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It took five people to restrain Tommy.
Tommy was a diplomat and barely eighteen years old on top of it; the soldiers hadn't expected him to put up much of a fight. Sucked for them that Tommy was the Dream's younger brother and best student; if there was something he knew better than how to weave a conversation, it was to pack a proper punch.
The first idiot to get near Tommy was rewarded with a broken nose and a fast-pass into a concussion. He spun around, his attention sharp everywhere all at once. Other soldiers weren't so rash to attack when they saw the glint of a dagger in his right hand's grip, but it was only a matter of time before somebody would get bold enough to test his reflexes. One Tommy against twenty trained men, all armed and packed in steel. The odds clearly weren't in his favor.
Tommy's family were not the most pliant of people when it came down to security; it took ages to convince them to put him at the head of this mission. Emperor Philza requested specifically for Tommy , undoubtedly after hearing the rumors of his accomplishments in the past half a year. Dream and Sam had been skeptical about the idea; they said that the whole thing 'smells shady', but Tommy was nothing if not stubborn. It was why he ended up as the head diplomat for the Essempi; his relentless energy and charming personality easily bent others to his wills. Now that a sea of blue was forcing him into a tight circle, all his guards either killed or captured, Tommy started to think his family might have had a point.
They all pounced at once. The swipe of Tommy's dagger might have caught someone's face, maybe a sleeve; with the sound of tearing fabric, the dagger was wrestled out of his hand and clattered on the floor. Still, Tommy fought; he punched and he kicked and wrenched like a wild animal, howling and screaming not unlike one. He imagined the soldiers wincing underneath their helmets, and it made him feel a little bit better when he burned through all his strength, breathing heavily and pinned to the floor by almost a dozen pairs of strong hands.
When Tommy heard the sound of clinking chains and something metal was locked around his wrists and ankles, he knew that he was absolutely and undoubtedly fucked.
***
Tommy wasn't as much brought into the throne room as he was hauled into it. One person grabbing him at each side, using the fact that Tommy’s arms and legs were rendered practically useless, dragged him all the way through a disgusting blue carpet.
Now, normally he had nothing against the color blue, but he saw too much of it in the past hour: in the guards' uniform, on the wallpapers, in the damn flags of the Antarctic Empire, seemingly scattered everywhere. Was the memory of those guys so bad that they needed to be reminded of their own national symbol every five seconds? Or did they just like to look at it very much?
Either way, ew . The Antarctic Empire clearly needed to reconsider their design choices. Some gold would've looked nice on those columns– and green! Green was definitely a good option.
Tommy's musings were interrupted when he was unceremoniously dropped at the bottom of a staircase. Which was, by the way, rude . He was a prince after all, a member of a royal family; his status called for a certain degree of respect. Tommy snapped his teeth at the hand holding him, but the soldier jumped out of his reach at the last moment.
"Fight me, cowards!" Tommy shouted, rattling his chains. The cowards, however, abandoned him and walked out of the throne room, the echo of a door closing ricocheting off the massive ceilings.
Silence.
A pointed cough.
The thing about throne rooms, they usually have, well, thrones . And Tommy knew exactly who he would find sitting on one as he slowly turned forward and tipped his head back.
"The infamous Emperor Philza and his whelps," Tommy drawled out. "I'd greet you the proper way, but I don't think I owe you any courtesy after the whole imprisoning thing."
The Emperor and his eldest son remained impassive, but Prince Wilbur grimaced and shuddered all over.
Good. He deserved that and so much more. It was Tommy who was forced to kneel at the thrones, chains linking his hands and feet together. If this was how he died, he would make sure that his voice was remembered for long after.
"Killing a diplomat, really?" Tommy said, using Puffy's best 'I'm not mad, just disappointed' expression. "That's a declaration of war. You might spill my blood here, but my family won't find peace until they've drained all of yours."
Maybe it wasn't the smartest thing to threaten the people who could get his neck severed with the snap of their fingers, but Tommy would rather die in prideful triumph than begging for mercy.
"My brothers will kill you all personally, everyone who dared to lay their hand on me," he continued, smiling with a grim sort of glee. "Shame that I won't be able to see your heads impaled on spikes."
Philza stood up. Against this own will, Tommy stiffened. This was it, then: he had drained the man's patience, and now the Antarctic Empire will up their kill count by one obnoxious prince.
Tommy didn't dare to move as Philza descended down the stairs and stopped in front of him; didn't even blink when a hand – surprisingly gentle, despite being too close to the fluttering vein in Tommy's neck – tilted his chin up.
"We've spent so much time looking for you," he murmured in awe, as if he was looking at some miracle and couldn't quite believe it. "After eighteen years, my son is finally home."
It took Tommy a few seconds to comprehend Philza's words.
When he finally did, he burst out laughing.
It was kind of awkward, honestly, when everyone else was so utterly quiet, and soon Tommy's laughter ceased into a coughing fit.
"Son, really ?" he raised a brow at Philza, shifting on his sore knees. "You sure you didn't hit your head on something, old man?"
Out of nowhere, a guard appeared to pull Tommy up to his feet. The chains around his ankles were removed, allowing him to straighten up without the risk of falling over. Tommy glanced cautiously at Philza, but the man just smiled at him with an unreadable look in his eyes.
"Come on," he said. "I want to show you something."
Tommy went without a fight. It seemed like he wasn't in any immediate danger right now, so wasting his energy on struggling would be just unwise.
Didn't stop him from glaring into Philza's defenseless back all the way, though. If Tommy angled his attack right, he could wrap the chains around the man's neck and choke him. The problem was, it would take a hot minute for any actual damage to occur, and between a dozen guards trailing them and the whole castle filled with Antarctic soldiers, chances of Tommy getting away with the Emperor's murder were very, very slim.
So for now he allowed Philza to lead him through long corridors and into a gallery of oil paintings. It was filled with portraits, mostly: emperors of the past, surrounded by flowers and crows, or depicted in different full-height poses.
Tommy was starting to see where this was going. He knew about the whole lost Antarctic prince thing from his research; it came with the job of a diplomat to know every topic he could or couldn't bring up in a conversation. Tommy was eighteen, and so would be the youngest of Philza's kids if he hadn't disappeared without a trace. Apparently that was enough for the Emperor to just assume that the neighboring queen's adoptive son and the missing Antarctic prince are the same person.
They came to a stop in front of a large portrait. Philza’s silence prompted Tommy to look at it closely. That was the Imperial family, for sure: a beautiful woman with cascading dark hair was sitting in the center of the painting; in her arms, illuminated by a halo of golden light, was a laughing baby. Her older sons, princes Wilbur and Technoblade, stood to both sides of the armchair, and behind them all…
“Why the fuck do you have my portrait?” Tommy frowned, cold suspicion coiling in his stomach. “You know that’s a whole new level of creepy, right?”
“That’s not you, Tommy,” Emperor Philza said. “It’s me, almost twenty years ago.”
It could be a coincidence, still. Plenty of people in the world had blond hair and blue eyes. But the longer Tommy looked, the more obvious their resemblance was; it was like staring in his own reflection, but motionless, which– wow, was just a wildly unsettling feeling.
Tommy knew he was adopted, but not even once had he assumed that his blood parents could be the rulers of the Antarctic Empire.
Puffy would have a lot of explaining to do once he got home.
Tommy sealed his lips. Philza, who scared Tommy shitless mere minutes ago, now seemed simply sad. Looking at him, almost crumbling under the weight of his own age and grief, Tommy could only feel pity. He wasn’t Philza’s son, and he was never going to be.
***
"Sunshine," Wilbur called. Tommy ignored him, like he did the ten previous times that he used a nickname on him.
Wilbur, however, was relentless. He leaned to poke Tommy's shoulder, and when the prince refused to acknowledge his presence, gently brushed a strand of hair out of his face.
"Sweetheart," he tried again. "Tommy. Toms."
" What ?" Tommy snapped, swirling around to face Wilbur.
"Why won't you look at me?" Wilbur had the audacity to look upset. "Did I do something wrong?"
"Oh, you want a fucking list ?" Tommy snarled. "You've kidnapped me, took me from my family and now are holding me in this castle against my will." Tommy raised his hands, a pair of wide iron cuffs binding his wrists together. "Open your eyes wider, Wilbur. I'm a prisoner here."
Emperor Philza said that the cuffs were just a precaution; if he behaved well, there wouldn't be a need for them at all.
Too bad that behaving wasn't on Tommy's agenda. If the Antarctic bitches wanted to keep him here, fine , he would make them regret it.
Ten days into his unwilling vacation to the Antarctic Empire, Tommy already earned himself an impressive track record. He fought guards whenever they dragged him from one room to the other, tried to climb out of any open window that he saw and screamed bloody murder at unholy ours of the night – all in all, behaved like an extremely bratty child.
"Well, I'm supposed to be your son, aren't I?" Tommy said, after the tenth time that Philza burst into the room, all ruffled and like he was seconds away from screaming himself. "Figured you'd want to catch up on my toddler years."
One time Tommy managed to spit some wine into a fireplace. Curtains nearby had caught on fire, and Technoblade personally dragged him out of the smoke-filled room. Tommy flashed all his teeth in a wide grin, just to piss him off a little further, and sneezed out some ash. Predictably, the cuffs stayed on.
Wilbur looked at him – a long, unblinking gaze – and for a moment Tommy thought that he was going to drop the nice act and finally start acting like the kidnapper he was supposed to be.
Then Wilbur produced a key out of his pocket and slid it into the cuffs. Tommy hadn't processed what happened until the pressure on his forearms disappeared and something fell on the floor in a heap of clinking metal.
The skin underneath Tommy's hands was chafed and raw from all the pulling during his feeble attempts to get the cuffs off. A bruise formed in the shape of a half-ring from where he tugged at them particularly harshly. Wilbur frowned at it while Tommy was busy rubbing some feeling back into his wrists.
Wilbur pulled out a round vial from somewhere and screwed the lid off. Based on the smell, it had to be some sort of a healing ointment.
"Here," he said, offering Tommy the vial in one hand. The other one was still holding the key. Noticing his glare, Wilbur handed Tommy both items, and without much thinking he threw the key out of an open window.
They watched it fall and disappear out of sight. Suddenly Wilbur picked up the cuffs from the floor. Tommy tensed, bringing his shoulders closer where he had been slouching on a couch, but Wilbur merely walked up closer to the window and threw them away too.
"See?" he crooned, returning to Tommy’s side. "You don't have to be a prisoner. Anything you want, you can simply ask for. Books from the library, a band of musicians to listen to or a theater play to watch…"
"I want to leave," Tommy said, eyes stubbornly fixed on his legs.
Wilbur sighed. "I'm afraid we can't allow that, darling."
"Again with the names," Tommy grumbled, crossing his arms defensively. "You act like a fucking creep ."
That didn't discourage Wilbur at all. He shifted closer to Tommy, practically pressing their shoulders together. Tommy liked to joke that Tubbo was the most clingy person in his life, but right now Wilbur 'I don't know what personal space is' Craft was coming dangerously close to yoinking that title for himself.
"I act like a good brother, like one I was supposed to be for the past eighteen years," Wilbur insisted. "You can't imagine how happy I was to have a baby brother before you were taken from us."
Tommy glared, shrinking into the far side of the couch. "Should've asked your parents for another sibling then."
Wilbur's face turned blank. "I couldn't," he said. "Mom died shortly after giving birth to you due to health complications."
"Rrright. "Tommy hated that he was feeling like the asshole here. Rubbing his forehead, he released a long, tired sigh.
"Look," he started. "I'm very sorry that this has happened to you, but I'm not your brother. Even if we are related by blood, my home isn't here. It's in the Esempi, with Puffy, Foolish, Dream, Drista and everybody else who I care about."
Wilbur pressed his lips together, his eyes turning sharper. "The people who have abandoned you?"
"The fuck do you mean?"
"Exactly what you think I do." Wilbur put an elbow on his knee, resting his chin on top of an outstretched hand. "Essempi has given you away willingly."
"I know that it isn't true." Tommy stood up.
"Have you not known that you're adopted?" Wilbur tilted his head further, his tone honey-sweet despite the poison in his words. "Never felt like you don't quite belong?"
"Wow, what an asshole thing to say," Tommy bristled, fisting his hands. "Blood isn't everything. You don't have to be related to love and care about one another unconditionally."
"It's been a week since you've arrived here, and there's not even a word from your so-called brothers." Wilbur threw his one leg over the other. "If that's what your vision of unconditional love is, I think I can do much better."
Tommy's shoulders hiked up to his ears. Would he be any less confident in his family, Wilbur's words could have stirred something in him. But they spent eighteen years showing him just how much he was loved, and it would take at least twice as long to shake that faith.
Tommy forced himself to relax and face Wilbur with a neutral expression. "What were you saying about a theater play?" he asked.
"You want to watch it together?" Wilbur perked up. All the ploy and dangerous looks immediately poofed out of existence. It was amusing to watch, in all honesty, how easy a snake could turn into an overjoyed puppy.
Tommy plopped on the couch, pointedly ignoring how Wilbur's arm immediately coiled around his shoulders. "Anything for you to shut up."
***
"Theseus."
Tommy swiveled around with a start.
" Fuckin – stop using that stupid name on me," he hissed.
Technoblade stood, arms crossed on his chest, completely unbothered by the fact that he nearly scared the living soul out of Tommy.
"But it's your name," he pointed out. "The one that our parents gave you upon your birth."
Tommy jutted out a finger into Techno's chest. "And I've been called Tommy for eighteen years after that, so stick that Greek shit up your ass and leave me alone."
Techno did not, at all, leave Tommy alone.
Quite the opposite, his red eyes glinted up with interest.
"So you do know about the myth of Theseus."
Tommy froze and scowled immediately after. Maybe he was interested in Greek mythology at some point, and maybe Theseus was one of his favorite tales, but nobody would ever catch him admitting that out loud.
"What are you even doing out here?" Tommy countered, tilting his chin up. "Don't you have more important things to do than stalk your prisoner in the gardens?"
"I'm watching my brother so he won't wander away on his own." In Techno's voice, wander away sounded more like 'attempt to escape the castle for the seventh time this week'. "Come on Tommy, let's go inside."
Techno made a motion to grab Tommy by the upper arm, but he dashed out of the way.
"I'm not trying to leave ," he whined. "I'm just fucking bored . In the Essempi I participate in the meetings and governance, and you guys don't even allow me that." Tommy grimaced. "If I have to spend one more day cooped up inside with Wilbur, I'm going to go insane."
"He does tend to drive people crazy," Techno mumbled. He sounded like he was thinking about something very deeply, and Tommy tried to use that short moment to eel away.
Techno grabbed Tommy by the back of his shirt and easily lifted him a few inches above the ground.
"Alright kid, do you wanna shoot some targets or somethin'?"
***
Tommy inspected the weapon all around before he finally decided to load an arrow in it.
"Do you know how to use a crossbow?" Techno asked.
Tommy raised the crossbow, pointed it blindly in the target's direction and released the shot. There was a characteristic sound of metal striking wood, and then a crow cawed in the distance.
Techno stared at him.
Tommy stared back.
"Bull's eye?" Tommy querried.
"Missed by an inch."
"Dammit." Tommy cursed and lowered the crossbow. "Would've been so epic if I had hit it though."
"You have a steady hand, and your aim is not so terrible." From Techno's mouth that could've been considered as a compliment. "Why waste your talents on verbal quarrels?"
Tommy thought about it for a moment, picking up another arrow and loading it into the flight deck.
"You're older than Wilbur, yeah?" Techno nodded. "You care about him and you wouldn't want him to be in any danger. I chose diplomacy because I could be useful for the Kingdom and at the same time not stress out my brothers too much. None of us anticipated me getting kidnapped by my estranged family, though."
"It's a legal loophole," Techno explained after a long pause. "Since you're an adult now, Queen Puffy no longer has custody of you, but you're still a direct descendant to the throne and can be taken under protection if the Emperor deems it necessary."
"So see it as necessary he did," Tommy muttered, pulling the crossbow string all the way back.
After an entire month away from home, he already knew that there had to be some sort of obstacle preventing his family from taking any action; learning what that obstacle was hadn't made him feel any better. If Techno was telling the truth – and he didn't have any reason to lie to Tommy right now – there was virtually nothing that Puffy could do to get him back without starting a war against the Antarctic Empire.
"Phil doesn't want to lose you again," Techno said, putting a hand on his shoulder.
Tommy raised his eyes. "But did he consider how I feel?"
Tommy yearned for home. He wanted to bake pies with Puffy, race through the town with Dream and his friends; he wanted to hang around Sam and Foolish's workshop, play pranks on Ranboo and chat with Tubbo over a game of cards.
Instead he was forced to live in this castle, among strangers, under constant supervision of his so-called family. Maybe Tommy wasn't in mortal danger, but the Imperial family treated him like some doll that they could dress up in pretty blues and coddle around. An entire life spent like this was a fate, arguably, worse than death.
Tommy staggered back – away from Techno's touch – and pointed the crossbow at him.
To his credit, Techno didn't even flinch. A vein bulged up on his neck, but if he was surprised he hid it behind a deadpan expression.
"Tommy, what are you doing?" he calmly asked.
"I could shoot you, you know," Tommy said, cold and unwavering in a way that he didn't know he easily capable of. "An arrow lodged in-between his real son's eyes should be enough to dispel Philza's delusions."
"Go on, then," Techno took a step closer, the barrel of the crossbow almost touching his forehead. "Shoot me."
Every passing second stretched into an entire year, and by the time that Tommy released a breath he felt like he had aged an infinity.
"You won't," Techno said. "Because that's not who you are."
"And who am I, Technoblade ?" Tommy asked, pressing his lips into a stubborn curve.
Techno put his hand on top of the crossbow. "Son of Emperor Philza and Empress Kristin of the Antarctic Empire, brother of Prince Wilbur," he said, pushing the weapon down. " My brother."
For a moment Tommy almost thought of giving in.
Then he jerked his crossbow up and pulled the trigger.
Techno jolted away on instinct, but Tommy's aim was true; the arrow nearly nicked his shoulder and sizzled past.
Tommy held the crossbow high even as Techno slowly raised a hand to graze his neck. Strands of soft pink hair rained down like flower petals, and what remained on his long elegant braid was now pinned to a nearby tree by Tommy's arrow.
"Dream and Foolish are my brothers, and my mother's name is Puffy," Tommy scowled, dropping the crossbow to the ground. "One day you three will get tired of waiting and realize that I'm not going to play along with your shitshow."
He spun around on his heels and strolled away.
"We've been waiting for eighteen years, Theseus," Techno called after him. "We can wait a little bit more."
***
Tommy didn't recognize Phil right away. From where he held a wicker basket, elegant robes swapped to simple overalls and a straw hat, the mighty ruler of the Antarctic Empire seemed to be no different than many other old men who liked to dig around in their gardens.
"Hey mate," Phil said, "Can you lend me a hand?"
It was more of a gentle offer than a hardwired command. Even three months after Tommy's initial confinement at the castle, Phil didn't push him too much. He still insisted that Tommy sat with them during meals, but that could be fun if he managed to bait Wilbur into a food battle.
Sooner or later Techno would get tired of getting hit by the missiles (read: grapes) and straight up plunge Wilbur or Tommy face-first into a pie, all the while Phil scolded them and yet failed to keep his eyes from wrinkling in amusement. They acted like he had always been part of their family; Tommy would hate it if he thought about it too much, but in the moment… in the moment it helped him forget the boredom and the howl of longing in his chest.
"Sure," Tommy shrugged. "What do I do?"
"You could pick the apples and toss them to me," Phil suggested. "Hold on, we should get a ladder–"
But Tommy had already grabbed a low-hanging branch and hauled himself up an apple tree. It took some effort and a ruined pant leg, but he was sitting high up, tilting his head at Phil with a cheeky grin.
Phil huffed, amused. "Or you could do that, sure. Just be careful with where you step on."
"Yeah, yeah," Tommy said, plucking a low-hanging fruit right above him. "Less speaking, more apples."
Phil had good reflexes, Tommy would give him that. Sometimes he would throw an apple intentionally too high or too low to watch the man struggle. One time Tommy angled it just right so that the fruit hit Phil square in the forehead.
"You little shit," he muttered. The expression on Phil's face was something worthy of a museum exhibition.
Tommy's snickers were cut short by a rotten apple exploding on his shoulder and spraying him in disgusting brown mush.
"Hey!" Tommy shouted, springing upright. "That's not fair!"
"You've started it, mate," Phil said, kneeling for another apple. Tommy screeched and tried to hide behind the trunk.
"This is bullying!" he bellowed as another overripe fruit flew past. "I'm being bullied by an old man!"
In his attempts to dodge the projective, Tommy hadn't realized that he stepped on a wrong branch until it cracked and sent him into a free fall. All it happened in less than a second, and he didn't hate the time to get scared before he was already lying on the ground, body throbbing with bruises-to-be.
"Are you alright?" Phil asked.
Phil's face hovered over him, scrunched in worry. He kept his hands close, but it was obvious that it was taking everything in him not to check Tommy over himself.
He scowled and rolled over, kicking up some dirt into Phil as his answer. Both their clothes were already thoroughly stained in rotten fruit flesh and mud, so they might as well embrace it.
Noon was at its highest, and the air smelled like summer. Sunlight filtering through the treetops blinded Tommy for a short moment. When the white sparks in his vision dissipated, he found a straw hat dropped on his face. Tommy lifted up the tip to peek at Phil as he set the basket down and seated himself nearby.
Silence was not something that Tommy usually tolerated; it bored him greatly, but now he found it oddly enjoyable to listen to the small sounds surging into crystal clarity. Tree branches rustled and knocked against each other, and Phil hummed a simple tune under his tone, braiding some threads of grass together absently. Tommy would never believe himself saying this, but Phil's presence… It was comfortable .
Tommy wiggled a bit closer, and when Phil didn't pay him any mind, moved some more. Before he knew it, his head was bumping into Phil's knee, the hat sliding off his face and to the side.
"Hi, mate," Phil smiled. Tommy couldn't stop himself from smiling sheepishly back. Sensing his embarrassment, Phil went back to braiding, except this time – on purpose or not – he reached out towards Tommy's hair.
"Can I..?"
Instead of an answer, Tommy leaned into the touch.
Normally, he would keep his hair short, but he hadn't had a chance to cut it for the last four months or so, so it grew long enough that Phil could weave the strands together around his ear. He pulled out a crow feather from somewhere and used it to secure the braid as a finishing touch. Tommy sat upright to carefully brush his fingers over the result, and then suddenly blurted out,
“Why did you give me away?”
Phil paused his humming.
“I didn’t,” he said, “Your mother did.”
Tommy opened his mouth and closed it again, unsure of what to say.
“Have you ever figured out why?" he asked quietly once he was able to regain control of his voice.
Phil picked up his hat and put it back on his head.
"I had all the time in the world to think about her reasons, mate."
Tommy turned his back on him, drawing his knees to his chest. "Maybe not enough, if you believe that kidnapping is the right way to introduce yourself to people," he mumbled.
"What other choice did I have?" Phil sounded sad. "I watched you for eighteen years, growing up at the hands of strangers. It wasn't easy, knowing how close you were and not being able to do anything about it."
An apple fell from a branch nearby. It rolled in the dirt and stopped a few feet away. The trees in the orchard grew so close to one another that Tommy wouldn't be able to tell which one the apple fell from if he hadn't watched it happen.
"You might be my father, but Puffy was the one who raised me the way I am," Tom said, standing up to his feet. "Now you're doing the same to me what your wife had done to you eighteen years ago. The difference is that I will actually be able to remember it this time."
Tommy turned to walk away, but Phil caught his wrist, and there was so much pleading desperation in his eyes that words turned into a lump in his throat.
"You're Kristin's last gift to this world, Tommy," Phil said, releasing his hand. "All I ask is to give me a chance."
***
Tommy had a habit of taking early morning (or late night, depending on how you like it) walks after particularly bad nightmares. He was strolling through the gardens, absently picking at a feather in his hair when he noticed the lack of steps behind him.
He looked around. The gardens were quiet this late into the night; nothing seemed to be amiss at the first glance, apart from the obvious lack of supervision. Upon further glance, the person who was supposed to guard him lay unconscious next to some bushes. Not that Tommy minded finally getting some privacy, but that raised the question of who had knocked them out.
A hand was clamped over his face. Tommy's whole body tensed to prepare for a fight; that was until he felt somebody leaning over his ear, saying,
"Hey Tommy."
The hold on him had gone slack. Tommy swiveled around and threw himself into his brother's embrace.
"Dream! You came!" And then right after, shoving him in the chest, "Why the fuck did you come?"
"Are you not happy to see me?" Dream sounded almost offended, but Tommy could feel it; the way relief flooded both of them, and when he lifted up his mask he was smiling. Tommy had missed his brother so much that he couldn't even stay mad at him for too long.
"Does Puffy know you're here?" he demanded. "Sapnap, George, anybody ?"
Dream winced. "Well–"
"You dumbass," Tommy grumbled, shoving his head underneath Dream's chin – getting a glimpse of that comfort he craved for three entire months.
They ought to hurry up now before anybody realized that an enemy prince had penetrated the castle, but Tommy couldn't do anything until he knew for sure.
"Is it true, then?" he asked quietly. "The Imperial family really is–"
Dream let out a heavy, abrupt exhale."Puffy is very sorry."
Tommy closed his eyes. Deep inside him, he knew that Phil was telling the truth from the very start. There were a lot of things that a person could easily fake; parental love, in Tommy's experience, wasn't one of them.
"I just wish she had told me sooner," Tommy sighed, pulling away. " Fuckin - alright, big man, what's the plan?"
Dream slid his mask down and broke into a sprint, tugging Tommy along.
"We get out of here, improvise all the way, and hope that those psychos are not gonna know any better. "
Tommy huffed out a laugh. "Shouldn't have expected anything less from you."
They took a sharp turn around a wall, and came to an abrupt stop when a netherite axe was raised against them, shimmering purple with enchantments.
"Not so fast," Techno growled.
The family seemed to be complete. Phil, or more like Emperor Philza, pressed a firm step out of a line of soldiers, Wilbur frowning to his right, biting on his lip in worry. Dream could take on a dozen guards, on Emperor Philza, maybe – but not when Technoblade was here, too, looking like he was one wrong word or move away from cutting his head off.
"Tommy, get away from him," Phil said coolly. Never have ever he sounded more sinister.
Tommy made no move to leave Dream. Instead he pressed their shoulders together; if somebody tried to shoot or swipe a weapon at his brother they would inevitably risk harming him too.
"Tommy please ." That was Wilbur's voice, and in a different situation Tommy might have given him a reassuring look, but all he saw right now was the purple light, the way it was reflected on Dream's mask and the Emperor's face equally.
"Father," Tommy said, and Phil stilled. " Dad , I want to stay."
"No– Tommy, what are you doing?" It was Dream's turn to gape in surprise when Tommy wrestled his hand out of his brother’s grip and stepped forward.
What I do the best , Tommy thought. Negotiating .
"Dream's not at any fault for wanting to see me safe," he stated calmly, looking each person in the face: Phil, Techno... "But I'm not in any danger." Tommy made eye contact with Wilbur. "You wouldn't hurt me, would you?"
Wilbur tightened his lips. "Never," he swore.
"Then I propose to you a peaceful solution," Tommy said. "Dream returns home, and then you let me visit the Essempi, at least a month per season. No unnecessary supervision, no more belittling." Tommy fixed Techno with a determined sort of frown. "I'm Prince Tommy of Essempi and Prince Theseus of the Antarctic Empire, and I want to be treated accordingly."
"How can we trust you to come back?" Phil asked, with a brittle sort of hesitance, like he was at the top of a weighing scale and any word was a gamble that would tip it to either side.
Tommy closed the distance between him and the three figures dressed in blue. He was standing right in front of them now, and the world had gone so quiet that they could hear the way breathe stuttered in his throat. Tommy couldn't have lied at that moment if he wanted to.
"Give me a chance." He tugged down the feather from his braid and pinched it between his fingers, pressing it gently against his fluttering heart. "I'm not ready to call you my family just yet… but one day, I think I will be."