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The alley is a dead end; three walls high on either side and no way back behind them when the guards’ shouts echo through the streets, meaning Tommy and Purpled only have a few seconds until they’re captured or skewered with swords, and neither of them wants to have to deal with that.
“Fuck,” Tommy spits as he rushes to the far wall, wincing because the houses are too far apart from one another to jimmy their way up, and the trees that have taken root in between the brick are not nearly strong enough to climb. There’s a door that leads into one of the buildings, but it’s locked and it won’t budge, and the soldiers are still coming.
“Gutter,” Purpled says, pointing to a guttering that is just as weak as the saplings in stone, but it leads up to a beam bracing the alley, a lantern hung but doused because it’s still later afternoon, hours from twilight but it’s the best they’ve got. “You first,” Purpled says, voice tense as he braces himself next to the gutter, fingers laced together for a foothold. Tommy hesitates, but Purpled glares at him from beneath his lilac hood, the rest of his expression expertly tucked beneath the kerchief tied over the bridge of his nose and any noise of complaint dies on Tommy’s lips.
“Down here!” comes a shout from the knight captain leading the guards and Tommy has no more time. He uses Purpled’s step-up, his hand, his shoulder, rising as Purpled rises too, fingers clawing around the lantern to anchor himself as he draws out his saxe to impale the wood. It’s for defence more so than attacking; Tommy far better with a sword than he is all the cloak and dagger, but there’s a reason he wears his mask and a reason why he has to handicap himself when fighting back the city guard.
It’s a regret that clings to him now; a mountain on his shoulders of a sodden cloak pulling on his neck as Tommy manages to get his chest over the beam. He wraps his legs around it, and an arm, swinging down so that his right extends as far as it will go so that Purpled can grab hold; having taken a run and jump, using the wall as a springboard because he’s far more agile than Tommy is, far more used to the cloak and dagger where his childhood has been all about struggling to survive, thieving for food and outrunning the city guards when he was spotted doing so.
“Don’t let them escape!” the knight captain orders and Tommy snaps his head up just as the hiss of a crossbow bolt goes whizzing over his head, Purpled’s grip on the scruff of his cloak yanking him up onto his feet because the guards aren’t going to easily give up. If they can’t follow then they’ll knock them down with crossbows and arrows, and Tommy isn’t about to stick around for target practice.
The beam is wide enough to stand on, and it’s paired by another a little higher, a little deeper into the alley that acts like a stepping stone; another behind it that Tommy leaps for blindly as arrows and bolts come hurtling up from beneath them. “Gonna have to jump!” Purpled yells, because there’s nothing but the wall of the third building in front of them, capped by its roof, but there’s a window with a jutting frame and Tommy just hopes he can make it as he jumps, hands on tiles, toes on the wooden frame. He kicks, desperate, laughing to himself when he gets an arm over the lip, then two, then his chest; grinning at the knight captain’s outrage.
“Keep firing! Keep firing,” he roars like a beast untamed, and they’re practically out, Tommy throwing his head to the right to grin at Purpled who, beneath his mask, grins right back—
The notion falters.
Tommy’s brow furrows as he hauls himself up over the lip of the roof, lungs in his throat as Purpled’s grin sharpens into pain, and instead of hauling himself onto the roof, slips backwards until he’s dangling by his fingers. “Fuck, no, no!” Tommy yells, skidding on tiles that have little grip, rushing to his brother, chest flat to the tiles as he grabs two hands around Purpled’s forearm. The other is limp by his side, pierced by a crossbow, sleeve already dark with blood.
“I’ve got you; I’ve got you,” Tommy whispers, more to himself than Purpled, practically his brother, fingers desperate as they wind into his tunic and cloak. “Pull yourself up Purpled, come on. I know you can do it,” he says, encouragement drowning out the fear in his voice as he lifts his gaze enough to look over Purpled’s head to the swarming alley beneath them.
Technoblade, Knight Captain of the city, has the armed guards in twin rows; crossbows in front, archers in back. And the archers haver reloaded and their firing again—
Purpled cries out again as an arrow pierces his right shoulder; Tommy above him equally pained where an arrow tip pierced through the layers of his clothes. It’s not enough to anchor into his bone but there’s going to be blood and a scar, but that’s nothing to care about when the pain of it steals the strength he needs to help haul Purpled over the edge of the roof.
Purpled knows it.
Technoblade knows it too.
“Surrender now, or face another volley,” he shouts, voice echoing in the confined alley with an edge of victory to his voice because he’s finally cornered Hood and one of his accomplices, and it makes Tommy want to spit and shout at him, but he wears his mask for a reason. Purpled knows that reason.
“I’ll distract them,” he breathes like pain isn’t constricting his chest. Tommy shakes his head, eyes flicking between Purpled and the soldiers below, following their captain’s orders to load up once more. Six crossbow bolts will be aimed at them soon enough, and they’ve all had a sighting shot.
This time around they’ll be far more accurate.
“No, no, Purpled—“
“I’ll meet you later,” he continues, as if Tommy hasn’t spoken. “Take the long way round. East gate is still barred so try the north, or go beneath in the river. You have to make sure Tubbo and Ranboo got out safely. Their distraction didn’t work was long, so maybe something went wrong.”
“We’ll go together,” Tommy argues, digging his fingers in tighter even as the guards give confirmation they’re ready; Technoblade ordering them to aim and Purpled letting go. He doesn’t fall when Tommy’s hands anchor him, his own body weight shifting on the tile and the seams of Purpled’s shirt beginning to tear and he doesn’t want to know what will fail first as he begs Purpled to keep holding on, just a little more strength because this isn’t going to be a distraction, this is practically fucking suicide, “Purpled, don’t, don’t please—”
Purpled smiles as Tommy’s grip fails.
He doesn’t give up entirely though, reaching out with his good arm to snag one of the beams on the way down, and it slows his momentum, but it doesn’t stop it, crumpling into a heap on the stone, Technoblade ordering his soldiers to move in as Tommy snaps up his knees, “no, no, leave him alone!”
The knight, of course, ignores him, and Tommy is helpless to watch as Purpled struggles against the hands that grab him; the pain bleeding from his mouth as they’re too rough, yanking him back, forcing him onto his knees. Technoblade doesn’t hesitate to yank Purpled’s hood down, or his mask, but there’s no familiarity between a knight captain and a street kid. That doesn’t matter, though, when Technoblade holds the edge of his sword under Purpled’s neck, forcing his chin upwards so that he’s got no choice but to look to where Tommy stands on the roof, unafraid of the dozen bows and crossbows once more aimed for him.
He only has thoughts for his brother.
Technoblade is speaking. It’s not often he does, preferring to watch and listen from the corner of the room while everyone else takes the spotlight, or some lesser noble hoping to curry favour with the king regarding lands or trade routes or tax percentages and Tommy should probably listen to him, but all he can think of is Purpled, and that there’s no way Tommy, all by himself will be strong enough to overpower the dozen guards Technoblade has at his command, let alone Technoblade himself, who is knight captain and apart of the king’s trusted council for a reason.
He knows that if captured, Technoblade wouldn’t kill them, but take them to the castle. Well, he would if Tommy was a street kid like Purpled and Tubbo, but he’s not and that’s the point of the mask he’s wearing and that’s why he can’t surrender because Father’s hands are tied when King George stands ready to take the neighbouring kingdom to war and too much of the crops and fieldhands have been taken to the frontlines leaving their fiefdoms and all the surrounding fiefdoms around them to face near-starvation and with the current drought—
“Surrender,” Technoblade booms again, his words thunderous as they skitter across the cobblestone and rooftiles, “or forfeit his life.”
Purpled bites down on a noise of pain, forcing his head back away from where Technoblade presses his sword into Purpled’s neck; a thin line of red running down to seep into his collar and Tommy—for lack of a better term—panics.
“Hurt him and you’ll forfeit the Prince’s life,” he shouted, adopting Ranboo’s accent in hopes that it, and the slight muffle of his mask, would disguise his own voice. Tommy’s thankful at least, that Technoblade draws his sword away from Purpled’s neck. “You dare threaten—”
“Let my brother go,” Tommy shouts, emboldened slightly, by the way he pools Techno’s anger to him. He knows that he holds a soft spot in the knight captain’s heart, just as Wilbur and Father and Mother do. He’s seen Technoblade gut assassins he’s caught in his bedchambers; been rocked and coddled in his arms from as young as a babe to as old as a month ago when Technoblade had returned from the frontlines with a few news scars and a new tiredness to his limbs.
“Let my brother go,” Tommy repeats, his own chin high, “or be the one responsible for Prince Tommy’s death.”
But it’s a step too far and Tommy only has a split second to react when Techno orders the archers release their arrows; ducking low to the roof to avoid their trajectory. Tommy’s foot slips, so he’s slow to getting back up, still on his knees when he hears Technoblade barking more orders to his men; four to escort their prisoner to the castle dungeons, four to stay with their bows trained on the roof and the rest with him, to find and protect Prince Tommy before Hood and his followers can lay a hand on him.
Clutching the bloody arrow wound in his forearm, it’s not Hood Tommy has to worry about.
Tommy runs, over tile and thatch and stone. He knows the city like the back of his hand, and without the boundaries of buildings to slow him down, he knows that he can get to the castle, and castle grounds before Technoblade can cross into the upper quarter, and with that in mind, he ignores the burning in his arm and keeps going.
At the gatehouse, Tommy has to slow down to make sure he’s not seen; pulling down his kerchief and hood just in case—preferring to have everyone think he snuck out of the castle as opposed to them learning that he is also Red Hood—but the coast is clear where the guards are busy with a cart delivery for the kitchen needing inspection meaning that he slips right past and into the guard access on his immediate left.
Inside he shirks off his jacket, half sprinting down the corridors. There are few servants here, but they’ve long since learnt to ignore Tommy’s antics and he goes unnoticed all the way to his own quarters; Red Hood’s disguise tucked down the back of his bed, between mattress and headboard. The arrow wound is mostly dried, clotted blood by now, so Tommy doesn’t bother with a bandage as he pulls on a fresh undershirt and a doublet; muddy boots shoved to the back of his wardrobe and a fresh pair pulled on.
There’s a knock on his door and Tommy jumps, startle; quick to school his voice back to neutral asking who it is. Except, instead of Technoblade marching through, Shroud is the one who bullies open the door, shutting it quickly behind him, eyes wide and near-panicked. “Prince Tommy, Tommy, in the courtyard!” he rushes, words spilling out of him quickly as the young boy rushes to where Tommy is, clinging to him with desperate hands. “Sir Technoblade, I saw—he has—”
“Purpled, I know,” Tommy hushes, sinking down so that he’s on level to Shroud, hands on his shaking shoulders. “It’s going to be okay, Shroud. Something went wrong today, but I’m going to fix this. But never mind that. Have you heard from Tubbo or Ranboo?”
Shroud, scared as he is, holds back his emotions with a deliberate swallow, wet-eyes determined. He shakes his head, hand curled into the front of his tunic.
“No. And Michael hasn’t returned back to the castle either. I heard the guards talking about commotion on the south gate earlier, but Michael was only meant to watch and then come straight back and—”
“Okay, okay, that’s okay he might just have been caught up in the crowds,” Tommy says, stomping down his own swell of fear. Michael isn’t a ward like Shroud is. He’s a servant, meaning he doesn’t have the same permissions, and yet he is just as invaluable to Tommy and his friends as they have undermined the King’s efforts to round up enough tax and food to be shipped to their soldiers and allies holding the border. King George continues to attempt treaty negotiations with the Mizu Dynasty that have been pushing their borders these past few months, although it’s obvious they want war.
As an ally to Esempí, Antarcticire and its people are honour bound to supporting them.
Except with the lion’s share of the guards with General Niki on the frontlines, thievery and bandits have been growing bolder, and with the drought sweeping in from the south it’s getting harder and harder for the people to feed themselves. Treaty and allies aside, Tommy doesn’t believe Antarcticire’s people should have to suffer while the kings drone on in middle ground.
He’d much rather be stealing from the Mizu dynasty, but considering they’re so far away, his only real option are the shipment supplies that set out from the castle.
Except this time, things had gone wrong.
“Shroud, listen to me,” Tommy says, beginning to get a plan forming in his head, lowering his voice so that they’re not overheard. “I need you to get word to Tubbo and Ranboo. They’ll be in the forest, in the hideout. You remember the way, yes?”
Shroud nods, but by the fear on his face, he’s uncertain. “That’s okay,” Tommy reassures him, resettling his grip, “you’re not going alone. Find Michael. Search the castle first, and if not, head to the south gate, you should find him there. Then go to the hideout and tell Tubbo and Ranboo that Purpled is in the castle dungeons,” he says, softening his voice by the look of fear that overtakes Shroud’s expression at the words, “and then—and this part is really important Shroud, I need you to tell them not to do anything. I will get Purpled out.”
“We can help,” Shroud whispers, his voice unsteady. “We—Michael and I can—”
“Not with this,” Tommy says, and he can’t help but smile, because Shroud is only a boy at twelve years, but he’s brave for the sake of his friends, despite his fear and despite the danger. “The Red Hood has threatened the life of Prince Tommy,” he continues, watching Shroud’s brow furrow in confusion before softening as understanding dawns. “If Technoblade, or any of the King’s knights catch sight of any Hood, he will attack them and I can’t have Ranboo or Tubbo in danger. You and Michael should return, to keep off suspicion, but I need you to tell them to stay in the hideout. I’m going to get Purpled out, and we’ll meet them in the woods. Can you do that for me?”
Shroud chanced a smile, frail as it may be, opening his mouth to speak, but before he could say anything, the door to Tommy’s chambers slammed open and they both startled at the sight of Technoblade standing in the doorframe.
He was panting, as if he had run from the lower quarter, which was true actually; the sight of Tommy calming him just as quick and Tommy was able to hide his own startle. Shroud wasn’t nearly so tactful and had practically lunged into Tommy’s chest, silently begging for the prince to protect him, as he has promised by taking Shroud in as ward.
“Technoblade, what are you doing? I know that I might prefer to shirk some of my duties, but I am still Prince and that does not give you the right to barge into my chambers unannounced,” Tommy scolded, as was his right, desperate to remember that he’s not to meant to know about the threat upon his life; or about Purpled currently being dragged to the dungeons. He’s been out hunting, he decides there and then; teaching Shroud how to track and how to see the signs, the lie sitting ready waiting on his tongue for the moment that Technoblade asks.
“I—I apologise, Tommy, I’m sorry,” Technoblade says, catching his breath, bowing his head. It’s shallower than what a lesser noble would offer, but Technoblade is as much Tommy’s friend as he is the knight captain, and that’s what makes this entire affair all the more difficult.
It makes it harder to keep his mask and his secrets, but he’s been Red Hood for months now, and before that he was a stranger who helped where he could, and before that just another guard, or just another servant, or just another fieldhand who preferred the heat of a harvest field to the droning of a tutor’s lessons. Tommy stands, one hand still on Shroud’s shoulder, sharing a quiet look between them while Technoblade’s head is still bowed, Tommy nodding his head towards the door to indicate Shroud should get a move on.
“It’s fine, Techno,” he says, to take the knight’s attention; his words the permission Technoblade needs to straighten up, eyes barely lingering as Shroud bows twice and sees himself out. “Just… what is it? You don’t usually crash your way through the castle, so what is it this time? Has Wilbur pissed you off again?” he asks, keeping his voice light, turning to the table and the vast spread of fruit and drink with the casualness of someone that hasn’t been running around the city all day.
“A threat,” Technoblade says, to the point. Tommy makes a point of hesitating, eyebrow raised as he glances back to the knight. “Another? What is it this time? Some disgruntled lord that got too mouthy at Father because he wasn’t given permission for a new factory or—?”
“No, Tommy. This one came from the Red Hood.”
“The Red Hood?” Tommy says his own title slowly, as if he’s not used to saying it. “He’s a thief. He steals food from Esempí’s war supplies. I mean, the people love him, and he’s a criminal but he’s not exactly the threatening type,” he says, careful, because Prince Tommy’s view of the Red Hood is someone who has his heart in the right place, helping the people and all, but that he’s going about it all wrong.
“He made threats against you after we caught his brother.”
“His brother?” Tommy allowed his eyes to flicker to the door behind Technoblade, as if Purpled would be dragged in behind him. Instead, it’s just the pair of them; Technoblade partially distracted, if not no longer by his fear of Tommy injured, then now instead by the prisoner beneath their feet.
Technoblade straightens up, moving towards the door in obvious invitation. Tommy wouldn’t think Techno would allow him close to someone he believes is a threat to him, but Tommy just wants to make sure Purpled is okay—that they’re going to treats his injuries at the very least despite his stance as a criminal against the crown—and he sets down his goblet to follow Technoblade out of his chambers.
Yet, instead of descending to the subterranean levels of the castle, Technoblade leads Tommy to the lesser hall, not bothering to knock. Tommy follows, keeping his confusion to himself when he’s met with a small crowd all gathered before Mother and Father’s twin thrones that allow them to meet with lordlings, lesser nobles and even the peasantry that come to the castle with concerns and requests for aid.
Recently, it has been many outlying villages that are suffering bandits or not enough food with the drought pressing down on their throats. With the bandits, Father’s knights are stretched thin enough when Niki is leading many of them in battle, but they spare the guards they can, but it’s getting harder when more and more villagers are struggling and King George’s standoff against Mizu seems it has no end in sight.
Father flicks a glance over to the door, fingers just barely lifting off of the arm of his throne to acknowledge him while Mom continues to listen to a noble, talking something about trade routes, bandits on the road, a missing shipment of luxurious silks stolen by Red Hood and his men which makes Tommy frown because that is not what he and the others steal. They steal things that are of worth like food and water, seeds for the next harvest or money to buy themselves more than the rations than their villages are allowed to hold onto as opposed to fine materials that are better suited for a warmer climate over Antarcticire.
“And when did Red Hood steal this… wagon, I’m assuming?” Tommy asks, lifting his voice, inviting himself into the conversation.
The nobleman raises an eyebrow, gaze flicking back to the King as if he’s uncertain of the interruption. When Father says nothing, the nobleman turns his attentions to Tommy, oblivious to the way Dad and Wilbur, present at his right hand with parchment and quill to note down anything of importance, share an eyeroll. Mother hides her own amusement behind her chalice and sits back in quite, chaotic glee as the nobleman turns a thinly veiled sneer upon her son, high importance smug in his voice as he answers, “on the main west road towards Esempí. And you are…?”
The nobleman trails off at the question, the disguise of his insult to not knowing who Tommy is, perhaps thinking him of Father’s council, because Tommy isn’t the kind of person that boasts his wealth and station by parading around in his crown outside of balls and delegation meetings. It’s not like Tommy expects this man to know who he is, but it makes it all the more sweeter when he stands a little straight, full of pride and pose and a smile he means as he all but chirps, “Prince Tommy.”
Both Father and Wilbur have to look away to hide their smiles when the nobleman pales. Out the corner of his eye, Tommy can see the way Technoblade attempt to suppress his own amusement, never having been one for these kind of people, and while Tommy would love to lead him around the gooseberry bush and down the garden path, watching him trip and tumble over his own words as he digs himself a pit he can’t get out of, so too is he painfully aware of Purpled in the dungeons beneath them and the burn of an arrowhead’s scar in his upper right arm.
“I can accept that you wouldn’t recognise me, I don’t often attend these meetings,” he says, all propriety and false politeness, because as much as he wishes to dismiss the man and try and silver-tongue Purpled’s freedom out from beneath his family’s nose, Tommy can’t and he has to play the game of court, putting a little more effort into his smile as he continues to address the nobleman. It doesn’t escape his notice that he’s trying to outwit his parents using his—albeit, second—name, and the guise of his friends that steal to protect their people, not for the stupidity of greed.
“Although I am interested in this silk wagon of yours. Quite luxurious items I’d wager.”
“Yes, sire, very much so,” the nobleman nods, boldness creeping into his voice, eyes returning to Mother and Father where they sit as he continues his earlier, woeful spiel of stolen goods. “They are exquisite silks and finery from Sadavensal, as well as sugars and spices and—”
“Yes, yes,” Tommy interrupts and it’s all he can do to stop from waving his hand, irritating bleeding into his tone that see’s Wilbur’s head tilt ever-so slightly.
“But you see, they’d be quite useless for the Red Hood.”
The man’s smile falters. “I’m certain I don’t know what you mean.”
“Oh, but I think you do.”
Tommy’s own smile sharpens, and he takes a step forward, watching as the court around them withdrew half a step. Wilbur is openly staring now, and Father has a finger pressed to his lips as he watches on, content to give Tommy the floor and intrigued as to how he will proceed, but Tommy’s mind burns with the fact that he and the others—Purpled, Tubbo, Ranboo, Michael and Shroud—risk so much when they track down wagon shipments, stealing one from the caravan or grabbing what sacks they can and running before they’re seen, or when they’re forced to take an entire stock of food that is meant for soldiers—their people as much as the ones suffering here—
“You see the Red Hood wants to help people,” Tommy says slowly, his words for the nobleman as much as they are for his family, and for Technoblade who has been nothing but persistent since he came back from the warfront to capture him and the others.
“Granted stealing from Their Majesties isn’t the smartest way he could go about his business, but everything he steals, it seems that he gives back to the people. Gold for food. Wheat for their mills, fruit and vegetables for their tables. I don’t see the Red Hood stealing silks of all things,” he says, voice near-acidic from both anger and the way his arm throbs, stalking closer to the man in the middle of the room. “No. In fact, I don’t believe there ever was a wagon at all.”
The man pales even further, guilt and surprise clear on his face, beginning to stammer, glancing between Tommy and His Majesty as if Father would grant him reprieve when it’s from him he’s trying to steal so-called compensation. “I… I don’t—Your Highness, you can’t mean to suggest—”
“Oh but I do,” Tommy smiles with a tone that he’s learnt from Wilbur. One that makes him proud from where he stands, quill and parchment forgotten as Tommy takes the lead. “I believe you saw an opportunity here, to swindle gold from the crown.”
The man has nothing to say, sputtering uncertain and suddenly fearful when he realises he’s been caught in a trap oof his own making; eyes turned to the king with a plea on his lips—
“Ser Baird, I do not grant permission for trade of your silk,” Father interrupts before Baird can utter a sound. “And I suggest that you leave Antarcticire’s lands immediately,” he says, just as ready as Tommy is to set this farce aside and get to the real matters at hand. Namely Purpled, and how the hell Tommy is going to get him out.
“While I’m still feeling generous,” Father adds, when Baird still stands. He hurries to bow—too shallow to be respectful—but gathers himself quick enough and absconds from the hall. The remaining court hush and murmur between themselves, but when Technoblade takes a step forward to the thrones, Father calls for a reprieve, that he has personal matters and for the lesser hall to empty. It does so without complaint, everyone too preoccupied with the gossip of what just transpired and speculation to the king’s dealings. They’ll learn soon enough, but right now Tommy doesn’t care, turning back to his parents and Wilbur’s coy, proud smile as he steps closer.
“Well spotted,” he grins, as if he wasn’t the person to be teaching Tommy to notice when people are lying. It’s helped him as much as its helped the Red Hood, and he’s grateful. “I know you noticed, and that you were just playing with him, but I just wanted to hurry things along rather than letting the man dig himself a deeper hole first.”
“Spoilsport.”
“Well, it’s a good thing,” Technoblade piped up, calling attention to himself. He turns back to the thrones, formally greeting Mother and Father. “Your Royal Majesty. Your Royal Grace.”
“Technoblade,” Mother greets with her own smile gently tucked between the corners of her lips, amused by his manners despite the many years they’ve known one another. “I wasn’t expecting to see you until dinner.”
“I have made… advancements,” he says, as if the word summed up the entirety of the situation, “with the Red Hood.”
Immediately, Father straightens where he’s sitting, fingers curling around the arm of his throne. Mother tucks her amusement away, far more skilled at hiding her emotions than Wilbur, who’s eyes are wide at the news.
None of them are looking at Tommy and he’s thankful, taking an extra moment to take a deep breath, uncurling his fist and putting himself back in the position of a prince who has found out that the masked vigilante that’s been running around the kingdom for the last few months has put a target on his head.
“I have captured his brother. But upon doing so, the Red Hood has made his own threats. It is the first time he’s shown his willingness to violence,” Technoblade says, edging around the truth liked he is afraid to admit it aloud—as if doing so would see an arrow through Tommy’s neck even if he is the one meant to be firing the bow.
“He has threatened Prince Tommy.”
“Made threats against,” Tommy corrects with a put-upon his when his parent’s eyes snap to him, worry fierce inn their expressions. “I wasn’t there. Technoblade told me, when he came to check I was okay.”
That calms both Mother and Father enough that they remain sitting, even though Tommy can see the way Mother’s fingers twitch to wrap her son in a hug. He takes a step closer to her, reaching out, letting her reach out. “That seems out of sorts for Red Hood and his followers,” she says, and it cams Tommy to hear it, despite the so-called threat to his life. He and Mother have always shown the same thoughts as to Red Hood: that he’s someone helping the people when the King’s hands are tied. And true, he’s going about it wrong, Tommy won’t say that he’s not, but it’s easier knowing that he has half of Mother’s approval. Father would rather he didn’t meddle, and he hasn’t outright ordered for the Red Hood’s death. His capture, however.
“They’ve never harmed the guards chasing them,” Mother continues, “so for them to threaten Tommy…”
“The brother,” Father says, voice slightly sharper than before. “Where is he?”
Technoblade’s expression hardens a fraction before turning towards the guard at the door. Taking the unspoken cue, the guard opens it, and Tommy is desperate to keep his horror concealed as the doors open to reveal Purpled being held up between two guards. His hood and doublet have been completely removed leaving him in a bloody, dirty undershirt. His wrists are shackled, as are his feet, head hung down so that his face is hidden.
Behind him Mother shifts uncomfortably in her throne as Purpled is brought forward, pushed once more to his knees but this time Purpled doesn’t fight the hands on him. It’s useless here, in the king’s lesser hall, far from the help of his brothers even if one stands before him.
Tommy fights to keep his expression guiltless, but when Purpled raises his head, blood dried to his cheek and the welts of fist and knuckle beginning to show, he can feel his façade breaking.
Feels his chest tighten when Purpled refuses to look at him.
It’s smart, it makes sense; Purpled protecting Tommy as much as Tommy wishes to protect him, but damn it hurts, and sows the seed of guilt in his lungs as if Tommy was the one to shackle Purpled himself.
Father stands from his throne, and takes a step closer to where Purpled kneels. Near-defeat on the cold stone floor. “What is your name?” he asks in the voice of the king, no kindness to be seen when Purpled is threatening his son.
Purpled—brave, stupid, foolish—flicks his eyes upwards to the king and his veiled anger, but instead of giving Father what he wants and keeping himself from consequences, he keeps his mouth shut and turns his head away.
The obvious disrespect sparks Technoblade’s anger and he takes a heavy step forward, ignoring the way Purpled flinches and Tommy’s hand coils tighter around Mother’s. Her fingers curl tighter to calm him, but Tommy doesn’t feel it, staring at two he considers family; Purpled fear like a knife against his neck and Technoblade’s anger coals beneath his feet.
“The king asked you a question,” he snarls, his hand steady on the pommel of his sword, as if he’d dare move without Father’s word or permission.
Purpled glares, but Tommy can see the fear in the slopes of his body; the tension in his arms where he fights the instincts to tug against the chains binding him, the way the guards the keep him on his knees have to press a little harder to keep him as such.
“The king doesn’t want to know my name,” Purpled spits, daring to glare at Technoblade, and then to Father, narrowing his eyes even if Tommy can hear the way his voice trembles ever so slightly. They’ve been in difficult positions before, near-unmasked, one bruised, the other bleeding; Ranboo as sick as if he were on his deathbed and food scarce between the six of them even if Tommy, Shroud and Michael had smuggled out their rations under the guise of a hunting trip where neither Tubbo or Purpled had had much luck in hunting, needing to stay near camp to tend to Ranboo and fight off their own sickness.
But nothing feels like this.
“It wouldn’t matter if I gave my name or not,” Purpled continues, voice getting louder no matter the anger on Father and Technoblade’s faces. “All he wants is to know how strong we are. But I won’t betray my own,” Purpled says. Promises.
“My brother will come for me.”
The strength of Purpled’s words ignites a flame of pride within Tommy, but it is smothered by the weight of his fear in the next moment when Father and Technoblade’s face sharpen with anger and their own fear. When Purpled tugs against his shackles, the guards behind him pull them harder, hands flat to his shoulder blades, forcing him to bow, arms bent at a painful angle only shown in a rising hiss—
“Stop,” Tommy orders in the same moment that Mother and Wilbur do; the pair startled, but it is Tommy who continues, fighting to keep his voice level as he takes a step away from the throne, desperate not to wilt underneath the surprise of Father and Techno both, and the trust that Purpled holds in him when their eyes finally meet.
“The Red Hood has already made claim for my life at the threat of harm to his brother,” Tommy says, taking a deep breath to address his father, silently relieved when he himself takes a step back. “Hurt him and it’s as good as sticking a knife in my chest.”
“But we can’t just let him go.” Wilbur says from besides Mother, sounding regretful because that, to them all, is the simplest way they believe they can save Tommy from the Red Hood’s threat. What had been a moment of panic and thoughtless words is now turning into a mess Tommy could not have predicted.
And now Tommy has to find a way to sneak Purpled out of the castle long before anyone notices he’s missing.
The question of what comes next has no easy answer, but for now Father sends Purpled to the dungeons as Mother sends a guard to fetch Sam to follow, to tend to his wounds and give him medicine to ease his pain. “Tommy is right,” she has said, to Technoblade’s informally raised brow, needing no explanation to her husband who is well-informed of the queen’s kindness. “We don’t want to give them any reason to target him when their first priority will be rescuing the boy.”
Something that is made all the more difficult when Father assigns two guards to Tommy and makes him promise that, until the Red Hood is caught, that he does not leave the castle without an armed escort, and to travel the grounds with his new entourage.
Not that Tommy will leave when his brother sits in chains.