Chapter Text
The kingdom’s farewell to their prince is a bittersweet thing.
It is filled with cheers and gifts and funnily enough, a lack of flowers, for there was a shortage with how many had been used up for the week prior. Tommy still carries a few on his person, petals in his pockets, crumpled daisies in his boots, a small, futile attempt at keeping home with him no matter where he goes.
He understands that the flowers will eventually wither and turn to dust, returning to the dirt once more, but he can’t bear to turn his back on the castle without having something to remind him of all the people who have cared for him all his life. The cold ring on his finger with his family symbol may be a piece of his father, of his old birthright, but the flowers were of his people. They were always something of the people, and something of his.
The king’s men march through the streets once more, led by their fearsome ruler on horseback, guiding the carriage that now holds their prince. Tommy sits restlessly, his knee bouncing with nerves as he stays leaned towards the window beside him, watching the streets go by. Even with how plush the seats are underneath him, and even with how spacious the actual thing is, he can't get comfortable. He can’t quite breathe.
He leans closer to the window, pushing at the curtains further as if that’ll open it up more, as if that’ll let him see his subjects in their entirety, allowing him to be down there with them to accept their loving goodbyes. Something in his heart yearns to go out there, to scream for the carriage to stop, to demand that he be let out, but then what would he do? It would take hours for him to pass by every sorrowful face, to shake their hands and give his blessings. If he went out there, stepped past the guards and towards his people, he has no doubt they would reach their arms out and envelop him in a hug. He has no doubt he would sink into that embrace, bursting into tears like a little boy who misses his father, rather than a newly named heir of the empire.
Embarrassment curls up in the back of his throat as tears well up in his eyes, and he’s grateful now that he’s alone in this carriage, no one being able to see him lean out of sight to wipe at his face with shaking hands. He swallows back the unease running through his gut, the fear of the long unknown, and he stares down at his pristine, polished boots. They look out of place, with him being the sort of prince to always run around and tear up his shoes through his adventures, but Tommy can bear the sight, because he knows what’s kept within the leather, crushed against his ankle with a tickle of the broken stems.
He brushes his fingers over his knees, thinking of the flowers, thinking of that crown the king wore for the better part of the week. Just two days ago, it fell apart at last in the middle of court, crumbling underneath its short lifespan, fading away with the old life that Tommy used to know. The king hadn’t made a fuss of it when it fell from his head, only placing it down on his lap without a word, the circle of braided stems broken. Tommy couldn’t help but stare at it until the king turned his gaze on him, and only then did Tommy finally say goodbye to that crown at last, thankful for what it did.
Slipping a hand into his pockets, Tommy grasps at a handful of petals he had managed to shove in there, and he brings them out to see them crushed on his palm, tiny and dried out. He’s filled with the urge to let them drop, to tilt his hand and watch them flutter to the ground, but it would do no good to have them stay on the floor of this carriage, taken along to the journey of conquering the world.
Leaning to the window again, Tommy hears the people’s cries grow louder at the sight of his face, their hands rising up, their voices growing shrill. He tries to not look at them, not because of indifference, but for fear of crying, but he still catches a glimpse of one of them anyway, an old man with his cheeks wet, his hair pulled back into a short ponytail.
The colors are all wrong, his hair is black and Tommy’s father was blond, those tearful eyes are brown and his were blue, but Tommy sees his dad right there, sees the late king waving him goodbye, and his heart breaks apart within his ribs.
He sticks his hand of petals out through the window, a tear running down his face, and as the petals fall to the ground, landing upon the dirt, the people proclaim their love, hoping it will stay with him no matter how far he goes.
Goodbye, they cry, they yell, they sing, hearts full and souls merry, every last drop of their loyalty given to the empire as long as Tommy is underneath the promise of its crown. Goodbye, they wave, hands both big and small lifted up to the carriage as it passes by, their too-young king already seemingly so far, kept behind a window rather than walking out in the open with them.
Goodbye, his people say, not lost, never to be forgotten, but never to be as close to him as they were again.
"Goodbye." Tommy whispers to himself in the quiet of his carriage, sniffling with his knees to his chest, hands pressed to the sides of his ankles, the flowers sitting dead, his ring cold on his finger with the reminder that nothing will ever be the same as it was.
They ride with little pause throughout the day, Tommy eating his meals in the comfort of his carriage, scared to step outside lest the truth become real. He doesn’t want his surroundings to no longer be his home, to instead become the traveling, winding roads of the realm beyond. He wants to stay here, pretend for a little longer that they’re still within the streets of his people.
He keeps his eyes away from the window, lets his attention drift meaninglessly around the barren carriage, and while boredom looms over him like a daunting threat, it never has the chance to sink in with what effort he makes to keep his trembling emotions at bay. He doesn’t sob, but it’s a near thing, resting at the back of his lungs, waiting to be poured out. He focuses on breathing, on the engraving in his family ring, on the bump of flowers stuck in his boots. He focuses on that and that only.
The minutes pass like seconds, the sound of the men outside muffled in his ears, and when he opens his eyes to the loud knock on his door, he finds himself curled up on the plush seats, head kept in the crook of his arm, face hidden into his sleeve. The sun has gone down, darkness pressed against his eyes. His body sits sore as he gets up with weary limbs, a faint groan pushing past his teeth. When had he fallen asleep? He doesn’t remember even laying down, but then again, this entire day has been much of a blur since the moment he woke up and was dressed within those prim, dark clothes.
“Your Highness.” The door is rapped at again, Tommy flinching with the noise, uneasy with the shadows sticking to the walls around him. “We’ve arrived.”
He stands hesitantly to his feet as the door clicks open, the light of a lantern flowing in as the door is pulled outwards to allow him to step out and climb down on the steps placed outside. When he falters at the doorway, staring down at the stairs like they’re the path to his doom, one of the guards shares a small look with the others, hidden in the dimness of the approaching night.
With a closer step taken to the side of the carriage, one of the guards bow their head low toward Tommy, then slowly hold out a hand.
Tommy looks up with surprise at the offer, but takes it before he can even give a hint of refusal, clinging on as if he’s a stumbling boy who’s only just learnt to walk. A small thanks is pushed out from underneath his tongue, and he tentatively climbs out from the carriage, finding the air to be a touch cooler against his cheeks. A gentle squeeze is given around his fingers before he’s let go at the bottom, his boots now firmly on solid ground. With his heart in his throat and the little bit of support he had now gone, Tommy lifts his head up to look back at the carriage, then he turns his gaze to observe the rest of his surroundings.
They’re no longer in his kingdom.
Tommy knew that would be the case, but the confirmation of it makes him want to run back up those steps and hide in his carriage until he finds the familiarity of home again. They’re in the middle of a camp. He stands hunched, eyes wide at the bustling of movement around him, people setting up tents and fires for the night, tables being laid out for a late dinner. There’s horses being guided, men yelling out orders, wagons being unloaded, and past it all, Tommy knows there must be the sight of the wilderness, the open field with tall grass, his kingdom long out of sight.
It’s all so much, too much, and Tommy isn’t sure where he fits in it all. He feels misplaced. If he were a king, he’d be walking amongst his men, checking up on their health, making sure that they’d be ready to ride again tomorrow. If he were a simple prince like before, he’d run off with his guards chasing after him, his father laughing at his back as their men would try to contain a hyperactive child.
Here, he’s the prince, but it’s not the same. He doesn’t know what to do. Everyone looks so serious, their expressions rough, not a single face giving him a smile as they pass, and Tommy wonders how long it takes to travel on the road until he’s just as grumpy as they are. Maybe they are all just tired.
It dawns on Tommy suddenly that their travel is nothing like his. He had a carriage the entire time, the seats soft underneath him and the air quiet against his ears. Some of them had to be on the back of a horse, or maybe even on foot for the whole way. They’ve been on the move for months as well, the king’s conquest having been a constant thing. It’s no wonder they seem a touch weary, starting up that routine again with little rest given at his kingdom.
Quiet pity for their exhaustion presses down at him, with a kindness that was always nurtured before coming to life in his chest. He purses his lips and thinks of what to do, hands clenching tightly at the front of his shirt.
“Will you sit with me tomorrow?” Tommy finds himself asking, head turning over his shoulder to look at the same guard that helped him down a moment before. They haven’t moved one bit since Tommy walked out, but the tall guard blinks and stands very still at his question.
Tommy realizes now that such a question sounds a bit childish. He bites at his tongue and refuses to take it back, however.
“...sir?” The guard asks after long silence, confused, and Tommy scrunches his nose at the word, as if he’s smelled something foul.
“I’m not a sir.” He mutters a little.
“Your Highness.” The guard corrects, bowing their head again, low and respectful. Tommy tilts his head to the side with a slight frown. “I’m afraid I don’t understand.” They tell him.
“I, uhm.” Tommy falters, thinking of his role, thinking how he’s meant to represent the crown. He doesn’t want to seem weak or naive on the first day. He’s the prince. The prince.
But he also doesn’t want to sit alone in there if someone else could be there with him. If he can get one person to have a more comfortable travel, then all's well, and if he could have a bit of company as well, then even better. What harm is it to just offer?
“Do you want to sit with me in the carriage? Tomorrow?”
The guard blinks. Again. They glance around, almost a little nervous, as if looking for an answer from the people around them. No one is paying them any mind. They slowly nod. “If his highness commands it...”
“Well, no, I’m not commanding.” Tommy finds distaste in phrasing it like that. This isn’t a serious, grave order, a matter of life or death. It’s just an offer. “I’m asking. Do you want to?”
“If you wish it.”
Tommy gives an unhappy little noise. This is nothing like the guards back when he was in his castle still, the occasional few following him around to carry out their duties. Those were like silent, ominous spirits, the threat of a weapon in their hands, a lack of a voice in their throats. Despite their poor conversation skills, Tommy found speaking to them easy. They were expressive when needed. A shrug there, a head tilt here. A nod, a squint, a raise of the eyebrows. They were never one to be frustrating with unmeaningful responses like this.
“Do you want to or not?”
“Yes.” The guard says at last, bowing his head low, and Tommy brightens up. “I’ll sit with you when we leave tomorrow, your Highness.”
Tommy smiles gladly as the guard stands tall again, taking a lantern from another and raising it high to chase off the dark of the night. Tommy’s guided away from his carriage, his chin lifted high, but his eyes looking downwards, and he’s led towards a large tent, two men already stationed by the front of it. They both lower their heads at Tommy as they pull open the flaps of the door, and Tommy lowers his head in return as he steps inside, even if that’s not how it goes.
The inside of the tent is lit up with lanterns hanging at the corners, the light soothing and warm compared to the dimness of night outside. A deep red rug is laid out across the ground, not a speck of dirt or grass to be found on it, and Tommy almost wants to pull his boots off to preserve the cleanliness of it. To the right side of the tent, there’s a spacious looking bed, and it’s so piled with blankets and pillows that Tommy could never imagine complaining about if it'll give him discomfort. A small wooden nightstand sits beside it, a single drawer in it, the handle and edges carved with intricate little designs. Tommy thinks it might be roses.
Walking with light steps, Tommy approaches the bed with a bit of eagerness, sitting down and flopping back with a sigh as he practically sinks into the fabric. He may have slept for a while before, but he could drift off to sleep all over again like this, with how soft the pillows are up against his head, with how silky the blankets are.
The guard with the lantern, the same one who helped him down earlier, looks at the other side of the room with narrowed eyes, a sort of disapproval crossing over their expression.
“Where are the prince’s items?” He asks, lifting his light up as if that’ll show something in the empty spot of the tent.
“Items?” Tommy repeats, sitting up. He hadn’t packed anything for the trip. The only thing he took was the flowers in his boots and the ring on his finger. Everything else was up to others, he was told. Anything else would’ve been a painful reminder of the before.
“There should be a chest of clothes, a chest of books, a mirror. It shouldn’t be this barren.” There’s an undercurrent of anger in the guard’s voice, but there’s also something of dread, a quiet type of fear that makes Tommy worry for them.
“There was- some trouble with the sorting of things-” One of the men at the door hesitantly stammers out, and the guard roughly shakes his head.
“Fix it. Fix this!” He hisses, both Tommy and the men flinching back. “His Grace won’t accept this.” At the mention of the king, everyone stands a little taller, expectations at their throats. “Go retrieve the items, quickly!”
Immediately, the guards at the door go, rushing off from their post to right the wrong before word makes it to their ruler. The guard with the lantern takes a stand by the doorway, as if to replace their spot, his lantern held by his hip. His eyes stay pointed forward, looking at nothing in particular, but Tommy can see the furrow in his brow past the gap in his helmet, a little sign of stress. He doesn’t care for it.
“...It’s okay.” Tommy reassures, and at his words, the guard’s eyes fall back onto him. “I won’t- I’m not going to complain. I don’t really need anything right now, I’m only planning to sleep.” Tommy was raised to be patient as a child, to be understanding if something didn’t go his way. Never did he throw tantrums that lasted for too long, his father making sure to put a stop to them and settle their emotions out.
Even if he was truly upset about not having his things, he wouldn’t be drastic. He definitely wouldn’t go straight to the king and get them in a world of trouble. That seems a bit much.
But it’s what they expect, it seems. The guard doesn’t relax with Tommy’s reassurance, and instead, he goes even more rigid, lifting his chin up higher with his eyes looking straight ahead again.
“It’s not about what you may need, your highness.” He says. “This is just a matter of expectation.”
“I don’t expect everything to be perfect.” Tommy insists, wringing his hands together. “It’s alright.” He repeats, trying to lift the tension in the air, to let them both breathe. The guard looks at him for a long moment, then takes a different approach in his stance.
“Everytime our king arrives at his quarters, his items are always placed where they should be, exactly the same as the night before, exactly how he needs them. Not one thing is missing, nor misplaced.” The guard bows his head. “That is the standard for a king, because he needs things to be correct in order to be efficient.”
Tommy supposes that’s reasonable, for a king. But he’s the prince. What work is he doing that he needs his items in the same spot every night, needs his things gathered together the second he steps foot out of his carriage? He was just going to sleep.
“Those standards should be the same for you, yes?” The guard presses on. “You’re the prince. You’re of the crown. It can’t be any less.”
“Right.” Tommy agrees, but he doesn’t actually agree. It seems too strict, having such expectations placed for him, when he doesn’t truly care about the little details, but this is the empire now, not his kingdom. Things are- different. “But I really don’t mind.” He tries again, unable to let it rest.
The guard huffs a little, just fond, not annoyed. “Your highness, even if you do not mind, his grace surely will.” He speaks low, a pointed nod to outside, like the king is out there now, listening in. “And we do not want to upset him in any sort of way by implying we don’t respect his choice of heir.”
Tommy presses his lips together to try and not outwardly frown. That’s right, he’s the heir. The king’s prince.
“Is he scary when he’s angry?” He asks out of the blue, and the guard falters. He stares at Tommy again, like he’s not sure what to say, and Tommy wonders if something is on his face.
“He’s…he’s intimidating.” The guard replies at last. “He’s the strongest of all of us, as you know.” He nods, and there is pride to be said with that. A hint of that loyalty, the reason this man picked up a sword and chose to fight underneath his king’s colors.
Tommy gives a vague noise of affirmation, letting him know he heard it. He knows what the king is like. He knows he’s strong, he knows just how many armies he’s slain and how many rulers he’s taken underfoot. There’s no need to tell it again, and give faint memories of when he still wore that golden crown, trying to make a choice with his advisors before the storm fell upon them all.
“What’s your name?” Tommy asks, scooting to the edge of his bed. The guard makes a funny look at him, and Tommy waves a hand, trying to not stammer. “It’s just- You’re going to be around me, it looks like, and I can’t call for your attention if I don’t know what to call in the first place.”
There’s a crinkle in the guard’s eyes. He’s smiling. “We switch shifts by the day, your highness, and my attention is always yours.” Tommy can’t help but notice he hasn’t answered the question.
“Can I- have your name?” Tommy asks again. He scolds himself quietly for not saying it louder, for commanding it with authority. It’s what he should do, as an heir. But as himself, as Tommy, he doesn’t want to be rude like that.
The guard looks contemplative, but nods in that same obedient manner, as if given an order.
“Sam.” He says, and Tommy smiles.
“I’m Tommy.” He responds, even if that might’ve already been known. “You can call me Tommy, if you’d like.” All his personal guards before did so. They hardly ever used titles with his father outside of court. The entire castle was a friend to the king, and so they were also a friend to Tommy.
Such friendship did become- strained, however, when the king passed. Tommy bites at the inside of his cheek to forget the memory.
“That’s-” Sam clears his throat. “That’s a gracious offer, your highness, but I cannot.”
“You can.” Tommy stubbornly says. “I’ll let you.”
“I’ll rephrase. I won’t.” Sam has a teasing little glint in his eye, and Tommy huffs, not all that upset. He looks away to end the conversation, trying to take in the room a bit more, but his eyes still drift back towards Sam.
Sam is looking at him, as well. Waiting for Tommy’s next words. Tommy finds himself wanting to give it, feeling like it’s been so long since the last time he’s talked with someone.
“Excuse me.” He calls, as if to get the guard’s attention, even if Sam never quite looked away in the first place. Sam lifts his chin in acknowledgement. “Can you take off your helmet?”
Sam blinks, clear surprise. Tommy justifies himself without a pause.
“I don’t know what you look like.” He says, like that’s something pressing. Like he has to put a name to a face, like Sam is an important guard out of the many that will be watching over the prince.
Sam only hesitates for a moment. It’s uncommon for guards to remove their helmet when on duty. He is indeed on duty right now, but there isn’t really a present danger to insist upon it. Letting the prince see his face-
Well, Sam supposes he has to. Not for the sake of an order of a crown, but rather, because Tommy seems honestly curious about it. Genuine. Who is he to deny such a face?
He listens without another word, pulling off his helmet in one quick movement, revealing short-cut hair, a jagged looking scar over his left brow. His eyes are very green with the shadow of the helmet no longer hiding it. It makes Tommy think of the grassy fields that must be surrounding them right now.
“Hello.” Tommy greets again, to seeing a new face. Sam gives a weird expression, almost seeming to frown.
“Hello, your highness.” He responds, very softly. Tommy feels confused at the tone, but comforted all the same. He feels he’s done something right.
Just then, Tommy’s items finally come in, people bustling with bags and trunks and furniture, all a bit too much for a single night, in Tommy’s opinion. Back during the hunting trip he and his father used to go on, they would just sleep together in a small tent, with nothing but a cot and a lantern. It was simple, but it was fitting.
“Let us hope the king doesn’t hear of your tardiness.” Sam scolds, and the servants bow their heads towards Tommy in apology. Tommy wants to tell them all he truly doesn’t mind for them stumbling on the first day, his existence not having been part of the routine before, but he doesn’t say anything. He has a feeling Sam would insist on something about respect.
When everything is then set properly, the rug brushed off to hide away the evidence of people coming in and out, the lanterns dimmed down and Tommy dressed into something for the night, he’s left alone underneath soft, warm blankets. All that there is to hear is the business of people moving outside, but that’s a muffled thing, past the tent walls. It shouldn’t be hard for Tommy to block it out, to turn over on his side and close his eyes and fall to sleep.
It’s not the noise that’s the issue, though.
He stares up at the ceiling of the tent, his eyes dragging over the dip of the roof. There’s a faint memory in his head, thinking of the times he would crawl into his father’s bed. He wonders if this is the beginning of his new life, the start of plenty more memories like that. Maybe not. Maybe the actual start was when the king made the decision in front of the whole court, letting them know what Tommy’s role would become, or maybe the start was when he made that crown of flowers and gave it to the king.
Flowers.
Tommy jolts up in his bed, remembering the flowers in his boots. He slips out from his blankets, squinting through the dark to find where they placed his shoes, and he falls to his knees to dig through them and grasps the thin remains of the petals shoved in there.
They’re really not much. They’re mostly dead and crumpled up now, but Tommy holds the bit he can salvage with a wide smile, squeezing them in his palm and holding it to his chest, like he can keep his old life close if he keeps this close as well. Maybe, later, he’d be able to find flowers along the road, pick them like he used to pick them in the royal gardens, and try to twist them together into another crown…
The tears in his eyes burn up before he can push it all away. He sits up straight with a shaky suck of air, and looks around for a distraction from bursting into sobs. His eyes land onto a small bookshelf, the shelves holding plenty of thick-looking books that Tommy before would’ve rather done anything to prevent from having to read through.
Now, though, he reaches a hand up to take one off the bookshelf, and he opens it up to find the scribble of words within, impossible to read in such dim light. He snatches one of the lanterns from the corner of the tent, the light still dim, but enough to let him read when put on the ground next to the pages. He sits there, on the red rug, crushed flower petals in one hand, the page of a book in the other, reading words until the sun comes up.
He’s found there in the morning when the people come into his tent, looking to have him ready for the day, only to find that he had been reading fairy tales for the whole night and had fallen asleep on the book, the story of a brave knight sitting underneath his cheek.