The Tale | Dream SMP

I - Chapter Thirty

Tommy stood beside Wilbur, holding his bow firmly in his hand. He preferred using a sword, but he knew how to used the range weapon as well. If he had to, he'd even be fully willing to learn the weapon in just half an hour for his nation. He'd sacrifice it all for independence.

Wilbur's voice rang in his head. "Independence... or death. If we get no revolution, then we want nothing."

This was the offer. It was either independence, or Tommy's death.

"We would rather die than give in to you and join your SMP."

Death.

It was his choice, and he chose death.

Funny how it worked. He was just a kid, a sixteen-year-old who had barely experienced the world yet. But he stood in the depths of war, on the front lines, fighting an opponent others couldn't even begin to think of opposing.

There was probably a lesson for him in there somewhere, but he didn't want to waste any of the time he had left thinking about it.

"Wilbur... what happens if I miss?"

Wilbur shook his head. "Tommy, I told you, your passion and your fire is good for the war, but in these kinds of situations? I... oh my goodness, you've really gotten yourself into a mess."

Tommy sniffed. He stared down at the bow in his hand. "Do I shoot him, Will, or do I aim for the skies?"

The man smiled slightly, placing a hand on his shoulder. "Tommy I want to--- I want you to do whatever your heart says you should do."

My heart... whatever my heart says? My brain says that I don't want to die, but my heart... my heart would give up everything for L'Manberg.

"Remember the song, Tommy?" Wilbur said suddenly. "The one I sang for you guys, back when L'Manberg was still intact and well?"

Tommy nodded. He remembered. The words were etched into his memory, urging him on. Reminding him of everything he fought for. But still, he wouldn't mind hearing it one more time.

"'Well I heard there was a special place,'" Wilbur began to sing, sighing to himself. "'Where men could go and emancipate; the brutality and tyranny of their rulers.'"

A single tear slid down Tommy's cheek. He raised a hand and brushed it away, trying to focus on Wilbur's voice.

"'Well this place is real, you needn't fret; with Wilbur, Tommy, Tubbo, fuck Eret --- it's a very big and not blown up L'Manberg.'"

L'Manberg. His home.

"'It's L'Manberg, it's L'Manberg.'"

Tommy met Wilbur's gaze. The man sighed again. "It's L'Manberg, and you mean everything to us, Tommy."

"I know," Tommy said, his voice barely audible.

He looked over to where Dream was standing on the path, his armor off. The man's head was lowered. He was waiting for Tommy, and Tommy knew it.

It was time.

***

Tommy stood with his back pressed against Dream's. There he was, standing right beside his enemy, but he couldn't act. Of course he couldn't. Because even war had rules, and they all needed to play fair. Or rather, as fair as they could. Besides, he had been the one to suggest the duel. He couldn't back out.

His friends watched from the overhang, worry in their eyes. Dream's men stood at the edge of the lake the path was built in, emotionless. They cared about Dream, too. But it wasn't as if they hadn't had conflicts before either.

Wilbur stood at the edge of the overhang where Dream had been. He stared down at them, his face a mask of calm. Tommy closed his eyes and exhaled.

This is it.

The moment where I either save us all or die trying.

Tubbo, Fundy, Wilbur, even Eret before he betrayed us... we're all family. We're just trying to live happily together. And we can't do that with Dream breathing down our necks.

Independence... or death.

I'll be the hero. For me. For everything.

For L'Manberg.

"One, two, three, four."

His feet moved with Wilbur's counting, each step taking him further and further away from Dream. Tommy placed his arrow on the string, nocking the bow. His heart was racing, but strangely, he felt calm.

Any last words?

Well... there's a high chance that both of us are going to die today. We both shoot, we both hit, we both go down.

I... I'm tired. I don't want to fight anymore. But if this is what it takes to end the war, then I'll do it.

There's no point in fighting violence with violence. No point at all, and yet society can't seem to see that. I'm stuck. We all are.

In the end, there is no winner.

But we do it anyway. That's the pains of war. Nobody benefits from it.

"Five, six, seven."

He was really going to do it. They were going to shoot, and one of them would fall to the ground, dead.

It didn't feel real. But it was. In a moment, one of them would leave the world of the alive. One side would mourn, the other would celebrate.

He had joined the SMP with the prospect of finally settling down and doing something useful with his life, escaping the hustle and bustle of the city. Instead, he found himself waist-deep in a war.

Nothing ever went his way.

"Eight, nine, ten paces fire."

Tommy drew back his bow as he turned. His gaze focused on Dream almost immediately, taking in the arrow pointed directly at him as well.

One of us is going to die.

Did he really hate Dream? Enough to be the one to kill him?

He's threatening my nation. He has killed me before. So why wouldn't I retaliate?

Tommy concentrated, aiming at Dream's chest. He let go of the fletching and watched as it whizzed through the air.

The man sidestepped, letting the arrow brush past him. Tommy gritted his teeth and reached into the quiver hanging on his belt for a second arrow, quickly nocking it and pulling the string back. Once again, he let go. Once again, he watched Dream dodge it with ease before letting an arrow of his own fly. He had missed.

As pain errupted in his chest, he knew that Dream had not.