Things That Need To Pass (passerine!Technoblade x OC) {COMPLETED}

War Times (2)

(Third person POV)

Someone noticed. It was a girl with hair as pink as the hibiscuses she grew in her garden. She had lived in the city all her life. Once, a man with the same hibiscus-pink hair had walked into her flower shop, his eyes bleak and unfocused. 

He'd asked her if she had any yellow roses for sale and had bought it all. It was only later that she realized who the man was, but by then he'd already left, heading towards the woods that bordered the city.

 Now, she marched along the city streets that had become unfamiliar over the course of a week. She'd left her garden to the care of an elderly neighbor. A sign was left on her flower shop door, telling hopeful customers that it was closed indefinitely. 

There was nothing else to do now but follow the course of the crowd, keeping an eye on a stranger that was definitely much younger than her, wondering whether or not he'd outlive her.

They passed underneath the castle gates, where a woman they called the Captain kept a watchful eye. She was under orders to turn away anyone too young, too sick, too old—but every time she looked into their eyes; she only saw herself. 

She'd clawed her way to her position, made sure to earn her reputation, and had stood guard over the royal family for over a decade. It was her stubbornness that got her to where she was, adorned with medallions from the king—both old and new. 

It was stubbornness that she saw in these people now. So while she did her duty by barring the way for the youngest, the sickest and the oldest, if she turned away for a moment when an aged warrior did her best to hide the wrinkles on the backs of her scarred hands, or when a seventeen-year-old boy pulled his hood lower over his face, or when a strong-jawed smith from the city limped by her with a broken foot that wasn't quite healed yet... well, she would consider that her duty, too.

By the time the boy and the flower shopkeeper found themselves in the garden, it was crowded. People stood shoulder-to-shoulder, pushing, and pulling like a tide on the trampled remains of the dead queen's flowers. 

The shopkeeper grimaced as her boots treaded across petals and stems, violently returning them to their soil. The boy did not notice the flowers at all. He was staring up at the balcony, looking at the man whose call was answered by thousands.

Most of them had never seen their king before, but they've all heard the stories of a boy crowned on the eve of his sixteenth birthday after his father's mysterious disappearance—or death, or assassination, depending on which rumors you believed—and guided by a strange adviser.

 A kingdom of peace would never have had any reason to know the name Technoblade, but those who heard the folk story of a red-eyed emperor from a cold and distant land whispered amongst themselves at the resemblance, or the coincidence, or whatever word they could use to explain away the uneasiness brewing in their gut.

The stories also said that the king was kind and generous, with the starry-eyed ambition that came with his youth, and that the younger prince could charm a thousand detractors with his wit and humor. Standing together, they seemed to be as different as night and day: one dark, one light. But no one could deny the shared brotherhood etched into their regal bearing, both products of a boyhood almost drowned in etiquette and decorum.

The prince shifted closer to his brother. "That's a lot of people, Wil," he murmured.

The king's eyes were unreadable in the hazy light of the clouded afternoon. "Not enough," he replied.

Their tutor crossed his arms as he surveyed the gathering crowd, already calculating battle positions and drafting strategies. This was, after all, not his first war, nor did he think it would be his last. "I'll oversee training as much as I can, for as long as we have time. I've identified some potential battalion leaders from the guards and the people who came earlier. I'll delegate the responsibility of training the newer recruits."

"Which is most of them," Wilbur pointed out. "They never had a reason to learn how to fight, before this."

"You underestimate your people, Wilbur," Technoblade replied patiently. "There are other reasons besides war. Look, there. See that person with a bow? They're a hunter—used to shooting down fast-moving targets, which makes them an asset for our archery line. Folks from the mountain regions are used to riding on horseback, so that's our cavalry already established. Miners and smiths are used to swinging sharp and heavy objects around. Give them broadswords instead of pickaxes and hammers, and we'll be ready to go."

Wilbur cut him a bemused look. "You sound almost optimistic. Did you hit your head on a wall this morning?"

"I've seen worse odds."

Tommy scoffed. "This is different from all your war books, Techno. This is real life."

He did not notice the knowing look shared between his brother and their tutor.

"Anyway," Technoblade continued, "I've reached out to mercenary guilds to supplement our offensive. Our coffers can handle the hit. After all, this kingdom has only been busy with trade for the decades."

"And if it all goes to shit anyway?" Tommy asked quietly. Eryn entered the tent quietly.

Technoblade's expression hardened. "It won't."

"How can you be so sure?" demanded the young prince. "From what I've been hearing, we're nothing more than a bunch of poor saps armed with twigs against this—this—what did they call themselves?"

"The Green Army," Wilbur replied, not taking his eyes off the people below them.

"Ridiculous name, if you ask me," Technoblade said.

Tommy did not laugh, as he usually would. "That message you received said they massacred an entire town, Wilbur," he choked out. "An entire town, wiped out overnight like ants."

Wilbur's hands tightened around the balcony railings, his knuckles turning white as he squeezed. "They were taken by surprise. We will not be so unfortunate."

None of them said the obvious, which was the fact that if Wilbur had not held his secrets so close to his chest, the town that once sat on their northern border might have survived. They might have been warned. They would have been saved from their merciless doom. Hypotheticals, Technoblade had told them before, were worthless, and only crippled their way forward. But it still sat in the uneasy silence between them, broken only by the tutor saying, "Other towns along the Green Army's route have been evacuated. We should be expecting refugees to arrive in the city in three days, but the temporary camps will be finished and ready by then."

"And what's the status on the Army itself?" Eryn found herself saying. 

a/n 

ayoooooooooo

Have a good day, afternoon, or night wherever you are!

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