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Tommy clutched onto his knife and fork as he stared at his food. He knew he should eat. He knew he was hungry, but all he could focus on currently was the pain in his arm. He focused on his posture, and he kept his eyes on his food, though he wasn’t the only one not eating.
Dream looked on.
His father’s ever-still mask seemed to stare into Tommy’s soul. He wasn’t even eating. Tommy sometimes wondered whether his father ate at all, as he never seemed to take the mask off. Not for anything, Tommy wasn’t sure if there was a person alive who had seen his father’s face.
Dream seemed to bathe in the awkward silence that filled their dining room so often, while his son squirmed in it. Tommy had never liked silence.
When he was younger, naive, he would have started a conversation, or at least attempted to. Now though? He was older, he knew better. He knew that starting a conversation with his father only ever ended in another mark across his arm.
King Dream had reigned over the nation of Essempi for longer than most of the nation had lived, but Tommy, or Thomas, was his first heir. Most had assumed Dream to be immortal before Tommy was born.
The words that had echoed through the nation on the day of Tommy’s birth rattled through the minds of most Essempians to this day.
The words, “I won’t live forever,” had shocked the nation to its very core, which was why Dream had waited so long to have his heir in the first place.
“Soooo,” Tommy pushed his plate back a bit, maybe he was still young and naive, “How was your day, Dad?”
Dream finally seemed to phase back into reality, mask tilting to show he had heard his son's voice, “It was fine.”
“Great…” Tommy’s voice trailed off as he rested his utensils back down, “May I retire to my quarters?” He asked as he stood up.
Dream’s mask simply nodded and Tommy left the dining room.
Tommy slipped out, and ran up the stairs, hoping to the gods that he hadn’t been too late this time. If he got to his quarters early enough into what was meant to be his dining hour he would be able to catch one of the servants cleaning his room, and if he was really lucky, it would be William, oh sorry, Wilbur, or even Toby- Tubbo.
Tommy’s room was at the top of one of the tallest towers in the palace. It was almost as if Dream wanted him as out of view as possible. Tommy didn’t mind though, he had never had a good relationship with the man and that wasn’t going to start any time soon.
Finally, Tommy burst through the door to his quarters, “Wilby!!”
Only to be met by an exasperated sigh as the servant turned around to face the prince, “Yes my prince?”
Tommy countered with an unamused expression, “Oh come on now, dad isn’t with me you don’t have to be all, yes my prince, with me,” As he mimicked Wilbur’s words, he batted his eyes with what was meant to be fake innocence or something.
Wilbur just sighed again and ran his hands through his dark curls, “Just let me finish sweeping and then I’ll play you a song.”
Tommy jumped onto his bed, happily nodding as he watched Will sweep up his room.
Soon enough Wilbur was finished, and Tommy happily fetched the guitar Dream thought he was learning how to play. Little did he know, Tommy had only wanted the guitar so that Wilbur would be able to play him some of the songs he had been writing.
Of course, Dream didn’t know about any of Tommy’s friendships with the castle staff, as, “befriending servants is unbecoming of a young prince.”
Not that Tommy cared what was becoming of a prince in the first place. But he’d heard the rumors, everyone had. He worried about what his father would do if he found out about the friends he had made.
Surely his father would do nothing, but one couldn’t be too careful. Not with Dream.
Wilbur took the guitar from Tommy’s hands and pulled up a chair, “Get into bed, and then I’ll start,” Tommy obliged, pushing himself under the covers of his four-poster bed and watching Wilbur with wide eyes as he waited.
Will began to strum a pattern on the guitar. He messed up a couple of times before he got it right, but once he got into the rhythm of it he began the lyrics, his voice soft, “That cute bomber jacket you’ve had since sixth form,” Tommy had no idea what the lyrics meant, he very rarely did, but Wilbur’s voice was soft, “adorned with patches of places you’ve been,” As Wilbur sung and played, Tommy started to fall asleep, it was more often than not that this was how he fell asleep, “Is nothing on my khaki coat I got…”
He didn’t catch the next line, but Wilbur kept singing. Tommy fell into a soft peaceful sleep.
Tommy woke up alone.
He often did, and he hated it.
The rest of the palace was abuzz with activity as always, but Tommy’s room was always silent. The silence was deafening sometimes. Tommy had lost count of the times he had been so desperate to get away from it he had sought out his father.
That was always worse though.
He didn’t understand why he never seemed to learn his lesson.
That morning was harder than most though. Tommy wasn’t entirely sure why. He pulled himself up and out of bed with a groan and began to pull on his day clothes.
He didn’t notice WIlbur’s chair tipped over on the ground.
Tommy went about his day normally.
Training with Technoblade was hard.
Tutoring with Philza was boring.
A couple of hours to himself was worse.
Etiquette lessons with his father were…
And dinner was awkward.
“May I retire to my quarters?”
Tommy’s food remained untouched.
Dream nodded.
Tommy sprinted up the stairs. He was earlier than usual, but Wilbur wasn’t there. There wasn’t anyone there.
Tommy stripped down to his night clothes and fell into bed. He hugged himself tight, not bothering to go under the covers. The silence was deafening.
It was harder to get up the next morning. Still, he managed, forcing himself out of bed and getting ready for the day. He went through his normal routine.
His whole body ached from his etiquette lesson. The red that trickled down his arm reminded him to change the bandages when he went to bed tonight but right now there was something more important pressing on his mind.
“Dad…” Tommy started. For once he was playing with his food, not just leaving it untouched, like his father was. Dream’s mask tilted up and his gaze seemed to penetrate Tommy’s skull, “Do…” Tommy took a breath, “do you know what happened to William?”
Dream wasn’t physically phased by the question, but Tommy swore he felt something change. He felt the world tighten around him as the seconds of silence, deafening silence trickled on. Tommy felt his own heartbeat. He felt every movement in that room, heard every sound and there was nothing.. Dream seemed to be getting further and further away until suddenly, everything was normal.
“I took care of him.”
“W-what…?”
“I took care of him.” Dream repeated, looking back down at his food.
Tommy’s hands were shaking, far more than they ever had during his lessons, far more than they ever had during previous dinners, public events or anything. It took everything in him not to burst out sobbing right then and there but somehow he held himself together just long enough to mutter another question.
He forced himself to stand, to look his father in his eyes… in the mask’s eyes, and whispered his question, “W-why…?”
Tommy could feel Dream’s smile. He couldn’t hear any sort of laugh, nor did his father's mask slip, but Tommy could feel the man’s smile as he stood. Dream walked over, hand tracing the table as he did so,
“Oh come now Tommy, befriending servants isn’t becoming of a young prince,” Dream’s voice was sweet, a cold contrast to his usual voice, but there was still an element of inhumane calculation in it, that’s how Tommy could tell it was Dream’s. The man's hands cupped Tommy’s face, “Did you really think I was going to let you get away with it as long as I did?”
“He- He’s gone…?” The tears finally began to leak from Tommy's eyes, and Dream pulled his son close, “I’m alone…?”
“Oh little bug no…” Dream caressed Tommy’s hair as the boy sobbed into his chest.
“You have me.”