Chapter Text
For the people of L’Manburg, the first sign that something’s changed is the orange sun and ash choked air, as the forest that surrounds their walls burns. For their Commander, the first sign comes three days prior, in the form of a letter.
He’s in the war-pavilion with General Eret, when it comes. They’re going over their plans to extend the sewer system into the SouthEast corner, for use by the livestock farmers. Or, they were having a lunch actually, but the topic of the current project came up in conversation, and, you see, the diagrams were in the cabinet just there, and Eret brought up a particularly complex bit of the drainage system, so Wilbur got them out for reference and, well, the plates were in the way, so they moved to the other end of the table, and—
In any case, Eret has just asked after Sally (the mastermind behind that ingenious drainage system), and Wilbur is explaining that she’s been teaching Fundy writing, and how he wishes he could be of more use in the endeavour, but, well, (here he flourishes his agile fingers in demonstration. Fundy’s are stubby, stiff, and clawed, far better suited for bending back when walked upon than for curling in to grip a pen. It’s the kind of issue Sally has much more experience dealing with, due to her lack of opposable thumbs.) and this is when a watchman interrupts.
“I have a letter for you, Commander,” they say.
Wilbur asks who it’s from, but the watchman just shuffles their feet and offers that folded page, eyes averted. “You should just read it, sir.”
His brow creases, but he does take it, and with a glance at the mark he understands their hesitation. It reads, To WilburSoot, from DreamFirstborn.
“Thank you,” he tells the watchman. They nod and hurry off, most likely back to their tower. Once they’ve gone, Wilbur meets Eret’s questioning gaze. “It’s from the Firstborn,” he says, “or at least, that’s what it’s marked.”
Eret’s eyebrows raise above the rims of their dark glasses, “Well go on,” they say, “What does he want?”
Wilbur opens the letter. It isn’t very long, just: The World is in pain, and I have determined your L’Manburg to be the cause. I ask that you disband before things get worse.
Wilbur‘s first thought is— well, mainly a squall of confusion ( and something else ), but when that settles down, he thinks: this must be a joke. “Have you seen Tommy today?” he asks Eret.
They frown. “Wilbur, what does the letter say?”
“I- It’s just a prank Eret, it’s not really from him,” he deflects, “I need to talk to Tommy... about what exactly it is appropriate to joke about.”
Eret doesn’t look especially reassured, but that’s alright, because Wilbur’s already leaving, (and he knows they won’t think to follow him in time.) He knows Tommy usually takes lunch in mess with the rest of the soldiers, so that’s a good place to start. Even if it is a bit past lunchtime at this point, mess is a general gathering place. Someone there will have seen him.
As he walks, Wilbur lets himself be distracted, lets his mind slide away from the letter’s actual contents at every opportunity. It’s not hard to think of Fundy as he passes between the barracks his charge designed. (They‘re rather blocky and utilitarian, but that’s alright. Fundy was— still is— new to the World. He’s learned better since then. Wilbur’s taught Fundy the basic principles of design that his mentor taught him.. but not much more. His charge is more interested in Sally’s redstone engineering now. The first clock he ever made still hangs on Wilbur’s wall, though it runs slow at night, and fast when it rains. His latest clock sits in Wilbur’s coat pocket, and runs perfectly. (He plans never to throw either away.))
And of course as the walls come into view, Wilbur’s reminded of his charge’s most recent project: an alarm system around the entire border. (There’s been a lull in the fighting since the walls were completed, but the game ends this year, so Wilbur and his generals have been making preparations for Sapnap’s final push. The alarm is meant to summon an elite team, handpicked by Tommy and Tubbo, to guard the trophy vault from any intruder, in case their opponents attempt some kind of stealth mission.
(And then, it’ll be over. He’ll have won. Will that be the end? Will everyone leave, when it ends? They’ve built so much . Together . Surely he’s not the only one who loves this place for more than the game it was built to win.))
The sun is out, warm and lovely, but suddenly, all Wilbur can feel is that it’s so very far away. He’s reached the training field now, and the two soldiers sparring there are like carved figurines, small and muted. Where is everyone , he wonders. (They’re at their posts, or at mess, he knows. This is just a feeling, and it will pass . It will . It will . it-)
He can hear the clamor from the mess hall, even before he opens the doors. When he does, the first thing he sees is Tommy, standing on a table amidst a cheering (or maybe jeering?) crowd, holding a hand of cards out of someone’s reach. Wilbur recognizes them as one of Tommy’s elite vault guards, but he can’t remember their name. Almost immediately, Tommy sees him as well.
“Heyy! Big man!” he calls out, setting off a ripple of turning heads. Tommy grabs a sword from somewhere Wilbur can’t see and shoves the point right through the person’s throat. The crowd applauds as they collapse, and parts as Tommy slides the blade back out and steps off the table.
“Tommy.” Wilbur says, “Meet me outside?”
Tommy nods, but instead of following, he turns and calls “Tubbo!”
Wilbur waits as the General in question shouts back, “ Yeah? ” from somewhere in the crowd.
“When that bitch comes back for his stuff, tell him he’s been demoted!” Laughter fills the room at that, puffing Tommy up. “I mean, what the fuck was that? I wasn’t even trying !” he jeers, “He went down like a fuckin ’ newborn.”
“ Tommy .” Wilbur reminds, “Come on .”
“ Alright , alright. Fine, I’m coming ,” Tommy says, finally following him out the doors. Wilbur leads the way a little ways from the hall, just out of earshot.
“So. What do you need?” Tommy asks, once he stops.
He pulls out the note, “Di-“
“Ohhh, What’s that ? A love letter?” Tommy snatches it from Wilbur before he can speak, and his eyes widen as he reads the mark, “From the green man himself ? I thought you and Sally were exclusive.” And he’s off, now. “Ohohoho, did you get get caught cheating Wilbur?” he says. “Don’t you worry,” he says. “you’ve come to the right place,” he says. “Big Man Tommy’s got your back,” he says.
“ Tommy! ” Wilbur says, looming over him, “ just. read it .”
Tommy’s face falls, “Wilbur-“
“Did you write this letter, Tommy.”
“I- I no, of course not, what,” he smiles tentatively, “what can’t you, can’t you read? The mark’s right-”
“ Tommy .” Wilbur grabs his arm, “You swear you didn’t write this? Are you lying to me?”
“I-“ he opens the letter, then glances between the contents and Wilbur’s face, “Wilbur, I swear I didn’t write this. Are you- are you good, man?”
Wilbur lets him go and backs away a few steps, to give himself space to think. Because, suddenly, this is real. Whatever it is, it’s real, and for whatever reason, the Firstborn wants to take his L’Manberg away. He doesn’t know what to think though, or what to do, he doesn’t even- “I don’t know what this means, Toms,” he says.
“Wilbur, chill, it’s just- He’s just courting war, why are you so bloody upset ?”
And Wilbur freezes. Tommy’s right . The thought hadn’t crossed Wilbur’s mind before, but now that it has, it’s the only thing that makes sense. Even though… “But we haven’t finished with Sapnap.”
“Well, yeah, it’s a bit rude, but I bet he’s used to getting his way.”
“Right. Yes,” Wilbur says, a little off balance as his spiraling thoughts drain away. “Thank you, Tommy,” he continues, “That hadn’t even occurred to me.”
“Yeah,” Tommy’s grin is back in place, “ Yeah , Tommy saves the day again! Come back anytime!”
Wilbur’s smiling too, “I’ll see you later Toms. I’ve got to draft a reply.”
“Alright, Commander, see you around!” Tommy calls after him.
——
Wilbur’s reply goes like this:
To DreamFirstborn, from WilburSoot
Unfortunately, your demands are somewhat poorly timed. Even if we were willing to disband— we’re not— it would have to wait until after the current war. It wouldn’t be fair to Commander Sapnap’s army to end our conflict prematurely.
It’s a rather straightforward message, keeping to the pretense of hostility war is built on while clearly refusing and explaining why. Wilbur gives it to Fundy with instructions to pass it to a watchman when he goes to work on the alarm that evening. It’s hardly urgent after all.
——
A watchman delivers Dream’s next letter the next morning, while Tommy and Tubbo are looking for someone to fill the brand new vacancy in their vault guard. It’s become something of a tourney at this point, with soldiers who aren’t competing watching from the sidelines, and even a fair few of the army’s non-combatants. Someone’s passing out biscuits and candied salmon, and a few different people are working on wreathes for the winner.
The sun feels just as warm and bright as it ought to, and Wilbur feels just as warm and bright as the sun. These are his people, this is their home. It’s more than a fortress, it’s a village, or, something like a village, but much larger. Fundy’s barracks are large enough for everyone, but all around the edges of the training field and further than Wilbur can see from here, are houses soldiers have built for themselves— the permanent kind, the kind you would be surprised to find abandoned.
And this is more than an army, it’s a family. Like the family Wilbur’s built slowly over his hundreds of years, Tommy and Tubbo, and long ago, his old mentor Phil, and far more recently Sally and Fundy and even Eret. Of course Wilbur doesn’t know everyone in L’Manberg like he knows them, but he thinks he could trust any of them the same. They care about each other, and this place, and it’s beautiful, and it’s his .
The letter goes:
To WilburSoot, from DreamFirstborn
I appreciate your commitment to sportsmanship! But you needn’t worry. Sapnap is actually a good friend of mine, and I’ve already spoken to him about this. He understands the urgency of the situation and has agreed to stand down early. He’s even willing to declare you the winner! Though perhaps that’s less important to you.
In any case, I will reiterate, your game is causing injury to the World itself. You must disband.
Wilbur is mostly annoyed on Sapnap’s behalf. It’s clear that Tommy was right about the Firstborn: he’s used to getting his way. Though, from what Wilbur knows of his opponent, he wouldn’t just fold and let someone butt into their game like this. He plans to send a letter asking him for confirmation before anything else. But not until the tourney’s over. For now, he tucks the letter into his coat and puts it out of his mind.
—
But when Wilbur writes to Sapnap asking for confirmation, asking: is it true you’ve agreed to change the terms of war?
Sapnap replies: I’ve agreed to end the war, Wilbur. Dream’s really concerned about this. And his informal tone leaves no room for doubt, sending Wilbur spiraling once more. Because this is real now, really really real. The Firstborn truly wants to take away his L’Manberg, and he cannot give it up.
So he makes an ultimatum:
To DreamFirstborn, from Commander WilburSoot
L’Manburg is hardly mine to disband, Firstborn. Far too many hands have helped to build it, and far too many hearts are held within. How can you expect us to abandon all that on such hazy grounds?
Maybe your word holds more weight with Commander Sapnap, due to your closeness, but I do not know you. I can’t in good conscience believe your claims outright, when they are so extreme. It seems utterly absurd to me that L’Manburg’s existence could be so malignant. We are just people, living together. If there is any link between the problem you describe— or rather, ominously allude to— and our people, I am certain it can be addressed some other way.
Perhaps, if you can cite more specifically your grievance, we can work towards its alleviation together, but until then, know I will not budge on this issue.
And the Firstborn replies:
To Commander WilburSoot, from DreamFirstborn
So now you are a Commander . I am glad at least, to see you taking this seriously, but disheartened by your stubbornness.
My greivance is, as I said before, that the World is suffering, and L’Manburg is the cause. I don’t understand how you can find this claim extraordinarily absurd. The World works as the World does, this has always been the case. Is it not more strange that the runes we enchant with hold magic while the letters we write with do not?
I am trying my hardest to be reasonable, but you are truly testing my patience. If you do not heed my words, you will regret it.
Wilbur seethes at his condescension and his ridiculous excuse for an argument. A hundred rebuttals flash through his mind, but in the end he decides the bastard isn’t worth the effort.
To DreamFirstborn, from Commander WilburSoot , he writes
Fuck you. You have no power over us. Find someone else to scapegoat.
He regrets it soon enough. The Firstborn responds promptly, as if this letter was already written:
To Commander WilburSoot, from DreamFirstborn
Before I begin, know that this is no overture to a war game. I am not looking to make fun. I am looking to end your idiocy.
If you do not disband, the army I bring to your walls will have no mercy . We will burn all that burns, and reduce the rest to rubble, tear down everything you’ve built, kill your soldiers again and again in their rebirth beds, poison your water, trample your farms, and steal everything you leave behind when you flee.
In case you find this as hard to believe as my prior pleas, I have arranged a demonstration for you.
I expect your response by dawn.
And when Wilbur heads outside to gather his Generals, the sun shines orange through ash-choked air.