Archive of Our Own ^beta

Chapter Text

Oleanders are beautiful flowers. Tommy used to think they only came in crisp white, but he’s long since learned they can come in an array of colors. He thinks the yellow ones are quite endearing, but he’s also seen them come in gradients of red, orange, and pale blue. The ones he has now are a bright, blush pink like a newborn’s cheeks or shoulders burnt in the sun. 

It’s a hot morning in the SMP. The sun decided to come out with fists punching and the stone pathways of the garden burned right through Tommy's sandals as he picked the oleander. 

Oleander is special. The ones they have in the royal garden are small, a single blossom could fit snug in the center of his palm. They’re quite potent, is the thing. Beautiful and deadly, bitter on the tongue so that most wildlife avoids them. Maybe someone would argue it’s foolish to keep something so dangerous right by the royal family and their advisors, and they could be right. But there are some skilled physicians he’s seen use bits and parts of the flower to make medicine to cure heart ailments or soothe pain. Some alchemists used the poison in plants such as oleander to replace spider eyes in positions of invisibility or to make less potent potions of harming. A safer method than say, fighting the giant spiders from the deep caves for their eyes. 

Dream likes to collect and cultivate poisons. There are a dozen arguments as to why- to study them, to find medicinal uses for them, or some other altruistic cause- but it’s just there to kill people. 

Of plants that can kill you, oleander is a special flower because the petals, leaves, stems- every part of it was poisonous. Even the water from a vase of oleanders could make someone ill, a single flower is enough to kill somebody. Poison is the plant’s protection, for something so small and immobile. Fragile against the elements, predators, and helpless to stop something from hurting them, they fight back in the few ways plants can. They may fall but they’ll take down the predator that consumed them, too. They were simple, nothing flashy like the snake lily, nor stank of death like the rafflesia arnoldii or titan arum. A person could pass by a cluster of oleanders and never realize they narrowly avoided death. 

He brushes his fingers carefully over the velvety petals. He’s picked just a handful of them- overkill, really- and for a moment he feels perfect. Picturesque. It’s still early enough that everything is quiet and the sky is a pale yellow. No clouds protect him from the sun, but the curtains in his room are closed tight, thin light beams slicing through the gaps. Sweat beads around his forehead and down his neck ruining the image in his mind, but it’s fine. It’s just him and the flowers. Nobody has to witness him be ugly. Tommy's hands are already slightly red and inflamed from the poisonous sap dripping from the plant so there's no way to sugarcoat what's about to happen. 

Tommy tugs off his mask and brings the flowers up to his nose to smell. They kind of smell like apricots, slightly sweet and slightly bitter. The flowers’ scent burns at his nose. Oleander is so abrasive to living things. 

The leaves brush against his chin, tickling him. He smiles softly, before taking a deep breath. 

Tommy devours the oleanders whole. 

His heart doesn’t race in panic, but his hands do shake. This is always the worst part. 

❅❅❅

“-Don’t think you were being clever, Theseus, because that was elementary. You can’t avoid the new year’s eve celebration so easily, especially when we have important visitors arriving today. Honestly, what were you thinking?” Dream spits at Tommy, dragging him down the empty hallway.

There are a lot of ways Tommy would prefer to spend his morning, and getting lectured by Dream was in none of them. He’s lucky he’s just being humiliated in the halls, being told off like a child in trouble. If they were somewhere private, Dream would probably hit him. 

He scoffs, “You know what I was thinking! I wanted to be discovered dead in my room- preferably by Clementine or someone who’d dig me a shallow grave by the river. Something quaint, y’know? She’d make it a whole mystery as to what happened to me and you’d go on some wild goose chase for my corpse-”

“Stop rambling.”

“What’s the big mystery? I simply don’t want to go to any of the celebrations this week and- and what, watch you and the Kinoko nobility get drunk and make fools of yourselves while I have to deal with royalty from fuck off nowhere trying to kiss my arse? I’d literally rather die.”

Dream stops, so sudden that the momentum has him tripping over his own feet. “We are the soul of this country, and everything we do is to continue to fuel the heart of it. You will be on your best behavior while the celebrations occur and you will be punished for this once it is over. Be grateful that I find it in bad taste to penalize someone during such a celebratory time.”

Tommy scowls behind his mask, pulling his arm free, “Sure, sure. You just want to make it my job to deal with Bad after he’s had too many drinks.” 

“You’re acting immature. Three hundred years and you’re still throwing tantrums like this?” Dream shakes his head in disappointment, “The first carriage arrives in six hours and you’ve put us behind schedule already. You’ve caused so much trouble for me on such an important day.”

The air pulls taut. There's expectation, a chance given to him to either redeem himself or guarantee a harsher punishment later. He knows what Dream wants to hear. 

Tommy bites his tongue hard enough to feel tears gather in his eyes, and says, “I’m sorry Morpheus.”

“Sorry won’t fix the damage you’ve already created. Just- just check in with the general to double-check all the guards are ready for tonight. The last thing we need is an assassination attempt under our roof.” With that, the man breaks off to walk towards the kitchens. 

Tommy shakes himself off, feeling slightly nauseous from nerves. Or it could be the oleanders he ate earlier. That was quite likely. 

“And Theseus?” Dream calls from the end of the hall. The uncanny visage of a smile upon porcelain stares at him- a sight he’s long grown used to, but has never enjoyed. 

“Yes?” 

“Poisoning? Really? I thought you were at least a little more creative than that.”

Tommy rolls his eyes, his mask saving him yet another lecture as he watches Dream finally disappear around the corner.

Well. Four hours before the first guest arrives, and then a week of hell. Tommy walks with a stomp in his step, unafraid to show the world around him he was ticked off. 

Tommy was completely justified in his opinions about the upcoming holiday. The New Year’s festival was such an unnecessary event. It’s supposed to be a simple way to tie the knot on the old year and continue onto the new, but it’s just an excuse for the upper class to spend an entire week partying and getting drunk. It’s all arbitrary. Kinoko’s new year is not for another couple of months, and Las Nevadas celebrated their new year a few months prior. Calendars and months are fickle things, given names based on the sun or moon or seasons. It’s all just time, plain and simple. Nothing makes it more special. 

And because of such a superficial celebration, there are going to be tons of royals from all over the world at the palace, and it’s going to drain the life from Tommy’s soul- or, what little remains of it. 

Events like these always end badly for Theseus- for Tommy- in general. He’s too unruly to win over the old nobility and too reclusive to appeal to the newer politicians. So, there’s always some shit show where he inevitably does something that pisses everyone off. But who could blame him? All those pricks talk about how labor costs have increased, what an inconvenience, they’ll have to cut losses- as if they don’t care about heartlessly firing workers, increasing hours, and cutting pay. Nobles view human life as another number to calculate, it’s disgusting. It makes him sick to his stomach. All the while, the rich live lavish lives at the top so proud of all their “hard work.”

But then they’d call him a hypocrite as he's one of the nobles living a comfortable life in the palace. But Tommy doesn’t want to be there, either!

There’s the wild and free part of his soul that wants to run through the marshes, sink his feet into the mud, and forget all about royal life. It’s impossible, with Dream always on his tail, but he can’t help but want. 

Instead, he has the cold walls filled to the brim with lies and greedy hearts. There are no good men amongst those rich and powerful, Tommy has seen it all firsthand. If it were up to him, he’d burn the whole place down. He’d watch in vicious delight as the people screamed behind locked doors, bright crimson and orange eating up the walls. The gold plating and ornaments would melt, the wooden staircases and furniture char, and all that would remain would be an ashy crater and human bones. Bones are hard to burn. 

Fire would never stop Dream, though. Nothing can. Centuries of failed attempts from Tommy have proved that.

He shakes his head, trying to clear out the mess of his thoughts. Dream expects work to be done and everyone is going to be swamped. If he slacks off all the servants will gossip about “lazy and uptight Viscount Theseus.” 

Okay, okay. First, meet with the general. 

It seems like a waste of time to send him to check up on the guards, but Dream isn’t anything if he isn’t paranoid. Tommy isn’t trusted, but he’s got a sharp eye. Assassinations are horrible for politics and reputation and if one successfully happened under their roof, well, it’d put a lot of plans on halt. And the blame would be put on Tommy’s shoulders.

He continues on his way to training rooms. General Sam will most likely be there. 

❅❅❅

The General is actually in his office, which is the second place Tommy thinks to check. Sam’s an active guy who doesn’t like staying cooped up in one room all day, and it was common to see him helping train recruits or sparring with others. But it was busy times for all within the castle, and the General was not exempt from that. Busy times meant bureaucracy, paperwork, and organization. Tommy finds the man hunched over his desk writing a letter for someone. 

Tommy feels a bit guilty dropping in on the guy unannounced, but that was Dream’s fault. Yeah. Fuck Dream, he was the one who decided to boss Tommy around in the first place. 

The red lenses over the eyes of Sam’s mask gleam in the dimly lit room. He’s a scary-looking guy, taller than Tommy- which is a feat!- and looks like he could crush a watermelon with one hand.

Tommy admires him. General Sam is clever, he knows how to make well-crafted weapons, and is one of the best warriors within the SMP. He’s a guy who knows how the real world works and how to survive in it. And... he’s nice. Niceness is such a rarity for Tommy, he drinks up any non-mocking laughter or kind words thrown his way. Tommy hopes Sam smiles whenever they talk, somewhere under his mask. He cannot garner today whether the general was annoyed or pleased by Tommy’s visit, his voice too monotone to read. But he hopes.

They talk business, all official things. Tommy checks the guards put on duty for the evening. He checks their placements, their assigned paths, and each of their backgrounds. Sam gives him succinct summaries of all their training backgrounds and proficiencies. They’re meticulous, reviewing every plan with a fine-tooth comb. Tommy double and triple checks the guards' mapping. He has a job and he was going to do it thoroughly… and it didn’t hurt that he likes chatting with Sam, even if it was just work things. 

There's a split consensus on Viscount Theseus- he's a spoiled brat who rose in rank and power by Morpheus’s favor, lacking any real talent. That, or he's a stuck-up prick who lives strictly by the rules and would snitch on anyone breaking them. Tommy knows he’s obnoxious, but a brat? Or a snitch? Who the fuck even came up with those rumors, they didn’t even accurately smear his name. 

Sam was a good guy, though. He came from a long line of warriors dedicated to the throne, and when he was sixteen he joined the military efforts by the border. The man quickly made a name for himself, proving his skill and worth, and came back to the capital with shining medals and the admiration of his peers. Like his family before him, he swore fealty to King Eret, swearing to protect the royal family with his life. Sam was an honorable man, not quite made for the world of politics and two-faced nobles of the palace. But because of that, he didn't care about any rumors, especially not the ones about the infamous Theseus. 

So, Tommy likes Sam.

Their conversation slowly veers off-topic to more mundane things. Sam’s been overworking himself recently and he’s had to stop by the sickbay for checkups. The man says the court physician is a fascinating man- Tommy’s reckless enough to know Ponk well, he’s been stuck in the infirmary plenty of times, and fascinating was much too kind a word for the eccentric. 

Unfortunately, the conversation doesn’t last. Soon enough Tommy is shooed away, for they were both too busy to be conversing so leisurely. He doesn’t complain and leaves Sam with his work.

Dream had been pissed earlier that Tommy “wasn’t pulling his weight” or whatever. The man was probably busy bossing around the organizers for tonight’s banquet, so Tommy decides the next thing on the agenda is to check in with the princess. He finds her, the only person within the palace who doesn’t look frazzled, always pristine and put together.

Princess Niki says all the guest rooms have been set up, each immaculate for every guest. Everything is cleaned, dusted, and polished to perfection. It’s all flawless, Niki would never settle for less- she certainly doesn’t need him getting in her way. She dismisses him easily. 

She’s dutiful, as she’s in charge of most of the maids within the palace and any issues brought up by them to her, would be brought up by her to the next in the chain of command. Usually Niki could go to Dream or King Eret directly, but they were the busiest today. So Tommy is the next person in the rung. It’s unfortunate since she makes it very clear she dislikes him. It could be because of the rumors, or it could be because half the complaints brought to her from the maids are about him.

It’s not his fault the maids don’t like him. Well, maybe it is a little. He could make an effort to be more polite to his servants. He knows they’re just doing their jobs, but he can take care of himself just fine. Tommy doesn't need a dozen people tidying up his room or adjusting the straps on his mask or picking out his jewelry for him like he’s a show animal. That’s stuff he can do himself, so he shoos away the maids whenever he can, and sometimes he gets loud and aggressive with how he does it. It makes them dislike him. They whisper about how he disrespects them, how he’s unruly, how he must hide things with how secretive he is. Tommy has tried being friendly with his servants in the past, he’s done that song and dance. But eventually one is a spy, or a plant, or gets bribed by Dream. Or worse, used against him by Dream, which isn’t fair. For the people responsible for bringing him his meals and picking out his clothes, it’s better to remain impersonal. 

Tommy believes that, but there is one maid who’s unafraid to tell him shit to his face: Miss Clementine, a resident of the palace for forty years, and a woman who takes no bullshit. 

Clementine is the one who successfully hunts him down to discuss his personal preparations for the banquet- and every subsequent major event in the upcoming days. He's had so many new outfits tailored he could replace his old wardrobe with them. Where he’d prefer to run off and just throw on an old suit of his, she wrangles him into a session with the seamstress and tailor. 

They’re uptight people who dislike him for many similar reasons as the maids. Tommy ditches his meetings with them any chance he can get, often leaving them in situations where they are put under a time crunch to finish hemming and sewing up his clothes for events. Clementine is their mediator- or, as much of a mediator she can be when she curses them all out for arguing. 

All in all, it’s a hectic day that is only bound to get worse when the guests actually arrive. 

The kitchen’s a bustling mess, basically a war zone with how grim and serious all the cooks and servers look. All the decorations and arrangements have been set up, but there are still people nitpicking the details. The ballroom, the dining halls, drawing rooms, gardens, music rooms- everything had to be perfect. 

Honestly, there isn’t much else for him to do. Most servants groan at the sight of him or straight up curse him away so he doesn’t ruin anything. Nobody wants his help, and he’s not willing to go out on a limb to offer it.

Tommy could study up on the guests and prepare for who was going to show up, but Dream only gave him a partial guest list, which seems like an oversight. If Tommy has to prepare for so many guests, he should at least get to know who all was going to be there. But it was “unnecessary information for him to know.” Ugh.

The closest thing he can do to figuring out who’s all going to arrive is to watch the carriages roll in one by one. Sure, there were things he could offer to do- check the gardens, talk to the butlers, hell maybe even wrangle some information from Niki- but he’s bored. Watching carriages isn’t a riveting time-passer, but he could take a moment to get off his feet and have a respite from people. Prime knows he’s going to have no time to himself for the next week, he deserves a break.

And eh, it’ll be good practice for recognizing the family crests. 

❅❅❅

Tommy finds a good perch on the windowsill of an empty guestroom to stare out the window, perfect for observing the front entrance to the palace. The giant, golden gates creak open as the first family arrives. It’s been roughly six hours since Dream yelled at him in the halls, still before noontime, with the big banquet not starting until the evening, but some people have come from far away to visit the SMP capital. 

The heat has only gotten more blistering as the day moves on, the weather abnormally warm with how late it was into winter. There should be snow on the ground already, and yet the first of the carriages roll in with no icy sludge blocking their way. The vehicle is a giant cream-colored one with the crest of some smaller family from the outskirts of the SMP; old money that has fallen on hard times, who will most likely attempt to form an alliance with a richer noble while at the capital.

Tommy catalogs from his perch who has arrived and when. He balances who might have grudges against who, and who to keep away from who. Traditional nobility hates no-name aristocrats rising in rank, and the politicians hate the old, stuck in their ways nobles. Everyone smiles and greets each other kindly, but they all can’t stand each other. 

It’s why Tommy hates dealing with them. But it’s always his job to keep track, lest Dream blames any future drama on Tommy being unobservant. It’s torture, the man probably thinks it’s funny to see Tommy fumble and lose his cool trying to mediate between nobles. 

As the sun sits comfortably in the middle of the sky, Tommy’s nerves are too twisted up for him to go grab lunch, which is going to piss off Miss Clementine but that’s an issue for later-him. His eyes watch carefully for a specific carriage to arrive. 

When he sees the familiar blue, white, and golden crest of Snowchetser, he bolts. Tommy jumps down stairs and leaps over railings- much to the dismay of the maids- and tumbles out the side doors, rushing down the stone path.

Tommy’s very excited to reunite with the two visitors who’ve come from the far north.

When he finds the Snowchester carriage outside it is already parked, so he darts around, looking and hoping the barons haven't already gone inside.

Tommy slows down when he finally spots the duo walking arm in arm- he wishes to run and crash into them, but there’s some dignity he needs to retain. The servants are already going to gossip about how “Viscount Theseus ran manically down the halls like a loose wild horse.” 

Instead, he shouts to them, “Welcome! How are you enjoying your stay at the Greater SMP so far?”

Tubbo turns and waves when he spots him, “Hello, Lord Theseus. We’ve been here for naught but half an hour, how could we have an answer for you?”

He grins, jogging forward, “That is the part where you usually say ‘oh, absolutely splendid, thank you for the hospitality,’ Tubs.”

Tubbo gasps, clutching at his heart, “The disrespect! I am the dignified Tubbo Underscore, Lord of Snowchester, and I will be addressed as such.”

“My bad, Tubs.”

“Again! Wait until I- I file a complaint with the king! My delicate senses are insulted.”

“Oh don’t even joke about that. There’s going to be at least one person who throws a fit over not being called their entire title.” Tommy groans. 

“Events like these always bring a little spectacle, it’s enjoyable to watch.” Ranboo laughs. 

“For you, maybe. I’m the one who has to deal with it.” 

The two ridicule him for his plight. He continues to whine about how much work he’s had, and they tease him in response.

He couldn't be happier. Tubbo and Ranboo are his best friends- even if they met under horrible circumstances. 

The barons of Snowchester fought a long battle against the Greater SMP. They almost won, too, with their unmatched militaristic power. The rebellion crumbled when their capital was under siege for months, eventually falling to Dream’s forces. Their people were starving and sick, pushed into a corner. Tommy feels bad for any land conquered by Dream, but he was really rooting for Snowchester in that fight. Whether it was because they reminded him of own home and their rebellion, or because he admired their strength and resourcefulness, who’s to say. They still fell and it was tragic. 

The three of them met as Snowchester was merged into the SMP lands and despite being enemies, they just clicked. Tommy and his chaotic nature unfit for a noble and the barons’ bitterness against the SMP went hand in hand. 

Tommy likes Tubbo and Ranboo’s company. He’s seventeen, but not really, and it’s nice to have the company of others the same age as him. Even if Tubbo acts like an ancient with how clever he is. One moment he’s able to joke about bees, the next he can go off about weapons production and innovation in the construction of bombs. Truly a mad lad.

“It’s so good to see you. How have you been?” Ranboo asks, ignoring Tommy’s complaining.

Tommy shrugs, “Agh, same as usual. Never a quiet moment to be had. Things are always changing in the capital, and preparing for the festival has been hectic.”

“They’ve really outdone themselves. The decorations are quite… grand.” Ranboo says thinly. Grand is a nice way to put it. It’s pure opulence. Seriously, hanging from the lanterns are strings of rubies, and that's just the decorations for the outside. 

“What you’re trying to sugarcoat is that this event is so lavish the spoons are going to be made from pure gold or something just as ridiculous, all while the citizens outside the castle gates starve,” Tubbo says, walking with a violent thump in his step. 

“I’m trying to be an optimist.” 

“It’s dumb. Morpheus and Eret are just trying to show off to the other visiting kings,” Tommy says. 

The three stew in their discontentment.

“By the End, it’s hot. It’s winter, does it never snow here?”

Tommy says, “Sorry, we can’t all be like places named after snow. ”

“I hate coming to this place,” Tubbo says lowly, voice monotone.

Tommy hated the weather in the SMP when he first arrived, too. Overall, the lands under the Greater SMP aren’t cold places. Maybe some of the colonies up north receive heavier snowfall, but Tommy hasn’t been to them in person for decades. Instead, he suffers through unbearable heat. Sometimes in the middle of summer, when things are at their hottest, he flushes up pink like oleander. Only sometimes, since he’s adjusted to living in such a warm country. It wasn’t easy in the beginning, as his nights were spent in a sweaty stupor unable to fall asleep. Anything heavier than a thin linen sheet would suffocate him. His days were spent overheating and feeling exhausted. The hot weather made him sick often, and he’d be too nauseous to eat, dehydrated most of the time. The SMP is hardly an arid place. It’s quite temperate with trees that change to the color of fire in autumn, fall during the winter, and bloom in the spring. But Tommy doesn't like any sort of heat, preferring rain and miserable days where any sign of warmth seeps out of the air. 

He’s learned it’s best to eat small meals of salted food and the art of sucking it up and ignoring all the sweat. He’s sympathetic to Tubbo and Ranboo’s struggles having to adjust to the climate. And the masks. It’s the trademarked symbol of a land conquered by the SMP- everyone has to wear masks as per the tradition. But masks make your face sweaty and muffle your voice, and they suck. Everything horrible is because of Dream, and he was the mastermind behind “oh wearing masks hides our identities, let’s make everyone suffer, too.”

Of course, it’s easier to complain about the weather when you dislike a place. It’s simple to say the heatwave hitting the SMP was a menace because it’s not like the SMP can control that. It’s safer to discuss than the politics, past grievances, or the people. They can bitch about the weather all they want because that’s all they can do. 

There’s a kinship the three have, all truly powerless to the tyrants around them. He may sit in one of the highest courts in the world by the side of the crown’s advisor but there is no glory, no prestige, no respect for his name. Theseus is a puppet, just like everyone else. It’s why they stick together. 

The trio makes their way inside the palace, where the sun’s scorching rays won’t reach them. The temperature is still warm, but it’s an improvement. 

A maidservant approaches them in the hallways, bowing quickly.

“What is it, miss?” He asks sharply.

“I- I must show the Snowchester lords to their room… I believe the count is looking for you, sir.” 

“The count can wait. Lead the way for us.” He gestures forward, sticking by Ranboo’s side.

The maid gives him a sour look but turns to show them the way to their guest room. It’s in the nicer part of the palace, where the rooms are the largest and filled with chandeliers and giant, plush beds with sheets made of silk. Snowchester was a valuable addition to the SMP, bringing a wave of innovation through technology and weapons. They’re treated like honored guests, but it doesn’t change the fact they’re prisoners. 

The maid leads them to a room at the end of the corridor. “Your room, sirs.”

“Thank you, you’re dismissed.” Tubbo absently waves his hand

They open the door, and in the room stands Clara. She’s a familiar face since she’s one of the only people in the palace who doesn’t hate Tommy. And she’s a lovely person, always smiling and saying good morning to people. She’s nice. 

“There you are, we’ve been waiting for you!” Clara smiles. From out behind her skirt, a child sticks their head out.

“Michael!” The two barons cheer, dashing forward.

She’s also the nanny for Snowchester’s heir apparent, and Tommy likes to check in from time to time to make sure the little guy is doing okay.

Ranboo wraps his arms around his kid and lifts him up into the air. Laughter and cheer fill the air as the family reunites. Micahel looks overjoyed, screeching as he’s spun and crushed in the arms of his parents.

Tommy’s heart melts at the sight. It also pangs that they must be kept apart. It's all Dream’s doing, everything shitty in this world is thanks to Dream.

After the failed war between Snowchester and the Greater SMP, Michael was sent to the SMP capital to continue his education. In reality, the kid is a hostage to use against his parents. None of them deserve to be used in such ways, all pawns in Dream’s games, but there isn’t anything Tommy can do to change the situation. 

But even torn apart from their family and suffering under an oppressive regime, the barons of Snowchester are resilient. Tommy respects them, viciously and spitefully so. He admires Tubbo and Ranboo so fucking much. They continue to thrive and try to see the light at the end of the tunnel. They’re survivors. 

Dream thinks he’s a god amongst men, better than the people around him. The man holds little respect for the people who have to endure hardship under him. But Tommy isn’t so quick to forget he used to be mortal just like them. Even after so many lifetimes, Tommy can’t figure out what was so special about him that drew Dream’s eye. He claimed they were deities, better than the rest of humanity, but Tommy’s never been so self-absorbed, never viewed other people as bugs. Tommy still admires the people around him. 

Tubbo and Ranboo are his best friends. No matter how many times Tommy vows he won’t open his heart again, his heart ends up bleeding. Just because he's lived longer than them doesn’t mean he doesn't feel the same things as other people. They all feel happiness, sadness, and fear alike. He hasn't changed, hasn't become feelingless in his immortality. 

It’s a dangerous game to allow his heart to be so vulnerable. Tommy plays it all the same. 

Dream’s never quite been able to snuff out Tommy’s love of people. If anything, being immortal is what makes them lesser. Tommy’s lost his sense of time and finds himself in a state of complacency, and then somehow decades pass him by. Immortality has only been a detriment to him. He is no god, and Dream isn’t one either. 

Tommy averts his eyes when Ranboo starts tearing up. “You three should catch up, I still have some work to finish. I’ll see you later at the banquet.”

“See you later, Theseus.” Tubbo waves. Ranboo does his best to as well, while holding a kid in his arms.

Tommy softly shuts the door behind him, breathing out heavily.

Tommy doesn’t have any other friends but Tubbo and Ranboo, who rarely travel the long distance from Snowchester to the SMP capital. They’ll be the one good thing to hold onto during this hellish festival. Tommy doesn't believe in lights at the end of tunnels, but they're the fire that keeps him from being submerged into darkness.

He knows they’re spies set in place by Dream, but he can’t help but love them anyway.

It’s hardly their fault their land was conquered, their son taken as a hostage to use against them. Dream was the bastard using them, it was always Dream. They have listen to Tommy talk, complain, and gossip- and report it all back to Dream. Tommy knows how powerless it feels to be a victim to the man. Dream has continued to ruin Tommy’s life for centuries, and Tommy has never been able to outsmart him. Maybe Dream wasn’t human anymore with how little pity or remorse he felt. He didn’t care for anything or anyone but power, riches, and fame. The SMP gives him all he wants and that’s all Dream has ever cared about, not people.

Except Tommy. Somehow, always Tommy. He’ll never let Tommy go.

❅❅❅

Tommy slips his mask off in the privacy of his own room. His skin is sticky from sweat, so he dampens a washcloth to freshen up. The cold water is soothing against his burning skin. Alongside the hot weather, he’s layered up in his nice clothes and a cloak to be “presentable” for the arriving guests. He’s still slightly ill from the morning’s poisoning, so he’s overwhelmed. 

He fiddles with the straps of his mask, staring at the pitch-black dots that look back at him. Tommy closes his eyes, to somehow cut himself off from them. 

The whole “everyone in the SMP must wear masks” tradition started from Dream hundreds of years ago. While the man could easily forge new identities, people catch on quicker to a teenager who never seems to age. Thus masks, so no one would see Tommy’s unaging face. The two of them could continue to live in the palace without ever getting recognized or called out for their eternal youth. It’s a dumb tradition with a bullshit origin, but it stuck. And frustratingly, it worked. With the simple switch of their names and positions in society, Dream and Tommy have hidden behind the scenes for centuries. 

Tommy hates the masks. 

It’s lonely, never seeing the faces of the people around him. Tommy’s never seen Sam’s eyes, one of Clementine’s rare smiles, or any of the expressions his best friends made. Even if there was a sea of people in front of him, he couldn’t see them. People become less real when their faces are hidden. It’s easier to not feel empathy because all you see is a mask, not a person.

But as the Greater SMP grows, so does the tradition. More people become unknowable.

Tubbo had a new mask. The last time Tommy saw him he wore a bright yellow mask with a black symbol on it, one he didn’t recognize. The one Tubbo wore now was a pale lilac color with flowers and bees patterned on it. Ranboo had his classic half-white, half-black mask, but Tubbo has changed his. 

It wasn’t the strangest thing- most nobles had wardrobes full of just masks. The more the better! Even the common folk of the SMP have one or two studier masks, the poorer people wearing ones of cloth. But every SMP noble has an array of finely made masks of porcelain or shaped metal. Tubbo never seemed like someone who enjoyed the tradition, yet it was catching on with him. 

Maybe Tubbo was accepting his new reality. The people of Snowchester were adjusting to wearing masks, as mandated by the SMP. They already lost the war, they can’t say no now. 

Flowers and bees. It was more peaceful. Tubbo once explained the symbol on his last mask was used as a warning in the labs for dangerous chemicals. 

Tommy rolls the mask in his hand, watching as sunlight reflects off the white porcelain, a permanent frown etched into it. He's the Melpomene to Dream’s Thalia, the muses of tragedy and comedy. Everything is a play to Dream, the empire he rules the stage, the people the characters he can treat as badly as he pleases. There are no consequences for Dream, the director of this tragic fucking performance. The only thing to laugh at was how powerless everyone was to Dream’s orchestrations. 

Centuries ago, Dream saw Tommy and decided that he was his. Immortality like a curse was forced upon him, and he’s been alive and suffering ever since. Tommy never wanted to be Dream’s, never wanted to be stuck within the SMP, but running never worked, and dying- well, dying meant getting revived. 

And he’s died. Oh, how he has died.

Call him a coward, or weak, or pathetic, but he stopped fighting a long time ago. Tubbo and Ranboo fought the good fight and went as long as they could, but when it started hurting their people, they stopped. Tommy wasn’t so careful, and Dream has left a bloody massacre in response to Tommy’s disobedience. They all learn their lessons somehow, and his are written in crimson. 

He can’t escape, he can’t win, and he can’t die, so there’s only ever been one path for him to walk; there’s the narrow line Dream keeps him on, and he travels along it carefully. There is nowhere else for him to go. A tragedy is a grave story that ends unhappily, and this is his ending. He’s the tragic hero, he’s Theseus, but his fall never ends. It’s just a constant wait as he braces to hit the ground.

Tommy puts his mask back on.

❅❅❅

“This collar is going to suffocate me. My untimely death will be because of you lot, and Count Morpheus would be very cross about it.” Tommy hisses out.

The servant straightening out his coat goes pale, but Clementine scoffs, “We can’t have our guests thinking we run a barn house. We’re making you presentable. Grow up and deal with it.” She pulls his hood around him tighter, covering his hair. 

The time for the banquet has finally arrived. He kind of wants to hurl at the thought, his nerves going haywire.

All the weeks of preparation have led to this moment- the grand beginning of the new year’s festival. The elite of the elite from around the world will be dining under the SMP’s roof, and they must prove themselves to be the apex predator amongst them. 

Clementine hands him a cup of tea, like the angel she is. “You didn’t eat lunch, drink that to settle your stomach. It’s not going to be my job cleaning out the inside of your mask if you throw up.”

He unhinges the bottom part of his mask to take a sip. The drink is warm and slightly bitter, but he trusts it isn’t something poisoned. Not that he’s against getting poisoned, he poisoned himself just that morning. It was a shame Dream found his corpse first, if he hadn’t then Tommy wouldn’t have to be in this stuffy suit about to go to a banquet.

“Speaking of masks, you’re not actually going to wear that are you?” Clementine asks, judgment clear in her voice. 

He places a hand up against pale porcelain. Of all the masks he owns, he’s chosen one of his simplest ones. Two back dots and a line swirled downwards in a frown, nothing extra. It matches Dream’s smiling mask, but the older usually has a more expensive taste; his masks are often bejeweled or lined in silver and gold. 

“I don’t need anything flashy. Morpheus has that covered for the both of us.”

She sighs, “It’ll be on my head if the count gets upset.”

“Don’t stress so much, I’m sure he won’t even notice what I’m wearing. He’s more concerned over all the guests and kissing up to all the annoying fucks.” 

“You’ll have to worry about that, too,” She grumbles as she adds ruby cufflinks to the ends of his sleeves.

He hums, letting the maids finish up their touch-ups. They do their job flawlessly, even if they do so silently in stiff movements. Perfection has been demanded from all of them and if his appearance doesn’t live up to Dream’s expectations, the servants will suffer for it. But everyone’s displeasure is clear as they work. He is the hated Viscount Theseus, after all.

He glances over himself in the mirror. There’s not a single thread out of place, crooked piece of jewelry, or an ill-fitted piece of clothing on him. He’s dressed in vibrant reds and gold, looking all the part of an honorable SMP noble. 

Tommy feels less like himself than ever.

Getting dressed up has always made him feel more like a doll. Adorned in clothes he didn’t pick, uncomfortable and far too expensive for someone like Tommy to be wearing, he’s essentially a doll to dress and throw around as Dream pleases. 

The stage tonight is a banquet, an interesting event where many will be in half masks or maskless to make eating easier. But only foreigners would dare go maskless since it’s seen as improper by SMP nobility. It’s the first night of the festival so it’s going to be the grandest. And the most crowded. All of Tommy’s energy will be sapped away, and it’ll continue to be for as long they have guests to entertain. 

Giant, festive meals are the worst. So many of the guests get drunk, make fools of themselves, and pick fights. And the socializing, Prime, the socializing. So many people spoke with their fingers crossed behind their backs and a scornful look under their masks. They’ll try and suck up to him, as he is Count Morpheus’s assistant, but they’ll also gossip about him behind his back. 

He’s already weary just imagining the mayhem. Tommy braces for a long night.

❅❅❅

The moment the dark wooden doors of the banquet hall open in front of him, Tommy’s submerged into a world of vibrant colors, loud noise, and regret. 

The grand hall has been transformed for the banquet, unrecognizable while covered in drapes, jewels, flowers, and low burning lights. The Greater SMP has always held big, grand events. For Dream, it was a way to flaunt wealth and power; his kingdom could afford such luxuries and still thrive. Even then, this celebration takes the cake. There hasn’t been such a big event held in decades. Royalty from all over the continent is here, and the festivities will continue for days. They’re all dressed to the nines, making big impressions for the first night. 

Tommy, once again, feels like an intruder in such a scene. He grew up poor, dressed in rags, and grew up in a mud hut. Some new fancy clothes will never change that he was once wild, and he’s not some easy to domesticate animal- it’s why Dream keeps his chain so tight, the cage always locked. 

Tommy eyes the crowded room, long tables covered in intricate silk and lace tablecloths, strips of colorful fabric strung across the room above their heads, and large arrangements of bluebells, crocus, and dahlias line the tables. In the center of the room, a giant diamond chandelier shines as the brightest point in the room, light refracting and painting drops of color all over people’s masks.

Some foreign guests wear masks to follow SMP tradition, even if it’s mostly simple ones with basic patterns- flowers, trees, natural scenes. The room is warm and stuffy, scented with the smell of orange blossom flowers and jasmine, which makes the air heavy to breathe. It takes a while to get accustomed to wearing a mask for such a long time. Most kids born and raised in the kingdom grow up with the tradition. But with the loud chatter, warm air, and low-lit lanterns, a lot of the non-SMP guests have started to take off their masks.

The Kinoko Emperor is entirely maskless, as it is not in their tradition, but he does hide behind a beautiful fan; it depicts some fantastical landscape with giant mushrooms and fairies. He leans over to whisper to his general, who holds his own fan of flames.

According to Dream, the emperor is in a secret relationship with his general, which is unconventional. They keep their relationship hushed, but Dream and General Sapnap go on hunting trips together, so Tommy hears all the second-hand gossip. He also gets an insider’s look into the internal structure of the neighboring kingdom. The emperor is a forgetful man, dedicated to his poetry and preserving historical folktales over appeasing the nobles. But nobody dares to speak against him, for it is said he stopped a tsunami from crossing their shores, so the powers above favor him. The Kinoko nobility is probably waiting for some natural disaster to pin on him to finally dethrone him.

Sat at the next table over, the Badlands crew are already noisy and rowdy so early into the night. Viceroy Skeppy is holding a goblet of wine, speaking loudly with the people around him. As always, the man is covered in gold and gleaming jewelry. His mask is covered from top to bottom in diamonds and is probably worth as much as a small palace. He glows like a star in the dim candlelight. His advisor’s behavior is no better, also drunkenly screaming about something, his mask skewed on his face. Not even its visage of a demon could make him look intimidating.

On the sidelines, Tubbo and Ranboo are in their own world, probably having a grand time while Tommy suffers. They have the wonderful excuse of having to put their son to bed, so they’re relaxing on one of the settees before dinner starts. Then, they will disappear while Tommy is stuck having to speak pleasantries and discuss current events with the guests.

Duke George is noticeably absent, as he always is for important events. If his lineage wasn’t so pristine, his family part of the founders of the SMP, and if Dream didn’t support him, he would've been overthrown by now.

Tommy makes his way through the sea of chairs and people to Dream’s side, standing in the shadows by the royal family’s table. 

“Hello, Morpheus. How are you?” Tommy asks to be polite, not truly giving a shit.

“Hello. You’re late. Eret is about to give their little speech.” Dream says. Tommy looks over to the table for the royal family, set perpendicular to all the others.

King Eret is sat above them all, observing the happenings behind their mask of a pure white, set with precious gems, and inlaid with the gold patterns of a sunrise. The king of the SMP seemingly holds all the power as the head ruler, but Eret is merely another one of Dream’s puppets. The royal family has always been another mask Dream could hide behind to control the SMP in secret. The king is clever, they’re probably aware of the paper throne they sit upon, but what can one do in such a situation? Dream is the trusted hand to the crown, the most clever advisor who has led the SMP to prosperity with his insight. 

Princess Nihachu is in an even worse position, never considered or listened to as the youngest member of the royal family. She’s got even more spitfire and a drive to lead the country, but she’s stuck throwing tea parties and organizing the maids’ records. She sits to the left of his majesty, her mask various blues and purples, set with a glossy sheen. It’s so beautifully crafted it’s easy to forget the fact it’s a mask of a vicious aquatic monster. 

King Eret stands from their seat in the center, raising their hands. The room instantly quiets. 

They turn their head as if surveying the crowd, and starts speaking, “Welcome esteemed guests to the annual SMP celebration of the new year, and return of the sun. I am honored to have so many renowned people here today. I know that some have traveled almost the whole continent just to be here with us tonight. I hope everyone's rooms have been comfortable and our services accommodating. 

The new year is a precious holiday here in the Greater SMP. It’s one of our oldest celebrations and connects us with our ancestors. Hundreds of years ago, they sat and dined together to celebrate just as we are now. And the new year is a good time to reflect- what is it that you’ve become content with in your life? What needs to change? Have you let yourself take agency over your fate, or are you the prey to the predators around you? This new year I hope we all celebrate as the strong and the victorious. May we all feast like lions, and may this next year be bountiful for us all. 

With that, I’m sure we’re all quite famished, so let the meal begin.”

Everyone claps as Eret sits back down. Then, the servants flood out, quick as graceful in their movements to set out the plates and bowls of appetizers- the first of many courses of food to be served.

Tommy reaches for a platter of fruit when Dream snatches his wrist. Tommy snaps, “Hey, what the heck man, can’t a guy eat?”

“No, we’re going to greet our guests. We’ve got to be hospitable hosts.” 

Tommy groans, following in the shadow of Dream as he starts conversation with the nearest envoy.

There’s no way the night could get worse for him. 

❅❅❅

Tommy keeps track of every guest he sees and greets, trying to create a list in his head. His brain feels two seconds away from exploding. Most people there were old nobility and the filthy rich since the New Year’s festival was a lavish holiday, and it didn’t appeal to the more humble families. He’s unfamiliar with a handful of the guests- he knows every family from the SMP, he’s had that shit memorized for years. But there were foreign diplomats, nobles, and even some kings from small neighboring countries.

Then, there are the guests he’s closer with. Viceroy Skeppy hasn’t gotten any less annoying from the last time he visited. That was less than a year ago, and he still mocks and teases Tommy while Dream and Bad catch up. But the viceroy wasn’t too bad, they both have a spirit of mischief that gets them in plenty of trouble. And he drops a dozen diamonds into Tommy’s hand as a “small welcoming gift,” so he can forgive him. 

Dream and Tommy make their way around the room, Tommy’s stomach growling in complaint. The tables are set with bowls of steaming soup and plates of chicken, pork, and pasta. Tommy wouldn’t even complain about being handed a salad at this point, starving and bored to tears. 

He thinks they finally finished, hours later, once they make their full rounds down the long tables but Dream drags him to a narrow staircase. It leads to the second level. The balconies are reserved for their most respected guests and any royalty that wanted to dine away from the crowd. Tonight they were supposed to be empty as it was the first night of the banquet, and it was in bad taste to be set away from the crowd. Everyone was socializing, being proper guests. First impressions were important when you were networking. 

“Up here are the last people, but the most important. The Antarctic Emperor seldom travels outside the capital, so we’re lucky to have him and his guests here today. If this goes well, our kingdoms could be on the road to becoming allies and-”

“Wait a fucking second, did you say the Antarctic Emperor- you should’ve fucking told me he was coming! I would’ve prepared better- I- ”

“Oh, it wasn’t necessary since you’ll barely be speaking with any of them. This is important and I can’t risk you making a fool of the SMP. They’d never view us as respectable allies, then.”

Tommy swallows heavily, indignant. He’s overheating again in his too-fancy clothes and all the walking the two have done, and he’s angry. He’s torn between being insulted Dream doesn’t trust him with any real responsibility, and relief that there’s no expectation for him to entertain any more royals. Either way, he loses.

They walk up the stairs, turning around the corner. It’s unbelievable news that anyone from the Antarctic Empire is even here, but explains why they’d break social convention to dine by themselves. They notoriously keep themselves secluded, trusting only those from their inner circle, and never roam outside the Empire's borders. And they could afford such strict policies since they never seemed to struggle with famines or resource depletions. Any of the militaristic attacks against them in the past centuries have all failed miserably.

So, why leave their bubble to visit the SMP? 

Dream stops by the last balcony. It’s in a strategic place, set in such a way that those sitting in it would be hidden from view but able to spy on everyone else. Veils of curtains block most of his view, but Tommy spies three shadowy figures. Guards dressed in light blue stop them from entering, their faces stern.

“I am Count Morpheus, hand to the crown, and this is my assistant. I wish to welcome your leaders to our country and pass on his majesty's message,” Dream says amicably.

One guard slips behind the curtain onto the balcony, passing Dream’s message along. They come back, nodding their head and granting them permission to enter.

The curtains are pulled back and Tommy sees the three figures clearly for the first time.

The balcony is decorated to be more comfortable than the seats down below. There are colorful cushions and foot rests set up for the lounging royalty. He looks over the emperor, dressed in a blue suit, golden crown, giant wings protruding from his back, and- wait.

No. No way.

Tommy stares, eyes wide and watering from the intense pressure in his chest. That cannot be his heart beating, not when it feels like the thump-thump-thump is suffocating him instead of keeping him alive. 

“Greetings, your majesties. As the hand to the throne, I pass on His Majesty’s gratitude. Thank you for coming all the way from the Antarctic, I’m sure it was a long journey. The SMP welcomes you, may Prime’s grace be with you.” Dream gives the normal platitudes, but Tommy still stares in awe. He’s glad his mask hides his utter shock. 

Because he- he knows these people.

His majesty Lord Zephyrus, emperor of the Antarctic, smiles heartlessly, “The pleasure is all mine, thank you for inviting us to this celebration. May the new year be prosperous for us all.”

He raises a glass, and his two guests follow suit. 

Tommy swallows heavily, clenching his hands to hide their shaking. 

He recognizes them. It’s been so long- impossibly long- but he used to know them. 

The Antarctic Empire royalty whisper to themselves, slowly switching to their harsh mother tongue. Even if their general can speak without the hint of an accent, the other two rulers do. Tommy knows the language they speak, it’s his mother tongue as well. They banter about the annoying visitors and formalities they have to follow. Dream’s voice is a distant buzz in his ears. Nobody gives Tommy a second glance.

His hand twitches, wanting to reach out, but he schools himself. 

Once upon a time, before the Greater SMP, the masks, immortality, Dream- Tommy was just an unruly kid who thought he could always be free to run wild and unchained like the breeze. He used to be poor, freezing, and hungry but he used to be his own. Then he found a family and lost them just as quickly.

And he knew those men- not leaders of an empire yet. They were just infamous warriors then, yet they still commanded power and respect.

He’s met these men before, maybe by different names- The Angel of Death, The Siren, and The Blood God. Lord Zephyrus, Admin Icarus, and General Protesilaus. 

Technoblade, Wilbur, and Philza.

Few know their true names and survive. But Tommy knew them, called them allies, friends, and family. Once upon a time. 

But that was over three hundred years ago. 

❅❅❅

Tommy leaves the first moment he can, stumbling backward and dashing through the curtains. He rushes down the stairs knowing Dream will scold him later for being so rude to their guests, but he has to. His heart couldn't take it.

Phil barely acknowledged him. Dream did most of the talking while Tommy did his best not to vomit then and there. And Wilbur- Prime, Wilbur- kept whispering the Techno. Technoblade, who taught him how to swordfight, who used to braid his hair, who used to tell Tommy ancient stories. Those three used to love him, cherish him, and he used to daydream about them coming to rescue him. But they were supposed to be mortal, they died a long time ago. Or- or he thought they did. Obviously, with his past flung back into his face, that wasn’t the case. 

He instantly runs to find Ranboo and Tubbo. They thankfully haven’t left yet, but Michael is already passed out in Tubbo’s arms.

“Are you okay?” Ranboo asks when he spots him walking their way.

He rubs a hand over his mask, “I’m going to throw up. Throw up or break something.”

“That wouldn’t be ideal.” Tubbo laughs, rocking back and forth.

“What happened?”

Tommy laughs hysterically, “I met the Antarctic Emperor. And the prince, and the general.” 

“Oh. Were they intimidating?”

Quite the opposite. He found comfort in their faces. They were the people he wished saved him when he couldn’t save himself. But they were supposed to be dead.

“Yeah.” He says instead, because he can’t explain any of that.

Ranboo winces sympathetically, “You could escort us back to our rooms if you need a breather?”

Tommy nods, exhaling roughly. He feels like he just ran a marathon and coughed his lungs out. Oleander poisoning didn’t compare to the turmoil he now felt. 

He watches as Ranboo helps Tubbo stand up with their kid in his arms. Their hands stay interlocked as they make their way to the exit, Tommy in tow.

“Well, while you were busy the viceroy’s advisor ended up spilling wine all over the Earl of Manberg. It was hilarious, the two got in such a heated fight that the guards had to pull them apart.”

Tommy laughs. He knows he still sounds shaky, but they don’t mention it. “He will certainly hear an earful from the king tomorrow. Dramatics aren’t appreciated during welcoming events.”

The hallways are much cooler without the hundreds of bodies heating up the space, with no heavy scent of flowers or conversation clogging up the air. They chat quietly as they walk, so as not to disturb Michael’s slumber. They arrive at the duo’s guest room too fast, Tommy’s thoughts still racing.

“Goodnight, lads. I’ll be suffering.” He says, watching them disappear into the comfort of their room. Clara is there, silent as she gently takes Michael from Tubbo’s arms. 

“Goodnight. Good luck, big man.” Tubbo says, and the door shuts behind them.

Tommy walks back alone, calmer than before but still shaken. His uncomfortable shoes click on the marble floor. 

It’s not every day you meet the ghosts of your past. And this wasn’t just anybody, even if he would’ve been thrilled to somehow meet Deo or Bitzel, hell maybe even Wisp, again. These were the three men who promised to give him the world and delivered on it. Tommy has lost so many friends, but those three were family. It’s like the perfect miracle he always wished for, turned into reality right in front of him. It wasn't right, though. They were late and didn’t even know it was Tommy, their Tommy, behind the mask. The fucking masks. 

His heart is frenzied, a mess of emotions he doesn’t have time to untangle. There’s fear, love, hate, bitterness, excitement, and hope. Tommy hasn’t felt hope in a long time. It’s terrifying. He let go of hope for a reason. 

His hunger is long gone, an anxious knot tied in its place. Dream will be waiting for him, to scold and belittle. But for the first time in years, there’s something bigger than Dream to worry about. He approaches the doors to the banquet hall once again, hands still shaking. 

Tommy takes a deep breath, and enters. 

❅❅❅

The banquet goes on without any more hiccups, surprisingly. Some people retire early for the night, some drink far too many cups of wine, all the same things that happen at any big party. Dream doesn’t mention Tommy’s stunt on the balcony or his subsequent disappearance, but he is still on edge the whole night.

Tommy knows he can’t keep glancing up to the balcony where Phil, Wilbur, and Techno are- but he can’t help it. 

What are the chances they’re just three random strangers who somehow look just like the people from his past? No, that’s ridiculous. He already knows the true answer. 

They’re immortal. Immortal, just like Dream and Tommy.

He had considered himself close to them but in all the years they knew each other, they had never mentioned anything about being immortal. That seemed like something they would’ve told him, right? Or were there more secrets between them than he thought? Tommy never gave them the full truth about who he was, either. 

He’s angry they didn’t trust him enough to tell him, because he could’ve tried harder to escape. After a hundred years and the certainty that the three of them had died, Tommy gave up in his fight against Dream. 

He’s also so happy he could cry. 

Tommy thought everyone who knew had died. Dream made sure of it when he burned The Bay to the ground, but after so many years he thought… he thought he was alone. He thought that Dream would be his one constant, through thick and thin, who would be there for him. And even if Dream was a horrible bastard, he would be there. Tommy has never wanted to be alone, and as much as he hates to admit it, immortal life with Dream is better than immortal life by himself. Dream knew that and used that fact against him to keep Tommy obedient. 

There are new immortals in town- or, perhaps not new. Ones known and met again. 

A part of him wants to barge onto the balcony, rip his mask off, and beg his old family to take him back, but that’s impulsive. Tommy’s smarter than that. He’s old enough to know that as long as he has cards others don’t know about, he holds power. Right now Dream has no idea Tommy has a new escape route right in front of him. He must act discreetly and plan this out. He won’t be hasty and approach the Antarctic royals tonight, but soon. 

Soon.

❅❅❅

Tommy leaves the party when it becomes so late it’s practically early morning. Somehow a few guests were still sitting about, chatting and eating, but he finally hit his limit. And the three figures on the balcony disappeared hours ago. 

Sitting in the quiet of his bedroom feels surreal after the day Tommy’s had. He woke up desperate enough to eat oleanders and ended it with the impossible turning real. The dead are alive and they are giving him hope. 

The whole day has been exhausting for Tommy, but fruitful. 

Tommy sits curled up in a chair by his bed, not yet ready for sleep. He stares out his window, pitch-black sky and bright stars greeting him. Dream is with him, to debrief him or whatever. Maybe to lecture him for all the shit he did wrong. 

“Your head is in the clouds. Something is on your mind. Something about the Antarctic royal family.” Dream states. With no masks to separate them, the man can read Tommy like an open book. That’s what centuries together will lead to, no matter how much Tommy despises it. He can read Dream just as easily. 

He bites his lip, “It’s odd, innit? They never leave their country, are known for being isolationists, and then they come here? They must have something planned, or ulterior motives.” It’s part of the truth- it is odd they’ve decided that now, of all times, to leave their bubble. 

What if- what if they came for him?

Tommy bites his tongue, quietly punishing himself for such foolish thoughts. There was no way they knew Viscount Theseus and street rat Tommy were the same person. They… the three of them had promised they’d come for him, but they never did. It’s been a long time since Tommy held his breath waiting for them. There’s another reason, one he can’t figure out with the little information he has. 

“Of course there’s an ulterior motive. The goal is to convince them we’re too valuable of an ally or too powerful of an enemy to risk upsetting. Am I clear when I say that you will avoid them at all costs? Knowing you, you’ll piss one of them off and start a war.”

Tommy slowly looks away from his window, back to Dream, “... You are clear. I won’t even think of approaching them.” 

“This is an important time for us, Tommy. As much as you like to sit around and complain that the new year festival is just an excuse for nobles to entertain themselves and flaunt their money, it is also a vital time period for us to network, gain allies, and continue to appease the allies already have. If we actually form an alliance with the Antarctic Empire, we’ll be one step closer to taking over the world.”

“It’s still just about the money and mind games for you.”

“We’re building the greatest kingdom in the world- history has known no other empire as great. I have ambition, greed is a good thing when it’s used to build great things.”

“Is there anything else you wanted to tell me?” Tommy sighs, exhausted. It’s been a long day, and he’s heard this rant from Dream a thousand times, he knows there’s no use in arguing with him. 

Dream’s face grows serious, “In the upcoming week, you’ve got to make sure the Viceroy and his party are kept happy. The new mine will lead to a wave of funding for bigger infrastructure projects, but he and his advisor will argue against our use of it. I predict Emperor Karl will try and offer a new trade deal between our kingdoms, but we’ll have to politely decline all of them. Sapnap says just before they left, he had a bout of amnesia and disappeared into the woods for two days. The councilmen were, predictably, enraged by his majesty's actions. Any agreements made with him could fall through when he’s overthrown.”

“Does Sapnap believe he’ll be overthrown? Or are you being paranoid? They’ve been our ally for a long time, so cutting them off might not be the wisest choice.”

“Sapnap is a lovesick fool who believes that the gods will protect them. He’s too idealistic for his own good, but if he doesn’t want to listen to reason then I can’t help him. Kinoko will go through a revolution soon, and I want no part of it. Emperor Karl isn’t a stable ally, so focus on the other visitors over him.”

They talk about politics, war, trade, all that fun stuff, for an hour before they’ve gone over all of Dream’s plans. Every guest is a chess piece Dream is anticipating the moves for, and he’ll settle for nothing less than decisive victory. 

“Is that everything?” Tommy asks.

Dream clicks his tongue, “You’ve been so uncouth, it’s unbecoming. Fix up your attitude for tomorrow.”

“Yes, Dream.” 

“Don’t think I’ve forgotten the shit you pulled this morning. You’re on thin ice.”

“I said yes, Prime. I understand.” 

Dream’s mouth goes thin in displeasure, but it’s Tommy’s lucky day since he lets it go. “Good night, then. It will be an early start tomorrow, make sure to be punctual.”

He nods, “Good night.”

Dream pulls back on his mask and leaves. The moment his door clicks shut, Tommy sags in relief. 

He looks up to the crescent moon. The night will pass, and the morning will come. 

The true end of the year is tomorrow, and the tradition in the SMP is to stay up to watch the sunrise to make sure the sun comes with them into the new year. It’s a ridiculous sentiment left from their ancestors who thought the sun was a bird who could leave them behind if it so wished. Thousands of years ago the people of the land waited with bated breath until sunrise to see if they had been abandoned. With genuine relief, the sunrise used to make people joyous that they hadn’t been abandoned by powerful and unknowable gods. Now humanity is smarter, they know better. The sun is a fixed construct that acts in a predictable manner- it’s not a capricious bird deity. 

The gods don’t care enough about humanity to linger so closely. If the deities were real, Tommy would have seen some proof by this point in his life. Even Dream was an atheist- or, he thought himself better than any god and so he saw no need to worship them. 

Tommy was raised on respecting the spirits of the land. In the bitter cold, the people held onto every last bit of hope that they could survive another year. If giving up valuables to unseen beings could lead to crops growing better, that risk would be made. It was better not to chance angering the gods. But Tommy survived off his wit and talents alone, and he saw no greater powers. All his prayers have been ignored. The only deity he knows is Prime, a false idol he carved himself to grant some sort of peace of mind. He knew she’d always let him down, so there was no need to wait with bated breath. 

Maybe that's what the ancestors did, too. They created stories of all-powerful gods to laugh about the unfairness of life, and their children misunderstood the lesson being taught to them. Maybe the wooden statues that filled the temple in his hometown were always hollow. 

There is nothing real, nothing concrete about the gods. Seeing Wilbur, Techno, and Phil again after so much time is a miracle- but it is not an otherworldly gift. It is not the gods that have given Tommy this chance to escape, and he hardly believes in a thing such as fate. It’s luck, and if he isn’t careful, he’ll lose this chance. 

Dream has banned him from approaching them. Somehow, he must reach out to his family from ages ago. Tommy has finally found his lifeline out of the prison that is The Greater SMP palace. 

No more will he have to worry about being paraded like some circus act to amuse Dream, no more must he follow his oppressive rules, and no more shall he be alone and unloved. 

Tommy is going to be free

Chapter Text

Tommy’s day starts far too early. 

Unlike the usual annoyance he’d feel, Tommy isn’t even upset at the banging on his door early in the morning, long before the sun will actually rise. He’s gotten a couple of hours of sleep max and the sky is still the cruel color of indigo hydrangeas. But despite all of that, a lingering excitement vitalizes him. He quickly jumps out of bed and fastens on his mask.

The start of the festival that once meant ire and boredom for him has become an opportunity. Why shouldn’t he be excited? Why should the little things still bother him?

“Come in, come in,” he sings out, throwing open the heavy oak door.

A group of maids enter the room, led by Clementine. Her mask gleams pure white in the candlelight with the patterns of moths crowding over it.

Clementine inspects his jittery hands and looks around suspiciously, “Did you sneak a bunch of spiders into your room again? Is that why you seem so pleased with yourself this morning?”

“What? No! And my army of Shrouds would’ve been beautiful, you should’ve let it come to fruition.”

“Hm. Well, your presence is required at the gathering in the greenhouse for morning tea. You have approximately thirty-five minutes- well, more like thirty-three now that we’ve wasted time chatting.”

He droops a little. Tommy’s ready to face anything, but- “Really? A tea party? You’re shitting me, Clem.”

Her shoulders go stiff, “You are not skipping this, young man. The count would be furious and the other nobles would make a laughing stock out of you, and even if you don’t seem to be concerned with your social status, it’s important. For all of us. You’ve got the most powerful people in the world waiting to have breakfast with you. You best not ditch them.”

Tommy swallows thickly, “Sorry for the fit. I understand my duty, thank you for being a gem, Clem.”

She sighs long sufferingly, “That should be Miss Clementine to you.”

“Gotcha, Clem.”

She grumbles about his horrid manners but he calmly makes his way to the bathroom to freshen up as the maids tidy up his room and pick out an outfit for him. 

This is normal, everything is normal right now. Don’t put the cart before the horse. Tommy can keep his cool and act normal. Totally.

After he finishes brushing out his tangled curls, Tommy fastens the mask back on, staring up at the frown staring back at him. He’s picked one inlaid with golden today to look a little more proper. The glint of metal ever so slightly makes it look like he is crying.

But he’s fine! Things are going great. 

He exits his bathroom and is instantly scrutinized by Clementine again; the state of his hair, his choice of mask- his general appearance. The normal grievances she usually has against him. 

The outfit picked out for him is thankfully not nearly as formal as last night’s suit. There’s lots of gold trim and some pieces of jewelry, but it’s less of a hassle to change into. Hopefully, he won’t become a baked potato dressed in the light green robes, like he was last night.

“Do you know where to go?” Clementine asks, picking at some imaginary lint on his shoulder.

“Yes, of course. To the eastern greenhouse.”

“And you talked with the count last night?”

“Yes, I did.”

“You’re running slightly late- are you sure you don’t need someone to go with you so you don’t get lost?”

“Yes. Thank you for your assistance and have a good day!” He ducks away from the maids and hurries out of his room.

He sighs, jogging slightly down empty hallways. There are people already at the greenhouse, but the majority of guests are most likely still asleep. The banquet ran late into the night and a lot of them had long journey’s to make to the SMP. They’re the lucky ones, unlike Tommy.

The only company that follows him is the dull click of his shoes against the marbled floor, and the creaking of the door as he exits the main palace building. 

Tommy’s never been a morning person, but the gleam of the sun and the constant chirping of birds makes him smile. He slows down to a walk to admire how different everything looks in the golden morning light, shadows long and dim. The bare trees look eerie, dark and brittle like bones left in the mud. The hum and buzz from the city haven’t picked up, so there’s no distant sound of rattling carriages, the whinny of horses, or chatter of civilians. 

It’s only the distant trill of birds that entertains Tommy on his trek. Deep, mournful cries and screechy calls and birdsong beautifully sung. A lone kestrel flies overhead.

Tommy makes his way down a smooth stone path, passing by the thick viridian hedges of a maze. It was so expansive the entrance had to be closed off lest any visitors wandered in and got lost for hours on end. It’d be hilarious but piss off someone.

The stone path he’s walking down narrows and, while still pristine, has more patches of grass and weather-worn steps. And at the end of the path is the greenhouse- one of many, but the grandest one of course. Dream loves showing off any chance he can get, even if it’s just some dumb plants.

The greenhouse is… nice, he guesses. The architecture is supposed to be impressive with the large, fragile glass walls allowing in sunlight but capable of holding off the harsh elements. It’s full of flora from all the SMP lands, which are diverse from the wide area of territory they hold claim over; from their eastern territories hitting the sea, their southern territories warmer and brimming with all different kinds of life, and even the hardy plants that come for the northern peaks. And the west… the western battle for territory has been a long back and forth against various smaller nations and has always been a sore front for the SMP. 

Tommy makes his way deeper into the greenhouse, following the sounds of people talking and dining. All kinds of botanical wonders surround him, but Tommy isn’t interested in the plants. There’s a tree with lumpy-looking lemons that reeks of sweetness. Further in, there are cacti of all different sorts, some with thick needles and some with colorful flowers. Tommy’s a little fond of the orchids that come in plum and cherry colors- gifts from Emperor Karl himself. What catches Tommy’s attention the most is how the air is kept warm and humid to simulate the proper environments for the plants, and the heavy air means he’s sweating in another suit while ready to humor guests. 

He waves to the first people he sees and sits down near Dream. The person next to him quickly inquires about what the flowers behind them were, and the morning has officially begun for Tommy.

Usually he’d feel dead inside, bored to tears and resentful over his predicament, but a bubbly excitement keeps him plowing forward. This isn’t another, boring event playing out to Dream’s whims. After the festival, Tommy might not even be in the SMP! That would be a dream come true. It was something he thought an impossibility for centuries, and it’s almost surreal to fantasize about him traveling far north to landscapes full of snow and ice. And home. Family. 

Tommy doesn’t know how to focus on his responsibilities when he’s so close to freedom. Who cares if he doesn’t talk enough during tea time? He won’t be in this gods’ forsaken land soon. 

But- but Clementine was right. Shrugging off his duties during such an important time would get him in the kind of hot water he needs to avoid. He can’t let Dream know something is going under his nose. Tommy isn’t the stealthiest, and the moment he gives away something, it’ll be game over. 

Phil, Wilbur, and Techno are unfortunately nowhere to be seen, but he wasn’t expecting to see them at such a social event. They would probably stay away from the crowds, for they had no use for networking or searching for trade deals. Because that’s why everyone else is here, drinking tea at ass o'clock in the morning. In between complimenting the sandwiches and sweets, the nobles around him speak of the spice trade market, the crops that have been hurt during a harsh frost this winter, and the rise in piracy around the main port cities. That last one has been driving Dream nuts, for who would challenge the imperial navy? Who could challenge the imperial navy and succeed? 

General Sam has run his own investigations, but they still have no idea who’s the captain of the band of pirates. 

Tommy observes as Dream’s head keeps tilting slightly towards the entrance of the greenhouse. He was probably checking for the Antarctic royal family to appear. Dream was probably fuming under his mask from their absence- and that only brightens Tommy’s mood. Things are going to be wonderful, this is going to be the best new years celebration he’s ever had.

He smiles, tilting his teacup and watching the red water reflect pink in the morning light. Almost like blood. The viscosity was too thin for blood, and not opaque enough to mirror it. It still tasted bland and metallic on his tongue.

“What do you think of your drink?” someone across the table leans in to ask. “It’s made with a plant brought from my country, it’s unlike any of the teas from Kinoko. We call it rooibos, and in my humble opinion, it’s much sweeter and easier to enjoy. The intellectual’s choice, I dare say. I was more than thrilled to offer some to have served here this morning.”

Tommy clears his throat, lifting up and reconnecting the bottom part of his mask before speaking, “Oh yeah- yes, it’s neat. It does taste, uh, sweeter than the other drinks I’ve tried.”

“Exactly, and it’s an easier process to ferment than black teas or green teas, and the plant is less sensitive and grows in any dry climate. And I’m sure you know how bitter black tea can get. Also-”

Tommy doesn’t give a shit about the different plants and processes that go into tea making, but he humors the man. 

You won’t be here much longer. 

He bites his tongue. Worst case scenario he doesn’t get to leave with his old family, but- but that’s pessimistic thinking. Tommy’s smart enough to contact them without Dream noticing anything amiss. Easy. No problem for big man Tommy. Yeah.

Yeah.

❅❅❅

Tommy’s wave of energy carries him through the morning until a little before noontime, when he slips away into the gardens. He knows the guards' rotations perfectly to slip past them unnoticed as they circle around the corners- not that he’d get in trouble if he was seen, but he doesn’t want Dream or someone equally as annoying hunting him down to do his “very important duties.”

So, he dashes for the maze that covers the entire center of the gardens, the same one he walked past to find the eastern greenhouse. There’s a tall gate blocking any entrance, but that won’t hinder him.

Tommy climbs over the gate and falls in a heap on the other side. His clothes get messed up a little, but no witnesses mean a successful crime. He walks through the paths of the maze with an ease that comes from having the whole network of roads memorized. After so many centuries, he’s memorized most of the palace layout. This time of year no flowers adorn the hedges, but the thick, round leaves persist even in the frost and hide him perfectly. 

 It's the perfect meeting place for those requiring privacy. The maze is easy to get lost in after all, and is full of plants and bugs and nature, which scare off most city-born folks.

Tommy turns left, right, and right again. He could walk these trails blindfolded and figure his way about with no problem.

He snorts. This Theseus doesn’t need any thread to keep track of his path.

At the center of the maze lies a clearing. It offers no guidance on how to return from whence you came or how to find the way out, but you can stare into the eyes of Lady Prime, a statue carved from pure white marble, and pray to her to offer any help.

He’s not the first to make it here- Tubbo and Ranboo are already sitting on a blanket playing some card game he doesn’t recognize; a game from the north, then. He still recognizes the common heart, spade, clover, and diamond designs on all the cards.

The three of them can relax here without any prying eyes. Tommy can be as loud and unruly as he wants, and he’s definitely going to bitch to them about how he had to stay up late and wake up early.

“Hello boys,” He shouts, spooking Ranboo into dropping his cards.

“Hello Theseus,” Tubbo waves, much calmer.

He drops down onto the blanket, “So, what’re you playing?”

“A game called pesten. It’s pretty simple, you mostly gotta put down cards that match the suit or rank of the one below it until you’ve emptied your hand.”

“Tubbo is cheating,” Ranboo adds.

“You can’t cheat at this game.”

Ranboo collects his dropped cards, “I bet you’re- you’re counting cards.” 

Tommy doesn’t pay close enough attention to follow the rules of the game, but he does understand that when Tubbo sets down the last card in his hand and starts cheering that he’s won.

“What’s up with Prime being here?” Tubbo tilts his head in the direction of the statue as he deals out the cards for a new game.

“Oh Tubso, Prime is everywhere if you-”

“Shut up.” 

“Her eyes are kinda creepy. Stare into your soul.” Ranboo shudders.

Tommy gasps, “Prime isn’t creepy, you’re creepy with your- your freakish height and dumb half and half mask. This is why children are afraid of you.”

“But- children aren’t scared of me?”

“You’re the demon that haunts young ones at night, hiding under beds and in closets. They will call you the tall demon of the north, ready to steal the spines of growing kids unless they say their daily prayers.”

“I’m not scary! Tubbo, am I scary?”

Tubbo cackles, “Demon of the north, that sounds kinda badass doesn’t it?” 

“C’mon guys!” 

The three of them laugh, wild and unrestricted. 

Tommy shakes his head when they try handing him cards, content to watch. The rules don’t seem that complicated, but he’s got a gut feeling Ranboo hasn’t won a single game of pesten, the game you apparently can’t cheat at. Even with a mask on he gives away everything through body language. Tubbo’s a genius, though, he probably doesn’t need to cheat to outsmart his competitor. 

The new game begins. Ranboo sets down a nine of spades on top of the card in the center. 

“I’m fucking exhausted. While you guys retired early, I went to bed way past midnight. And I woke up before six to go to a dumb tea party. A tea party! Do I look like the kind of guy who likes tea parties?”

“You didn’t break anything, did you? Or spill boiling tea on someone? Again.”

“One time, one time and people never leave you alone about something.” Tommy sighs.

Tubbo places down a nine of clovers on the top of the growing pile, “I’ve been hearing lots of whispering about the royal family of the Antarctic. Seems you and the count are some of the only people to have an audience with them. A lot of nobles have already tried to suck up to them, but it’s hard to suck up to people who barely show their faces.”

“Yeah, well they’re the extremely dumb ones. Too eager with a lack of foresight. Even the patient ones won't win them over. I reckon they came here to laugh at us, examine our armies and our upper class to garner what we’re made of, and then return home with a war plan.” Tommy groans.

“So do you think it was foolish of his highness and the count to invite them?”

Logically, Tommy doesn’t understand where Dream is coming from. Maybe the years are finally getting to him or he’s been blinded by greed once again, but the Antarctic Empire has never cared about making allies and they haven’t had any economic drops or natural disasters to push them to. There’s no incentive to ally with the Great SMP lands.

In his heart, though, Tommy’s grateful to see the three familiar faces again. “... No. I think it’s the smartest thing they’ve decided to do.” 

Tubbo laughs, “Yes. For all we know they might decide to invade the SMP and we can all sing good riddance.”

Ranboo winces, “That would be bad, wouldn’t it? Isn’t the Empire already freakishly strong? Taking down the SMP would be taking down the only nation that can compete.”

“Be careful there, you almost sound pro-SMP.” Tommy teases.

Ranboo stares over his cards, “End no! I don’t- I don’t know much about the Empire. They’re rarely seen outside their lands, so I never bothered learning about them. I know the SMP well, I know what to fear about them and how to avoid their ire.”

“That's an oversight, Boo,” Tubbo tuts, “The Antarctic is big, powerful. It’s the sleeping dragon that should scare you, not the loud hyenas.”

“And is the SMP a hyena?”

“Sure,” Tubbo shrugs, “it’s a country of scavenged lands. And the Empire is as unknowable as dragons.”

Ranboo hums, “Dragon-oh isn’t that part of their creation myth? The old kings slew a dragon and were proclaimed the great saviors. I think it’s part of an old northern story my grandfather used to tell me. I do know something about them.”

“That’s one version of it. Y’know I was born in a small village and they still had some monuments worshiping the dragon. Some say she used to be the deity protecting the north before the Empire slew her.”

“I’ve never heard that before.” Tommy squints in confusion. 

“Of course you haven’t, it’s old oral history being erased by all the big kingdoms trying to impose their own religions.”

Tommy grew up on some northern folktales. He knows some of the ancient tales, the ones about two beings of light and dark, life and death. But when the Antarctic Empire was rising it wasn’t history, it was the present. But he never heard anything about dragons. Maybe they just didn’t care for the old gods in Business Bay.

Ranboo places down a jack of spades and says, “The suit is, uh, now diamonds.” Tubbo nods, untroubled as he places down his card.

Tubbo continues, “I was told that the Empire used to be green and full of life, but when they built their walls around their kingdom, effectively cutting off the outside world, they spurned the land spirits who lived there. In retaliation, they took away signs of life and the sun fled away. So the Empire became a land that had no gods or spirits and that’s why it’s a forsaken land of ice and snow.”

Tommy snorts, “But they thrive more than any other kingdom. Maybe it’s the gods who hold us back.”

Tubbo sets down a six of hearts card. Ranboo hesitates, mulling over his cards, before setting down a three of hearts. 

“That's the point of gods. We’re human, we can’t change anything. We need to be humbled lest we think of ourselves as deities.”

We can be immortal together!

Tommy shivers, picking at the skin on his fingertips, jaw tense. Dream never got that memo. 

Ranboo looks from the pile of discarded cards to his own set, sighs, and grabs another card to add to his hand. Oh, he’s so fucked, he’s got double the amount of cards. Tommy carefully leans back and glances at Tubbo’s cards.

Tommy glances up at the statue of his goddess, and asks, “Hey Tubs, even with the Prime churches being built in Snowchester, you still pray to the End goddess, right?”n

“Yes. No matter how much changes, I’m not converting. My mother would roll in her grave if I worshiped any other goddess.” Tubbo nods furiously.

What the baron says is heresy, but Tommy isn’t a snitch. The goddess of the end of all things was neat, too. She represented death, but also new beginnings. In dead places like the north, Lady Death was often sung to in traditions hard for foreigners to understand. But in the dead of winter when the days were cruelly short, sometimes it did feel like the end of all things.

Tommy waits for Ranboo’s turn to start and when Tubbo is distracted on some tangent and tries waving to Ranboo. It’s hard to tell if he’s successfully caught his attention, but he starts holding up numbers on his hands and tries making the suit signs. 

Slowly, Ranboo nods his head. He places down a two of diamonds, and Tubbo makes a quick dissatisfied sound before adding two cards to his deck. 

“You had a baptism. You were officiated in a Prime church.” Tommy points out. 

“That baptism meant nothing, my soul hasn’t changed because I was dunked in some water.”

“Fair enough.” He shrugs. 

Tommy’s old enough to have seen the old kingdoms fall, society change, and for the new ones to rise. They’re in a new age of innovation, but most of the kingdoms and empires are still in their infancy. Las Nevadas has formed in recent years and all the big dogs are scrambling to take them out already. 

Tommy saw the rise of the Antarctic Empire- he knew there wasn’t a dragon, or spurned land spirits. It was more simple than that.

He takes a shaky breath and says, “You know the origin I was told was that the Antarctic Empire was made for a single boy- an orphan. There were three warlords who took what they wanted, fought mythical beasts, and killed tyrants. But one orphan boy, alone in the cold, gained their affection. They promised him an empire so grand, gilded, and bright, so he’d never feel unloved again.”

“I don’t think I’ve ever heard that version before. I’ve only ever heard the slaying of the dragon tale and then the boring versions; like, the king simply built the kingdom up from nothing blah blah blah, nothing worth a story. Boring.” Tubbo says.

Tommy quickly holds up two fingers and makes a heart shape. With that information, Ranboo places down a clover card.

“Well, I’m not telling you a story, telling you the facts.” Tommy snaps, “The palace started as a gift to the boy when he asked for a place to call home. The warlords filled it with all the riches of the world to appease him.”

“So they were bribing him?” Tubbo asks.

Tommy bristles, “He liked shiny things. They were gifts.”

“What happened to the boy and the warlords, then?”

Tommy’s face sinks, “I guess… the boy was taken by a fae. You know how the fair folk are, they see what they want and they take.”

“Oh no, this is an unhappy story. Of course it’s unhappy. Why are all folktales so depressing?” Ranboo pouts.

“It’s not a story- that’s how life works. Sad endings for everyone except the assholes.”

The game closes into the end with Ranboo and Tubbo both near emptying out their hands. With continuous help from Tommy, Ranboo finally sets down his last card. Tommy smiles, but then-

“Pesten!” Tubbo shouts and Ranboo’s cheer of victory dies out in an instant.

“What? What does that mean?” Tommy asks, looking between the two barons.

Tubbo cackles in triumph, “It means he has to take more cards!”

The game ends quickly with Tubbo’s decisive victory, Ranboo having no time to turn the tides before his opponent placed down his last card.

“I couldn’t even salvage that, Boob boy,” Tommy says.

“Salt to the wound, salt to the wound.”

“It’s easier to play when you can see people’s faces- Ranboo has the worst poker face,” Tubbo says.

After continuous losses, Ranboo calls it a day and they pack away the cards. Tommy tries insisting they play poker to make bets and shit but his friends are cowards who don’t trust him to rig the game, which offends him. He would never do that. Obviously. He’s a man of honor and his word, never told a lie in his life. Trusty Theseus, they call him. 

Things calm down as they continue to chat, watching the sun slowly streak across the sky and dead leaves dance around Prime’s statue.

“But what if the boy wanted to leave?” Tubbo suddenly asks.

Tommy tilts his head in confusion, “Who?”

“The Antarctic orphan kid. From your story? Sure, being pampered in some palace sounds nice, but it’d be stifling. Then it would just become a gilded cage.”

Behind Tubbo lies the outline of the SMP castle. It’s grand, with large arches and spires, balconies bursting with flowers, and gilded domes. It’s beautiful.

“All palaces are cages, Tubs.”

“… You sure are right there, boss man.”

Tommy and Tubbo are very different people, one wouldn’t expect them to have clicked as fast as they did. Tommy took a second to like Ranboo, as weak-willed and well mannered as he was. But Tommy grew up with nothing and desired for everything- he’s got a greedy heart that wants and wants.

Tubbo doesn’t understand decadence. Tommy knows that the barons of Snowchester lived in a nice mansion, but it was a far cry from a palace. The Snowchester mansion was built to withstand snowstorms and house the family that lived there comfortably, nothing more. Tubbo lives by practicality, but Tommy knows the way people want things. His kid self would be dazzled to know he was now a noble living comfortably, he wouldn’t even mind the whole “shackled to another immortal for all eternity” business. His younger self was dumb, though. He picked battles he knew he couldn’t win.

Maybe there’s a benefit to knowing when to put the cards down, when to pull back your soldiers, and when to bow.

Perhaps his old home far north was a cage, but Tommy knew how to appreciate it. He loved the marble statues carved in the likeness of old heroes, the ceilings painted with murals of the old gods, and all the chandeliers made of diamond. He wasn’t lying when he said it was all made for him, once upon a time, but that meaning has been lost throughout the years.

Not that he’s surprised, but Phil, Techno, or Wilbur never passed on Tommy’s legacy. Their palace was a gift made for him, lifetimes ago. How much of a claim does he still have on it? How many people have lived and died there since he last stepped foot in the Antarctic palace?

It rubs him wrong. Why not build statues in his memory, create holidays after his story, and immortalize him? It would’ve made finding them easier.

He sighs. There’s a headache building around the band of his temples. “I’m swamped, guys. Be happy you’re guests and can chill out.”

Tubbo laughs bright and sharp, “Michael’s his own whirlwind of duties. They’ve been teaching him nonsense and propaganda in his classes- and last night he refused to go to bed for a whole hour. He’s so stubborn.”

“He definitely picked that up from you. Ranboo crumples up like wet paper when you tell him to do something.”

Tubbo sighs fondly, “He sure did.”

“We’re planning to attend tonight’s festivities if that makes you feel better? We’ll be up the whole night.”

“But I won’t!” Tommy whines, “I’m going to sleep. Like a sane person.”

“Well.. what are your other plans for the rest of the day?” Ranboo asks. 

Tommy thinks over his schedule, “Ah… the usual? Check in with people and see if there are any hiccups or displeased guests. And I imagine the count is going to dump a bunch of paperwork on me. And I’d love to catch a second to talk with his majesty, but obviously they’re the busiest person in the castle right now. 

“And do you think you’ll meet with the viceroy?” Tubbo asks carefully in words that are clearly not his own. 

They’re his best friends. They’re also spies. Maybe in the quiet moments Tommy can forget that, but not today. Not now. 

Prime, he doesn’t have anyone he can trust in this court. Never a friendly face or trustworthy hand to grasp. 

He forces out, “Oh, that’d be smart. We have a lot to catch up on. Y’know we get along well, me and him. I’m sure I’ll run into him and we can discuss work and life things. Maybe you’ve heard, but a new mine was formed in the Badlands recently that’s full blue chalcedony. So the viceroy has been sorting out the details on it.”

“That sounds urgent,” Ranboo says.

“I guess so.” 

“So- so we won’t distract you any more than we have already,” Tubbo says, standing up.

Tommy follows, jumping up to his feet, “Yeah. Thanks. Good talk, guys.”

Sometimes, it is easy to hate people. Mortal people. They view things in the short term and worry over the smallest things while Tommy has seen dynasties rise and fall. 

But, he squashes those petty feelings. They do what they do to survive. 

While brushing his pants off, he asks, “If you… had to live forever, is there someone you would want to spend eternity with?”

Tubbo mulls over the question, “Eternity is a long time, boss man, I’m not sure I would wish it upon anyone I loved.” 

“But what if- what if you were selfish, and you didn’t care about how it hurt the person you chose?”

“... then, I’d pick you. I would want Ranboo and Michael to have each other as they age, but we could get up to shenanigans for eternity.”

“I’m just ripe for the picking, huh?” Tommy whispers. 

“Pardon?”

“Isn’t-isn’t immortality messed up? Imagine if something like, uh, wasps never died, they’d sting people for forever.” He quips, voice rising.

Tubbo shouts in protest, “Wasps are a vital part of our ecosystem, similar to all predators. If anything deserves immortality, wasps do. And bees.”

“Uh huh.” He humors the young baron.

Eternity is a long, long time. Sometimes it feels like the expanse of time he has before him is a physical weight that will crush him, but even then it wouldn’t spell the end for him. As long as there’s Dream and his ability to revive Tommy.

He’s not the same kid he used to be, how could he be? But he’s still a person, he’s still Tommy. Shedding names like a snake has not made him forget how painful loss, hunger, and the cold can be. He wouldn’t wish eternity on anyone, either, Tubbo always has good wits about him. He knows the powers above and below that he believes in, and he can build bombs like no other human alive. 

And maybe he wouldn’t scorn eternal life if his wasn’t spent with Dream.

❅❅❅

Tommy wishes for nothing more than to collapse in bed and be dead to the world until the week is over, but of course, it’s always about the next job to do. He goes on the search for the viceroy, the unsaid order coming through the barons of Snowchester mouths clear. 

The big deal about the Badlands is that, like many lands under the SMP leadership, they were a country seized and taken over. But war is not all about manpower, murder, and having stronger weapons. There’s the politics, and killing the beloved leader of a country to instate some SMP noble could lead the people to rebel. So, Skeppy was changed from the ruler to viceroy under King Eret. While he could independently decide how to run the Badlands, he had to answer to the imperial family of the Greater SMP. 

Politics with the Badlands is about dancing a fine line between appeasing the people of the Badlands and also using them to aid the SMP. So, it’s Tommy’s job to convince Skeppy that it’s smarter to put the riches from the new blue chalcedony mine into funding the SMP, which will trickle down to the lands it’s in charge of, instead of holding onto it. 

Skeppy and Dream alike know that the SMP does not care for the people of the Badlands, but it’s Tommy’s job to make that seem like… an okay thing. 

So Tommy wanders through the halls, asking the servants if they’ve seen the viceroy of the Badlands around, and follows the sound of music and voices. He pokes his head into one of the drawing rooms bustling with noise. The room is crowded, a lot of the people who slept in past morning tea taking their time now to socialize. He spots a few older women and men smoking by the window, gray clouds curling out from behind their masks like dragons. A young lady sits at the piano playing a simple tune, a few of the other young nobles clapping and encouraging her. 

Tommy notices that the Kinoko emperor has been absent the whole day. Maybe he’s been out and about the castle, but Tommy hadn’t caught sight of him. General Sapnap is nowhere to be seen as well- that’s not a surprise, actually. 

Slowly, he steps into the room, keeping his head low as he weaves through the crowd. Behind him, he can hear the various conversations ebb and flow around him.

“Did you hear, a whole shipment of furs and silk was stolen from a ship before it could even leave the bay.” A woman gossips to a crowd.

“Is it pirates again?” A man asks.

“That’s what people are saying.”

“Nobody has been able to deal with them after all this time? How are we supposed to feel safe traveling by sea if the SMP can’t even keep their own waters secure?”

Another man says, “From what I hear, the pirates are led by a siren. She sings her songs and dazes the sailors until they come to with a ship robbed.”

“Don’t be dense, that’s just rumors. The sailors are probably embarrassed they keep being outwitted by some thugs.”

He doesn’t pay any mind to the people around him. Tommy finally finds the viceroy sitting comfortably on a chaise lounge, drinking a cup of… something a dark burgundy. Hopefully not wine, it’s too early in the day for drinking.

Another person is talking with Viceroy Skeppy, so Tommy strays back, sitting himself by the window so the drapes above obscure him slightly from view. He listens in.

“... And we’ve been seeing so much success recently. Our customers are always pleased with our timeliness and there’s respect for my work. Our boats are well crafted, and unlike lower-born merchants, I don’t rob my employers blind with unnecessary fees. My peers know I’m a credible and hard worker, so really you’d be making a great partner working with me.” 

“So, what exactly are you proposing?” Skeppy asks, sounding bored.

“Well- you see, um, right now you have the new mine but haven’t done anything with it. I could be your hands and feet, moving the gems from your country to the next.”

Skeppy laughs short and sharp, “I’m sorry, but what history do you have? You’ve recently joined the guild of merchants, there’s no credibility yet to support you. Maybe in a decade you can come back and we can talk. I work with kings, not… men like you.”

“Excuse me?”

“You’re no king, is all I’m saying. Can you deny that? Or is there something about your family I’m not aware of?” 

The man’s personality flips completely, “How dare you disrespect me- I’m a noble of this SMP. My family helped build this country. You’re just some foreigner.”

Skeppy giggles, “So surely you don’t need me, a foreigner’s, aid.”

“Aid? I’m offering you aid. I don’t want to hear horseshit from a wannabe royal who can’t even run his own country.” The man stands up and sneers at Skeppy, pointing a bloated finger his way. 

The whole room quiets at the disruption.

This isn’t the first time someone’s given Viceroy Skeppy shit. The SMP nobles living comfortably in their mansions will never understand the choices the viceroy had to make to protect his people. Tommy’s heart twists in disgust and fury, and he doesn’t push it down, no, he decides to let his grievances out.

He’s always liked the underdogs, after all.

Tommy seethes through clenched teeth, “Hey, at least Viceroy Skeppy rules a country. You’re just a sniveling worm trying to suck up to those with power. You’ll never be a real leader, never command real respect you fucking wrongun.” 

The man whips around to face Tommy. Tommy recognizes his mask, adorned with the crest of a four-legged beast - it’s one of an old family fallen on tough times. Dream always advised Tommy to respect the founding families because they hold something more precious than riches: loyalty.

“Oh, you’re one to talk, you mangy mutt.” The man snarls at Tommy.

Uh. Yeah. Perhaps not this man, not after this.

Dream’s going to be so pissed.

“You heard me, or maybe you don’t know what sniveling or suck up mean. That’d be really embarrassing for you, but I can spell it out for you-”

“Oh viscount, be careful or you might sound like a hypocrite, always hiding under Count Morpheus’s wing. Nobody even knew who you were before he made you his student.”

“You’ve seemed to misunderstand the difference between working for your place in the world and having a mommy and daddy to run to when your economic endeavors fall through.”

Skeppy hisses out, “Kid you don’t know your place, you sho-”

Tommy doesn’t look at Skeppy, continuing, “Last time I checked, I outrank you. Not only in title but in achievements we’ve had in life. I’ve dedicated so much charity and support to the Prime church, aid the royal family of this nation, and I’m half your age.”

“When his highness hears of this-”

“Go cry to them, you’d be proving me right. I don’t even give a fuck.” 

The people around them gasp, scandalized yet entranced by the argument going on before them. Tommy hears whispering break out around them, everyone too afraid to step in. 

“What, if I may ask, is going on here?” Princess Niki’s voice cuts through the crowd. Like a predator stalking through a sea of prey, everyone steps away, clearing a path for her. She stands tall, back straight and chin high, hands clasped together.

“This imbecile has displayed atrocious behavior.” The man points at Tommy. “Is he really the best the SMP has to offer?”

The princess walks past Tommy, disregarding his presence entirely. 

“Sir, his accomplishment are true and the count trusts him. Here, tell me your grievances, I apologize for any trouble he may have caused…” The princess places a gloved hand gently on his shoulder and guides him away from all the prying eyes. The eyes of the sea monster on her mask stare right at Tommy scoldingly. 

One of the princess’s attendants bow quickly to him, “If you could follow me, viscount?”

Tommy glances around the room. The viceroy sits rigidly, his blue mask of diamonds shining brilliantly as always. All eyes are on him, which means they’re off Skeppy. 

Good. Tommy doesn’t mind whatever disgrace falls upon his name or however others might smear it. This is his job, after all. Everyone will hate, scorn, and ridicule Viscount Theseus but he’ll continue to do his work. It’s as Dream wills it.

He fixes his jacket and follows the woman out of the room with his head held high. 

❅❅❅

“You’re lucky the princess is cleaning up your mess.” The maid hisses at him, when they’re far enough away, grabbing harshly at his arm. 

He rips his arm free, “I didn’t ask for her highness’s help in the first place.”

“You certainly needed it.” The woman says, her unapproving glare clear even behind her mask as she hurries back to her mistress. 

Tommy fights back the urge to flip her off. Maybe he’s being petulant, but he doesn’t understand why everyone within the princess’s circle seems to hate him. They bump heads from time to time, but he’s not… not some demon upon the court. His life mission isn’t to make her highness's life harder, even though they all seem convinced it is.

He doesn’t regret giving some shithead and piece of his mind, but he hates how everyone’s treating him like the one who messed up. Tommy wasn’t the one who insulted the viceroy, he defended him. Dream’s all about supporting and defending their allies until it’s Tommy speaking up, it’s Tommy the one who’s messing up. And the princess loves it when he messes up, always gleefully pointing out how he’s unfit for his job. Everyone with their heads up their asses, and they cry and faint when he uses “strong language unfit for proper society.”

Well, fuck the nobles, fuck Dream, fuck Niki, and-

“Excuse me!” A voice carries down the hallway, sonorous and lyrical.

Tommy’s heart practically stops in his chest.

The fire running rampant under his skin dies down, leaving him cold and numb. He’s a torch ruthlessly blown out by winter winds, a flower in the center of a lake of ice. He slowly, shakily stops in his tracks and turns to see Wilbur walking up to him.

“Hello- you’re the count’s little assistant, right?” Wilbur says easily.

Tommy nods, his throat thick and heavy with emotion. He can’t even feel offended at being called Dream’s “little assistant.”

Wilbur grins, face on full display unlike all the other SMP royalty, “I thought your display of verbal bombardment in there was impressive. What a sight! I think that man is going to cry himself to sleep tonight. And it was getting so dull around here- it’s the holidays, where is the drama, the action? Around you, it seems!”

Wilbur was- was there? Tommy hadn’t noticed him. He assumed none of the Antarctic royals would make time in their schedules to go to the drawing rooms to chat. Maybe that was an oversight on Tommy’s end. Wilbur loves hearing himself talk.

“I don’t think we’ve been properly introduced yet. I am Admin Icarus of the Antarctic Empire, and you are?” The man holds out his hand.

Tommy is afraid to answer. He's convinced himself the moment he speaks he’ll suddenly be recognized and- and he doesn’t know what. Wilbur has already heard him speak. He’s not going to connect the assistant to the hand of the crown to be him. To be Tommy, from long ago. 

Tommy takes Wilbur’s hand, “Greetings, Admin. I am indeed Count Morpheus's assistant, and everything I do is to serve the crown.”

Wilbur nods, his whole demeanor at ease. Tommy’s heard tales of the clever admin advising the Antarctic emperor. A young man with a sharp tongue and dashing smile- of course it’d be Wilbur. Wilbur has always been a brilliant mind. Paired with Phil and Techno, they were always an unstoppable trio. 

“Everything you do? Even calling nobles, oh what was it? A fu-”

“It doesn’t bear repeating. And perhaps I acted rashly- I surely ticked off her highness.” He says quickly. 

“Oh?” Wilbur says, face amused and curious.

He winces, “It’s not of any importance.” 

Tommy continues walking, silently cursing when Wilbur follows him, ignoring his attempts at ending the conversation. Prick. He feels like- like crying, or something dumb and emotional. He’s tired and his heart hurts and-

And this is Wilbur. Wilbur, who doesn’t know this is Tommy.

Wilbur says, “You know, there’s a lot of whispering that happens in these halls. A lot of them are unpleasant things about you, viscount.”

He speaks so informally and doesn't abide by polite society’s rules. It’s not because he can’t, he’s seen Wilbur at his most precise and seen him at his messiest. No, he speaks with the ease of someone who knows they’re in complete control. He’s someone with power and he makes the rules. The audacity of his behavior would tick Tommy off more if it weren’t true.

“I do what I do regardless if others like me or not. To try and vie for others' approval is to achieve short-term success compared to the work I do for the SMP.”

The man nods, face scrunched in mock understanding, “I see, I see. You’re not a man burdened by pride. But I find that it’s counterintuitive to have the nobility dislike you. It’s much easier if you win their favor and control the courts with your words alone. It seems like the logical thing to do.”

Tommy’s shoulders stiffen, “I have the crown’s favor and the count as my mentor. Challenging me is to challenge the highest authorities in this nation.”

“Hence the whispering and rumors.” 

“It’s healthy to have chatter going around. It means less time I have to spend conversing with them.”

Wilbur laughs, perfect and fabricated. Tommy’s heart lurches in his failed attempt at levity. Of the three of them, Wilbur always found him hilarious. Making Wilbur laugh used to be an easy task for Tommy, but he can easily recognize the man’s crafted laughter.

“Of course, better things to do than talk with old cranks who don’t know how to run a country. Just like the old fool you ridiculed earlier. I’m sure he’s going to be real bitter about that.”

Tommy’s face burns, because Wilbur is being a fucking hypocrite. His family and him have been hiding away, not socializing with anyone, and Tommy’s the idiotic one? 

“An old man’s bitterness is nothing to worry about. He’ll be over it by next week.”

“There’s a lot of bitterness held within the walls of this palace,” Wilbur says easily.

“Whatever presses you to say that, admin?”

The man scoffs, “You’re all terrified. You wear your masks but I can still see it. Any place where you can’t see the faces of the people around you cannot be at peace.”

His heart thrums for a second before he squashes the hope. Wilbur always could read him the best out of anyone, from the crease in his brown to the droop of his mouth, he always knew the slight differences when Tommy was lying, trying to keep a secret, or about to reveal a surprise. 

But this isn’t Wilbur and Tommy. This is Admin Icarus and Viscount Theseus. 

“Maybe it’s strange to you, but we’ve all grown up with this tradition. We find it odd that no one else wears masks, in fact. There’s no unease.” He lies through his fucking teeth.

“Maybe so, maybe so. I am the foreigner here, unaware of the customs. So enlighten me, is there anything important happening today? Any events worth attending?”

“There’s the big event tonight. Everyone will be staying up to catch the sunrise to celebrate the new year.”

“And will you?” Wilbur presses.

He shrugs, “I care little for sunrises. I’ll be getting my proper rest so I’m not part of the hoard of hungover and snappy people the next morning.”

Wilbur chuckles, “A wise choice. I don’t care for sunrises, either.”

But you do. 

Tommy bites his tongue again, teeth grazing over the cut he’s worn into the skin. 

“Is that so?”

“Yes. And while I respect it’s a festive time in the SMP, I’ve already celebrated the new year. To celebrate again would be redundant. Did you know, dear viscount, that in the Antarctic we call the new year the ‘Head of the Year.’ So, New Year’s Eve is the metaphorical beheading of the old year. But we set a new head down and continue counting the days. A crown may change but the hands remain the same.”

Tommy almost snorts. Okay. Wilbur’s self-absorbed, and he wants to show off his knowledge.

He understands how things truly work around here.

Wilbur smiles, sharp and wicked, “A ritual we perform to commence the new year is to behead a horse or cow. It signifies letting go of the old heads and making wiser decisions in the year to come.”

Tommy holds back a grimace, “That’s quite a… violent way to conceptualize it.” 

“Traditions from the north always seem to make everyone here so squeamish.” Wilbur sighs, “The SMP is such a cozy place. Have you ever seen a dead horse, even?”

Tommy hates how his body locks up, instantly freezing. 

When he was younger, Tommy used to find Wilbur’s cutting tongue amusing when he shredded others apart with his words, but it wasn’t fair to have it turned on him. 

“I have seen many. It’s never a pleasant sight.” He grits out.

Wilbur catches that he hit a sore spot, humming a small joyous tune. The man is surely cataloging him like he’s some specimen to figure out what makes him tick, what makes him go, what makes him rage. 

“See, you’re soft. When you see animal blood covering the main plaza every year it becomes a mundane sight. I grew up with that tradition and now I’m not soft, not all mush on the inside, I-”

“I’m not all mush on the inside, you don’t know what-” He cuts himself off.

“I don’t know what, viscount?”

Tommy breathes out slowly, calming the inferno burning in his chest, “Making assumptions about us who live in the SMP will sometimes lead you to incorrect conclusions. That’s all.” 

Prime, he wants to prove himself. His family used to praise everything little thing he did, called him clever and resourceful, and now being called weak- this fucking sucks. 

And now Wilbur has caught onto that. Not the details, but he at least knows Viscount Theseus doesn’t like being underestimated. It runs so much deeper than that.

“Maybe so. But people end up being simple puzzles to solve.”

Tommy’s stomach rolls with unease. He hates everything about this situation he’s been put in.

He glances to the side, keeping his head straight forward. Hidden behind porcelain and a fabricated frown, the boy examines his companion’s face. It’s been years since Tommy has seen another person’s full face for more than a couple of moments. It’s like warmth to his frozen heart to count the familiar freckles on Wilbur’s face, to see the familiar crease between his brows, or the way the curls of his hair always frame his face flawlessly. 

Their conversation has been impersonal with no signs or acknowledgment of his identity, but they are out in the open with maids and other guests about. Tommy hasn’t dropped any hints either in fear of eavesdroppers or spies ready to tattle to Dream. So there’s still a chance, it hasn’t even been a full day, but they could know. Wilbur chose to approach and talk to him, despite avoiding all the other nobles. Tommy’s still special to Wilbur, Techno, and Phil. 

“Admin, I-”

Wilbur interrupts, waving his hand dismissively, “Please, call me Icarus. I don’t care for all the fancy titles. Nobody back home calls me admin, and you’re a respectable noble of the SMP.”

“I wouldn’t dare be so rude.” He rasps out.

“I’m telling you to, so it isn’t rude.”

“Admin Icarus, then.” 

He’s not Icarus.

Wilbur groans, “I’ve heard you curse out a man with that mouth, and now you’re going to insist on being formal?”

“Yes.” He smiles cheekily. 

“Well you- you- I don’t think I caught your name.” Wilbur says.

“I am the viscount, assistant to Count Morpheus.” 

And he is not Theseus, not really.

Wilbur looks as if he's ready to argue, but his eyes go distant, squinting at another person at the end of that hallway.

As if his heart is being torn from his chest, Tommy watches as Wilbur pulls away from him toward someone else. In all her bejeweled glory, stands Niki. 

“Ah, hello Princess Nihachu.” Wilbur grins, striding over to her.

Niki greets him amicably, and the two instantly delve into conversation. Tommy floats by for a moment, uncertain. He’s not part of what they’re talking about, and she’ll surely find some way to embarrass him if he tried joining them. This was- this was his first chance to reach out, second if he counts the first encounter on the balcony. It’s wrong, it shouldn’t be so easy for Wilbur to leave him behind. 

And yet he ditched Tommy so easily. He’s not even interesting enough to say a proper dismissal to. 

Maybe Wilbur doesn’t know, maybe none of them know it’s their sunshine behind a mask of porcelain. But that would mean they didn’t come for him, they’re not expecting him. Surely… surely Wilbur wouldn’t have been so callous if he knew who he really was.

He- he can’t make hasty assumptions and he can’t let his heart get caught up in the mayhem. It’s best to assume they’re here solely on business and that Tommy’s got his work cut out for him. But the moment he unmasks himself they’ll be surprised and overjoyed to see him, maybe a bit cranky that he didn’t come clean right away to them. It’ll still work out. 

It’ll still work out.

He walks away, silent in the shadow of the two royals.

❅❅❅

Tommy feels close to throwing up from nerves. That was the first big interaction he’s had with his old family. It was only one of them, but it had to be Wilbur. Wilbur, who was the first to call him brother. He knows Techno cared for him just as deeply, but he wasn’t the kind of guy to wear his heart out on his sleeve. He misses it all, Wilbur’s clinginess, Techno’s quiet compassion, and Phil’s warm eyes. 

They used to remind Tommy of the bright blue summer sky, yet they were frozen and unyielding when they passed over him last night. Of course, that was because he was a stranger. 

Prime, once he reveals himself Wilbur is going to feel so dumb for being a prick.

… whenever he finds the chance to reveal him. 

Tommy, with all the time in the world handed to him, feels the seconds passing by far too fast. Each moment he lets pass is another lost chance to do something. Obviously, he couldn’t have said anything to Wilbur, not out in the open like they were. He has to wait for the right time when he can catch one or two of the trio to talk to in private. Preferably he’d find all of them but Tommy isn’t holding his breath for Techno to make any more public appearances.

When would be the best time, then? 

He’s still feeling raw from the short talk with Wilbur. It was unpleasant. 

Tommy mourned his family. He cried for them after too many years passed. He’s overjoyed to see them again, but it has only sucked so far. Two days of feeling more like a ghost than he’s ever felt.

They had no idea who he was. Obviously, obviously- but maybe they did. There’s that infinitesimal chance.

He needs to gain a better footing before he does anything. He shouldn’t reveal himself too fast, it’s simply not tactical. He should wait for a better moment, so Dream doesn’t catch onto something strange going on.

It’s logic, he swears. 

Maybe. 

It’s better than feeling like a coward.

No- no he’s no coward! There is rational thought behind his hesitance. He’s experienced enough shit to know when to act and when to hold still. Techno once told him, “In making tactical dispositions, the highest pitch you can attain is to conceal them; conceal your dispositions, and you will be safe from the prying of the subtlest spies, from the machinations of the wisest brains.”

He is being subtle, is all. No one will figure out his machinations until it’s too late.

… And maybe he wants to avoid Wilbur. Only for a little while.

Tommy isn’t above being petty, and he’s hurt. It’s dumb, he’s being irrational, Wilbur most likely didn’t know it was him, and if he did then he didn’t mean any of it, but-

Fuck, fuck, but he couldn’t say anything as Wilbur shrugged him off like- like a bug. Left him behind in his shadow.

It was embarrassing. He doesn’t know why Wilbur tried to pick his brain but it was humiliating falling for his jabs and then being abandoned. 

Standing alone in that hallway felt like standing alone amongst the mountains or tall cypresses or greater feats of nature, larger than himself.

Tommy doesn’t think he’s special, believe it or not. He’s the center of attention by the ire of the court, knows the secrets of one of the most powerful nations in the world, and is an immortal amongst normal men. In another life, he was the child leader of a rebellion. And in his life, he’s caught the attention of four immortals.

The crazy and improbable seem attached to Tommy, but often he feels like he hasn’t changed one bit. He’s still the dirty orphaned kid in the frozen streets of Business Bay, where he’s nobody. It’s batshit he’s wrapped up in the game of politics, kings, and spies. 

Who trusted Tommy to lead a nation?

-Dream, that’s who.

It was Dream forced immortality on him like an endless blight- but how does Tommy know that was not always his fate? If he had returned to the Antarctic after the rebellion, would they have done something to turn him? 

(Would he even consider it something so awful, surrounded by people who actually loved him? He curses Dream for giving him endless life, but maybe he just hates Dream.)

They- they all abandoned him. When he left the Antarctic commune they promised to come for him if he didn’t return. He was theirs and he would never get to run away from them. He never wanted to run, but they never found him. They’re the ones who failed on their promise- so why should he be the one who feels like a fool?

Should he even give them a chance now?

He’ll be patient, he'll be calculating, and maybe he doesn’t need anyone to help him. Maybe it can finally be Tommy and Tommy alone.

❅❅❅

The hallways are foreboding now, Dream probably on the lookout for him, and the new gossip making the nobles and servants alike regard him with contempt. But Tommy can’t hide away, he does have jobs to do and obligations to attend to.

Tommy cringes when he sees a maid approach him, but relaxes when he recognizes Clara’s mask of constellations. He’s had enough of Niki’s attendants spitting vitriol or regarding him cooly, but Clara’s one of the few who treat him kindly. Tommy has spent a lot of time with her looking over Michael.

“Hello, Miss Clara-” Tommy starts to greet the maid, but she quickly drags him into an empty room. 

“What the-”

“Lower your voice, please,” Clara hushes his startled shouts.

He breathes out roughly, startled and confused, and asks quietly, “What is going on?”

The woman tangles her hands together, visibly shaking, “I have something important to tell you- I wasn’t sure who I could tell, or who I could trust to turn to. I’m- I might be paranoid, but I’ve been sick with worry for months now, and I-”

“Breathe, breath and tell me what is going on.”

Clara collects herself, straightening out her dress, and whispers to him, “I am concerned for the young heir of Snowchester.” 

“What? Why are you worried about Michael?”

Tommy stares at her in confusion, waiting for her response.

“... I fear once Michael hits adulthood Morpheus will see a bigger threat from him and try to kill him,” Clara says in a harsh whisper. 

Clara’s main job is to look after Michael as he receives his education in the SMP. Tubbo had been pissed about the shoddy excuse because Snowchester was a home of innovation. Their studies and educational centers for science, alchemy, and biology all excelled over other countries. Tommy’s sympathetic, he wishes Michael could have stayed in his home city as well, but he doesn’t have the power to send him back.

Michael is and has always been, a political prisoner. But he’s treated well within the SMP palace walls and is much more useful to Dream alive. It’s not a great position to be in, but Michael’s life shouldn’t be in danger.

“Michael is his pawn in controlling Snowchester, Morpheus wouldn’t let him die. Michael’s death would also aggravate his ties with the barons. It’s a story as old as time- there’s nothing more determined than a grieving parent.”

“But the lords will have outlived their purpose. Snowchester will not keep its independence for long, soon enough it’ll be absorbed into the SMP and they’ll send nobles from the inner SMP to be in charge, and-”

“You were right, you’re being paranoid.”

Clara tugs at her braided hair, “I know, please sir I know, I’m just a maid but I do hear things. My worries don’t come from a void.”

He sighs. Clara is young and new to palace life, she isn’t aware of the scale of the web of lies and greed spread. It’s not her fault, but it leaves Tommy confused.

“Why not tell them yourself if you’re so worried?” He asks.

“They already worry to the moon and back over their child, and without any evidence for my concerns, I don’t want to place any unnecessary stress on them. They only have this short time during the holidays to see him, I don’t want to ruin that by dropping what might end up being senseless worries. But you’re always in the castle, you can keep an eye out, can’t you? You know the inner workings of the palace.”

“I don’t want to discredit you or your worries, but unless you’ve seen hard proof of such conspiracies, I don’t understand why they would be true. 

“I know, and I feel like a madwoman, but I know you’re one of the few people I can trust in this cursed place. Can you understand that?”

Tommy laughs, “I work for the count. I answer to him ultimately.”

“And you care for people. You help people. I see it, young sir, I’m not a fool for rumors. They call you wicked Theseus, but I know you care about Michael’s wellbeing. Even if you think I am crazed in my rambling, can you promise me to look after him?”

“Isn’t that your job?” He teases.

“Please, viscount.” 

Tommy’s skin prickles, “Yes, I’m always looking out for him, but I’ll stay attentive.”

“Thank you, thank you.” She takes his hands in hers, grips them tight, and bows.

Clara leaves before him to avoid any more rumors spreading. It’d be another straw to the pile if people started whispering that Viscount Theseus was planning with the maids to overturn the crown- or anything else similarly ridiculous. 

The SMP court often feels like a machine with a million moving parts, and his job is to understand each of those parts. He’d like to think he’d know if anyone was planning an assassination, especially one on his best friend’s kid, but it doesn’t make sense. 

Still, it leaves him to wonder how that machine will continue to function after he is gone. Clara turned to him when she was worried, he looks over Michael, keeps contact with the barons of Snowchester, befriended viceroy Skeppy, and has the irritable Clementine as his head maid. Even their grace, King Eret, likes asking Tommy for advice when he wants to skirt around Dream’s poisoned words with his own agendas. And prime above, what would the nobles gossip about with him to ridicule?

The SMP would become a very different place without him because he somehow has become a vital piece to the machine.

❅❅❅

Tommy’s luck falls short, where he was hoping to avoid Dream until the wait for the sunrise celebration began at sundown. Then they’d both be stuck in the same vicinity but busy. But no, Dream finds him despite his best efforts to avoid the man. Really, when has his luck ever looked up?

“Viscount.” Dream says monotonously. 

“Hah, hello Count Morpheus, how are you-”

“Cut the shit.”

Ah! Dream is cursing. That means he’s pissed and he wants Tommy to be very aware of that fact. Great. Okay. Amazing.

“So you’ve heard about what happened in the drawing room, I assume?” He asks.

“It’s the talk of the palace right now, of course I’ve heard.”

“Oh, am I really that famous? That’s amazing, really, I-“

“I want an explanation, Theseus.”

Tommy grinds his teeth, trying to stay composed. “I was helping the viceroy. There was a bastard bothering him so I stepped in. I may have gone a bit overboard, but at the time I was doing what I thought was best.”

“And was calling him a ‘fucking wrongun’ the best you could think of?”

“He was being one. Look, Skeppy’s going to be grateful to me and it’ll make any future negotiations that much easier. You should be thanking me, honestly!”

“Thank you? You think this is behavior I should thank? You think anyone would be grateful that you made a scene out of something so small? Adults deal with their problems civilly. You never cease to be an annoying child.”

Tommy’s heart is already tender, poked at and bruised from Wilbur’s sharp curiosity. He’s exhausted, running off no sleep, and there’s not a single person he can turn to for help. It’s him, by himself, fighting for himself. 

“I am one.” He seethes.

“Excuse me?”

“I don’t care about the semantics of my age, I’m seventeen. So yeah, I acted like a kid. Because I am one.”

Dream doesn’t shout or scold him, just sighs like he’s the one who’s tired. Tommy’s fucking exhausted, he’s the one who needs a break.

“Listen, consider this your first strike. If it had been a more distinguished family, you’d be in bigger trouble. Are you aware of that? Your actions are not excusable.”

“But-!”

“Quiet. Do you understand?”

When he was younger, Tommy used to scream. He used to shout against Dream’s oppressive rule, fists banging on the walls and nails scratching at any give he could find. But time proved to be cruel, exhausting, and long. 

Despite everything, Tommy is still himself. A powerless kid who has never won a fight against Dream.

“... I understand.”

“You’ll prepare a formal apology. You know it’s me who has to clean up your messes, right? That your little bouts of inspired rebellion only prove to stress me out more?”

Tommy bites at his lip, “I’m sorry. I’ll apologize to the other guy as well.”

“It’s the least you could do. Now, are you going to behave? I’ve got a long night ahead of me with the sun-watching ceremony happening tonight, and though I doubt it, I hope you can give me some foresight into your plans.’

“I’m- I’m going to go talk to Skeppy. That’s all. Clear things up, and ask about the mine. I’ll be good.”

“Good.”

Sometimes Tommy can find moments of contentment in his situation. It gets easier to forget he’s Dream’s eternal prisoner when they travel to a nearby lake to go fishing, or when they’re gossiping about all the old geezers out of touch with the recent trends, or when Dream is giving him unique treasures. Then it feels like they’re equals, that Dream cares about him. That they’re friends.

That’s the issue, though. Dream cares about Tommy so much that it’s constricting. Like a bird held too tightly, his feathers have all been torn out and his hollow bones snapped. Now all he can do is screech and screech until Dream feels like silencing him. 

It’s not fair. None of it is! Dream doesn’t get to take him from his home and then expect him to be the perfect little doll!

Since when did Tommy listen to Dream? When did he stop arguing, fighting, and trying to escape?

How could he forget this feeling? He’s full of so much rage it’s like molten lava in his heart. Dream is a bastard who is selfish and cruel. He’s never once given a shit about Tommy’s happiness, only the control he can have over him. 

Dream lives in some delusion that they’re best buddies ruling the SMP together. He thinks his dream is their dream, but Tommy doesn’t care about ruling the world- certainly not about the greatness of the SMP. None of this has been a gift graciously given to him like Dream seems to believe. But Tommy doesn’t want it, he never asked for any of it.

No, he’ll spurn everything the man thinks he’s so kindly handed to Tommy. He’ll reach out to Phil, Techno, and Wilbur and they’ll tear the world apart for him. They promised many lifetimes ago that they would. Whatever bitterness he still has lingering in his heart from being left behind is charred away by his sheer hatred for Dream. He’s got to be patient. Patience will see him through to the end. At the right moment, he’ll reach out to them. And then everything will burn.

❅❅❅

Tommy goes to the gardens to clear his head. He’s not there for the beautiful sights, as most of the plants are dead this time of year, but it’ll be emptier than inside the palace. The weather has cooled down to temperatures that keep everyone inside, so he can avoid the prying eyes and sharp gossip going around.

And though he’s there to unwind, he spots someone.

Amongst the wide-leaved fig trees, tall lavender, and almond blossoms- there is the viceroy himself, dressed in blue and gold and of course his signature opulent mask of gems.

“Oh, hello Lord Theseus,” Skeppy says, sounding surprised. Tommy’s surprised to run into him as well. They probably both ran to the gardens to avoid people.

“Hello, viceroy. I didn’t… expect anyone else to be out here.”

“Me neither.” The man says.

After everything that’s happened today, running into Skeppy is a relief and burden. Dream wants him to negotiate with the man, Skeppy likes Tommy’s impish nature, but he’s tired. In three hundred years he has never felt this tired.

“How have you been?” Tommy asks.

Skeppy scoffs, “Oh, peachy, didn’t you see earlier?”

He winces, “I’m sorry you have to deal with all the idiots here in court. If it’s any consolation, you get to go home while I still have to see them every day.”

That makes the viceroy laugh, “I’d lose my head if I lived here.”

“Oh, I do. But the count doesn’t allow for any days off.”

“Of course, ever the strict man. How does he tolerate such lack of tact within his court?”

“I think he likes feeling like the smartest man in the room, and it’s easy to be the reddest rose when surrounded by a bunch of cornflowers. And between you and me, someone like him with a fragile ego likes to show off his amazing smarts to compensate, y’know?”

Skeppy gasps, “You’re such a vile kid, you know that?”

“Thank you, your grace,” He smiles.

“Oh my, you know you’re a riot? I admire the guts it has to call someone a 'fucking wrongun' in front of all your peers.”

Tommy sighs, “Nobody is going to let me live this down, are they?”

“I’m being honest, genuine respect here. I wanted to call him something like that, too, but I doubt I’d ever be invited back.”

Tommy hums and asks, “I’ve been meaning to ask, how was your journey here?”

“Oh, traveling was horrible! The wheels on the carriage broke not once, twice, but three separate times. The very ground of this land rejects my presence. This country hates me personally. I swear I’m-” Skeppy’s rant is cut off short by a cough.

Tommy waits for the fit to end, but it… doesn’t. The man keeps coughing and coughing. The sound echoes strangely in the empty garden around them.

“Here, sit down, uh-” He takes the viceroy’s hand and leads him to a stone bench.

Skeppy continues to cough, and something red splatters into his palm. Tommy’s horrified that it’s blood, but- but no, it’s a root. Or a vine.

“That’s not normal.”

Skeppy laughs, “No shit.”

Tommy’s seen lots of weird things. Monsters straight out of fantastical ballads, potions capable of turning men invisible, and is himself something impossible as someone immortal. But he’s not aware of anything that takes root in someone’s lungs. 

“You’re acting like this is normal. This isn’t normal. How long has this been going on, do your doctors know what’s happening? Are you-”

“Don’t stress about it, kid. I’ve just got a weird virus. I’m not contagious or I wouldn’t have come, so you’ll be fine.”

Tommy’s brow furrows, “I’m more worried about you than myself. I’ve never seen someone… cough up a plant before.”

The man pats him on the back, “It’s not your problem to worry about.”

Tommy stares at the viceroy’s face- or, the mask covering it. He doesn’t even know the color of the man's eyes, all he has to grasp onto for answers are cold, glittering gems. He can’t garner anything from it, no answers or emotions.

“Was there anything else you wanted to talk about?” Skeppy asks, voice worn. 

Discussions of mines and political drama seem too insignificant now. Skeppy’s sick. He can’t bring up how Dream expects the Badlands to give up even more of their land and riches to feed the insatiable hunger of the SMP. And Skeppy isn’t like him, he’s going to keep getting sick if he doesn’t get better, and then he’ll-

“Nah, only that- that, I hope you have a good time during your stay here. I really respect you and the work you do, even if the other thick-skulled idiots here don’t. You're… a good ruler.”

“Thank you, viscount.”

Tommy feels small. There is nothing he can do to turn the court to stop being rude, small-minded idiots and he can’t stop whatever this virus is that Skeppyy has. 

Skeppy is another piece on the board Dream has taken for his own greed. The Badlands fell fast and swiftly, and they signed a contract on terms of surrender before the war could even pass the outskirts of their borders. The Badlands used to be powerful, a superpower in their own right before the SMP defeated them in war. Dream… Dream must have something, blackmail to use or a way to control Bad and Skeppy. Tommy isn’t privy as to what that is, but-

But Skeppy is sick. 

He’s sick and Tommy wants to help him.

“I’m here for you, y’know?”

Skeppy laughs again, bitter instead of gleeful, “No offense, but there’s not much either of us can do.” 

Tommy frowns.

If he leaves the SMP, there are things he needs to finish, and loose ends to tie up. He can’t leave Tubbo and Ranboo behind without helping Michael, and the Badlands doesn’t deserve the mistreatment they received from the Greater SMP. Hell, he doesn’t even know what would happen to Clementine. If he wasn’t around, where would they move her? Would they demote her or completely fire her?

Dream is vicious and heartless, unafraid to paint the streets red to punish Tommy. Disobedience was never accepted, even thinking about it puts Tommy on edge. But he won’t be paralyzed by fear or sink back into contentment.

He is powerless for now. For now.

“I’m still here. To help with whatever I can.” Is all he can say.

Skeppy answers faintly, “Yeah, thanks kid.”

Even with the euphoria of change soon to come, Tommy is still powerless at this moment. He can’t even trust Skeppy enough to tell him that Dream will be the least of their worries soon. Tommy has three immortals just waiting for him and they just happen to be the three royals who can defeat Dream in a fight. 

Things are going to change, but he can’t divulge any of those secrets to the viceroy, not to anyone. 

“I’ll be on my way, then.”

“Goodbye, I look forward to our next meeting, Lord Theseus.”

“Bye.” He says, feeling detached from himself.

Tommy has never enjoyed his powerlessness, but it stings now more than ever. He scorns the golden arches he passed under, the colorful tiled mosaics that he passes by, and most of the people inside the walls of the palace. It is beautiful, it is ugly, it is pristine, and it is the filthiest place on earth to him. He hates the sound of celebration already sounding out from the city below them, the civilians going about their normal lives unburdened by anything. The new year waits for them all, and the wait for the sun has begun. 

Tommy scorns the sun as well, half hoping it never comes back to them, the desperate sun-watchers left forlorn, instead leaving them all in the eternal darkness their ancestors feared.

Chapter Text

Hello everyone. This is an update because of the recent news. I hope you're all staying hydrated and staying safe. Grief is a rough, erratic emotion that has no pattern or predictability. I hope y'all are doing the best you can to take care. You are not alone in your grief. 

And yes, I'm sorry I haven't updated this fic in so long, alongside the next chapter being a long one, I've been having it rough IRL. Now I'm not sure when the next chapter will come out.

I know everyone has their own coping mechanisms and comfort levels with continuing to make fanfics, but I think that writers (who are comfortable with doing so) should continue writing. Some people do not wish to invoke the dead's name while others repeat it to honor their legacies. I fall into the later camp, and I do not want to avoid Technoblade's legacy that he worked hard to create. 

That being said, right now I don't know how to go about writing dark SBI. The next update was going to be bedrock bros centric, so I'm going to have to take a break. Pulling away from this story is so hard because I love this so much, but right now it seems like the only option is to give things time.

Despite the dark premise of this story, it's ultimately about the cycles of abuse and breaking free from them. Things start out really bleak, but it has always been my plan that Tommy gets his happy ending in this fic.

I don't want to discontinue this, but I will need time. Stay safe, y'all

Chapter Text

The sun does rise in the morning when it is supposed to. No matter what humans may do, the sun moves on without care. But loyal to SMP tradition, the streets have filled up with celebrating, joyous people for the new year, thankful that the gods have blessed humanity, even if the sun simply did what it has always done: rise again. 

Tommy wakes up every day too, it’s not that amazing of a feat.

The boy sighs. Maybe he’s lived too much life to enjoy such simple delights. 

Prime, when did he get so boring?

He shakes off his gloom. The day is young, the sun still hanging low and heavy in the sky, when Tommy finishes getting dressed up and prepared. Clementine has stuffed him in an itchy golden suit and sent him out into the world, her voice scolding and concerned in the same breath. The lady was furious to hear he’d gotten into an argument in a drawing room of all places, a social hub and a hot spot for gossip, but she still sympathized with the explanation he gave to her. Clem’s nice but takes no shit, so she’s the only person Tommy will accept criticism from on his behavior. Dream demands impossible perfection and the other nobles treat him like a dog. But Clem knows he’s a piece of shit and makes do.

Still, it’s tiring just thinking about today’s plans, like the sun ceremony to Prime and the gavotte ball. It’s amazing how in just a couple of days he feels like he’s aged another ten years. Everything has decided to crash in on him all at once, making his life harder. Such is his luck.

Tommy’s days of monotony and routine have been put on hold. Last night’s break in the mayhem was a fluke since, while he was needed to do the busy work of preparing for the festival and greeting guests, he wasn’t required at the sun-watching ceremony. More accurately, he wasn’t invited.

While the other nobles have long bloodlines that decree their pristine heritage, Tommy is but a simple viscount. To their eyes, he is a kid who received an above-average education and was granted a noble title to assist Morpheus, the trusted hand of the king, but his blood fails him. They believe he’s done nothing to deserve to join the ranks of nobility. Obviously, he doesn’t have a bloodline he belongs to, he remembers meeting these people’s dumb ancestors. But all the nobility cares about is the fact he doesn’t have rich parents or a family name.

Even as the right hand to someone so important, Tommy is stuck with menial work that somehow can’t be trusted to be done by anyone else. If the nobility were any bolder, he imagines they’d demand he clean the toilets, too.

And last night at the sun-watchers ceremony of the new year, it was a closed event, meant only for those of old blood. Essentially the “true nobility” though none would say that to his face. It’s dumb, he’s attended the closed events in the past when he went by different names and there’s nothing special about them. 

In one life, Tommy was the heir to the crown, with Dream ruling as his regent king. In another, he was a young boy training at the Prime Cathedral when he started having “visions” and was brought into the castle. In another life, Tommy was taken in by a duke and named his heir because all his other children had died in mysterious accidents. 

All under different names, all just games for Dream. None of it was real or held substance, just like this new iteration of himself. 

The viscount Theseus is a construct for Dream’s will, nothing more. 

In this life, Theseus and Morpheus were split from the rest of the aristocracy because of their commoner backgrounds. But Morpheus rose up in the world, with his clever mind earning the respect of the royal family as he took in Theseus as his trusted assistant. They had no allies from the rising middle class, the old households of nobility, or even the true respect of the royal family. They were nobodies isolated in a place where lineage and connections meant everything. And Dream loved spinning such a story because despite all of the setbacks everyone knows it’s him who rules the court. Dream loves being the main character, the main puppeteer.

What Lord Morpheus demands, goes. So all the nobility’s frustrations go to the little viscount who is his most trusted ally.

If he could, Tommy would flip this whole castle on its head to watch the nobles scramble for mercy. He would get revenge on every person who spoke badly about him, slandered his name, and looked down on him. He used to fantasize every night about imparting his biased justice to the people of the court, but he knows it’s impossible. Everything is under Dream’s control and the moment he tried anything, he’d be caught. Punished.

But while he’s stuck celebrating holidays he doesn’t believe in, it’s a comfort to imagine cutting out the tongues of lords and ladies whose droning speech annoys him. Just to take the edge off of his rage.

While the new year is mostly nonsense to Tommy, the world has changed in one significant way- he’s determined to change his fate. Or specifically, he’s going to undo all the work Dream’s done in the Greater SMP and then initiate the craziest family reunion of all time. Maybe the reunion should happen first? No. Maybe? Tommy’s still holding a grudge against Wilbur for being an arse to him. It can wait on the back burner for now.

It’s petty but what’re a few more days on top of centuries? Tommy has learned patience under Dream’s tutelage. There are other things for him to worry about right now, like the Sun Sermon to attend.

❅❅❅

The procession at Prime Cathedral is only bearable for the fact that everyone in the pews is silent as the head patriarch recites prayers and drawls on about light, new beginnings, and Prime, of course. It’s boring as all fuck and his feet hurt from the constant standing in shoes that pinch his toes, but he’d take this over a tea party any day. He can space off and watch the fountain in the center of the room bubble and ripple, or examine the stained glass windows he’s seen tens of thousands of times. There are scenes of Prime in all her excellence, divine and beautiful, coming down to the people to help the unfortunate or sending her proxies to enact her word.

There’s one story depicted of a boy who died and was revived by her will, a tongue-in-cheek reference to Tommy. In the fables, the boy is known for his foolishness.

Dream thinks he’s so funny.

Tommy’s favorite stories are the ones about Prime herself, and he enjoys creating and telling stories. Not just silly ones, either, but ones that pull at people’s hearts. Maybe it’s the part of him that always wanted to emulate Wilbur, but he loves drama. 

Prime is a story he’s been telling for hundreds of years. Like anything that drifts from mouth to mouth, translated and distorted through other people’s views, she isn’t what she started out as, but he loves her. His poor simulacrum of a god.

While he may hate formality and having to suffer through social events, he loves getting to celebrate Prime’s name. The new year's service isn’t the biggest procession, the biggest will be in a couple of months when the memorial feast happens and they’ll sing songs praising Her from dawn until dusk. But having a full crowd of SMP citizens and foreigners alike bearing witness to Prime is the closest he’ll get to feeling truly blessed.

The more life he lives, the more he appreciates what Prime represents. There are the bad things about her, like the Prime Cathedral that has greed and nepotism running amuck the staff, and there are the people who distort Her word to support their own campaigns of hatred, but ultimately Prime is… is a lifeline, a ray of hope, a knife to cut the rope to the anchor that’s sinking you but you still have to swim up.

She is the ghost of words deadmen speak, and she is the living, thriving spirit present in every home of the SMP. She is an oxymoron of everything and nothing. She is omniscient and he created her. She is a story.

As the service comes to a close, there is a moment of silence for anyone who wants to pray about something special for the new year.

Tommy closes his eyes and clasps his hands, bowing forward. Like most things in his life, he doesn’t expect an answer back when he prays to Her. But he holds his hands together and prays, going through the motions and wishing into the void.

He’s always been greedy and selfish. He’d take any chance to try and beg for something more.

As Tommy leaves the building he notes that, ironically, the weather has worsened and clouds are blocking out the sun. It might even come close to snowing if it continues to grow colder. The object of attention today is hidden behind a curtain of gray. He doesn’t blame them, he doesn’t like being talked about either. He’d hide behind his bedroom door if he could.

But duty calls. Clem had him recite the day's plans and made him swear he wouldn’t cause any more problems. So, he needs to check in with Dream, probably the kitchen as well, and maybe to the stables just to see Henry-

He’s stopped in his trek when the last person he wants to see- below Dream, even- steps in his way.

“Oh! Hello, viscount,” Wilbur chirps.

“... Good morning, Admin Icarus.”

“Is it so good, though?” Wilbur smiles sardonically, “I think the sun got tired of being droned on about and called in a favor from the clouds to hide.”

Tommy laughs politely, “It seems so, yes. Unfortunately, the weather usually turns bad on the new year because of the… timing…”

His voice dies in his throat as his eyes shift to the imposing, familiar figure standing next to Wilbur.

“Ah, how could I forget!” Wilbur chuckles, “I haven’t even introduced you two. My guest here is General Protesilaus. We both work closely with the emperor, but you’ll have to excuse him, he’s not the talkative sort.”

Tommy nods, unable to speak. He swallows thickly. 

Oh, Technoblade. Techno. 

It’s been centuries but he doesn’t look like he’s aged a single day. None of the Antarctic royals do, really, but it’s still unnerving. Maybe a few new scars have joined the array, but Techno is all the vivacious warrior Tommy remembers him as. Except, back then Techno was a warlord hated by most of the continent and now he’s a royal general and advisor to the Emperor.

Tommy is polarized between wanting to dash away and jumping straight into Techno’s arms- that’d be a sight, for sure- but they have never met under these names. There’s still the gray area if Techno and his family know who Tommy is yet, too. 

Techno looks at Tommy like he looks at small prey animals, like rabbits or fawns; unworthy in the eyes of a true predator. So, uh, they probably don’t know who he is yet. Hopefully. Maybe he’s just unused to Techno’s resting murder face. They are part of the small group of visitors who don’t wear masks, so maybe it’s been a while since Tommy had to decipher the emotions on someone’s face.

Tommy catches the minute shift of Techno’s shoulders, his eyes darting quickly between Wilbur and the path behind him. It makes him want to laugh. Techno looks all mean and scary, but he’s anxious right now. He’s always hated crowded areas, who knows how Phil and Wilbur convinced him to come to such an event.

“It’s amazing, General Protesilaus has aided my family for as long as I can remember. Of the fighters in the Antarctic, he is our most accomplished. I think he and my father are tied in their battle prowess.” Wilbur rambles, the slight shine in his eyes giving away his delight at teasing Techno, who nods along to the conversation silently.

Tommy resigns himself to a painful interaction. His abysmal manners still won’t let him ignore a royal guest, despite how much he wants to run away. And Wilbur, the piece of shit he is, seems to want to prolong everyone's discomfort.

“You two have never met, correct?” Wilbur says, “I feel a bit like I’m talking to two snowmen.”

Tommy startles. He’s being rude, zoning out like a fucking goldfish.

“No, no we haven’t, but it’s an honor to meet you, General Protesilaus, overseer to the armies of the Antarctic Empire. I am the assistant advisor to the hand of the throne,” Tommy bows.

He straightens, hand still on his chest, but Technoblade does not respond to his greeting.

“General?” He quietly prompts.

Techno clears his throat, eyes trained on the ground, “You’ve titled yourself assistant advisor and the viscount- but what’s your name?”

He feigns ignorance, “My name?” 

“Yes. I was told you were clever, little raccoon, but here you are making me repeat myself.”

Tommy looks up to Techno, wide-eyed. Raccoon? What the fuck does that mean?

Wilbur giggles, “I tried telling him it was okay to call me Icarus and he refused to. You won’t have any luck convincing the dear viscount. Stubborn as rocks, this one. I think the people here just like being secretive.”

Tommy stays quiet, not elaborating on Wil’s words.

Ever so slightly, Techno cringes, “Oh. Well, it is nice to meet you too, viscount. We’ve yet to meet face to face, but your reputation precedes you.”

“It’s hard to meet anyone face to face in this country,” Tommy smirks, “but I am flattered you are already aware of my achievements. I am but Lord Morpheus’s simple aide and a humble servant to the throne, so it is an honor to be recognized in your eyes.” 

Techno’s eye twitches. “It’s semantics, viscount. And how could I not know of you when the nobility here repeat your name so often?”

“Only good things, no doubt.”

Techno nods, “Oh, of course, only the best of things.”

During their exchange, a countess wearing long white gloves quietly approaches their group. Wilbur’s focus diverts to her.

“Oh Admin, it’s good to see you again!”

“Of course, you as well…”

Wilbur is drawn away quickly to another conversation just as easily as yesterday when he abandoned Tommy to chat with Niki of all people. He’s left alone with a tense Techno, who doesn't seem to know how to leave the conversation politely. Something- something primal, animalistic claws in his chest, winding him and scaring him in the same breath. Techno can’t just leave him, not now, please-

“My given name is Theseus,” Tommy bites at his lip. It’s such a small thing- he’s wanted to avoid giving out his alias, but if it keeps Techno from leaving for a second longer, he’ll give it up. Even if it hurts, even if his name is Tommy. 

In a matter of seconds, Techno’s eyes widen in surprise, but it’s quickly hidden with false aloofness.

Techno then scoffs, “Theseus?”

He nods, “Yes, it is the name my parents gifted to me. It’s an unconventional name in the eyes of the church, but it is still Her gift. All names are holy.” 

It’s almost funny to say, in a pathetic way. It’s a joke only he understands. Tommy has never met his parents, they never gifted him anything, and he was never named Theseus. He chose it for himself, from the stories Techno used to tell him. 

There is nothing holy about him. 

“It’s an ancient name. That of a hero.” Techno says.

“I am aware of the stories of my namesake.” For Technoblade told him about them.

“Then you know what fate he met?”

Tommy nods, smiling wryly, “He fell, sir.”

Techno laughs, slow and dark, “He was thrown. Betrayed by those he trusted after losing everything he worked to protect.”

“Yes, yes that is how the stories go. He is a tragic hero. That’s how the ancient Greeks liked it.”

“Is it some SMP tradition to name children so dreadfully? Did they wish to scare off monsters with such a name?”

It almost feels like playful banter, as if they weren’t two esteemed guests of the highest courts. As if they were back home, laughing together again.

“It is more common to name children after positive attributes, or saints. I could’ve been named after Pogchamp the Victorious, imagine that.”

Techno laughs, and it feels like victory. Thank you Pogchamp, for looking after him. 

All the scriptures about Saint Pogchamp were written by Tommy and Dream hundreds of years ago, giggling madly while coming up with whatever nonsense they could. It was during a different time, when the two of them were happier. Dream hadn’t found it as funny when Tommy insisted he be named their proclaimed saint of victory, denying him. So, Theseus he chose. It is his little fight, to keep his identity intact, a bit of home away from home. And then he had chosen the worst cover name to match him- Morpheus, the Greek deity of dreams. 

Their only saving grace is that everyone who knew the name “Dream” is long dead- mostly everyone. But Phil, Techno, and Wilbur never even met Dream, they didn’t care about the rebellion going on in Business Bay and whatever men decided to conquer it.

He doubts how much they even cared that Tommy’s home was being attacked. They let him leave with little fuss, after all.

“Ay, you may laugh but Saint Pogchamp was a hero who protected the SMP. He is triumphant, the defender of justice. He’s a respectable guy.”

“And what happened to him?”

“Well, the council members he tried reasoning with turned against him and had him wrongfully hanged.”

“See, you called him a hero, but Theseus was a hero, too. And look where they both ended up. There’s not much merit to being called a hero.”

“But his legacy lives on. There's even a feast dedicated in his name, though that’s later in the year.”

“... You’re an enthusiast for this Prime thing, then?”

“She’s not a thing. But yes, I am. Not enough, according to the head of the church. I know the scriptures and I pray, which is plenty in my book,” Tommy says lightly.

Techno’s face hardens again, “I don’t understand you religious types. Prime is fairly young, do you truly believe the stories written by uneducated fanatics from centuries ago?” 

It’s rude- but true. Tommy lived the history and Prime has never been real. The stories are all fake. Prime started out as a joke between Tommy and his friends- the ones from the small village buried in snow and ice. In time, it spread to be a small folktale. If you gave out charity in the name of Prime, she’d bless you. It was still mostly a joke, a name to invoke teasingly whenever your friend was being stingy. But it was Tommy who built the first Church Prime, he spoke of Her name to his associates, to Dream, and eventually to the masses of the SMP. Dream knew well enough a state religion would unite his country, and it was a way to humor Tommy’s stormy heart. A piece from the home he lost, brought to life again.

Prime is Tommy’s. She is holy and she is fake, she loves him and he made her up. She is the blanket he wished he had when he was freezing on the streets, and she is the freedom he longs to have now. 

“Maybe you find us Primers nonsensical, but I think there is worth in the words written. Prime says we should show compassion to those who need help. To offer charity if you possess excess. To do your part for the community. Whether or not She is real isn’t as important as teaching those beliefs- but again, if anyone from the church heard me say that, they’d try to burn me at the stake.”

The true vision of Prime has been lost in Dream’s political campaigns using Her. Her birthplace is a salted land of the earth burned down and her soul ripped out by the roots to prevent regrowth. A punishment from Dream, for his disobedience. 

The crown demands that in Prime’s name, the poor give their money to the rich to continue funding their luxuries. It’s not what he saw when he first dreamed of her.

There’s no one left who remembers the original folktales but Dream and him. 

“So you believe if you check off the checklist of good deeds to do, you’ll reach heaven?”

Tommy grins. If he were a true devotee he’d be offended to the point of calling Technoblade a cursed heretic. Prime, the man was being a dick right now. But just talking with the man he once called brother is like a salve on old wounds.

“I don’t ponder much on the afterlife, general. I think it’s more important to focus on the life we live now. To get distracted by the end of the road is to miss the current journey we currently walk.”

And yet this journey is all Tommy has. He will never meet the soil, become one with the earth. He will never decompose, to feed the life after him. Death is beautiful, and he has wanted to meet her, but Dream is always there to pull him from the void. He will never die and it is not love, comfort, or joy that fuels his certainty, but Dream’s own relentlessness. 

“I see. Perhaps we should agree to disagree,” Techno says, surprisingly diplomatic.

“If Prime is so foolish to you, what powers do you believe in?”

“The power of my own sword wielded in my hand. Nothing more, nothing greater.”

“Oh, so you’re an atheist then? I’ve heard before that the Antarctic lands are godless ones, and that’s why they’re dead and covered in snow.”

Techno snorts, “The empire becomes quite lively in the spring in summer, so it’s not some cursed land. And nowhere is truly godless.”

“Oh?” Tommy furrows his brows.

“There’s Lady Death, and she greets us all eventually. She doesn’t require prayers or sacrifices, since everything becomes hers in the end. She is inevitable.” 

Not you, not me.

“That is true. The bloodied blade of the Antarctic is wise as well as strong.” Tommy forces a laugh and joyful tone.

Techno scoffs at him, “It’s not in the Antarctic’s preference to use pretentious titles. Just call me Protesilaus if there’s nobody listenin’.”

“There’s always somebody listening in places like this, general.”

All around them, nobles watch. After so long, Tommy’s picked up an accurate sense of when the masked nobility try sneakily spying on him. It’s in the way their ears are pointed towards him, some people are half-turned awkwardly between their companions and him listening in, and masks of all designs and shapes boring down on him, eyeless yet all-seeing. Technoblade is from the Antarctic Empire, almost mythical in its fame, and Tommy is his small, pathetic self. They make quite the duo.

“Well, I think I better, uh…” Techno trips over his words.

“This was an enlightening chat. I hope we can talk again sometime soon, but I know we both are busy people with places to be,” Tommy properly ends the conversation.

Techno nods, taking the clear road out and away. Tommy waits a moment, letting the man gain some distance from him before he leaves the cathedral grounds as well.

Above all the people, from the dark clouds overhead, the first bits of snow fall down.

Well. That went okay. Techno spent most of that conversation judging Tommy’s existence and personal theologies, but that talk with Wilbur set the bar abysmally low. Anything would be better than being mocked and then abandoned.

Tommy flexes his hands trying to contain his excitement, a smile growing on his face. Techno felt familiar, as if nothing much has changed. As if glimpsing into the past, if Tommy were in a different outfit and without a mask, that could’ve felt almost normal. Techno has always been more awkward with his affection, struggling with words, and preferring actions. The distance between them didn’t feel as wide.

It feels like a sign. Maybe he’s reading too much into it, but perhaps telling him his alias has revealed his identity. They chatted at length about Theseus together, it had always been their thing. Maybe his brother recognizes him by name alone, by the way he stands or walks over his face now hidden.

They were close once. That kind of bond doesn’t just disappear.

But the distant look in Techno’s eyes never left, leaving Tommy confused.

❅❅❅

Tommy dodges to the left as a group of rowdy children following behind a couple of maidservants in the hallways. He doesn’t recognize most of them and the majority aren’t wearing masks, so he quickly assumes that they’re the kids of some lower rank guests. While most of the foreign nobility wear a mask to honor the tradition of the SMP, it’s a nightmare getting a kid to wear one. It’s taught early on in the SMP for children to get used to, but Tommy remembers hating how stuffy his mask got when he first started wearing one.

It’s honestly… kind of gross. The children slobber and sneeze everywhere without restraint. He sees a couple of them chewing on their hands or shirts, and it’s normal child behavior but it still sends a shiver down his spine. Michael is the only kid he hangs around and he’s well-mannered and polite. Besides the tutors who tried and failed to get him to speak to them, he’s never been considered troublesome.

The children screech and shout as they round the corner, away from Tommy’s range of hearing.

The castle is quite hectic. More people only mean more things that can go wrong and more plots and agendas to push.

Tommy passes by the knights' dormitories, filled with minor nobles and peasants with pipe dreams of grandeur. Most of them are young, quivering in their loosely laced boots as he watches them messily bow as he walks by. Viscount Theseus’s reputation of being a petty and capricious man means they probably fear one wrong look will send them to the dungeons. It’s a bit ironic since some of them outrank him in status. He tilts his head in their direction, watching them startle. He didn’t intend to terrify the trainees, but it is a little humorous.

Lifetimes ago, Tommy was a soldier during an age of war and rebellion, not the comfortable era of prosperity the Greater SMP has now. These are the sons and daughters of fallen noble houses wearing armor that has never seen a day on the battlefield nor ever spilled blood, trying to reclaim some status. These are children from countdoms or old aristocratic families who hold more proficiency with a sword over the mind, or peasants trying desperately just to survive with no gold in their pockets. 

Viscount Theseus has always shown little to no respect to knights of the royal family and they show him little respect in turn, but he knows he would win that fight if they ever clashed swords. The calluses on his palms won’t ever let him forget that part of his life.

Tommy doesn’t see what causes it, but he can feel the attention drift off him, and he turns to see a familiar figure approaching from behind.

“General! Hello, I didn’t expect you to be here at this hour,” he nods his head, greeting Sam.

“I could say similarly, I didn’t expect you here at all. You aren’t giving the knights too much grief, are you?”

“Me? Of course not. Just passing by.”

“Well, these men are busy. You have places to be, correct?” General Sam looks over to them, his tone stern,

The nervous soldiers all nod, scrambling to leave the hallway.

“Follow me,” Sam commands, gesturing for Tommy to follow him.

Tommy doesn’t argue, trailing behind the man as they walk further through the soldier's quarters toward Sam’s office.

“How are you, general?” He asks in the spirit of politeness, though he is curious why he’s been called away.

“I am doing well, thank you. And you?” The general nods his head.

“I am well, too. It’s amazing how at a time like this, we busy men are both doing well. It sounds like a miracle, almost.”

“Don’t remind me,” Sam laughs with a groan.

Sam gestures for Tommy to sit as he closes his office door behind them. The silence drags out as the general sits down heavily in his large armchair. It’s a hand-carved thing, crafted by the capital’s finest woodworkers, with lions and dahlias carved into the deep burgundy. Around the legs of the chair, the ground has light scrapes from how often the general is in and out of his office.

Tommy clears his throat, “Was… there something you wanted to discuss? Any issues you’ve run into?”

“Oh no, everything is fine. I just thought you’d appreciate a moment of respite,” Sam shakes his head.

“I’m okay.” 

Sam tilts his head in a way that screams ‘Really?’ even behind his mask. It makes Tommy huff indignantly. 

“Really, I am. Right as rain. It’s been nice to catch up with old acquaintances.”

“Ah yes, you are acquainted with the barons of Snowchester, I hear. That’s good news. I’m not too familiar with the nobility, especially the ones from far away. I’m a bit out of the loop, one might say.”

“The noble families are not important,” Tommy shrugs. 

“Yes, unimportant you say. They only hold this kingdom together and prevent our fall into poverty and chaos.”

“Exactly. They’re essentially useless!”

Tommy kicks his legs, looking over the office. He’s been here dozens of times, but it’s always fascinating. Large glass cases hold large weapons like spears, swords, and crossbows that Sam used in battle. There are some ornamental weapons there, too, gilded entirely in gold. It’s a much cozier place than Tommy’s office, his mostly empty and devoid of personal effects. 

General Sam quietly says, “If you don’t mind, though, I do need to ask for a little help with something.”

“So you did have a reason for this little social call,” Tommy says with a smirk.

“Haah, you caught me. I know you’re swamped right now, but when you have a moment today could you visit the reliquary? The sun scepter of Saint XD is needed for the parade tomorrow, but I don’t have the clearance to enter there, and when I asked the count for assistance he said I should ask you.”

Tommy nods, “Of course. Who’s going to be using it?”

“Princess Nihachu, who will be making a brief appearance at the start of the procession.”

He grimaces, “And why can’t her people grab it for her? She has a whole legion of ladies in waiting who follow after her.”

“They’re not in the castle right now. I believe she’s hosting a party at one of the connecting villas for the foreign dignitaries. If it’s too much of a hassle, I can-”

“It’s no trouble at all, big man,” Tommy waves a hand dismissively.

“Thank you. I would deal with it on my own if I could-”

“I’m sure you’re swamped with planning for the safety precautions during the parade, this is nothing compared to what you have to do. Don’t worry about it.”

“Then, thank you again,” General Sam inclines his head, his voice unguarded and honest.

Tommy is so kind and gracious because even though the princess hates his guts for some unknown reason, he’s still going to do this for her. She should thank him personally. And apologize.

But it’s mostly to help out Sam.

General Sam deserves better than to be some errand boy, anyway. That’s what Viscount Theseus is for, the man with no real status but does all the hard work of a noble.

The general slumps forward, a rare sight for the man. He takes his job deathly seriously and doesn’t believe in “taking vacations” or “the importance of breaks” even if he preaches to Tommy about taking care of himself.

“Are you good, general? I know the festivities can get wild late at night,” Tommy asks him.

“I’m not hungover if that’s what you’re implying.” Sam laughs weakly, “Just… tired.”

“I know you wouldn’t get drunk on the job, it’s just that the count can- well- he often makes you work as a glorified babysitter for those who do get sloshed.”

Behind the red lenses of the general’s mask, Tommy can see his exhausted eyes. Sam squints, staring off into nothing, then squeezes his eyes shut. 

“... There are the good days on the job and there are bad days. I try to take them both in stride.”

Tommy nods along. He would argue there are plenty more bad days than good, but it’s true at the end they have to make do with what they have.

“Hey, the guests will be gone before you know it and the castle will be quiet once more.”

“But there’s still a whole country out there to look out for,” Sam mumbles, mostly to himself.

“Ay. There always is.” 

General Sam is so duty-bound it almost seems like a joke or an act. No one can truly be that patriotic- but the general is, somehow, with burdensome guilt he placed upon his own shoulders.

“Viscount, you-” Sam trails off.

“Yes?”

Sam’s eyes snap open again, “You work closely with Lord Morpheus, so perhaps you know this, but there are certain sacrifices that have to be made to keep the peace. Even at the expense of your own happiness. And that toll at times is heavier than others.”

Tommy frowns. He likes it when Sam isn’t so serious and they can laugh and talk easily. He doesn’t like… this. “I don’t know if I’m a man of sacrifice. I just do what the count tells me to do.”

“Exactly. Morpheus isn’t someone who asks light tasks of his people.”

Tommy hums, “I guess so.”

General Sam mumbles something to himself, affirming something. Probably that the cost of peace is worth it, the ends justify the means, and so on and so forth.

Tommy likes Sam, but they are very different people.

Sam is honest. He is also ruthless. He’s the golden spear of the Greater SMP, the one who pierces the injustice that threatens the good citizens of their kingdom. He has crushed rebellions and killed foreign queens and kings to expand the SMP’s territory. If he were heartless, it’d all be easy for him. But Sam is a good man who will do what he has to for the crown he’s sworn his loyalty to, so the ruthlessness eats away at him. One day he’ll be a hollowed-out man with nothing remaining but the steadfast duty he’s always had burning the remaining husk.

Tommy has done ruthless things under Dream’s command. There are people he’s deceived or killed, disasters ignited by his hands. It’s never a choice for him. There is no room for him to refuse or to run away, and there is no sense of moral or duty that steadies him. It’s the punishments waiting for him if he does fail. 

He’s selfish.

Tommy lives in a world where he is the sun, sat center of the axis of the universe and he only thinks of himself. He forgets about the world around him and only wonders how this will hurt him and how this will benefit him.

Meanwhile, Sam is the definition of selflessness to the point of self-destruction.

It’s sad. Tommy’s seen a lot of good men fall, but Sam has gone and pierced his own heart in his crusades. The blood that surrounds him is his own bleeding wounds he will never tend to because he has his never-ending mission. 

“Working hard, Big S?” He asks quietly.

“The bell of duty never stops ringing.”

“Sometimes it does. Bells have to stop at some point, that’s what bellringers are for.”

“Of course.” Sam humors him with a small laugh, “Your insight is correct. But if you don’t mind me saying, you seem stressed, viscount. More stressed than usual, you should make sure not to run yourself too ragged.”

Tommy shrugs, “Oh if I overwork myself the count will simply tell me, ‘No no, you have too much work to finish to pass out on me now.’ The grind is endless.”

“The first step to caring for a nation is to care for yourself first, or nothing can get done.”

Says Sam, the one who never takes breaks, who has no allies within the walls of the palace, and who goes above and beyond what is asked of him. He works harder than anyone in the palace. And he’s telling Tommy to chill out. 

What a hypocrite.

Tommy knows he’ll be fine no matter what, but if Sam keels over that’s it for him. Sam drives him fucking nuts since he’s crashing himself into ruin. He can see it happening from a mile away but men like him are stubborn. Tommy doesn’t have to worry about his health or even the choices he has to make, Dream makes those for him, but Sam has such little time. 

Maybe immortals have the time in the world to become the strongest, smartest people but they lose a light. Mortality brings a true love of life and the need to preserve and protect it. They know the end comes for them. Meanwhile, Tommy knows there will always be another dreaded tomorrow. He can procrastinate and waste away and still have all the time in the world to accomplish his goals. But then he doesn’t, he continues to decay. His life has become a stagnant river blockaded by Dream’s hand.

Sam would be happier if he left the SMP. Tommy could pull the right strings to get him out of this political hellhole, but part of him doubts the man would accept the help. 

Another more selfish part of him doesn’t want to lose one of his only friends in the castle.

“I’m fine, I’m fine. I’m young and spritely, it’s you who need to worry about your health. It’s only a few years before you’ll be all gray and, y’know…”

“I’m- I’m only 26?”

“Exactly. You’re ancient!” Tommy shouts excitedly, clapping his hands.

Sam chuckles, his voice trailing off, “Seriously, though, I do worry about how much you push yourself. If you ever need help with something- or even just someone to talk to- I’m here for you. You know what they say about me, I’m the dumb brute who doesn’t belong in the palace. Us outcasts have to stick together.”

He wants to scorn Sam for his sanctimonious bullshit, but Tommy fears he isn’t much better. He tells himself he hates people but he always ends up caring about them too much.

Tommy and his weak heart.

“Thank you, Sam. I’m here for you, too, if you ever need my assistance.” Tommy says before standing up and pushing his chair back into place.

“Have a good day!”

“You too, Viscount.”

Tommy closes the door softly behind him, leaving swiftly. Some of the soldiers walking opposite of him tense and start to whisper, but he carefully ignores them. He’s got enough years under his belt to have a thick skin, like an elephant- like ten elephants! He’s the toughest guy in the castle. Tougher than an elephant, he could win a fistfight with one. They don’t even have fists.

So! The sharp gazes and gutted words bounce off him. When he was younger, he was impulsive, brash, and quick to explode. That fire has simmered and calmed down into what he is now.

Tommy is a very different person from when he was a child. 

… Though, his recent outburst just proves you can train a dog to learn new tricks, but it will always be a hunter at heart. And Tommy’s first instinct has always been to bite and claw.

❅❅❅

Tommy just wanted to duck in, grab some lunch from the great hall, maybe say a word or two to some familiar faces, and continue with his work but as it always is in his life, his plans tend to fall to ruin.

Everything is going normal, fine, it is as it has always been, and then the room goes quiet. Someone important has entered the premises and he feels a chill go down his spine.

Tommy squeaks in panic as he turns and spots his Imperial Majesty, Karl, the Emperor of Kinoko Kingdom, AKA the exact man he needs to avoid right now. He tries to discreetly run away towards the exit, but the emperor has clearly already spotted him, his unmasked eyes darting over to Tommy with determination. 

Dream told Tommy to avoid the Kinoko emperor, yes, and he’d also just love to avoid the awkward conversation they were bound to have. “Oh yes, the SMP is planning to cut Kinoko off, but no hard feelings, right?”

Tommy fails in his escape attempt when Karl calls out his name before Tommy can reach the end of the long table separating him from the exit.

“Viscount! How good it is to see you, how have you been?”

Shit.

“Your majesty,” Tommy slowly turns around, “it’s an honor to see you here. I’ve been well, how are you?”

A large entourage follows behind the Kinoko Emperor faithfully, his general Sapnap just a step behind him. Karl's fan today is monochrome trees, all grey and white, petals fluttering on an imaginary breeze.

“I'm the same as I’ve always been, nothing to worry about. My memory isn’t what it used to be, but I’m still in good health and high spirits. Oh, have you not already eaten? I hope I’m not interrupting you.”

“No, don’t worry, no, I’m done here and I must return to my work-” Tommy tries to excuse himself.

“Actually, there is something I’m curious about then,” Behind the emperor’s fan, his eyes crinkle like he’s smiling. For someone who’s rumored to be a witless fool, he appears to be sharper than a blade.

“Yes, your majesty?” Tommy gulps.

“Usually the count is open to talking with me whenever, but recently his schedule has been very… busy.” Karl’s eyes narrow, “I was hoping if you could give me some insight when he’s available? Just so we can organize a meeting. I’ve barely said a word to him since I arrived, and there are some important things I need to discuss with him.”

Screw Dream for not taking responsibility for his fucking actions, screw politics, and you know what? Screw Karl for putting Tommy on the spot in a crowded area with no escape.

“... Unfortunately, you see, I’ve been quite busy myself. I haven’t had a chance to look over Count Morpheus’s schedule, so I won’t be of much help. You’ll have better luck catching him when you see him and asking then. You still have plenty of days in the Greater SMP before you have to return to your kingdom.”

The Kinoko emperor clicks his tongue, “That’s just the thing, I’ve barely seen him since we first talked the first night of the festival. Just a few pleasantries and then nothing.”

“Oh, um, he's been so busy lately. I’m sure that’ll clear up soon. I can assure you it’s nothing personal, he is a very hard-working man,” Tommy says with gritted teeth.

“It almost feels like he’s avoiding me,” The emperor hums in feigned curiosity.

Tommy cringes behind his mask. 

“Of course not, you and your empire have always been close allies with the Greater SMP. Surely when the time is right he’ll meet with you. I’m confident your patience will reward you.”

Karl nods and they both know then and there that Tommy is lying through his teeth.

“How unfortunate that even in the self-proclaimed greatest empire in the world, an emperor has to wait so long just to talk to a mere count,” of all people, Lord Schlatt steps in front of Tommy, interrupting them.

The whole hall goes deathly silent. One could hear the melting dripping wax from the candles as no one dared to take a breath. 

Lord Schlatt says with a confidence he hasn’t earned, “Your majesty, don’t waste time with the mutt, he’ll be no help to you. Come, sit down with me and I can work out something between you and the count.” 

“Excuse me, sir, we were still conversing,” Tommy tries saying, but Schallt ignores him, as usual.

“You might be familiar with my family’s long line of achievements, I come from a dignified and long-established household. Count Morpheus probably considers me his most powerful ally, or at least the most well-endowed. If your majesty so pleases, I-”

 “Lord Schlatt, excuse me, your behavior is questionable today.”

Schlatt slowly turns his head to Tommy, the dark eyes of his ram mask boring into Tommy with clear disdain. As if commenting on the weather, he asks, “How so, Theseus?

Tommy says with thin patience, “Your actions could be interpreted as the slightest bit rude, barging into an ongoing conversation.” 

“And why should I listen to you?” Schlatt’s smirk is visible through his tone of voice.

“I’m- you know who I am just as I know very well who you are. It is basic etiquette not to invite yourself where you were not asked for.”

“Mh, I believe you have made an error. I am not deluded into thinking you’re something you’re not, but you still prance around pretending you’re something greater than you are, when you were the one uninvited.”

“And what do you mean by that, sir?”

Karl at least seems uncomfortable by Schlatt’s mannerisms, but he stays silent.

Schlatt laughs loudly, “It seems obvious to me that when you bring in dogs from the street, all they know how to do is yap and beg for scraps. You can dress it up in a suit, but it’ll still be nothing but a beast.”

“Excuse me?” Tommy steps forward.

“I’m stating the obvious, what isn’t getting through your skull? Are you unable to comprehend me? You grew up on the streets and act like it, too. There’s a reason everyone else in this court is from respectable families, but you continue to stick out like a sore thumb.”

“It’s funny you think I grew up on the streets. Is that all you think ‘lower-born’ children come from? We exist to serve the people of this kingdom.” Tommy’s voice wavers. He did grow up in the streets, but that was a long time ago. He’s had more hours of tutoring than Schlatt has had of life. “I’ve earned my spot here in this court, and that’s more than you can say.”

Schlatt’s shoulders tense up. The man is egotistical and way too proud of his family name for his own short list of achievements he’s had. But Schlatt is aware he’s the family disappointment and is always trying to compensate for it, and he’ll blow up at anyone who questions his place.

Tommy prepares himself for the worst. Whatever happens, don’t retaliate. Don’t do it, don’t do it.

“I was simply offering to help his majesty over here. But Theseus, you come into our courts disrespecting our nobles and now you’re useless to even assist our esteemed guest? Why does the count even keep you around? I know the history of this empire, and in it, my grandfathers and their grandfathers brought glory and wealth while yours were probably rotting away, surviving off of scraps like vermin.” 

“I’m just trying to do my job, not ar-”

“When have you ever understood duty? War? Knowledge? When have you suffered for this nation as I have? You are given the fruits of our labor and expect more, you ungrateful beast,” Schlatt sneers.

Tommy takes a deep, deep breath.

Fuck it.

“At least- at least I’m not a raging, foul drunkard obsessed with money and status. Your grandfather’s grandfather created laws that hold this country together today, but you yourself are a shame to the Lords of Manberg family lineage, I’m surprised you haven’t been denounced as head of the family. Especially after all the harm you’ve brought to our country.”

Schlatt laughs, “Everything I do is to serve the royal family and this nation.”

Faster than he can think to regret it, he snaps, “Is that what you told the Las Nevadas president when he was siphoning confidential information for your office? You didn’t seem to mind mingling with a dog from the streets when it was him. You know, one could argue the people at Las Nevadas worked for everything they have, while a scummy old-blood noble like you is born with a golden spoon in his mouth.”

Schlatt’s bravado disappears, leaving behind pure malice. Tommy’s stuck a nerve he shouldn’t have. Really, really shouldn’t have. 

Schallt grabs him by the collar of his shirt, “You’re on a countdown, Theseus, soon enough the royal family and the count are going to realize you’re a waste of time and throw you back into the streets, if you’re lucky. But we’d all be better off with you dead. Do you think you’re worth anything? Do you think you’re someone important? Mark my words, boy, that you’re going to die a disgraced nobody, all alone after being abandoned by your precious fucking count.”

Oh, how he wishes that were true.

Everyone’s eyes are on Tommy again, this time the whispers all around clearly about him. His pride yells at him to win this argument, to make a fool of Schlatt, but he stops himself. He sighs, long and slow. 

He’s going to be in so much fucking trouble.

“It seems we’ve both gotten a little excited, in our conversing,” Tommy says calmly, slowly unwinding Schlatt’s grip on him. “Your majesty, I believe the count will make an appearance at the ball tonight. Perhaps you will be able to catch him then?”

Emperor Karl nods, “...Thank you.”

Tommy walks as fast as he can without running out of the room like a coward. 

“It’s good he can still recognize his place,” Schlatt laughs, and some people join in.

He firmly does not look back at the great hall. Tommy tugs open the door and lets it fall shut behind him, his footsteps quick and hurrying away.

He’s fucked up. He knows he’s fucked up, okay? Arguments with Lord Schlatt are a dime a dozen, he knows Dream wouldn’t have cared about it except Tommy just had to go and bring up Las Nevadas.

Las Nevadas is a thorny topic no one dares say a word about. A small nation like theirs should crumble beneath the SMP’s might, but they’ve continued not only to survive but thrive. They’ve hurt the SMP.

It’s a great card to play to humiliate Schlatt, but he just brought up the SMP’s greatest loss in recent history in front of all their most important allies.

Dream is going to be pissed about that.

But it’ll all be fine. No matter how Dream reacts, soon Tommy is going to get Wilbur, Techno, and Phil on his side and teach the green bitch a lesson. He just needs to reach out to them and they’ll help him. Everything will be fine, everything will work out, and everything will-

“Are you alright?” Someone asks, startling him. 

“Yes, yes, I’m quite fine,” Tommy says, rushed. He looks over to a man with a green mask with a skull carved into it. “My apologies, but have we met before?”

“No, uh, I’ve only heard about you in passing. I am Ch- Slime. I am Slime from- from far away,” the man stutters, nervous.

Tommy relaxes. This Slime guy is dressed in a simple button-up, vest, and slacks. He’s either some lower noble from a small country or a guest’s errant servant. He’s not someone with the power to hurt him or the intention to, so Tommy relaxes. This poor sod has probably heard about the “big, mean, and scary” Viscount Theseus during his stay here, but Tommy has no interest in assisting those rumors.

“Oh? I don’t think I’ve ever met somebody named Slime before,” Tommy chuckles.

“It’s- oh trust me, it’s a very common name from my hometown. I was one of five Slimes,” the man nods to himself.

“I see, that’s impressive. Where do you come from?”

“From La- from the lands out east. Very rural, you’ve probably never heard of it. How… how about you, where are you from? Oh, perhaps that’s an obvious question-”

Tommy waves his hand, “No, it’s fine. I wasn’t born here, actually. I grew up outside of the capital, to the north alongside the seafront”

“Near Snowchester?”

“No, far, far away from Snowchester. It was a small port town not good for labor or farming, but it still bustled with life. Us northerners know how to make do with anything, even with only mud and ice surrounding us.”

“It sounds lovely,” Slime says earnestly. This guy gets it, what it was all about. The people made up the city more than the things inside of it, and with a little more time it could’ve been great, it could’ve been-

“It was. But The SMP cares about profit, and we didn’t bring enough, so it was… disbanded.”

“Oh. So you’ve got no home to return to?”

“... The capital is my home now. I’ve lived here most of my life, as it is.”

Slime sighs, “But you miss it.”

Tommy freezes. 

Business Bay died a long time ago. It was such a small part of his long life that he should’ve just let it go. It should be insignificant to him by this point, no longer a sore wound.

Tommy straightens himself out, “I’m sorry, for our first introductions I’ve seemed to cross a line. Let’s end these useless nostalgia trips- but no, I don’t miss it.”

Slime hastily bows and says, “I’m sorry as well, I shouldn’t have pried as a mere attendant.”

“Attendant? To whom?” Tommy asks coldly.

“Emperor Karl from Kinoko! I almost forgot, he sent me to check on you. He apologizes for not being able to do more to help you in your altercation with the lord of Manberg.”

“Oh... it’s okay. I understand.”

“Thank you. I know my emperor will appreciate your mindfulness.”

“It’s alright. You should mind your tongue in the future, but please tell your emperor I wish him well and any slights between us are far behind me.”

“Thank you, he’ll be happy to hear that. See you later, Theseus from nowhere,” Slime says.

Tommy nods and continues his way down the hall. He hears the clamor from the great hall grow and quiet as Slime leaves to send his message to Emperor Karl.

He got too comfortable there, for a moment, chatting with someone he doesn’t even know. He’s lucky the Kinoko emperor probably doesn’t wish him ill and won’t use this information to harm him, but he has no true allies here. Even someone like Slime the attendant has motives to fulfill.

Tommy clenches his hands tight, nails biting into the fabric of his gloves before he relaxes them.

… Though it was just a small period of time in his life, just a blip of the eternity in front of him, he still remembers his home with an aching heart. Of course he misses Business Bay, he’s never stopped missing it. He suspects he will never stop yearning for the snow-capped peaks, mud-slurried rivers, and the worst food he’s ever eaten. But the people’s spirit could fill a canyon with light until it was overflowing like a sunset tipping over the horizon.

It’ll be his home forever, forever lost.

❅❅❅

Dream is, predictably, pissed.

“What were you thinking?”

“I don’t know-”

“No, you can’t say ‘I don’t know’ when you’ve gone and created a fucking mess!” Dream shouts. His voice echoes off the tiles, ringing in the air.

Tommy knows that behind his mask, Dream is glaring furiously at him. Dream loves raising his voice and cursing to let people know they’ve fucked up even though he prefers to be unreadable. Like a rattlesnake shaking its tail to let everyone know it’s pissed.

He knows he isn’t getting away from this so simply. He didn’t even pick the fight! It was Lord Schlatt that called him a fucking dog! And then he went off about shit like “not understanding suffering like him” when Schlatt has lived in an era of glorious peace. The man hasn’t known true starvation, torture, or desolation. He has no right to say Tommy, who was once the leader of a revolution, does not know war.

Tommy has seen too many friends die and fellow soldiers fall in battle to call war anything than a familiar and unwanted visitor. It is no stranger to him.

Dream will not care for any of this. If Tommy as much breathes a word about Business Bay to him, he might even go and burn down the ashy ruins just to kick the corpse for good measure.

Instead, Tommy just whines, “He started it!”

Dream hisses back, “But you don’t continue it! I don’t know how many times I have to stress that whatever you do reflects on me! You’re better than this, I know because I taught you everything you know.”

“It was just a small argument, Schlatt gets himself into a scandal every week, this is nothing new for him,” Tommy tries to say placatingly.

“Don’t think I haven’t heard about everything that went down. You are aware of what you did wrong. You’re choosing to be disobedient at such a delicate time in our lives. I don’t know what’s suddenly gotten into your head, but this is your second strike after your stunt yesterday. Don’t fuck up again or there will be serious consequences.”

Dream sighs as if a great burden has been forced upon him. It infuriates Tommy. He breathes in, ready to argue, but the similarity to his fight earlier hits him. His pride wants him to claw and bite, to the last breath to claim victory or to go down fighting, but fighting has never earned him more pride. 

He wants to tell Dream he never asked for this, he doesn’t care how he hurts Dream’s reputation, but the man doesn’t care. It’d be like talking to a brick wall, and at best it’d piss him off.

At worst, well, good people will get hurt, caught in their mess. Tommy has to- Tommy has to learn when to lay down. If only just to stop the hurting.

It won’t matter in a week, anyways. Dream is going to regret the past centuries of shit he’s pulled when Tommy’s family wrecks hell. None of this farce matters anymore, so he can bite his tongue for now. 

Tommy bows deeply, “I’m sorry. I let my frustration make me impulsive and I made a huge mistake. How can I earn your forgiveness?”

❅❅❅

Tommy’s assigned to reorganize Dream’s personal library. 

The same library Dream has been cultivating for roughly five hundred years. 

Discipline training, Dream calls it. It’s truly a horrible, mind-numbing punishment. It’s not the worst Dream could give him, but Tommy knows he won’t be so lenient if he continues to mess up so he hadn’t complained. Dream probably has also been procrastinating on organizing it himself and now is making Tommy take the brunt of his mess.

It’s a sign Dream doesn’t consider the fight with Lord Schlatt a permanently damaging one. If he thought Tommy truly fucked up, he’d be assigned to go assassinate someone or burn a village down to scare their enemies. It may also be that Dream is distracted right now, as busy as everyone else in the palace during the holidays. Perhaps Dream can’t afford to get pissed off right now and is letting Tommy off easily. 

Whatever it is, Tommy got lucky. But not lucky enough, as he walks through the old library and papers and strewn books pile on the ground, covering the fine wool carpet until none of the intricate designs can be seen.

With a pained sigh, Tommy grabs the first loose book he finds, the title in ancient Greek saying something about politics and controlling the masses. 

And he gets to work.

It’s calming, in a way, once he stops looking at the tall stacks of books and focuses on the next one closest to him. Instead of having to deal with nobles, two-timing best friends, or political hostages, Tommy runs his hands delicately over old parchment and puts it where it needs to go. It’s easy, simple, and calm. It lets him think, think over his day, random nothings like how he needs to change his outfit after this and get ready for the ball tonight, and sometimes his mind turns to rage.

What happened today was unfair. Other nobles get into fights, scandals, and involve themselves in illegal activities but Tommy can’t make a single mistake.

Tommy has to be perfect. 

He’s spent hours in academies, lectured at by master scholars, and trained by seasoned warriors to master the long sword, the bow, the rapier, the battle axe, and more. He has had centuries to perfect his strength, his form, his mind, and his talents. But Dream will always be stronger than him, smarter than him, and always have the upper hand. It isn’t fair. 

Even now, Tommy has to stay vigilant that his plans haven’t been figured out already. Dream has noticed his change in behavior and it’ll only be so long that he’ll assume it’s only because of all the new guests. Soon he’ll realize Tommy is plotting something because he always catches onto when Tommy is plotting something. 

Just because Schlatt has a family and name to protect him, he can get up to whatever shit he wants. But Tommy is a poor orphan trapped to do Dream’s whims. 

When Tommy is free of Dream and reunited with his family, he’s going to burn this whole library down. Just to spite Dream’s centuries of effort.

Book after book, each one older than the last.

This dull punishment suddenly becomes worth it when Tommy finds a book from a few centuries ago. An atlas full of detailed drawings of maps and constellations. It’s ancient but it piques his interest immediately. The book is filled with maps filled with empires long fallen, or when the current kingdoms were newly born. He carefully flips through the old pages and finds a map from before the Greater SMP existed. Business Bay is written in small letters as a small town hidden away in the icy north. The Antarctic Empire is shown as the small commune it was once, so long ago.

It tugs at his heart.

The Antarctic Empire is old. It has roots older than the SMP, and Las Nevadas is an infant compared to them all. It’s the homeland created by four people, Tommy and his old family. That commune was home.

It was created for him, that’s what they promised. 

Phil, Wilbur, and Techno founded a nation and promised Tommy it would be their home. And now it has grown without him there, to become one of the greatest empires in all of history. He wasn’t there to see it happen, instead inside the SMP’s walls watching another foreign kingdom form and rise. Tommy has seen the creation and growth of the SMP, and it has become everything, all he’s ever known 

Was it the same for his family and the Antarctic Empire? Was it everything for them or did they have lives before the empire, experiences he knows nothing about?

If they were immortals… what did they do before Tommy had met them? How long had they lived before they met? How did they even become immortal? Was it with a book like Dream had used or some other way?

Tommy still remembers with fondness those times with his family. They seemed normal, he would have never guessed they were immortals, but they had been legendary by that point already. They were feared mercenaries, unbeatable by any challenger. 

It was as if… they had already had lifetimes to become the perfect warriors.

Tommy starts furiously grabbing books, slamming a huge pile of them onto a table. He opens the one on the top. It’s from roughly four hundred years ago, he can find accounts of harried soldiers and mercenaries who had abandoned their jobs. They recounted a trio who could destroy armies, and conquer nations in one evening, and were nicknamed bringers of death.

This had to be Phil, Techno, and Wilbur.

Tommy remembers the stories that followed them. They were warlords uninterested in anything but wealth and personal gain. They were unstoppable forces of nature and Tommy was proud to be one of theirs.

He continues reading, and he continues to find more.

The trio could be traced back further than that. Tommy pours through history books and scrolls even older than him to find the proof. Stories of blood, horror, war, and the three men whose darkness could blot out the sun.

A god, a poet, and a king. 

A warrior, a leader, and a survivor. 

A soldier, a scholar, and a lord. 

Three, three, three.

Now a general, an admin, and an emperor. 

He finds stories about the Blood God, the Siren, and the Angel of Death- but even older ones about the Boar, the Phantom, and the Crow. Like, old old folktales.

Some stories connect them to the old Greek empire. The ancient Greeks lived a thousand years ago.

And their names, their names are a possible link. Right now they’re calling themselves Zephyrus, Icarus, and Protesilaus. Most hear Tommy’s alias “Theseus” and don’t know the origin story. But Technoblade always repeated the story of Theseus and the minotaur to him on nights he couldn’t sleep.

Theseus… could’ve very well been Technoblade, once upon a time. He used to tell Tommy all kinds of ancient stories- but were they really stories? When his low voice shook over the recount of Theseus giving his all to a city-state that accepted none of it, when his voice quieted as he said Theseus was thrown. Thrown like a ragdoll, an old toy, as garbage- betrayed by those he trusted. Were those old wounds that never healed?

Once he knows what to look for, it’s almost obvious. A trio has always been associated with death, destruction, and bad omens. And it started with the three who Tommy once called family.

Finding out they were immortals had shaken him, but he hadn’t thought about their true ages until now, and he feels shattered.

There’s no doubt in his mind, Techno, Wilbur, and Phil are fucking ancient. They’ve lived Tommy’s lifetime over and over again, a couple of centuries are nothing to them. They’ve seen history form, the rise and fall of whole civilizations. Normal mortals are probably ants to them, of course they run their empire in isolation. Dealing with humans is beneath them.

Something... cold settles in his gut. 

Tommy has had people he got along with, and treated kindly for a few years before they parted ways. He no longer remembers their names or the color of their eyes. Gone is the timber of their voices or the words they spoke. In his immortal life, those fleeting connections can be meaningful but still lacking in weight. Tommy has forgotten these people unwittingly, from the force no one can fight: the passage of time.

So- so what must have Tommy been to them? Back then, when he was truly a child, did they see him as an equal? Or was he a toy? An idiot mortal? Did they ever really love him?

Dream stole him away and succeeded. Maybe they hadn’t noticed when one day the annoying little kid stopped turning to them for any scrap of affection. Maybe-

Maybe they really don’t remember him. This whole miraculous chance meeting was just that- chance.

Tommy wasn’t even a brief moment for them, he was half a second of time within millennia.

Ha- ha, what a joke. What a fucking joke.

Prime he’s a fool, of course they don’t remember him. He’s so dumb for thinking ancient and powerful immortals cared enough about one naive kid to remember about him. He was a brief flash, a blink in their lives. They never looked for him, never immortalized his name, because they didn’t care.

A person doesn’t care to note the color of the rocks they step on during their walk home. No one cares to note whether it was cloudier one day compared to the next- just that there were clouds, as there will always be clouds. It was just Tommy who held onto those memories, he was the one sentimental enough to cherish the one family he’d ever known- but he was nothing to them. This whole time he’s been fucking fantasying about reuniting with them but- fuck they probably forget all about Tommy. They probably don’t remember his name, his face won’t ring any bells even if he unmasked himself. 

He’s been so, so childish and deluded himself for something impossible. 

It feels obvious now, as his chest aches with a deep anguish, that he was foolish to assume they would remember. He was too caught up in the flurry and frenzy of emotions of meeting familiar people. He was naive.

Tommy wants to scream, run away, or break something- but instead his eyes well up with tears. Heavy and hot and suffocating, they burn down his cheeks following the dips of his cheeks and gathering around his chin. 

He hiccups once and bites his lip as more tears pour down his face.

For a beautiful, shining couple of days, Tommy started to hope again. For so long he gave up such feelings, and now to have them crushed is- it’s pain. Pure, unfiltered pain.

Tommy loved them. Tommy loved the three of them, the family he grew to know, he cherished the time they spent together more than anything else he’s experienced. His life has been a long, pathetic, and drawn-out story but they were the one good part. But that love was misplaced. He’s embarrassed he let himself daydream so much.

There’s a part of him that expected this. No good thing lasts for him, especially if it’s without Dream’s permission. This, too, had to go wrong. But Tommy truly believed for a second there that he could be happy again.

And even more pathetically, he can’t blame anyone but himself. Tommy can’t remember all the people he’s met in his life. He couldn’t when he was a mortal sixteen-year-old and now he’s lived lifetimes. Even people he once considered the best of friends have faded, their appearances or names consigned to oblivion. Sometimes he’s hit by the realization he’s completely forgotten someone important by the emptiness in his heart. And the Antarctic royal family, they’ve lived so much more than him. In the stories, it has always been three, never four. 

Tommy wasn’t one of them. He wasn’t a part of their family. He should have never expected them to remember.

It’s logic that’s brought him to this sad conclusion, not just his dramatic heart. They haven’t indicated recognizing him, they came to the SMP for the festival at Dream’s invitation, and they won’t recognize him. He should’ve been able to tell from Wilbur’s callousness, Techno’s awkwardness, or the fact Phil hasn’t even glanced his way, but he still held onto hope. But now that light has dimmed, blown out for good. If he goes to them for help, he’ll just be another insignificant stranger bothering them.

So he’s on his own.

❅❅❅

For the first time in his long, pathetic life, Tommy appreciates the frowning mask he wears when he eventually leaves the library, his eyes surely red and puffy from bawling his heart out. No one has to know about it. Nobody he passes is anyone who would care if he was upset, but it saves him some dignity. The gossip circles are probably thriving off of all his recent arguments and behavior, continuing the legacy of the one hated viscount.

That’s all he is here, a scapegoat for everyone’s ire. He’s not innocent but he hasn’t done anything to deserve this- it’s Dream who’s told everyone he’s a problem child, a menace, a dog. Dream is the reason he’s all alone.

But what if he had stayed? Stayed in the chilly north only to one day start to bore Wilbur or disappoint Phil. Or even if everything had stayed perfect, he would’ve died after a couple of decades and they would’ve continued on the same as if it has always been. The three of them.

Maybe he’s just destined to be isolated from the rest of the world, hoping for something better. 

He walks with a steady gait and doesn’t glance at the other people around him who all whisper his false name. Tommy wants to scream at all of them, he wants to continue sobbing until his veins run dry, and he wants to curl up and rot away in a dark corner. He wants to explode like a bright firework and be amongst the stars, far away from the mayhem of human life. Just watching.

His mood is proper wrecked, but can’t allow it to show. It’d be giving his enemies more ammo, so he can’t stand down. It’s always just been himself, trying his best to stand tall.

There are dozens of servants marching through the hallways preparing for the ball tonight, bells ringing left and right for the servants. Some carry large vases for the bouquet arrangements, some chairs for the onlookers to rest, and others carefully cradle crates of champagne flutes. It’s going to be an unbearably social event where he’ll be expected to dance or chat with the malicious curiosity of the guests. He has to act as if his whole world has collapsed underneath him.

He laughs again, quietly to himself. 

Tommy wants to be angry, he wants to be furious or despaired but he just feels dumb. What had he expected? For things to actually go right? Yeah right. For Tommy? He’ll be lucky to get through the week without another death to his name.

He roughly yanks his bedroom door open, hoping to go to the bathroom to wash his face off and refresh from his pity party.

He doesn’t notice he has a guest until after he slams his door shut.

The person is instantly recognizable- long, pink hair tightly braided back, golden rings dotted across each hand, standing a foot taller than Tommy. 

... Technoblade.

For one foolish, glorious, painless moment Tommy thinks Techno is there to save him. That maybe all his sulking in the library was wrong and his brother was finally here to help him. That despite everything, this is his miracle.

That split second feels like an eternity and Tommy lives in a little world where his family cheers his name, hugs him, and promises him everything beautiful and soft to pay back for all the hurt he’s had. They soothe his fears and offer him the world. All this pain and confusion can be allowed to flow away into nothing, mattering little when they have eternity to finally catch up with each other, to be a family again.

But then Techno draws his sword. The ring of metal and cruel reality crashes into him.

“General,” he stutters out, “this is a surprise.”

Tommy holds his breath. All is still and silent. Tommy stares at Techno, and Techno stares at him. His brother is still unmasked, despite the situation they’re in. Technoblade doesn’t need anonymity for what he plans to do. There will be no witnesses.

An exhale, then Tommy dashes for the door. Before he reaches the handle, Techno crashes into him with just as much speed. Tommy’s head bangs into the wall with enough force to make him black out for a second. His eyes dart around in a panic as his sight clouds up with blinking lights and shadows. In his momentary pause, Techno takes the chance to pull on Tommy’s shoulder and slams him into the ground. The world shifts on its axis as he stares at the familiar plain white ceiling of his bedroom. Techno stands over him with his blade held tightly in hand.

He tries kicking at Technoblade’s legs, but it doesn’t seem to phase the man. Tommy’s breath catches in his throat. He feels like a pathetic little fly tangled in the spider’s web.

This is a mistake, a misunderstanding- “Please-”

“It’s nothin’ personal, viscount. Just Morpheus messin’ with things out of his control,” Techno shrugs before swiftly plunging his sword through Tommy’s chest.

The weapon is sharp and well crafted- it punctures cleanly between Tommy’s ribs and straight through his heart. It’s an efficient assassination, he’ll be dead within moments.

Tommy wheezes out, his lungs now useless pin cushions. With a rattling inhale, he calmly accepts his fate. He doesn’t struggle or flail around on the ground to beg for help. Tommy is not surviving this and he shouldn’t further humiliate himself. He’s fine dying by his brother’s hand. It’d be a gift to finally rest.

Unfortunately, he knows the oblivion won’t be permanent.

It hurts as Techno pulls the sword back, letting Tommy fall to the ground bonelessly. As his blood stains the carpet of his bedroom, he watches Techno exit to the balcony, jumping and disappearing into the dead of night. He’s perfectly gotten away with his crime.

Tommy laughs a little in the big, empty room. It sounds more like a hackle than a laugh, but he laughs all the same. Tommy wipes a hand over his golden vest and watches his blood coat his fingers.

What a fucking mess.

Tommy dies alone with no one there to comfort him, as it has always been.

(It is quiet, in the nothingness.)

- and then he’s waking up with Dream’s hands carding through his hair. It’s more of a nervous tick from Dream than any attempt to comfort Tommy since his movements are choppy and harsh. Tommy's skin already itches with new blood running underneath it as his senses are still dialed up to the maximum. 

Everything hurts. Everything burns.

Tommy blinks a couple of times as his eyes adjust to the darkness, to seeing again, as all of the candles are blown out. It’s a blessing on his aching eyes, the dim light still harsh enough to make them well up with tears. But he blinks them away before sitting up, waving away Dream’s hands.

He shuffles over his carpet, because he's still on the ground, just a few feet away from where he died, and his fingers feel like pillows overstuffed with filling- like figs overstuffed with cheese. He’s a human puppet haphazardly put back together, though Dream swears revival is a careful and delicate process. One time when Tommy was revived, he swore his teeth felt rearranged, another time his shoulders didn’t align the same as they used to- he’s had back pain issues ever since that death, though that might have to do more with the bandits that crushed his spine in with a mallet.

Sometimes he wonders if revival doesn’t remake him the same every time. His mind is always scrambled. 

“Who did this?” Dream quietly asks.

“... I did,” Tommy murmurs 

A tsk, then, “I know the difference between assassination and suicide. There was no weapon left behind.”

Tommy looks around for any sign, any evidence that Techno was here but Technoblade never makes mistakes, he never slips up. 

“Somebody with a mask did it, I don’t know who it was."

Dream groans, “You’re lying to me, which I don’t appreciate after all you’ve done today, but we’re running late for the ball as is. Make yourself presentable.”

Tommy bites back any complaint. There’s a social event and he’s still expected to attend. Of course. Tommy tries standing up, but Dream pulls him into a hasty hug, his fingernails digging into the back of Tommy’s neck.

 “Whoever did this will pay. Nobody gets to threaten my authority or what I own.”

“Thank you,” Tommy automatically responds to appease the man. It’s the same bullshit Dream always spouts, it used to bother him to the sun and back. But there are only so many times Tommy can well up enough indignation in himself to argue against him.

Time heals all wounds and dulls all gold, or something of the sort. He still feels like he's bleeding into his lungs.

The hug lasts uncomfortably long, but then Dream lets him go with a push. Dream examines that no blood has gotten on him and nods.

Tommy stares at the puddle of red where his corpse lay minutes ago.

Death used to be jarring. It used to be traumatizing. His skin still buzzes with discomfort, everything too much and too little at the same time. If he thinks too hard about the sword that just skewered him, he’ll throw up. But after so many deaths a part of himself is just numb to the pain.

So he doesn’t think too hard. He doesn’t pay attention as Dream leaves. Tommy changes out of his ruined clothes into another suit and leaves his bloodied bedroom. Clem will have to clean it up, but she’s long used to mysterious blood puddles ending up around him that she won’t mind. She’ll probably scold him for it and he’ll laugh good-naturedly. This will pass, it has passed already. This is the past.

Tommy feels nothing, but his hands still shake.

❅❅❅

The ball is loud and bright- and also smells foul. Dozens of people crammed together dancing, sweat sours the air along with the tables lined with odious appetizers that make his stomach twist in disgust. Overly sweet perfume clouds the air. This is yet another ostentatious display of the Greater SMP’s wealth and power.

Arrangements of roses fill large gold and white vases, all in full bloom and crimson red. The fallen petals look like splatters of blood in the corner of his eye.

In Tommy’s humble opinion, his own death should allow him to take the night off. Revival always makes him nauseous. He can feel the beginning of a migraine forming behind his right eye and he isn’t completely sure he won’t just start randomly sobbing in the middle of the crowd, but Dream demands it. Maybe the man would’ve let him ditch if he admitted it was “General Protesilaus” who assassinated him. Probably not. Dream’s excuse would be something like “oh with masks it’s easy to pretend dead officials are still alive.” And then Dream would ban him from even breathing in the same radius as any of the Antarctic royals- which is the opposite of what Tommy needs right now.

Or maybe he should run. Techno has already killed him, they clearly hold no affection for the one called “Theseus.” He’s already learned they’re more ancient than ancient, gods amongst men who probably never cared for the human called “Tommy.” This is the final proof that they don’t know who he is, or if they do they hold no love for him. He’s caught between worlds now, his plans all thrown out the window. He thought he was getting out of here within the week.

He doesn’t know what to do.

Tommy feels their eyes. He might just be imagining it, but his skin itches under their attention. Eyes of blood red, sky blue, and earthy brown, all scanning over what should be a corpse. He doesn't know how he missed it, but they look at him just like they regard everyone else. When he dreamed the dream that they had finally come to retrieve him, and save him from this prison, he foolishly ignored their eyes. But they are some of the few people who still don’t wear any masks against SMP tradition and it is clear to see. They don’t care who he is. That hurts more than any death could. 

Techno killed him. Protesilaus killed Theseus. Techno killed Tommy. 

Maybe later he can internalize this, of the anger or indignation proper for something so horrible, but right now he can’t bother feeling sorry for himself. Dream’s killed him hundreds of times so a sword to the heart barely irks him now.

Right now he isn’t upset. He’s empty.

Tommy slowly presses a palm to the newly-formed scar in his chest. It is a gift, morbid and twisted but his all the same, given to him by Technoblade. After losing everything from his past, the mark is a relic. He thought he would have nothing left from them but now he’ll always have this. He’s a beggar accepting the scraps.

Maybe Tommy is a fool. After all this time between them and everything they have lost, he still loves them.

Technoblade killed him. While a part of him fears that they know who he is and still decided to kill him, he knows he is forgotten. It’s been too long and he only knew them for a small amount of time. This is what logic says and what has played out. The man he once called brother killed him without recognizing his voice, his face hidden behind porcelain. 

Tommy looks over at the Antarctic royal family, and they look perfect. Their pale blue, crimson, and golden suits are well-crafted and immaculate.

Technoblade wears his medals proudly on his chest, along with the ruby heart, an emblem of the emperor’s grace. Pinned onto the sash tied around his body is a pendant of a radiant sun- ironic for someone who comes from the snowy, night-filled lands of the north. Emerald earrings dangle close to his shoulders, and Tommy remembers they represented their bonds. Emeralds are for family. Tommy used to have his own emerald that represented his own ties to them, but it was lost in the fires like everything else he used to own.

A decorative sword hangs on Techno’s hip, dull and completely unlike the one he used to kill Tommy. The scabbard is designed with the swirling pattern of a labyrinth. There are scenes of a woman holding a ball of thread, a warrior, and a half-bull monster. 

Tommy stifles a laugh. Discrete, real discrete.

Techno, with hands that stopped Tommy’s heart, is wearing countless golden rings. He has his hair pulled back in a braid. That is pink hair he once had the joy of braiding. He knows Techno’s hair is soft and well taken care of. Tommy once helped brush it out, lifetimes ago. 

His old life is so close to him yet unobtainable. This is Tantalus's curse. Familiar faces of loved ones stand in this very room, a breath away from Tommy. But if he reaches out he’ll never grasp onto them, forever out of reach.

Now the scar is what he has left to hold onto, and the namesake of a fallen hero. Only glimpses of the Antarctic family before they leave. Then Tommy will be alone again. 

They used to love him, but that life is dead. Tommy isn’t sure how to move forward. He thought he moved on but all the wounds have reopened. Like poorly done sutures his scars have torn open and he’s left in the middle of the room red. Maybe he should ignore them to save his heart any more pain, maybe he could remind them, maybe there’s a slim chance they do remember him-

But holding onto hope will only prove to cut him further. He extinguishes that flame before it can be fostered.

There are things he could or should do, could do, have to do, but right now he can barely feel anything besides the sharp churning in his stomach, revival and bile still bitter in his mouth. He can still taste his blood coating his tongue. His heart is beating furiously like it did when he was bleeding out like it hasn't realized he's fine now, he isn't still dying. He's not literally dying even if everything is raw and painful. It’s far too easy for him to ignore it.

He smiles, an action useless and unseen, but still he smiles. Tommy clearly turns his head to look at Techno, the action not lost on the warrior, who doesn't back down from his silent challenge. Tommy straightens the creases out of his coat and decides to throw caution away to the wind, to act on impulse. His mind has been buzzing a mile a minute bouncing between different plans and fuck that, he just died.

Tommy walks confidently, not a moment of hesitation as he approaches Techno, and stares him right in the eyes, “Good evening, Protesilaus.”

Techno’s face doesn’t betray a moment of shock or surprise at seeing a living ghost. The man only grins sharply and says, “Welcome back, Theseus.”