Chapter Text
There is a painful familiarity in walking down the street like this, with someone so much stronger beside him, the guards keeping their security, with the common people calling their names and throwing flowers into the air.
It makes Tommy’s eyes burn with tears and his heart squeeze with grief as he looks and yells and waves back at them all. He catches what flowers he can, piles them all into his arms like that’s the only place they’re meant to be. He ignores the man at his side, if only because habit keeps telling him that the person in the corner of his eye is the soothing presence of his father, and he can’t bear to let his memory be broken with the truth.
If he looks up, he will see a king with a crown made of flowers. Only a month prior, that description belonged to someone he adored. Now it belongs to a stranger whose eyes are too sharp, too harsh. Better to lie to himself for an hour more, and keep what little normalcy he can have while still a prince of this kingdom.
“My prince!” The people cry, happy to have him back within the kingdom walls and not slain by the armies that rest outside. “My prince! Our prince!” They scream, calling for his attention, wishing to see his smile again while it is still safe. Flowers continue to be thrown into the sky, landing down at Tommy’s feet, and he laughs wholeheartedly at the petals being kicked around, he smiles at the never-ending tradition of flowers being given in the name of love.
When Tommy was younger, smaller, still light enough to be carried in the king’s arms like a baby, he remembers the flowers being thrown then. They were an occasional thing, a few roses, a few daisies, loose petals thrust out towards the king and his son. They were never in this sort of magnitude, never so much. Tommy can’t take a single step without at least five more flowers falling upon his path, and his stubborn soul won’t let him stop trying to pick each one up.
What Tommy doesn’t know is that all these flowers were collected in preparation for the worst. All the people knew the inevitable fate coming when the emperor of blood was bound for their kingdom. They knew it was set in stone when the prince insisted he’d go out to offer surrender peacefully.
All of these flowers that were taken from gardens until the dirt lay bare, all these flowers that were bought within the shops until the shelves went empty; they were to prepare for a mass mourning.
But now, with the prince still walking happily through their streets, with the king of blood wearing a crown of flowers beside him, with a lack of an attack upon their walls-- the message is clear. They will not need to lose a royal child today. Peace was made.
So the people cheer and celebrate with bone-crushing relief, screaming for their young prince and crying for the king who has spared him. They hold their hands out as if they can grab the conqueror’s cape and spill their gratitude at his feet, as if they can take the prince’s face in theirs and wipe any lasting tears that he might’ve shed while in fear.
The flowers in Tommy’s arms overflow and tumble back down onto the same stone streets they were thrown upon. Tommy stumbles in his steps, laughing with a bubbly joy, leaning down and trying hard to pick them up. As he crouches low, the crowd only pelts him with more flowers, and by the time he’s stood straight and gathered what he dropped, there’s twice as many on the ground.
The guards falter in their steps, Tommy trying to kneel down again to pick up more. The king turns, having expected Tommy to return at his side already. He sees Tommy on his knees, sweeping roses and peonies and tulips into his lap with a determined furrow of his brow, and he gives a short sigh that can’t be heard over the roar of the crowds.
“Your Highness.” He calls, and when Tommy’s head doesn’t lift, he calls again, louder than the shouts of love trying to be heard by the prince. “Your Highness!”
Tommy looks up. He looks up, his smile wide, another laugh bursting from his throat with such joy that it shakes his shoulders. His eyes are wide, and only here, within the road and within the walls of their guards keeping the people back, can it be seen that there are tears brimming at the edges of his eyes.
“I can’t carry them!” Tommy cries out, smiling still, the people calling his name. My prince! My prince! Our prince! “I can’t- there’s so many!”
“Leave them.” Techno waves his hand out in a dismissive manner, and the prince just laughs, closing his eyes and gathering the flowers in his lap again. “You don’t need them.”
“Of course I need them. How else will I make you more crowns?” Tommy answers, but it’s hard to hear him, and all Techno sees is the moving of his lips. He frowns at the boy, glancing down the road and seeing how his men all wait up ahead.
The castle is still quite a walk away, and their path is littered with countless flowers. The sheer number of them is staggering, sending a clear message of devotion, and for that reason alone, Techno’s given no issue in letting Tommy slow them down with trying to pick up each flower. It is endearing to the people to see their prince react so earnestly to their gifts, and if the people are content, then it makes a good deal of things easier.
But there is a point to it. Tommy can’t carry all these flowers. It would be impossible. And Technoblade is growing impatient, tired from the ride here.
Walking over to the prince’s side, Techno reaches down with the intention of pulling Tommy to his feet and urging him along. Let him keep the flowers he already has, and let them continue on their way. But Tommy only looks up at him with that same glassy look in his eyes, and he shoves flowers against Techno’s chest with such conviction that Techno automatically reaches to keep them from falling.
“Make yourself useful!” Tommy says, gathering up more flowers in an almost frantic manner. “You and your men!” He takes another armful of roses and peonies and goes to the nearest guard of Techno’s, forcing the flowers into their hands. “Don’t drop them!” He insists, and then he waves at the people, a burst of cheers yelling back.
Technoblade steps back, unsure what to do with the flowers in hand, and he watches as Tommy runs ahead, swiping flowers off the road and putting them into the hands of his men. He puts piles into their arms, throws petals onto the metal plating over their shoulders, sticks the stems into the crevices of their armor.
Since the beginning of Techno’s conquest, his armies have always been a symbol of oncoming war and promised blood. Seeing them stand here, covered in flowers-- well, it doesn’t make them appear harmless, but it certainly poses a strange sight. Like a bloody dagger being showered in flower petals.
Techno wonders if the prince is trying to subtly smooth the transition of power, or if he’s honestly this earnest about his people’s gifts. It might be the latter, even if that’s hard to imagine for a man like Techno.
“Your Majesty!” Tommy calls, waving Techno forward, and his people all echo him, raising their hands up and calling out to Technoblade in an effort to get him to turn to them. All their eyes see that familiar flower crown on his head, and so they see the prince’s love, so pure and so out of place, but given forward to a king regardless. This is not their king, but who would they be to question their prince’s choice?
“Your Majesty!” They call, making Tommy smile and laugh as he looks back at Technoblade with another wave of his arm. “Your Majesty! Our prince! Your Majesty!”
Technoblade carries forward from where he had been frozen for a moment too long, following Tommy’s relentless efforts in collecting each and every flower. He soaks in the cheers of the people, soaks in the adoration in place of where there would usually be fear.
This sort of walk into a new kingdom under his rule is unfamiliar, but not unwelcome. It is victory still. Just a different, more softer type.
He would not protest at getting used to it.
Tommy insists on putting the flowers all around the castle when they arrive. With the crowds of people behind them, kept outside the castle doors, Techno is tempted to refuse him.
But there really isn’t anywhere to put the flowers, and it would only cause bitterness amongst the people if it comes out that Techno had them all burned. Better to let Tommy continue to lead along this trail of easy welcome, while Technoblade gets his control of the kingdom better settled in. He allows Tommy to do what he likes, and while the prince runs off with a number of Techno’s guards carrying along his flowers, Technoblade parts ways and heads towards the throne room.
His curiosity always makes him go there first, in every kingdom, in every castle that he takes. He needs to see what this kingdom considers proper enough for their royalty, needs to see if it is grand enough to quell the vicious hunger that sits in his heart, that gaping ache that he can’t ever fill.
He sees the throne in this room, sees a wooden chair engraved with bits of gold, and he’s left with a sour disappointment on his tongue, the hunger growing ever fiercer. It is not enough. It’s not nearly enough, it’s never enough.
He walks up to the throne, his men already stationed along the bannered walls. He stands before it, eyes dragging over the golden designs, and his hand reaches out to touch the arm of the chair. His fingertips graze along the edge of it for no more than a second before he pulls his hand back, lips curling into a scowl with a terrible, quick passing fury in his chest. He grits his teeth so hard it may crack a tooth, and then he rests his hand back to his side, forcing a slow breath out with better thoughts, like how he can make a new throne entirely when this is all said and done.
He imagines the sight then, nothing of wood, nothing of silver, but only gold. Shimmering, gleaming gold, priceless jewels embedded into it so that all who come before the throne know that whoever sits upon it is something of worth. Someone with power. Influence.
He’ll be there one day. It’s a guaranteed thing, and he can almost feel the polished metal under his palms now, forever his to keep. He’ll be the king who conquered the entire world, the first to ever do such a thing. Gold will be his crown, heavy but beautiful.
His fingers touch at the top of his head as he imagines it, and he brushes against the petals already sitting there. He stops, forgetting the weight on his head, and he reaches to pull the flower crown off his hair, inspecting it again. He took it to make a point, to accept the prince’s kingdom and the prince himself, but it did well to win the people’s favor as well.
There’s not much more use for it now. Now, it’s only a matter of speaking to the nobles and the prince’s old council, and Techno has his own men to keep them in check. He has his influence, has his name. The crown was to win over love, like how the prince will win over the empire soon enough, but he doesn’t need love right now, he needs respect.
Even with this thought, Technoblade decides to put it back on his head anyway, to wear it until it either falls apart or withers away. He’ll indulge himself. He quite likes having a crown. There’s been times he’s even stolen a few from other kings before, but he never wore them for more than a day, because they weren’t his true crown. This one is no different. He’ll wear it to keep the people’s favor, to keep the prince’s favor, then he’ll discard it when the sun sets.
A quiet echo of footsteps rings out through the room. They’re rushed, soft-sounding, and so Techno turns, expecting not one of his soldiers, but someone from Tommy’s old council.
He’s correct in his expectations. He finds a man wearing fine looking clothes, with black hair and a well trimmed beard. He stands before the throne, shoulders squared, lips pressed in an upset frown.
“Where is the prince?” He asks, almost yelling with it. Techno’s hands curl into fists at his sides.
One of the guards steps out from their spot, hand heavy on the handle of their sword. “You speak to the one true king.” They say. “You will address him as-”
“I’ll call him whatever he wants if only he can tell me where the prince is.”
Technoblade gives a ghost of a smile, anger digging into the edges of it, a deep irritation shown in the crinkle underneath his eyes. He looks away to take in the sight of the throne again, and as he does, there’s the sound of clinking armor, then the sound of someone being struck and falling to the ground.
A low groan of pain reaches Techno’s ears. He still doesn’t turn back around. The man is hit again, with a grunt of pain. Then he’s hit again, and again, and again. Techno keeps count of the amount of times he’s struck, and when he counts ten, only then does he give his attention back to the man.
He’s being held up by Techno’s soldier, grabbed by the front of his shirt, his face bloody and his knees to the ground. The soldier’s hand hovers mid-air, as if ready to swing down again, but they keep a careful eye on Techno for his input. Technoblade nods his head to the side, and the soldier drops the man, going back to their post.
“Please.” The man spits blood onto the ground, pushing himself to sit back on his legs. “Your majesty. Tell me if the prince is alright.”
Technoblade raises his eyebrows, eyes drifting around the room. He notes the banners on the walls, in need of being replaced. They’re the wrong color.
“Did you not hear the cheering in the streets?” He asks. “Or see the crown I wear?” It is quite a meaningful crown. All his.
“Just because you chose to not kill him now…does not mean you will treat him well.” The man huffs, reaching a shaking hand to his bleeding nose. Technoblade smiles, more honestly than before. More amused. “Now, you have had your men spill my blood-”
“And I may have them behead you next for your insolence.”
“Will you do the same to our prince?” The man asks, lifting his chin high, blood dripping down past his lips. Techno pauses at the tone of his voice, determined and relentless. “I care not what you do to me. Kill me now and put my head on a spike for all I care, but my life is to my prince, and I have to know if you mean to harm him.”
There it is again.
Devotion. Beautiful, burning love, and absolute loyalty, even in the fact of severe punishment, even in the presence of someone like Technoblade. He craves such a thing, he wants to demand to have it right here, have this man swear his life to him, not the prince, but he knows that would never work. You cannot win this sort of devotion with threats and fear.
“What does it matter?” Techno asks, stepping away from the throne with his hands clasped behind his back. “You couldn’t do a thing regardless. If I chose to have him executed tomorrow morning, you would only be able to watch.”
“That is true.” The man chuckles bitterly, and he narrows his eyes up at the king like he’s capable of giving a threat to the man. “But if you did do such a thing, this entire castle would begin an uprising before his body even goes cold.”
Techno grins wide with the urge to laugh. “And it would only result in failure. You would all die screaming and join your prince in the grave.”
The man freezes still, the fire in his eyes faltering. He swallows, wiping at his bleeding face again, wincing away with a shaking of fear on his shoulders. “I do not come on just my behalf, your majesty. I speak for the entirety of this castle, every person in the staff, every advisor within the council. We wish to make a simple agreement with our new ruler.”
“What agreement is there to be made? You are just meant to be ruled.” Technoblade questions, walking past the man with an air of annoyance, already bored with this constant pattern of people asking something of him. “You want to demand something of me, be honest.”
“Fine!” The man yells at his back, twisting around in where he sits on his knees. “We ask for you to be kind to Tommy! We ask you to give him mercy!”
Tommy. Techno stops in his steps and takes in the name, and all the implications of it being used. Truly, the people here must be close with the royals, if they’re so willing to call the prince that. It’s a touching prospect, yet also an issue.
It shows disrespect to use the prince’s name like that, so casually, so easily, like the name is theirs to speak. Technoblade can’t tolerate that sort of thing, especially if this prince is now his prince, his heir to the golden throne.
He looks over his shoulder with a glare. The man bows his head down towards the floor, a hand held over his nose.
“His highness,” Techno stresses the word, pushing the message across for the man to be mindful of his words. “...already has my mercy. If he didn’t, he would’ve been dead by now. So don’t waste my time with your begging. It’s unnecessary.”
And with that, Techno leaves the man so that he may go explore the castle and find somewhere to take his rest before he starts court.
Across the halls, in another section of the castle, flowers sit scattered beside pathways and doorways, like a breadcrumb trail left behind by one persistent prince.
Tommy kneels down on cold stone, arranging flowers in front of one of the royal chambers. With the way he places them in front of the door, it makes it difficult to head inside without trampling them, but it’s alright, for no one has gone inside this room since the night his father died.
He was told when he was smaller that this room was to become his when he became king. Now, such a thing will never happen, because Tommy refused to go inside after he was crowned, and now he will leave this castle entirely to be someone else’s prince.
All the belongings inside this bedroom, all the clothes and papers and trinkets-- it will stay the way his father left them. It’ll stay undisturbed, frozen in time, forever a piece of him living on. Maybe one day Tommy will forget parts of his father. Maybe one day he’ll forget the sound of his voice, the picture of his face, the warmth of his hands.
Maybe, if he comes back here, and comes into this room, he’ll be able to remember.
Tommy gives a shaky exhale, lifting his hand up from the ground and reaching out to press his fingertips against the wood of the door. No one will go inside. All his people loved his father, they mourn him just the same as him, and if Tommy isn’t here to take the room, then there’s no reason to go inside. It will stay closed, like the crypts below the castle, sacred and safe.
He pulls his hand away and rearranges some of the flowers again, shifting them for a minute more, before realizing he’s just stalling and keeping himself here. He forces himself to stand on shaky legs and takes a step away. He means to continue on then, to call Techno’s men along and keep adding flowers to the corners of the hallways, but he can’t help but linger and stare at his father’s door. For so many nights, he used to come here for comfort. He used to knock upon that wood, asking for his dad to hold him close. Now he’ll never be able to do it again. Now he’s a child no longer.
He wants more than anything to have his dad wrap him up in his arms, to protect and love him like he’s nothing more than a beloved child, with no responsibilities nor weight of duty on his shoulders yet.
But those days are gone.
Tommy became the king, and now he’s a prince of a fast growing empire. He wonders what that entails, and he supposes he’ll be informed soon enough. That man- the king, or is it emperor? Oh, he still doesn’t know what to call him. That man with his flower crown, he seemed to have a plan in mind for Tommy.
Whatever it is, Tommy will carry it out. To the best of his abilities.
He moves on, tearing himself away from his father’s door to continue down the hall. Techno’s men follow at his heels, flowers still piled up in their armored arms. Tommy looks at the amount they have, and gives a thoughtful click of his tongue. Where else to put these? They are more or less his going away gift, his last touch around the castle, so he must be precise about it, decisive.
“Where else do we put these?” He asks the guards, because he’s out of ideas, and maybe they’ll have something better than just throwing them around the halls and having the place look like the aftermath of a holiday in the streets.
They don’t give any answers. One of them gives a half-hearted shrug, which Tommy appreciates, but it doesn’t do much to fix their dilemma. He pauses in his steps to think harder on the matter, and a brilliant idea comes over him.
“Throne room.” He mutters, and then he turns on his feet and sprints right past the guards, darting down the hall. “The throne room, the throne room!” He calls out, and the guards scramble to follow after him, trying hard to not drop a single flower.
They run until Tommy loses his breath, and then they briskly walk with Tommy gasping out for air, stubborn in getting to where he wants to be. The soldiers themselves don’t seem to have broken a sweat in running halfway across the castle, to which Tommy is both impressed and annoyed by. They also haven’t dropped a single flower in their arms, for which Tommy is only grateful. He takes a red rose from one of their piles, and holds it gingerly in between his fingers as they approach the throne room.
The doors are wide open with plenty of company streaming in and out, carrying supplies and fabrics and tools in their hands. For a moment, Tommy thinks he’s missing court, everyone gathering together, but then he rounds the corner to look inside the room, and he realizes that it’s not anything of royal importance. They’re just redecorating.
The familiar banners on the walls are being taken down, folded and put to the side for a servant to carry away, and they’re being replaced with new, brighter banners, deep red with a symbol of a sword sewn into the middle.
Tommy stares at the color of it, at the jarring change of such a thing, then he realizes he might as well get used to red, for that’s now his kingdom’s color. That’s his color.
One of the servants slips away from all the movement of things being set up, and they bow at Tommy’s side, catching his attention and making him turn away from the banners.
“Are you looking for the king, your highness?” They ask, eyes kept to the floor.
“I-” Tommy’s heart jumps with hope, then falls with grief. The king is his father no longer. The king is that man, the conqueror of the world. “No. I’m not.”
They lift their head with a questioning look. “Then is there anything I can assist you with?”
Tommy looks back at his little group of soldiers, looking so out of place carrying piles of pretty colored flowers.
“Well, we have these flowers…”