Archive of Our Own ^beta

Kings and queens are symbols of power, of strength, of success, of safety, of freedom.

They give people hope for a better life.

People look up to them and worship them.

They are symbols.

The King of Saoirse is William Roisin Súiche, better known as King Wilbur to the citizens of Saoirse.

He is the epitome of strength and power. He has a beautiful way with words, wielding the ability to mold his words like the nation’s deadliest weapon.

He speaks with a certain conviction that convinces people that he knows what is happening, that he holds enough power to protect them, that he has the knowledge to keep their nation afloat.

And people believe his words. They put full faith into their king and in return they reap the benefits.

Saoirse thrives under his rule. It’s obvious to anyone who looks at the kingdom. They are the leading exporter of caryopsis crops and currently control trade with a few of the neighboring nations.

They are powerful and rich and, under most circumstances, thriving.

Everyone loves their king; he has helped the country become the most prosperous they have ever been.

They love him and they adore his younger brother, Tommy, even if they don’t see him much. Saoirse is a kingdom of love and trust.

Tommy is young, he’s smart, and, for the most part, he avoids the spotlight. 

Most assume it’s because he wants to be able to live without the pressure, and it’s a fairly correct assumption, but there is more to it.

Tommy is not Wilbur’s brother. This is a national secret, and it will stay a national secret.

Now, this doesn’t have the implications that many would think it does. In fact, it might have worse implications than many would assume.

Wilbur and Tommy are not related, but, even worse, Wilbur is not the King of Saoirse.

The rightful king is Tommy.

Full name Thomas Auryn Súiche is the rightful heir to the throne and the actual ruler of Saoirse.

Wilbur’s last name is not Súiche, it is Óir, and he is not the king, but rather a puppet.

This makes it seem worse than it is, but it is the reality of the situation.

Wilbur’s father was a longtime advisor for Tommy’s father and the former king. The former king took time to conceal Tommy from the world's eye and, thus, made it possible that nobody knew what the prince’s name was or what he looked like.

Tommy’s father did this with the intention of giving Tommy the ability to live a fairly normal childhood before he had to step up and be a king, and it generally worked, however, this also served to assist this situation now.

Tommy’s father died when he was fifteen, almost sixteen, and, therefore, left a country to a boy. The country knew of his father’s death, they mourned the loss of their beloved king, and this mourning period gave the advisors and Tommy time to formulate a plan.

In normal circumstances a regent would be titled until Tommy was of age, but the advisors seemed against that, worried about how the stability of the country would handle that.

Wilbur had enough similarities to Tommy, he was raised to be an advisor, and even though he did not have the training to be a king, he could easily play the part.

So it was settled, Wilbur would be formally announced as the new king and Tommy would run the show.

Tommy didn’t necessarily agree, but it was a bulletproof plan, or so they thought. Tommy was too young for the country to put faith in him, he had yet to grow into himself enough. 

No country would trust the teenage boy to run it.

However, they would trust the boy in his twenties.

Tommy had the abilities to run a country, he knew how and what to do, he had been trained for it.

Wilbur had not, but he could look and play the part.

And so after just under a year of mourning and loss, the castle opened its doors and crowned William Roisin Súiche as the new king.

The citizens fell in love with him, they adored his personality and adored his ruling style. They praised him and the way he scooped the country up in a time of uncertainty and proved that they could only improve.

Wilbur didn’t tell them that Tommy existed, not for a long while. He tried to keep Tommy in the shadows for as long as possible until people began to question his presence at balls held at the castle.

It was only then that he announced that Tommy was his younger brother.

The people of Saoirse fell in love with Tommy as quickly as they fell in love with Wilbur. 

The best part? They didn’t suspect a thing.

By keeping Tommy a secret, his father allowed him the ability to rule without being the face of the country.

He was able to prove his worth without the prejudice that he would have faced had he been crowned at the measly age of sixteen, almost seventeen.

It was great for those early years, Tommy liked being able to fulfill his role without the pressure. However, a year passed then the topic of how Tommy would take over came into question.

He was eighteen and more than fit to rule the country, as proven by the year of prosperity that they just had, but the advisors thought it best that Wilbur stay the pseudo king.

They didn’t want to risk losing the country's trust by revealing this secret, and so they didn’t.

Tommy loves Wilbur just as much as the citizens do, they practically grew up together in the ornate halls of the palace, but he also loves being king.

He hates the lying that comes with this. At the time it was fine, it was temporary, it was just to give the people something to put faith in after his father’s death.

Now, it was more than that.

Nobody will ever know that he was the real king of their beloved country, they would never know his name after that title, they would never know all that he accomplished.

It hurts in a way, that all of his work is credited to someone who pretends to enact laws and speaks to the citizens with words that Tommy tells him to.

He just— Tommy just wants to fill the shoes of his father, to do what he was always meant to do.

King Thomas Auryn Súiche would never be, not unless he could prove that the country would trust his abilities.

He would have to prove that he has always been capable, that using Wilbur to gain trust was a mistake made in a hard time, that he is good enough to be the king that he was raised to be.

Maybe this is where he makes his first mistake, he’s still young and his decision making skills can be rash when he’s emotional.

It’s the downside of his age. He’s irrational at times when he needs to be anything but that.

It’s late one night, he wrote another address for the country, trading agreements and semantics like that, but it got him thinking.

In the candle lit room where he resides, he began to form the inklings of a plan.

He sneaks out of his room, nodding at the guard that stands at his door before heading off to the library.

This isn’t an odd occurrence, not for him. He has always had trouble sleeping and the guards all know it, so they let him come and go, trusting him enough to let him free.

His shoes click against the tile floors, echoing throughout the empty halls. He doesn’t bother muffling his footsteps in any way, everyone knows not to bother him.

Tommy moves on pure instinct, he knows the castle like the back of his hand. Every entrance and exit and hidden hallways are ingrained in his brain.

He could walk through every hallway with his eyes closed with complete and utter confidence.

He turns right, not bothering to admire the portraits on the wall or the grandiose murals on the ceilings.

Tommy has no care for the gaudy decor that has decorated his whole life, the lavish lifestyle doesn’t phase him.

Maybe he will seem ungrateful, but how can he pause and appreciate what he's always known? How can he recognize the beauty of the elegantly decorated hallways that he has roamed since the moment he could walk?

Tommy makes a left and then pushes through the grandiose doors that mark the entrance to the library.

The smell of books hits him first. It’s that distinguishable scent of weathered paper that finds a home in every library and bookstore.

The second thing that he takes note of is the man that stands behind a counter to the right of the doors. Tommy has never spoken to the librarian before, and he quite frankly doesn’t plan to now either.

He pushes forward, diving into the abyss of books that the palace keeps hidden. They have almost every book of importance; newspapers and banned books and historical journals line the shelves that span across the large room.

It would be easy to lose yourself in the library, to forget what you are looking for and become enamored by the stories that these shelves contain.

Tommy has a purpose being here though. 

He moves towards the back of the library, finding the stacks upon stacks of newspapers that the palace keeps.

Tommy is aware that there are a few mercenaries that work in the kingdom, many of which have gained a reputation among the people and the papers.

He flips through the stack, searching for a headline that speaks of some of them. Under normal circumstances, Tommy would frown upon these people, they are criminals under multiple laws, but right now he needs them.

Paper after paper is flipped until he comes upon one that holds promise.

The Midnight Prophecies strike once again, taking out a well known businessman in the local town of Aigéan Gorm. 

Tommy smiles. This is perfect.

His eyes scan the paper, reading the article to figure out as much information as possible.

He determines that they are infamous in Saoirse for the heists, assassinations, and kidnappings that they have pulled off.

The paper discusses some of their other operations that were successful and as he reads Tommy determines that it has to be them.

The real issue is going to be figuring out how to get in contact with them.

Tommy sits in the empty library, the flickering light casting over him as he stares at the newspapers that surround him.

He’ll have to go into town. It’s the only option. He hasn’t really made a public appearance since he was a kid and most people don’t really know what he looks like.

He goes into town at least once every two months, just to be among his people and listen to their complaints when they aren’t trying to be formal and kind.

He likes the raw feedback that they don’t know they are giving him.

It allows him to lead in a way that is best for the people.

It wouldn’t be out of normal for him to request to go to the town and because most people don’t know his face, only his name, it means that generally he doesn’t need a guard with him.

So, he makes the plan. Tomorrow he will tell a guard that he wishes to go to town, they’ll inform the head of the palace guards and if approved Tommy will be able to go.

A while back—back when he first started doing these outings—Tommy had a seamstress make him some commoner clothes.

It wouldn’t have been wise to go into the public in his formal wear: that would have been the fastest way for people to figure him out and that is the last thing Tommy wants.

Since then, Tommy has gathered quite a collection of informal clothes that almost make him smile at how normal he feels when he wears them.

As he gathers up the newspapers, putting them back how they should be, Tommy begins to think of places he could go to ask about them.

He can’t draw suspicion by asking in the streets, so the best bet is some kind of sketchy pub or something. Those are the best places to find out about criminal activities, at least, that is what Tommy hopes.

He places the newspapers back in their little box before standing.

He wanders through the library for a bit, just collecting all of his thoughts, confirming that he actually wants to do this, just thinking it all through.

He doesn’t want to hurt Wilbur, but also he doesn’t want to live this lie anymore. He hates deceiving the loyal people of Saoirse and this seems like the only way he can reveal the truth.

It’s the only option.

Right?

Tommy shakes his head as he makes his way back towards the front of the library, there is no room for doubt in this plan.

His footsteps sound softly through the room as he walks, reminding him that there are others in the room as well.

He glances at the librarian, casting him a gentle smile.

“Have a good night.”

The librarian looks at him, “You too.”

Tommy pushes out the doors, listening to the way they slam behind him.

He likes small interactions like that, ones where they just talk, they don’t address him as prince or your highness or any of those other formalities and titles, he’s just a person.

And yeah, maybe this plan will change that for the citizens, but at least he will be accredited for what he has done for the kingdom.

He just wants people to acknowledge that he is important, that he isn’t just the cute younger brother. He’s so much more and nobody knows it.

Tommy walks through the halls, brushing past guards as he makes his way back to his room. He walks with an air of confidence that follows him and taints the air.

Everyone knows the power he holds in the tower, it’s what makes life so easy. No one will question what he does, he has too much power for dumb questions. 

Nobody questions who they think is the prince.

His breaths escape his mouth and join the quaint symphony of noise that fills the quiet halls. It’s the pounding of his footsteps, the harshness of his breaths, the rattling of his clothing that create this melody for the night to soak up.

He nods at the guard that stands by his room, smiling at him before slipping inside.

His thoughts sound louder in his room.

He settles into his desk, staring at the work that he had left behind. His eyes scan his work, scanning line upon line of his letter for the nearby kingdoms. 

It has to be perfect, he cannot afford to not secure this new trade deal.

Eventually the lines begin to blur together, and Tommy decides that it is time for him to head to bed.

He glances at the clock that ticks on his wall.

It’s quite late, later than he had wished to stay up.

He sighs, blowing out the candle that sits on his desk before making his way into his bathroom.

Tommy turns on his sink, hands gripping the marble countertop as he stares at his reflection.

He looks young, but his eyes hold the weight of a whole nation, they hold the burden of his role, they hold the hurt that accompanies it.

Physically he is young, but mentally he has aged far faster than he should have.

Tommy reaches down, splashing water on his face, relishing in the cool water that hits his face and cools him down.

Tommy wipes the water off his face, staring at the way his eyes seem so dull. It’s almost sad, but it was always meant to be.

He shuts the water off, wandering back into his bedroom. He kicks off his shoes and strips himself of the clothes that he had to put on that day.

He never understood why they made him wear nice clothes when nobody even knew he was king. If someone saw him it’s not like he is important to them anyways.

There are so few people in the castle who know that he is actually making the decisions, most of them believe that Wilbur was crowned per his fathers wish.

That was not the case, but Tommy will let them believe that for now. He’s in no place to tell them otherwise, not when he can’t even tell his own citizens otherwise.

Tommy throws on some pajamas, he doesn’t really pay attention to them, but he knows they had to have been expensive.

Everything is expensive here.

He moves around his room, flicking off lights and blowing out candles until the room is only illuminated by the moon that rises slowly into the night sky.

Tommy walks over to his bed, feet padding softly against the plush carpet that lies on the floor. Sliding into his bed and under the covers, Tommy stares up at the ceiling.

He thinks about his plan, about his unrest, about all the possibilities.

He knows it’s stupid, he knows Wilbur did nothing wrong, but Tommy can’t help but think that this is the only way.

Tommy closes his eyes, letting the darkness wash over him until slumber pulls him under its arm.

Tomorrow is the start of a new day.

He can only hope that he isn’t making a mistake.

♔ ♔ ♔

Tommy walks through the crowd, pushing his way through bustling bodies of unsuspecting people.

It’s midday right now, the sun shines high in the sky, casting rays of heat onto everyone in the square, including Tommy.

Tommy wipes sweat off of his forehead with the back of his hand, continuing to weave his way in between people.

He makes his way towards the edge, closer to the shops and where less people are likely to get in his way.

Once he reaches the edge, Tommy pushes his way into a shop nearby, if only to get away for a single moment.

The moment the door opens, he relishes in the fan that blows the air around the shop, giving him a break from the unrelenting heat.

He looks around the store, a curious look on his face as he tries to determine what they sell.

From what he can see it appears to be some kind of pawn shop.

Tommy smiles as he catches a glimpse of some tiny figurines before turning around.

He catches sight of someone behind the counter, leaning their weight forward as they stare directly at him.

Tommy tilts his head, taking in the man that stands before him.

He has blonde hair that falls short and his clothes are incredibly plain. He appears to be fairly strong, but that isn’t an observation that Tommy can make based on his looks, it’s more on the way he acts.

He has a smile on his face that doesn’t feel kind, but it doesn’t feel malicious either. It’s just…off.

His whole vibe is off.

Tommy turns around again, ignoring the way the man’s eyes sear into the back of his like a brand on a steer.

Tommy walks around the store slowly, carefully considering everything they have to offer before he comes upon a knife. It’s a beautiful knife, the handle has a gorgeous attention to detail and the blade looks nearly perfect.

Tommy picks it up, weighing it in his hand, flipping it a few times to get a feel for it. It’s quite a nice weapon.

He flips it over, looking at the tag that hangs from it. Not a bad price, only 20 sonas, which considering the design and the craftsmanship seems quite cheap.

Tommy decides that he’ll buy it. He doesn’t get to fight often, that’s what the guards are for, but he has had opportunities to train over his years in the palace and has gotten pretty good with a knife.

It’s good to have a weapon on you, especially one you can use. Tommy knows this better than anyone, assasination attempts on every member of the royal family and their board of advisors has not been a small number.

He turns around with the intent to head to the counter but before he can a voice sounds from behind him.

“Do you like the knife?”

Tommy spins on his heel, knife clutched in his hand as he stares at the man.

“It’s a nice knife.”

Tommy doesn’t quite care for this conversation, but the man’s accent lilts in an odd way, like he isn’t necessarily from this area. 

Maybe he’s from farther up north?

“Yeah, she’s a beauty.”

Tommy nods slowly, “Yeah, I was planning on buying it.”

The man tilts his head, “Can you afford it?”

Tommy snorts, “Yeah, I can.”

Another odd thing about this man is that he is so open with his expressions. A lot of people in the whole kingdom of Saoirse, but especially Landa de Ríoch, the town surrounding the palace, wear masks.

There isn’t necessarily a reason, but Tommy believes it started years ago when the pollution in the air reached an all time high, causing citizens to wear masks to preserve their health. 

Over time the masks became quite elaborate and personal as they became a part of people’s everyday wear.

Tommy himself dons a mask that reaches over his mouth in a swirl of red vines with gold accents. It shows some wealth, but it isn’t ornate enough to draw suspicions.

This man, however, has no mask, everything about him is available for Tommy to analyze. It’s just another odd thing about him.

The man shrugs, “Is that all you plan to get?”

Tommy shrugs, “I guess.”

The man seems like he wants Tommy out of the store, and Tommy would like to get out as well.

The man is weird. He is getting just bad vibes from him.

The man walks back behind the counter, opening up the register to insert the money.

As Tommy is digging through his little pouch for the money, Tommy asks the man a question.

“Are you from around here?”

Tommy pulls out the money, sliding it across the counter.

The man shrugs as he grabs the money to count, “Just moved here and opened up this shop.”

Tommy hums, “That’s impressive.”

“Yeah, I guess it is.”

The man finishes counting the money, putting it into the till.

Tommy smiles, “Thanks.”

The many nods, “Thanks for the business.”

It’s only when Tommy leaves and he glances up at the sign that he sees the store name.

In big bold letters, Cinniúint, is sprawled across the front of the store.

Tommy thinks it’s an odd choice, most stores go for the common language rather than the old language of Saoirse that most of the country is named after.

It’s a nice touch though, Tommy won’t lie.

He always enjoyed the sound of the old language, he was required to learn it as a child, but not many speak it now.

His store name translates to fate.

It’s an interesting name, it intrigues Tommy, but maybe that’s the point.

Tommy walks away, tucking the knife into a sheath on his belt. It normally stays empty, but right now Tommy is thankful that he has it.

It’s better than shoving the knife in his boot.

Tommy makes his way down the side of the crowd, searching for a place that will have information about what he wants.

His eyes scan the businesses, but more importantly he scans the alleys and the rundown buildings that get overlooked. 

Tommy makes his way further from the castle, heading towards the poorer part of the town. He watches the way the buildings fade from pristine, to cracked, to a borderline safety hazard.

This is where he needs to be.

He slinks through the streets, noting how it’s less crowded, but the people that linger have an air around them.

Tommy knows better than to mess with them.

Tommy finds a pub, it’s a hidden little thing.

It’s exactly what he was looking for.

Tommy walks in, ensuring that he has an air of confidence around him. His knife is visible enough to pose a threat to those around him and he walks with enough confidence that scares people away from him.

He settles into a stool near the front, waving the bartender away in order to just observe everyone.

He has to find who he thinks would have information.

Most of the people here just seem drunk and broke, but there’s one person in the corner, tucked into a dingy booth.

There’s no particular reason that he stands out, but his clothes are slightly nicer and he has that glint to his eyes. 

He’s the one.

Tommy stands from his barstool, brushing himself off slightly before walking towards the man.

The man swirls a drink in one hand, staring at the deep honey color of the liquor.

Tommy slides into the booth, hiding his grimace at the state of the place that he is finding himself in.

The man glances up at Tommy, giving him a quizzical look. Now that they are closer Tommy can see his facial features, he has a beautifully crafted navy and gold mask that covers the bottom of his face, and a noticeable scar that spans from his eyebrow, across one eye, and down to be hidden behind his mask.

“Who are you?”

Tommy smiles, though the man won’t be able to see it, “I’m Theseus. Who are you?”

The man takes a sip of his drink, lifting his mask just enough to drink, if Tommy had to guess he would assume it was some kind of whiskey, “Why do you want to know?”

Tommy shrugs, “You look like you would have the information I’m searching for.”

The man looks up with a quirk of his eyebrow and a dangerous glint in his eye, “And what might that be?”

“How can I get in contact with the Midnight Prophecies? I have a business inquiry.”

The man hums, “What makes you think I would know?”

“I just know you do.”

The man swirls his drinks, “Maybe I do, but it will cost you.”

Tommy looks at him, “How much?”

The man looks shocked, “100 sonas.”

Tommy hums, “I’ll do 50.”

The man shakes his head, “90.”

“60.”

“80.”

“70.”

“75.”

“Deal.”

The man nods, “Hand over the money and then I’ll give you what you want to know.”

Tommy shakes his head, “I’ll put the money on the table, prove I can pay, and then give you the money after you prove you have what I’m searching for.”

The man looks at him, evaluating if Tommy is planning to rip him off.

“Fine.”

Tommy pulls out 75 sonas, placing them on the table in view of both of them.

“Now, spill.”

The man leans forward, voice lowering to a hushed whisper.

“Closer to the castle, there is going to be a store.”

Tommy nods.

“When you enter, you’ll ask if they have any seamróg órga available. They’ll know what you’re there for.”

“What store?”

“It’s called Cinniúint. It means—“

“Fate. I know the place. Thanks.”

Tommy slides the money towards the man.

“Be careful Theseus, don’t mess with what you don’t know.”

Tommy nods, “Thanks for the advice.”

He stands and leaves, the man’s words echoing in his head. He has to go back and ask if they have any seamróg órga. It’s an odd code word, translating to golden shamrock, but Tommy won’t judge them.

He walks out of the pub, looking at the way the sun has begun to set, casting a golden glow over the town.

Tommy pushes his way back towards the main road.

Tommy walks along the cracked cobblestone, making his way back to that store he was in earlier. The knife feels heavier in his pocket as he walks.

His heart heaves and his chest feels constricted, he’s going to do this.

Tommy breathes as the buildings become nicer and nicer. He sees the crowd building as the night markets set up.

Tommy ignores that though, he has to make it back to that store.

Tommy spots the sign in the distance, yet he can’t tell if he is excited or scared.

Maybe he is both.

Either way, Tommy makes his way to the store, hand resting on the door handle as he collects his thoughts.

Tommy pushes through.

The fan still whirs above him, the store is still cluttered, the little figurines still stand there, except now this store is tainted with knowledge of something deeper.

The man behind the counter perks up, giving a pointed look to Tommy.

“You’re back?”

Tommy shrugs, “I had a question.”

Tommy walks closer to the counter as the man nods, “Go ahead.”

“Do you have any seamróg órga in stock?”

The man quirks an eyebrow up at the question, “What’s your name kid?”

“Theseus. And you?”

“Philza.”

Tommy nods.

“So?”

The man, Philza, tilts his head, “Follow me.”

Tommy nods, watching as Philza stands up before heading to a door behind the counter.

Tommy walks around the counter following the man into the door.

Behind the door is a set of cobble stairs that lead down, Tommy can’t see what is at the bottom of the stairs.

That means he has to trust Philza.

He walks in first, looking back at Tommy. Tommy nods and then steps in. The door slams shut behind him and they are encased in darkness.

Philza reaches up and pushes a button, casting the room in light.

Tommy blinks, this is way fancier than he was ready for.

They descend down the stairs, Tommy ignores the way his heart pounds.

This is probably the dumbest thing he has ever done.

When they reach the bottom, Philza takes an immediate right and Tommy just follows him blindly.

This is so dumb.

They take a left and then go straight through two intersections and then turn right before entering the second door on the left.

Tommy can only wonder how they managed to get all of this land underground and develop it like this. He would also like to know what it is for.

But then again, he is sure that there is a whole underground market that the palace is unaware of and that this is probably one of the markets.

Tommy decides he won’t bust them for this, it would be kind of rude to use their services and also report their whole get up.

The room they enter is small, it has a table in the middle and some art on the walls. It’s just kind of bland.

Tommy walks up to one of the pieces, taking in the paint and the craftsmanship of it.

“Do you like the painting?”

Tommy hums, “It’s just odd that you have art down here.”

Philza shrugs, “I enjoy art.”

Tommy moves to sit in one of the chairs, there’s no particular reason for this, but he wants them to sit.

Philza sits as well and Tommy smiles under his mask.

“So, you’re wanting business with the Midnight Prophecies?”

Tommy nods, “Yeah, I have a job that I need done.”

Philza sits back, “You know they don’t just take any jobs.”

“I’m willing to pay a large sum of money to get this one accomplished.”

“What’s the job?”

Tommy tilts his head, “How can I trust that you’ll relay this to them?”

The man smiles, “You’ll just have to believe me.”

“Okay.”

“So?”

“I need them to kidnap the king, he doesn’t need to be injured and he can be returned after like a week or two.”

Philza sits forward, obviously interested by the inquiry.

“The king?”

Tommy nods, “I can give them anything they need to know regarding the tower, but it just needs to be done.”

“Is there any particular reason?”

“None that I can share.”

Philza gives Tommy a look, “How much are you willing to pay?”

“I have enough to make it worth their time, I was thinking 5000 sonas.”

Philza nods, pulling out a piece of paper to write down the information.

“What can you get to them about the palace?”

“I can give them guard rotation schedules, a layout, a place to enter, the best time, really anything.”

“How do you have all that?”

“I can’t reveal all of my secrets now.”

“Fair…”

Philza scrawls it all down, humming as he considers everything Tommy has presented.

“I’ll get this information to them, come back tomorrow at a quarter past two and I’ll let you know what they say.”

Tommy nods before standing, “Thank you.”

He turns to leave.

“Do you need me to lead you out?”

Tommy looks back, “Nah, I remember where to go.”

He leaves, not waiting for a response, before he backtracks.

Tommy takes a right when he exits the door walking towards the closest intersection before taking a left. He walks past the two intersections before going right and then left again.

The stairs stand in front of him.

Tommy smiles to himself.

He walks up the stairs, keeping his footsteps quiet even though there is no one around to hear him. 

He pushes through the door, noticing how far the sun has fallen.

He really needs to get back.

Tommy exits the store, not wasting the time to admire the crowd or any of the stalls of the night market. He pushes his way through the crowd, before breaking free and making his way towards the castle.

The walk is quiet, especially as he gets further and further from the town. Most people don’t notice him and if they do they probably assume he lives on that road leading up towards the castle.

He doesn’t, but they’ll never know that.

Tommy walks up to a side gate, he knocks three times.

A guard comes and lets him in.

“Thank you.”

The guard just nods and Tommy moves on, pulling his mask off as he walks and placing it into his pouch.

He walks down the pathways. This side of the castle grounds is the side with the gardens.

Tommy smiles as he walks past the flourishing flowers and growing plants in the wake of the summer sun. 

When he was younger, he used to come here a lot. They provided a sort of escape from the constant pressure from his tutors and the advisors and his father for the legacy that he has to live up to.

The garden didn’t pepper him with politics and history and diplomacy. They just accepted him with open arms and peace. 

As he got older, he didn’t have the time to visit the gardens as much, but his appreciation never once waned.

Tommy walks through them now, taking the time to just relish in the nature that the garden provides, of the life that it gives him.

Eventually, Tommy must leave though, he must go eat dinner with Wilbur and discuss his day, talk about things he did and lie about places he went.

He offhandedly mentions that he’ll probably go out again tomorrow, that he noticed a cool bakery that he wanted to check out.

Wilbur nods, smiling for him, happy that Tommy can live life like this.

Tommy smiles back, it’s strained, but he has been trained to put on a perfect smile. Nobody would know of the inner turmoil unfurling within him.

Dinner comes to an uneventful close, Tommy goes back to his room. The castle feels lonelier than normal today, Tommy doesn’t know how to explain it.

The air feels chilly, the halls too grand and too empty, his heart dull and his mind racing.

Tommy plops onto his bed, sinking into the plush mattress. He’s really doing this. 

He stares at the decorations on the ceiling of his room, letting his eyes trace the constellations painted above him.

The stars are staring down at him forever and always.

He sits up, pulling the mask out of his pouch and placing it gingerly on his desk.

He admires it, the way the red vines overlap to create something so beautifully sinister. The gold accents bring out light in the mask, painting it to be something just gorgeous.

Anyone who knows about masks knows how well it was made, even Tommy has to take moments to admire its beauty.

After that, he takes out his pouch, placing it in his desk drawer, hiding it away.

Tommy takes the knife out of the sheath, placing it in his desk drawer next to the pouch to grab tomorrow. 

He sinks into his desk chair, pushing the drawer closed softly as he leans forward, resting his elbows on the top of the wood.

His head falls into his hands, a sigh escaping his mouth.

He feels guilty.

Nothing is set in stone, yet he feels guilty. He’s condemning Wilbur for something that isn’t his fault, that isn’t fair of him to do.

Life wasn’t fair to him and in retaliation he’s being unfair to others. It isn’t what he should do. Technically, he should just suck it up and deal with it.

It’s what he is doing though. Is it wrong? Yes. 

He knows this, but he can’t stop now.

He’s in too deep, he’s stuck.

Now, Tommy can only hope that the fates lead him to where he needs to be. It’s a foolish thing to do, it’s childish and idiotic, but he’s doing it.

Hope is a dangerous thing, and hope is the only thing he truly has right now.

Tommy blows out the candle on his desk.

Tomorrow determines everything.

He can only hope that it all works out in the end.

♔ ♔ ♔

The sun wakes him up the next morning.

It peeks through the diaphanous curtains that Tommy had forgotten to cover with the blackout ones, shining softly into his room and signaling the natural start of a new day.

Tommy blinks, letting his eyes adjust to the level of light and his body adjust to being awake. It’s a slow process, but he allows himself to go through it.

Waking naturally is something that Tommy doesn’t quite allow himself to do often enough, not when he has so much to do in a day's time.

The constellations above him shine down on him, the reflective paint shining in the delicate light of the morning sun.

The morning feels easy. 

Easy is not a word that is often in the vocabulary of a king, hidden or not. Life is never easy, not this easy.

The life of a king is never one of slow mornings and soft sunlight. It is a life of rushed wake-ups and tired eyes and harsh light shining in your eyes.

Tommy does not get these days often, maybe once in a blue moon, and he is going to take it.

He sits up, pushing the comforter off of his body slowly. He’s not in a rush, he doesn’t have much to do today, not technically.

Wilbur has one of those open court things where citizens can come and talk about grievances they have. Most times one of the advisors joins Wilbur to lead him through the answers, but as of recently he has gotten enough insight to answer in a way that is not only regal but also hopeful.

Tommy has confidence in his abilities to pretend to know what he is talking about, Wilbur has enough charisma to pull it off.

However, because Wilbur has court, that means Tommy has the day to do whatever. The king cannot make decisions without hearing from his people, thus meaning that he has a practical free day.

He has to go back to Philza’s store at a quarter past two, but its barely even eight. He has time before the hands of the clock signal him of his coming future.

Realistically, Tommy has some time to just relax. This motivates his movements to stay languid with the lingering effects of slumber. 

He rises as slowly with the sun and he moves with the flow of a slow moving brook in the middle of a calm forest.

It’s the calm before the storm.

He gets ready for the day, his teeth are brushed and his hair fixed and clothes picked carefully for his activities in the afternoon.

By the time Tommy is ready to leave his room the short hand on the clock has ticked past nine, signaling an hour lost to the morning.

Tommy opens his door, smiling at the guard that stands there before shutting it softly behind him and making his way down the hall.

He walks past Wilbur’s room, letting his gaze linger on the door that leads to the room just next door, the “kings” quarters, his “brothers” bedroom, the place where everything will change.

He can only hope it will be for the better.

Tommy walks past his room, ignoring the way it calls to him.

When he was younger, he used to spend a lot of time in Wilbur’s room. In a time before all of this, before his father fell ill and didn’t inform anyone, before Wilbur was crowned the king for the masses and Tommy was condemned to silence, before everything changed, Tommy and Wilbur were something akin to brothers.

Wilbur used to sit with Tommy on the days when his father was busy. Kings never really have time for family, not unless they are passing on their trade.

Some casual father-son bonding over trade agreements and political policies with warring nations surround you.

Needless to say, Wilbur was Tommy’s closest family. His mom wasn’t in the picture, she passed away when he was young. 

It’s a shame, Tommy thinks that once upon a time she could have salvaged the family and run the country in the wake of his father’s death, but instead she fell a victim to her fate and Tommy fell victim to his.

Wilbur was always there though, he taught Tommy to read and helped him with his history homework from his tutors and played the guitar for him and sat in the gardens under the sun with him whenever he snuck away from his own lessons.

Back then, when everything was still so pure, Wilbur didn’t live in this wing of the castle. He wasn’t family, not under the eye of the people in the castle.

His father was a close advisor of Tommy’s father though and that meant that Wilbur was always around and he was trusted and he was practically Tommy’s brother.

Then his father died and everyone had to figure out what to do when Tommy was still young, still uncertain, still growing. 

A country cannot rely on a child. Everyone agreed on that and, yet, instead of enacting a temporary ruling or telling the citizens the truth, they made Wilbur a king.

A king with no powers, a king with only a face and his personality.

Wilbur is a facade, there is no King William, but that name still graces newspapers and King Thomas will never be.

His father would hate that.

It’s a simple fact. 

But, besides all of that, a long time ago, Tommy and Wilbur were thick as thieves and now both of them are thieves of different calibers.

Tommy rounds a corner, smiling at the maids and the other various helpers around the castle. They do so much and, while Tommy does not take the time often to appreciate the lavish palace that he calls home, he does take time to appreciate the people that share this castle with him and keep it up to the lavishness that it is expected to be.

Without them there would be no castle, Tommy will forever stand by that.

Tommy walks a bit further, making his way to the kitchens. He doesn’t really want to eat in the dining room, not when it will be empty.

An empty table just makes the severity of his loneliness seem evermore present these days.

The kitchen is bustling with people, chefs moving around and trying to ensure that everyone in the castle can receive a meal. Tommy weaves his way through the crowd, keeping himself relatively hidden until he can reach the small snack pantry kept towards the back of the kitchen.

Some people look at him, he waves to a few before moving on, not bothering to linger longer than he must. They have important work to do and it would be foolish to distract them from that.

The mess of chefs and bakers and other kitchen staff begin to thin out as he gets closer to the pantry. This back end of the kitchen is sparsely used, mainly a place for storage unless the castle has an event happening that requires food to be served.

Tommy slides a thick wooden door to the side, revealing the pantry that is kept stocked with any ingredients that might be needed to make a dish. The pantry is more than spacious, with walls lined with foods bought from others in bulk.

Tommy wanders through the shelves, letting his eyes scan until they latch onto something that seems appealing. After a few minutes Tommy settles on grabbing a banana and just heading out earlier to snag an early lunch before he heads back to the store to meet with Philza.

Tommy peels the banana as he weaves his way back through the kitchen, taking bites every now and then. He ducks beneath a pan that a man carries and side steps an oven door opening and squeezes past people.

He smiles the whole time though, he loves watching the people in the castle do what they do best. They work so hard and get so little recognition, but Tommy likes to think that at least he takes notice. It might not be a lot, but it's enough.

Tommy leaves the kitchen, letting the chaos of it all fall behind him. He takes another bite of his banana. He has a lot of time.

Normally on days like these he’ll work on perfecting agreements or speeches or new laws, but today he wants to enjoy this time.

If all goes to plan he won’t have much of it later on.

So, instead of turning into his room as one would expect, Tommy heads towards the gardens.

His footsteps are sure and confident as he walks, he leaves no room for doubt in his mind or anyone else’s.

It’s something that he has perfected over time, looking confident when he shouldn’t, exuding power at all times, being a royal.

It’s been drilled into him, he can never falter, he can never appear less than completely sure of himself and what he does.

Tommy does not necessarily take on this persona on purpose, but when he is out somewhere where someone can see him, he finds that it slips on.

It washes over him like water, flowing until he’s soaked and everyone can tell exactly what he wants them to, dripping with confidence that anybody could tell.

Tommy pushes his way out the doors, letting the sun warm him in the still early hours of the day. 

He walks down the path that winds through the garden, letting his body carry him down a familiar path. It’s almost like riding a bike, he’ll never forget this.

It’s an instinct at this point, he knows where each little dirt path leads and which flowers are where and when he needs to turn to find the orchard and the best hiding spots when everything is all too big for him.

He takes a right, the dirt crunches beneath his feet, welcoming him back like an old friend. The breeze blows softly through his hair, carrying life through the air and into his soul.

If Tommy had a choice he would spend all of his days and beginning of most of his nights sprawled out in the garden, he would become one with the trees and the bushes and the flowers and the wildlife.

The gardens are a place of safety and security. He takes a left, the banana peel is tossed into a pile of mulch, nature will do its job. 

He knows where he is going. It’s a place that he spent a lot of his childhood at. There wasn’t a particular reason, maybe it was the peacefulness of it all, maybe it was something more.

There’s a willow tree that rests in the castle gardens. It’s very central in the garden, it’s one of those things that you can see from no matter where you stand in the garden.

The drooping branches of the pink cherry weeping willow tree sway gently in the wind, creating a curtain of light pink that looks majestic in the sea of green that surrounds it.

Tommy has always loved the willow. He thinks it would be nearly impossible not to. The thin branches are delicate and they showcase the beauty that nature can bring.

He sweeps some of the branches to the side, hiding himself behind the flowing pink flowers that fall around him. 

Tommy walks over to the tree trunk, resting his hand on the dark wood. He sinks against it, falling into the fallen flowers that litter the ground to create a beautiful mosaic of pretty pink flowers on the vibrant green grass.

His legs sit in front of him, crushing delicate petals beneath him as he stares at the branches that hang loosely in front of him.

Tommy doesn’t have a plan, but he doesn’t think he really needs one.

He watches the clouds drift through branches and he adores the way the sun filters through the flowers and leaves that the tree holds.

Tommy thinks that once upon a time he would have built some kind of treehouse in this tree. It would have been simple, but it would have been his. He would have spent summers and winters and falls and springs in the willow tree had he had this opportunity.

He never did though and he never will.

It’s a shame, he knows that as well as anyone, but Tommy usually doesn’t have the time to consider all that he has lost, not when there is so much to gain and even more he could lose.

The wind rustles the tree, but it does not fall.

Maybe he is like a willow tree in a sense, he may seem fragile, but he is flexible and stronger than many will ever truly know.

Willow trees are a symbol of strength and beauty and harmony. Tommy can only hope that one day he too can be a symbol of those, that he could be strength for the country and beauty for the prosperity to come and harmony for the people and the nations that surround them.

It’s his dream and Tommy can only hope and wish and do a plethora of other childish acts that he will be able to accomplish his dream and make his father proud.

Something rustles behind him.

Tommy looks over his shoulder, peering around the trunk of the tree. Sam walks towards him, a soft smile on his face.

Tommy has known Sam as long as he has known Wilbur, that is to say his whole life. He was younger back then, a mere boy training with the castle guard.

Sam would often be in the courtyard, hitting the training dummy or running laps or sparring someone else.

He was always moving, always training, always working. Tommy used to go and watch him, fascinated by the way they trained.

He has always wanted to join, but Sam refused for a long time, adamant that Tommy had to wait until he was older.

Tommy asked every year on his birthday, pleading eyes and a bright smile, and every year Sam said no.

That is until the year that he turned thirteen. It was only then that Sam finally relented and agreed to begin to teach Tommy how to protect himself.

They started off slow, punching techniques, defense, only stuff purely that Tommy could use if he was attacked.

And Tommy got good at that, his hand to hand improving over the course of two years. Once Tommy’s father died though, that is when Sam finally agreed to let Tommy learn to yield a weapon.

A knife is Tommy’s weapon of choice, he learned that his aim is surprisingly good and the knife just feels right in his hand. 

Sam made a point to teach him when to reveal his weapons, when to reveal his skill, when to fight and when to flee.

Sam gave him so much and in return Tommy gave Sam a purpose.

They spent a lot of time together up until Tommy no longer could hide beneath his grief for the loss of a father and had to step up, even if nobody knew it.

Tommy had to attend to his own duties and Sam had to continue to train and rise the ranks. They both had goals, and, sadly, at this point in time their goals did not align.

“Hey Sam.”

Tommy’s voice is soft, it holds care and love, it reaches out like a tentative hug.

“Hey Toms,” Sam replies with the same amount of care as he sits next to Tommy.

“What are you doing here?”

“I was in the area.”

Tommy snorts, looking up at the spindly branches that loom above him,”Oh yeah?”

Sam smiles, “Yeah.”

A silence falls comfortably between them, its soft and delicate like snowflakes blanketing the ground during the winter. Tommy doesn’t dare disturb it, he enjoys the feeling of it and the way that, despite what people might think, it feels like love.

They watch the branches blow in the breeze and the way the flowers stir beneath their feet and the way the clouds drift across the sky.

“What are you doing today, Tommy?”

Tommy sighs, “I’m going back into town.”

“Again?”

Tommy nods, “Yeah, I have the time and that doesn’t happen often. I thought I might take advantage of it.”

Sam nods, “Yeah, that sounds nice. When are you leaving?”

Tommy hums, moving his legs and watching the way the flowers scurry away as if they were sentient beings.

“Probably around half past one.”

Sam smiles, looking at his watch before nodding, “Looks like you have some time.”

Tommy smiles, “It looks like I do.”

Sam stands up, offering his hand to Tommy.

Tommy grasps it with a smile and Sam yanks him up until they are both on their feet.

“Wanna spar?”

Tommy has never really wanted to do anything more, “You know it.”

They walk out from beneath the shade of the willow, pushing the flowered branches to the side as they make their way toward the courtyard. They walk side by side, with matching smiles and matching postures. 

Tommy believes that in another life he would have been a soldier. He thinks that his posture would be good not because he’s a royal, but because that is how tall a soldier must stand. 

He believes that instead of wearing a crown, he would wear a uniform, instead of being locked in the gilded golden cage in the shape of a castle, he would have the key to free himself.

But that is merely in another life. In this life he is royalty and royalty cannot be soldiers. He hates that that is a fact of his life.

The courtyard comes into view, the dirt paths turning to concrete and the sparring areas coming into view in the plush grass that surrounds the whole palace.

Sam walks towards the shed of training weapons, opening the door before tossing a dull knife over to Tommy.

Tommy catches it at the hilt, turning it in his hand to allow himself to get the feel. Sam comes out with nothing in hand, but both of them know that he doesn’t need it.

Tommy is good, but Sam will always be better.

Tommy stares at the knife, “Let’s just hand to hand today.”

Sam tilts his head before nodding, “Okay.”

Tommy tosses the knife back to him and watches as Sam places it back with care.

When he returns they walk over to a patch of grass that is left untouched by practice dummies or target blocks. They move to stand facing each other, about ten paces apart.

“You ready?”

Tommy shifts to be in a position to attack, but he can just as easily defend from this position, a simple switch of his feet positioning that could change everything.

Sam smiles before getting into his own starting position, they both always start the same way. Tommy knows what to expect from this spar.

Sam will say go, they will both wait, pretending to watch for an opening before Sam strikes first. 

“Okay, on three.”

Tommy nods, shaking out his arms and rocking back and forth on his feet, adrenaline rushing through him.

“Three.”

Tommy thinks he is going to switch this fight up.

“Two.”

Sam looks at him, a glint in his eyes.

“One.”

Tommy lunges. Sam steps back narrowly dodging the strike from Tommy, a bemused look on his face as he throws a punch that Tommy ducks.

Tommy smiles wildly at him before taking his leg and sweeping it towards Sam from where he squats. Sam jumps the leg.

Tommy stands and steps back, taking a moment to observe Sam.

He just looks so in his element, a smile wide across his face and despite the way his chest heaves, he doesn’t look tired in the slightest.

That’s what Tommy has always loved about Sam. He loves what he does so much and Tommy loves that he got the choice to choose his destiny.

Tommy is choosing his own later. 

Sam steps forward, Tommy doesn’t back down.

This is where he can be free, wild, improper, anything but a king, a royal, a prince.

They throw punches and dodge blows and through it all their smiles never wane, not even more a millisecond of time.

And eventually, Tommy gets pinned to the grass, Sam’s arms on his shoulders as they both smile at each other through their breaths.

“I yield.”

Sam smiles, “Good fight.”

He passes a hand towards Tommy.

“Thanks.”

Tommy grabs the hand, allowing himself to be hauled up.

His hair clings to his forehead from the light sheen of sweat that graces him and Sam’s does the same.

“I’ll get you next time, Sam.”

Sam laughs, “I’m sure you will.”

They walk back towards the house, nothing more needs to be said because that’s how friendships like these function. 

Once you’ve known someone for as long as they have known each other, there comes a point when there aren’t words that can be spoken and times when there is no reason for words to be spoken at all.

They make a mutual agreement to go inside, they don’t say anything, but they both know it. 

The breeze pushes them along gently, easing them back towards the palace doors. Tommy steps in front of Sam, pulling the door open for him with a grandiose sort of nature.

Sam laughs, swatting at Tommy before pulling him inside along with him.

“Are you going to go shower?”

Tommy looks at the time, “I probably won’t have the time.” 

Sam frowns, “You can leave later.”

Tommy shakes his head gently, “It’ll probably help me blend in more, I’ll be fine Sam.”

“You know that I just worry.”

Tommy smiles, “I know, but you also know I can take care of myself.”

Sam nods, “Yeah, I know.”

“Take care Sam.”

Sam laughs, “You act like you’re never going to come back.”

Tommy grins, “Hey! You never know man!”

They laugh together, a symphony of light and a symbol of joy.

“Okay, bye Sam, I’ll see you later.”

A nod, “See you later, Tommy.”

They part ways, for when two roads diverged in a road, Sam will always take the one less traveled, the one of freedom, and Tommy will always take the one laid out for him.

The one less traveled isn’t an option for him, but it is for Sam, and that makes all the difference. 

Tommy pads down the hallway, making his way back to his room to gather up his stuff. He waves to a few people in the hallways, but he doesn’t stop to talk.

His footsteps echo down the hall, but he doesn’t take the time to think about the vastness of it all, he just keeps walking.

His mind runs and his body walks and his soul fights invisible fights with his conscience.

His door is slightly ajar when he gets to it, Tommy assumes nothing of it. People travel in and out of his room quite often, typically it’s a maid or someone else of the sorts that comes in to tidy it up. 

Tommy doesn’t mind, it would be odd if he did.

He pushes the door open, making his way into his room. Tommy walks towards his dresser, pulling out some casual clothes to put on.

He walks into his bathroom, staring at his reflection. He ruffles his hair, tilting his head as he studies himself.

Everytime Tommy goes out he has a fear that people will be able to sense that he is not one of them, that he is a royal.

It’s a silly little fear, he’s never been caught before and he certainly won’t be caught now, but it is something that always rests in the back of his mind.

When he roams the streets he wonders if his posture is too straight or his clothes too nice or his language too posh.

Tommy cannot afford to get caught, not today, not ever really. He won’t get caught though, he has been doing this for long enough that he is aware that he won’t.

He can still be afraid though, for that is a human response and at the root of it all he is still a human.

He exits the bathroom, leaving his reflection behind as though that will solve his insecurities. His steps are steady and sure as he walks over to his desk. 

He slides the drawer open with careful hands, pulling out the dagger and sliding it into the sheath before grabbing the little pouch and securing it to his belt.

Tommy takes a breath, in and then out, he can do this. 

He grabs his mask, holding it in his hands for a moment before securing it to his face.

The clock ticks dully, the sound filling the pitiful silence in his room. Tommy glances at it, calculating how long he has.

A sigh falls from his lips, he has to leave soon, especially if he wishes to visit somewhere for an actual meal.

He turns on his heels, heading back towards the door. It’s still open from when he had walked in, but he ensures that it is closed when he leaves.

His footsteps echo, it’s something that he notes every single time he walks through the desolate hallways. It shouldn’t surprise him, but something about it always feels unnatural.

Tommy continues on though, leaving his thoughts to echo with the footsteps.

He exits through the closest side door, smiling at the guard that stands posted before sliding out and reentering the beautiful landscaping that surrounds his home.

He walks along a dirt path, letting it bring him to the outer gates where some guards roam. Tommy walks up to one of the guard towers, knocking three times before taking a step back.

Footsteps sound from the other side, the voices that had once filtered softly through the metal door coming to a halt at the sound of his three measly knocks.

“Who’s there?”

The voice is gruff.

“Tommy.”

The door swings open, the guard stepping to the side to allow Tommy to step in. Tommy nods curtly, “Thanks.”

It’s times like these when Tommy notices how easily he slips into a language that isn’t so rigid; he’s going to miss that once he’s king, but it’s a price he must pay.

Tommy walks through the tower, weaving through the various guards that linger and chat until he comes out on the other end.

He flips the locks with a sense of ease: it’s practically second nature.

The door swings open with a groan, not used to being opened, not used to Tommy and his antics.

Tommy steps out onto the other side, letting the door fall from his hand and slam shut behind him with a deafening boom.

He’s so utterly alone the moment he exits the palace, but he finds that he doesn’t feel lonely. If anything, Tommy feels at peace.

There isn’t the pressure of his decisions and the way his advisors push against what he knows to be best and the way nobody knows who he is and what will happen when they do.

He has doubts. It would be inhuman if he didn’t. Tommy fears that if he goes through with this that what his advisors say will become the truth. 

Tommy knows the risks, he knows how poorly this could go, yet somewhere deep down a river flows and pushes around him until he succumbs and flows with it.

The river is this idea, it beats against his body, withering him until he is nothing but sediment flowing at the bottom of the river.

No matter how hard he tries, no matter how much he reasons against it, deep down nothing could really stop him from doing this.

The grass bends beneath his feet as Tommy makes his way towards the road that leads up towards the castle.

The walk is insignificant in the end, Tommy just walks and immerses himself into the crowd that steadily builds as he does so.

A clock chimes and Tommy knows that it’s now just hit one in the afternoon. The sun isn’t quite directly above him anymore and the time he has left before the big meeting is dwindling.

He takes a breath, continuing to keep his steps steady as he walks.

His eyes scan his surroundings while his hand reaches up to ensure his mask is on correctly once more. His hand brushes the vines and traces the sides that meet his face.

Tommy lets himself relax after ensuring one last time that his face is hidden. He takes steps that don’t necessarily exude confidence, but that show he shouldn’t be messed with. It’s a delicate balance.

He walks with an air that says he knows where he is going, he doesn’t let them know that he isn’t one of them.

Tommy scans for the bakery, hiding his smile when he spots it. He has never been there before, but he’s walked past it several times and has promised no one but himself that he would go one day.

It appears that day is today.

His stomach grumbles as he gets closer, the sweet smell of baked goods wafting gently through the air and mingling with the other smells of the street.

There are a few tables out front that people occupy and Tommy smiles at a few that meet his eye as he enters. 

The smell only multiplies in magnitude once he enters, being blasted with the air from a fan and the strong scent that clings to a bakery like a child to their mother.

There are a few people in the store, two sitting down by the window and another standing in line glancing at the pastries offered.

A woman stands behind the counter—her smile as sweet as the pastries she makes—talking animatedly to the person at the counter as she explains the menu items.

Tommy smiles, he will never not be able to when he sees someone that has a real passion for what they do.

He watches as the person nods along, settling on something that Tommy can’t quite pick up on to eat. The woman beams as he hands her money and she whisks herself away to get his treat with just as much joy.

She slides something into a bag, before sliding it over the counter to the man. He smiles, nodding at her before turning to leave.

Tommy walks past him, giving him a soft nod as he does before Tommy takes the place of the person that once studied the display case with great care.

He scrutinized the pastries, taking each one into careful consideration as though this is the decision of which cake to serve at a wedding rather than what he is going to eat for the day.

The person that was in front of him leaves, but Tommy doesn’t step up just yet. He takes his time with his decision, putting care into why or why not he should get each pastry.

It is only after another minute or two that he stands up to his full height, smiling at the woman before making his way closer to the counter.

“Welcome!”

Tommy smiles, matching the beaming look that the woman gives him.

“Hello.”

There’s a glint in her eyes that spreads her happiness to Tommy in the way that fire spreads across dry wood.

“What can I get started for you today?”

Tommy glances back at the display case, “Can I get one of the bagels and then a chocolate muffin?”

She nods, “That’ll be 5 sonas.”

Tommy pulls out a five and slides it across the counter. She smiles, “I’ll be right back with that.”

While her back is turned, Tommy takes out some change that he had and slips it into the tip jar.

She returns, two small white bags in hand, the smile never waning from her face and that glint of joy still glistening in her eyes.

“Thank you…”

His voice trails off, realizing he doesn’t know her name and probably never will.

She laughs, the sound ringing in the same way bells chime.

“Niki.”

He nods, “Thank you, Niki.”

He turns to leave.

“And yours?”

Tommy looks back at her, “Hm?”

“What is your name?”

Tommy smiles, “Tommy.”

Niki’s smile is one that rivals the sun, “It was a pleasure to meet you, Tommy.”

“The pleasure was all mine.”

She nods and Tommy turns, finally taking his leave. 

The bags radiate warmth, spreading from his fingertips into his chest where it settles like a blanket surrounding his heart.

He walks a bit away from the bakery, no specific destination in his mind.

Eventually he just kind of settles on a quiet street curb. He settles here, knowing that the low foot traffic means he can eat in relative peace.

A few people pass him, walking too and fro. 

He ignores them though, pulling his mask down so his mouth is no longer covered.

He opens up the first bag, looking at the bagel that rests in the bag, still warm and garnished with some cream cheese as well as a few herbs.

He takes a bite, savoring the way it melts in his mouth. It’s everything he had expected and more.

Tommy slides the bagel back into the bag, pulling out the muffin from the other one and taking a small bite of that one too.

It’s like a slice of heaven. That is the only way he can explain it.

Niki is just absolutely amazing at what she does, it’s obvious in the way her pastries crumble in his mouth perfectly, emitting a flavorful experience that Tommy has never had before.

Tommy eats the rest of his food, alternating between the two if only to savor each separately. It’s a slow process, but he has the time.

Eventually though, he must crumple up the dainty white paper bags, tossing them into a trash can that lines the streets.

He sighs as he does so, watching the way the crumpled bag falls into the metal can, echoing slightly when it hits the bottom.

The trash was recently emptied, either that or it isn’t used that often. Tommy will never really know, nor does he have the time to figure it out.

Tommy pulls his mask up, ensuring it is on correctly before exiting the empty street that he had occupied for a short amount of time.

It was a nice little road, Tommy wishes he had the time to enjoy it more. 

Alas, time does not stop for him, nor anyone else and so Tommy must move on.

He merges into the crowd that he comes upon as he turns onto the main road. He immerses himself in the noise and the body heat, moving with the wave of people that crashed down the road.

He’s not far from the store, fairly close in comparison to places he could be. He walks at the pace of the crowd, not necessarily in a rush, even as the clock strikes and the countdown begins.

Tommy walks, his pace doesn’t quicken with the tick of the clock, he walks with much more leisure than he feels as though he should.

His heart races, yet he, himself, does not. It’s an odd thing, the way he remains calm when everything within him feels as though it has been lit with a match.

This is a pivotal point, it is his make or break. The plan either works or it doesn’t and this is what decides what happens when he goes home.

The guilt is eating him, the guilt that he is doing this to someone that he is so close to, the guilt that he is capable of stuff like this.

But, the other part of him preens at the thought of finally making his father proud. He was born to be a king one day. He was raised to make his country proud, the generations before him proud, and the generations that follow him proud.

They never even gave him a chance to live up to the legacy that was left for him. He never had the chance and he never will.

This is it. This is the last chance. 

The shop comes into sight.

He lets out a shaky breath. He has no other options, no other choices. He has been backed into a corner and this is his only exit. 

The clock strikes ten past two.

This is fine.

The store gets closer, the crowd doesn’t let him pause for even a moment. His heart pounds like the drums in a song, making its own kind of tune.

This is all fine, he is strong and this is what needs to happen. It’s his destiny.

He moves with the flow of the crowd until he must diverge from the flock. He slips out, watching the way no one ever notices that he exited their easy flow of people as they wander through the square.

He glances at the door, catching a bit of his reflection in the metal accents that sit on the door. The mask spans across his face, hiding him from the world, shielding him from his consciousness. 

In one fell swoop, he enters the store. 

It looks the exact same, but it feels so different.

The knife feels heavy on his belt loop and his palms sweaty despite the fan that blows cool air at him, ruffling his hair in a way that is a tad too artificial to be like the wind in a field.

Philza is behind the counter, eyes glued to his watch. Tommy listens as the door slams shut behind him and Philza’s eyes jolt up.

“Ah, Theseus!”

Tommy grimaces under his mask, “Hello, Philza.”

He can’t help but slip into something more professional when he talks to the man, he can’t find it in him to talk with the ease that he tends to when he is out in the town.

“You’re early.”

Tommy tilts his head, “I don’t like being late.”

Philza hums, a smile forming on his face.

“Well then, shall we?”

He gestures to the door, Tommy nods.

“We shall.”

Philza walks towards the door, Tommy trails behind him.

The door swings open, and they both take the plunge.

It’s dark for a moment, just a blip, and that darkness is all consuming. Then, just like the time before, the room is bathed in light.

Despite this, Tommy cannot help but feel like the darkness is still with him, lingering like oil that has coated you. 

Philza walks in front of him, steps sure as he descends into the lower levels. Tommy follows behind, movements slow, but steady. 

He gives nothing away because he cannot afford to.

They follow the same path they did last time, this doesn’t surprise Tommy, but what does surprise him is what he finds in the room.

A man sits there, hair pulled back into a low bun, a mask settled onto his face that vaguely resembles a boar of some kind.

Tommy tilts his head, the only sign that he holds any sort of feeling other than the apathy that he displays with his body language.

Philza steps further into the room, allowing Tommy the ability to fully step in, as opposed to toeing the entrance as though he did not have the right to enter.

He watches as Philza takes a seat next to the other man, he doesn’t look uncomfortable. Tommy sees the way they sit next to each other and knows that they have known each other for a while.

It’s a skill that he has gained from years of interacting with delegates and political figures. He can read people: their relationships, what they like, what they dislike, their goals, motivations.

It’s proven to be useful time and time again, and it proves to be useful once more.

Tommy slides into a seat across from the two, eyes never leaving them. He stays vigilant, searching for as much information as possible.

A silence falls over them, it sticks to the oil of the darkness that clings to him, like feathers, making him a glorified chicken at best.

He feels foolish sitting here, staring at Philza’s complacent smile and the other guy's eyes. He feels out of his element, he has never quite felt that before.

As the silence settles, the feathers set in, Tommy doesn’t falter, even as he feels as though he has made a mistake, even as he feels like a chicken sitting in a room with two foxes.

“So.”

The word is piercing.

The man next to Philza grunts, but he continues on.

“I have brought the proposition to the Midnight Prophecies.”

Tommy nods, the movement is slow and deliberate as he clings onto every word.

“They want more information.”

Tommy hums, “Okay.”

The man next to Philza blinks, “No questions?”

Tommy smiles, his mask hides it but his body language does not.

“No questions.”

Philza smiles, always the peacemaker, “They want to know how much you’re willing to pay up front.”

“A thousand.”

“Sonas?”

“Yes, I’ll give you a thousand up front for you to keep whether you succeed or not, but if you don’t attempt I would expect it back.”

The man next to Philza hums, “We can work with that.”

Tommy smiles, “I actually do have a question now.”

Philza tilts his head, “What is it?”

“What is your name?”

His eyes are directed at the mystery man of the hour, staring into his, waiting for an answer, or lack thereof. 

“Techno.”

Tommy nods, “Thank you.”

Techno nods. It’s simple.

“They would also like to know if you are willing to offer more, it is quite a dangerous job.”

“It is.”

He pauses after that, considering the question fully.

“I’ll give a total of ten thousand sonas.”

Techno pipes in, “Do you have that kind of money?”

“It wouldn’t be smart of me to not have it. Everyone knows not to cross someone with the ability to kill.”

“You’re a smart kid.”

Tommy tilts his head, “And you’re an odd man.”

Tommy has already determined that Techno is one of the two, he knew the moment he walked in the door. He can tell when someone is trained to fight and it is obvious in the way he sits and his eyes dart that Techno is ready to fight him.

What he does know is that Tommy is more than capable, but that is a card that we will forever keep hidden up his sleeve.

Techno looks at Philza, a silent conversation forming and it is at that moment that Tommy realizes that Philza must be his other partner. 

Tommy was aware something was off about him, and it shocks him how long it took him to actually figure out their connection.

This means Tommy is in a room with two very capable people.

He feels like he should feel threatened at this realization, but he doesn’t. Tommy is aware that they could easily take him down, but he also knows how to converse with people, he knows what needs to be done to achieve his goals and his goal is to navigate this conversation safely.

“I think we have a deal.”

Tommy nods, “Is there a contract?”

Philza tilts his head, “Yes.”

A paper is pulled out from a bag that Tommy hadn’t initially noticed, the strap draped over the back of Techno’s chair.

It is slid towards Tommy, a pen following shortly behind.

Tommy picks up the contract, it’s surprisingly short. There are a few places that have to be filled in presumably with the numbers that they agreed on.

Tommy reads it thoroughly, line by line, word by word. 

The room is suspended in a rhythm of  breaths and the flip of a page, the tap of a pen and the bouncing of a leg.

All of it is pretty standard, basically ensuring they get paid for their work and that Tommy doesn’t get ripped off.

He signs his name, making sure to sign “Theseus” at the bottom. He slides the documents back over the table, the pen resting delicately on top.

There’s some more of that not quite silence that falls as Philza flips through the contract to ensure Tommy signed everything he needed to sign before both him and Techno sign the document themselves.

That detail only served to cement in Tommy’s mind what he already held to be true. 

“Well,” Philza begins, picking up the papers and tapping them on the table to realign them. “When can you get information about the palace?”

Tommy tilts his head, “I can give them all the information that they need when it is most convenient for them.”

Techno tilts his head, “Can we confirm that your information will be true?”

“You did just have me sign that contract, it would be in my best interest to not go against it.”

Techno pulls out a drawing of the palace.

“What is the best place for them to enter?”

Tommy points to one of the eastern walls, “This is the least guarded side of the tower. There are only one to two guards and they switch on every odd hour.”

Techno hums, “Where would the King be?”

Tommy gestures to the map, “May I?”

He nods.

“Can I have a pen?”

Philza slides a pen towards him, a curious look on his face.

Tommy grabs the pen, swirling it in his hand as he stares at the image. He circles an area, writing in a messy scrawl which door.

“Third door on the right in this tower should be his.”

Techno nods, looking at what Tommy wrote on the image before pushing it back at him, “Which door would be best to enter?”

Tommy hums, “If you enter on the east side…”

He draws a path slowly, “Then you’ll be near the horse stables, assuming you don’t get caught getting in…”

He points to the stables, “Then you can hide in here briefly if necessary until the guard at this door leaves.”

He points to the closest door to the eastern wall.

“From there you can get in, this door won’t be locked from five in the afternoon until the next day, presumably around one or two in the morning.”

“Why?”

“During the nighttime all shipments come into the tower through this door every other day.”

Philza nods, eyes scanning Tommy with a look that’s overflowing with suspicion. Tommy watches as the water spills over, splashing in Philza’s blood.

“And why do you know all of this again?”

Tommy looks at him, a glint sparkling in his eyes—like light reflecting off a perfectly sharp knife.

“You guys don’t need to know how I secure my information.”

“But a man can be curious.”

“Curiosity killed the cat.”

“But satisfaction brought it back.”

“Sorry,” Tommy shrugs lightly, betraying how little he cares.

Philza smiles regardless, “You’re interesting.”

Tommy leans back in his chair, feeling the way his heart leaps as it balances precariously on the edge.

“I’m glad you think that.”

Philza leans forward, arms resting on the table, hands held together as he scrutinizes Tommy.

“You speak very eloquently for someone so young.”

Tommy lets his chair fall flat again, twisting his body to match Philza’s.

“Is that an issue?”

Philza smiles, “No, it’s just an observation.”

“May I make an observation about you?”

Philza lifts his right eyebrow, “You may.”

A smile slithers its way onto Tommy’s face, hidden beneath the vines and rubies that shield his face from view.

“You have more secrets that you would care for me to know, you pretend that you know little about the Prophecies, but I can tell by the way you hold yourself and the way you interact with Techno that you are in way deeper than you’re trying to make me believe. I am aware of who I’m dealing with, but are you?”

Tommy stands, “It was a pleasure doing business with you. You can expect the money in about a week's time.”

And then he leaves.

He doesn’t bother to see how Philza will respond, for this is a game and Tommy plans to come out on top.

♔ ♔ ♔

Phil doesn’t know what to think of Theseus.

He is sly and far more observant than you would initially believe him to be. He carries an air of confidence about him and commands a room with ease.

The boy is an oddity by all meanings of the word. 

He is a puzzling thing to figure out. Phil tends to pride himself on his ability to figure people out, yet this boy is an enigma.

Phil has studied him and despite his years of experience, the boy is a nearly impossible puzzle to solve.

The oddest part of it all is the fact that Theseus has managed to figure them out. Nobody has before, always assuming Phil is just an assistant or someone that knows nothing.

They have never figured out that the reason Phil stays once he brings Techno in is because Phil is a part of it all.

Theseus did it though. It’s baffling and impressive and borderline concerning.  

Phil glances at Techno, trying to determine what the man is thinking.

They have worked together for years, a bond growing between them steadily. Phil remembers the first time they met quite well.

The bar was dingy, candles flickering and the lighting low. People were crowding around, the body heat mingling with the summer humidity to create an uncomfortable level of warmth and moisture.

Phil had pushed through the crowd, a job freshly finished. Back then he wasn’t big, not like the two of them are now, but he had a steady source of income from various hit jobs and the occasional small theft.

There aren’t any spots open at the bar when he gets there, though he figured there wouldn’t be. 

Phil flagged down the bartender, ordering something simple. He can’t quite recall what he ordered, but the details of it all aren’t important.

To make a long story a bit shorter, Phil got his drink and shoved his way towards the edge of the bar. He had attempted to get to a place that was less stuffy, but that was never going to work.

Halfway through the bar Phil got shoved and then subsequently fell into someone, who he now knows is Techno.

One thing led to another and they were outside of the bar, talking about arbitrary things into the humid summer night sky.

Phil cannot quite say why Techno had talked to him that night, or why he indulged in Phil’s rambles and antics, but he did.

Maybe it was something written into the stars and muggy bar that brought them together. Phil will never know and he honestly does not wish to know either.

Regardless of circumstances, they have known each other ever since. Their silent communication is through the roof.

They had both seen the glint in Theseus’ eyes as he told Phil his observations about him, little things that he had put together over the course of two meetings.

It was impressive, Phil knows Techno has to agree.

It was obvious in the silence that followed, in the way that neither of them moved when Theseus stood up and neither of them followed him when he left.

“That was interesting,” Techno says, breaking the tentative silence, as he removes the mask that rests across his face. He always condemns Phil for his lack of one, but both of them know Phil has always liked to play risky.

“It was.”

A silence, but it isn’t deafening like it is with Theseus in the room.

“What do you think is up with him though? Hiring people to kidnap the King for a few weeks is quite odd.”

“He has so much information too, I can’t help but be curious about him.”

“I know Phil. I see what you meant now when you told me he was ‘eccentric’.”

“Yeah. How do you feel about the job?”

Techno tilts his head, glancing at Phil for a brief moment before sighing.

“We would be idiotic not to do it.”

Phil nods, always encouraging, always patient.

“But, it’s a very risky mission, even for that much.”

“We’ve never been ones to back down from a challenge.”

Techno sighs, standing up and grabbing the satchel, sorting through it to ensure everything is in place.

“You’re right.”

Phil stands as well, “I always am.”

They begin walking out of the room, blowing out the few candles before they go.

The door shuts behind them, “It’s time to start planning, yeah?”

Techno nods once, “Yeah, let’s go back to the house and we can start figuring out all the details. We gotta find a place to keep the King and food and all that stuff.”

Phil nods in agreement, “Sounds good. Let’s go.”

♔ ♔ ♔

Tommy does what he needs to do. He drops off a thousand sonas at the shop, nodding at Philza and making brief conversation.

It’s nothing crazy. Philza casually mentions money to feed Wilbur when he is with them and Tommy nods along, ensuring that they will be compensated for any expenses used.

It’s one of the simplest conversations Tommy has held with Philza, rivaling that very first one when Tommy purchased that dagger.

It almost confuses him. The negotiations and the meetings felt like the most intense game of chess Tommy has ever had to play, and now, it’s all smooth sailing.

Tommy is antsy though. He feels like everyone can see his nerves seeping off of him. It’s a foolish feeling, 

He hates that he is being so silly about this, that it creates a turmoil within his gut that is unprecedented and unwanted.

Tommy wakes up every morning, wondering when it’s finally going to happen. He’s paranoid and jumpy and he feels as though everyone in the palace has been informed of this.

He feels regret if only for the guilt that suffocates him.

It isn’t until Wilbur says something that Tommy truly notices though.

It all starts with two simple knocks on his door, quick raps that are so distinctly Wilbur’s slender fingers formed into a loose fist knocking gently against the weathered wood.

“Tommy?”

Tommy looks up from where he lies on his bed. A song plays softly from a gramophone that rests by the fireplace in the far corner of his room.

“Yeah?”

“May I come in?”

Tommy hesitates, if only for a breath and that says everything. A lifetime ago he would have never even imagined the thought of not saying yes, and now it feels like a battle to let Wilbur into a life that he belongs in.

“Yeah.”

Tommy watches as the door opens, eyes scanning a man he would have called a brother once upon a time.

“Hey,” Wilbur says, sitting down awkwardly on the edge of the bed. He looks out of place in a way. 

The room used to fit the both of them, but now it feels unnatural to have them both occupying his space.

Music fills the silence, but it doesn’t feel peaceful like it once did.

Tommy sits up, crossing his legs under him and placing his hands in his lap, “Hey.”

The conversation is so stilted and Tommy knows it’s his fault.

It never used to be this way, but Wilbur stepped up and Tommy stepped away and his jealousy bubbled and toiled within him until it boiled over and burned him.

“How have you been?”

Tommy glances away from Wilbur, unable to look at his carefully curated look of concern. He knows it comes from a place of care, but it scorches Tommy and makes him feel far too raw.

“I’ve been fine.”

He watches the way clouds laze across the sky.

“Tommy, you don’t have to lie.”

Tommy looks away from the window, eyes tracing the furrowed brows and the frown that paints Wilbur’s face.

“I— I’m fine Wil.”

Tommy watches as Wilbur’s frown deepens, “Tommy—“

“Wil, please, just drop it.”

“You can tell me anything, you know that right?”

“I— I know.”

Wilbur looks like he wants to say more, but he holds back.

“Do you—do you want to go hangout or something? We can go to the music room, just like old times.”

And, Wilbur looks so hopeful. Tommy knows it is wrong to say yes, to give him that hope that their relationship can be saved.

But, Tommy wants to indulge in this, in what they used to have.

Tommy should say no, but he won’t. 

“Yeah, that would be…nice.”

And Wilbur smiles and it makes all of the guilt that has been festering within him dissipate if only for that singular moment where Wilbur’s smile is the only thing he can see.

“Oh! Great! Let’s— let’s go!”

And the way he answers betrays the fact that even he believed that Tommy would say no. 

Tommy smiles, it’s tentative and forced, but it’s more than he has given Wilbur in a while.

Wilbur stands, cautious, as though he believes that Tommy is going to back out. It’s not uncalled for, but it still hurts Tommy.

He hates that it has gotten to a point where hanging out is a rarity and that the chances of it not falling through are low.

It’s only when Tommy slips off the bed, looking at Wilbur expectantly that Tommy will see the way he visibly eases.

His smile becomes easier and his shoulders lose the tension and something about that breaks some fragile part of his heart.

“Come on Wil, let’s go.”

They walk out of the room, side by side, but not in a way that spells closeness, but rather the semblance of what once was.

It’s nice regardless. Tommy had gotten so used to the sound of his footsteps being the sole sound that bounces off the walls, but with Wilbur by his side there is more.

He makes the palace feel less empty. Tommy never realized how much he missed this until he had it once again.

It only means that it will hurt all the more when Wilbur no longer has the ability to roam the halls with him.

Tommy tries to pretend that the guilt isn’t threatening to consume him, but maybe it’s a fitting punishment.

Maybe this is what he deserves for what he has set into motion. This is his punishment from the gods that stare down at him and deal him the hand that he must bear, whether good or bad.

The walk is quiet. They don’t talk, but they enjoy the presence of each other in a way that they have not in a long time.

Tommy regrets the way that everything has gone. He regrets the resentment that grew towards Wilbur for something he could never truly control. He regrets pushing Wilbur away. He regrets losing everyone he had ever loved long before he should have.

The music room comes up on the left. Tommy imagined that if there were not people that cleaned and dusted the majority of the rooms that this one would have dust collecting on every corner, including the knob.

There is no dust though and so they enter.

It looks exactly how it always has. Tommy shouldn’t be shocked, but he is. Maybe he feels as though it should have changed as much as they did over its time in disuse, but there’s no telling what he truly expected.

Wilbur walks in, welcoming it back into his life the same way one would welcome an old friend. In a way that is what he is doing, music is a friend that was once dear to Wilbur, but being a king, even a fake one, turns your free time to ashes and burns the hobbies you might have held.

Kings don’t have time for useless hobbies, both of them learned that the hard way.

Wilbur picks up a guitar and Tommy cannot help but think about how right it seems.

The guitar fits perfectly in his hands and when he holds it, Wilbur looks at peace.

Tommy watches the way he holds the guitar so delicately in his hands, the way the gentlest of smiles form on his face, the way he looks just like himself rather than someone he must pretend to be.

Wilbur moves and sits on a couch that rests in the room. He looks at Tommy and Tommy knows exactly what to do.

Just like old times, he walks over, sitting on the opposite end of the couch, ears open and heart ready for a song.

When they were younger, they used to talk about what they would do if they had a choice in life.

Wilbur had always wanted to be a musician.

“What do you want to hear?”

Wilbur’s voice is soft. Tommy smiles softly at the question, watching the way Wilbur tunes the guitar.

Tommy shrugs, despite knowing that Wilbur won’t see it, mind wandering back to what life was like before.

“Play one of your originals.”

Wilbur looks up from the guitar, shock written across his expression.

“Okay.”

And they sit in silence as he tunes the guitar, Tommy watching with curious eyes as they fall back into a routine that he used to know so well.

Wilbur strums a few times, checking to make sure that they’re in the right key.

Once he’s satisfied, he glances up at Tommy, a single nod is given and then he looks down and he begins.

“One, two, three and four.”

Tommy smiles as he watches Wilbur strum the guitar.

It’s nowhere near perfect, but maybe that’s what makes it good.

“I think this time I’m dying.”

Wilbur’s voice never did lose its touch. The emotion that he portrays and the way he sings will forever be something Tommy is grateful to have heard.

“I’m not melodramatic, I’m just pragmatic beyond any reasoning,” Wilbur sings gently.

Tommy just watches, there’s nothing more to it. He listens and he enjoys and he ignores how this will all go away.

Being like this—with Wilbur and a guitar and nothing to attend to—reminds him of the millions of times they have done this before.

“I think this time I’m dying.”

It’s always been the same, even when they were kids and the guitar was almost too big for Wilbur. It’s baffling how normal it looks now, like he was always meant to hold a guitar.

He strums easily, body falling back into the rhythm. Even when he messes up, Tommy cannot help but think it still sounds perfect.

“I think I’ve made my choice.”

Tommy has made his choice, but it’s times like these that he wonders if it was the right one.

“I’m a deceased playing victim. Slip the fate, slip the victory.”

Is this all a slip of fate? Tommy doesn’t know. He just…doesn’t know anymore.

“I think I’ve made my choice. Sink secluded in hatred, void the plans friends are making.”

Tommy wonders now, if in another life they would have had friends to make plans with, if they would have had the choice.

“I think I’ve found my voice.”

And isn’t that all Tommy wants? 

“I’m a leech sucking blood bags, taste defeat, it's a sandbag.”

Tommy looks at Wilbur, he really looks at him. Tommy realizes everything he has to lose, everything he has already lost.

Can he afford to lose this too?

Hasn’t he already?

“Saline solution.”

Can he heal this wound? 

“Saline solution, to all your—“

Can he fix this? Could he have ever saved them?

“Saline solution, to all your saline solution.”

Tommy feels out of his depth. He feels like he’s made a mistake. He feels like this is what needs to be done. He feels confused and lonely and hurt and so out of his element.

Is this what life has become?

“To all your…problems.”

And Wilbur closes out the song and looks at Tommy.

“What did you think?”

Tommy never wants to hurt Wilbur, but maybe he has to. Maybe he was always fated to do this.

“It was— it was really good.”

Wilbur nods, “I’m glad. It felt good to…play again.”

Tommy can hear the unspoken part though, he knows what he wanted to say.

“It was good to hear you play again.”

And they both know what he means.

There’s a lapse of silence though, as they try and figure out what to do now.

“Do—“

Wilbur pauses and Tommy looks at him, trying to decipher everything that is going on in his head.

“Do you want to play something?”

The question is innocent in nature. Tommy knows this, but he also knows that he could never play again.

Years ago he used to play piano. He wasn’t a professional by any means, but he was relatively good.

He would play the piano and Wilbur would sing and sometimes Tommy would sing as well. It was nice, but that isn’t something they do anymore—it isn’t something Tommy does anymore.

“I— I can’t.”

“I’m sure you can. It’s like riding a bike.”

And he looks so hopeful, but he doesn’t understand.

“No— you don’t— I can’t Wilbur.”

And something seems to get through to him, maybe it’s the desperation in his words, maybe it’s something different all together. 

“Oh…okay.”

And Tommy wishes that he could. Tommy aches to fall back into old habits with Wilbur, but he can’t do that to himself, he can’t do that to Wilbur.

And as much as Tommy would love to be able to play house with Wilbur again, to have a relationship with him like he does with Sam, to have any resemblance of their past life back, he knows he cannot.

It shouldn’t hurt him as much as it does, but it does. It pierces him like an arrow, the realization isn’t one that is unexpected, but it isn’t one he wanted to have.

Tommy stands, “I’m sorry.”

And he does what he does best, he runs from his problems. Wilbur is left in the music room with memories of a past life and a broken hope for a future that neither of them can save. 

♔ ♔ ♔

Life moves on. 

It’s as simple as that. Tommy avoids Wilbur and he hangs out with Sam and he goes into town occasionally and sometimes finds time to give Phil some more details.

Overall, Tommy makes a point to not think about the whole scheme. He has decided that it causes him far too much stress to think about, plus he has more important things to think about as well.

He works out trade agreements and writes Wilbur a speech for some convention later in the week. He buries himself into his work, meeting with advisors and trying to figure out how to make his kingdom the best it can be.

Maybe that is why he forgets.

Well, maybe “forgets” is the wrong word. Tommy knows, in the back of his mind, that Philza and Techno must strike eventually, but he lets it slip his mind.

It isn’t a priority.

But, when you are a king, little is of priority other than your kingdom.

Tommy moves on with life as the days pass, he doesn’t find that guilt collapses on him, because he doesn’t find the time to think about it.

There are festivals to be arranged, shipments to oversee, agreements to be drafted, citizens to care for.

Tommy refuses to let his kingdom fail, for if he does then, he too, is a failure.

Thomas Auryn Súiche was not raised to be a failure.

That may seem like an over exaggeration, but it is not. Tommy was raised to rule and succeed, failure never was, and never will be, an option.

It’s the harsh reality of it all.

Tommy cannot afford to not be perfect, to not do what is best for his kingdom. The kingdom comes first, always and forever.

That’s why Tommy finds himself in the library, scouring the shelves for history on some surrounding nations. He wants to ensure negotiations go smoothly, part of that is being well versed in the culture of the various areas.

He’s curled up in a corner of the library, sinking into the plush couch, when Wilbur walks in.

Tommy’s eyes snap up, following Wilbur through the library. He watches as Wilbur walks up to the librarian, talking quietly to the man.

It’s odd. Wilbur isn’t a book guy, if that makes sense. Wilbur has always preferred to pick up a guitar over a book, to use his voice rather than pick up a pen.

Pen to paper, words inked onto sheets of weathered paper, have never been his style.

Tommy didn’t even think he knew where the library was if he is being honest.

This has always been his place, nobody bothers him here, it’s a place where he can be solely himself.

But now Wilbur is encroaching on his territory. 

Tommy looks back down at the book that rests in his lap, some neighboring country’s history of agriculture. It isn’t particularly interesting, but it was informational.

His eyes look at the words, but he doesn’t truly comprehend the words. He reads one line once, and then twice, and then three times.

It is only after that third attempt that Tommy calls his efforts futile and closes the book, a sigh escaping his lips in tandem with the quiet thud of the book being shut.

His eyes slide back up, expecting to find Wilbur still talking to the librarian or roaming the shelves. He did not expect Wilbur to be walking towards him.

That is…unideal.

Tommy places the book to the side, engaging in that awkward sort of eye contact that is made nearly everytime someone is approaching someone else. It is one of those feelings that is hard to grasp, but it makes Tommy want to keel over and die.

The silence is palpable and the awkward tension between the two electrifying.

Wilbur comes to a stop, the energy around them sizzling with anticipation, just a few feet away from Tommy.

Tommy cranes his neck up to make eye contact with him, a wry smile wiggling his way onto his face in his attempt to be polite.

“Fancy meeting you here.”

Wilbur’s face looks so…tired. That is the only word Tommy believes can capture the exhaustion that has seeped into his features. The bags under his eyes are noticeably worse than the last time they talked, and something about the way he stands just spells it all out for Tommy.

Something is wrong.

“Hey, Tommy.”

His voice is hoarse and Tommy is becoming increasingly concerned.

“Hey, Wilbur, is everything okay?”

Wilbur sighs, taking a few steps and plopping into one of the other chairs in the little section.

“The Midnight Prophecies have struck again, burned down the bank in the next city over.”

Tommy nods, that is decisively not good, but he doesn’t know what to do about it. He has information about them and yet he is bound to keep it a secret. If he didn’t then all of his secrets would be spilled as well.

“Oh…”

Wilbur looks at Tommy, “We need to release a statement.”

And, now, Tommy sees what this is about. Wilbur of course feels for the loss of the bank, the jobs and the money and everything that is going to happen. The riots that will ensue when people realize they cannot access their money and the struggle to compensate them.

Wilbur feels that, but he is not equipped to deal with it. Wilbur has all the emotions of a king, but none of the capabilities to become one.

“I– I will write one and leave on your desk for you to read out at a conference tomorrow. I can set it all up.”

Wilbur nods, “Thank you.”

He stands up, turning to leave.

Then, he turns back, looking over his shoulder to leave Tommy with one last parting phrase, “You’re a great king, Tommy.”

And then he leaves, unaware of the battle waging withing Tommy at those words alone.

He doesn’t know how to react to those words. They mean so much. He feels them as they rattle through his bones, echoing through his chest, they suffocate him and liberate him and validate everything he has felt and makes the guilt come on in ten folds.

It’s a statement Tommy has ached to hear, but it is one he wished had not come at this time.

He knows that seems ironic, and it is, he is aware of that. He just cannot handle the implications of this, of what this means for all the feelings he has been holding close to his chest, like a good hand of cards in poker.

Tommy feels like a dam with cracks in it, water pouring out of him until finally it all explodes. He holds fear for when he will finally lose control, for when he can no longer patch up the cracks in his facade and hold himself together.

He fears the day has already come.

Tommy sits there in the silence of the library; however, what had once felt comforting, now feels suffocating.

He stands up, pushing against the silence that binds him, grabbing the book gently with one hand as he begins his great escape.

His footsteps are muffled by the carpet, saving him from the emptiness of an echo. He nods politely at the librarian, before walking out, listening to the door close behind him with a hush that matches the entire vibe of the library.

There are people in the hallways, but nobody Tommy particularly cares for. He walks past them, steps determined as he makes his way towards his room.

He does not necessarily want to have to organize all of this, especially when he is going to get no credit for it, but this is the life he lives, the life he must live.

He nods at a guard that stands in the hallway of the living quarters, a curt smile falling onto his face. His mind runs through what Wilbur must say to mitigate this, what he needs to do to get a conference together. 

He turns around, looking at the guard. 

“Can you go tell that one advisor that gossips to tell everyone that there is going to be a conference in the ballroom at 10 in the morning tomorrow?”

The guard nods, “Anything else I can do for you, your highness?”

Tommy nods, “Make sure we can get some press in there, so it will spread.”

The man nods and then off he goes. 

Tommy watches the man turn down the corner.

One less thing he has to worry about.

He turns into his room, tossing the book onto a chair that rests against a wall before moving over to his desk. He sighs as he sits down into the chair, already reaching to grab a blank piece of paper.

He stares at the blank sheet of paper as he grabs a pen, already sketching out the speech in his mind. This conference isn’t for anything solid, more to address the problem and settle people down to give him and his advisors time to organize everything.

It’s just like a buffer, a pacifier for the masses. Tommy knows this, Wilbur knows this, most people in the cities know this.

Regardless, Tommy has to instill hope for the future.

That is a hard thing to do. Tommy has done it hundreds of times, and yet he still struggles.

He clutches the pen in his hand, watching it hover over the paper. Then, he sets it down. 

Tommy brings his head to rest in his hands, another sigh escaping him before he can contain it. It’s going to be a long night.

His eyes stare at the paper, urging the address to write itself, but alas life is never that kind.

So, Tommy starts how he always has and always will.

Dear friends and citizens of Saoirse, I, King William, have gathered you all here today to touch on an important topic.

And from there, nothing can truly go wrong. At least, that’s Tommy’s hope.

His eyes scan the paper, looking at the way the ink settles onto it before he decides that he really does not want to do this.

Yet, he does not get to choose what he does and does not do, so Tommy picks up his pen and continues writing.

♔ ♔ ♔

It’s dark when Tommy’s eyes flutter open, a half written address resting under his arm and pen clutched loosely in his hand.

He doesn’t know when he fell asleep, but by looking at the address he can tell it wasn’t long after he had began.

Tommy scans the address, trying to figure out if any of what he wrote is useable.

He rubs the sleep out of his eyes as he does so, stretching out to try and wake himself back up. 

A ruffle sounds outside, but he pays it no mind the guards tend to switch around this time if Tommy is correct.

He picks up the pen, flexing his fingers around it before grabbing a new sheet of paper.

Dear friends and citizens of Saoirse, I, King William, have gathered you all here today to touch on an important topic.

Yesterday, a tragedy happened with the burning of the bank in Airgeadais. The castle advisors and I are actively working to remedy the situation and ensure that you get compensated for money lossed, based on our Bank Insurance Act. 

A thud Sounds outside, Tommy glances up, staring at the door as though he is waiting for a guard to come in or an alarm to sound.

Nothing happens.

If you have been affected by this then please send a letter to the financial advisor for the palace in order to ensure that we can help everyone.

We ask that you remain calm and allow us time to fix this situation to the best of our abilities.

If you have or anyone you know has any information regarding the Midnight Prophecies, please contact local police forces.

Tommy reads the words he has written, ensuring that everything makes sense and that he is giving off a tone of care and consideration.

A hush rushes through the room, the world falls into silence. Tommy leans into it, picking up his pen to close up the address.

May the wind always be at your back.

And he’s done. Tommy folds up the address, tucking into his hand as he stands from his desk.

The pen rattles against the desk as he pushes back against the desk, chair scraping against the carpeted floor.

He walks over to his door, swinging it open with an air of confidence.

His eyes move to nod at the guard. The guard is on the floor.

Why is the guard on the floor?

Tommy looks up, connecting eyes with Philza. He wasn’t quite expecting them to be here, not tonight and not standing in the middle of the hallway, but alas here they are.

That is not good. 

Philza looks at Tommy with a wild look in his eyes before he whispers to Techno next to him.

Tommy takes a step back, paper clutched tightly in his hand.

Techno looks at him, nodding once before advancing.

This is really not good.

“Hey, kid.”

Tommy shakes his head, pivoting on his heels before taking off, only hoping that they just give up and go for Wilbur.

Philza cursed behind him before the sounds of their footsteps followed him.

This is super not good.

Tommy spares a glance behind him, watching as Techno gains on him.

Oh god, Tommy is going to die today. How did this even happen?

They were literally a town over, this isn’t even probable.

Tommy picks up his speed as his thoughts begin to fly. Why did they burn the bank? Was it a job? Tommy shakes his head, they’ve never done a job where they purposefully destroyed that much.

It was a distraction.

And as it dawns on Tommy, Techno crashes into him.

That was unideal.

Tommy’s hands hit the tile floor, body thudding against the cold floor as a tinge of pain shoots up his left wrist.

He fights the weight on top of him, struggling to flip himself and get away. He has to get away.

His mind grapples through the fighting techniques that Sam taught him. 

“Kid.”

Tommy stops moving. This is super not good.

“Philza,” Techno whisper yells down the hallway.

Philza comes rounding the corner, nodding at Techno.

“What are we going to do with him?”

Techno shrugs, letting up just enough for Tommy to wiggle his way so that he is face up.

“Well we can’t just let him stay here, he knows too much.”

Tommy wiggles some more in disagreement.

“Maybe we will take him with us.”

Techno shakes his head, “We can’t get both him and the king out at once.”

Philza sighs, “You’re right, and we only have enough memory wiping potion for one person.”

Oh, this is really really not good.

Techno grunts, “We’ll just have to take him with us, hopefully Theseus will understand.”

Tommy wiggles even more , Theseus will not understand because Tommy is Theseus.

How did it all go so wrong? He tries to do one thing and can’t even get that to go right.

Techno scoops Tommy up, throwing him over his shoulder like he is just a sack of clothes.

Tommy grunts as he hits his back, “Hey! Watch it!”

Techno ignores him, “We gotta get going Phil—za.”

Philza nods, “Yeah, yeah, let’s go.”

And they start walking and Tommy decides now is the time to panic.

He watches as the paper flies out of his hand, floating onto the floor. That stupid address is the only reason he is being kidnapped to begin with.

At some point, Techno and Philza take him outside, tying his arms and legs together in the back of a wagon before closing the door and leaving him there.

In case Tommy hasn’t said this already, this is not good.

He listens to their muffled voices as they move to the front, voices loud enough that he can tell they are talking, but not quite loud enough for Tommy to make out their exact words.

The wagon hitches and then they’re moving. Well, Tommy is really stuck now. This is incredibly unideal.

He slams against the side of the wood, head banging on it during a sharp turn.

That hurt. He is going to make sure they know that later.

Tommy takes this time to himself to question all of his life decisions and also wonder where they are going to take him.

He knows it won’t be back to the shop, Tommy literally has to pay them for this warehouse or something for his kidnapping.

How is he literally paying them for this? They are so funny if they think they are still getting paid after that. They can keep the thousand sonas, but they aren’t getting anything else. 

He slams into the other wall, a groan escaping his mouth. This ride is the worst.

Tommy decides that he should probably attempt to sleep though. It can’t be any less comfortable than sleeping on that desk like he did earlier.

And so, as the road throws him to and fro, Tommy closes his eyes and tries to pretend that this is all a really really bad dream.

♔ ♔ ♔

Techno is the one that wakes him up. Well, he throws him over his shoulder, not very gently Tommy might add, and that is what shakes Tommy awake, quite literally.

Tommy groans, “Morning to you too, prick.”

Techno doesn’t respond, Tommy is starting to see a trend.

They are brought into an apartment, Tommy isn’t quite sure what it is. He assumes it’s one of those safe houses or something that they set up.

It’s surprisingly pretty nice, though maybe Tommy should have expected that knowing that they were planning on kidnapping the king.

Techno chucks him on to the couch that rests in the middle of the room, it’s not very comfortable but it’s way better than that wagon.

“So…”

Techno seems like he wants to chuck Tommy out the window.

Philza comes in through the door, slamming it behind him. 

“Techno, how did we end up here?”

Tommy is wondering that too.

“Because you said we should take the kid.”

“That was actually you.”

“Potato patato.”

Philza walks closer to Tommy, “Hey mate, sorry about this! You won’t remember any of it later anyways, but yeah sorry anyways.”

“Apology not accepted.”

Philza laughs, “You got a lot to say for someone who’s been kidnapped.”

“You didn’t even want to kidnap me.”

Philza nods, “Yes, I suppose that is true.”

Tommy frowns, “How long do you guys plan to keep me here?”

Philza takes off the mask he had worn for the job, sighing as he sinks into a chair that is to the right of Tommy.

“That’s a hard question. We weren’t supposed to get you, we were meant to get the king.”

Tommy tries not to laugh at the irony of that.

Instead he just nods slowly.

“So, we don’t really know what to do from here.”

Ah, how exciting.

“Oh.”

Philza looks at Tommy, “Who are you exactly?”

And oh, doesn’t that statement make Tommy want to simultaneously laugh and cry. The whole purpose of this was so that people would know him and now it’s all futile.

“I’m Tommy.”

Techno snorts.

“No, like, who are you? Why were you in the castle?”

Tommy smiles, “I’m the k—prince”

Philza looks like he goes through a couple stages of grief.

“The prince?”

Tommy nods.

“There’s a prince?”

Tommy wants to laugh, because the answer is no, there isn't a prince, but he has always been a liar.

“Uh…yeah.”

Philza looks like he has aged fifty years.

“Techno…”

Techno looks just as concerned, “I don’t know what we should do either, so don’t look at me.”

“We’re royally screwed.”

Tommy chuckles, “You can say that again.”

Now, Tommy is smart enough to know he probably shouldn’t be cracking jokes, but what can he say? The kidnapping might be getting to him.

Philza rolls his eyes, “The pun was unintended.”

Tommy shrugs, wiggling so he isn’t laying on his arms so much.

“Are you guys sure you can’t untie me?”

Techno looks just about ready to spit out a firm, “No,” when Philza smiles softly, “Yeah that must be pretty u comfortable.”

And then a few seconds later Tommy’s arms are free.

He takes a minute or two to stretch out his shoulders while Techno and Philza have a silent argument over this new development.

Tommy doesn’t quite know what to do, or what to make of this.

He was prepared for quite a lot of situations growing up, but this was not one that was covered. Now that Tommy thinks about it, he can’t conjure up why.

Maybe the guards always thought that this would never happen.

Oh, how wrong they were.

It’s almost laughable how easy it appears to have been for Philza and Techno.

With the right information, the palace is not as secure as everyone thinks it is.

Tommy must have laughed out loud at some point because when he looks up Philza is giving him a quizzical look.

Tommy just shrugs, shoving a languid smile onto his face. He may not know what to do when kidnapped, but despite what the others think, he has the upper hand.

“So…you’re the prince.”

Tommy nods slowly, technically no, but he cannot tell them that.

“And we kidnapped you.”

He nods again.

“That is unideal.”

Tommy nods.

Philza just sighs.

Good conversations happening.

“How did we not know there was a prince?”

The question is aimed at Techno, but Tommy decides to answer it.

“Most people don’t know about me.”

Philza looks horrified and Techno…well he just looks tired.

“Why?”

“My dad likes to keep us private, said it meant we weren’t distracted, that we were less at risk.”

Philza frowns, “That…makes sense.”

And Tommy nods.

It does and he has enjoyed the privacy, but he almost wonders if his father wasn’t so private if none of this would have ever happened.

Philza smiles softly, “Well, sorry about this, you’ll be home in a bit.”

And while that is supposed to be comforting, it really isn’t.

Tommy doesn’t want to have to face his failures.

He doesn’t want to go home, not right now at least.

He doesn’t voice that though, instead he just plops down onto the couch.

His new home for the near future.

He can only hope that they will be as kind as they have been.

♔ ♔ ♔

When Wilbur wakes up, he doesn’t notice anything wrong at first.

It’s quiet, but every morning is. He has grown accustomed to the quiet, to the loneliness.

He doesn’t enjoy it, but he is familiar with it.

Wilbur stretches out, taking his time as he always does.

His feet have barely graced the plush carpet in his ornate bedroom when knocks pound on his door.

“King Wilbur?”

The voice sounds frantic, far more frantic than he is used to this early in the day.

“Come in.”

The door swings open, a guard stands on the other end, hand on the door handle, face pulled into distraught.

“Your highness—“

Wilbur hides his flinch at the title, he isn’t meant for that title.

“There has been a breach in the palace—“

Wilbur sighs, “And why does this concern me?”

The guard shifts their weight, “Uh…your little brother was taken.”

And Wilbur does not know what he expected, but that was not it.

“You’re lying. Why are you lying to me?”

His words are desperate.

“Your highness, I’m so sorry. We are doing everything in our power to secure him once again.”

Wilbur’s world falls apart at those words.

Tommy is gone? Why would anyone take him? Most people don’t even know he exists? Was it to get to him? Is Tommy suffering? Is this his fault?

Wilbur stares at the guard, “I—you are dismissed.”

The guard nods solemnly and Wilbur hates that. This isn’t a moment of mourning, nobody has died.

Wilbur rushes over to Tommy’s room the moment the guard is out of sight. He knocks on the door, he hopes that Tommy’s tired voice will call back in response.

Only silence follows.

Wilbur swings the door open, frowning when the room is empty.

This cannot be happening.

He looks all around the room, as though this is merely a game of hide and seek and Tommy will come out at any moment.

He won’t though, Wilbur knows this.

He has to look though, he has to make sure that what they say is true. The bathroom is empty, the sink dry. The bed is wrinkly free and the only thing that seems to have been touched is his desk.

Oh, the desk.

Wilbur walks over to it, looking at the crumpled up drafts of the address. 

Wilbur frowns, fingers gracing the pen that rests on Tommy’s desk.

He forces himself to pull away, he knows he won’t do any good like this.

His footsteps echo through the hallway, guards look at him with pity and Wilbur wishes they would all go away.

He needs Tommy. He isn’t a king, he’s just a fraud.

Tommy needs to be here, he can’t—he can’t be gone.

He’s about halfway through the hallway, having just barely turned the corner when he sees something lying on the floor.

There, almost like a broken promise, lies the final address. Wilbur picks it up with shaky hands, unfurling it slowly.

He was on the way to him when he got kidnapped.

It was because of this address. If Wilbur was more capable then this would have never happened. Tommy was going to drop it off on his desk, just like he always does, yet this time he never made it.

Wilbur folds the address gently, shoving it into the pocket of the pajamas that hang off of him.

He still has to give this speech, but now he must speak on this.

Wilbur doesn’t know what to do, he doesn’t know how to be a king, not really. He has always had Tommy to do this, to tell him what to do and where to be.

Wilbur was raised to be an advisor, not a king. He was never supposed to make decisions, only guide them.

He’s lost. Wilbur doesn’t know what to do, or how to fix this.

Tommy isn’t here, his b—, he’s gone and it’s Wilbur’s fault.

He had to fix this, he just—he has to. There isn’t any other choice.

Wilbur turns on his heels, heading back towards his room, head spinning from all these revelations.

He doesn’t bother looking at the guards, their gazes make him wither from the guilt. He feels as though they can all see through his crumbling facade, as though the moment Tommy left, the whole veil fell.

He crashes into his room, chest heaving. Wilbur glances at the clock, noting how much time he has until the conference.

It’s not a lot of time. It’s definitely not enough for him to figure himself out.

Wilbur sighs, moving to his desk so he can attempt to figure out what to say.

He sinks into the chair, before staring at the empty desk.

It is only now that he realizes how little he actually uses his desk.

Wilbur pulls the address out of his pocket. Normally he just has to memorize them, but now he must rewrite it and—and inform the kingdom of his failures.

He flattens the paper out on his desk, eyes catching on the ink and the way it rests so perfectly on the paper.

First, he reads what it says.

Dear friends and citizens of Saoirse, I, King William, have gathered you all here today to touch on an important topic.

Yesterday, a tragedy happened with the burning of the bank in Airgeadais. The castle advisors and I are actively working to remedy the situation and ensure that you get compensated for money lossed, based on our Bank Insurance Act. 

If you have been affected by this then please send a letter to the financial advisor for the palace in order to ensure that we can help everyone.

We ask that you remain calm and allow us time to fix this situation to the best of our abilities.

If you have or anyone you know has any information regarding the Midnight Prophecies, please contact local police forces.

May the wind always be at your back.

“May the sun shine warm upon your face.”

Normally, it’s the crowd that finishes that, that yells it back to him, but it only feels fitting to wish this upon Tommy.

Wilbur rereads the address, line by line, trying to emulate the feeling that Tommy had so easily gathered.

He doesn’t know how to do this, but he must learn.

There is truly no other option, not now.

He grabs a new sheet of paper, and with a sigh, Wilbur sets out to do something he has never done before.

It all starts with:

Dear friends and citizens of Saoirse,

♔ ♔ ♔

Suffice to say, Tommy is freaking out.

He has suddenly remembered that Wilbur has to give a speech today, and that he definitely is currently trying to rewrite the speech that Tommy had written.

This is going to be a hot mess.

Tommy is pacing the floor, trying to think of any way he can salvage this.

He looks up at the ceiling, ignoring Techno’s pointed look.

He softly recites a blessing, one that the whole country knows.

“And until we meet again, may God hold you in the palm of his hand.”

Tommy sighs, he doesn’t necessarily believe very strongly in God, but right now he needs something.

Techno tilts his head at him, “What was that?”

The man has still refused to take his mask off around Tommy, which is fair, albeit unnecessary because of the memory loss potions they’ll feed him before he’s sent on his merry little way.

“It’s a blessing in Saoirse, there’s a whole thing, but I only needed those two lines.”

“What for?”

Tommy looks wistfully out a window, staring at the rolling fields and imagining the castle just past them.

“Nothing of importance…”

Techno seems to understand that Tommy isn’t going to tell him, just shrugging before going back to his book.

There’s a sort of silence that falls over the apartment in a way that Tommy doesn’t know how to deal with. He is used to being lonely, but there’s a difference between being alone and being lonely.

Right now he is alone.

It’s an odd feeling, settling deep into his bones and rattling them. It almost feels like death being cast upon a lively field, the way everything withers under the weight. 

Tommy has been alone before, but never quite like this.

He does not have that person to help him, that person to turn to.

Tommy has dug himself into a hole and it is caving in on him. 

Techno flips a page in his book and Tommy can only watch.

He didn’t expect this to be interesting, per say, but he expected something to do at least.

There’s a person in the room, yet he’s so alone that it’s isolating.

Tommy doesn’t know how to navigate this, he wants to be able to, but he can’t.

He can’t help Wilbur and he can’t save his kingdom and he can’t save himself.

Everything is crumbling before his eyes, but he’s trapped in a cage made of glass, cursed to watch but never do.

It’s infuriating, he already has a speech mapped out in his mind and he’s already made conversations with himself and had a sparring match in his mind and calculated how many pages Techno’s book must be.

His mind is racing and his body aches to do something, but he’s trapped.

It’s an odd feeling, being trapped, that is.

Tommy never once has had to imagine how it would feel, but this feels like something he would have never imagined.

He feels so utterly useless. He’s a waste of time and energy and space, especially when he is here, unable to complete his duties.

Tommy loves Wilbur, he really does, but that does not mean he has faith in him. Maybe that is something he should not say, but it is the truth.

Wilbur was not raised for this, he does not know what to do and now he must know. He cannot let the people know that he was just a puppet on some strings, for then everyone will be let down.

Tommy continues to pace, burning his energy out across the cheap carpet on the floor.

Techno’s eyes snap up to him, annoyance igniting within his irises.

“Will you stop that?”

Tommy pauses, “Sorry, I’m just bored.”

Techno sighs before standing, leaving the room briefly and heading into the bedroom.

He returns with another book.

“Do you read?”

Tommy nods slowly, and as he does, Techno tosses the book across the room and over to Tommy.

Tommy snatched it out of the air, turning it over in his hand to examine it.

Tommy doesn’t recognize the title, but he flips to the back, quickly reading the synopsis. It seems…interesting enough.

“Read.”

And Tommy doesn’t have a response to this, so he moves over to the couch, plopping down into the corner, and he silently flips to the first page.

♔ ♔ ♔

Wilbur is freaking out.

That is the simplest way to say this.

He did draft…something.

It’s not great, but maybe he can play it off as nerves and maybe it will all be okay.

But he’s afraid that it won’t be, he’s afraid that everyone will be able to see through his guise.

This is by far the most nerve racking thing Wilbur has ever had to do and he doesn’t know if he has the strength to do this.

He has always been good with his words, but are they good enough to deceive a whole nation? Can he put on an award winning performance on the biggest possible stage?

Wilbur does not know. That’s the simple truth, he doesn’t know if he will succeed or if everything they have done will crash and burn the moment that Tommy isn’t there to hold it all together.

He breathes in and then out.

Wilbur glances at himself in the mirror, staring at the way his outfit fits him perfectly, everything tailored to make himself look like a king.

Maybe if he looks the part, he can play the part.

He sighs, straightening out the front of his shirt once more, as though it isn’t already smooth, if only to soothe his nerves.

He looks himself dead in the eyes.

“You can do this.”

A knock sounds on his bedroom door.

Wilbur jumps, spinning around to face the door of his bathroom that looks into his room.

“Who is it?”

“Mike, your guard and escort to the conference.”

And Wilbur nods, despite knowing he cannot be seen.

“I’m coming, just…give me one moment.”

And he turns back to the mirror once more, watching the way his chest rises and falls before he finally leaves his reflection behind.

He can do this.

He opens up the door, putting on a smile when he sees the guard.

“Hello, hello. Let’s go.”

And he starts walking, not really waiting for Mike to answer, knowing he will fall into place.

Technically speaking, the man is his escort, but Wilbur knows where he must go and it’s more for the formality of it, though they might be upping the security after this…incident.

Wilbur pulls his shoulders back as he walks. He is confident. He is a king. He can do this.

The door to the ballroom that connects to an area the public can access swings open before him.

People already are standing in the room, casual chatter coming to a close as he takes his first step. A path parts before him as he walks, people bowing before him in respect.

It has always made him uncomfortable: the way these people placed him upon a pedestal. It feels unnatural, like he’s no longer himself, but rather just an idea.

Yet, he doesn’t let any of that show on his face. He continues to be picture perfect, because he truly cannot afford to be anything else.

He steps up the stairs to the small platform that is set up. A microphone rests on a stand and everyone falls silent as he moves to stand behind it.

The reporters stand poised and ready to record everything he says. Other bystanders watch with weary glances and hopeful stances.

He can do this.

Wilbur steps up to the mic, grabbing it gently with one hand.

“Hello friends and citizens of Saoirse—“

He takes a breath. He can do this.

“I have gathered you here today, originally, to discuss the fire at the bank that occurred just yesterday in Airgeadais. While we are working diligently to remedy the situation and protect people’s funds, another situation has risen in the wake of this.”

Wilbur takes a pause, a shuddering breath.

“Last night, someone was able to bypass the palace security and—“

He stays strong, he has to for the country.

“And my little brother, the prince, was taken last night before we could locate the infiltration.”

Murmurs erupt through the crowd, revving up Wilbur’s nerves as he listens to them.

“The castle has since been focusing on how the culprits got in and how we can better the security, but until then if any of you have any information regarding this kidnapping please let the palace guards know through the non-emergency line.

“We are aware that many of you do not know of the prince’s identity, and should it become necessary we will share this information, but until then please remain aware and diligent.

“May the wind always be at your back.”

And he steps back as the crowd calls back, “And may the sun shine warm upon your face.”

Wilbur smiles, but everyone in the room can see the sadness that seeps through in place of the warmth that normally shines when he smiles.

The crowd parts once more and Wilbur walks through them, steps sure and elegant and graceful. He walks like a king and he pretends that he has the strength of one as well.

The doors swing open once again, and Wilbur splashes through them like a wave crashing upon a beach. They slam shut behind him and it’s only then that he finally lets his brave facade crack, showing the crumbling pieces of him that he had to hide.

It’s nothing big. It’s not some dramatic breakdown, but his shoulders drop and his placating smile and his steps are no longer so measured.

He is closer to himself, though he isn’t quite sure who that is anymore.

The guards that line the hallways obviously notice, but they must be wise enough to not show it. Wilbur appreciates that, because at the very least he can pretend that his act is still working.

A headache creeps up on him, squeezing his temples and sending pain jolting through him.

He punches the bridge of his nose as he walks, trying to ignore everything and how it’s all imploding in on him.

His door comes into view and Wilbur walks through it, hand flinging it shut as he walks through. It closes with a dull thud that reverberates through the room. 

His headache amplifies the sound, making it feel like it’s personally piercing his skull and poking his brain. 

It’s annoying. That’s the only way Wilbur can explain it. It is inconvenient and it makes his thoughts fuzzy and he can’t think through the ache of the headache.

His skull feels like it’s about to explode from the pressure. 

Wilbur walks over to his bed, trying and failing to ignore his headache. He doesn’t know what brought it on.

Maybe it’s the stress. He has so much of it now that it feels like a pot of water boiling over with bubbling water that dissipates the moment it hits the stove top.

He has problem upon problem piling up and no way to deal with them. His eyes land on his guitar, mind wandering to that fateful day in the music room with Tommy not too long ago.

It made him realize how much he missed music. The way the guitar felt in his hands and the comfort of the strings beneath his fingers and the sweet melody that he can create.

The soft hum of voices and Tommy’s serene look for the first time in a while, the joy he felt that he forgot he could feel.

He forgot how much music has done for him. It was a sad realization to have, that you could forget something that saved you, that you could cast it aside as if it didn’t keep you afloat when the waves tried to drag you under.

The waves slam against him now, but he doesn’t have anything to save him, not anymore.

Without even truly thinking about it, Wilbur finds himself in front of the guitar. His hands run against it, feeling the worn wood that used to be so utterly his.

He picks it up, letting his hands fall to where they used to, letting himself fall to where he used to.

Wilbur wants to think that he is stronger than this, stronger than having to resort to something so juvenile. 

When he was younger, he used to believe that he could be a musician, that he could play for crowds of people and that he could live his passion.

Now, he knows that was a naïve thought.

Wilbur could have never been a musician. That is a plebes job, and he is a noble. He always has been and always will be.

Yet, in another life, he wonders if he would live by the sea and have sea salt in his hair and sand in his clothes and a beautiful family and a guitar that never sat stagnant for long.

In another life, music would be his life.

But that isn’t this life and so he must not think of childish thoughts like those.

Yet, as his hands run over the guitar, he wonders if maybe he can indulge, just this once.

He sits on the floor, in front of the fireplace. His legs cross over one another and his hands find their places on the guitar, greeting it like an old friend.

Then, he lets himself fall into old habits.

“Wasting your time.”

He used to write songs all the time, it was one of the few things he felt true joy doing. He doesn’t know what can bring him joy anymore.

“You’re wasting mine.”

Is this a waste of time? Will they find Tommy? Will he be a good king while Tommy is gone? Will the citizens know? 

“I hate to see you leaving, a fate worse than dying.”

He watched Tommy slip away, become a shell of himself. He never did anything to save him and now he’s truly gone.

He strums the guitar idly, stumbling over some chords, but it adds to it in a way, makes it all feel more personal.

“Your city gave me asthma, so that’s why I’m leaving.”

He wishes he could leave. He wishes he could live that life he dreamed of so long ago, the one where he did leave and he did live.

He doesn’t know the last time he felt alive.

“And your water gave me cancer, and your pavement hurt my feelings.”

He’s wasting away here. He watched it happen to Tommy, he watched the light slip from the boy’s eyes, and now he is watching it happen to himself.

“Shout at the wall.”

He can’t do anything else. Wilbur is trapped in a cage of royalty, constantly condemned to his cage of the crown.

Wilbur continues to strum, ignoring the way that each chord drills a hole in his chest, straight to his heart.

“There’s a reason that London puts barriers on the tube line.”

He visited London once, a long time ago. It was back when he was first crowned for the citizens, it was a city of history and smog and a train that was always delayed.

He remembered listening to the announcement, telling him that the train was delayed. He recalls the way it felt like an annoyance.

It was only later that he realized what it truly meant. It was only later that he wondered if one day he would be the reason for the delay.

He strums, singing the rest of the song, letting his emotions stream into the song.

“There’s a reason,” he strums once more, taking a final breath.

“They fail.”

Wilbur breaths for a bit, hands resting on the guitar before he starts once more.

He strums the guitar gently, watching his fingers as they move.

“We all move on.”

He pauses. He doesn’t know if he will move on, if he’ll ever move on. Not if Tommy doesn’t make it back alive, not if he has to continue to live the life of a fraud.

“Some faster than others.”

And he knows that is true, he knew it when his father died and when he had to cope with being a king and helping Tommy and losing a childhood.

He wishes he didn’t have to move on so fast, he wishes he could have mourned.

“We all know,” his words come out softly, fingers moving to find the correct strings as he lets his music release into his own private sanctuary.

“We all sacrifice.”

He breathes, letting the music come to him. He knows sacrifice. He knows Tommy knows it too.

Perhaps they both know it a little too well.

“In a bath late in the evening, building up sorrow.”

Sorrow is an odd feeling.

“But I can’t say that I wasted my time, cause I’m built by you.”

Wilbur only realizes now, how much he truly misses. How much he pretended was a waste, when in reality it was the only thing that truly mattered in the end.

“And I can't say that I am glad that it’s over, cause that wouldn’t be true.”

His childhood is over, and he wishes it wasn’t. He so desperately wishes that this was still his reality, one of guitars and music and emotion.

“So thank you.”

He strums, smiling at his guitar.

“Oh thank you.”

He doesn’t know who he is thanking, maybe it’s his past life, maybe it’s the music, maybe it’s nobody at all.

“We both remember that day in the summer, when you were sat on me.”

He remembers when he used to sit, under that willow tree in the garden, with Tommy. The way he would play his guitar and Tommy would sing along and they would smile and laugh and cry tears of happiness as they cherished the good times.

“And we cried, oh how we cried.”

He strums a few more chords, “In that moment, we’ve never been so happy.”

He begins to strum more aggressively, finding his passion as he sings.

“And I can’t say that I wasted my time, cause I’m built by you.”

No time with Tommy would ever be a waste, Wilbur only realizes now how much time he wasted before he realizes that.

“And I can’t say that I am glad it is over, cause that wouldn’t be true. So thank you.”

He wishes Tommy were here, he wishes he could have kept him safe, he wishes he was better, that he had done more to preserve the youth in Tommy’s eyes.

“Oh thank you.”

Wilbur doesn’t know when he begins to cry.

“All I can say is thank you.”

The tears run down his face, slowly tracking across his cheeks.

He continues on though, bringing the chords back to those same ones from the beginning.

“I can’t say that I—“

He pauses.

“Won’t miss you.”

And he can’t, because he misses Tommy so much more than he ever expected to. He misses who he used to be and who Tommy used to be and he misses when he had time to recognize these things.

Wilbur sets the guitar down.

He wipes the tears from his eyes, pulling himself together with shaky breaths.

The guitar ends up back on the stand, and Wilbur pretends that it won’t sit to collect dust. 

It pains him to part from it, but he knows he must.

He can’t afford to sit and reminisce when he has to save Tommy.

It’s only fair. 

Tommy spends his time doing stuff for Wilbur and Wilbur has never done anything for him, not in a long time.

Wilbur hasn’t been much of anything to Tommy since his coronation and it may be late, but maybe it isn’t too late to try again.

He hopes it isn’t too late to try again.

♔ ♔ ♔

Tommy is going to go insane.

That is the only reasonable explanation.

He has read the book Techno gave him and he has read the magazines resting on the coffee table and he has walked around the entirety of the small apartment (barring the bedroom).

Techno left about ten minutes ago, mumbling something about running to grab some groceries and check on Philza. Tommy doesn’t really know, he was busy trying to fight off his boredom with an imaginary sword.

He lounged around on the couch for a bit, eyes glued to the ceiling, willing it to become the sky and for him to be free.

Eventually though, he can no longer bear to waste away like that, body itching to do something. He isn’t used to nothing, he was always on the go. He was caught in meetings or writing speeches and letters and polishing up bills. He was practicing with Sam and slipping into the town to catch a break from the suffocating life that is being a royal.

Now he has nothing.

Tommy stands, walking around, poking his head in cabinets, just searching for anything to give him solstice from this purgatory.

He finds a spatula at one point, grabbing the rubber thing in his hand and weighing it. He’s bored, and boredom spurs sporadic ideas.

He’s going to practice his fighting skills, he doesn’t want to get rusty. Tommy has to get good enough to beat Sam one day, assuming there is a one day that is.

He walks back towards the couch, setting up the cushions and pillows to be an abstract makeup of a practice dummy.

Tommy stares at it, looking down at the spatula in his hand before realizing he has nothing to lose. He is alone and Techno shouldn’t be back for a while and Tommy truly has nothing better to do.

He lunges forward, arm jabbing towards the pillows.

He falls into a rhythm, an easy pattern that he is used to. It’s nice to pretend that this is normal, that this is his usual, even if it is so far from the truth.

He continues on though, moving back and forth as he throws the spatula towards his opponent like some kind of knife. His feet slide easily across the carpeted floor and Tommy finds himself truly smiling for the first time since he has gotten here.

Tommy gets lost in his own mind as his body does something he has trained to do for years now.

He gets so lost that he doesn’t hear when the door opens or the surprised huff from Techno or the footsteps that creep up behind him.

“Your back leg should be a bit further back in that position.”

Tommy yelps, spinning and raising the spatula as though it was truly a weapon that could pierce his enemies.

“Oh…hey.”

Techno grunts, moving to settle the small bag of groceries he has purchased onto the kitchen counter.

“Your form is surprisingly good though, for a prince.”

Tommy winces, the compliment doesn’t feel like one, it almost feels condescending and he doesn’t know how to react to that.

“Thank you?”

Techno nods, “Who trained you?”

Tommy shrugs, watching the way Techno moves around the kitchen to place things away for later.

“Just some guard.”

Sam isn’t really just any guard, but he doesn’t have the energy to explain that in the depth it would require.

Techno hums, finishing up putting away the groceries as he turns to look at Tommy.

“Would you like to spar?”

Tommy looks at Techno, really looks at him. He looks at his stance, it’s relaxed nature and the way his shoulders slopes. He looks at the way his face tenses and the uneasiness that he cannot seem to hide in his body language.

He notices the way his fingers twitch against the counter.

The man is nervous, but he hides it well.

“That sounds nice.”

In any other circumstance, Tommy would not have agreed. He would have politely stayed no thank you and walked away, storing the thought in the box of interactions to be forgotten.

Today, though, he agrees. He will say it is because he is bored, and that is a truth, but deep down it feels like something more.

He has been here for less than a day, but something inside of Tommy tells him he must do this, if only for his own sanity.

He knows he will be here for a while, that he can’t just be released today. It might be easier for them to send Tommy on his way, but they have priorities and letting him go isn’t one of them.

So, he must agree and bring himself these moments that will stave off the boredom that claws at him.

Techno nods, it’s stiff, but Tommy can see the way his face relaxes just the tiniest of bits and the way his fingers no longer seem so tense as they rest on the counter.

He walks into the bedroom silently and as he does, Tommy places the spatula back into its proper drawer and begins to fix up the couch.

The silence in the apartment is obvious, but for once it doesn’t feel like it’s taunting Tommy, instead it feels like a new beginning.

Techno walks out, two practice swords in his hand. He tosses one to Tommy and Tommy snatched it out of the air, smiling softly as he felt the weight settle into his palm.

It was nice.

He hasn’t had this since that last session with Sam, and it is comforting in a way he hadn’t expected.

Techno opens the door, eyeing Tommy for a moment.

“You won’t run right?”

Tommy nods slowly, “I don’t know where we are, it would be in poor taste for me to run. Plus, you would definitely catch me.”

Techno seems to take that as a good response, waving Tommy out of the apartment and into the hallway.

The hallway is desolate, nobody in sight, not a noise escapes into it. It’s eerie in a way that Tommy didn’t expect.

They walk, and the quiet padding of their footsteps are the only noise to penetrate the halls.

They come up to a door at the end of the hallway and Techno pushes it open softly.

It leads out into a courtyard and Tommy can’t help but smile as he walks outside.

Realistically it hasn’t been long, but it’s nice to know that this is an option.

Techno leads them over to a little grassy area in the corner. He warms up for a bit, but Tommy prefers to just stare at the little area.

It’s fenced in with a cobble wall that is maybe three feet tall and there are some plants and a tiny garden and little seating area with a small fire pit in the center.

It’s cute in a quaint kind of way. It’s so personal and it is how Tommy knows someone here cares for it.

Techno huffs, “Are you ready?”

Tommy turns around, a soft smile on his lips as he tightens his grip on the practice sword.

“Yeah, I’m ready.”

Techno grunts and it’s something that Tommy has begun to pick up on. It’s one of approval in a way.

They stand across from each other and Tommy tilts his head, “What are the rules?”

“First to fall loses, aim to win, not to injure.”

Tommy nods, “Sounds good.”

He knows he will lose, it’s an inevitable fate, but it’s the excitement of a fight that Tommy feels thrumming up through his body. 

Tommy settles into his stance and he watches as Techno does the same. Tommy relaxes his shoulders and takes a deep breath, he can do this.

If there is anything he knows it’s this. He can write bills and craft speeches and be a king, but at the end of the day, this is who he is.

Techno tilts his head, curiosity obvious in a way that radiates off of him. Tommy might not be able to see his face, but his emotions aren’t as hidden as Techno probably believes.

They stand for a few moments, each person scanning the other and analyzing them before deciding their plan. Techno leans forward, weight on his toes in a way that tells Tommy he is about to move.

And Techno strikes first, but Tommy is already out of the way before Techno reaches him. He hops to the side before bringing himself to stand upright.

Techno pulls himself up quickly, not getting caught off balance by Tommy’s dodge. There’s a glint in his eye though that tells Tommy he is excited for this match.

He moves forward once again, sword coming down towards Tommy in an arc.

Tommy whips his own sword up to meet Techno’s, the wood clashing against each other.

Tommy grins, mouth pulled wide into a wild smile. Techno quirks an eyebrow and Tommy can tell that he must have smiled in some sort of way.

Tommy pulls his sword out of the deadlock, twisting himself and rolling out of Techno’s sword that follows his body.

A laugh escapes his lips as he narrowly escapes Techno, jumping up to his feet with ease.

Techno continues on, his attacks coming faster and faster as he tests Tommy’s limits. Tommy knows he should take this more seriously, figure out Techno’s strengths to use for when it will be useful, but he can’t do that.

This is fun.

Tommy doesn’t get to have fun a lot. Sure, his times with Sam are fun, but they aren’t free. And yes, his times in the town are fun, but the castle is always looming behind him.

There are no expectations here, just him and his sword and his opponent.

They throw blows back and forth and eventually Tommy winds up on the floor, sword loose in his hand, smile wide and free on his face, and chest heaving as he gathers his breath.

“Do you yield?”

And Tommy nods, smile never waning even as he forfeits.

“I yield.”

And Techno throws out his hand, helping to pull Tommy up. The man doesn’t say much, but it is obvious in his stance that he is proud in a sense.

If not proud, then impressed.

It makes something within Tommy preen. His reputation isn’t the reason, it’s because of him, and that is something Tommy has longed for.

Techno didn’t go easy and he challenged Tommy and Tommy felt what it was like to be free, if only for the briefest of moments.

Both of them stand for a moment, eyes locked on the others, chests rising and falling as they breathe.

Techno is the one to break the tentative silence first, “Ready to go back inside?”

And Tommy nods, even if he doesn’t want to go quite yet, because at least he got this chance, this moment.

As time passes, Tommy isn’t quite sure how long it will be before he is back in the castle or until he can do this once again, so he cherishes it.

The memory is stored in a special part of his brain, because Tommy doesn’t know the next time he will ever feel so free ever again. 

♔ ♔ ♔

Wilbur paces through his room, it’s late and him moving in his room are one of the few noises of the night.

The castle always has, and always will, feel incredibly eerie when night falls. Something about such a vast space being so quiet is unsettling.

At least, that’s what Wilbur thinks.

His feet pad against the floor, the sound not even enough to disturb the still air that encapsulates the castle the moment the sun falls below the horizon.

It’s been nearly a week now and Tommy is nowhere to be found. Wilbur obviously didn’t expect them to find him this quickly, but there has been nothing.

Nobody knows what happened, nobody has any hints, and it’s infuriating.

Wilbur is going mad, he is worried and he wants to know that his bro Tommy is okay. It drives him crazy to not know, to not be able to do anything to save him.

Wilbur continues to pace, if only to get out his energy. He hasn’t truly slept in a long time, but he especially hasn’t for this past week. His eye bags are dark enough that people have asked him if he was okay, his energy so sluggish that people have sent him more than a fair share of pitying gazes, his smile so fake and fragile that one strong gust could knock it off of his face, and he would be left to watch it shatter on the floor.

The guitar mocks him in the corner of the room, the wood gleaming in the flickering candle light of the room. His hands itch to do something, his mind runs and eventually he finds himself at his desk instead.

Music fresh on his mind, he does what he used to do when he was younger: he grabs a paper and he writes a song.

They’re always asking, “Am I alright?” As if auspicious or in my pint.

Day in and day out, people ask if he is okay, if he is alright, if he is coping. Someone has spoken to him about the effects of being a king and the pressure, and once–a lifetime ago–he used to truly not be okay.

Alcohol is a vicious thing and Wilbur fell victim to it. He’s not sure if he’s alright, not right now, not anymore.

I’ll find the answer or a good time.

He can either stay strong or fall back in to his past habits, and no matter how much he itches for a sip, he knows he mustn't.

Thank God the time is short.

He pauses, the words flowing and falling and floating through his mind as he tries to find the correct ones to pluck and place into this song. It’s a skill he hasn’t had to utilize as well, but he finds that as he organizes his thoughts that it comes back easily, sliding in like it had never left in the first place.

And, yes, you always do that one thing when you wrinkle up your nose bridge. 

He says he’s okay and it's obvious they don’t believe him. He says something to try and lead the country in Tommy’s absence, and the advisors wrinkle their noses as though he is a disgrace to the crown, as if this wasn’t their idea to make him king in the first place.

I’m trying to figure out what that meant.

He knows, but he is forced to pretend he doesn’t see it.

I took it as a taunt.

Wilbur hums, figuring out a rhythm, chords, and a progression for the song. It’s not an easy thing to write a song, but its a comforting one nonetheless.

Remember way back then in school?

Wilbur remembers his tutoring sessions as a child, the other kids of castle workers and advisors shoved into a room to learn. He was almost always treated poorly, he never quite knew why.

Oh, did anybody ever say no to you? Woah. Did anybody ever say no to you? Woah.

There were kids in his class that got everything and he had to work so hard, just to be disregarded as if he wasn’t trained to be an advisor, as if he doesn’t contain the knowledge it would take for him to even attempt to keep the country stable.

And I don’t think I have a clue, cause, well, did anybody ever say no to you? Woah. Did anybody ever say no to you? Woah.

His life has been filled with “No.” Like a wall that is stopping him from truly doing what he is meant to do. He has been reduced to nothing but an image and it's infuriating, because, sure, he isn’t a king, he never will be, but he isn’t dumb either.

You’re always trying to leave the table.

They never want to listen to him, always trying to brush off his ideas in meetings, standing up and leaving before he can even think.

Phone calls, toilet breaks, unstable, and don’t you think that we can all tell?

They make up excuses, anything to get out of his presence, as though in a different life he wouldn’t have been in one of their chairs.

You’re insecure, you’re insecure.

He pauses once more, thinking carefully about the next coming lines. He takes a shuddering breath, shaking out his hands before he creates his next line.

I guess I always do that one thing, when I get too drunk and jump in to figure out what makes your brain tick.

When he was younger, before he sobered up, Wilbur would attend the balls and he would drink one glass and then another and then just a few more and his words would fall and he would burn bridges.

He knows that is part of the reason they discredit him, because he was a victim and he wasn’t offered the help he needed until– until Tommy told him he had to. He hates that that still plagues his name, but he understands, even if he doesn’t want to.

I’m a listener, I’m a listener.

He has always been a listener, picking up on what people are saying to use for later. He knows Tommy is as well, its just a trait you pick up when you’re a royal, you must always listen. So, even if Wilbur isn’t royal bred and born, he has had to adapt to being one, has has had to become a listener.

Wilbur draws an arrow on his paper, plucking the chorus about his time in school and in meetings down to repeat once more.

He scribbles down the last line of the chorus though, just so he can see where he must go from there.

Does anybody ever say no to you? Woah.

He leans back in his chair, hands coming up behind his head as he thinks.

He smiles for a moment as something comes to mind.

Woo! And I don’t think so, cause I don’t think so.

It’s a fun little thing, an answer to the question that he reasons with circular reasoning.

He imagines a short little instrumental break, something upbeat despite the tone this song could have.

He sighs, as he begins the last paragraph, the last verse, the final words of this song that has brought him back after so long of avoiding music.

Forget the number for the cab call as you’re dashing out the front door.

Wilbur smiles gently, conjuring up a closing statement for this song.

You claim to try and dodge the cat calls.

The line is a play on words in a sense, a way for Wilbur to be able to play this song without knowing the true meaning, for he would never be able to play as himself.

Thank God the time is short.

Wilbur hums a tune softly, piecing things together.

And, yes, you always do that one thing ‘cause when you throw and drench me under your drink, I’m trying to figure out what that means.

This line plays into the last one, its a double sided sword, for they throw their drinks at him and they mock him for his past addictions and they ruin the things that could have been good.

I took it as a taunt.

He smiles as he writes that last line, it’s simple, it's easy, and it’s perfect.

He rereads the lyrics, fixing things up, putting them into proper verses, and then he begins to work the chords and tune once more in his mind.

This is something he didn’t realize would be so easy to fall back into, he didn’t realize that he could do both. He can be a king, and when the insomnia gets to him, he can fall back into the comforts of his old habits.

The anxiety for Tommy still rests heavy in his chest, but this helped him forget, it helped him breath, even if it only lasted for the hour or two that he took to write and figure everything out.

Wilbur takes a deep breath, eyes drifting towards the guitar, fingers itching to play around with the chords, to finalize this song and solidify it.

He doesn’t though, it’s late and he cannot afford for someone to come in and question him.

So instead, he slides the lyrics into a drawer of his desk, shoved under some other papers to be forgotten, for no matter how much he thinks it could work out, he knows that he will forever be bound to a role he never auditioned for.

He walks around his room, blowing out the candles softly and watching the flames fade out. And eventually, his room is cast in shadows and Wilbur settles for a night of restless sleep once more. 

He climbs into his bed, eyes glued to the ceiling and, for the first time in a while, he falls asleep with a melody playing in his mind and a weed of hope growing in his heart.

♔ ♔ ♔

A bell jingles and Phil lifts his head, secretly hoping it is Theseus who walks through the doors.

It isn’t.

He puts on a smile, helping out the customer and showing them all the best products he has to offer.

The customer buys something and the store falls silent once again.

Theseus hasn’t said anything since the king announced that the prince had been kidnapped, he hasn’t come to say that they failed or that he wants his money back or that they aren’t getting paid.

Nothing.

It’s stressing Phil out, he can’t figure out where the boy went. Nobody in town has seen him, nobody in town even really knows him.

They say he’s prone to come in and out of town, staying away for prolonged periods of time, but Phil knows he wouldn’t just leave after he hired them.

It wouldn’t make sense, the boy is too calculated for that.

He has stayed up some nights, pondering Theseus and where he could have gone. Sometimes he talks to Techno about it, but as of recently he has been training with Tommy, sparring with those wooden swords and tiring each other out into the early afternoon.

Phil thinks it’s nice that Techno finally has someone to spar with. Phil used to do it, but with the store his time at home has dwindled.

Tommy is an odd kid though. Phil has tried to brush it off as him being a prince, but there is something in the way he reacts to things that shows he knows more.

He’s smart and he’s quick and he’s observant. It’s very interesting.

Phil wasn’t sure that the castle would permit a prince to learn how to fight, but from what it seems Tommy is pretty persuasive.

He wants to get to know the boy more, but he doesn’t have the time. Plus, they have to wipe his memory eventually anyways. They have the potions that take out two weeks of memories and when the time comes, Tommy will never remember he was kidnapped.

Maybe this is Phil’s way of pretending that the boy doesn’t intrigue him, that the way Techno will whisper about his ability with a sword doesn’t make him want to know the boy.

However, no matter how much he wants to know Tommy, first Phil must figure out what has happened to Theseus.

He bursts through the door of the apartment, looking at the way Tommy reads the newspaper with a surprising amount of distraught.

“Techno?”

His voice echoes off the walls, and Techno sticks his head out of the bedroom door.

“Yes?”

Phil sets his bag down by the door, walking over to him, ignoring the way Tommy’s eyes follow him. 

“I’m really worried about Theseus.”

Techno sighs, “Phil, there’s nothing we can do if he skipped town.”

And Phil sighs just nodding, completely oblivious to the battle that is occuring within Tommy.

♔ ♔ ♔

Tommy feels guilty in a way.

Phil seems stressed about Theseus, or well himself, and Tommy knows everything, but he can’t just tell Phil that.

Phil worries for “Theseus” and Tommy can’t tell if he is worried because he wants his money or because he cares for him.

It’s quite an odd thing to experience.

Another thing that Tommy cannot quite figure out is Techno. Tommy has continued to train and spar with Techno, yet the man never takes off the mask around him.

Techno shows on the body language that he is beginning to care for Tommy, but obviously he cannot. What Tommy cannot understand is how he could care for him.

The third thing that has been happening is that Tommy has been getting increasingly stressed over the state of the castle affairs.

The newspapers are playing off the castle's failures as Wilbur’s worry for Tommy. Though, Tommy knows that excuse won’t last for long.

Wilbur needs to keep up foreign relations and people have been waiting to see an update on the bank and overall, things aren’t going well.

Tommy has faith in Wilbur to hold down the place briefly, but he knows that Wilbur lacks the training and the respect.

The advisors have grown to despise Wilbur, especially since many of the ones who were a part of the original decision have since retired and been replaced.

Now, Tommy doesn’t have much respect either, but he is technically the king, which means they must listen to him and his plans.

But he knows Wilbur, and he’s afraid for him. Tommy never wanted Wilbur to have to do this alone and he fears for what he will turn to in order to cope with the stress.

Tommy has seen what happened when he was younger, when the pressure began to rise and the amount of drinks rose with it.

He had to pull Wilbur out of that, back when they were still something akin to brothers rather than the stilted associates they have since become.

But, the advisors mocked Wilbur rather than helping him, they continue to hold it against him as if he isn’t still struggling every day.

Tommy knows stuff like that can’t just go away. He has seen the way Wilbur’s eyes linger on the champagne at the balls and the way his fingers itch to grab a glass of whiskey whenever a day has been especially long.

And— Tommy is afraid.

He’s afraid that one day he is going to open the paper and he is going to be dead. That Tommy is going to come back and Wilbur is going to have fallen so far that Tommy cannot save him.

Tommy is afraid that everyone will find out and that Wilbur will be a disgrace because he couldn’t handle the pressure.

He reads the papers anxiously every day that Techno brings one, he waits for the day that everything comes falling apart.

Techno and Phil obviously are concerned by how much he follows the news, but Tommy knows they assume that it’s because he is waiting for someone to find him or something.

Tommy does not really care for updates on his own kidnapping, he knows they won’t harm him, so he’s all good.

He just wants to know that Wilbur is okay, because even if they aren’t close now, they were once, and those instincts don’t just go away.

Tommy’s eyes currently gloss over the most recent edition. There’s nothing much, just some slander about how the palace has put everything on hold for the kidnapping of a prince that people barely knew existed.

It’s the same stuff and honestly, it almost makes Tommy laugh because he knows exactly why Wilbur and the advisors haven’t done anything.

It’s funny because this whole thing was to show people that he was worthy of being king, to show the citizens who the true king was after Tommy proved his worth.

Now, he's the one that is in the small apartment in some country area and the people still have no clue who he is.

The irony of his situation is not above him.

Techno walks into the kitchen, heating up some water on the stovetop to make his tea as he does every morning.

He glances at Tommy, grunting before asking the question that Tommy has been waiting for.

“Why do you care so much about the paper?” 

Tommy glances up from the paper that he holds in his hand, a small smile on his face, “I don’t know.”

Techno tilts his head, “No you have a reason.”

Tommy shrugs, “Maybe I do.”

Techno leans against the counter, the pot of water slowly heating up next to him.

“And what would it be?”

Tommy sets the paper down, “I’m not sure if I should tell you, it’s not like you’ve given me anything in return?”

Tommy watches as Techno lifts an eyebrow, “And what would you like in return?”

“A secret for a secret, it’s not like I’ll remember it by the time I leave here anyways.”

Techno stands up walking over to where the pot has reached that almost boiling and he sticks a tea bag into it.

“Interesting offer.”

Tommy leans back into the couch, smiling at Techno.

“So?”

Techno nods, “A secret for a secret.”

And Tommy doesn’t even try to hide the glint in his eye.

“You first.”

Tommy has to figure out how deep they're going, how much truth they are sharing.

What Tommy doesn’t expect is for Techno to reach up hand, slipping behind his head to undo his mask.

“Woah, dude you don’t need to do that.”

Techno glances at him, “You’re not forcing me to do anything.”

Tommy stammers, “But— that’s like— you—“

And then the mask comes off. It’s nothing crazy, nothing was hiding beneath it, but now Tommy has every piece of the puzzle.

He can’t match this, not without revealing everything.

Techno laughs at Tommy, at the way his face drops and his eyes go wide. The man sets the mask on the counter before turning back to his pot of tea.

“So, what’s up with you and the paper?”

And— Tommy isn’t sure how to respond anymore, he isn’t sure how he can make it up to Techno.

“Techno—“

He looks at Tommy, a small smile on his face, “Who am I going to tell?”

And Tommy sighs, “You can’t tell Phil this.”

Techno pours the tea into his cup, “I won’t.”

And Tommy takes a deep breath, he won’t remember he did this anyway, and— and Techno just showed him his face, he has to do this.

“I’m worried for Wilbur.”

Techno tilts his head, “The king?”

Tommy winces, “Uh— yeah… I’m just afraid that he’ll fall back into bad habits and that some…secrets will be revealed.”

Techno takes a sip of his tea and Tommy tries not to think about how weird it is to actually see him do that.

“Oh?”

And Tommy knows he can’t say anything more, but he wants to so badly. He wants to be able to talk about his struggles with someone that isn’t in the castle, with someone that doesn’t have some preconceived notion about his abilities.

But that person can’t be Techno, he’s a criminal and Tommy can’t trust him and— he just can’t.

“Yeah.”

The word is stilted as it falls from his mouth, he has to stop himself from sharing more than he should. And Tommy has been taught not to trust people his whole life, he knows he can’t trust Techno…he knows.

But Techno showed him his face, his identity, and how is Tommy supposed to not take that as a sign of trust?

He knows that he can’t take everything everyone does as a sign of friendship, especially not literal criminals, but he aches for it. He aches for something that isn't an obligation for people.

He loves Sam, he really does, but Sam is obligated to hang out with him. Sam may love him, but he has to. Tommy is a king and Sam is a guard, it is his duty to serve Tommy.

It is the harsh truth of the world. Nobody Tommy knows will ever be his friend, not truly, because they are obligated to be nice and friendly and to not disturb him.

Techno and Phil aren’t obligated to do any of that and maybe in another life, in the one where Tommy is a soldier or a guard, they could actually be friends.

But in this world that will never happen and Tommy must remind himself of this.

Techno seems to be able to sense the battle waging within Tommy, the swirl of emotions that clash and collide and burst.

He doesn’t say anything though and Tommy appreciates that, because he is not sure how strong his resolve will be.

“Okay, do you want to spar later?”

And Tommy nods, not trusting his words anymore.

And Techno nods as well, taking another sip of his tea, trying to ignore his urge to comfort the boy that seems to carry so much more than he should.

♔ ♔ ♔

The papers are beginning to catch on, nothing concrete, but stuff big enough that the advisors are scrambling.

It’s been two weeks and there’s still no sign of Tommy. Wilbur is freaking out, he’s stressed, the advisors are breathing down his neck, and the papers are calling for him to act.

He has nothing to show for the past two weeks except for his growing list of failures.

Wilbur just— he doesn’t know what to do anymore. Everything is falling around him and he needs Tommy. Tommy is the only one that can fix everything and he’s not here.

Everyone is looking to him to make things right and he just doesn’t know how to do that. 

Wilbur doesn’t know how to survive without Tommy, he doesn’t know how to fight the demons that threaten to claw up his heart without him.

He knows he can’t rely on Tommy like that, that he cannot place all his burdens on a boy that is already struggling to bear his own.

But Wilbur is weak and he doesn’t know what else to do. He has never really been alone in this, not when Tommy was always there to force him to float.

The country is now seeing him drown without his life vest and they think it’s some convoluted form of grief, but it’s so much more than that.

Wilbur lies on his bed right now. Everyday he has found that the struggle to leave only gets larger and larger until it will eventually consume him.

He doesn’t know what to do. The advisors won’t listen to him, the neighboring kingdoms are messaging him to finalize agreements, the citizens are hounding him for answers.

It’s all so much.

Wilbur finds himself in the bath. He doesn’t know when he got here, but he assumes a maid led him there with gentle hands and pity in her eyes.

He sinks into the water, head submerged.

Water rushes in his ears and everything is muffled. This is how he feels all the time though: like he is drowning.

He opens his eyes, blinking through the hazy water and staring at the lights that shine above him. Electricity is an odd thing, most people have it, but many don’t use it unless there is an occasion.

Yet, they use it so freely here in the castle. Well, everyone except for Tommy. Tommy has always preferred the gentle flickering of a candle and of course that rubbed off on him.

His lungs begin to ache and as much as he wonders what would happen if he didn’t go up for air, he knows he must.

Wilbur pulls himself up, gasping for air. It’s an odd thing, the way he takes it in so desperately as if he doesn’t enjoy the burn.

He sits there for a while longer, hair clinging to his forehead and chest heaving. He doesn’t know why he does this.

But he knows that he stays there until the water goes from hot to lukewarm to cool. He stays until his fingers become wrinkled and until he knows that he cannot put off getting out for any longer.

He unplugs the drain, watching the way the water gets sucked into the pipe slowly.

And as the water rushes out of the tub, eager to get away from him, he gets out. His feet hit a towel laid on the floor and he stands there for a moment, water dripping off of him.

And then he begins to move.

He dries himself off and he puts on the clothes laid out for him and he eventually finds himself staring in the mirror.

He doesn’t look at himself often, knowing that he most likely won’t like what he sees, but right now he isn’t in the mood to cater to his own needs.

His eyes drag across his own body in the mirror. His hands clutch the counter and the light above him flickers gently with the hum of electricity that fills the quiet air.

He looks at his eye bags, the tiredness that just ebbs off of him in depressing waves. He looks at the way his arms shake and his hair falls.

He looks like a mess, he looks unfit to be a king, and perhaps he is.

Wilbur was never cut out for this life. He was cut out for guitar strings and melodies and calluses on his hands from playing and the straining of vocal cords from singing.

He wasn’t cut out for a crown and velvet and the pressure and the advisors and the weight of a country on his shoulders.

He was never meant for this and yet he is the only one who can see it. 

Nobody else can see he is struggling. They saw him when he was at his lowest and called him pathetic, they saw him when he put on a mask and called him an actor, they saw him when Tommy was taken and called him weak.

They see him splashing his arms in the water and see it as swimming, rather than what it actually is, rather than seeing how he is being pulled under by the current.

It’s infuriating because he wants someone to see him, to save him. And they never will, because he’s a king. Kings don’t deteriorate in their rooms, they don’t need help, because what would that say about the royal family?

He has to be perfect all the time, and he just— he can’t do that. Wilbur can act and he can pretend, but he’s too deep in the role now and he can’t claw himself out of it.

Everyone is watching him constantly, eyes watching his every move, and they can see his facade cracking and Wilbur can’t patch up the cracks fast enough, the water is seeping through and the dam is about to burst.

Wilbur pushes himself away from the counter, taking one more deep breath.

He can do this. He has to do this, there is no other option anymore.

♔ ♔ ♔

It’s officially been two weeks since Tommy has found himself in this predicament.

And he’s waiting on the couch for them to wipe his memory.

And he’s waiting.

And waiting.

And waiting some more.

And then Techno comes out, a soft smile placed on his face.

Tommy knows it must be time, time for them to wipe his memory and for him to go home. 

But Techno doesn’t say anything, he just walks into the kitchen and begins to make his tea.

Tommy watches him with taut muscles, nearly shaking from the tension in his body as he watches Techno get water into a pot and as he lights the stove and as he sets the water to heat.

Techno glances over at him, confusion obvious in the frown that overtakes his face for the briefest of moments.

“Are you okay?”

And how is Tommy supposed to answer that? He is about to go home and they are going to wipe his memory and he’ll never even remember that these things happened.

He won’t remember the way Techno makes his tea or the trust that came with allowing Tommy outside or the way Phil always gives him smiles so delicate that they remind Tommy of a marigold in the sun.

Tommy nods, though it’s stilted and it’s unconvincing and he’s so supposed to be better than this. He is a king, he isn’t supposed to be afraid of things… he— he has to be strong.

Techno frowns and Tommy is afraid, for the man doesn’t normally do that. His expressions are micro and hidden and only someone who is really watching can distinguish between his different smiles and his various frowns.

Tommy is really watching though and that is why this one scares him, because someone who is familiar with Techno knows this is out of the norm.

“Are you sure?”

Tommy goes to nod, but he feels bad lying to him. It’s an odd feeling, because Techno kidnapped him, he brought him here. But Techno has also taught Tommy how to be even better at fighting, he has shown Tommy kindness when he never needed to.

How can Tommy repay that?

“It’s time, isn’t it?”

And Techno seems taken aback, oddly enough, he seems confused and concerned.

“Time?”

Tommy just nods dumbly, “Yeah.”

Techno turns back to his tea, “Time for what?”

A frown falls onto Tommy’s face, “It’s been two weeks.”

Techno furrows his eyebrows, thinking for a moment before it dawns on him.

“Oh.”

“So, how does this work? Do you need to take me home and then wipe my memory or is it the other way around?”

“I— Phil and I haven’t talked about it yet, we’ve been preoccupied.”

Tommy looks at Techno, really truly looks at him.

“Am I not going home? Are you just going to wipe my memory?”

Techno sets the tea bag into the pot, “I don’t know.”

“Oh.”

Tommy sits back on the couch, trying to figure out what this means.

“Why?”

Techno looks down at his tea, “Phil has been busy you know, taking care of the shop and all, and I just— well Theseus hasn’t been around lately and it’s just been really confusing.”

Tommy tries to hide his guilt about Theseus, tries to pretend that he knows nothing and that he is innocent.

He has to be innocent, it’s his only choice if he wants to make it out of here with little repercussions.

“Oh…”

And Tommy has never truly been at a loss for words before, but the way Techno speaks spells a story that Tommy wasn’t ready for.

And it almost makes Tommy wonder how he misses it before, because that look of pride in Techno’s eyes when they spar and that sadness that plagues him now and the disappointment when he realizes Tommy has been counting down the days: it all screams that he cares for Tommy.

“Do— do you care about me?”

Techno is pouring his tea into his mug when Tommy blurts out the question and every moment that he doesn’t respond causes Tommy to burrow into a growing pit of regret that resides in his gut.

“No.”

Tommy tries to hide the way he deflates. He can’t believe he was dumb enough to believe that Techno could have ever cared, that they don’t just want their money and that’s all.

Tommy has always been too hopeful for the world.

♔ ♔ ♔

Techno doesn’t know what to do, so he waits until Phil comes back.

It’s the only logical thing to do.

It’s been two weeks, Tommy was always supposed to be on his way back by now, except he isn’t.

Techno should be back to living in that apartment that they actually own, the one with all of his things, but instead he’s sipping on his tea in the kitchen and watching the way Tommy tries to bury himself in the newspaper.

Time has passed slowly since Tommy asked the question that caused his heart to skip a beat, the question laced with so much hope that Techno squashed simply like a bug beneath the sole of his boots.

He feels bad though because in a way he does care. He didn’t notice it, but as soon as Tommy asked and as soon as he said no he realized how wrong he was.

Techno goes out and buys the paper for Tommy, he spars with him and teaches him how to be better, he gives Tommy books to read.

In his own sort of way he cares and he doesn’t know what to do about it.

Phil is out until far later, but Techno needs to see him now.

He had planned to wait it out, but the tension in the apartment is suffocating him and his thoughts are only adding to it as they smother him with all the times he cared and never realized.

Techno sets his tea down into the sink, half full still, and then makes his way into the bedroom, trying to avoid looking at Tommy where he rests, not knowing how he will react if he does.

He gets dressed in the small bedroom, getting ready for the day.

The mask lies on the dresser, staring at him like a taunt, asking him why he has done what he has.

Techno snatches it, but he doesn’t put it on yet. He doesn’t want to put it on until he leaves. There isn’t necessarily a reason, but something within him tells him that he shouldn’t.

Techno takes measured steps down the hallway, eyes still downturned and hiding from the boy that watches him with curious eyes and heavy shoulders.

“I’m going out, I’ll be back later.”

Tommy doesn’t respond, though Techno didn’t expect him to.

He opens the door, closing it behind him before locking it from the outside. He trusts Tommy, but he knows the boy is smart and that he would take this as his opportunity.

The hallways are quiet and normally Techno enjoys that, but this time it feels different. It feels like the fog on an empty road that blocks his vision, it feels like waves splashing over him in the ocean, it feels like a fire burning out on a cold winter day.

He doesn’t linger for long, turning down the halls until he finds himself outside. He walks over to the stable that rests out back, grabbing his horse and beginning to embark on the journey.

It isn’t far by any means, in fact they are a lot closer than Tommy would probably think, but Techno will never tell him that. He may care, somehow, but he also knows that he must be smart about all of this.

The stomping of hooves against the cobble ramps up in his ears, and the rush of the wind fills the gaps of silence in his thoughts. He doesn’t know what he will say to Phil, how he will explain this, how he can fix all of this.

It confuses Techno. He is supposed to be the organized one, the one that stops Phil from going off and adopting random kids and animals. Phil is the one that always stops to feed the homeless kids and pet the neighborhood cats and chat with the crows.

Techno is supposed to be the stoic one, and now he is decisively not that.

He continues on though, trying to avoid the spiral of thoughts that will incur if he continues to think about Tommy and the way his smiles begin with something timid before they erupt into something blinding. He stops himself from thinking about that sparkle in his eyes whenever Techno praises him, and the way he always seemed so eager to learn.

He stops himself, because if he doesn’t then it will all become true.

He turns on a street, diverging into a busier part of town that will eventually lead him down to where the shop is. 

It truly is only about a thirty minute ride, but they hide it well with the paths they took to get there, stretching it out to be even longer than it should have been.

Eventually Techno gets to that part of town where there are too many people to continue riding. He hops off the horse, walking it over to a field of grass with the other town horses.

He ties him to a post, plenty of grass and a bucket of water within reach, and then Techno begins the walk.

His feet traverse the cobbled concrete, carefully avoiding the dips and holes in the withering roads as he makes his way towards the market center.

Slowly more and more people join the crowd and the smell of food and sound of merchants creates a cacophony of sound that Techno tries to ignore.

The store comes into view and it’s only then that he relaxes even minutely.

He walks faster, feet pounding against the floor, propelling him forward until he stands in front of the door.

A single breath is all he allows himself before he enters.

Phil glances up, clearly ready to spill his same spiel, but there’s a look in his eye that’s hopeful. Techno knows he is still waiting for Theseus, that in some odd sort of way Phil had grown to care for the boy.

“Techno?”

Techno ducks in, letting the door slam behind him.

“Hey.”

Phil walks around the counter, coming to meet Techno halfway.

“What’s wrong? Did something happen?”

Techno shakes his head slowly, “No, well, not really.”

Phil tilts his head, obviously asking Techno to elaborate.

“Well…it’s been two weeks.”

Phil pauses, stepping back as though trying to decipher the words before it all dawns on him.

“It’s been two weeks?”

Techno nods.

“Did you..”

Techno shakes his head, “I— I should have, but I don’t know Phil…”

And it all seems to click for Phil, the final puzzle piece falling into place as he realizes what happened with so little to work with.

It’s an easy thing that happens with the two of them. They don’t need much to know all the words the other wishes to say.

“You care about him.”

It’s not a question and Techno doesn’t need to answer, but he finds himself nodding along regardless.

“What are we going to do?”

And Techno doesn’t know the answer, “Phil— he just…how can we take away his memories of the past two weeks when he is… so young?”

Phil sighs, “I mean, Theseus is still nowhere to be seen, we can’t just…return him can we?”

Techno sighs, “I don’t know Phil, he seemed so ready to go back, but there was something off.”

Phil nods, “He’s always been weird.”

“No, he asked me if I cared and he almost seemed disappointed when I said no.”

Phil frowns.

“Phil, I think he is lonely.”

“Maybe he is, but we can’t possibly keep him, he’s a prince.”

And Techno nods, “I know, I know.”

A silence falls for the smallest of breaths before Techno redirects the conversation.

“Any luck with Theseus?”

Phil shakes his head, “Nothing.”

And Techno pauses, mind running back to something else from earlier today.

“Have you ever noticed that Tommy always gets tense when we mention Theseus?”

Phil shrugs, “Yeah, but that’s probably just cause Theseus organized for the kidnapping to happen.”

Techno shakes his head though, because there’s something more to it.

“No.”

Phil tilts his head.

Techno walks thinking and collecting his thoughts.

“Theseus and Tommy are very similar are they not?”

And Phil pauses, finally catching his drift.

“What are you insinuating?”

“That they are the same person. They have similar builds, hair color, and speech patterns. We would be dumb to ignore these signs.”

Phil shakes his head, “It doesn’t make sense though.”

Techno paces, “How did we not notice?”

Phil walks up to him, “Because it isn’t probable.”

“But what if it is?”

“Why would he want his own brother kidnapped?”

“I don’t know, but I think the only way to find out is to ask him.”

♔ ♔ ♔

Tommy is sitting around staring at the ceiling when Techno comes back.

He knows it’s probably time for him to go, that by now they must have decided that they have to take him back.

What he doesn’t expect though, is for Phil to come through the door as well. Normally Phil isn’t back until after sundown, but right now he enters right behind Techno.

Tommy sits up, confusion etched into every line of his face.

“Is it time?”

He doesn’t know why those are the first words to fall out of his mouth, maybe it’s because he almost wants to forget this happened, to forget the two people that have been too kind to him when they never should have been.

“We have a question.”

Phil’s words are soft, he was always the easier one to figure out, openly kind when possible, but still just as deadly as Techno.

Tommy frowns far more easily than he should, he doesn’t know why he is giving up his emotions so freely, as if he wasn’t always taught that royalty was stoic.

Tommy nods though, urging them on as he attempts to hide his emotions and lock them away in a vault.

“Are you Theseus?”

Tommy’s throat locks up, panic flashing in his eyes before he remembers himself. He forces himself to act innocent, to be innocent, because he has no other choice.

“Theseus?”

Techno grunts, “You know, the one that organized this whole thing.”

Tommy pretends to think about Theseus, but in reality he is trying to figure out how he can dig his way out of this, how he can save himself.

“Oh…why would I be Theseus?”

Phil shrugs gently, trying to seem less like a threat. They do tend to fall into a good cop and bad cop pair when they get into business.

“We just noticed some similarities and some oddities.”

And how does Tommy even respond to that? How does he muster up the strength to weave a lie convincing enough to trick two well established criminals? How does Tommy find the strength to lie when up until now they have only ever treated him with more kindness than he thought possible in a world like this for a boy like him?

The answer is that he doesn’t.

His facade crumbles beneath him, his strength gives out and he bends in the wind like fragile blades of grass during spring.

He collapses under the pressure, and, for the first time in his life, Tommy gives up.

He doesn’t speak, just nodding slowly, eyes drawn towards the carpet.

He is a coward and a failure and this— this is why he isn’t king. He was never fit, he was too young, too weak, he was never going to be able or capable. 

He was never going to be king.

It hurts him to have fallen from his pedestal, but maybe this was fate.

“Why?”

Techno’s voice is blunt and it cuts through his thoughts and knocks them down with the same efficiency he has when he yields a sword.

Tommy looks up, face sunken and smile lost to the wind. In a way he looks young, because the mask has finally dissipated like paper that rests in water until it is nothing at all anymore.

“I—“

And how can he possibly explain this, how can he explain that he just wanted to make his father proud, that he just wanted to make someone proud.

“I’m supposed to be the king.”

The confession is whispered so gently into the room, like anything louder would break Tommy as they slip out of his lips. His words coat the room in a fog, settling onto all of them with conviction and certainty.

Phil frowns, “What?”

And Tommy looks up, eyes catching on Phil’s for the first time since they initially walked in.

“Wilbur— uh King William isn’t the king. He isn’t royalty.”

Techno steps forward, “Elaborate.”

Tommy sucks in air, trying to breathe through the smog that fills the room from his confession. It is was a royal secret. 

“When my dad died… I was young, too young to be king.”

Techno nods.

“Why did they not elect a regent?”

Tommy frowns, “That was the intended plan, but I was old enough to run a country with my ideas and my abilities, just not in age.”

“So instead of putting a regent in place until you became of age they did what?”

“They held a coronation for Wilbur, who was training to be a royal advisor. They decided that he would be a good face for the country, because at that time people in the castle liked him far more than they have ever liked me. That might not be true now, but it was true then.”

Techno and Phil seem more than a little concerned.

“So, you wanted us to kidnap him?”

Tommy nods.

Phil sighs, “May I ask why?”

And Tommy shrugs, trying to pretend to be more nonchalant than he ever will be.

“I wanted to live up to my name. The advisors refused to tell the country the truth, they didn’t want to ‘smear the crown name’ so they buried the lies.”

Techno twitches, the only thing truly giving away how he is feeling, his face perfectly still and devoid of any signs of his emotions.

Phil frowns though obviously sensing something more to his story.

Tommy doesn’t wane though. He tries to stay strong.

“Is that why you were so obsessed with the papers?”

Tommy nods slowly, “I wasn’t lying though, I am worried for his mental health.”

“Aren’t you worried for your own?”

A shrug, “I was raised to be a king, that’s not necessarily a concern.”

“Do you have anyone in that castle?”

“I have myself.”

He doesn’t say anything else, he doesn’t say that he barely even has himself anymore, that there is nothing he can do and nobody he can go to.

He can’t go to Sam, he can’t go to Wilbur. Tommy truly has nobody, it’s like solitary confinement in its own way, like he inflicted this way of life on himself.

“You’re so young though.”

Tommy tries to pretend those words don’t hurt, sizzling into his skin like hot water that jumps out of the pot.

“That’s what they said too.”

His words are bitter. He spits vitriol to hide his emotions, to make himself seem strong. He must be strong.

“Tommy, you know, it’s okay to be young.”

Tommy shakes his head, “No, I can’t be young. Kings have to be wise and I can’t do that if I’m young.”

And they both look so hurt and Tommy doesn’t know what to do.

He reaches up, hand touching his cheek.

When did he start crying?

The salty tears fall slowly down his face, leaving that glistening trail in its wake so everyone knows where they have been and where they are going.

Tommy doesn’t know the last time he cried. He has never really allowed himself too, because crying is a sign of weakness and— and kings are strong.

Phil croons his resolve cracking at the sight of a boy so confused and distraught over his own tears.

“It’s okay, Tommy.”

Tommy shakes his head, breath coming in with a shudder before falling once more.

“I just—“

Shuddering breath after shuddering breath.

“I just want someone to be proud of me.”

His voice is so quiet that if there was any other sound that had occurred at that exact moment then nobody would have even heard his confession.

His words fill the silence and then makes it seem infinitely heavier than before, the only sounds piercing it are their ragged breaths and Tommy’s quiet sniffling. Tommy hates this though, because he’s being weak. Why is he so weak?

“I’m proud of you.”

Tommy snaps his head up, not letting hope inflate his chest like it threatens to do. His eyes connect with Techno’s and he searches for a sign that he is lying. His mind is swirling and disbelief crashes through him, but he searches Techno for that clue that he doesn’t mean his words at all.

The worst part?

Tommy can’t find any.

“Don’t lie.”

His voice is so meek and he wishes it wasn’t.

“I’m not lying Tommy.”

And he sounds like he means it and Tommy wants so badly to believe him, but how could he? How could he ever believe his words?

Nobody has ever said those words to him.

Tommy doesn’t argue though, because he doesn’t feel like trying to prove to them that he isn’t capable of making people feel that emotion for him. He is a king, he must act like one, and he can’t go around searching for appraisal.

♔ ♔ ♔

Wilbur is in the liquor room.

It’s not on purpose.

He doesn’t quite know how he ended up here, but he did. Bottles of expensive wine and champagne and whiskey line the shelves, scintillating in the light and begging him to drink them.

His fingers twitch as he spins, taking in all the options.

He knows he shouldn’t, Tommy would be disappointed.

Well, he hopes Tommy will be disappointed. The old Tommy would have, but he doesn’t know anymore.

He misses Tommy, his absence has proved that, but Wilbur does not know if he misses the old Tommy or the new Tommy.

His eyes fall across all the bottles, looking at how the liquid that rests in them sits so innocently as though it wouldn’t change his entire life if he takes a single sip.

Wilbur walks over to a shelf, eyes reading every label carefully.

He doesn’t know why he is considering it, he should just walk out.

He doesn’t though.

He stays, and he doesn’t know what that says about himself.

♔ ♔ ♔

It’s later now.

Tommy doesn’t know what to do.

Techno and Phil have gone to bed.

Yet, sleep does not pull at Tommy’s eyes, it does not drag him to another land like it should. He’s wide awake and his thoughts are screaming in his mind.

He stands up from the couch, wandering around before landing on that bag that Techno always has with him.

It rests against the wall by the door, forgotten there from when they had come back and confronted Tommy. 

Everytime he thinks about that he feels ill, because they know.

He told them everything and they know and how could he do that?

He stumbles over to the bag, legs weak from sitting for so long, from lying dormant as though that would make all his issues go away.

He doesn’t know what he is looking for, maybe a way out, maybe something to save him.

He opens the bag, but he doesn’t look in it. His arm plunged into the darkness, searching for anything to spark an idea with him, to give him a purpose.

It’s then when his hand smacks something hard, something cool. He pulls it out, curiosity getting the best of him.

Once it hits the moonlight he realizes what he holds.

It’s a glass bottle, the liquid inside of it swirling with a beautiful shade of blue. He frowns, it’s the memory loss potion.

He knows it must be. 

Tommy swirls it around, watching the way it shimmers as it spins in the bottle.

Maybe this is what he needs. A fresh start of sorts. All it would take is a few swift right? A few swigs and he would forget all his failures, all the ways he screwed up these past two weeks.

And it’s then that his mind is set.

This is what he must do.

He pops open the bottle and then, just before he does it, he whispers one final prayer.

“May you know nothing but happiness from this day forward.”

♔ ♔ ♔

Wilbur plucks a bottle from the shelf.

It’s his favorite brand of whiskey.

He stares at it. The liquid flashing at him, the amber drink staring back at him. It swirls and dances and captures his attention with the warmth and familiarity of it.

Wilbur looks at it, his hand shaking as he holds it.

He wants it. It would be so nice to be able to just lose himself for one night.

It would be so nice.

He grabs a glass.

♔ ♔ ♔

Phil and Techno talk in hushed voices.

They don’t know how to react to what Tommy said, they don’t know what to do.

Tommy told them so much and he’s so young and they don’t know how to fix this.

It’s no longer as simple as taking him home, because they know so much. Tommy admitted so much and the boy seemed so helpless for a brief moment.

It broke Phil to see.

He didn’t know what to say to make it better, he didn’t know what he could do to fix all the damage that had been done.

Perhaps in the end there was nothing.

“Tech… what do we do?”

Techno sighs, his hair falling into his face before he brushes it back gently.

“I don’t know Phil.”

And Phil has known Techno for a long time, but he has never seemed so lost. 

A noise sounds from the living room, but they both ignore it. They know how insomnia can be.

“Do we bring him back and pretend we don’t know?”

“Can we do that?”

And Techno shrugs, “I really don’t know Phil, none of our missions have ever gone as poorly as this one.”

Phil nods, “I know.”

He wishes this had gone to plan, life would have been so much simpler for them.

But that wasn’t what happened in this life, thus they must figure out a plan and figure it out fast.

They talk for a bit more and then a thud sounds.

“Should we check on him?”

Techno nods slowly, “Yeah, probably.”

They both exit the bedroom, eyes adjusting to the lack of light in comparison to the room.

And as soon as they can see a tad better, the scene becomes clear.

Tommy lays by the door, bottle in his hand. It’s empty and that says everything.

He’s passed out, the potion coursing through his body as it does its job. He twists and turns as it invades his memories and they can only watch as the long process begins.

“Phil.”

And Phil rushes forward, scooping the boy up in his arms.

“Techno, what do we do?”

Techno shakes his head slowly, “I guess Tommy decided his fate.”

Phil looks down at him, “I guess he did.”

Techno walks over, placing a hand to Tommy’s forehead.

“The potion is not meant to be taken all at once, especially when it isn’t diluted. His body is going to try to reject it before it can finally take place.”

Phil nods slowly, brushing the boy's hair off of his forehead where it had begun to stick with sweat.

“I guess we have to come up with our plan for getting him back.”

Techno nods, “Put him on the couch, we’ll make a plan.”

♔ ♔ ♔

Wilbur’s hands wrap around the glass, grip tight like a vice as he stares at his warped reflection that stares back at him.

He has yet to take a swig, something deep inside stopping him.

He hates that he has this conscience, that the good in him is telling him that this is a bad idea.

The smell of the whiskey wafts up to him, his breath hitching as the memories come flooding from the scent.

♔ ♔ ♔

A drink, a laugh, a cheer. He doesn’t remember the rest of the night, but it was nice.

♔ ♔ ♔

A hangover, his head pounding. He has to give a speech. The makeup artist hides the signs of his previous night. Nobody even notices.

♔ ♔ ♔

He has just one drink and then another and then just one more. It’s okay. He walks and stumbles and eventually the world goes dark.

♔ ♔ ♔

Tommy is above him, he’s crying. Wilbur doesn’t remember the last time he cried.

“Wil?”

He sounds so hurt.

He tries to form words but they all slur.

Wilbur hunches forward, throwing up before he stands once again on wobbly legs.

Why is the world spinning?

Tommy looks so distressed, he just wants to comfort his little brother.

The world fades to black once more.

♔ ♔ ♔

The lights are bright around him.

“Will he be okay?”

Someone hums, “Luckily we got to him when we did, it wasn’t looking great. He was choking on his own vomit.”

A sigh, “Oh… I’m glad he’s okay.”

Wilbur stirs and the voices fall silent.

“Wilbur?”

It’s Tommy. What is he doing here?

“Huh?”

His voice is hoarse and his throat hurts and his head hurts so much.

A glass of water is tipped to his lips and he drinks it happily.

“What happened?”

The lights are still bright, but now he can tell he is in the infirmary.

“Alcohol poisoning, you threw up and then blacked out and almost choked on your throw up.”

Wilbur swallows, “Oh.”

And he looks over at Tommy, and it’s that look on his face that makes him swear that he will be better.

♔ ♔ ♔

He puts the glass down.

He can’t. He has to— he has to leave. That’s the only option.

Wilbur rushes out of the room, mind swimming despite being sober. 

The whiskey lies open on the counter and the glass full, but untouched.

♔ ♔ ♔

The plan that they had decided upon was to take Tommy to a park, set him on a bench, and wait for him to wake up on his own.

They figure that would be the easiest way to get him home. It hurts them in an odd sort of way that they will never get a true goodbye.

Both of them have different reasons, different emotions, different ways that they wish to go about this, but in the end they know they could never keep Tommy.

Tommy was always meant to go back to the castle. Even if he cared once upon a time for Techno, even if he confessed his desire to make someone proud, even if he spent two weeks with them that made the boy smile so freely.

Even with all of that, he was never destined to stay.

It’s the harsh reality of their situation.

In a different world, maybe Tommy would have been their third. He would have been a soldier, he would have trained with Techno, he would have had a family.

Not now though, because right now he is destined to be a royal locked in a gilded cage of his own design, loneliness just a side effect of the life he was born into . 

♔ ♔ ♔

When Tommy wakes up, he’s in the town park.

He doesn’t recall how he got here. In fact, he doesn’t recall much of the past few weeks either.

This causes him to miss the two people who watch him with worry from another bench on the park. He misses the way they say a silent goodbye as he walks away.

Either way, Tommy stands and he makes his way back towards the castle, his last solid memory one of him being kidnapped and his most recent being this one.

The haze that entraps just memories is thin though, he feels like they are right there, just barely out of reach.

Tommy tries not to think about it, settling for walking off back towards the castle.

Instead, his mind lands on how it all went so wrong.

One moment he was writing a speech and the next he was kidnapped by the people that he had hired.

He assumes it was just time for him to come back, that their time was up and when Tommy didn’t give them their money as Theseus they just realized it wasn’t worth the effort.

Something feels off about that, but Tommy doesn’t quite have the energy to figure it out.

He walks and by the looks of it, it is still fairly early.

The sun barely peaks over the horizon, casting the sky in gorgeous hues of pinks and oranges that paint the world in a way that only nature can capture.

The market is quiet and Tommy relishes in the peace of the morning. He has never been able to come out this early, always stuck with things to do; this is his one and, possibly, only opportunity to walk the market square when it is so devoid of life.

Though, Tommy can only walk so slowly, before he winds back up at the castle.

He walks up to the gate, tilting his head before walking to the side and knocking on the guard door.

The voices on the other side halt.

“State your name and purpose.”

“It’s Tommy.”

The voices erupt behind the door briefly before it pops open just slightly so they can confirm before they swing it open.

“Tommy, are you okay?”

The guards have always been rather kind, but Tommy isn’t in the mood for their jokes and banter like he normally is. In all reality, Tommy is tired and confused and he would really like to go to bed.

“Yeah, I’m fine.”

He smiles gently at them before pushing his way through them to the other side.

“Inform Wilbur that I am back please.”

And with that he exits the guard tower and reenters the castle grounds. It’s an odd way to come home, there’s no fanfare, nothing.

It’s just silence as he walks through the grounds that he grew up on. Maybe he should feel relieved, but he doesn’t. 

He walks across the lawn, his shoes becoming damp from the morning dew that rests on the grass.

The birds chirp, their songs being carried against the light morning air and filling the air with something kinder than what should be there.

Tommy feels heavy despite the light that surrounds him with the serene scene of a peaceful morning, I disturbed by the horrors of the world.

He reaches the castle, fist rapping against a side door gently, knowing a guard will be standing there.

A huff sounds on the other side, surprise and curiosity obvious in the way the noise escapes the guards mouth.

“State your name and purpose.”

Tommy smiles, “It’s Tommy.”

And the door swings open without hesitation, “Tommy?”

He nods, smiling meekly as he looks at the guard.

The guard ushers him inside, “Does Sam know?”

Tommy shakes his head, heart skipping a beat at the mention of Sam. He doesn’t know why though, something feels off though, like he has doubts about what they have.

Tommy shoos the thoughts away from him, watching them scatter like rats when someone enters the room or leaves when a person jumps into a pile of them.

The guard nods, “I’ll let him know.”

And Tommy doesn’t really say much after that, he doesn’t know how to respond. He nods though and then he is off once again.

The halls feel so empty, so vast. He feels like he is out at sea, no ships or islands in sight, just himself and the waves.

He moves on though, paddling until something comes to save him.

He rounds a corner, walking past a room with an open door.

Tommy pauses, turning to look in the room before he realizes what it is.

It’s the room with the alcohol.

He blanches, but enters regardless, mind flooding with thoughts of what happened the last time.

His eyes scan the room, scared that he will find Wilbur lying there on the floor with a glass shattered next to him.

All he finds is a glass of whiskey resting on the counter.

Tommy frowns, he doesn’t want to jump to conclusions.

He just— he hopes this isn’t what he thinks it is.

Tommy turns around, walking out and closing the door behind him.

It closes with a thud that feels final. It sends a chill through him, like he just witnessed something he never should have.

He walks away and he leaves his thoughts at the door, because that is what he does best: suppress and run.

The echoes of his footsteps fill his ears, and Tommy tries to ignore the way the echoes gather and bubble in his chest waiting to burst.

He makes another turn, making his way slowly but surely to the royal quarters. In all honesty, Tommy knows he needs to see Wilbur or Sam or someone, but right now he just wants to sleep in his bed and hope that when he wakes up everything is less confusing.

His wishes can never become reality though because the moment he steps foot into the hall that contains his destination, Wilbur comes rushing out of his room, a guard lagging behind.

“Tommy?”

His voice sounds so broken, and Tommy doesn’t know what he could do to fix that. Maybe he doesn’t want to, maybe he doesn’t want to have to be the solution to every problem anymore.

“Hey.”

And then he’s swept up into a hug and he stiffens.

The last time he was hugged was at his fathers funeral.

Hugs aren’t something that is given to him so freely.

Tommy imagines that if things were different, if this was before his relationship with Wilbur crumbled to pieces in his hands, then he would have hugged him back.

His arms would have wrapped around Wilbur’s shoulders, and they would have cried and hugged and rejoiced in the other’s presence.

That isn’t how it goes though, because very quickly Wilbur realizes himself and pulls away.

“Sorry… are you okay?”

Tommy nods slowly, arms tingling from where Wilbur had just wrapped them around him. He can’t tell if he’s disappointed in how short the hug was or not.

“Yeah, I’m not hurt or anything.”

Wilbur frowns, “Do you have anything that could help us capture your kidnappers?”

Tommy frowns, on one hand, he knows exactly where to go and who they are.

On the other hand, something is urging him not to say anything at all. Maybe it’s his self preservation skills, maybe it’s something more.

Tommy doesn’t know, and right now he doesn’t care to know either.

“No.”

The word is resolute and it is spoken with enough conviction that Wilbur seems to know better than to ask, especially right now.

“Oh, well, I’ll let you get to bed… I’m sure you’re tired.”

Tommy nods slowly.

“I’ll speak to you later, okay?”

And Tommy barely even offers a nod in response before he’s walking past Wilbur and into his room.

The weight of everything falling onto him as he crashes into his room.

He flops onto his bed, and for the first time in a while, Tommy falls asleep without much issue.

♔ ♔ ♔

When Tommy wakes up the next morning.

Nothing makes any more sense than it did before.

And that means that for the next few weeks , life isn’t quite enjoyable.

He’s asked a lot of questions that he doesn’t know the answer to, and Wilbur is clingier than he has ever been before.

It’s odd and Tommy doesn’t like how his life has been stripped of a whole two weeks. The worst part is that it is right there, he can feel the way the memories are just covered by a thin veil that if he just yanked hard enough would come undone and reveal everything.

But Tommy has tried and he has poked and prodded and he hasn’t gotten anything in return except a headache and frustration.

It’s annoying, especially because every person wants to know what happened and Tommy doesn’t even know.

He wishes people would leave him alone and stop treating him like he is fragile because of this. Life can just assume as normal and all will be well.

But nobody seems to understand that, for Wilbur is hovering and Sam is constantly turning down Tommy’s offers to spar and Tommy isn’t even allowed to walk from his room to the dining room without a literal shadow following behind him with unwavering loyalty.

It’s infuriating. Tommy isn’t made of glass and he is fine. He just wants to be able to live his life without having someone constantly over his shoulder.

It’s almost like he cannot even breathe by himself anymore, the others treating him like a delicate china doll that is one more chip away from shattering.

He’s strong though. He has to be strong.

He’s strong.

Something about that feels wrong, but Tommy refuses to believe he can be anything but that. Kings are strong and he is a king. 

Tommy lies in his bed now, the past few weeks streaming past his eyes. Moonlight streams through his room, casting a pale light that sets the scene.

The night is quiet, it always is, but something in the air spells that this night will be different from the last ones.

Tommy takes a breath, once again diving into his brain in hopes that he is going to finally be able to uncover the secrets of the two weeks.

He first thinks about the weeks leading up to it, the store and the talks and all the information he threw at them in hopes that he could finally do something right.

Turns out he couldn’t.

Tommy thinks about Philza, the knife that rests in his drawer, and that first time that Techno was there.

He grasps onto those memories of them, holding them with a tight grip, afraid that they too might slip away.

Then, he thinks about that night.

It’s all a little hazy, this is where things begin to fade, but he persists.

He recalls the fire, the bank, the address. He remembers the way he fell asleep and woke up to rewrite it until it was perfect.

He remembers the shake of his hands and the sigh of relief when it was finally finished. Tommy remembers the way he went to deliver it to Wilbur’s office, just as he always does.

Tommy remembers the weird noises and the way he ignored all of them, brushing them off just as noises of the night.

He should have known: the castle is notorious for its silence.

Tommy remembers walking into the hallway, and the fear that crashed through him at the sight of the two of them. He remembers the realization and the adrenaline and the way he ran, the speech clutched in his hand as though that could have saved him.

He remembers when they caught up to him and the way they discussed his fate while he sat there. He remembers when they were leaving and the way he watched the paper float through the hallway before settling on the floor.

And then he remembers the wagon and the bumpy ride and the way he couldn’t fall asleep.

And that’s where it ends.

The next thing he remembers is waking up on a park bench.

It’s there though, he can feel the memories.

Tommy thinks more about Philza and Techno, hoping that something will spark it all.

He thinks about how he is quick to defend them in a way, how he didn’t tell Wilbur their names, how he felt so unsure about himself and the way people cared when he got back.

Tommy thinks about his itch to spar and his disappointment every time Sam turns him down.

He thinks about Wilbur and the fear that coursed through him when he found the liquor room open with a glass of whiskey resting there.

He thinks about Phil and his soft smiles and confidence in himself.

He thinks about the way he would look at Tommy with a sort of pride when Tommy called them out.

Tommy hums, pride is an odd feeling. He feels something when he thinks of that, a tingling sort of feeling that he can’t grasp.

Tommy sighs, moving on from that despite the hope that he could finally figure it all out.

He thinks about Techno, his apathy, his mask, the way he tried to hide his emotions, yet Tommy could tell what he was feeling more often than not.

A pain spikes through his head, headache forming at his temples and spreading around him as he thinks about it.

Tommy pushes on though, he has to if he wants to break past that barrier that is keeping him from something that is so utterly his.

Tommy thinks about Techno’s hands on him when he was caught, he thinks about the conversation, he pushes himself to remember past the ride there and into those two mysterious weeks that have escaped him.

He thinks about the way Phil—

Tommy pauses. Phil. He has never called him that before.

A pain pierces his skull.

Tommy purses his lips, thinking about the name.

Who called him Phil?

Did Techno in one of their conversations?

No. That’s not right. He had to have heard it.

But where?

Tommy thinks and he pushes himself to remember, the name spinning in his mind and slamming at the wall that blocks him from his thoughts before he finally creates a crack.

A memory comes rushing to him.

“Your back leg should be a bit further back in that position.”

“Oh…hey.”

Was that from his time there?

It had to be. There’s no other option.

Tommy thinks about that. Techno said that to him. Why, though?

Tommy tries to figure it out, mind racing.

He was bored.

“First to fall loses, aim to win, not to injure.”

Tommy nods, “Sounds good.”

His head hurts as the memories come slowly and in pieces.

Tommy pushes on though. He is strong.

“I just want someone to be proud of me.”

“I’m proud of you.”

Tommy shakes, forcing himself to find the memories to claw his way to them and yank them from the grasp of whatever has stolen them.

His headache magnifies until it’s the only thing he can think about, the blaring pain pounding his skull like a hammer being taken to nail.

The pain is something that forces him to submit, to succumb to it and sit back and just let it run its course.

Tommy refuses to give up though.

He collapses under the pressure, and, for the first time in his life, Tommy gives up.

He doesn’t speak, just nodding slowly, eyes drawn towards the carpet.

Tommy pushes and pushes and then the memories come flooding back, the dam bursting as the water flows to the cities and floods the crops.

♔ ♔ ♔

Techno continues on, his attacks coming faster and faster as he tests Tommy’s limits. Tommy knows he should take this more seriously, figure out Techno’s strengths to use for when it will be useful, but he can’t do that.

This is fun.

Tommy doesn’t get to have fun a lot. 

♔ ♔ ♔

“Techno, how did we end up here?”

Tommy is wondering that too.

“Because you said we should take the kid.”

“That was actually you.”

“Potato patato.”

♔ ♔ ♔

“You’re so young though.”

“That’s what they said too.”

“Tommy, you know, it’s okay to be young.”

♔ ♔ ♔

“Are you guys sure you can’t untie me?”

Techno looks just about ready to spit out a firm, “No,” when Philza smiles softly, “Yeah that must be pretty u comfortable.”

And then a few seconds later Tommy’s arms are free.

♔ ♔ ♔

This is what he must do.

He pops open the bottle and then, just before he does it, he whispers one final prayer.

“May you know nothing but happiness from this day forward.”

♔ ♔ ♔

Tommy gasps.

His mind scrambling as it all comes back to him, falling into place, the puzzle finally completed as he pulls the lost piece out from under the bed and pops it into its spot.

He thinks it all through. He thinks about his confession and Techno and his sparring sessions and the way he would smile as though he was free.

It’s all so much and Tommy doesn’t know what to do, he can’t go back to them. He can’t because they know. 

But Tommy can’t turn them in either, he just— he can’t.

So, Tommy does something shocking.

He stands up and he goes to Wilbur’s room.

His hand raps on the door frame, three loud knocks echoing into the empty hall.

The guard standing by the door stares at him, but no words are exchanged and for that Tommy is grateful.

He hears a groan and then footsteps and finally Wilbur pulls the door open.

“Yes?”

Tommy smiles sheepishly and he can see the moment that Wilbur realizes who is at the door.

“Is everything okay?”

Tommy nods, “Can I come in?”

Wilbur nods, opening the door more to allow him in before smiling at the guard. The guard nods back and Tommy steps into a room that he hasn’t entered in forever.

The door closes behind him and Tommy turns to look at Wilbur.

“Will you play for me?”

And Wilbur nods slowly, processing the words before he smiles softly.

“Yeah, we’ll go sit by the fireplace.”

Tommy nods and then he makes his way over there, body moving on autopilot.

He sits and Wilbur sits next to him, tuning the guitar and strumming to make sure everything is as it should be.

Once it is, Wilbur looks up at Tommy.

“What song do you want?”

Tommy shrugs, “Whatever you want.”

Wilbur hums, “I actually wrote a song while you were gone.”

Tommy tilts his head, “Really?”

Wilbur nods and Tommy’s eyes track him as he walks over to his desk and pulls a paper out of the drawer.

Wilbur takes a breath and Tommy watches the way his chest rises and falls and the ways his hands shake and the way he nods to himself before turning back to Tommy.

“Do you want to hear it?”

Tommy nods, too afraid to speak.

Wilbur nods, picking up his guitar and strumming some chords, figuring out the background tracking for this song.

He takes one more breath.

And then the song begins.

“They’re always asking, “Am I alright?” As if auspicious or in my pint.”

Tommy watches him with bated breath and open ears. He aches for the warmth of a lifetime ago, but he can settle for this.

“I’ll find the answer or a good time. Thank God the time is short.”

The words are gentle, the guitar not perfect, yet it still feels something like home.

“And, yes, you always do that one thing when you wrinkle up your nose bridge. I’m trying to figure out what that meant.”

It’s breathy and easy and Tommy misses the world where they could pretend that this was their future.

“I took it as a taunt.”

The lyrics pause for a moment, just enough time to let it settle before they begin again.

“ Remember way back then in school?

“Oh, did anybody ever say no to you? Woah. Did anybody ever say no to you? Woah.”

Tommy smiles as he listens, enjoying the way the lyrics piece together even if he has yet to know the meaning.

“ And I don’t think I have a clue, cause, well, did anybody ever say no to you? Woah. Did anybody ever say no to you? Woah.

“You're always trying to leave the table.

“Phone calls, toilet breaks, unstable, and don’t you think that we can all tell?”

Wilbur is smiling now softly at his guitar as he plays the song for the first time, it feels like a new beginning in a way.

“ You’re insecure, you’re insecure. I guess I always do that one thing, when I get too drunk and jump in to figure out what makes your brain tick.

“I’m a listener, I’m a listener.”

Tommy listens as the chorus repeats, mouthing the words gently under his breath as Wilbur sings. It almost feels like life before everything got difficult.

Wilbur strums the guitar for an instrumental break and then the song strips back in a sense.

“ Forget the number for the cab call as you're dashing out the front door.”

His voice becomes softer and the guitar less aggressive, it feels personal.

“You claim to try and dodge the cat calls. Thank God the time is short.”

He strums the guitar gently and Tommy watches carefully as though if he glances away the whole moment will fade.

“And, yes, you always do that one thing ‘cause when you throw,” and Wilbur pauses before strumming more aggressively once more and picking up the pace again.

“And drench me under your drink, I’m trying to figure out what that means. I took it as a taunt.”

Wilbur breaths, the smile still delicate on his face, like a butterfly on a flower.

“Did you like it?”

Tommy nods, “It was great.”

And the way Wilbur smiles makes Tommy feel like maybe in the end it will all work out. It makes Tommy feel like they could become friends, even brothers again.

It makes Tommy feel like there’s hope for the future, and, right now, that is all Tommy really needs.