Chapter Text
The second dinner Tommy ever has with the king is somehow vastly more terrifying than the first.
He isn’t sure why, exactly. All he knows is that he’s filled with such dread at the idea of meeting the king again, even though nothing particularly important happened the last time. All he got for Tubbo’s actions was some odd acknowledgement and a discussion over possibly starting archery.
Even less will come out of this next one, he’s sure of it.
Regardless, walking across the camp feels akin to a soldier walking into a raging war. He feels a little too aware of everything around him, catching the looks and the bowed heads given as he passes, offering his light, polite greetings in return. The people look at him with such smiles, and Tommy tries to give a smile back, the action feeling off-centered with the way his heart is trying to crawl out from his chest through his mouth.
Sam is his pillar to depend on, ever the image of calm, focused duty. It’s simple to try and mimic him as he’s led across the camp, the rigid movements of a soldier molded. Sam seems none the wiser to the imitation, but Tommy is very grateful for the example to follow, and he makes a mental note to have Sam get some sort of day off, some time of rest. He can’t remember when was the last time he woke up and Sam wasn’t there to greet him at the door of his tent, or to say farewell in the last moments before heading to bed.
Tommy considers something, thinking back to an old conversation about knights. He wonders, if he gathered the courage, and didn't end up puking his heart out onto his dinner plate, could he ask the king right at this moment to make Sam his knight? He’s already practically fulfilling the position, isn’t he? Granted, he hasn’t been fighting many glorious battles, and he’s not done anything noble at Tommy’s request, unless you count retrieving flowers from the surrounding grasses, but Tommy feels like those efforts are enough. He’s satisfied with Sam’s actions.
He also would just really like to have a personal knight to his name. That would be so cool.
“Your highness.” Sam says, snapping Tommy out from his thoughts, and he realizes they’ve arrived, Tommy faltering in heading inside. He gives a sheepish expression, Sam smiling back as he pulls the curtain for him, announcing his presence, and Tommy enters the tent with the expectation of all his dread to instantly slam into him like a mallet, and leave him unconscious on the floor.
Such a thing does not happen. Instead, he stands still with slightly shaky hands, eyes taking in the dinner table again, food lavishly laid out, the king turning his head to him from where he’s sat in his seat.
“Ah. Right on time.” He says, Tommy bowing respectfully and waiting until the king makes a beckoning motion to sit. He settles into the same chair as before, looking upon the same plate and cup. He watches as the servants mill about, serving them in a peaceful silence with only the quiet clink of the serving spoons. It’s such a contrast to the noise in his head, the hammering sound of his heart trying to keep it together.
He watches distantly as a portion of peas are placed onto his plate, and upon recognizing the food, he pushes down an instant reaction of dismay, lips wanting to twitch into a frown. It used to be well known that he could not stand peas. He’d given his father so much trouble over it in the years before that the chefs ended up just taking it out of the menu entirely. It is one of the things he cannot help but be weak towards, cannot help but be picky and childish upon.
He must resist his disgust. He must be above. His composure is so solid and unbreakable, he is so sure of it, but when he glances at the king and finds him looking back with something curiously questioning, he realizes that he’s failed.
Shit. Tommy’s composure is shit. Now the king knows he doesn’t like the peas, and that he can’t control his emotions over simple peas, and he’s going to die. Over peas. Or something. He’s not sure, his nerves are muddling up the logic bits of his brain, and he’s feeling queasy for reasons other than the fact there’s stupid peas in his presence.
His heart feels lodged into his throat. His hands twist at his ring, the metal cool on his fingertips, his eyes falling to stare intently at the color of the tablecloth-- a nice, pretty red-- and then his mouth moves without his permission and he says-
“So.”
Before then having an awkward pause as he frantically tries to commit to the decision his mouth has made.
“So.” The king repeats lightly, a hint of a teasing tone there, but undetected by Tommy’s deafened, panicked senses.
“I see the chefs have made a fine selection as always.” Tommy says, ever so casual. Perfect. Delightful. He’s pulled that off fantastically, and now there’s no need to assume that he’s going to be acknowledged for his raging disgust of the things on his plate-
“You don’t have to eat everything.” The king responds in kind, Tommy’s eyes being very obviously drawn right back to the horrid peas, which mock him and insult his very standing as a prince.
It’s very telling that the king is offering such a thing. Tommy, reasonably, should accept defeat in whatever terrible tower of lies he is building and climbing upon.
But he cannot.
“Oh, but it’s all- so good.” Tommy insists, waving a hand to his plate. He will admit, everything else other than the peas looks delicious, if a bit much for his tastes. The chefs go a bit overboard with the king, he feels. “It’d be an insult to not have it.”
“Hm.” Technoblade nods, not seeming so convinced. That hint of amusement has not faded from his face. If anything, it’s grown, his eyes appearing to gleam as he picks up his fork. “Of course.”
Tommy picks up his own fork as well. “Of course.” He repeats, a tiny, nervous laugh bubbling through his lips.
And so he proceeds to eat.
It is the same as the last time, a quiet dinner before the eventual conversation. Tommy is determined to not have it be about the damned peas, but the peas are determined to be the most god awful thing in all of humanity.
Tommy picks off his plate until only the green horrors are left, and then he tries, he really tries, to finish them off with a casual air of someone who has a mild, normal opinion over peas.
Judging by the way the king makes a sudden huff of exasperation, head jerking away, he fails. He fails so badly. Failure is ever imminent and Tommy is going to curse the peas into his premature grave. He’s going to toss this plate out into the burning sun. He’s going to curl up underneath the table and turn into a bug.
He feels like a fool, and an idiot, and yet he also feels so rightfully upset, because he doesn’t like peas, he will never like peas, and his father didn’t even make him eat peas- but.
His father isn’t here anymore.
And Tommy is being so stupidly irrational, for someone so much older now.
…He isn’t sure how to stop this.
“Stop.” Technoblade simply orders out of the blue, and there, who is Tommy to not follow orders from the king? He immediately drops the fork, ignoring the loud clatter of it to his plate. It’s a bit deafening to Tommy’s ears.
Technoblade looks like he’s holding back a certain reaction from coming to the surface, taking a deep breath. Tommy tries to follow the action.
“You don’t- have to finish it.” He tells Tommy, in a slow, controlled tone, and Tommy opens his mouth to give some grand defense for his dignity and his honor. Techno does not even let him begin. “Take the plate.” He tells the servants, and away the peas go, Tommy making a silent sigh of relief, deflating within his chair. The king presses his face into his palm, shoulders twitching a little in a laugh very carefully kept.
When he raises his head back up, Tommy realizes with wonder that in the distraction of the peas, in the relief of them being taken away, in the ordeal of the dinner- the fear of the dinner itself from before has left him.
The dread is gone.
He feels remarkably normal in his seat, only a touch tense under the king’s gaze, easy enough to ignore against the consolation that he hasn’t been forced to eat such disgusting affronts to humanity. Such a lack of bad feelings has him glowing, comforted, and so, his lips turn up to offer a smile, innocent and glad, ever content, to the king.
Technoblade’s expression falters, as if he’s seen something he didn’t calculate for. His movement freezes, just for a few seconds, Tommy’s joy fading off into a small confusion.
The king brushes past it.
He asks of Tommy’s lessons, once again, just like before.
Tommy doesn’t have much to tell this time around. It’s only been a few days since the last update he’s made. It is the same sword lessons as before, the same going ons. The thrill of having a new skill has faded, and he’ll admit, his enthusiasm has begun fading with it. It tells in the way he speaks, in how boredom creeps past the hesitance in his voice.
“Have you considered the offer for archery?” Techno asks him over the edge of his cup, taking a drink of water. “It’d do you well to have multiple skills in weapons.” He adds on after, with the knowing wisdom of someone who has always grown up with a weapon in hand.
Tommy places his cheek into his palm with a thoughtful hum. It would, indeed, do him well to try. If he is to have this king made from bloody conquest as his ruler, it’d be only reasonable for him to have a proficiency in battle, as well. How would it look for the king’s heir to be so defenseless and weak? To be so contrastingly pathetic?
Although. Already, as it is, Tommy knows he isn’t someone of high standing, other than his rank sewn into his blood. There aren’t many achievements for him to brag about, no great projects, no focus of effort. He hasn’t been up to much as of late. In fact…
“I’m surprised you aren’t offering studies, instead.” Tommy says softly, turning his head to the king with furrowed brows. He hasn’t had any proper lessons since the week he was still king, and even then, those weren’t really the lessons he used to know. Those lessons, then, were a rush of catching up, a rush to become capable and take the kingdom before it grew unsteady with the lack of proper guidance. He wasn’t truly learning, then. He was just desperately trying to grasp at all the pieces.
Technoblade makes a knowing nod, resting his elbows onto the table with his fingers interlacing together under his chin. “I have purposely been withholding those.”
Tommy blinks at him in a silent surprise. He has?
All this time, he could’ve been away in lessons, following in the routine of boring lectures, instead of spending the majority of his time with his friends? Chasing new bits of entertainment to wherever it presented itself? Wandering and drifting and trying to fill the quiet?
“If you would like them…” Techno offers. Instantly, Tommy refuses to give up his time of leisure, no matter how beneficial such lessons would be. Tubbo’s gotten them wrapped into some story-telling game these days, and it’s bad enough when it grows late and they’re forced to pause then. If he had his time filled up now, with more responsibilities-
He knows he should just bear it and take them on. But- it’s been such a good few weeks, these days. It’s gotten so good. He wants the time of peace for a little longer. He wants to keep the weight of the crown away.
Just until he knows he can carry it.
“Say, in a hypothetical situation, I did not.” He tells the king, raising his hands up with a sheepish air of surrender.
“Say, in a hypothetical situation, you at least began having weekly lessons.” The king parrots back, bargaining with a sense of humor running over his words. Tommy sputters at such a teasing answer, feeling like the raising of this topic has now spelled doom for his freetime. “Unless you wanted to pick up archery, instead?”
“I could do archery.” Tommy instantly agrees, for that is obviously the better choice over having a teacher drone history at his ears. “Archery sounds appealing.”
“Over books, I imagine so.” Techno hums, Tommy pursing his lips together to resist an obvious frown. “You should still consider taking up studies again. Even if you don’t care for it.”
“It’s just…” Tommy tries to begin, but how could he say it? How could he admit the fears in his head, the idea that once he truly begins the effort of becoming more, there will be no choice in stopping? There is only a climb, a constant, never ending climb.
Slowly, eventually, his time awake will dwindle down into nothing but duties, nothing but the worry and weight of keeping his people together and cared for.
At least, that is how it went last time. This is what he cannot help but expect.
That, and honestly, he really does not want to deal with boring lectures again. Anything else is better than dragging his eyes through the endless paragraphs of a textbook.
“Very well. You could begin them later.” The king says, easily swayed by Tommy’s hesitance. “With your archery, I’ll have someone hired…” He trails off, glancing upwards in thought.
“So soon?” Tommy asks, brows lifting in surprise.
“Would you rather not?” Technoblade questions in return.
“No, no, soon is good. More skills to put under my belt.” More useful skills to collect, at last. The most expertise Tommy’s ever had throughout his youth was a decent sense of diplomacy and an outstanding praise from his teacher in his dancing lessons. Underwhelming abilities to have, for a prince of a conqueror. That should be fixed, in his opinion. “I’d…I’d like to have them with my usual sessions, with my sword instructor?”
Techno nods, clapping his hands together as he leans back into his seat. “Then it’ll be done.”
And that is that. Their conversation tapers off and is put to an official end as a servant calls for the king, his presence needed elsewhere.
Tommy stands from his seat with a short bow of his head, stepping to the door to head back towards his tent, where his friends await, where again and again he runs from the fact that he must be more.
“I suppose I’ll see you again at some point, your majesty.” Tommy gives as a farewell, staying lingering before the door. The king stays sitting in his seat, the red of his eyes looking more like a dim, dark common brown against the lighting of the room.
“Soon.” He tells Tommy, with all the sureness of a king’s word.
Tommy nods. The dread has made its marvelous return.
He goes outside with an instant gasp for fresh air, and resists the urge to cling at Sam’s armor with crying despair. He cannot do such things. He is a prince.
(And yet, he is still only thirteen.)
---
The king’s offer about picking up lessons again does leave Tommy in thought.
He still doesn’t want it. And logically, he should, shouldn’t he? So many nights he’s spent worrying for how he would approach this role of his, so many mornings he’s woken up with shaking hands, feeling like he needs to be more, do more-
But he doesn’t want to.
He can’t force it. There is a stubborn, stupid fight in his chest, and it yearns for the simpler things, for the things that make him smile. He wants to keep spending his days with his friends, hunched over games until the day has ran away from them, their world confined to just Tommy’s space alone, their laughter and their casual voice becoming familiar. He wants to keep the terrible weight small, have it be chained down into only being the slow, simple lessons of learning to swing his sword. He wants to be less. He has to be more.
He doesn’t know how.
He wonders if the king expects more from him. If that mention of bringing lessons again was his hint. Tommy doesn’t know if he’s missed a signal or not. The king is a hard man to read, especially when he’s shrouded in the played-up expectations that fester in Tommy’s head. He fears the worst. He fears having narrowed, red eyes staring down at him, resenting him, thinking of him as worthless. He fears the king’s cruelty, he fears that one day he’ll unknowingly make one mistake too many, or this day of waiting and stalling the terrible weight will be one day too long, and he’ll have his taste of painful anger soon enough.
The king is not a merciful man. The shining products of his half-built empire show that. Royal bloodlines have been cut short by his hand, and Tommy is no different, really. He was a false king, the same as all of them.
But he’s not dead. He’s their prince, now.
What does the king want from him, now? Tommy wants the courage to ask it to his face.
The next time he is called for dinner with the king, he tries to build that bravery up. It wars with the awful, terrifying mental depiction of the king in his head, creating scenario after scenario with his words being tossed aside and ignored.
Reasonably, there is nothing to fear. When has the king ever been unkind to him? But reason is hard to grasp when one is being crushed by so many fears. Reason is out of reach, with the terrible weight trying to slide into his arms.
Tommy sits silent at his seat at the dinner table. He keeps his eyes to his hands on his lap, the dread sinking its claws in, the prospect of raising his question at all making his throat go tight. He wants to try. He wants to want it more, to where nothing could have him sway.
Most of all, he just wants to stop being unable to control how he feels.
Technoblade notes Tommy’s nervous demeanor from the second he comes in through the entryway. All three instances, Tommy’s approached with a hesitance, a wary fright kept in the sky colored gaze of his eyes.
The first time was justifiable, the dinner was out of nowhere, and there was the matter of the prince’s friend and his vaguely treasonous behavior. The second was still a little expected, one cannot hope to have trust and easy comfort built so quickly. But now, at their third meeting, Techno wonders how many more nights will need to pass until the boy can bear to look him properly in the eyes for more than three seconds.
It is good for the prince to hold fear at Techno. He’s rightfully earned such a thing, heavy respect torn from bloody acts made at battle. But as much as Technoblade feels that fear should not be forgotten-- this is different. This isn’t the same as any other interaction with his subjects. This is his prince. His heir. He doesn’t want the child to bow and scrape without any hint of fight.
(He craves to witness that smile from before. A passing, joyful thing.)
Techno regards Tommy’s hunched shoulders with a frown as the servants step away, leaving them to their food with everything perfectly served. Silence sits for a near-too-long minute as nothing happens, the prince seemingly waiting for Techno to begin eating before making a move of his own. He’s frozen into place like a statue. Hiding in his seat with the meekness of a stumbling baby deer.
“There’s no need to cower each time you come here.” Techno speaks bluntly, the prince jolting at the sound of his voice. He looks up, then glances away, as he always tends to do.
“Your- your majesty?” Tommy asks, processing the words. His face warms in embarrassment, wanting to wince at how he must be appearing if the king could notice it so obviously. “I’m sorry, I-”
“Don’t apologize, either.” The king insists sternly, Tommy clicking his mouth shut. Technoblade reevaluates his approach. Tries again, in something a little quieter. “It’s not an interrogation. We’re only having dinner.”
“Right.” The prince nods, looking at his food, hands resting at the side of his plate, but not quite reaching to begin eating. “Right, of course.” He opens his mouth as if to continue, then closes it. Presses his lips thin, before taking on a stronger, more solid voice. “If I may…”
Techno waits for the rest of the sentence with a piqued interest. It doesn’t come. Tommy falters, falls, and then leans into the back of his seat, as if wishing to become one with the fabric.
“Nevermind it.” He murmurs. Techno feels oddly disappointed. He reaches for his fork, picking it up, Tommy taking the signal to start eating. Techno takes a moment to wait.
“I realize you haven't had the opportunity to truly meet me.” He begins, some weird sensation of- something, unfurling in his chest. He pokes at his food, stabbing at a piece of meat. “And that's a mistake on my behalf.”
Tommy slows in his first few bites, jaw shifting as he makes a questioning glance in Techno’s direction. He meets Techno’s eyes, just for a little bit. They’re startlingly naive, young and watchful.
“There should be no reason for you to not be able to reach me in any circumstance. Or even speak to me.” Techno insists, turning his gaze away first to focus down at his food. “We are both the rulers of the empire. You have not a single reason to be hesitant. Not to me.”
Tommy stares openly at that, wide-eyed. He chews for a moment, before making a response. “Yes, your majesty.”
Not the most ideal reply, with how uncertain it sounds in Techno’s ears, but honest progress tends to be a slow thing. He considers it a victory all the same.
“Tell me of your-” Techno goes to say, but he tires of hearing Tommy’s same repeated answers over his sword lessons. He reckons the prince is running out of things to say about it. He doesn’t want to listen to the boring beginnings of struggling through holding a bow. He wants more.
“Tell me of your day.” He says instead.
And so Tommy does.
It still begins with the sword lessons. But then he mentions his friends sharing the space within his carriage, and tries to explain the workings of some odd riddle-based game that they’ve been playing amongst themselves there.
He begins to talk, to really talk, to build upon his thoughts for a listening ear, rather than make a single, proper response. Techno doesn’t understand the game Tommy tries to explain and go on about, and doesn’t really care to, but in the rambling of it, there comes that ever faint smile on the prince’s face, and he supposes that’s all that was needed. That was simple enough.
He eats to the noise of Tommy’s words, content with his secured success. Tommy sheepishly cuts himself off after a few minutes, realizing that he’s been blathering on. Techno tries an offer of a grin to assure that it’s fine. It’s a bit too full of teeth to be seen as how Tommy’s was. It’s a little too forced.
Regardless, the prince seems to take it, like a victory of his own, shoulders falling in a small relief.
They eat in a gentle silence.
It feels as if some wrong has been righted.
--
Technoblade makes a point to ask about Tommy's day from then on.
He realizes that the question itself is more like an opportunity, rather than a request for an answer. It is a chance for the prince to speak his mind, and truly, the entire point of these dinners is to see what is on the prince’s mind.
Upon habit, Techno finds himself wanting to demand what he wishes to know. He wants to be made aware of any pressing concerns, any new developments, anything at all that could affect this newly crafted path he’s set them upon, with putting this boy in his shadow. He wants to tell the prince to report it all as neatly as any of his passing soldiers might, but he knows, in truth, that’s a frankly awful way to go about it.
The boy is a boy. He is thirteen years of age. It was shown obviously with his friend in the weeks prior that boys can’t always be trusted to give simple, matter of fact reports. So Techno has to try a different route. The easier route, he’s found.
He just lets him talk on and on.
What point is there in trying to draw out the important issues when Tommy will shed light to them himself? He’ll bring up what he first thinks, he’ll confess what he must, if Techno provides the listening ear.
He mostly just speaks of simple things, though. He speaks of his friends, of his personal guard, of the passing subjects he sees when moving about the camp. He speaks of his breakfast and speaks of his lessons and speaks of the way his hands have begun to go sore from the constant pull of a bow and swing of sword. He speaks of the lands they travel through, he speaks of the animals that pass by. He speaks, and speaks, and talks, and goes on, mentioning his books and his flowers and his opinion over their food, and at one point, rather meekly, he admits his hatred for peas.
The honesty is admirable. Although, in part, Techno is honestly not sure why some of these topics get brought up. He asked one question. Some of this seems unneeded.
But he makes use of what he can. From a child’s words, he makes results. He figures out what could be improved, and he has it done.
He gives new roles to Tommy’s little friends, official responsibilities as the prince’s personal servants, although they’re far more suited to just be called his companions with how casual they’ve become with him these days. He makes sure they’re taught the proper skills, that they’re aware of their duties, then he hears about Tommy remarking over how odd it is to have Tubbo be the one fetching and arranging their food during their games now, and how particular he gets about it, having become rather interested in the plating now that he has a hand to play in it.
It’s a strange change, for Tommy, but not all bad. He smiles with fondness when telling the king about how Ranboo fussed with his hair this morning, having had a certain vision for it underneath his crown. He says that witnessing them attempt these things, these new responsibilities with such earnest, honest determination, just for him, it’s- it’s funny, apparently.
It’s good enough, for Techno. He continues on.
From the comment of sore hands, he makes an order for Tommy’s instructors to be mindful to not push past limits, to be mindful of whose hands they are putting to train. He has the two new servants provide warmed cloth upon the prince’s palms on any harsh days, to soothe aching pains on the muscles. He has Sam keep a closer eye on the lessons during the morning, as a way to keep track of the prince’s progress, and to keep a reminder to the instructors to keep a very patient pace.
At the mention of his books, Techno has more added to the prince’s shelves, then has the shelves remade to hold more, and then has the shelves rebuilt to house more books upon that. At the mention of the flowers, Techno lets Sam recruit a few soldiers for when he goes searching out into the fields for Tommy, bringing back whatever petaled plant they can find. At the confession over the peas, Techno just has those entirely tossed from the cook’s storage, so as to not let there be a single chance that they could ever be served to the prince again.
It all works out. Each passing dinner, Tommy speaks with less of that hesitance on his shoulders, looks to him without fear creeping over his expression.
He smiles, after. He smiles often.
He grins at Techno, with a content mood made from all these background efforts. Techno feels a sense of pleasant satisfaction for it. He’s figured it all out. From one simple question, Techno has what he wants, he has found the most sensible way of going about it. From here, there is only results, a constant victory gained.
But then, during the next dinner, Tommy falters. Techno asks about his day, and instead of jumping at a chance to speak his mind, he goes oddly quiet.
For a second, Techno falters with him, instantly in suspicion as to what’s caused the prince to sit so quiet for a moment. He wonders if there’s something he’s struggling to say, if there’s some problem he can’t quite put words to. He wonders if he should have someone beheaded. If there’s a fool running around with wasted breath in their lungs, responsible for this hesitation. Maybe it’s simpler. Maybe it’s just the food. A stern warning about the loss of fingers to the cooks would do fine, in that case.
It’s nothing of the sort. Tommy gathers himself and looks Techno in the eye, with a curl of a smile on his lip.
“Will you tell me of your day?” He asks him, bold and earnest, Technoblade frowning and furrowing his brows in an instant reaction. He sets his fork down.
“I doubt it’s anything you’d want to listen to.”
“I'm curious.” Tommy insists, not one bit dissuaded. He makes a small shrug of his shoulders, fingers pressing down at his family ring. “I don’t actually know what you do , when you're away.”
That’s fair enough. Techno knows everything about what Tommy gets up to. “I was…in several meetings, throughout today.” He says simply, thinking of what he’s done from morning to now. It's been a terribly dull day, honestly. This is the worst time for the prince to become curious.
“Meetings for what?”
“It’s just planning. Communication, permissions, reports, things of that regard.” He says, waving it off with a dismissing air. Tommy still looks at him with a waiting expression, waiting to hear more. Technoblade considers his day a little more. He relents.
“This isn’t the whole of the people, as you know.” He begins in explaining, Tommy nodding understandingly. The king’s forces don’t travel entirely united, for the number and the size would become a bit much, and having hands and ears elsewhere comes in great use. “One of the smaller traveling groups by the east sent word today of coming across enemy scouts. I doubled our guard for this group, for caution, and I sent order for the scouts to be…” He looks at Tommy. Looks at his waiting, curious, kind eyes. “Interrogated.” He finishes.
Tommy scrunches his nose slightly in a knowing gesture. Tortured, then. Taken prisoner, held for information. It’s not a nice fate to think about, so he doesn’t think too much of it. It’s thankfully not his concern, out of his hands.
“We’ve gotten replies from our spies in our currently targeted kingdom.” Techno goes on, surprise flickering over Tommy’s face.
“We have spies?”
“Naturally.” Techno nods his head. “I have spies wherever it proves useful. For the ones within the castle, they’ve given the message that their false king has been trying to secure allies to fight against my armies, and he is failing miserably at it.” An honest, amused grin grows across his face. “Apparently, some mysterious force keeps intercepting his messengers.”
“Spies.” Tommy says.
“Well paid assassins.” Techno clarifies.
“You have assassins?” Tommy asks, again in surprise, hands touching at the table as he leans forward over his food.
“I have everything.” Techno says. He pauses, for a second, a passing of greed shining through his gaze. “Almost everything. Nearly.”
“You have spies in the king’s castle.” Tommy persists, mystified by such a feat. He’s had his own scouts, before, men bringing messages from other kingdoms, but to have people right underneath the enemy’s nose-!
“Mhm. They’ve been there for months.” Techno says off-handedly, picking at his steak. “According to their word, there’s also rumors of the false king preparing a bribe for me. Some sort of bargaining, I bet.”
Tommy tilts his head in interest. “Will you take it?”
Techno scoffs around chewing his food. “Of course not.”
“But- you could work out some sort of terms of agreement.” Tommy points out, thinking of his own circumstance, of his kingdom given over without a single life lost. Not a single one of his people were hurt, with that exchange of the throne. “Have him surrender the crown without a fight. Take the kingdom with ease.”
“His crown will be mine regardless. His kingdom will be of the empire, in time. His people will become ours.” Techno gives as a reply, the words so matter of fact and stern that it feels there is no possible way of refusing it. “There’s no point in indulging his whims. I have no intention of letting him live.”
Tommy looks away, down at his food. It sits untouched, so he picks up his fork and pokes at something for the sake of not letting it go cold. “You will execute him.”
“As I have for all the others.”
“Except one.” Tommy points out.
Techno hums. He looks upon the prince with a thoughtful consideration. Then, he speaks with a questioning, curious tone. “Could you even be considered as a king?”
“I sat the throne.” Tommy reminds, although he never did it often. He never liked holding court, in those weeks. Sitting on that chair, looking at his people-
It felt so lonely.
“Did your feet even reach the ground, I wonder.” Technoblade murmurs, acting as if he’s genuinely thoughtful over it.
“They did!” Tommy blurts out, a rush of heated offense passing over him. “You-” He means to go on, but he can see the glint of amusement in the king’s eyes, a hint of a smile waiting. He swallows down the anger, clearing his throat for a moment. “I’m not that young.”
“Thirteen years.” Techno remarks, leaning an elbow onto the table, brows lifted in question. “Do you know what I was doing, around thirteen years ago?”
“You were a child?” Tommy guesses dryly, already done with this topic of his age.
“I was a productive child. I did chores and ran errands and made income for the caretakers.” Technoblade answers, and Tommy straightens up in sudden interest, not having thought the king would actually tell of his past. “I think it was around then that I had joined the training grounds, though. I was well into the start of my training, most likely.”
At the mention of such a thing, Tommy can’t help but think of his own lessons, his slow progress made. He holds tightly onto the armrest of his chair. “Do- Do you want me to put more time into my training?”
“Do you wish for longer lessons?” Techno questions back, and Tommy can’t help the expression he makes, little joy to be had in the idea of putting what little freetime he has into the work of mastering weapons, which already feel so odd in his hands. “Then you will not.” The king says simply, nodding his head like they’ve both agreed together. “On the matter of lessons, though…” He brings up, Tommy’s expression souring even further.
“I don’t want to focus on studies.” Tommy insists, turning his attention back to his plate, uselessly pushing his food around.
“Not anything?” Techno asks, frowning a little at the stubbornness. “The concept of studying over old texts may seem dreadful, I understand that much, but it’s not like we currently have old, big books for you to suffer over.” He thinks for a moment. “Well, granted, I could acquire them…”
“I don’t want to read old, big books.” Tommy insists, wanting to prevent that before it could even become a true chance.
“What do you want to read, then?” The king asks. “I know you’ve liked your stories with the made up myths.” He waves a hand, referencing the same texts he’s had placed onto Tommy’s bookshelf within his tent.
“They’re not made up.” Tommy argues, voice stern in his belief.
“Stories with the entirely accurate, full of factual informational myths.” The king changes his words, incredibly skeptical in every syllable. Tommy leans forward with a fire in his eyes.
“Well, you don’t know if they’re made up! Have you ever seen the ocean? You don’t know what’s in there.”
“I have quite a few fleets on the ocean.” Techno gives as his rebuttal. “They haven’t reported any such matters to me.”
“Maybe they’re not looking hard enough.” Tommy reasons.
“Mhm.” The king nods, a small patronizing smile upon his face. “I’ll be sure to tell them to search harder for the giant squids and such. Then they can slay it and bring back its head for me to see.”
“I don’t want it dead.” Tommy protests, Techno’s face faltering against the raw care in the prince’s words. The care then turns into outright spite, Tommy raising his nose. “I just think they should find it, so you can see that you’re wrong.”
Techno snorts, a smile blooming across the prince’s face with smug victory. They lapse into silence for a moment, Techno watching as Tommy reaches for his napkin, wiping at the edge of his fingers.
“Have you ever been to the sea before, your highness?” Techno asks, Tommy slowing to a stop with the napkin held tight in his hands.
Tommy thinks over it, thinks of a long passed memory. For a moment, he closes his eyes and he can almost see his father against the blinding sun shining down. “Once.” He says, twisting his napkin for a moment before letting it go, his hands falling to his lap.
Techno doesn’t point out the action. “We’ll have to cross it, at some point, to finish the conquest with the lands on the other side. By then, it should be a fairly simple thing, though.” By then, he’ll have everything. It’ll be a fool’s dream to even dare oppose him.
“By then, you’ll have killed most of the rulers we cross paths with.” Tommy says, an unspoken sort of question in the statement made.
“Yes.”
“But-” Tommy goes to speak, but hesitates. His mouth sits open as he considers something within his mind, and then he shuts his jaw with a short huff, hands clasping together over his lap. He looks up at Techno. “That’ll take quite some time.”
Techno feels like that’s not what he was going to truly say, but he allows it to pass by. He moves on. “It’ll pass quickly.” He promises, no doubt in his voice. “We will be seeing the oceans before you know it.”
“I wait for the day.” Tommy murmurs. A soft worry sits hidden behind the tone.
Techno does not hear it.
---
The king is drinking wine for the first time.
Or at least, the first time that Tommy’s noticed, during all their dinners. The servant pours a deep rich red into his cup, and Tommy stares at the sight, reminded of his late father drinking his own during the more festive seasons, when they would have the occasional celebration within the castle. There would be nobles swarming the great hall, dressed up in their fanciest wear, eating and drinking and talking, coming to Tommy over and over and over to say hello, in that small little tone where they clearly thought he looked adorable in his finest outfit for the day.
Tommy would always have to give his greetings back from where he sat beside his father, voice polite and soft-spoken. Although, after the first fifteen people, his patience would begin to run out, and he would just end up staring in an upset frown, after, done with the constant faces of strangers. It was always such a relief when the party at last ended, his father carrying him to sleep as the servants began cleaning the mess…
Techno notices his stare as the boy stays lost in thought, and he tilts out the cup towards him, the movement snapping Tommy’s attention back and away from thinking of his long passed childhood.
“You’ve ever had it?” The king asks, and Tommy takes a moment to figure out what he’s asking about. He glances down at the cup.
“What? Wine?” He says, and at the king’s nod, Tommy strongly shakes his head. “No.”
“Well, you are young.” Techno reasons, trying to think as to when exactly fresh-made men are meant to begin drinking their barrels of wine. The soldiers he grew up around always went for more of a cheap ale, if anything. “Do you wish to try it?” He offers, regardless, for he knew that when he was young, the curiosity alone drove him past whatever stood in his way.
Tommy hesitates upon an answer, and looks in surprise as the king puts his cup before him. He takes it gingerly with a furrowed brow, taking just the smallest sip out of a sense of politeness, wondering if it’ll turn out to be something bitter, something gross.
He’s thrown off entirely as he’s attacked by the flavor of something sweet, instead. It’s overwhelmingly and terribly sweet. There’s some vague idea of berry in there, past the sugar. Is this truly wine, or did some servant mistake a bottle of syrup for the king’s selection? Tommy stares down at the cup in a slow, slightly concerned blink.
Technoblade makes a huff at the reaction, taking the cup back from the prince’s hand. “It's a bit much, isn't it?” He asks knowingly, which makes Tommy suspect that this is truly what he chose to drink.
“I feel like the sugar is already rotting into my teeth.” He says, and then feels fretful for a second on if that’s going to be taken as an insult.
“Probably.” The king simply agrees, making a shrug as he takes a drink. He then pauses as he looks over the cup, glancing at the food laid out, their plates emptied and done with. He tilts his head like something new has occurred to him. “I should have dessert be brought.”
“Dessert?” Tommy questions, a slight hope rising in his heart. He’s already had his fill of food, but he would be an idiot to turn down cake.
“Next time.” Techno sighs, waving the idea away. “I have matters to attend to, once again.” There’s no doubt that a servant is already waiting outside the door to fetch him, with either some advisor or some general or someone wishing for his approval or his advice or his strength. He watches as Tommy stands to take his leave, and before he gets too far, he asks- “Do you have some preference?”
Tommy pauses, turning away from the door. “For what?”
“Anything. Cakes, sweets.” Techno’s eyes flick away for a second in thought. “I know you and your friends tend to eat a fair bit of candy when the towns have it.”
Tommy purses his lips together with an odd sense of feeling caught. He can’t deny that fact. It’s whole-heartedly true. So, instead he thinks on the question. “Blueberries. I used to love the pastries with blueberries they made in my kingdom.” He answers truthfully, chest squeezing with old memories clinging to him. “Oh, but- they don’t have any here, though.”
The king hums, leaning back in his seat. “That’s hardly an obstacle. It will be brought.” He promises, and while Tommy doesn’t quite believe it, he still nods, and then bids his goodbye before leaving the tent.
---
True to the king’s word, dessert is brought next time, presented beautifully after they’ve finished their dinners. It's quite a lot of cake put across the table, frosted in lovely detail with such effort and skill plain to see.
There’s a blueberry cake at the center of all of them, painted in tiny blue petals that make Tommy think of the forget-me-not flowers. He eats three slices before it becomes a bit much, and then has the rest of the cake put away so that it can be taken to his tent later, for him and his friends to feast upon during their freetime.
Tommy looks to the king as he drinks his sweet sugar-wine, and wonders off-handedly if this is a reward for something. He hasn’t made any great progress in his lessons lately. He’s only barely begun shooting with a bow.
He looks a little closer at the cakes laid out, and realizes with a wonder that in the time that Tommy’s had three slices, Techno’s had five. Maybe this is not a matter of reward, but a matter of indulgence. Does the king not have all that many occasions to eat cake? If it were up to Tommy, he would request it at every dinner, if he knew it was an option.
Maybe the king would just rather not overindulge in such things. He probably has better restraint than Tommy does. Maybe-- maybe he’s using Tommy as an excuse for the cake. It would be more reasonable for the young prince to have such a terrible tooth for sweets rather than their fearsome, unwavering ruler, wouldn’t it?
“We should have dessert more often.” Tommy says, picking at a new slice of something vanilla, bits of strawberry sitting in the frosting. “Clearly, the chefs have expertise in baking.”
Techno hums noncommittally from where he’s chewing at something coated in chocolate. “There’s usually little time for it, with our meals-”
“Well, we have time for our dinners.” Tommy argues. “Extend our time. I want to see if they can make lemon cake for the next time.” He reaches forward to pluck a fruit off one of the pastries, popping it into his mouth with a bright closed-mouth smile.
The king seems to pause at the interruption, and Tommy wonders if such a request is foolish to make. The king’s time is precious, necessary to keep their forces in motion. Why would he waste any more on Tommy, with silly pastries made at the table? There is a responsibility to remember. Tommy cannot be as carefree as he was before- everything.
“Although, I understand if-” Tommy goes to backtrack, and the king stops him with a shake of his head.
“Next time.” He says, and upon Tommy’s questioning look, he looks up with a small joy in the gleam of his red eyes. “I’ll have the chefs make a lemon cake next time.”
Tommy smiles. He looks forward to it.
---
A few more dinners pass with nothing particularly out of the ordinary to note. Cake becomes a part of their meals, and Tommy makes a point to not overstuff himself so that he’ll have room for a slice or two. Whatever is left is usually left to be taken to his tent, to be devoured by him and his friend’s young hands in the middle of their games.
This time, tonight, when he walks into their usual meeting tent and sees the king, he finds the man to be working on papers. An instant sense of guilt crawls into his stomach, his presence feeling too big for what little freedom the king has, against all his work.
“I don't want to keep you away from your work, your majesty.” He tells Technoblade as he sits down in his seat, hesitant in the moment, ready to stand back up and have dinner back within his own tent at any second.
“You keep me from nothing. These papers shouldn’t even be allowed on this table.” Technoblade replies, the end of his sentence more gritted through teeth than spoken. He sighs, sliding a paper to the side, beginning another letter. “But as we grow closer to our next kingdom, communication becomes all the more important. And besides that, I like our talks.”
Tommy shifts in where he sits, thinking of all the talks they’ve had over the nights. What has Tommy ever truly given, in all his rambling over his day? Just unneeded distractions and useless words. “I don't have anything important to say.” He confesses, now wishing the king would just banish him from the tent immediately.
“Have you given up on your sword lessons?” Techno asks abruptly, not even faltering in his writing. Tommy blinks in surprise.
“No, of course not.”
“Have you put aside your archery?”
“No.”
“Did you banish off your servants and send away your guard?” Techno asks further, head tilting slightly in the question. Tommy furrows his brow.
“No…?”
Techno puts down his pen. Looks Tommy directly in the eyes. “Then it appears you still have something important to say.” He returns to his letter, skimming over the sentences he’s written. “What progress have you been up to, with your lessons?”
“Just- basic forms.” Tommy answers, feeling off-centered in such an odd statement from the king. “Still.”
“Mhm. Are you growing tired of it?” Techno waves a hand in the air to call the servants over to begin serving their food, and Tommy leans back in his chair as they prepare his plate accordingly.
“No, not at all. I just-” Tommy shrugs his shoulders up. “We can't all be at your expertise.” He says light-heartedly, knowing full well that’s indeed a fact. No one else can match the king’s brutality within battle, no one else can keep pace with how he leads his men on, no mercy under his sword.
Techno stops in what he’s doing, lifting his chin in thought. He calls a servant over to take the letter he’s just signed, his pen put away amongst the other papers. “Take this to be sent off, and inform my advisors that our morning meeting for tomorrow will have to be pushed later. I'll be with the prince then.”
Tommy chokes a little in where he was reaching for his fork, no food even near his mouth to be used as an excuse. He coughs, hitting his chest for a second before turning his attention to the king. “You- what?”
“What?” Techno turns a grin onto him, a little evil-looking in the way he bares his teeth, a glint of mischief running through his gaze. “I have expertise, didn't you say that? Why don't I try and show you some tricks? I was around your age when I mastered the sword.”
“But- you-” Around his age? Yes, that’s probably right. The king is a master of weapons. Tommy could have no greater person to learn from, and it’d reasonably be an honor to have the king himself give his effort in such a thing. “If that’s what you wish…” He still speaks hesitantly, not wanting to take more time, not wanting to have the king see his progress and laugh upon how little he’s grown over the months.
“Have you been lying over your skills, now?” The king questions, Tommy instantly shaking his head.
“No.”
“No?” He repeats, pretendedly skeptical.
“No!” Tommy insists harder, ignoring the way there’s such a clear amusement in the king’s expression. “It’s just- well- it’s out of nowhere! I don’t know that much, it’s not all that ideal-”
“Of course not. You’re learning.” The king cuts him off, his tone having dropped to something solidly stern. Tommy’s mouth clicks shut. “Everyone begins somewhere. You began hardly over a month ago.”
“You were a master at my age.” Tommy points out.
“I’m the brilliant exception.” Techno hums, hardly concerned over how Tommy might compare. “And my training schedules were far harsher. You take your pace. You’ll find it.” He moves on quickly, then, reaching for his fork, their food set out and waiting. He looks at Tommy, and strangely, even with everything, Tommy doesn’t feel all that small underneath his gaze. It just feels familiar, now.
“Now, tell me of your day.”