A/N
Whumptober day 8: poisoned/drugged!! Lets goooo we have more dark sbi
The beginning of this is a little rough (i realized i hadnt written any prologue last minute, but i promise it goes back to my usual good quality when the poison happens) so please bear with me!! <3
TWs: poisoning, dark elements, threats, alcholic character (Schlatt in the flashback), kidnapping
Synopsis: Tommy is sent to the Antartic Empire to try to kill the High King Philza. It doesn't go as he planned (forced adoption lmao)
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The royal dining room was, to say the very least, intimidating.
Great marble pillars, lined with a glistening gold on all sides, stretched towards the dome-shaped ceiling. Murals were hung across every wall, all depicting skewed history with a delicate hang of string and tied thread, matching stone-faced expressions woven onto the faces of the royal family. The grand table itself looked like it had taken years to build, with intricate carvings crawling across the sides and wrapping around the chairs, the thrones on either sides lined with solid jewels and arms of silver. Tommy felt unbelievably plain next to the blatant showcase of wealth.
And that wasn't even to mention the King that sat in front of him, a smile carved into his face like sculpted ice and a calculative look hiding beneath blue eyes. Great, legendary black wings were relaxed behind him, the feathers bright and shining in every flicker of chandelier light, a surprisingly simplistic chain of gold lining the rows of feathers. He wore a deep blue cloak that practically screamed luxury, the pure netherite sword strapped to his side only adding to the intimidating image that made every humane instinct Tommy shake with fear.
Philza, the Artic King, Emperor of the Antartic Empire.
The most vindictive ruler to ever live.
In his presence, Tommy, the Secondary Prince of the Esempi Kingdom, felt ever weaker.
The crown on lazily-styled blonde curls–a simple thing, with a single gem in the center wrapped with swirls of silver and faux netherite–weighed him down like a boulder in the presence of greatness. Though he was royalty himself, Tommy's finery felt like rags when he stood in such a gradious room. After all, who was he when faced with the treasure of the most viscous Kings to ever grace the Earth, all compacted into one room? Much less when he had been unexpectedly called to dine here himself; a duty he'd been dreading the past few weeks while staying in the Antartic Empire.
And it certainly didn't help that he had an empty vial of poison tucked away in his shirt pocket.
Tommy swallowed nervously as the large double doors slammed shut behind him, the dagger secretly strapped to his side weighing him down with every step closer to the table. The chair screeched as he took his seat. He did his best not to think about the fact that he was touching pure gold.
The King was entirely silent as he watched Tommy take his place.
Until, with a wave of his hand, there was the swift sound of shuffling.
People–no doubt servants, based on their simple and unadorned uniforms– that Tommy hadn't even realized were there began moving in unison. Large platters of steaming food were swiftly set on the table without a single word, large glasses of colored drinks soon to follow. The smell of rich meat permeated the air in an instant, making Tommy's mouth water as he clasped his hands neatly in front of him.
His attention couldn't help but gravitate to the glass of wine in front of him; nothing like the goblet set in front of the Antartic King.
The poison vial felt like it burned through the fabric of his dress shirt. His heart pounded increasingly fast in his chest; his skin cold and clammy even as heat radiated from the dinner in front of him.
All was going perfectly to plan.
And it was horrifying to see.
"Prince Thomas."
Tommy took a deep breath and ripped his gaze away from the drinks in front of them, instead moving to meet the King's– a disrespectful action, if he were to be born to any other social class, but as a Prince, the mistake was easily forgivable.
The eyes of a killer stared back at him.
"It's a pleasure to finally meet you," Philza greeted him, his tone easygoing, no signs of ulterior threats hiding in the words. Or, at least, not any that Tommy could find yet.
(King Schlatt–his adoptive father–had always done well in teaching the youngest Prince how to fend for himself. Talking to other royals, learning how to spot their manipulative words within a web of casual smalltalk, included. He had become quite the expert on it during the seventeen years of his life.)
"And you as well," Tommy inclined his head in response. He made no move to eat yet. Neither did the King, as appetizing as the meal looked. "My father, King Schlatt, sends his warm regards as well. He was disappointed he could not make to the festival."
Neither of them were here for food. The assassination plan Tommy had created had long made him lose his own appetite.
And, clearly, with whatever plans the King had, he had no intentions to eat either.
Instead, he reached for the goblet.
Tommy's breath halted as the King continued speaking, unaware of the deadly contents that lay mixed into the glass.
"I return the feelings. Schlatt and I always share...interesting opinions," Philza said slowly. His tone did not falter, even though they both knew of the hatred the two Kings shared for one another.
It was no stranger to know that Tommy had been sent here not as a cheerful emissary, but as a peace offering. If he were able to make a good impression on the Antartic King, on the royal family in it's entirely, then perhaps they could hold off the war between Esempi and Antartica for longer.
Or, that was the original idea Tommy had proposed.
But, Schlatt had always had other ideas. Murderous ones; ones that put Tommy at a risk he wouldn't dare to take himself.
The goblet clinked against the King's sharp talons.
"Alas, I know Prince Wilbur is overjoyed that you were able to make the travels here in time," the man said conversationally, a faint smile evident on his face at the mention of his son. "You've made quite the impression on him within your time staying here. I'm pleased to hear the both of you have gotten along on such a positive note."
Tommy nodded, a twin smile forming on his face that was difficult to hide.
"Wil- Prince Wilbur, I mean, has been very welcoming. I thank you for that openness."
And that was the most truthful thing he could say.
Prince Wilbur, upon meeting him, had been an unexplainable surprise. Tommy didn't know what had made the two grow so close together in such a small time: fate, or merely his want for some cheeriness while alone in enemy territory. But, ever since first meeting, ever since Wilbur had eagerly first grabbed his arm and showed him the tour of the palace, a light in his eyes that Tommy had seen replicated by no one else within the fortified stone walls, he hadn't been able to tear himself away from the elder's side.
The weeks with his new friend were quick. Walks through the garden as Wilbur showed him the numerous plants he'd memorized in the garden–explaining how they'd learned to turn them into potions–and picnics at night had overtaken the time he spent stressed. It made him forget about the vial hidden inside the spine of his history book; about the death sentence that his own father had sent him to.
Wilbur was strange in his friendliness.
But his strangeness was endearing. It made Tommy unable to resist as the elder had hugged him after they spent the day practicing their archery skills–which Tommy had won by a marginal amount, for the record–and laugh at the joke that they were meant to be brothers.
And the idea that Wilbur had told the King of their closeness, of their blooming friendship, filled his heart with a warmth he hadn't felt in years.
Tommy bit the inside of his cheek to hold back his smile, pinching himself on the leg to snap himself back to reality. Remind himself of the poisoned glass only feet away, his own steaming plate of food untouched, and of the King watching him with uncannily observant eyes.
This was not the time to be thinking about his jokes with the crown prince.
But, rather than snap of him for his misuse of Wilbur's title–almost calling him 'Wil', just like the teen had insisted when they'd first met–the King only smiled in response.
"That's nice to hear," he hummed noncommitally, setting down the goblet down on the table without having taken a drink from it. "But, other than my son, how has your stay been of the late? I take it the room and assigned servants are to your liking?"
Tommy blinked, taking a moment to register the words. His eyes felt glued on the cup, disappointment flooding through him at the realization that the poison hadn't yet been registered.
When he looked back up, he noticed Philza was still staring directly at him. Instinctively, he grabbed the wine glass, shoving back the fear that his moment of weakness had seemed suspicious.
"It's been wonderful," he said as he took a small sip of the drink inside, biting back a grimace at the bitter taste, before continuing. "I appreciate the attention you have taken to my requests. The provided wardrobe is very suitable."
The King smiled. It was an unusually cheery grin, one that contrasted with the almost-bored expression he'd upheld before. For a moment, confusion flooded Tommy's senses, making his grip tighten on the drink.
"I'm glad to hear that, mate."
And the world suddenly seemed so...dizzying.
Tommy blinked, convinced it was a pure mistake–a lash in his eye, a trick of the light, the weariness of his day momentarily playing a prank on his mentality.
But, when he opened his eyes again, the world was only more distorted.
And- no- that couldn't be right, he had gotten plenty of sleep last night, so why did he feel so...off?
His stomach twisted. This time, it was from more than pure nerves.
Unless...
His gaze latched onto the expensive glass in his hand, his hand shaking. His fears flooded through him like a tsunami of irrational thought, except this time, maybe this type, it wasn't as outlandish as it was before-
But no. No, the poison had been put in a goblet fit to serve the King. Not this- no, he hadn't-
A sudden, jabbing pain made his arm violently switch.
Like a switch had been flipped, Tommy's vision swam and his hand sank to the table, some of the drink splashing over the lip of the cup in his messy attempt to set it down. He blinked again slowly, watching as the setting twisted and turned upside down with every flick of his eyes. The table grew and shrank in front of him; the chandelier swung while not moving an inch; gravity crushed him as his head fell limp against his shoulder. Colors blurred together like a pool of swirling water, making the light mix and his headache grow tenfold. Each breath made an ache cover his skin–distantly, he registered small, hollow purple dots covering his arms like some old disease.
And, Prime, it hurt. It felt like every beat of his heart made his body shake with sporadic shivering, each flinch making him jolt in pain. Tommy's stomach rose to his throat at the feeling, his blinking slowing even more as he tried and failed to raise his head–it had been glued to his shoulder, detached from his neck completely. He couldn't staunch the whimper that slipped past him, far past remembering where he was, what he was trying to do, before the poison had sunk into his own system.
A ringed, cold hand pressed against his cheek.
Tommy's eyes fell entirely shut, unresponsive despite being awake as a thumb traced beneath his lashes. The small touch soothing the bruising pain that littered every inch of his skin like ice to a burn wound; simultaneously helping and hurting him even more. But he couldn't resist trying to lean into the touch as tears forced their way past. It felt nice. And in a world so dark–when had the lights turned off? Or was that just his closed eyes that burned everytime he tried to open them–he couldn't summon the energy to shove it away. After all, he had no reason to.
"There you go," a familiar voice murmured as Tommy fell entirely slack in his chair. The volume, however low and gentle it was, felt like it rebounded in his mind. "The poison's quite painful, isn't it? Wilbur always told me that Mellohi is one of the most... mentally harmful paralytics. Hallucination inducing as well."
His tone was conversational–light and airy, as though he were just talking about the weather and not Tommy's inability to speak or move, fallen to the very poison he had planned to use. The hand cupping his cheek gently guided his head to an upright position, shifting to support the back of his head with the other. The movement ignited another viscous wave of agony, making his limbs weakly twitch.
"But I can't question you in this state, no matter how amusing it is to see." The hand against his cheek disappeared, and seconds after, something cold and hard pressed against his lips. The edge of another cup–this one made to hold tea. "Come on now, drink up. It's only been a minute so you shouldn't be fully paralyzed yet."
Tommy's brow furrowed as a finger pressed against his jaw, forcing it open with a spark of confusion, allowing the bitter liquid in the cup to flow into his mouth. The taste was putrid– so much worse than the poison, but his inability to move prevented him from even trying to close his mouth. After a few seconds he instinctively swallowed.
For a long few moments, nothing changed, the disgusting taste still lingering in his mouth as the tears dripping from his lashes were wiped away. The same voice was still saying something, but the words were muffled like they came from the other side of the wall. His head was stuffed with a slowly-dissolving cotton, but he could still feel it as the contents of the cup–an antidote of sorts–coursed through his veins and reached all of the diseased purple spots that traced across his limbs.
"Just a moment, little one," the voice cooed–the words sharpening for a split second–just enough for Tommy to comprehend them. "It should set in soon."
From the corner of the room, a man snorted. His voice was deep, and Tommy hadn't even realized he was in the spinning room. Maybe he'd always been there; maybe he just appeared out of thin air, the sound a conjuration of his ears. What had the man said moments–or was it years–before? That the poison was hallucination inducing? Was that it?
He blinked, pins and needles covering his arms, taking over the pain that lied just beneath his skin. A hand ruffled his hair as light briefly pierced his eyes, murmuring something else in comfort. But the agony was dying. It was growing weaker–overpowered by the antidote he had drinken.
And suddenly, like a snap of the King's fingers, feeling came flooding back. His eyes lurched open. His head snapped forward. His arms rose from his table to slap away the hand on his face, reality punching him viciously in the gut. The table became one solid piece in front of him; the hand on his head warm and grounding; his limbs easily moveable without weights piling across the joints.
And Tommy registered who was in front of him.
The empty cup of poison. The antidote right next to it. The Mellohi flower that Schlatt had given him. The list of side affects that was glued to the side of the glass container.
King Philza of the Antartic Empire who watched him like he was a bug that he couldn't wait to crush. King Technoblade stood off to the side, his long fur cape dragging across the ground as he made his way across the room, amusement evident in his gaze.
Oh fuck.
Oh shit.
He'd drinken from the wrong cup.
"Welcome back, Prince Thomas," the King greeted, voice tinged with barely-disguised humor. Somewhere in the time that Tommy had been overtaken by agony, he had moved to the seat next to him. From here, he could see the prized emerald earring that hung from his ear lobe, matching the bright green gem in his crown. "Did you enjoy the Mellohi?"
Mellohi. The same poisonous flower in which he had filled the vial with.
Tommy took in a shaky breath, his body still twitching from the aftereffects of the poison, stomach twisting into knots with his fear. This time, he didn't need the flower to feel paralyzed to his seat. Not when the Artic King had a dagger strapped to his belt that he could use without hesitation; not when the Blood King had stepped to his other side, eyes swirling with bloodlust. Equally as amused as Philza, but not nearly as patient.
Neither of them moved to restrain him. To stop him from jerking his head from side to side, eyeing the exits.
They all knew he wouldn't even be able to move an inch before a sword that planted through the side of his throat.
He was so fucked.
Philza set a hand on his arm, making Tommy's gaze snap to him. He instinctively moved to yank his hand away, but claws wrapped around his wrist before he could, one of the black talons digging into his palm and forcing his arm onto the table. Tommy's breath only quickened, but King Technoblade's presence to his other side stopped him from trying to scramble away in a harried panic. If only just.
The Artic King cleared his throat, smiling at the tears that ran down Tommy's face, refusing to stay hidden despite his attempts to blink them away.
As though this was all some joke and Tommy wasn't seconds away from death.
Oh, for the love of Prime. He was about to be executed. He'd just tried to poison the King . And he'd been caught .
Tommy whimpered as Phil gently picked up the poisoned tea cup, the remaining dregs of the poisonous paralytic still inside. He inspected the side almost lazily, still keeping Tommy's arm pinned on the table.
"Tell me, Prince ," he said, sounding almost disinterested as the cup lowered closer to his arm. "In all of your assassination expertise, did you know that Mellohi is more than just a ingestable poison?"
Tommy's arm shook from where it was held against the wood, but his mouth remained closed. Speaking wouldn't help him here. Nothing would help him here, he knew. All he could do is nod and shake his head, praying that whatever miserable fate that Prime had planned for him would be over fast enough.
Helplessness weighed him down like a cement block. There was no praying he could do to help him now.
Philza's eyes momentarily met his teary ones. The unnaturally bright blue of his irises felt like it peered into his soul; almost like it could read the terror that made his logical mind fall silent, replaced by overbearing emotion. Almost like it was an amusing secret that he was let in on.
He sighed at Tommy's silence, absentminedly tapping his talons against the Prince's wrist.
"Mellohi is a strange plant. Not many realize it acts as more than an...instant poison. In more severe cases, if used correctly, it can be a contact-poison. Not potent enough to kill like ingesting it does, but enough to cause whoever it touches incomprehensible pain," he shrugged, ignoring the look that the Blood King gave him at his dramatic flair. Tommy's heart sank as the tea cup pressed against his wrist, the liquid sliding up the side to that if it was tilted a milimeter more, it would touch him. "Some say it's more painful than drinking it. This way, you're fully awake enough to feel it."
Phantom pain of the poison made him shake in pure, unfiltered terror, almost spilling the poison onto his himself until Phil tipped it back in the nick of time. Tommy couldn't repress the sob that racked through his body at the sight, unaware of the roll of the Blood King's eyes. Relief made him go limp in the wooden chair as the tea cup was calmly placed against the table, far, far away from him. Nowhere close enough to touch him–to hurt him.
"But," the Artic King smiled, his tone taking on a foreign air of lightness that shouldn't belong to someone who just threatened him. He gently patted him on the arm. "There's no need to use that on you, is there? Wilbur told us you would be smart enough to comply."
Tommy's breath fell out in a singular whoosh, not hesitating to nod his head in the muddied haze of his fear.
(He ignored the regret that flashed through him at the mention of Wilbur. The one Prince who had welcomed him to the Antartic Empire, encouraging him before he was nervous to first meet the two Kings, teaching him how to play guitar late at night when Tommy was too energetic to stay in his guest room like Schlatt had instructed.
Because Wilbur had betrayed him. He had to have.
That must have been the only reason they became friends in the first place. Only because Wilbur knew of his plot to poison the Artic King, regardless of the suicide mission he knew it was.)
He had to listen. He had no other choice but to listen.
He was going to be killed either way. This was obvious– he knew it in the cruel, calculative look in Philza's eyes; the way that Technoblade had shifted closer until the tips of his pale pink hair danced in the edges of Tommy's vision, his hand resting on the hilt of his sword. He knew the Blood King had always been more eager when it came to violence. The Artic King, however, preferred to take his time with his victims. It was all about the mental game–something Wilbur had clearly inherited from his father.
Obeying, at the very least, might grant him the swift mercy of a beheading. He wouldn't end up in the dungeons with the other assassins and traitors, their life nothing but healing potions after stab wounds and chains that leeched the very life from their hearts.
He hoped.
In the end, that was all he could do. It was pathetic, but Tommy grasped at any straws he could have.
"I'll comply," he spit out in a rush, the syllables bunching into one another in his haste. "I- I'm sorry, I didn't know what I was doing- b- but I promise that I will do anything I can for forgiveness. Ple-"
Phil inclined his head, his eyes glimmering with amusement. "Good. But I assure you, Schlatt will face punishment for the actions he coerced you to perform. I'd say the poison effects were severe enough for you alone, weren't they?"
Tommy quickly nodded, a leftover ache making his neck pang. It was almost laughable, how quickly his loyalty to his own father had been broken.
The King patted him on the hand. The small touch was a simultaneously terrifying yet comforting feeling; the knowledge that it was a mass murder doing it, while still craving the affection it provided–something he'd never been given before, aside from his brief hugs from Wilbur.
"I'm so glad we can agree. So you'll agree to answer my questions, won't you?"
Another nod, his hand still somewhat shaking. A few tears ran down his cheeks, but Philza absentmindedly reached up to wipe them away, unaffected by the way Tommy flinched and pressed back into his seat.
"Perfect," he hummed. His voice swifted to a far more serious tone.
"So, Prince Thomas , why did you go along with King Schlatt's plan to kill me? I doubt you truly care about to getting your own seat on the throne, based off of what Wilbur's told me, so what exactly has he told you to make you go along with this mess?" He tapped his nails on the table, the sound grating at Tommy's nerves. "What does he have over your head? Family? Money? Power?"
Tommy inhaled deeply. He was painfully aware as the Blood King took a step closer, his prescence a silent axe looming over the back of his neck. A piece of him couldn't comprehend that this was the same brother Wilbur had spoken so highly of–the castle book-lover, known to hole himself up in his bedroom for days, the Siren Prince asleep on his shoulder, while he read through his studies. The description of the sarcastic pink-haired man shared nothing in common with the stoic soldier that now stood next to him, his hand clenching and unclenching from around the sword handle, as though he were itching to unsheathe it and swing.
He couldn't imagine that same person killing him for lying.
But he couldn't tell them the truth, could he? Reveal what Schlatt used to keep him in line, convincing him to take part in this terrifying plan, regardless of the deathly consequences. Reveal that he was a puppet to their terrifying rule, less of a prince and more of a mind-controlled servant.
He couldn't reveal that he was a coward.
But...there were rumors. Ones that entailed the King could pull the truth from lies without a second thought.
And if he were to be caught lying...
Tommy swallowed. Closed his eyes. Took a deep, calming breath, doing his best to ignore the hand still set atop his own.
"I did it of my own free will."
☀☀☀
"Tommy," Schlatt threatened, his face bright red with drunken anger. "I gave you one task. One. All you have to do is complete that one goddamn thing and I'll let Tubbo leave, but you're too much of a coward . A fuckin' fool, that's what you are, Thomas. One of those that deserve to rot with the other traitors."
Tommy opened his mouth to argue, holding his hands out defensively in front of him, as though to defend himself from any objects that could be thrown at his head. Specifically, the broken beer bottle the King clutched like a dagger.
But Schlatt didn't dare let him get a word in.
"Know that it's because your failure that Tubbo will die," he practically spat. "How does that make you feel, kid? Make you feel weak? Just like how you're making this fucking Kingdom with your incompetence?"
"I-"
"Don't. Shut up, and listen, you hear me? You have cost me so much. Disgracing Esempi's name with all this talk of removing the castes, rallying that noble Ranboo to your side, ignoring everything I say. I spend my hours fixing your mess. Yours ! And you refuse to do this one thing in return, huh?"
There was a long moment of silence as Schlatt took a deep breath, looking at the ceiling as his arm trembled with restrained rage.
That was an improvement, at least. This time, his adoptive father was at least attempting to calm himself down.
Not that it would help in the long run.
"Listen to me, Thomas."
Tommy's gaze snapped up like a taut band, an instinctive reaction to the sudden, chilling calmness that overtook the seething hate. His face was pale and gaunt–something they would no doubt need to fix before they left to visit the Antartic Kingdom, if only to suffocate any suspicious whispers of weakness–and a hollowness to his eyes that only came from years of everlasting exhaustion.
But he listened.
"You," Schlatt pointed to him, arm still shaking. "Are going to go to Antartica without complaints. You're going to use the poison, and then you're going to kill that fucking King. I need that threat gone, and this is the least you can do for me. For your father . If you don't, I will slit Tubbo's throat. Do you understand?"
Tommy nodded, not daring to refuse once more.
That would only hurt Tubbo more.
"Say it. Tell me you'll kill the fucking King, and you'll keep my name outta it."
His adoptive father's voice was downright venomous. Tommy found himself wishing for the loud anger rather than this calculative hatred.
"I'll kill the Artic King," he breathed, fear squeezing his heart so tightly he half thought it would pop–or just stop entirely. "I promise."
Schlatt simply nodded. The beer bottle clinked as he dropped it onto the table.
"Yes, you will."
☀☀☀
"You did it of your own free will?" Philza asked slowly, unbelievingly, raising an eyebrow. He gently took Tommy's hand in his own, trapping it between two palms and squeezing warmth into it. Tommy blinked, shaking away the ghost of the memory in his head with the feeling, halfway afraid that the King would be able to read his mind and see that he was so blatantly lying.
But Tubbo needed him to. If the Kings were to discover that Schlatt was involved–well, involved anymore than he already was–it would be akin to signing his best friend's death sentence. Intentions disgregarded just as quickly as Tommy's fears.
"Yes," Tommy repeated. Even to himself, it sounded hollow.
Technoblade scoffed.
"Yeah, right, kid," he said in his deep monotone, the sound shaking Tommy to his core. How many times had he heard him speak in the past weeks he'd been in the Empire? Three? Four? He'd seen more death in his time here than he'd seen the Blood King talk. "You had the bright idea to try to poison Phil yourself? The Prince who is known for being a ray of fucking sunshine in his kingdom, all about 'equality' and 'morals' , decided to commit treason against a neighboring nation?" He rolled his eyes, crossing his arms. The golden rings wrapping around his fingers shone brightly in the chandelier light. "Not the most believable thing."
"You don't know shit, bitch."
Call it habit. Call it ill manners. But as soon as the words left his mouth, he regretted it, slapping his free hand over his mouth. Panic flooded his nerves like a hurricane, spilling over from his mouth.
"No- No, no, I didn't- please, your Majesties, I-"
And Philza–the fucking taunting King, the one who would threaten and hurt any whom dared cross his path–
Philza laughed.
Actually laughed. A real one, too. Not one that paired with the mocking smiles from before, cruelty lingering behind the facade of cheeriness, but one of actual amusement . Like Tommy's overwhelming alarm was the punchline to the funniest joke he'd heard in years.
Techno stayed silent, staring at the King with a bored expression.
Tommy bit his tongue to suppress another plea, a few more tears slipping past. He could practically image the feeling of an axe running through his spine, even though he knew it wasn't there. All while the Artic King was laughing at a joke neither of the the two understood.
After a long few moments–seconds ticking by at a snail's pace, all while Tommy did his best not to burst into a mess of sobs and muddied cries–the laughter finally came to a standstill. Philza's face was still red, a grin still on his face, but finally, the room was quiet once again.
Terrifyingly quiet.
Until the King finally spoke.
"Apologies, mate," he shook his head, as though still chasing off another wave of humor. "Wilbur warned me that you were...unpredictable, but I think that's the first time someone has been brave enough to insult Techno in years . Prime, that was unexpected."
Some part of Tommy was relieved. The other only felt more petrified.
He'd just insulted the Blood King. The first in years. Right after he'd just tried to poison Philza, too.
There was no way he was getting out of here alive. At this point he couldn't even blame it on anyone else; not when he was so blatantly careless with his words.
The hand over his own–Tommy had almost forgotten it was there, though he was still terrified as to why, if not to make him uneasy–squeezed again. A comforting one. Nothing that would match the death glare that Techno was giving the Artic King.
For a long moment, they stared at one another, as though silently daring the other to say something. To snap.
Techno was the one to finally break it, though his voice was void of amusement or emotion of any kind other than pure annoyance.
"Phil, for the love of Death, enough playing around. Just let me kill him," he commented nonchalantly, head tilted to the side and strands of pink covering the bloodred of his eyes. "I'm tired of this mess already. Schlatt's an easy target to piss off regardless-"
Philza shook his head, traces of a smile still on his face. "No, Techno. We will not be killing him."
"Don't tell me you're attatched to this fucking traitor -"
"I'm not. But Wilbur is. You know this already."
Tommy's breath caught at the mention of Wilbur. Of his friend .
The betrayer; the reason that he was trapped in this duel of wits–one that he was losing–in the first place.
But Phil was unaffected by his nervousness.
"Tommy," the King sighed, shaking his head as Techno finally dropped the grip he had on his sword. Clearly, something had already been discussed here behind the scenes. Something that Wilbur had been involved in.
How long had they been planning this? How long had the Antartic Prince been playing along with the beginners game of assassination, knowing full well how much his brother wanted to kill him for it? Was it merely another piece of amusement in their dull, bloody lives?
Was that all this was? Was Tommy's fate pure amusement to them?
"Thomas, Tommy, look at me."
For a moment, Philza sounded eerily like Schlatt. Any trace of humor in his voice from before had been wiped clean, the remnants buried beneath the same intimidating facade he'd been greeted with.
But he looked up. Met those piercing, all-knowing blue eyes with his own, scarily similar to his own.
"We both know that you had no initial part in this plan to kill me. Isn't that correct?"
He hestiated, but it didn't last for long. After all, Philza clearly already knew the plan–the entire trio already knew everything there was to know–so lying was, as it had always been, useless. Tommy was useless. Tubbo was doomed. Maybe he was already dead.
He had nothing left to lose.
Except his own life.
"Yes," Tommy mumbled.
Philza patted his hand. The metal of his rings was unnaturally cold–almost like there was no warmth of his skin to heat them. Like he was lifeless.
"In that case," he hummed. "You have no further intentions that would involve harming Wilbur, correct?"
"Phil-" Techno interjected, but he was silenced with a wave of Philza's hand. A reminder that, while they may both be Kings, he was only the given the title of Blood and not the entire Artic for a reason.
Tommy closed his eyes, sighing. "Yes."
The King smiled. "Excellent. Wilbur has been quite lonely, you know, especially since Techno's been off making war plans. He would love a little brother of his own."
Tommy's heart, if it wasn't already sitting at the bottom of his stomach, sank even further. He wasn't saying- he wasn't possibly suggesting that-
No. No. No .
"What are you-" he started to say, but cut himself off as his breathing quickened, as Technoblade's hand settled on his shoulder, squeezing painfully tight as though to keep him sitting down.
It suddenly became all too obvious. He remembered the look in Wilbur's eyes when they'd gone stargazing, holding each other close, ignoring the possessive gleam to his eyes. The way he'd whispered ' mine' against his hair when he thought the younger had fallen asleep. The way he would get a little too upset whenever Tommy tried to leave for the dinner with the Kings, his arms tightening so much they were almost painful. The way he mentioned wanting a little brother all for himself, how he would never let go if he had one.
"He loved you since he first spoke to you," Philza causally continued on, his grip sliding up to grasp Tommy's wrist in a restaining hold. The talons, pressing so close to his vein, wasn't something he could easily escape from. "Called you his 'sunshine .' Surely you wouldn't object to staying with us, with him, would you? Consider it the... repurcussions of your actions."
"Wait- Phil- Philza, Your Majesty-"
But it was too late.
He didn't realize what was happening until there was the familiar shreek of metal unsheathening and the hilt of Techno's sword slammed down on his head.
The world went dark.
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A/N
Wilbur, talking to Phil: so. Dad. you know how you wanted another kid-
Phil: ...yes
Wilbur: there is a child i have befriended and i am in need of a brother
Phil: you realize that child is going to try to kill me right-
Wilbur: hes very adoptable
Phil: and will poison me-
Wilbur: and you hate his dad. Plus he is smol and stealable.
Phil, already sold: okay let me kidnap him rq brb
Hope you guys enjoyed! Some clarification if you need it:
Schlatt sent Tommy on a mission to the Antartic Empire (under the guise of it being friendly) to poison Philza. The Antartic family is already suspicious at this, since Schlatt and Phil hate each other, so Wilbur is sent to befriend Tommy and learn what he plans to do. While he's asleep, he discovers the vial of poison in his pocket and tells phil. They plan to execute him, but Wilbur confesses he's grown attached, so Phil decides this is the perfect time for some forced adoption. So...thats what they do :D boom child acquired
Thanks for reading! As always, kudos and comments feed my weary soul, so thank you to everyone that leaves them :D have a great rest of your day/night
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