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

Thinking About Things

(3rd person POV)

Two years ago, Wilbur had stood on a balcony and faced an army ready to die for him. I promised you peace on my father's crown, he'd said, and now I call you to war. This is nothing less than treason. Rest assured, I will be facing consequences for it.

And the soldiers had called instead for their enemies' heads. More than half of them were dead now, leaving family and friends behind—alive and safe, but mourning, and if there was anyone who understood the need to find some place to put down blame, it was Techno.

There were no enemies left to defeat, no smiling gods to imprison, no hostile armies crossing the valley, and that was why Techno and Wilbur were standing in the hazy sunlight pouring in from the high windows of the very room where Wilbur had once been crowned, the room where he might have that crown taken from him for good.

In front of them, seated in pews and on the floor, or leaning against the marble columns, or watching from the balconies, were the people that would determine their fates. A hundred blinking eyes, all unreadable, settled on the king and the general that had won both battle and war, at the cost of the very people they'd sworn to protect.

Never mind that they'd saved them from a worse fate. Never mind that they'd ensured the safety of the kingdom for generations to come, or that they'd spent the past two years working on pulling the threads of their nation back together.

Those were excuses that neither Wilbur nor Techno would ever use against their people.

Before them were four jars, each towering over the, one for each quadrant—west and east, south and north. For the past few months, those jars had combed through every inch and corner of the kingdom, from the highest mountains to the smallest villages tucked into the deepest forests to the cold, snow-covered tundra towns.

Messengers had knocked on the door of each house, presenting each person within—be they child or adult—a decision.

They would take a rock, any rock, be it from their own gardens or from the riverbed or chipped from the threshold of their houses, and place it in the jar if they believed the king and the general had not done enough in service to the kingdom.

A representative stood behind each jar, ready to tip it over, ready to count.

Enough votes, and Wilbur would step down from the throne, and Techno would go with him, and they'd live the rest of their mortal lives in exile, far from the kingdom they had bled and fought and lost their brother for.

Techno glanced at Wilbur. Despite his earlier posturing, Techno could tell Wilbur was one tug away from unravelling. He stood shoulder-to-shoulder with Techno, trying to look as calm and stoic for his people, spine straight and eyes ahead.

Only Techno could see the apprehension behind them.

He loved this kingdom. He loved its people. It wasn't just his father's kingdom, or his mother's, or Tommy's. He'd given everything of himself into it. It was his own flesh and blood. It was no longer a chore, or something he had to succeed in to earn a distant father's approval.

It was the soldiers that had fought beside him in the valley. It was the half a hundred people that had been willing to bring down a mountain on their foes and on themselves. It was the scars on his skin and his sleepless nights and his pride and his home and his responsibility.

He was born for this, stones and all.

A judge draped in white robes called for attention, as if the room had not been mind-numbingly quiet for the past half hour.

"Citizens of our fair kingdom," the judge said, "we gather today to bear witness to the conclusion of the trial of King Wilbur, Protector of the Realm, Ruler of the Kingdom, and Technoblade, former general of the Royal Army. The people have spoken, now all there is left to do is listen." He turned to Wilbur, his gray eyebrows rising in question. "Would you like one last thing to say, Your Majesty, before we tip the jars?"

Wilbur opened his mouth, closed it, began shaking his head.

Techno stepped forward. "The king," he begun, "as well as I, thank you all for coming here today. I see familiar faces in the crowd. I fought next to you, have seen your bravery firsthand, and I know what it cost all of you to come here today." He took a deep breath, met every eye on the floor and mezzanine. It felt like standing before the dead. It felt like a reckoning long overdue. "Everybody here lost someone to the war. A friend. A parent. A neighbor. And you know what your king lost, too. Though we are united in our loss, that does not excuse the lapse in my and Wilbur's judgments. We made mistakes. Deadly ones. We believed ourselves invincible and were too late to act against the encroaching enemy, and you all paid for a price that should have been ours alone. Whatever you have all decided today, we will call it justice. That is all."

When Techno stepped back, Wilbur caught at his sleeve. He anticipated a dry remark about his unexpected diplomacy, and was surprised when Wilbur simply mouthed, Thank you. Techno nodded hesitantly at him, confused as to what there was to be thankful for. After all, he was only doing his job.

The judge read out more legal jargon that Techno had already heard a hundred times before, and then—with the very hands he'd used to put a crown on Wilbur's head—he gestured for the jars to be overturned. They looked like vases. They gleamed like urns.

Wilbur's hand slipped into Techno's, his bitten-down nails digging into Techno's knuckles.

Techno closed his eyes. He did not know which gods would still listen to him, so he prayed to them all. The war god. Dream. Philza.

Exile or exoneration. It was out of his hands. He would be ready for both.

Techno waited for the clatter of stones on marble.

It never came.

The boy who had come of age in blood and fire stood before a lake with his fist curled gently around a stone. The surface of the lake was calm and still, a mirror of the sky above it, and Tubbo wondered what it would feel like to float in it, to swim in sunlight.

By this time, in a city far from here, the king and the general Tubbo had followed into war would be counting the votes of those who wanted them gone. Tubbo ran his thumb along the smooth edge of the stone in his hand, turning it idly between his fingers as he looked out at the lake. It would freeze over soon, when winter came. Tubbo would be ready, then.

He pulled his hand back and threw, with all his might. The stone skipped once, twice, thrice, across the surface before sinking into the blue sky, leaving ripples that disappeared in a blink of an eye, and the lake was still once more.

Tubbo grabbed the axe that hung from his hip. It was starting to rust, and constant use had worn away the handle, but it would hold for just a bit more. It was a familiar, reliable weight in his hand, and he swung it beside him as he walked towards the forest.

He needed more firewood to keep his sister warm.