2

The night is peaceful, something Technoblade hasn't had for a while. For eons he's been constantly hunted in the night, when they think he least expects it. Naturally, he stays up and waits for the attack. It results in no sleep and even larger eye bags under his red eyes. He sits with his sheathed sword under his pillow, ready to defend himself.

Be prepared, the voices tell him.

Yet, the attack never comes.

In the morning, Techno doesn't need to wake up. He was already wide awake, sitting in his bed with a hand under the pillow. Wilbur was the one who reminded him it was morning with a knock on his door. Techno jumps at the noise, then sighs in relief when he hears Wilbur's muffled voice from the other side of the door.

"It's time for breakfast, Technoblade," Wilbur calls out and the doors swing open before him. Techno walks out looking tired, he is tired. "Jeez, how much sleep did you get?"

"None," he replies dryly and has to practically drag himself to the dining room. It's unnatural for him, usually sleep and no sleep don't make a difference. I suppose even if you're immortal, it can take a toll.

"You might be a god, but you still need rest," Wilbur protests and walks beside him with hands stuffed in the pockets of his ripped, black jeans.

"Yeah, sure," Techno laughs sarcastically, but also in joy. He's gotten those five minutes of peace for the first time in eons.

When they arrive at the dining table, everybody is already there. The table is long with too many chairs for just the five of them. It's covered with a white tablecloth, each chair is white with gold lacing, and a large chandelier hangs over the center of the table. Tommy immediately points at them when they enter with a large smile.

"Hi!" he exclaims through a mouth full of steak.

"Tommy, don't talk with your mouth full," Philza chuckles and gives a slight wave to the two of them. Techno throws himself down into a chair beside Philza, who sits next to his wife. "How'd you sleep, Technoblade?"

"Not well," Techno replies and grabs a knife, starting to cut the steak awkwardly. He isn't used to this, usually he hunts, cooks over a campfire, and eats. However, he knows better than that. So, he uses the knife and fork.

"Why's that?" Philza asks, completely oblivious.

"Philza, I'm the blood god for fuck's sake-"

"Don't curse at the table," Philza interrupts, then remembers who he's talking to. "Sorry, habits," he laughs.

Kill him, the voices demand. He abandoned you, he deserves it. Blood for the blood god.

His grip tightens on his fork, trying to control himself. Sometimes, the voices get too demanding, too loud, and they control his movements. There are times he's been unaware he's even killing.

A hand is placed over top of his own, the one gripping his fork, and he finds that it's Philza's hand. Philza recognizes this habit, one where the voices are demanding blood. He pats the hand and gives him a reassuring smile, then redirects the conversation. He includes Technoblade in it as much as possible, distracting him from the ordering in his head.

"Can I see your fangs?" Tommy abruptly asks him, and points at his own mouth.

"You want to see my fangs?" Techno repeats and scratches the back of his head.

"No, I want to see your fu- freaking eye balls. Yes, I want to see your fangs, Technoblade," Tommy sighs and Techno begrudgingly opens his mouth, allowing the fangs to show.

They're not hard to miss, since they poke out just the tiniest bit from his lip when it's closed. Wilbur leans forward from his plate, he hasn't been talking much, and gasps at the sight of them.

As quickly as he had, Techno closes his mouth and stuffs it with steak. He's missed Philza's steak, as much as he hates to admit it. 

The voices seem to quiet down, not speaking as loud. They tend to do this when not listened to, but Techno knows it's a matter of time before they start up again. When finished, they rise from their seats and walk down the halls. Philza goes to the King's office, Techno to his room, Tommy to his, and Wilbur out to the garden.

Wilbur finds it peaceful outside, where the morning birds chirp and the morning dew clings to the grass. He loves it, and he loves nature. Oh, how he wishes he could go venture the town, buy the flowers from the seemingly nice lady at the flower shop. 

Tommy has told him all about her, describing her brown hair with pink streaks in the front, how her shoes squeak when she walks, and how she wears overalls mostly. From what he's heard, she's pretty great. 

He wants to meet Tubbo, the boy who somehow became friends with Tommy, even though he's mostly at the marketplace. According to what he's heard, Tubbo is one of the few goat hybrids left. Other's mostly live in the mountains, but he doesn't like it there. He prefers the kingdoms where he can be whatever he wants to.

He walks along the stone path surrounded by flowers and grass tended by the gardeners. When he comes, people tend to scatter. Having the name "angel of chaos" bestowed upon you makes people run. They want peace, not chaos. It's why Wilbur isn't allowed outside of the castle property, restricted to where he was born. He's learned to live with being avoided where he walks, but he still goes along the stone path to the willow tree.

It's Tommy's favorite tree, a willow. He had wanted one so terribly in the large garden that Father had gone to the market and bought a willow seed. Five year old Tommy was incredibly excited, smiling wide as he made the tree grow quicker than expected. That same day he had gone out to the garden and brought up flowers and plants that had withered around Philza when he walked around the grass that day. Tommy cherishes every flower Philza accidentally kills, tucking it in his wool, blue cardigan where he can safe-keep it.

A porch swing sits at the end of the stone path, where Wilbur sits. He flips to his last page in the book, saved by a flower petal Tommy had given him when they were little.

"A bookmark for you, Wilby!" He had exclaimed with a large smile, holding out the petal in his hand. Wilbur had thanked him, smiled, and placed the bookmark in the book he was reading at the time.

By this time the flower petal is withered and dry, wrinkled and flattened by his book. Wilbur still uses it as his only bookmark, cherishing it where he goes. 

By this time of day, nobody comes to the porch swing. It's him, his guitar sat by the swing, and his book. The case has a book with five lines in it, for song writing. Nobody is here to judge him on his singing, or ability to even write one.

So, Wilbur glances at the black guitar case and picks it up, along with his book. He unzips the case, pulls out his guitar, and fiddles with knobs and strings to his liking. Once the sound of the guitar appeals to him, he strums it once, letting his fingers brush over the six steel wires plated with nickel. He hums in approval and flips to the last song he has written. A name hasn't been decided yet, he's still working on that part. He decides to play it, maybe it'll help with the name.

Wilbur clears his throat and places his hands on a Bm chord, plucking the second string once, then the third, then the fourth, and the fourth again. He moves on to pluck at the third and second string. Then, he switches to the D chord, playing the same pattern, moving to A, and then G.

Wilbur sings softly, hands dancing along strings and frets. The song flows with the guitar, moving smoothly along. So smoothly he doesn't notice the golden-haired boy watching from the bushes. He sings and plays calmly, under the feeling of nobody watching. He feels peaceful and calm, like the worst thing could happen and he would be still at peace.

It's been sixty weeks since I saw vienna,

A bandage and a wide smile slapped across my face,

I'll pick up my hiking boot when I am ready,

And I'll put down my roots when I'm dead.

"I like your song," Tommy says from afar. The sudden words make the boy jump slightly, disturbing the once peaceful pattern. Wilbur looks up at him, startled.

"How much did you hear?" He asks and scrambles to close his notebook when Tommy tries to flip through. He stuffs the book in his bag he's brought, placing the guitar in its case gently.

"I've been here to hear all of it, so far. Will you play more, please?" Tommy asks shyly, a smile on his face. "I like it."

Wilbur pauses, thinking for a moment. He's never played for an audience before, only himself. Unless the birds in the trees count, that is. He looks at Tommy like he just asked him to jump off a cliff and not fly to save himself.

"No," Wilbur blurts out, ruder than he intended. "It's just that I would- I've never played for anybody. You know? I don't really, uhm, I don't really, like, want to play for you."

"Oh, that's okay!" Tommy shrugs and sits on the porch swing next to him. He hums to himself, the very song Wilbur was just playing. "You still have my flower petal I gave you," he notices and smiles at the older boy, who's fiddling with the book.

"I do, it's my favorite bookmark," Wilbur replies and closes the book again, placing it back in his bag.

"Father wants you, by the way. Says he needs to have a chat with you," Tommy says and gets off the swing along with Wilbur, who nods.

They walk away along the stone path together, Wilbur leaving behind his guitar. He brings his book with him in his bag as he walks to Father's office. When he arrives at the white doors with gold handles, he takes a deep breath before taking hold of the knob. He opens the door and sees his father at his desk, pen scratching paper.

"You said you needed me, Father?" Wilbur asks and stands at the door, closing it behind him. Philza looks up,

"Sit down," he says and gestures to the seat on the opposite side of his desk.

Wilbur obeys, sitting down in the brown chair. It feels an awful lot like when he was younger, getting called to the principal's office for "inciting chaos" or "disturbing the peace of the classroom". He squirms in the chair awkwardly, the silence only being interrupted by the scratching of a pen.

He desperately wants him to say something, anything to ease the tension in the air. Yet, Father says not a word as he works. He sits quietly along with his son, paperwork piled to the left of him. The stack is tilted, threatening to fall under its own weight.

The doors creak, catching only Wilbur's attention. Techno stands at the door, closing it behind him carefully. He utters not a word as he sits in the empty chair beside Wilbur. He was wondering who that was for. Decidingly, Philza sets down the pen.

"What did you call me here for, Philza?" Techno says as soon as the pen is set down. He crosses his arms on his chest, voices screaming at him that something is wrong. "You know I don't like having my time wasted."

"I know, Techno. I've known you for many eons before," Philza murmurs, and looks up at the two of them. "I've called you here for an invitation."

"Invitation? To what? A fancy ball?" Techno grumbles angrily, murmuring for somebody to shut up.

"We didn't say anything," Wilbur replies to his call for silence.

"I wasn't talking to either of you," Techno shoots back, not providing a further answer nor explanation.

"It's not a ball, Technoblade. It's an invitation from another country, named Las Nevadas. Other rulers of kingdoms will be there, it's a good opportunity."

"You want to send us to a country?" Wilbur assumes and leans from his chair. "You'll allow that?"

"Tommy would stay, he would be a substitute per se. You could go, it should be a quick journey. You would be my ambassador," Philza gestures to the two of them, and then at the paperwork.

"Ambassador? Then what the hell did you ask me to go for?" Technoblade scoffs, rolls his eyes, and motions to get up.

Philza holds out a hand, "I want you there to make sure he doesn't go and be an idiot. Alright, Technoblade?"

"Fine, I can deal with that," Techno shrugs and gets up from his seat.

"Wilbur? Would you like to go?" Philza asks and turns to his son, who sits on his chair in shock. A smile spreads on his face so wide his face might just crack in half.

"Yes! I'll do it Father! I'll do it!" Wilbur exclaims and hops up from his seat, Techno flinches at the sudden rush of motion. "When do we leave?"

"Tomorrow," Philza answers and glances up at a disappointed Techno. "Oh, don't tell me you hate being rushed, Technoblade." Technoblade opens his mouth to speak and closes it again, the first time Philza was able to silence him.

"Then we should pack," Technoblade walks out with the final word, as he likes to do. The doors swing open and Wilbur runs to catch them before they close. He walks alongside Techno in silence, except for the sound of their breathing.

"Are you excited?" Wilbur asks in an attempt to break the silence like a guillotine.

"Not to prevent you from doing idiotic things. Seeing this new country? Yes," Techno admits and shrugs, which he is simply infamous for. His slight scottish accent really shows in his sentence, Wilbur hasn't noticed it before.

"You're a descendant from the Scottish, aren't you?" He smiles and nudges him with an elbow in the side.

"Yes, yes I'm Scottish. Do you have a problem with it?" Techno shoots back and raises his eyebrows at the boy walking near him.

"No, no not at all. I like the accent," Wilbur attempts a poor mockery of said accent, earning a small chuckle from Techno. Yet, no smile cracks on his face, just a small upturn of the corners of his lips.

"That was terrible," He criticizes and snorts into his fist, a stifled laugh.

"Sure," Wilbur laughs and waves at the pink-haired man as he turns to his room.

Techno continues on his way to his room, which is right besides Wilbur's. When he enters he doesn't quite know what to do. Pack? Sit in his bed? Read? Decidingly, he packs clothes into a very small briefcase gifted to him by Philza. He stuffs another shirt identical to the one he wears now, pants, a coat (just in case), and a necklace from his mother. Was it from his mother? He can't remember.

Idiot, the voices hiss, you could've killed that old man there.

"I don't want to kill Philza," Technoblade murmurs and packs his bags, ignoring the shouting in his head. The violent and desperate screams for blood. Blood that Technoblade hopes won't be spilled any time soon.

Wilbur packs things for every possible scenario, good and bad. He packs short sleeves, shorts, sunscreen, gauze for potential wounding, everything. 

When Techno sees the absurd amount of suitcases he makes Wilbur decide to put at least two back, which he does. He puts away two containing clothes (yes, he labels the suitcases). Then, Technoblade decides they can go with the minimal suitcases.