With the foreign delegations riding off through the gates one by one, the palace falls back into its usual slumber. Extra chambers are cleaned and locked away until they're needed again, the corridors are no longer filled with chatting voices and Tommy can pass through the hallways without the prolonged routine of greeting every guest he meets on his way.
It's a short-term relief, though; the crown prince's responsibilities don't end with managing a few evening festivities. The paperwork that was put to the side as Tommy was busy with the guests now cramps his desk in tall towers, each threatening to topple over with the slightest breath of the wind. The sight of it makes some part of him howl in frustration, but he is mostly glad for the sense of normality it brings. Long afternoons spent in the company of rustling papers and old, leather-coveted books, the rhythmic tap of his foot against the carpet - everything's back to its usual self.
"Your Imperial Highness, you have a visitor," Beau announces, thrashing the doors open.
Well. Almost everything.
Tommy's hand twitches. He looks over a long stray mark left on the paper before him and drops the quill with a loud, exhausted sigh. The physician had told him that it will take about a month for his broken hand to heal, and a week or two more for the stiffness to be gone completely. Tommy refused to wait for that long and decided to exercise his left hand in writing. Rather unfruitful so far, if the ugly scribbles, the polar opposite to his usual perfectly aligned documents, were anything to judge by.
It irritates Tommy more and more with each following day, especially as the third month of the summer balls in, marking the start of payroll orders. The stewards help Tommy to manage the palace staff, but it's on the crown prince's shoulders in the end to make sure that no maid nor servant is paid a coin short of their salary.
While Beau has proven herself fluent in both manners of text and calculation, Tommy still checks every record and every paper to make sure that no mistakes are made. Beau knew what she was signing up to, and she never complains about the load of her new responsibilities; at the same time, she finds rather creative ways to let Tommy know how his meticulousness makes her feel.
He casts a glare up and sees the lady smirking at him from the other side of the office, not in the slightest ashamed of startling him. Beau is simultaneously everything and nothing that Tubbo was; both are ghostly silent in their movement, but while Tubbo used to creep in with a deer's cautiousness, Beau's sneakiness ends the moment she speaks and catches Tommy off guard with the thunder of her voice. Tommy ignores the knot of emotions that thinking about Tubbo tightens and instead focuses back on the desk.
He squeezes his eyes shut for a moment to rid of the stinging sensation, gathers the ruined document into a fist and throws into the bin without looking - it, of course, doesn't land, missing the target by a good few feet and rolling into the corner to the other balls of crumbled paper gathering there since the start of the day.
Tommy has been curious to see how big the pile will grow before either of them gives up first and calls for a maid to clean up. He thought that Beau had had enough when she drew closer, but instead, she smears him with an unimpressed look and kicks the bin closer so it's right next to the desk.
It's a draw.
Tommy sighs again and pushes his chair back. "Your Ladyship, how many times did I ask you not to disturb me during my working hou-"
"Is this a bad time?"
"Prince Dream!" Tommy is on his feet before he can process another thought. "Not at all, please come in."
Dream steps into the office half-way through, looking around curiously. He grasps it all: Tommy and Beau at the table, tall curtainless windows behind them, bookshelves filled to the brim with folders, ledgers and sheaves of paper. The mess on the floor earns Tommy a half-hearted chuckle - his shoulders twitch up in embarrassment - but to his relief, Dream's gaze rounds back to him and Beau.
"Reminds me of my brother's office," Dream says in a conversational tone. "Though it's a little bit bare here."
Dream is not wrong. For an office this big, easily comparable in size with most bedrooms in the palace, the desk and a few chairs on a red carpet stand out like an island in the middle of an ocean. There used to be a few couches filling in the empty space - almost every other night Tommy fell asleep curled up amongst the cushions, and Techno would carry his sluggishly protesting form all the way back to his chambers. Eventually, Tommy's brother had gotten all of them taken out, but experience has shown that he can just as easily fall asleep sitting if he is tired enough. Which is almost always.
Tommy pushes the chair towards the table and hums an affirmation. "I prefer to keep my working space clean of distractions."
"Do you also prefer not to take any breaks?" Dream asks.
Beau skews a gaze at him, so seething that it could've set his hair on fire if that was physically possible. When Tommy's head spins around to glare at her, the lady is looking out the window, fanning herself sheepishly. Tommy blazes his eyes one more time for good measure before he turns back to patiently waiting Dream. The crown prince's amused smile makes his cheeks turn red, and he lowers his head, gazing over the abandoned documents sprawled before him.
"I can afford a break every once in a while," he says, if only to prove Beau wrong. "Why do you ask?"
Dream fetches out a piece of paper out of his pocket with two fingers.
"Sapnap has left me a note saying that he left to train with the palace guards early this morning. I wanted to tell him that I'll be needing him later in the day, but I don't know where to look."
"He must be around the barracks," Tommy muses.
The other prince gives him a reserved, but confused look that clearly means that he doesn't know where the barracks are. Tommy hadn't shown Dream that part of the palace during their initial tour - a bunch of guards going through their training drills is not what visitors are usually interested in seeing.
Tommy wants to offer himself as a guide, but his gaze stumbles on the piled paperwork and bites back the reply.
"I can have Marchioness Beau lead you the way-"
"Forgive my selfishness, for I came seeking your company specifically, Prince Theseus," Dream says. "However, I do not wish to impose either. Perhaps we shall request the lady in question has the final say?"
They both turn to Beau, and Tommy's aide, who previously kept silent in the face of two princes conversing, gestures at the remaining paperwork with her fan. "If Prince Theseus would be so generous to share, I can finish today's quota by myself." She shoots Tommy a sly look. "In my humble opinion, there is no reason for Prince Dream's request to be denied."
Tommy can only stare and wonder when his aide and the foreign prince had the time to conspire against him. Does this count as treason? He is quite sure that it does. In the meantime, two people are still waiting for his answer, and the way Beau worded her reply leaves Tommy very short of options.
Tommy skids into a stroll and joins the other prince's side and pretends not to feel warmed up when the corner of Dream's mouth twitches upwards.
***
For hundreds of years, the Kingdom of Esempi and the Antarctic Empire competed for supremacy over the continent. The desire to control all trade flows and own valuable resources pushed them, again and again, to clash in bloody skirmishes over territories that often spilled into full-fledged wars.
Even with all the efforts of Emperor Philza and King Foolish to maintain the fragile bridge of peace, the people of both nations hold their breaths in dread of it falling through at any moment. The Empire hates the Kingdom and the Kingdom hates the Empire; such has been their relationship for as long as the oldest records tell. The two countries who were once enemies became rivals - and now the crown prince of one of them is teaching the second what neither father nor his brothers could. What he couldn't teach himself.
Tommy has no delusions about his own knowledge and experience. History had known rulers who commanded armies and conquered nations before reaching the mark of twenty years. Compared to his ancestors, and even to his father, who was crowned Emperor at sixteen, Tommy is a little more than a feeble child. He had spent enough time waiting for a chance to prove himself capable of something more than bookkeeping, and finally saw it in a face with green eyes and a gentle hand squeezing his own - an oath witnessed by the firework-strewn night sky.
Tommy is used to Quackity withdrawing his cards and always having a spare up his sleeve, and it came to him a surprise how readily Dream flips over his own. He admits to rumors about him being true, lips skinned to a smile so wide and confident that Tommy, who usually recoils from Wilbur's similar expression, can't help but get drawn in by it.
"I don't shy away from ruling with fear and I'm no stranger to vengeance," Dream had said to him the other day. "Some may say that I should be afraid of the amount of enemies I'm making for myself, to which I reply - why would the spider be afraid of the flies?"
Tommy would assume that it's arrogance that pads Dream's honesty if it wasn't for the conversation they had during the Banquet. It's naive, he knows, that he wants to believe Dream told the truth about seeing a twin soul in Tommy, but in the grand scheme of things it only matters that Dream is willing to share the knowledge Tommy so greedily craves for.
The walk to the barracks is a long one. Tommy keeps a steady pace towards the northern exit of the palace. Wherever the crown prince passes, the palace brisks: clerks and butlers, stewards and maids - everyone seems to move and work twice as hard under his watchful eye.
Usually the two princes would whirl into a lengthy discussion by now, but today, they are trapped in a bubble of silence. Dream attempts to initiate a conversation a few times but Tommy's replies are curt and scarce. The Antarctic prince is first to make it out of the northern exit and step into the halo of afternoon sun. He waits for Dream at the bottom of the marble stairs, squirming his eyes as they adjust to bright light.
"You look troubled," Dream points out when he catches up to Tommy. "Have I, by any chance, said something to put you off?"
Tommy shakes his head vigorously.
"No, no, of course not. I apologize if it seems like I'm ignoring you," he says. "It's just that there is something occupying my mind that won't stop bothering me."
Dream is first to resume their walk, and a moment later, Tommy steps up to lead the way again. "Don't apologize," Dream says. "As your friend, I just wanted to make sure that I'm not making you uncomfortable."
Tommy cards fingers through his hair, releasing a deep sigh. "That's not it," he repeats. The prompting look that Dream bestows Tommy with makes him feel obliged to reply - or so the crown prince tells himself when he can't explain the sudden urge to get rid of the knotting feeling in his chest.
"I suppose that the easiest way to put it is that I'm not happy with myself for slacking on my responsibilities."
"Your aide seemed to be confident that you can rely on her."
"I don't doubt her competence."
"Then what is the matter?"
Tommy chews on his lip. He is always careful with what he tells the other prince, only revealing the information that is already accessible to the public- but Dream is easy to talk to, and he keeps insisting that they both share what's on their mind... So maybe Tommy can afford a little bit of honesty.
"I'm not used to passing down my work to others," he admits, "and it feels like I'm committing a crime just by doing so."
Dream hums, understanding. "As your aide, Marchioness Beau is specifically meant to help you. There is no shame in letting her ease some of the weight you're carrying when it's the reason you have hired her in the first place."
Tommy thinks back of Beau. She is used to taking care of her family's domain, and it's no wonder that she finds Tommy's control of her work overbearing and was so eager to chase him out of the office.
"I suppose..." Tommy draws out.
Dream tilts his head to look at him. Sunlight dances on the pupils of green eyes, and Tommy finds himself staring, mesmerized.
"Sometimes," Dream hums, "the strength of the people around us is more important than our own. Part of trusting is about letting them show what they're capable of."
Tommy doesn't find an immediate answer, just like always when their conversations stray to the topic of trust. Dream talks a lot about how it's important for a ruler to know where to rely on others, and while Tommy eagerly absorbs everything else that the older prince says, this is where he faces internal resistance.
The concept of trust is not unfamiliar to Tommy. Wilbur said that they're always going to have each other, Tubbo swore that he's going to have his back, and Father promised to be his support- Techno still tells, every once in a while, that family will be there to straighten him up even when it feels like the rest of the world is crumbling beneath. All of them are liars, and now Tommy has the strength to admit and accept the fact that the only person he can ever rely on is himself.
"How can I ensure that everything is perfect if I'm not doing it myself?" Tommy says when the pause between him and Dream stretches for far too long.
A look of something thoughtful and at the same time distinctly sad passes over Dream's face; although in the shadow of a cloud momentarily curtaining the sun, Tommy might have read his expression wrong.
"We're almost here," Tommy says, before Dream can squeeze another word in; not an agreement and not an argument but a way to stray the conversation from things that make his chest fasten and his head fuzzy.
They see the walls first: gray stone and bricks layered up into the sky, shadowing the barracks and the training area beneath. Grass here is flattened down to bare soil, repeatedly stomped down by many feet; the closer Tommy and Dream come, the louder is the screech of metal rattling against metal.
Tommy knows that Techno is not in a good mood because the guards are panting in full armored gear, swords and axes strapped to their belts. They run laps in a large circle while the general watches them like a hawk, his arms folded on his chest. His white hair, normally braided, is pulled up with a bird-shaped brooch.
Tommy hasn't talked to his brother since their argument. He caught the sight of Techno observing him and Dream a few times from a distance; he stared back, almost daring Techno to try and say something, but he didn't utter a word, only narrowed his eyes as he left.
It felt like a stone settled deep in Tommy's heart ever since then. Even now, as they move closer, his chest feels like a wrenched piece of cloth. A twitch of Techno's earring betrays that he is aware of Tommy and Dream's arrival, but his back stays facing them firmly. Tommy gets distracted by the sight of a familiar helmet in the river of sweating figures. Wisp waves a hand at him as their eyes meet.
"Save us, Your Highness!" he yells.
The guards' agonized groans turn to wheezes.
"Save from who?" Techno asks, low and dangerous. "From me, perhaps?"
"Negative!" Wisp shouts. "I adore you, General! "
This was not an act of a wise man. Under Techno's destroying gaze, Wisp speeds up to another ten laps, nearly kissing his knees with each hop.
A person separates from other running figures and trods towards Tommy and Dream. The white headband that usually keeps hair out of the man's face has slithered to the side, and sweat coats his forehead as if he had dunked his head in water.
As soon as Sapnap nears the two princes, he collapses on the ground in a heap of metal. Dream bends to pick up his sheathed sword, and pokes the knight's stomach with the tip. Sapnap slaps the weapon away and snarls, "Fuck off."
Dream chuckles, "What's the matter, Sapnap? Can't handle a little exercise?"
"I'd see how you would feel after two hours of running in armor."
They banter with each other back and forth. Dream prods Sapnap's ribs with his boot, and the knight lunges to grab the prince's ankle - only for Dream to slide away and gloat at him for being too slow.
Tommy watches them, not sure if he feels more amused or abashed. The amount of swears flying out of the knight's lips first scraped against his ears, but it's not like any of those words were new to him. In those few days he came to learn that Dream allows Sapnap more than he'd ever seen a royal allow their guard or servant. It makes Tommy think of Tubbo - how they sneaked around those very barracks, stealing training swords to swing at each other clumsily. He cuts off that stream of thoughts before his chest starts to pang.
"'You're under my command as long as you're on my territory' my ass," Sapnap groans, rolling to his back and tilting his chin to look at Tommy. "I'm sorry, Your Highness, but your brother is a prick."
A huff traitorously escapes Tommy's lips - either a laugh or a sound of surprise. Techno's ear twitches. He turns around, oh so very slowly, and leers at Sapnap. The rattle of armor and steps quiets down - the guards drop their pace as the aura of danger whiffs them, and they suddenly turn very unwilling to attract Techno's attention, be it with a movement or sound.
" Fuck," Sapnap breathes out. "How good is his hearing?"
"You're a dead man walking," Tommy says.
Sapnap scrambles upright when Techno's shadow casts over him. Pink-eyed gaze spits daggers and flames as it slithers away from the knight, brushes Tommy merely and fixates on Dream.
"Prince Dream," Techno says, "I'll let it slide this once, but I do not wish to see any of your people near the training grounds again."
"Just one person can't be much of a bother to you." Dream hums, digging the end of Sapnap's sword into the ground and leaning on it like on a cane. "I can't have my knight's skills atrophy, can I?"
Techno's face turns two shades darker and sourer. Tommy hasn't seen his brother this close to anger in a long time. Techno narrows his eyes into two slits, "Too bad that it's not my problem."
There isn't a trace of airy and goofy mood that previously hung in the air. With all his frivolous behavior around Dream, Sapnap wisely keeps his mouth clamped, and so does Tommy. The thread of tension, gazes drilling - one green, and the other light pink - feels the same as when they nearly dueled because of Wilbur's lie.
"How about we solve this the old-fashioned way?" Dream says, unblinking. "My knight against one of your soldiers. If Sapnap wins, he can train here all he wants, but if not, we'll both avoid this place by a long mile."
Tommy knows what the 'old-fashioned way' entails - combat of the champions of two armies, once a common practice between the Antarctic Empire and the Kingdom of Esempi. The offer startles Techno into looking away; he glances over his shoulder and at the crowding guards, who only refrain from murmuring to each other because of the general's sharp look. Exhausted from training, holding onto their sides with winces, they look worse than Sapnap and none in the state for a lengthy duel.
"Those customs are only suitable for war," Techno states dryly, turning back to Dream. "It's not a good omen to bring them up in peace."
Dream seems unbothered. "I thought you didn't care about customs," he says. And Sapnap, suddenly energetic, pulls his lips back into a grin.
"Of course Prince Technoblade would refuse," he says to his prince, completely ignoring the general's presence, "he knows that there is no soldier in the Antarctic army that can compare in skill with me."
This is no longer about Techno's unwillingness to have the southerners on the training grounds, it's about the Empire's honor, and the rising rumble of the guard's voices is proof of that. Wisp puts his helmet off to wipe away the sweat, but before he can make a foolish decision, Tommy steps up to Techno's side.
"I can," he says.
Techno's eyelids twitch. For the first time this week, a look of something other than indignation passes his eyes.
"Theseus, your hand is broken," Techno says.
"I still have my left hand, don't I?" Tommy walks up to a stand with weapons and picks up a sword. It feels awkward and heavier than normal. He ignores the sound of steps until Techno stands right next to him and half-hisses:
"What are you doing, Theseus?"
"Protecting the honor of the Antarctic Empire," Tommy says, not batting an eye.
"You're throwing a tantrum, that's what this is."
"I'm not a child, Techno," Tommy mumbles angrily. He twists his wrist around until he locks in a position where he can wield the sword with relative ease, then glances over his shoulder at his brother, "Don't treat me like one."
Techno huffs. "If you want to be treated like an adult, you need to be prepared not only to make your own decisions but also mistakes."
For a long moment, two brothers are silent. Techno once told Tommy that he is as stubborn as his twin is - normally, he'd loath anything in himself that could be similar to Wilbur, but now it helps him to withstand the heaviness of Techno's gaze.
Techno seems to understand, too, that Tommy isn't giving up; he presses a step back with a frown. When Tommy walks away from the weapon stand, it's with two swords held in his left hand. He passes the watching crowd with a glance and finds Dream's eyes aimed at him, his head tilted in a way that makes him look distinctly like a bird. He is coming to read Dream's expressions better and better with each day, and right now, the prince seems intrigued.
A breeze passes Tommy's face, blowing his hair out of his face. Determination fuels each step he takes towards Sapnap. Techno deems him incapable of protecting himself, so he'll prove him wrong. And, at the same time, maybe impress his new mentor too.
"I don't want to hurt your crown prince," Sapnap says, looking between Techno and Wisp. Instead it's Tommy who drops one of the blades and slices the other on his bare forearm. Sapnap jerks instinctively, but there is no blood gushing from a deep wound, only a fading red line where metal made contact with skin.
"These swords are no sharper than a butter knife," Tommy says, "You wouldn't be able to harm me if you tried."
Tommy passes the sword to Sapnap, and the knight accepts it reluctantly. Pieces of light armor strapped around his arms and torso fall on the ground one by one. Tommy shrugs his coat off, and it slides off the shortened sleeves of his pale blue shirt, high-waisted and laced by a red sash. The guards form a big circle around them; Techno and Dream clasp it shut while Tommy and Sapnap move to the opposite ends.
"I'm not a fan of unfair fights," Sapnap warns, moving his feet apart into a battle stance.
"Of course," Tommy folds his right arm to his back, smirking. "I can even tie it up, if you need that advantage," he suggests, and a roar of laughter passes the guards.
Sapnap needs no further encouragement. He lunges forward, wanting to end it fast so as not to strain the poor injured prince. Tommy stands still until they're just a few feet apart and whirls out of the way, slapping the flat side of his sword on Sapnap's arm.
Their audience hoots as the first strike lands. Tommy was aiming for Sapnap's back, but it's close enough that a smirk creeps up his face when the knight swivels around, eyes widened. Surprise morphs into a challenge as Sapnap straightens up and readjusts the loose grip on his own weapon. Finally, Tommy is taken seriously.
Sapnap charges again, steel catching flecks of sunlight. With one arm locked at his waist, Tommy's shoulder moves first - the rest of the body follows suit, and he steps to the opposite of the blade's swing. Sapnap knows his strength, Tommy will give him that, but strength is useless in a quarrel with air.
When Tommy first started learning swordsmanship, his attacks were jerky and aimless. Techno couldn't train him out of swinging his weapon left and right no matter how much he explained that a battle is about more than just brute force - something that Tommy naturally lacked. It seemed that Techno would give up teaching him soon, until one day he stumbled upon him and Niki in the pavilion. He watched as Tommy flew by in a swirl of blond and blue - his feet barely touching stone and yet each step precise as a thread of knitting work - and an idea flashed in his eyes.
Their next training session, Techno blocked Tommy's path just when he was about to reach for an axe. "Forget everything that I ever taught you and do what you already know," he said, handing Tommy a dagger, "Dance."
And dance Tommy did. His limbs turn to wind and his feet carve patterns on soil as he skids out of the weapon's way. He needs no music to follow the rhythm of the fight; Sapnap attacks guide Tommy's dance, turning the knight's perfect skills to his imperfect art.
With each new attack that Tommy evades, the guards rile them up more. His name thunders a few times in Wisp's voice. From the corner of his eyes, Tommy finds both Techno and Dream watching. His brother - with silent judgment in everything from his crossed arms to the crease of his brows, while the foreign prince nearly leaps up when Sapnap uses Tommy's distraction to force him into defense. Their swords clash together and the prince skids away before another hit could follow.
"Tired of dancing yet?" Sapnap asks, smirking, as they both take a moment to catch their breath.
"Never," Tommy says, even as his arm quivers and the beginnings of a fire sting in his lungs. "You, on the other hand, are slipping."
Tommy is agile but his endurance is low. Sapnap catches onto that quickly and gathers that little energy he has left into one fiery strike. Tommy can't duck fast enough and takes it with his sword. On adrenaline alone he musters enough power to hold Sapnap's blade off for a few sweltering moments before his hand gives up traitorously. Metal scrapes against metal as it drops the blade and plants a knee to Sapnap's stomach. The knight doubles over, and Tommy's now free hand seizes the sword out of the knight's grip.
"Surrender," he says, pointing the tip at Sapnap's throat.
Sapnap looks down at Tommy's sword lying at their feet. The prince kicks it away, and the knight's eyes flicker back to him.
"You've got the upper hand, Your Highness," he says, slowly raising his arms. "The honor of Antarctic Empire is secured."
The crowd explodes into shouts. A smile stretches from Tommy's one ear to another. He lets his arm fall and the sword clatter on the ground, glancing back at Techno in search of his approval. The traces of an eleven-year-old boy who dreamed to be acknowledged by his legend of a brother cheers and laughs in his eyes, as if screaming, 'I won, Tech, have you seen it?'
Techno has seen it. And yet the look on his face is blank, and the longer it stays that way, the more Tommy's smile wilts.
"You've got me good," Sapnap goes by and pats Tommy's back approvingly. Tommy stares at his shoulder like he expects for it to set aflame. Is Sapnap... Not offended? He should be- Tommy did just defeat him with his non-dominant hand. The knight collects the pieces of his armor and straps them back on, only further prodding Tommy's confusion when he hands the prince his abandoned coat.
"You're losing your grip, Sapnap," Dream walks up to them, hands in his pockets. The odd thing is that he doesn't sound disappointed, not even mildly upset. He shoves Sapnap teasingly, to which the knight snarls without any heat behind his voice, "Shut up."
Techno's steps are so silent that nobody but Tommy notices him until he appears behind Sapnap's back and nearly makes him jump out of his skin.
"Your knight has lost," he rumbles. "I hope that you can keep true to your word, Prince Dream."
Dream nods. "A deal is a deal. We'll be taking our leave now," He cocks his head at Tommy, his eyes full of glee. "You're full of surprises, Theseus. Thank you for helping me find my guard and knocking him down a peg. I won't be wasting your time any longer if you wish to part ways now. But if not-" he gestures at Sapnap, who nods along even before Dream finishes, "We both will be happy to have you as company."
Tommy looks at Techno instinctively, as if asking for permission, but his brother has already turned away from him.
"Did I ever tell any of you to stop running?" he roars to the guards, and the wind of them blows away.
Techno pointedly ignores his younger brother's presence. Tommy can already sense that it's going to become a new normal to them. This is what he wanted - the freedom to make his own decisions without Techno looming over him or hazarding his way - but now when it came down to it, all Tommy can feel is bitterness.
Despite this, he turns back to Dream. "I'd be more than delighted to join you," Tommy says.
***
As the sun starts setting down in the evening, Tommy takes Sapnap and Dream to the deeper parts of the gardens. Here, wide bands of white stone curl to narrow paths, and plants seem to grow greener, lusher, thriving away from common sight. Neither a noble nor a servant would bother them here, and they only come across an occasional gardener watering the flowers or quietly clipping a dry leaf. For a while the conversation bounces around Tommy's victory in the fight earlier. Compliments are given, chuckles whiff through the trees - and even if Tommy can't name the giddy sensation warming him up from inside, he knows that it feels nice.
"I'm exhausted," Sapnap says at some point, tipping his head back as he stretches his shoulders and brings his elbows together. "I think I'll call it a night early."
"Take a bath, you stink," Dream informs him. With a last portion of light banter, Sapnap leaves, leaving the two crown princes alone.
They both vow to silence without agreeing to, enjoying each other's company in the ambience of sunset gardens: swish of wind in the canopy of branches, shuffle of the path against their shoes and murmur of a pond somewhere behind thick bushes. Tommy lets his feet carry him on while he rests his eyelids and wonders if this is what peace sounds like.
"Thank you," Tommy says.
"For what?" Dream asks. He says it like he genuinely doesn't know.
"For baiting me out of my office today. For inviting me to take a stroll with you. And more than anything else, for agreeing to mentor me as a prince." Tommy opens his eyes to look at Dream and let him see the gratitude there, too. "I'm indebted to you for your kindness, and if there is any way you'd want me to repay it- please let me know."
"You overestimate my influence on you," Dream shakes his head. "I couldn't have taught you anything that you didn't already master. The nature of advice is that it comes only at the price of listening."
Tommy's brows huddle together. He thinks of Quackity- thinks of all the other people that were before him. If Dream doesn't look for anything to ask of him, why would he waste his time on mentoring him?
"Truth to be told, I admire you, Theseus," Dream says, as if reading his mind.
Tommy's next step comes to a stumbling halt. "Admire?" he asks, dumbfounded. "For what?"
"Ruling family of Esempi is even smaller than the Empire's. Me and my siblings physically wouldn't be able to handle an entire nation all by ourselves," Dream says. "King Foolish isn't married, so a queen's responsibilities are managed by a number of trusted advisors - everything that you, Theseus, do by yourself."
"Those are just my regular duties," Tommy argues. "It's nothing to admire, and certainly nothing in comparison to what your influence as a prince is. That's the reason why I sought your guidance in the first place."
Dream spins around to face Tommy, so suddenly that it almost makes him jump.
"Theseus, a week ago, you asked me not to belittle you," Dream says, "but isn't it hypocritical of you when you discount your own efforts? You provide thousands of people employed at the palace with means to fend for themselves and their families. You make sure that the Imperial family's court functions smoothly, and if I speak frankly- the only reason that the nobles of the Empire are this idle is because their hopes for you are keeping them at bay."
Tommy's lips part only to press together tightly the next moment. He doesn't... think of it this way. Assigning half his servants to western wing when they were short of hands, sums allocated to the renovation of staff quarters, bookkeeping accounts and payroll orders - they are a blur of rustling papers on Tommy's desk. Nothing important or outstanding, neither about them nor him.
"Somebody always had to take those responsibilities," he says. "Whether it'd be queens or empresses or princes."
Dream shakes his head. "It doesn't mean that everyone can shoulder them."
Tommy dips his chin, his eyelids fluttering. Wilbur's face comes drifting to his vision, sullen and so terribly broken in the face of Techno's retreating form. In an attempt to make the image go away, Tommy shifts his gaze towards the palace.
From this distance, he can see the building in its full massive glory: round towers climbing the sky like rays of a crown, rooftops gilded in sunset pink and lengthy galleries connecting one wing to another. The palace's size is befitting to the functions it serves: housing the Imperial family, holding the most important of diplomatic negotiations and centralizing a country's worth of paperwork flow. The heart of the capital, the heart of the nation - from where he stands now, Tommy can't believe that somebody could be in charge of keeping it pumping, lest it be somebody as small and insignificant as himself.
"Just because you're used to doing something, doesn't mean that the credit for it ever lessens," Dream says, seeing that he doesn't find the words to argue. "Where others would buckle, you, Theseus, thrive."
Tommy's hand fiddles with the sleeve of his coat. Thrive, his mind echoes. Guilt pangs his chest. He's not thriving; he is miserable, pitifully so, and he feels like a liar that Dream seems to think otherwise.
"You think too highly of me," he murmurs.
"No, Theseus, I'm just speaking the truth," Dream says. "You have wit and you have talent. The only thing you lack is some confidence to put them to use."
The older prince puts a hand on Tommy's shoulder. He tenses a bit, but starts relaxing under the older prince's earnest gaze. He doesn't believe Dream's words - but he wants to, even if for a moment shorter than it takes his heart to beat once, to have as much faith in himself as Dream does.
Against Tommy's will, his shoulders sack. The pressure of Dream's hand tightens for a second and disappears completely the next, but his skin still burns where it made contact through cloth. Tommy's heart flutters in his chest with a feeling that he can't decipher, can't name or understand, and that fact troubles him deep down to his bones.
His spell-cast state gets broken when grass shuffles behind them. It must be Sapnap returning, Tommy assumes, but when he turns around it's Wilbur passing a row of yellow hyacinths. Even as Tommy can't properly make out his expression in the beginning, he knows that Wilbur is angry - or at the very least, irritated - from his usual well-measured, leisurely walk stepping up to impatient leaps.
"Prince Dream, I thought you'd be boarding a ship back to Esempi by now," Wilbur says. The hair at the back of Tommy's neck bristles from the cold draft of his voice. "For how much longer do you plan on staying for?"
The tactlessness of the question grinds against Tommy's ears, but he ushers himself to stay silent, holding his breath as he waits for Dream's answer.
"A couple of months, at least," Dream hums. "I want to use the most of this opportunity to get myself familiar with the people and culture of the Empire."
Tommy breathes out. Wrinkles of a smile gather around Dream's eyes. Wilbur shoots them a seething, narrow-eyed gaze.
"That's an unusually long time. Surely King Foolish needs you back in Esempi sooner."
"Thank you for your concern, but my brother will let me know if that will be the case," Dream says, and Tommy has never heard a gratitude that sounded as dry.
Tension clogs the air between two princes: Wilbur - a rope stretched to its limit, and Dream like a mast croaking under the strong blast of a wind. It's clear that neither of them is going to back off on their own, and Tommy feels a need to ease the brewing storm before the lightning strikes.
"It's not acceptable for you to speak to a guest this way," he says, drawing in both their attention. "Prince Dream is welcome to stay at the palace for as long as he wishes to."
Wilbur frowns. "You're on this, too?" he asks in a bitter, betrayed tone that makes Tommy sigh.
"It's best if we take our leave now," he says.
Before Tommy can look for a way out of the conversation, Wilbur wrestles the frown out of his face. He wraps his fingers around Tommy's forearm. "I'd like you to stay, Theseus. There's something I wish to discuss with you in private."
Tommy scowls. What he wishes for is to throw Wilbur's hand off, but he knows that he can't avoid speaking to his brother forever, and he's so tired of being afraid of him that instead of usual dread, irritation prickles his skin. Dream looks like he's about to speak up until he meets Tommy's eyes and sees something in them that makes him smile again.
"I'll see you later, Theseus."
Tommy nods and takes a whirling step to the side. Caught off guard, Wilbur lets his arm go, but moves after him as soon as he starts walking on the path.
"Since when were you on a first name basis with Prince Dream?" Wilbur asks incredulously when they leave the heir of Esempi far behind.
"Prince Wilbur," Tommy purses his lips, "if you're here to act petty for no reason at all, we might as well part ways now."
Wilbur glares at him. "From the way you talk to me, it seems as though you don't want to know that Grand Duke Sam and Emperor Philza were talking about you this morning."
Tommy almost stumbles out of surprise but is quick to correct his posture - which doesn't, of course, go unnoticed by his brother. The smug look that had been wiped off Wilbur's face by Dream earlier returns in full force. Tommy furrows his brows but can't deny that Wilbur's words got his full attention.
He remembers talking to Duke Sam during the Banquet with humiliation burning his face. After Tommy's sharp reaction to the man's words and his subsequent escape, he thought that he wouldn't want to do anything to do with him, so why would Duke Sam be bringing his name up to the Emperor?
"Fine, let me hear it," Tommy sighs. A cunning smirk and a quirked brow make it clear that Wilbur is waiting for something else; his whole attitude resembles one of a person waiting for a dog to do a trick. Tommy grinds his teeth, "Please."
"That's better," Wilbur hums. "From what I've gathered, Duke Sam wants you to be in charge of the further trading negotiations between the Empire and his dukedom. Emperor Philza is still considering that request, but he's inclined to agree and will probably notify you shortly."
Tommy wrinkles his forehead further. Him, in charge of trading negotiations? He can't think of a single reason why Duke Sam would choose him over the Foreign Affairs Minister or the Emperor himself, but Wilbur is not the person who can give him an explanation.
"What's the catch?" Tommy asks, stopping to face Wilbur fully, because it's not possible that his brother will be satisfied with just him saying 'please' once.
"No catch," Wilbur says. "Just thought I'd give you a head's up."
Tommy doesn't believe it for a second, but Wilbur doesn't say anything else, his expression suddenly very sincere. It irks Tommy unlike any of his smiles and smirks can.
"That is very considerate of you," he says, not because he's grateful, but because it's the standard phrase he'd spare any other noble in a similar situation. He turns on his heels, "If this is it, I shall be on my way-"
"Wait," Wilbur says, and Tommy plants his feet on the ground and turns half-way towards him. He blinks as he sees his brother wringing his fingers and chewing slightly on his lower lip. Part of Tommy that holds the memories of growing up with Wilbur recognizes it as hesitance - the same one that he remembers being on the older boy's face whenever their mother's health has been brought up.
"About what happened last week... I'm sorry," Wilbur says, not meeting his eyes. "It was shitty of me to say, and I truly regret it."
Out of all things that Tommy expects Wilbur to say at that moment, an apology is not one of them. Next time he blinks, he sees inkblots moving into shapes and hears the sound of glass breaking. Tommy squares his back so that Wilbur won't see how much he urges to flinch.
I'm sorry, Wilbur says. All Tommy sees and hears is an invitation to a new game of mice and cat that he has no interest in playing the prey in.
"Regret what?" he asks, opening his eyes and glancing over his shoulder.
He takes Wilbur by surprise. "What happened before the Banquet?" he probes. Tommy further raises a brow. "I came to talk to you about adding Ranboo to the guest list and you-"
"Ah, that," Tommy raises his head to look at a cloud drifting past in the sky. "You made a ridiculous request, Prince Wilbur, and I denied it. You don't need to apologize, though. I understand that you're fond of Ranboo. How do commoners say it- no hard feelings, right?"
Tommy doesn't even try to pretend that the smile on his face is real. Wilbur finally, finally, catches the hint.
"So that's the way we're going about it," he states dryly. "You will just deny that anything had happened at all."
"Precisely."
That's all what it takes for Wilbur's hesitance to turn into irritation.
"The fact that you're mad at me doesn't mean that you should go and side with Prince Dream. Who, you know, wanted to challenge me to a duel."
"Prince Dream had the right to seek justice. I'm just the third party in the brawl that you caused in the first place."
"You got yourself involved the moment you decided to side with the enemy of the state rather than your own family," Wilbur snaps. "If you had any decency left you would've told Prince Dream that he's overstaying his welcome. Instead you're running circles around him like a puppy wagging its tail."
Tommy stares at Wilbur as thoughts twirl in his head, conclusions made and carefully stored on shelves. Of course, he chuckles to himself - with irony or bitterness or both. With how common the two crown princes have been interacting as of lately, Wilbur was bound to step in. That was the case with Quackity, and that was the case with every person that Tommy has ever tried getting close to.
Unlike with Quackity, however, Wilbur has no power over Dream. No threats to spook him with, no authority, no secrets to hold over his head- save for Tommy's letter exchange, something that he had already put to use without much success. Wilbur is out of options, so what is he trying to do? Play nice and hope that a fake apology and a little bit of pressure will make Tommy chase Dream away himself?
Like Sapnap would put it, not a fucking chance.
"Are you my friend, Prince Wilbur?" Tommy asks calmly.
Wilbur glares. "I am your brother."
Tommy measures him with a glance that could rival the coldness of the ice-grasped northern seas. It serves to cool Wilbur's temper off, having him bristling but silent until Tommy speaks again,
"Do I see you as my brother?"
Wilbur doesn't have anything to say to that, his mouth gaping like a fish's only to be clamped shut a moment later. No you don't, his eyes answer for him, and Tommy makes a satisfied sound akin to a hum. He crosses his arms behind his back and walks past the other prince with an expression of dark triumph.
"Then you don't have a say in who I do and don't make friends with."
Tommy's steps echo on the stone path. As he takes a turn into the gardens, he catches a glance of Wilbur standing in the distance, watching him. It's too far away for Tommy to make out of his expression; but even if he could, he wouldn't peer closer. It's easier to give in to seething anger when Wilbur doesn't bear the face of a person that once had been Tommy's whole world.
Did Tommy tell the truth when he said that he doesn't see Wilbur as his brother? He wants to say that he did, but the mortifying part is that he doesn't know. There is some tiny, pathetic part of Tommy that screams and wails that it's wrong, but the longer it keeps going the more he wants to squeeze and strangle it until it no longer has any air to beg. Wilbur doesn't deserve any part of Tommy calling him a brother, not after everything that he did.
They could've existed peacefully with each other. Not as brothers, not as family, just as princes of the same nation- but Wilbur didn't want that. The very thought of Tommy enjoying himself, of being happy, seems to rub Wilbur the wrong way. He stomped down the last memories of a sacred fire that once had been their brotherhood, and he won't stop there - he won't stop until he destroys Tommy.
'So why not destroy Wilbur first?' a whisper comes in Dream's voice.
Tommy's limbs start to tremble. The shaking takes root from the pit in his heart and spreads from his shoulders down to his arms and back, that sort of quiver that doesn't come from disease or weakness but from bone-deep, aching hatred. Tree branches curl into claws and their roots look like the arched spikes along the backs of nightmarish creatures. The sun has set so low that when Tommy spots a fountain ahead, the water spilling from under the feet of a statue is painted dark red.
One hand of a woman reaches towards the skies while the other has a strong grip on a sword driven deep into blood. If it wasn't for the cracks and crevices cut into stone by weather and wind, and diamonds slotted in where pupils of her eyes should be, it would seem as though the woman will quaver at any moment, shaking as her limbs fight against shackles of time and release her from the thousand-year slumber. As it is, she simply stands, stretching a pair of wings behind her back, the grid of obsidian-black feathers casting a long shadow on the person sitting beneath.
Maybe it's the force with which Tommy plants his feet on the path, maybe it's the fists curling and uncurling at his sides, or the expression of his face set to stone - but Dream shoots upright up as soon as he comes near.
"Dream, I considered what you've told me," Tommy says, "and I think it's time to remind Prince Wilbur who the true crown prince is."
***
The hinges of the doors cry out in alarm. When Beau raises her head from the papers, Prince Theseus and Prince Dream enter the office. The sun's bleeding flare casts shadows on the features of their faces, sharpening them so similarly that, if Beau didn't know any better, she'd think that they're related by blood.
"Your Highnesses...?" Beau asks.
"Marchioness Beau," Prince Theseus says, "how do you feel about deceit?"