As Wilbur grew older, he was involved more in Empire's matters. He was dragged along into trade deals, handled paperwork, spent hours feigning eagerness in diplomatic negotiations. The Emperor told him it was all to prepare him to rule the country one day - but Wilbur knew better. He was trying to further isolate him from Theseus, and the responsibilities that he thought of as bothersome at best now turned into a form of tormenting mockery.
How ironic it was that the throne of the Empire was to be passed onto the person that cared about it the least of them all. Wilbur didn't want to study the subjects that Theseus wasn't interested in listening about, hated wasting his time in the cabinet meetings and he certainly did not approve of a foreign princess living in the palace for a few months each year – at least not until he actually met Niki.
She was the second person of royalty that Wilbur had genuine respect for, first being his own mother. Niki's eyes would shine, her words burning something fierce every time she talked about her homeland. The crown princess of Drywaters was a deliberate collection of the best features that can be found in royalty: humility, selflessness, ambitiousness and competence.
Simply put, Niki was everything that Wilbur wasn't, and on top of that – a great friend. Theseus was too young to understand certain things yet, and it felt nice to have somebody to just listen, without any prejudice and judgment, to what Wilbur wanted to say. It's from Niki who Wilbur sought comfort and advice from, and it's not to Techno but to her that he went when Mother's sickness started getting worse.
"I can only imagine how worried you must feel," the princess said. Staring numbly at the fretwork of the ceiling, Wilbur heard her words through a thick fog. "But the Empress wouldn't want you to be in a downbeat mood on your birthday. I'm not meant to say that, but-" she paused. "Theseus has prepared a special present for you."
That made Wilbur perk up. He nagged Niki for the rest of the day, but she refused to spoil the surprise, so Wilbur barely got any sleep, and the first thing he did in the morning was try not to shake with excitement as he knocked on Theseus' door. Any sort of self-control was forgotten, though, as soon as he was proudly handed out a handmade yellow sweater.
That evening Wilbur stood outside the throne room, thrumming with anticipation. Theseus was already inside amongst other guests, but Wilbur couldn't come in without the second celebrant of the grand gathering.
"You're still wearing that horrendous sweater?"
Techno appeared out of nowhere, in his best manner of sneaking up on people. Wilbur didn't jump but cast a narrow-eyed look over his shoulder.
"Your face is horrendous," Wilbur pointedly fixed the blue coat he tugged on over the sweater, identical to the one that Techno was wearing. "I look fabulous ."
Techno crossed his arms and gave him a 'I very doubt that' kind of look. "I'm glad to see that your ego is still intact."
"Same goes for your sense of humor."
Techno chuffed out a laugh, and Wilbur joined in with a quiet snicker. For a second, it felt like they were back to how they used to be before: two brothers, connected by something more than the blood coursing through their veins.
"How is Mother feeling?" Wilbur asked, once he felt like the silence was comfortable enough to try and test the grounds beneath the surface.
"She overworked herself again. Father got her to get some rest."
Wilbur looked away. "Ah," he said, swallowing through a hard lump in his throat. "Well, I suppose we shouldn't have everyone waiting."
He made a move for the door, but Techno's voice caught him mid-step, "Will? Can I ask you for something?"
Wilbur cocked his head, indicating agreement. Techno opened and closed his mouth; his lips moved, fiddling with words as he picked them out carefully.
"Just this once," he said. "Could you be benevolent to Father? I know you're not on the best terms with him but he tried his hardest to make this day memorable for both of us without Mother's help."
There it was, the other shoe. Wilbur couldn't say that he was surprised. Techno's reasons for approaching him always had something to do with Phil, but it still stirred an old wound, jostled a piece of debris stuck somewhere in-between his lungs. And yet...
"Alright," Wilbur shoved his hands into the pockets, throwing his head back and schooling his features into something akin to nonchalance. "I'll behave."
They proceeded to enter the throne room. As soon as Wilbur stepped a foot inside, every single person turned to him and Techno, bowing. Only Theseus stood out, grinning in the middle of the gap cleared for them to pass through - he never bowed to Wilbur, no matter how much he got scolded for it, because it never failed to make Wilbur smile. He ducked his head to hide how his lips stubbornly tugged upwards but briefly brushed a hand over the boy's back as they made their way towards the thrones.
Wilbur tried to not look at the empty seat of the Empress. Instead, he glanced at the Emperor - the throne coated with gold, at the long lazuli cloak trailing to the stairs, and wordlessly ducked to one knee, bowing lowly as a sign of respect. Beside him, Techno mirrored his movements. Wilbur caught his grateful glance from the corner of his vision and smirked, moving his lips: "Happy?"
"We greet His Majesty the Emperor," they said in unison, and Phil gestured them over to stand up. With a clap of his hands, the ballroom came alive: a bow brushed the violin strings, and the guests started moving, forming pairs for the first dance. Wilbur was stuck standing next to the Emperor in awkward silence. It was always like between them; not that Wilbur didn't have any resentment to spill, he just didn't see any point in it. In his eyes, Phil was too far gone as a father; he was just the person who would dump the crown on him one day.
"How are you enjoying the celebrations this far?"
Phil's eyes passed over Wilbur's sweater; a thought flickered in his eyes but was left unsaid. It seemed like they agreed on a temporary truce today, so Wilbur bit back a remark and decided to play along.
"It's a bit too lavish, don't you think?" Wilbur tilted his chin at the crowd that barely fit into the throne room, as massive as it may have been. Smell of food, flowery perfume and sweat all clogged his nose; Wilbur winced and tried to concentrate on the dancing pairs instead.
A hurricane of gold and diamond blue broke out in the center of the ballroom. Theseus rammed through the strict rows of two and snatched Niki's hand out of a hold of some bewildered gentleman. Theseus' energy was contagious; with snickers and giggles and swirl of silk skirts, younger nobles tugged one another into a circle dance. Wilbur was glad that, at the very least, Theseus was having some fun.
Phil hummed. "All those people came here to meet their future emperor."
They came seeking a warmer place under the sun , Wilbur corrected internally. And to see whether I can provide it . He could feel it: all those gazes sticking to him, cold hands tugging and picking him apart. It was going to be a long evening, so Wilbur shrugged indifferently and sank into his throne to the right side of the Emperor's.
He drifted in his own mind, for long enough to miss the moment when the Emperor took Techno aside to talk. Wilbur only was snapped back to reality when Theseus popped up in front of him, red cheeks blown-up and forehead coated in sweat.
"'m tired," he complained, dropping on the armrest of Wilbur's throne. Wilbur hummed, something between an acknowledgement and an agreement, not quite coming back to his senses yet. Theseus' eyes snapped open, "What happened, Will? Is something wrong?"
Wilbur didn't know how to break it to Theseus. 'I don't want any of this,' swirled in his mind over and over again. Wilbur just turned eighteen and his fate was already sealed: no other options, no possibilities, only carpeted steps leading to a golden cage. A lot of things were wrong with Wilbur, but the worst of them all was that he was cheated out of his own life.
Following Wilbur's gaze sliding over the crowd's heads, Theseus interpreted his silence differently. "Don't worry about it too much, Will. I know you're going to be the best emperor ever."
He leaned forward, taking his hand and squeezing it with such genuine concern that Wilbur felt guilty for making him worry- though some part of him, the part that whispered, mine mine mine , gulped his words like a fish stranded on the shore would air. In the end, he could endure anything, for as long as Theseus was by his side.
"And you'll be the best right hand man, Theseus," Wilbur smiled and squeezed his hand back.
Theseus laughed, but it was a short, awkward thing. It wasn't a wordless agreement, and no playful bickering or heartfelt promises followed; Theseus was just silent, and Wilbur suddenly felt very cold.
"Theseus?" he tried, cautious, dreadful.
Theseus jostled his shoulder and casted a glance somewhere at the ceiling. His legs were swinging up and down mindlessly where he still occupied the throne's armrest.
"Techno is going to be your right hand man," the boy chided. "He's your twin and second-in-line for the throne."
That was just a restatement of a well-known truth, but Wilbur still knew that it wasn't all of it. "So? Doesn't mean that you won't have an important place in my cabinet."
Theseus never was one to dance around topics for too long. His legs froze; he turned back to look at Wilbur with an expression more serious than he had ever seen him bear.
"I'm a thirdborn, Will. We don't get to do jack shit," he said, and his lips stretched into a grin, "and that's awesome, because once I grow up I get to do whatever I want."
"And what is it that you want?" Wilbur asked quietly.
"I want to join a ship crew. See the world, maybe become a pirate captain," Theseus' tone turned dreamy, his eyes - unseeing, like he was imagining himself somewhere far away, gripping the steering wheel of a galleon cutting through ocean waves. "That'd be very cool, I think. I'd like to have a pet parrot."
"You would leave me, if given a chance?" Wilbur's face was blank but the drop of his voice snapped Theseus back into the real world.
"Well, it's too early to speculate on that, innit?" Theseus lifted his shoulders into a shrug, dismissive and relaxed, as if he didn't just turn Wilbur's entire upside down. "We've got plenty of time to figure that out. Dad's not going to retire any soon."
That didn't make Wilbur feel any better. His mind was spiraling, his body felt cold despite the sweat cramming his back. Wilbur was so focused on keeping the dangers away from their nest that the songbird will one day want to fly.
"You don't even know how to swim," Wilbur barked back, frowning, and it came out much more aggressive than he intended. Theseus looked back at him, eyes wide, his body leaning away ever so slightly, and Wilbur bit down on his tongue, "You're right, it's too early to think about it yet," He paused. "And you know what?"
Theseus asked cautiously, "What?"
"The physician said that Mother might feel better in warmer weather. I heard Mother and Father talking about taking a vacation somewhere in the south next autumn."
And just like that, Theseus was back to a grinning mood. "Yeah, we're going to go to a real beach!" He threw his hands into the air and immediately lost his balance, screeching as he fell backwards in Wilbur's lap. Wilbur caught him in his arms. Blinking in each other's faces, the two brothers burst into laughter, ignoring the odd looks they received from the guests.
***
That vacation never happened. Mother didn't live until next autumn, passing away shortly after Summer Solstice. She was sick for over a year at that point. In the beginning, it was just the weak chest pains; she shooed away the physicians and insisted on attending to her duties as regular. It wasn't until she fell bedridden, coughing up blood, that the mysterious sickness was declared fatal.
Her passing wasn't something unexpected, but it struck Wilbur all the same. Nothing can ever prepare a child to the death of their mother and no-one knows grief until they lived through it. He didn't recognize familiar, dear features on the face of the cold, lifeless body, but as it was lowered into the ground, Wilbur was saying goodbye not only to his mother, but to his childhood and his home. There was nothing that connected him to the Empire anymore except for the boy whose hand he was squeezing.
Wilbur couldn't say that the decision to run away was spontaneous - the idea was brewing at the back of his mind ever since Theseus mentioned wanting to leave - but now that it came down to it, he wasn't so sure about it anymore. The ground crumbled beneath Wilbur's feet and yet the thought of stepping into the unknown was just as terrifying as staying in debris.
Wilbur's hands shook at the dinner; he dropped a glass and cut his palm on a shard. The Emperor didn't even flinch; his face sunk deep into his hands. 'She is gone ,' those terrible words, said in Father's voice, repeated in Wilbur's head over and over again. That was two days ago, and he didn't utter a word ever since, not even when Theseus asked in the morning where Mother was, not when he tugged, confused and scared, at the blue cloak. Wilbur suddenly felt very angry; he swung an arm at the servants hovering over him with bandages and slammed his bloodied hand on the table.
" Why are you not saying anything ?" he shouted, sprouting up. "Why are you so silent ?"
Theseus shrank in on himself. Techno stared ahead, unseeing and wordless. Wilbur ignored them both, screaming and shouting; he wasn't sure when he ran out of air, but next thing he knew, he was hunching over the table, heaving and shuddering with hot tears.
It was then that Phil looked up. Wilbur choked on his own saliva; he has never seen anything more horrifying in his life than those heavy, glassy blue eyes. Wilbur's nature was that he always sought someone to hate, someone to blame; but he couldn't see the villain in those eyes. Father looked like he grieved. He just looked human.
Phil stood up quietly and left, never saying a word. Techno glanced once at Wilbur and Theseus, then turned to the Emperor and strode after him. Wilbur was left standing with tear streaks drying on his face, next to Theseus hiding his face in his knees. It was the sound of the boy's whimper that snapped Wilbur out of his stupor and drove him to Theseus' side.
"Do you trust me, songbird?" he asked, gently cupping Theseus' face into his hands. Instead of an answer, the boy sunk into his arms: a small, exhausted heap of sobs. That, in the end, sealed his plans; Techno made his choice, and Wilbur made his.
That night, Wilbur prepared haphazardly, putting on his travel clothes, throwing golden coins and jewelry into a satchel. He barely took anything but money, reasoning that anything else would only slow them down. Wilbur left his guitar and only paused at the yellow knitted sweater, Theseus' present- it was painful to toss it to the side, but where they were going, they would exchange a thousand more gifts like this and create new memories. First thing that Wilbur needed to do was get them out of the palace.
He slid the door open, and ducking away from lantern light, creeped closer to Theseus' chambers. Wilbur decided not to tell him anything until the very last moment; he didn't want to risk anybody cutting his plan short. Sleepy and confused, Theseus was more likely to follow Wilbur without questions.
"What are you doing?"
Wilbur spun around and staggered into a wall. In the shadowed side of the corridor, Techno crossed his arms on his chest, his chin tilted up and eyes gleaming silvery blue. Wilbur was sharply aware of how he looked, sneaking around the corridor in the depth of night; muscles tensing akin to overstretched strings, he shoved his satchel further over his shoulder and out of Techno's sight.
"I'm-" he stuttered over his own words; wetted his dry lips and continued with forced calmness, "taking a night stroll. What are you doing here? Aren't you supposed to be by His Majesty's side?"
The lie didn't sell. Wilbur felt it in the air, the way it trembled around Techno. "You can fool anybody but me. I know you too well, Will," Techno said, his shoulders curving forward. "So let me rephrase that. What the fuck do you think you're doing?"
Techno's usual cold nonchalance was gone, replaced by seething fury. Wilbur could feel it radiating from his skin, and the jerk of Techno's foot, a step barely withheld, had his heart picking up pace.
Wilbur bit his tongue down, sobering from the metallic taste on his tongue; he had never been afraid of his twin before, and he refused to be now.
"What I should've done ages ago," Wilbur straightened, brows set into a stubborn glare. "I'm getting the fuck out of here, and I'm taking Theseus with me."
Techno breathed in: a sharp, whistling sound. Like he knew what Wilbur's answer would be, but he hoped until the last moment for a different outcome. His anger was wrestled back into something more tame, but thrumming just beneath the surface, ready to jostle back at any moment was something more sinister - a threat, a warning.
"Really, Will?" Wilbur never has heard so much disgust in Techno's voice. "Theseus just lost his mother, and you want to take him away from the only family he has left?"
Laughter boiled deep in Wilbur's stomach and bubbled in his throat. "Family?" he raised his voice, incredulous. "Are you talking about Phil? About yourself?" Wilbur spat to his feet. "Don't humor me, Technoblade. I'm Theseus' family, the only one he needs."
Techno took a step forward. "And who are you to decide that?"
"I'm his brother, the one who raised him," Wilbur moved forward, mirroring Techno. " I was there when you and Phil were too busy playing the perfect son and father. I was there to comfort him when Mother was sick. I care about Theseus more than any of you did!"
"You only care about yourself!" Techno roared, cutting the distance between them down to a few feet.
Air clogged Wilbur's throat, making him choke and heave. "You call me selfish?" he screeched as soon as he regained control over his vocal cords. "I dedicated my entire life to loving Theseus after you and Father threw me out like a piece of useless trash!"
" Do you even hear yourself ?" Techno threw his hands into the air, his voice breaking and something in-between a growl and a scream. "You're so caught up with yourself that you don't realize how much people around you do for you. You created this imaginary world where everybody hates you so you could keep pitying yourself and isolating Theseus!"
A noise from behind Theseus' door had them both shutting up and listening to it with rapidly beating hearts. It sounded like he stirred in his sleep, dropping a pillow or a stuffed toy on the floor, but soon silence consumed the corridor again, only interrupted by the sound of Wilbur and Techno's heavy breathing.
"You know nothing about what my life is like," Wilbur whispered. "You don't know what it's like to feel abandoned, what it's like to bear the weight of the crown."
"How terrible it must be, to have the whole world revolving around you."
Wilbur clenched his hands into fists, his spine springing upright.
"If my life seems so easy to you, you can have it." He yanked his earring off, nearly ripping his earlobe in the middle, and flung it at Techno's feet. The emerald trinkled pitifully and rolled away, Techno's widened gaze following its short path."The crown, the throne - I'm leaving, and they are all yours, Prince Technoblade ."
"You're not going to survive a day out there on your own," Techno said, lips pursed, but Wilbur was already reaching for the handle of Theseus' door.
Techno slapped a hand over Wilbur's wrist. "You know what?" he snarled. " Fine . You can go and die all I care, but I'm not going to let you drag Theseus down with you."
"You cannot tell me what I can or cannot do," Wilbur spat, trying to wrestle his wrist out of his brother's grip. Techno let him go himself, shoving Wilbur away so hard that he slammed his back into a wall.
"You get out of here now, or I'm calling the guards, and the Emperor will lock you up until the day of your coronation," he said darkly, and Wilbur knew that it wasn't just a threat. It was a promise. The fact that nobody came running to the sound of their screams was a huge convenience on its own; the servants and the guards were sent away to let the family grieve in solitude, and Wilbur would never get another chance like this. He either would leave then and seek a chance to get Theseus out or both of them would be stuck in this palace forever.
Wilbur took a step back, then another. Each inch that separated him and Theseus was another pinch of a needle in his skin. "I'll come back," he promised: to Techno, to Theseus, and to himself. "And when I do, and Theseus chooses me, you're not going to stop him from leaving."
Wilbur stormed away the back of his eyes burning, his chest expanding and squeezing too terribly out of pace. He stumbled over his own feet, jostling to look over his shoulder, but Techno never followed him - the image of his ghostly white silhouette and disgusted scorn got printed at the back of Wilbur's eyelids. Part of him wanted to turn around and rush into Theseus' room, fall at the feet of his bed and break into tears, but that would be admitting that Techno was right. In the end Wilbur's stubbornness alone got him to one of the secret passages - he slipped behind the bookshelf and left the home of his first eighteen years of life.
Wilbur bargained his way onto a ship sailing over the ocean and onto another continent. Drywaters and Kinoko kingdom were too closely allied with the Empire; if he ever got discovered both royal families would hand him over on a silver plate. Wilbur needed to go somewhere where Emperor Philza's power and influence couldn't reach - so he turned his gaze towards the ocean.
Wilbur burned with determination to make Theseus' dream come true: in due time he would find a suitable crew to join or buy a ship of his own. It didn't matter that the endless waves made Wilbur's stomach churn with unease; for as long as Theseus would be happy, his own wishes weren't worth a pinch of dust. Swallowing bile, tucking his legs up to fit into a cramped space of a cabin, he wondered if Theseus was doing any better than him.
***
The storm played with the ship like it was a child's toy. The masts croaked and cried under the strain of blistering winds, and the rain pinned Wilbur's soaking and shaking wet figure to the deck. In the chaos of panicked screams and lighting strikes Wilbur failed to notice when his fingers slipped and a giant wave hauled him overboard and into an awaiting grasp of black depth.
His eyes burned. His chest burned. He was drowning in ice-cold water and every cell of his body felt like it was on fire. Wilbur fought till the last moment, kicking and thrashing for the surface, but his lips burst open and water rushed in. I'm going to die , he realized. I'm going to die and will never see Theseus again.
Maybe that desperate thought of a dimming mind burst through the waves and turned into a dying prayer. Wilbur survived. Out of over forty people on that ship his unconscious body alone made it to the shores of L'manburg to be later found by Sally Soot, a woman with fiery temper and eyes the color of southern seas.
Years later their first meeting would be turned into something out of a cheap novel that bored nobles waste afternoons with. When Wilbur woke up on that beach, it wasn't to a beautiful lady gently brushing hair out of his face, it was to a kick to his ribs that forced a gasp into his windpipe and had him vomiting up water all over the said lady's feet.
Once Wilbur was able to breathe again, he crumpled to the sand. Floating on the brim of consciousness, he was still taken aback by the range of colorful swears that Sally spilled - out of disgust or because she did not expect the lifeless body on the beach to move, Wilbur wasn't sure. Once Sally was done cussing out the skies, him and his ancestors, a long pause followed, and then Wilbur felt hands around his ankles.
Sally dragged him on the sand with a surprising amount of strength but not with much delicacy. It took Wilbur's head bashing against three different stones for him, dehydrated and swallowing down whimpers of pain, to kick her hands away and stagger himself into a fragile balance of wobbling knees and feet.
"Fuck off," he rasped.
"Shut up dumbass, I saved your life," Sally spat right back, and Wilbur didn't have any strength to fight as she hauled his arm over her shoulders. Tell him at that moment that one day he'd marry that woman, and Wilbur might have considered flinging himself back into the ocean.
For the longest time Wilbur wasn't sure why exactly Sally decided to save him. First Sally brought him over from that beach to her house and nurtured him back into good health. And when it became apparent that Wilbur had no one to go to she didn't kick him out either - not even when he refused to tell where he came from.
He expected to be thrown out. A part of him wanted to be thrown out, to the streets swallowed by shadows, where he would be claimed by hunger or a stray knife of a clumsy robbery. He wished it would plunge straight through his ribs and into his heart. Maybe then it finally would stop hurting to think that Techno was right all along.
In his core, Wilbur was a forestfire; the flames burned and fed on everything and everyone until there was nothing but ashes, just a pile of warm soot. Surely there was a limit to Sally's patience. Surely if Wilbur pushed hard enough, he would see her burn too.
Sally yelled and swore bloody murder but that was just as far as Wilbur was able to push her. Every other person he ever met in his life had snapped at some point: it happened with Father, it happened with Techno, but Sally never buckled and it was confusing Wilbur.
It was when news of Theseus' investiture spread to L'manburg that all of it struck Wilbur at once. Oh how much he wanted to crack Techno's skull open at that moment. It was supposed to be you , not Theseus, Wilbur screamed at the walls. He hated Techno for being a coward, hated Phil for making the same mistake twice, but more than anything - he hated himself.
Wilbur failed to be a brother. He swore to find a new home for him and Theseus, but didn't even make it out of the Empire's borders. Wilbur failed to be prince; the love for his country was born dead, a flower that withered before it could bloom. Wilbur failed to be a good son, too; he failed to let her know how much he loved her - his beautiful, gentle, dear mother.
And now she was dead. And the only other person who cared about Wilbur - the only person who valued his pitiful existence, the one who Wilbur held tenderly in-between his palms was on the other side of the continent, forced into the very role that Wilbur had run away from.
The shipwreck didn't kill him. The ocean didn't kill him. In the end, Wilbur didn't need either; the fire burning inside of him was a murderer of its own: agonizing and slow, taking pleasure in snapping each string that kept Wilbur from plummeting into the void. He lost everything that he had ever cared for - so was there a point in living anymore?
"Wilby," Theseus cried - a whisper in his ear, an echo over his shoulder; Wilbur whipped his head around but the boy never was here in the first place; instead his eyes fell on an old guitar hanging on a wall. And it was such a painful reminder of everything that Wilbur lost - he momentarily forgot where he was, grabbed the guitar and smashed it into pieces with one desperate swing.
That's how Sally had found him, standing on his knees, chin to his chest, his hands a mess of blood and wooden splinters. She took one look at what had remained of the guitar and said, "It used to be my sister's."
And Wilbur crumbled . He dropped to his elbows and muttered like a madman, "I'm sorry, I'm sorry, I'm sorry. " Curling his fingers into fists, he only ruined them more; but Wilbur didn't process it until strong hands grabbed his wrists and forced him to stop. When he was finally able to come to his senses, he met Sally's bright turquoise eyes and saw her brows uncurve in relief.
"You have so many issues," she sighed, yanking out a splinter out of his palm with her bare nails. "Are you done having a breakdown, or should we sit on the floor for the rest of the night?"
Sally helped him to pull out the rest of the splinters and bandage his hands. Wilbur watched her sweep the trash into a pile. Sipping tea from a chipped clay mug, he struggled to collect his thoughts: he wanted to ask Sally a thousand questions but settled on just one.
"Why?" he muttered, eyes trained on the steam rising from the drink. "Why are you helping me?"
Sally paused for a moment, the broom frozen mid-swipe for a few seconds, after which it was propped up against a threshold. "I'll check again if there's any left in the morning," she said, stretching her back tiredly. "Try to get some sleep. I want to show you something tomorrow."
***
When Wilbur woke up, he felt like somebody had chewed on him and spit him right back: exhausted, irritated and burning with shame over his pathetic state the night prior, he was certainly not in the mood for a walk. Sally, however, kept true to her words; rummaging through an old, iron-coated chest, she tossed him a simple linen shirt and a brown trench coat. Wilbur put them on and stared at himself in the reflection of a window.
"I look homeless," Wilbur pressed his lips together.
"You will be homeless if you won't stop complaining." Sally slapped a red beanie over his brown curls. "Follow me and try not to get lost, 'cause I won't be looking for you if you do."
Wilbur didn't have any high expectations for L'manburg. It was one of those places that most cartographers wouldn't bother marking on a map. A long time ago, it had been a beautiful place; with bridges and paths lodged over on wooden beams, lantern light playing in the colored glass windows and children chasing each other to сandy stands. Now the buildings were huddling together in pitiful crooked heaps, wind whistling through collapsed walls.
I thought you were poor, but it looks like everybody else is too , Wilbur wanted to huff at Sally, but something made Wilbur cramp his mouth shut. Maybe it was the look on her face - one that reminded Wilbur of Niki when she talked about Drywaters - or maybe it was the realization building at the back of his mind that this was still the Antarctic Empire .
Logically, Wilbur knew that not all of the Empire could live in the same luxury that he grew up in. Poverty was an issue in the faraway regions, especially on the border territories once torn by war, but thousands of facts forced into Wilbur's memory from textbook pages and his tutor's words couldn't come any closer to seeing it all with his own two eyes. The streets were cleaner and wider as they got closer to the town center; newer buildings popping up more often, but it was twice as crammed with people and animals alike. Too many sounds, too many faces; Wilbur felt, with every cell of his body, that he was a stranger; an alien, and a traitor.
Up until a few months before, he, the so-called crown prince, hadn't known a thing about what people lived like outside of palace walls. It made his chest feel tight in a way that echoed guilt. Wilbur bit the inside of his cheek and shook the feeling away - he had nothing to be guilty of. It wasn't his fault that he was born in a family of royals; now that ran away he didn't have any more responsibility over this town or those people at all. Wilbur told that to himself yet his stride came to be slow and uneven, his eyes straying to look at a street boy with sullen eyes and face smeared in soot. It wasn't Theseus, it wasn't his brother, but his mind told that he could be someone else's.
A vendor shoved a basket of beheaded fish under his nose - so far furthest possible from fresh, despite what the old man had barked out - and he stumbled away, closing his eyes and nose shut and trying his hardest not to throw up. When Wilbur was able to peel his eyelids open, Sally was nowhere to be seen. Wilbur's head snapped around in search of the bright torchlight of her hair, but the kicks and shoves of elbows had quickly pushed him out of the crowd.
"Fuck," Wilbur gritted out, sinking down to his heels. He was utterly and completely lost.
"Baa," he heard someone say, and something soft nudged itself into Wilbur's hand. He looked up and found a pair of big beady eyes directed into his own wide-open and brown. Wilbur had never seen an animal like this: it stood on legs so thin they seemed like they could snap from a touch, and was covered in something akin to blueish gray fur. Altogether, tiny and ridiculously adorable.
The animal bleated again,and raised its front legs to be propped against Wilbur's knees. His noise of confusion turned into a high-pitched coo, "Hello, friend. What are you?"
Wilbur carefully petted the fluff on the animal's head and oh fuck, it was so soft . He could feel a stupidly large smile growing on his face - a genuine expression free of snarkiness that normally dripped from his words.
"You have never seen a sheep before?"
Wilbur nearly jumped out of his own skin. Sally stood, leaning against a post, her arms crossed and an eyebrow tilting upwards; he would've grimaced but his lips refused to drop that idiotic smile until he physically wiped it away with the back of his hand.
"Of course I know what sheeps look like," Wilbur hoped that a glare would send his point across. "Aren't they supposed to be bigger and like," he spread his hands to two sides, "thicker?"
"It's a baby. A lamb," Sally said, and Wilbur his face rapidly turning red. More so when he realized when an older woman pointedly coughed at them - no doubt the owner of the said lamb.
Wilbur didn't want to leave it, not when it so desperately pressed its head into his palm, but it was dragged away by the lead crying and bleating. Wilbur could've tried to scoop it up and run, but he still was feeling guilty before Sally for what happened yesterday and didn't want to cause her any more trouble.
Something flashed behind Sally's eyes; or so Wilbur imagined, because next second she whirled around and gestured him over. "Come on, it's right here."
Wilbur followed Sally out of the narrow street; the rough spruce path expanded into a large town square. His gaze coasted small shops, decorative vines blooming and hanging from tiled roofs without any interest - until his foot got caught on a bouquet of flowers. Wilbur tilted his chin up and froze.
Flowers. Flowers were everywhere: carpeting the pavement, stacked on top of each other as if the clouds had rained petals for days straight. Even as Wilbur blinked to make sure he wasn't imagining things, colors flickered at the back of his eyelids - blue and purple and so much pink that it made him want to squeeze his eyes shut. Once his gaze fell on what the flowers were surrounding, however, to the stone figure whose feet they laid a path to, he no longer had any control over his body.
Wilbur swayed. His knees buckled. Sally's hand on his upper arm stopped him from slipping and falling. "You didn't know of the Empress' passing?" Sally, for once, sounded sympathetic.
Wilbur almost forgot that most people outside of the palace didn't know what she looked like. The stone figure, carved out with care that spoke of something more than skill and practice, was missing a face; instead a long black veil slid down from a wide-brimmed hat and onto her shoulders.
That's my mother , Wilbur's heart wrenched. It kept twisting and churning and he knew for sure that if he didn't force himself to breathe he would pass out soon.
"No, it's just-" he heaved, squeezing air out of his lungs. "It's been three months. And those flowers-"
His question didn't require an answer; Sally's eyes guided him around the square, to a young girl picking out the withered stems and replacing them with fresh flowers, to the dozens of people doing the same thing.
"Pink carnations, symbols of gratitude," Sally hummed. "Empress Kristin cared about this town when everybody else pitied its existence. This is the least we could try and pay her back. You asked me why I helped you - and my answer is that because you looked like you needed help. That's it."
Wilbur didn't know what to say. He had a hard time wrapping his head around Sally's answer. He was so used to seeking malicious intent in others that the thought of somebody doing something out of the kindness of their heart hasn't crossed his mind at all. Wilbur was half a continent away from home and everything that made him the way he is - yet he continued to carry that burden. A prisoner wearing a shackle on his ankle for years can't remember what it's like to walk without a limp.
"I don't know what happened to you," Sally said. "But whatever it is, you're here now. This is your second chance."
A second chanc e. Wilbur dwelled on that thought, let it sink deeper and deeper as his eyes traced the tremble of the veil on the wind. He suddenly understood how tired he was; not just his body but every inch of his soul cried to be relieved from its burden.
This time, when Wilbur stumbled, Sally didn't try to catch him; she let him sink with his knees into the flowers.
"A second chance," Wilbur echoed, testing the word on his senses: it tasted of salt and smelled of pink carnations. Satisfied, he threw his head back and smiled. "That sounds nice."
***
Sally ended up buying that lamb for him, and the start of Wilbur's new life was marked with learning how to care for Friend.
Next six months spent in Lmanburg went by fast and bright. He was always so caught up with Theseus, protecting him, and loathing everybody else that he forgot that he could exist outside of those three things. Wilbur stumbled off the path he mindlessly followed for the past ten years and for the first time was able to look around and truly feel and see.
Wilbur took jobs around L'manburg: making new acquaintances and sinking into the life of a commoner. He hadn't put much thought into how people lived outside of high society before, but now he had the answer - straining their muscles, from early sunrise to deep darkness. His hands, previously only familiar with the weight of a quill and handle of a sword, soon were almost as colloused as Sally's: skin roughened from the heavy boxes he lifted, small scars trailing his palms and fingers.
Each night Wilbur went to sleep exhausted, but the ache chewing on his body reminded him, you are alive. You are alive and you are getting better.
Unfortunately for Sally, Wilbur's newfound will for life only fueled his attempts to get on her nerves. He showed up at the doors, covered from head to toe in leaves, grinning as he handed her a rose plucked out of their neighbor's garden, sheared Friend's side in the shape of a heart and brought him into the house (Friend chewed on their curtains. Sally wasn't happy about that), and almost burned the kitchen down because he wanted her to try cookies by Niki's recipe. Wilbur wasn't sure his compliments became more than just running jokes; when Sally started getting flustered instead of annoyed, but before he knew it he was proposing to her on one knee.
"You're living in my house and we already argue like a married couple," Sally shrugged. "Might as well make it official."
The line between right and wrong, good and bad, had always been blurry to Wilbur. Mother had been the beam of a lighthouse that he sought in the darkness. In a way she continued to direct him even after her death, but as seasons changed after one another grief turned into throb and into a dull ache. Wilbur strove to be a better person - first for Sally, then for Fundy, and as he grew to love L'manburg - for the entirety of the town.
When the Empress was still alive, she didn't allow for the south to be neglected, but now L'manburg and surrounding lands were fully under the ruling of local nobles with Baron Quackity as their head. Quackity was a figure surrounded by mystery and fear. Being an illegimate child - born from a servant or a slave, depending on who you asked from - he only had stepped in his father's place for the lack of any other blood relatives. The previous baron had another son once, but he went missing after a group of bandits attacked the carriage of the baroness and killed her.
In L'manburg, town guards did as they pleased, and were worse than the robbers and murderers that they were supposed to be keeping the town safe from. The tributes that Quackity's men demanded were way higher than a town of fishermen could offer. Lmanburg was treated as a milking cow that was meant to be slaughtered eventually.
Quackity himself lived in a closed off estate far off to the west, and, if rumors were correct, had taken a liking to visiting the capital. Despite that, the baron's subordinates in L'manburg kept a number of servants to look after his manor in the center of the town. Wilbur introduced himself as a son of some distant merchant family. Not every commoner could read and write fluently let alone manage account books and staff of an entire manor, so he got the position of a steward - one that made him a valuable spy. Everything in Lmanburg was heading towards an uprising, but with Wilbur's interference it gained a face and a voice. Just as Lmanburg had become Wilbur's, Wilbur was Lmanburg's.
In the end it was what had led to Wilbur's doom. He got too cocky, too confident thinking that his past would never be able to catch up to him. A suspicious ship with no flag or name to indicate its route had decked at the port, guarded by Quackity's men; Wilbur went to get a closer look, but just as he cast one glance from behind an old warehouse, he was hauled out of his cover and pinned to the ground.
The town guards beat him to half-consciousness and threw him into a cell to starve for the next two days. In L'manburg, criminals were dealt with fast and simple; breathing through the stabbing pain of a broken rib, Wilbur thought that dying a second time wouldn't be as scary as the first. He only hoped that nobody went after his family; and if they did, that both Sally and Fundy got away.
At noon, Wilbur was hauled up onto the platform overlooking a silent crowd. Wooden planks croaked and screeched under his feet as he stumbled to balance himself. He tried not to look at the gallows too much; instead he closed his eyes and imagined his mother's statue. They stopped decorating it with flowers because the guards would stomp them off, but even without them, she was just as beautiful as ever.
The noose was fastened around his neck.
Wilbur was wrong. Dying never got any less terrifying.
A whistle and the thump of something heavy falling; Wilbur's eyes flung open to a motionless body of the executioner at his feet, a bloodied tip of an arrow sticking out of the man's ribs.
"Stay back!" A guard shouted, but his words were drowned in the growing murmur of town folk. The crowd parted, making way for a massive horse striking sparks out of pavement on each drop of a heavy hoof. A man sitting on the stallion lowered his crossbow and rode it forward despite the warnings and tips of spears pointed out at him. His helmet, a complicated puzzle of metal pieces, vaguely resembled a skull of a boar.
"Who are you?" A guard spat, the one who got Wilbur captured in the first place. The man pulled at the reins, stopping the horse, and slowly reached for his own head. The helmet clicked off easily, revealing his face all at once: white hair sliding to his shoulders, pale skin shining on the sun and an expression that had every sound cut dead all at once.
"I am Prince Technoblade, general of the Imperial army, firstborn son of Emperor Philza and late Empress Kristin. And that is," blood-red eyes glazed as they fell on Wilbur, "my twin brother."
***
The first thing Sally did when they reunited was punch Wilbur square in the face. Through the stars in his eyes, he saw Fundy running up to him and happily embracing his leg. Barely did Wilbur get any time to come back to his senses before he was slammed into an aggressive hug. He winced at the pain in his chest, but his throbbing cheek came to rest on top of Sally's hair, finding comfort in her warmth and scent.
"Were you worried about me?" Wilbur teased.
Sally flipped him off blindly, and Wilbur wheezed out a laugh. For the next half an hour he withheld pained winces as she bandaged his injuries and Fundy curiously poked his bruises.
More than anything Wilbur was amused by the look on Techno's face; all mighty and threatening just a few hours prior, he was openly shying away from Sally, as if afraid that her wrath would extend on him too. Instead, Sally sweeped Fundy into her arms and glared one last time at Wilbur. "I'm sure that you have a lot of catching up to do." As soon as she left the room, Techno breathed out loudly and gazed at Wilbur.
How ? his eyes seemed to ask.
"Her love language is violence, and I'm a masochist," Wilbur said. He threw his legs over the edge of the bed and learned forward.
"Wait-" Techno took a step towards him, probably to prevent him from standing up; instead Wilbur latched onto his arm and shifted his weight.
"Well, what are you waiting for?" he asked. "Help me to the garden. We will need some space for this conversation."
They sat down on a bench outside, listening to the evening song of crickets in the grass. Techno hadn't changed at all and yet he changed in every way. His hand wouldn't leave his sword alone, always hovering over the handle or touching on the hilt, tap tap tap . If the rhythmic sound has eased Techno's nerves then Wilbur found comfort in soft padding of wool on Friend's head. The sheep was chewing on the sleeve of Wilbur's sweater - Sally was going to be mad but it made the situation less frightening and a lot more like out of a fever dream.
"So," Wilbur drawled. "How is the palace? The old man hasn't kicked the bucket yet?"
Wilbur said it playfully, an attempt at breaking the ice, but for some reason, Techno drew in a sharp breath. "He's fine." A pause. "Theseus, too."
It was Wilbur's turn to shudder and look away. Beside him, Techno squirmed uncomfortably but hadn't said anything at all. Three years spent apart, but Techno's skills at supporting a conversation didn't seem to improve a tad bit - for some reason, Wilbur found that realization almost comforting.
"I was wrong," Techno suddenly said. Before Wilbur could ask him to clarify, Techno added, "You did survive- thrived, even. You even have a kid now."
"Sally and Fundy are my whole life," Wilbur hummed.
Techno lowered his chin to cast a look at Wilbur from the very corner of his eye; so wary yet awaiting, pulling at a string that can snap at any time. "Have you forgotten Theseus, then?" he asked quietly, sounding like he was afraid of the answer. Wilbur wasn't sure of which one, so he settled on the truth.
"Never," he said. "Not for a minute in those three years did I stop thinking about him."
"Then why didn't you come back?"
Techno turned to look at Wilbur; his eyes glassy, his tone - grief masked by accusation. Wilbur drew back the urge to remind Techno that he was the one to let him go; in his head, he recalled that fateful night so many times that old emotions grew over with rust and mold. Maybe, despite everything, some part of Wilbur missed Techno, and that part pushed him to say, "Can I make a confession?"
Wilbur felt Techno stilling next to him. He raised his eyes to the blink of stars above. "Each time I look at Fundy, I ask myself: do I really love him or if it's just the echo of what I felt - or rather still do, for Theseus?" He looked back at Techno and let the weight of his words sink in. "And it's like this with everything. Each day of my life I wonder, where do I end, and where my love for Theseus starts, and I still don't know the answer."
Something snapped between them. That line that made them, even if for a few hours, complete strangers. Sitting next to Wilbur on the bench was no longer General Technoblade but just Techno.
"I lied," his twin said. "His Majesty- he's not good. There was an attempted assassination about a month ago and he- he might die, Will." Wilbur didn't know what to feel about it - not about the news of his father possibly dying nor the way Techno's voice broke into a weak murmur - so he let his eyelids sink and darkness consume his vision.
"What about Theseus?" he asked quietly.
"He stepped up to the Emperor's duties. As the crown prince, he is doing well. But if Father dies-"
Then the Empire will have a fourteen-year-old child on the throne . His younger brother, who dreamed of stirring a ship, buckling under the weight of the crown. Wilbur choked on a wounded noise that crawled up his throat; it shrank back and clogged his lungs with the weight of that horrifying realization.
And yet... When Wilbur spoke, danger was building up behind his words, trembling and eerily calm at the same time. "Is that why you found me?" he asked. "Now that I am finally happy, when I thought that I had found my place in life- you come here and ask me to do what you yourself weren't capable of."
"Because he needs you, Will. Needed all those years," Techno said. "So please come back home with me."
Wilbur opened and closed his mouth. After Techno exposed who he is in front of the entire town, things couldn't go back to how they used to be. Despite that, Wilbur still had a choice: grab their savings, take Sally and Fundy and leave. Perhaps now that Niki is the queen she would be willing to provide them temporary cover in her kingdom, or they could cross the borders with Badlands undetected.
Frantic plans flashed in Wilbur's head, but when Techno extended a hand and opened his fist, revealing an emerald earring resting on his palm, Wilbur took it; because in the end, that was always his choice. He would always choose Theseus.
"I promise that if Theseus wants me to stay, I'll stay," Wilbur said, clenching the emerald. "But if he wants to leave with me- you and Phil are not going to stop us."
***
Next few weeks of Wilbur's life were spent in a blur; he felt like his body was a puppet bouncing on the stage without its strings while his consciousness had floated away to somewhere else. Wilbur couldn't remember what he said to father on his bedrest, how he fuzzed around Sally and Fundy trying to get them comfortable in the palace or how he had survived the wasp nest of nobles set loose at him.
What he did remember was standing outside with Techno on the day Theseus was returning from a trip to a nearby town, preparing himself to see his younger brother for the first time in three years. Wilbur dreamed of this very moment, of grasping his brother and sliding him into a gap in his heart, and was on the move before the carriage even stopped at the entrance stairs.
Techno took a step, his mouth opening like he wanted to warn him of something, but Wilbur couldn't wait any longer. He skipped two steps at once and slammed into Theseus, pulling him close. He didn't cling that desperately to his life during the storm like he did to the back of Theseus' cloak; unlike Theseus in his dreams, the boy in his hold was breathing, warm and real.
It took a minute for Wilbur to register that Theseus wasn't hugging him back, and another few seconds to feel the hands peeling him off the boy's shoulders - he wanted to snarl at them to let go, to let him have this moment - but the hands belonged to Theseus. Theseus was shoving him away.
"Theseus?" he asked, confused. "It's me. It's Wilbur."
His mind was seeking excuses to Theseus' reaction. Wilbur didn't change that much, Theseus couldn't have mistaken him for somebody else. But then why was the boy looking at him with those empty gray eyes? Why did ice coat his expression into one of apathetic disdain?
"Prince Wilbur, I'm glad to see you alive and in good health," Theseus said, bowing. Wilbur staggered back, his tongue feeling too thick in his mouth, and he had finally taken a moment to properly look at Theseus.
Wilbur thought that he would spurt in height more but he reached just about his shoulders length, and with how thin his arms and legs were, weren't going to overgrow him anytime soon. His cheekbones sunk in, not quite losing the childish roundness of his face but stretching it into an expression of grave seriousness that Wilbur felt odd seeing on features he used to trace with a soft pad of a thumb. Bright colors drained out of Theseus like from a painting left under the rain, his hair no longer gold but dull brass; the sunny smile, the buzzing energy and fiery eyes - everything that made him Theseus was locked behind steel and ice. His songbird no longer sang, and at that moment Wilbur knew that leaving was a mistake.
***
"That is not my brother, that is not Theseus. What the fuck did you do to him?"
At first, Wilbur blamed Phil and Techno - because they were here when he was not, and . There were arguments and there was shouting, and it's like Wilbur has never left the palace in the first place. All that progress that he had made in the last three years – erased in a flick of a wrist and a few twists of a tongue. Wilbur knew that words could build nations, send men into battles they knew they wouldn't return from; it was all too easy to ruin a single life, so fragile and defenseless, with a single pinch of a poisoned dagger. He knew that one day, he would find one plunged into his own back, but no amount of thinking could prepare him to turn around and see his own baby brother's face: blank as it studied the bloodied blade in his hands.
Wilbur forgot food and rest; every waking hour he spent around Theseus, never letting him out of his sight. He talked and he tried to get him to talk back, but Theseus only grew more irritated with time. His movements around the palace were trailed by a pair of brown eyes: Tubbo, the crown prince's eyes and ears, helping Theseus to avoid meeting his brother.
Perhaps the worst of it all was that Wilbur still saw his younger brother everywhere. In the memories encased in those walls, in a rare small touch that he and Techno shared, in a word of praise from Phil that would, even if momentarily, light up Theseus' face. Ways that he used to show his affection to Wilbur with, that Wilbur taught him were now directed at others: Phil, Techno, and at a snickering dark-haired man trailing his steps.
Baron Quackity in the flesh. While people under his care suffered this man found a cozy place in the palace, a duck tucking its wings contentedly in warmth. Wilbur Soot from L'manburg remembered the starving people and a noose around his neck; Prince Wilbur saw red each time a look of trust and understanding passed between them.
When Wilbur saw them like this - Quackity's arm of the other draped over his back like a wing - protective, comforting and claiming - he felt like dying all over again. His whole life he guarded Theseus of everything and everyone who could be of potential harm; Theseus learned to rely on him in everything. Quackity filled in the vacant place that Wilbur left in his wake; but now that Wilbur was back it rightfully belonged to him .
Quackity was a hard man to catch. It was as though he had known the meaning behind Wilbur's dark looks and was gloating at his fruitless attempts to pin him for a conversation. An opportunity arose one day late at night when a minister had swept away Theseus into a meeting; Wilbur slid the door to his office open and found Quackity sorting through what had looked like a pile of documents, half-leaning with his fact against the desk.
"What business does an illegitimate son of a lowly baron have in the Imperial palace?"
Quackity didn't seem surprised to see Wilbur. He glanced up once, then back at the papers, fixing them into a stack and shoving into a folder. "I believe it's not something that a runaway prince would need to know."
The temperature in the room had plummeted. Wilbur took a slow step forward. "I've been reinstated with my rights, and you are to regard me properly as your prince."
"You are no prince to me, Wilbur Soot ," Quackity said. "I only bow my head to the Emperor and Prince Theseus."
Wilbur stopped in his tracks. "So that's why you are here." A shadow passed over his face. "To manipulate my brother for power."
Quackity waved him off, breaking into laughter; the sound of it made Wilbur's throat feel dry. "Oh, no, no," the baron said, as if he found the possibility amusing. "It's a partnership of mutual benefit. Nobody is trying to control and manipulate the other, though I suppose I shouldn't be surprised that it's the first conclusion you jumped into."
Wilbur's voice dropped impossibly lower. "What are you implying?"
Quackity didn't hold back a smirk. He pulled out a coin out of his pocket and twisted it around in his fingers; gold reflecting in his eyes gave them a sharp, confident glow.
"I did my own fair share of asking around. The whole palace was wrapped around your fingers, and most never realized who was pulling the strings. But that was years ago." Quackity tossed the coin into the air and caught it right back, squeezing his palm and looking Wilbur straight in the eyes; a challenge, a dare. "One thing you need to understand, Prince Wilbur, is that the palace no longer belongs to you. Theseus no longer belongs to you nor anyone else."
Wilbur lunged; fast as a shadow, double as fierce. His hand squeezed Quackity's wrist; the coin dropped on the floor with a thunk. "You're forgetting the position you are in, Quackity," he said. "An assault on the life of a member of the Imperial household is a crime punishable by death. One my word, and you'll be held responsible on the behalf of your subordinates in L'manburg."
Quackity drew his lips back in a smirk and lifted his eyebrow. "Is this a threat?"
"It will be, if I see you anywhere near my brother," Wilbur took a step forward, cutting the distance between down to inches. "Leave, Quackity, or I'll make you."
Quackity had to tilt his chin up to look into his face, but neither the sudden movement nor the proximity of Wilbur's eyes, burning with danger, could make him stagger. The eye contact continued for what felt like hours before Quackity broke into laughter.
"Whatever helps you sleep at night, Your Highness," Quackity grinned, but his eyes remained dark and cold. "Just keep in mind that it's not going to be so easy to get rid of me."
He tucked the folder under his armpit and left.
***
First thing in the morning the next day, a servant had come, claiming that Wilbur was needed in the throne room. The path there he spent in dim thoughtfulness, arms brought closer to his body; it felt as though the fog outside had somehow crawled into the palace and was coating the air, invisible but nibbing with cold at Wilbur's skin. Phil had fully recovered by then; Wilbur thought that his father wanted to see him in regards to Fundy's soon-to-be coronation, but on the throne that once belonged to him was Theseus.
The sound of Wilbur's steps was swallowed by the thick blue carpet. His stomach sank with a feeling of dread and anticipation. Theseus' expression was unreadable, but his nails drummed a frantic rhythm on an armrest. In three months since his return, Wilbur learned to read the crown prince's new body language, and right now, he was furious .
"Prince Wilbur," Theseus said through a tight press of his lips. "Baron Quackity left the capital in a hurry this morning. A word has reached me that you had a hand in that happening."
"I only did what I had to," Wilbur slipped to a defensive tone without even meaning to. "Quackity is an untrustworthy, wicked man."
"That's what you think." In Theseus' eyes, a storm started brewing. "For the past two years, Baron Quackity has been one of my closest advisors. And you come in one day and think you're the one to decide who I can or cannot trust?"
Wilbur felt like his fingers were sliding off a rope that kept him from plummeting into the ocean. "I was only trying to protect you," The echo of Wilbur's voice thundered through the throne room, and he tried to keep it from breaking as he continued, "Quackity's nobody to you. You can't rely on him. You don't need him."
Theseus fell deadly silent - that sort of silence that stills in the air before a lightning strike. "And who do I need, Prince Wilbur?" Theseus asked. " You ?"
A lightning struck. A wave threw Wilbur overboard. He was drowning all over again, and Theseus didn't seem to notice; he just sighed deeply and pushed himself up from the throne.
"It seems to me that a misunderstanding has occurred. I don't know who had put that idea in your head, but I do not require your assistance, Prince Wilbur. So I ask you one final time to keep to your own matters and leave me to mine."
Theseus walked down a few steps, his long blue cloak trailing after him. It was WIlbur's last chance, his last hope- and he latched onto it with the desperation of a drowning man.
Wilbur dropped to his knees in front of Theseus', cutting his path short.
"What are you-"
" I'm sorry, Theseus. "
Theseus stiffened. "Stand up, Prince Wilbur. It's not fitting for a prince to crawl on his knees."
There was a spark of something in his eyes; flicker of a lamp in a snowstorm – gone in a blink but enough to set Wilbur alight with hope. "I'm sorry for leaving you alone," he repeated, shriveling with guilt. "I'm sorry that I wasn't here for you when you needed me the most."
Wilbur was too afraid of watching Theseus' face, so kept his head ducked low, his hands cramming the carpet in his fists. Wilbur could hear his own jagged breathing but not a sound coming from his brother- and now that a drop of Wilbur's guilt had spilled through he couldn't stop until he let out the entire sea.
"I never wanted to leave you. I wanted to find a safe place for you and me- and I'm so, so sorry that I didn't come back for you sooner." A quick, brittle inhale. "But I am here now. We can still leave."
"Prince Wilbur-"
"Theseus, you deserve so much more than this golden cage," Wilbur risked throwing his head back. He needed to look into Theseus' eyes for this. "This throne and this crown hold nothing for you- all you'll get from it are more scars and disappointment. Your true place is with your family. With me."
Wilbur had turned himself out for Theseus entirely: his heart, his soul, his guilts and hopes and fears and love. He had dedicated half of his childhood to taking care of his brother and now that he had found happiness in life, he wanted to share it with Theseus, too.
There was nothing more that he could possibly offer.
But still, it wasn't enough.
Eyes turning to ice, looking down at Wilbur wasn't the boy he raised but the reflection of his father. "You've put up a great show, Prince Wilbur, but you've interpreted this all wrong. I am with my family, and this is my home. I'm right where I belong."
Theseus tried to stride past, and Wilbur gripped his cloak. "Theseus, please-"
The anger in Theseus' eyes dimmed into something undecipherable. The storm had died, and in its wake it left a morning fog. "If you really wish to be of service, Prince Wilbur..." he said quietly, "Then go. Take your real family back to L'manburg and leave me alone."
***
Fear the hatred born from love, for that it hurts to destroy someone of your own creation. Wilbur's love burned like a thousand suns and his hatred was a kiss of the lips laced with acid. It just happened that for Theseus, he felt both.
When Wilbur strode to Theseus' office, he wasn't looking for a chance to poke Theseus and test his patience but wanted to get Ranboo an invitation to the Banquet. That boy - at first just another instrument for Wilbur to tune and exploit, was affecting him oddly, awakening feelings in him that he thought that he was too far gone for.
You're a good person , Ranboo said, and perhaps once that could have been true. Wilbur wanted to do what's right, and part of him still wants to - or otherwise why did he feel so guilty pushing Ranboo under the rails? Why would he be standing up to him to Prince Dream if he could feign innocence and let the scene unfold?
The day prior- he didn't think he pushed too much. In fact, he was sure that Theseus didn't care. But after he and Ranboo left Theseus with Techno, and a pair of eyes - one green and the other red, had asked him with sincere confusion, "Why do you talk to Theseus like you want to hurt him?", Wilbur couldn't help but hate himself.
Because a part of him wanted Theseus to hurt as much as he did. But before that, he wanted to have his brother back. Wilbur hoped that deep inside, Theseus still cared, and that one day he would admit that he needs Wilbur. The more Phil got involved in playing a father with Ranboo, the further he pushed Theseus away from himself and closer to Wilbur's awaiting arms.
He thought he knew the limits. Wilbur knew Theseus better than anybody else. He knew that the twitch of Theseus' nose meant that he was upset, how he drew in a breath to calm himself down, and how close he was to exploding with anger based on the quiver of his lips, and yet at that moment in the office he fails to notice every sign until he meets his baby brother's eyes and sees so much pain in them that it makes him choke.
"GET OUT!"
Every version of Wilbur, before L'manburg, during and after, comes crashing together in the face of shaking Theseus and the agonizing wail that tears through him.
"...Theseus?" he asks, and his voice is in the same trembling tone it was when he had hit Techno, and scared the younger Theseus.
Theseus raises a folder- and Wilbur runs, like a coward he is.
Wilbur isn't sure how he made it to a fountain outside. His stomach churns, his breaths coming as fast and shallow - like every other time he got close to a body of water. Six years ago Wilbur had survived a storm, but his body never fails to remind him that the next time he might not.
Wilbur pulls out a handkerchief and dips it in water. He brings it to the ink stains on his face. He presses and he scratches and he rubs, dipping it in and out several times, but no matter what Wilbur does they won't come off.
"Wilbur... Are you okay?"
Wilbur turns his head; a few steps away from him, Ranboo stops himself from reaching out.
"Of course I am," Wilbur laughs and nearly breaks into a cough. He clears his throat and says, jerking the handkerchief for Ranboo to see, "just trying... to wash off the ink."
Ranboo looked confused. "But your face is clean, Wilbur."
Wilbur opens his mouth to say, no it's not , but he catches a glance of his own reflection. Smaller, younger, and brows set into a deep frown.
"What did you do to my brother? " Wilbur in the reflection asks.
***
Ranboo always woke up with a distinct feeling of missing something, like his mind was a puzzle that he had to slowly gather piece by piece. But this time, feeling bile building up in his throat and heart thrumming against his ribs, Ranboo knows that he is forgetting something really important.
Ranboo reaches for his journal and puts it on his lap. From faint scribbles of words and phrases he starts recalling the day from his today's notes. Horseback riding lessons with Techno and a lunch in the company of Phil and a few other nobles are cast aside as not the sources of his panic. Ranboo faintly remembers seeing Wilbur kneeled at the fountain - looking like someone had just died. Upon his concerned words, the prince pushed himself to his feet and asked, "Are you heading somewhere?"
"Ah-" Ranboo gripped fingers of one his hands with the other, "I actually wanted to apologize to Theseus for what happened yesterday."
Wilbur said that Theseus wouldn't care about the lie- that he would be thankful to Ranboo for taking off that burden from him. Theseus didn't look like he didn't care. He looked terrifying but also very clearly upset.
Wilbur unsealed his lips and shook his head. Ranboo couldn't look away from his haunting-blank expression until Wilbur broke eye contact, running a hand through his hair. "I don't think you should be talking to Theseus. He might not be... in a goodstate right now."
Ranboo remembers being confused about what Wilbur meant but trusted his judgment and mentally postponed the apology to another day. Theseus was probably busy, he reasoned, now that Banquet was coming up. Techno offered to accompany him in the evening festivities, and Ranboo agreed for the sake of having somebody familiar in the crowd. And in the evening, he saw-
In the evening-
Ranboo shoots upright. The journal falls from his lap, and there is a knock on the door before Tubbo peeks in.
"Uh, Ranboo? You have a guest."
He opens his lips to ask Tubbo to send him away but the nightmare of Ranboo's memories walks right in.
"Leave us for a moment, Tubbo," Quackity commands. He sounds like he owns the place, and not even a pleading gaze from Ranboo can make Tubbo linger before the door closes. Ranboo scoots backwards in the bed, frantically searching for somewhere to hide; but there is no point. Quackity is here, pacing the room with his hands clasped behind his back, looking around curiously.
"I see you've settled well in the palace," he takes an apple from a pile of fruits Ranboo was brought earlier in the day, and takes a bite out of it. "Enjoy yourself a lot, huh?"
Ranboo's head is a static of panicked thoughts. He forces himself through a deep breath, then another - like Techno had shown him the other day. He reminds himself that there are people in the palace on his side.
"Why did you lie about being my brother?"
The playfulness in Quackity's behavior is gone in an instant. He puts the apple down and turns to fully face the boy.
"Oh, but I am your brother, Ranboo," Quackity says. "You better keep that in mind, unless you want everyone to find out that you're a runaway slave."
Ranboo chokes on an inhale. "It doesn't change anything. Phil- the Emperor, he'll protect me."
"The Emperor can't do anything," Quackity laughs. "You're not even from this country, Ranboo! Protecting you means a diplomatic catastrophe between the Antarctic Empire and Esempi- and after a stunt you pulled out the other day, do you think that he'll deem you worth the trouble?"
Sound gets lost somewhere in-between Ranboo's chest and throat. Phil hadn't been angry after the dinner yesterday, but then again - he didn't know that Ranboo lied about the letters. Theseus did.
I don't know what game you're playing at, Ranboo, but your position here is way more rickety than you might think. The Emperor and Prince Wilbur will get tired of you eventually.
Quackity watches Ranboo's expression drop with hands in his pockets and a smirk on his lips. "Oh, don't you worry this much. The Emperor is quite fond of you- and I'll help you to keep it that way."
"By blackmailing me?"
"By sharing my family name. Which, if you haven't already forgotten, has a barony attached to it. Being my brother will give you the status of a noble that you've been missing this far."
Ranboo's eyes widen. "You can't possible mean-"
"If we play our cards right, there'll soon be a new prince in the Antarctic empire," Quackity says.