finally, the brown eyed boy spoke, a slight twinge of regret in his voice. "Fine. But don't say I didn't warn you," Tommy sat back in his chair, closing his eyes with a grimace.
Tubbo looked around their small house, a bed in one corner where they take turns sleeping in it every other night, a small little stove where Tommy cooks the food, and a pathetic bookshelf filled with next to nothing (mostly cobwebs at this point). Their lives were sad and boring. And Tommy desperately needs to have the sun touch his awfully pale skin. A journey would do them both some good.
Good indeed, dear reader.