Chapter 3: Alea iacta est

It has been over a week since Ranboo first arrived at the palace, and Tommy isn’t doing really well in terms of befriending him.

Tommy is the pinnacle of kindness whenever they encounter each other by accident, but that’s about it. Ranboo had tried to make a conversation with him one time; Tommy listened to him stutter and apologize after almost every word for around five minutes before he got tired and left in a hurry under the excuse that he had to fill some paperwork.

He isn’t sure what annoys him more: the aura of awkwardness that turns every conversation with Ranboo into a torture, or his terrible lack of respect and manners. Tommy had to correct him a few more times before he stopped using first names, and showed him the section in the library where they had books on etiquette.

This had, unexpectedly, brought a whole new problem – Ranboo doesn’t know how to read. The literacy rates in the Antarctic empire were not nearly close to one hundred percent, and advanced academies were only affordable for children of wealthy merchants or with sponsorship from a noble family. Father of the current Emperor put an effort to make schools with basic education available both in cities and larger villages, but it was clearly not the case for whatever wretched hole Ranboo had crawled out of. 

Tommy tells this to the Emperor during one of their meetings – without the hole-crawling part, of course. He half-expects that he’ll be tasked with finding the boy a teacher, and feels almost happy that it never happens, and goes on with the reports. Once they are done, and the Emperor dismisses him for the day, he does what he hasn’t done in literal years – he lingers, nervously cramming a handkerchief in his fist.

“Do you have anything else to say, Theseus?” The Emperor asks.

Tommy straightens and forces himself to look into the man’s eyes. “Recently, I took an interest in learning Ender, and I’m having some troubles with the phonetics. I know very few people, even in the palace, who are fluent in speaking the language so I thought- that you could, perhaps, assist me.”

It feels as if the world stops as Tommy waits for an answer, and it crashes on him full-force when the Emperor throws him an incredulous look. It hurts. Tommy knows that he has no one but himself to blame. His request was ridiculous, and selfish, and over-demanding- and he still went forward with it.

“I’m afraid I won’t be able to make any room for a break in my schedule,” the Emperor says. Tommy is already backing away mentally, and the only thing that’s left was to get to the doors and rush away.

“Of course, Your Majesty,” he all but mutters. “I shouldn’t have asked.”

Less than an hour later, Tommy finds himself passing near Ranboo’s room. He wouldn’t have stopped if there wasn’t a voice coming from inside, one that he recognizes as the Emperor’s, and if the doors weren’t left open just wide enough for somebody to peek in.

It brings back memories of the times when five-year-old Tommy would come to bother his father. Standing behind heavy wooden doors, he never knew who he would find inside: Dad, who will greet him with a happy exclamation, pick him up and press a kiss to his forehead, or Emperor Philza, who would only rub a thumb between the creased eyebrows and ask a governess to take the young prince away.

Last time Tommy had seen his Dad, he was eleven years old, and his mother was still alive. Where he didn’t expect to meet him again would be next to Ranboo, sitting behind a desk, as the boy hunches over it with a quill in hand. What Ranboo writes on a piece of paper looks more like scribbled characters from one’s fuzzy nightmare than actual words.

“For your first time, you’re doing great,” the Emperor says.

“You think so?” Ranboo perks up. “I still don’t know how to write my own name, though.”

“Here, let me help you.”

The Emperor puts a hand over Ranboo’s and carefully guides it over the paper. Tommy watches, his fingers clenching into a fist to the point his knuckles appear white. He can’t bring himself to look away even though he knows that it would take only one stray glance up for the Emperor to notice two blue eyes watching them through a narrow slit.

Tommy feels empty. He isn’t sure what is gnawing at him from inside: the fear of being caught eavesdropping or the fact that the Emperor could find some time in his schedule to spend with Ranboo and not with him.

Ranboo stares at the piece of paper in amazement, like his name, scribbled in toddler-like handwriting, is something akin to a miracle. The Emperor looks both amused and proud. “I almost forgot that I have a present for you.”

He produces a notebook out of his pocket, or perhaps it’s a diary – covered in embossed leather and with a wide strap across keeping it shut. “So you could write down your memories,” the Emperor explains.

Tommy could buy himself a thousand diaries like this and cover them in liquid gold, yet he still bites his lip so hard that he tastes blood. Deep down, he knows that it’s not the gift itself that makes anger bubble in his veins, it’s the fact that the Emperor had cared enough to pick and bring it for Ranboo. 

On the surface, however, he just wants that book to light on fire. Preferably, still in Ranboo’s hands.

His steps are quiet as he retreats, but the door creaks when he lets go of the handle. Tommy wonders how different his expression must look from his usual stoic frown that it makes a maid passing by jump out of his way with wide eyes.

Inside the room, Ranboo looks up, words of gratitude dying on his tongue. What he thinks he sees is a flash of something gold behind the door. “Did you hear that?”

When the Emperor stands up and peeks into the corridor, it is already empty, save for a confused-looking maid dipping her head in a bow.

“Must’ve been your imagination,” the Emperor says.

***

In a gap in the crown-prince’s schedule for today, he and Tubbo found a brief moment to relax in the deep part of the gardens. Tommy probably will regret it later when his dirt-covered pants will earn weird glances from the ministers, but for now he flops down on the grass and stares into the afternoon sky.

Puffy white clouds drag lazily across the bright blue void. They reach the horizon and disappear over the mountain peaks, travelling far, far south, where the ocean waves crash with graveled shores. Between Tubbo humming a simple melody and the wind quietly playing with the leaves on the trees, it’s a perfect balance between silence and noise to make thoughts flow in Tommy’s mind.

The last few days were full of meetings and preparations for the arrival of foreign guests, and perhaps it’s the reason why he’s more stressed and less in control of his tongue.

“Tubbo?”

“Yes, Your Highness?”

“You know that I don’t see my father a lot, and usually it’s completely fine – he has much more important matters to take care of but-” Tommy takes a deep breath, “Is it wrong that I feel upset because the Emperor finds time to spend with Ranboo and not with me?”

Tubbo falls silent. Tommy doesn’t realize how long it’s been since he had voiced any of his emotions aloud until he turns his head and sees the lost expression on his friend’s face.  

“Perhaps you could try and talk to His Majesty about it,” Tubbo answers after a painfully long pause.

Grass tickles Tommy’s cheek. He looks away again, feeling a knot tightening in his chest. Tommy should’ve expected such an answer from someone who is in good relationship with his father: not once or twice did he hear Tubbo talk about Captain Sparklez with chest-puffing pride.

As a child, Tommy used to sneak into the barracks a lot, and he had seen Tubbo a few times without actually indulging into a conversation. Truth to be told, the curious nimble prince – not the crown-prince yet, nor he’d be until he turns eleven – sneaked into a lot of places. Like that one time he was supposed to wait for Techno for their horse-riding lessons, and instead he tiptoed behind the stableman’s back and pulled himself up on the back of the first saddled stallion he found.

It didn’t go well. Tommy had a fair chance of falling off and breaking his neck. Tubbo appeared seemingly out of nowhere, a tiny boy with a determined frown, jumping up to the rearing horse and grabbing the reins. He held it off until it calmed down and Tommy, shaking like a rattling snake, was able to get down.

“Are you dumb?” Tubbo had asked him as soon as his feet touched the ground.

“Uh-huh,” Tommy shook his head. “You’re supposed to say, ‘Are you dumb, Your Highness?’”

Tubbo glared at him. “You’re insane.”

“And you’re fucking cool,” Tommy grinned back. “I think we should be friends.”

The boy didn’t get to answer then. The adults arrived and Tommy got a reprimand of a lifetime from his family. What they didn’t know is that Tubbo is extremely skilled in climbing balconies, and the days the prince was supposed to spend locked up in his room, repenting about his irresponsible behavior, the newfound best friends played table games and giggled over obscene pictures they drew on the floor under Tommy’s bed.

One night, the two were sitting in a dark room, the flickering light of a single candle picking out their stone-serious faces and the glint of a silver dagger. Tommy pressed the sharp blade to his palm through a hiss of pain. 

“Brothers by soul,” Tommy said. 

He passed the dagger to Tubbo, and once he copied his action, they clenched thier bleeding hands together tightly.

“Brothers by blood,” Tubbo echoed.

If there was a person who was affected the most when Theseus was announced a crown-prince, it would be Tubbo. He could’ve followed in his father’s footsteps and gone through extensive training to become a royal guard – but instead, he chose to stay by his friend’s side.

It was only months later that Tommy started to think that Tubbo might’ve regretted that decision. When the crown-prince asked Tubbo to be his chamberlain once he becomes an emperor, the boy looked away and said that he’d have to think about it. It felt like the previously steady ground beneath Tommy started to crumble, and he didn’t press the topic for the fear that a single crack could turn into a ravine.

Something green flashes in front of Tommy’s eyes, snapping him out of his memories. A feather slowly descends to his nose, making him sneeze and shoot up into a sitting position.  

A bird perches on a tree nearby. From the tip of its tail to the curved beak, it’s almost Tommy’s arm’s length. The color of the feathers, otherwise as green as the grass between the prince’s fingers, is white along the primaries and down from its neck to its belly.

The crown-prince stands up and approaches. He extends a hand towards the bird carefully. Instead of biting or scratching, it closes off the short distance between them and hops over onto Tommy’s arm, and they come face-to-beak, sapphire-blue eyes to emerald-green.

“Tubbo, do you know what bird this is?”

“Looks like a parrot to me.”

The Antarctic Empire, even towards its southern borders, is too cold for a bird obviously belonging to warm climate. “Has to be some noble’s pet, then.”

The bird recoils and puffs up its neck feathers. It lets out a squawk that sounds so similar to a person yelping out an offended      ‘What?’     that Tommy’s lips tug into a smile against his will. “Are you saying I am wrong?”

His finger gets bitten. More like nibbled, really, as the bird’s sharp beak doesn’t put enough pressure on his skin for it to break or really hurt. “Okay-okay, point taken. You are a big bird and not a pet.”

Tommy taps on its beak. The bird lets him go. The look of surprise on its face is so vivid that Tommy can’t help but laugh – genuinely, unlike the withdrawn chuckles that he politely responds with to the Foreign minister’s poor attempts at joking. The bird bumps its head against his arm in response with a soft coo. .

“It seems to take a liking to you, Your Highness,” Tubbo points out. And then, once he comes closer, “Look, there is a note!”

Tommy lowers his gaze and sees a piece of paper tied up to the bird’s leg. He takes it off carefully under its curious gaze.

   I am a guest from abroad  

   who will soon arrive for the  

   Summer Solstice celebrations.  

   And I write this note while drunk.  

Tubbo, peeking from behind Tommy’s shoulder, snorts at the same time as he does. “For a drunk person, the handwriting is quite neat.”

“Half of the documents in our archives would be unreadable if one of the Emperor’s secretaries couldn’t sign them while he’s drunk. I swear, I never see that man without a bottle in hand.”

Tubbo giggles. The bird shakes a bit, letting out a gurgling sound akin to a chuckle.

“You should write a reply!” Tubbo exclaims.

“You think so?” Tommy asks, already knowing that he will. In the span of the last week, a lot of unusual things have happened to him, but this is the first positive and truly intriguing one.

Tubbo presses a quill and a sealed bottle of ink to his hand. The bird moves up Tommy’s arm, carefully of its claws, and sits down on his shoulder. There is a lantern with a flat top sticking out of the grass nearby – after the sunset, a servant comes to light the candle inside, but for now it makes for an acceptable surface to write on.

   Your bird has safely found its  

   way to me. I shall be relieved  

   if it returns safely for that it means  

   that it is cleverer than its  

   drunk owner.  

As soon as Tommy folds the piece of paper and ties it up to the bird’s leg, it spreads its wings and takes to the skies. He and Tubbo both watch it fly higher and higher until it becomes nothing but a dot quickly nearing the horizon.

“I wonder if it’s going to return,” Tubbo says, and even if Tommy doesn’t voice it, he really, really hopes that it does.

“Who’s going to return?” Wilbur asks.

Tommy doesn’t hear him coming, and he flinches as he turns to face his brother. Here Wilbur is, leaning against a tree, almost merging one with its shadow, his stance akin to a curious fox lurking around a chicken scoop.

An absent smile on the crown-prince’s face momentarily turns into a moderate frown, not deep enough for an angry glare but deep enough to make it apparent to Wilbur that his presence is not welcome. “Did you want something, Wilbur?” Tommy asks coldly.

The older prince makes a ‘tut-tut’ sound, straightening up and dusting off his deep-blue tunic. “So aggressive,” he says accusingly. “And just as I wanted to invite you to join us on our trip around the town.”

“Us?”

“Me and Ranboo, of course. The boy gets so excited over the simplest of things that I wanted to see his reaction to some of the places we liked to visit as children.” Tommy’s face twitches. Wilbur smirks, continuing, “Remember the Rainbow fountains? Or that alley where people play music in the evenings? It was your all-time favorite spot. “

   Only because you would join the musicians,    Tommy wants to say.      But that wouldn’t be the case anymore, would it?  

He keeps these words shut behind sealed lips. As satisfying as it would be to win against Wilbur in his own game, it still would be too low of a blow to remind him that he stopped playing music after their mother’s death.

“Well, what a shame that I’m too occupied to accompany you today,” Tommy settles on instead.

“I’m sure that a short break is acceptable-”

“I just said that I’m too occupied- “

“-if not for you, then for Tubbo.”

Tommy blinks, confused. Tubbo, who stood as a silent shadow behind the prince’s shoulder since the start of the conversation, glances up in surprise. “Me?”

Wilbur hums. “Ranboo is still very shy around me. I assume it could be something to do with the difference in titles and age. Perhaps having Tubbo with us could help him relax a bit.”

The sheer      audacity     of the act almost makes Tommy choke. Wilbur shows up just to bother him, and not only he rubs his fake friendliness towards Ranboo in his face but he also suggests that he sends Tubbo – his best friend and his main escort throughout the day – to follow around a commoner?

“I think somebody might be forgetting his place,” Tommy grits out through his teeth.

“Somebody certainly does,” Wilbur agrees. “And I might be looking that person in the face at this very moment. Didn’t you promise Father that you’d be on your best behavior with Ranboo?”

“What does it have to do with now?”

“You’re avoiding Ranboo.” Wilbur doesn’t ask, he states. “At least by sending Tubbo, you could make it look like you’re making an effort.”

The anger feels like it might take over Tommy at any moment and burn his bones and skin to ash. In a state like this, it’s hard to keep his voice straight, and he can barely hear his own thoughts over the racing      thump-thump-thump     of his heart. Before he has a chance to collect himself and answer, Tubbo suddenly steps in, “I’ll go.”

“What?” Tommy falters.

“All your remaining duties for the day don’t require my attendance. I’d be honored to join His Highness and His Majesty’s guest on their trip.”

“See?” Wilbur puts a hand on Tubbo’s shoulder, but it’s Tommy who shudders and snarls. “Tubbo isn’t your guard dog, you shouldn’t keep him glued to your side.”

“I’m not-” Tommy starts, but Tubbo dips his chin – just slightly – and his eyes are looking straight at him, telling him that it’s okay. Tommy’s jaw clicks shut. “Fine, let it be your way. But if Tubbo wants to go back at any point-”

“I’ll send him to the palace on the first transport I can find,” Wilbur says.

Tommy nods through the strain in his neck. Wilbur smirks with triumph and leads Tubbo away, and a half an hour later, the crown-prince watches a carriage riding out of the main palace gates, his head put on top of his folded arms.

***

Miles and miles away, in a different country and a different palace, two men waste time in a spacious room decorated with gold. One of them bends over a desk, making notes on a large map, black goggles discarded aside. The other one hangs over a couch head-down, and yawns loudly in boredom. Staring out of the open balcony doors, he is first to notice a large bird landing on the railings.

“George, look who’s back,” he says, pulling himself up.

Before George has a chance to look away from the map, the bird disappears, and a white cat with green eyes darts across the floor and behind the curtains at the far side of the room. A minute later, a man walks out of there, a smiling porcelain mask in his hand.

“How did your trip go, Dream?” Sapnap asks.

Prince Dream, the first in line for the throne of the kingdom of Esempi, drops himself on the couch and stares at the mask with a thoughtful look on his face. “I’ve met a very interesting person today,” he says.