Archive of Our Own

No one knows how the kings from the arctic came into the possession of two dragons. 

There are rumors, of course. Wilbur’s heard plenty, from the loud rambling of nobles to the whispers of other quick passing servants. Countless rumors, so many that sometimes they cross over in his head and get him confused as to which is which. 

Some say that they found the dragon eggs deep in the snow, frozen still but revived with fire. Others say they made a deal with dark forces, trading blood sacrifices in return for dangerous beasts. A few select say that the dragons were a gift from the gods themselves, and so the kings are destined to make a difference with them. 

Wil supposes it all doesn’t matter, the origins of such a thing. The results are the same. Those two kings, with magic in their veins, have dragons. They have two giant dragons, which only seem to grow even bigger by the day. And with their dragons, with their blooming kingdom, with their stubborn people; they exist as an oncoming threat. 

If there’s one thing all the rumors have in common, one thing that rings true, it’s that the two kings are fiercely protective of every magical being in their reach. With the two of them being hybrids, Wil isn’t surprised, but they’ve gone on to the point of even forcing other kingdom’s hands, changing ways of life just so that people like them will find a semblance of safety. 

There are rules that were put in place centuries ago, from the near birth of this kingdom. They declare that any hybrids, people who can’t be considered entirely and wholly human, are not protected within the kingdom’s borders. Hunters are free to give chase, hostile citizens are free to give mistreatment, and nobles are free to use hybrids for whatever purpose they want.

Wil’s seen the worst of it firsthand. As a noble’s translator, he gets passed around from castle to castle, for foreign visitors, for meetings among certain nobles who don’t quite speak the same dialect, for parties. As he does, he becomes witness to a certain taste of cruelty. 

Oh, the things he’s seen. 

Once, he remembered seeing a fox hybrid be brought in, a small boy with orange ears on his head, always pressed back in fear. The boy had been thrown out to an open field by the castle, then he had hounds sent at his heels. Wil had watched helplessly, quietly, with the nobles, as the boy ran for his life, dogs snapping at his ankles, but never catching him entirely. He was a quick runner, the magic in his blood made it so. By the end of the hour, they opened the gates again, and the boy ran to safety, but he was doomed to repeat the chase all over again the next day, when the nobles decided they wanted entertainment out on the grass. 

Another time, Wil had been translating for a foreign visitor from another kingdom, who’s laws weren’t much kinder than the ones placed here. The visitor had brought a gift for the nobles, and when it was brought in, it was revealed to be a siren, kept in a small container of water. Wilbur remembers the muzzle on her face, her singing kept at bay, but her humming still possible. They had made her hum for the entire afternoon, and her song, while muted and pained, had still been beautiful to listen to. 

On another occasion, when Wil had been sent to translate at a noble’s grand yearly party, he remembers a cage being brought out for the guests, to give them something fascinating to look at. Inside, there was a naga, a person with their bottom half being that of a snake. It was an unusual sight, but Wilbur had forced himself to look away when guests began asking how much it would be for them to have possession of one of their golden scales. 

Wilbur doubts the hybrid kings would tolerate activities such as those. Lately, they’ve given themselves the job of being judge, jury, and executioner across the lands. 

He’s heard that somewhere to the north, there was one city that was burnt to the ground for the crime of imprisoning hybrids for trade. It caused quite a stir. So much so, that kingdoms like Wilbur’s have been asking for meetings with the kings, to offer terms of peace before the fighting even begins. 

Wil’s kingdom secured a confirmation for a meeting a week ago, in letter. Today, the meeting falls upon them, and through some horrible stroke of luck, Wilbur is present within the castle for it. 

With the kings being foreign as they are, and the nobles not knowing any other language than their own-- he is going to have to carry out his job, and translate. Preferably in a manner that will be polite so that the kings won’t bring dragonfire onto their lands by sundown. 

Needless to say, he’s only a little nervous. 

The day is warm as they stand at the entrance of the castle. Wil stands out in the sun, in the open, but the nobles beside him stand in shade, fans being held over their heads. They scan the skies with a wary sort of look, and Wilbur stays looking off to the horizon, twisting at the metal bracelets he always wears around his wrists, almost hoping that the kings never arrive. It would indeed cause plenty of outrage if they just didn’t show up, but if they never show up, then Wilbur never has to meet them. And that, he thinks, would be just fine. 

He’s not sure what to think of the kings, really. For all the unsavory rumors he’s heard about them, and all the complaining he’s had to translate for the nobles, they’re a bit hard to think about. 

It’s almost like a legend, some days, one that Wilbur can’t believe. Two hybrids, rising to power, in a matter of mere months? It’s an impossible tale. And yet here they are, waiting for that impossibility to arrive at their doorstep. 

Sometimes, he wonders what kind of people they’d be. Sometimes, he wonders if the rumors and reports are true. He wonders if they’re actually only blood-thirsty warriors craving for heads to add to their pile, only untamed warlords wanting to feed their enemies to the dragons they ride. That would be an unsettling reality. To have hybrids find a seat of power of last, only for them to be leaving destruction in their wake. 

Other times, rare occasions, during the quiet of the night when Wil is just barely asleep, he wonders if the kings are kind. Maybe they’re true rulers, protectors of the realm and they wish to watch over every single life within it. Maybe they are dignified, intelligent people, ones meant to strike down all the injustices that have ever existed within the world. Maybe they are saviors, and the inhuman souls in this kingdom will find solace at last. 

But it’s all just rumors and it’s all just thoughts. Wilbur doesn’t settle on a single one. 

Something echoes out from above the clouds, bringing everyone’s attention up to the sky, and bringing Wilbur out of his head. He stops fiddling with his bracelets, and lets his hands drop to his sides. The sound is high pitched and dragged out, like a cry of a tense violin string. It’s not natural. 

Wilbur’s ears almost seem to buzz as the sound echoes out again, and he hears it shift, hears it fall into something much lower and much more heavy. The cry turns into a rumble, and shaking, terrible rumble, and as the sky trembles and the nobles cover their ears, the cloud above part with two giant dragons flying through. 

Yells of surprise and fear are given out. Dragons aren’t a common sight. Dragons aren’t even a rare sight, they’re impossible. They’re beasts that were hunted to extinction, memory kept only in storybooks. 

Now they’re alive again. Now they glide over the castle with an all-powerful movement, the very wind moving with them, the world seeming to dance with the beat of their wings. They’re giant. Even as they land in the vast field before the castle, they seem to take up so much space, and Wilbur can’t help but look with wide eyes, his hands held to a fast beating heart. 

Part of him is glad they’ve landed so far. It’d be too much to see such a creature up close. Another part of him wants to run over, damn the consequences, so that he can see those wings, those fearsome faces, their shimmering scales and their threatening claws. His curiosity is a burning, persistent thing, but within a single minute, he’s already stamped it down, and he waits and watches as two figures make their way over after having climbed off their beasts. 

The kings are about as half as scary as Wilbur imagined them. His imagination offered hardened killers, scarred faces and weapons on hand, and he’s only somewhat on the mark. 

The first king is a towering man. He’s not quite a man, really, since he’s piglin blood and all, but Wilbur truly thinks if there’s one person to name as a man, it’d be this one. He’s big. Big and dreadful with scars on his face and a warning look in his eyes, as if just asking for anyone near to try and swing a throw. The tusks from his mouth don’t make him any more approachable, but the gold hanging on him makes him…memorable. Wil’s eyes get drawn to the single emerald hanging at his pointed ear, adorned with other gold piercings all around it. 

He’s truly a royal, at least in looks. The nobles can bicker all they want, day and night about how a hybrid could never be a king, but this man dresses like a royal, from the crown sitting on his head, to the rings decorating his scarred fingers. Even his hair-- bright pink, how unusual-- has jewels of some sort braided in, and an inner part of Wilbur wants to try and grab something off of him, just to keep in his palm. He’d probably have his hand cut off for the insult of an action, but it’s a nice indulgent thought. 

Wil moves his attention off towards the second king, and he finds himself holding his breath, just for a moment. 

The second king is an avian. An avian with golden hair, tucked back into a braided ponytail, as if to show off the scattered feathers around his face, pitch black and stark against his skin. His eyes are-- strange, not human at all, but something else that gives Wil pause. They’re blue, like the sky above. They’re familiar, like something he’s seen in a dream. They’re calculating, watching, taking in all the faces around. He’s wearing a matching earring with the other king, an emerald on his ear. His crown is a thin, golden circlet, no extra jewels, but still ever present. 

Wilbur can’t help but notice that even with his royal attire, his jewelry and his crown, his emerald on his ear-- he’s still missing something about him. There’s something off. 

He doesn’t have wings. 

And Wil has to swallow back the pity then, he has to crush it and leave it before it even has a moment to exist. There are rumors, of course, about this. About how the king lost his wings, about how he couldn’t fly on his own, so he found a dragon to return to the sky with. An avian without wings, an almost unheard of thing, but not entirely rare. Just-- sad. 

Wilbur wonders how his wings were lost. He knows that the answer is most likely to the hands of cruel men. That’s how all avians lose their wings, isn’t it? He knows that well. 

The king doesn’t have his wings, but he wears a pale blue cape along his back, the colors of his kingdom. The other king wears a bright red cape, but there’s blue tones woven into his outfit regardless, so Wilbur has no doubts in his loyalty to his people. He might just have a certain fashion sense, who knows. 

“King Technoblade and King Philza, rulers of that Antarctic wasteland that sits so far. How was your travels, with your fearsome pets carrying you along?” One of the nobles call out, waving a hand up, beckoning the kings up closer. 

Wilbur straightens his back and forces his voice to be pleasant, smooth. He translates simply, just to have it seen as to what he’s here for. 

“Lord Bennard greets you warmly to our kingdom. He asks how your journey fared on the way here.” Wilbur gets a strange look as he speaks. Both of the kings turn their heads to him, a slight sort of confusion on their faces. It’s like Wilbur’s spoken gibberish to them, but Wil could’ve sworn the reports said that they were fluent in Common. 

The look passes. The kings share a meaningful glance with each other, and then they look back at the nobles with a mood of careful tolerance. Philza cracks a grin, though there’s no joy to be found in the curve of it. 

“The trip was uneventful on the way here. We fly too high to disturb anyone below, so there was no trouble to be found from your people.” Philza leans back on his heels, hands clasped together by his stomach. “I hope we didn’t keep you waiting.”

Wilbur turns to the nobles and quickly repeats what’s been said. The nobles place polite smiles on their faces, giving reassurement that the weather has been kind, and they are eager for the meeting they’ve been graced with. Wil translates as such to the kings, and the kings both smile. 

They’re not quite friendly smiles. 

“And we are eager as well to hear what you have to say.” Technoblade speaks low, words slow like he doesn’t quite want to talk to the nobles at all, but he might as well since he’s made the trip here. 

They head inside, then, walking through the halls with guards lingering at their heels. The kings don’t acknowledge them, not even when hands hover near weapons, not even when eyes narrow threateningly upon their backs. The soldiers here itch for a fight, seeing these faces as a clear threat. The kings seemingly…can’t be bothered. They are in enemy territory, and they only appear bored. 

“Remind our guests that they are to be on their best behavior. While we promised a safe meeting, all bets are off if they cause trouble.” One of the nobles says with a wary look over their shoulder, and Wilbur feels a sliver of uneasiness run over his heart. The kings are walking on eggshells, here, it seems. 

“Lord Regin wishes to remind you to keep this meeting civil, for anything otherwise would require appropriate force.” Wilbur tells both the kings, turning his head back as they continue walking. 

“Of course.” Phil hums, not looking deterred by the warning. Technoblade actually rolls his eyes, but it’s so quick that only Wil catches it, and he holds back a sort of amusement at the gesture. “We did arrive unarmed, didn’t we?” 

“King Philza responds that they mean no trouble, for they arrived without weapons.” Wilbur translates. One of the nobles give a short huff. 

“Fools, the two of them. I suppose those claws of theirs are weapons enough.” Wil spares a quick look at the kings’ hands, and he does suppose they both have something of claws on their nails. It’s most present in King Philza’s fingernails, his avian features making the ends of the finger just a little too taloned. 

“Lord Edwin appreciates the gesture. He compliments you upon your skills in battle.” Wilbur tells them both. Phil smiles again, void of kindness. 

“How flattering.” 

They reach the meeting room within the next minute, the room being a spacious, bright place, with large windows over their heads, allowing sight of the sky. There is a round table placed at the center, with two sides of seats placed around it. The nobles place themselves on their side, across from the table, and the kings head to theirs, sitting the closest to the door. 

Strangely enough, only one of the kings actually sit down. King Philza settles in his seat with a short sigh, and King Techoblade circles around the back of his chair, leaning his elbows on the top of it, hovering over his friend’s head. He nearly looks like a bodyguard of some sort, standing like that with his stature. 

“I’d rather not sit, so I’ll be here for the entirety of our meeting.” He says, and Wilbur repeats that to the nobles, watching their faces scrunch up with a sort of displeasure. It washes over quickly, and they give their permission for the action. 

King Technoblade narrows his eyes as they speak to Wilbur about giving permission to stand. Wilbur doesn’t see it, for the stern look is gone by the time he turns to translate that the nobles are perfectly fine with such a decision. 

One of the front nobles speak up then, starting the meeting off. Wilbur repeats his words while standing to the side, at the noble’s side, so they may hear his words easier. 

“So, as for the actual reason for this meeting. You were called here today into our kingdom to discuss terms of peace.” 

“Yes.” Phil confirms. “You wish to offer us a treaty of some sort?” 

The noble nods and responds. Wilbur repeats his words. “We wish to prevent any needless bloodshed. All we ask is for you to leave our people be and allow us to conduct our affairs in peace. In return, you will be given plenty of supplies for your new kingdom, along with an alliance with ours.” 

“We seek no alliance with you, and our Empire doesn’t need any extra supplies, despite our less than favorable conditions over there. We are actually handling ourselves quite fine.” Technoblade shakes his head, almost scolding with it.

“You wish for protection against our wrath, that’s reasonable. We have set conditions for such a thing, however.” Phil says, rolling his shoulders back like he needs to adjust something on his back. A habit he hasn’t lost. 

Wilbur leans down and repeats their words to the nobles. He watches their faces twist up with offense, then mellow with curiosity as to the conditions they are implying. They mutter to each other for a moment. 

“What are these conditions?” Wilbur asks for them. 

Technoblade huffs. “The same conditions we’ve given to every kingdom we’ve met with. You are to change your laws regarding hybrids.” 

Wilbur repeats Techno’s response and gets a taken back reaction for it. 

“We should’ve expected this! Two hybrids, coming in and calling themselves kings. Why wouldn’t they go wanting for all the others to be having high statuses as well?” 

“They’re greedy like that.” One of the other nobles note. 

“Of course. Look at the big one, he’s the sort to want to find control through violence.” 

Wilbur doesn’t get a chance to be told what to say, because Phil speaks up then to them all. Wilbur turns to him, and he swears that in this moment, in that chair, even if it isn’t a throne, the avian looks regal. 

“You have hybrids within your lands. People blessed with magic, people who have been hunted time and time again for it. Your laws aren’t enough to keep them safe.” Phil shifts his hands over his lap, his nails tapping over his knee. “We ask for you to rewrite a new set of laws. One that keeps hybrids such as myself safe, that outlaws hunters, and allows for any other hybrids to find sanctuary past your borders if they so need it. Only with this, we’ll accept your treaty, and give your protection when we take our dragons across the lands.” 

One of the nobles swears. “Do they expect us to coexist with things like them? To make neighbors of creatures capable of killing countless innocent lives?”

Wilbur swallows a lump in his throat. “Lord Bennard asks if you intend for hybrids to integrate within the kingdom with the citizens after such laws.” 

“Naturally.” Phil shrugs a shoulder. “They’re people, just like you. How else should it be?”

Wilbur blinks. He falters for a split second in giving that response to the nobles, because something finds its way into his throat and makes it a little harder to talk. 

He thinks that something may be a very frail, very shocked, sort of hope. 

“They come with their threat of their beasts-- and they think we’ll let them change whatever they want within our walls. As if we’d ever endanger our people with monsters such as them.” A noble huffs, words sharp, his fist curled up and slammed down against the wood of the table. Techno raises his eyebrows at the action. “We’d sooner put our own kingdom to ruin!” 

Wilbur doesn’t flinch at the harsh wording. He doesn’t even blink at it. He’d nearly expected worse, honestly, with such a suggestion for hybrids to be better treated. It hasn’t been many weeks since he was put into this position at this castle, but he knows how these nobles work, he knows their views, their opinions on those that can’t be considered all human. It’s nothing nice. It’s made his tongue feel bitter with repeating it all. 

Wil straightens up and turns himself back toward the kings, translating what he’s heard into something more…appropriate. He keeps his eyes to the floor, and ignores the wrongness lingering in his mouth. 

“With the laws having been put in place for all these years, it is not wise to change our way of life so suddenly.” Wilbur says, giving a slight shake of his head, like he resonates with the bullshit he’s saying. “The people will be stubborn, they will not listen. Hybrids do not have a place within this kingdom.” 

The avian gives a light laugh, like Wilbur’s told him a joke. “No?” He tilts his head, and the  feathers on his face shift with the curve of a growing grin. Wil can see a sharp tooth poking out past his lips. “Then- I wonder, why is there one standing right before me?” 

Wilbur freezes. He freezes up, in every limb, in every inch of his body. What did he say? What?

He carefully looks up. 

The king is looking directly at him, the attention of his gaze unmistakable. 

He’s talking about him. About Wilbur. 

Oh, no. 

He thinks the air in his lungs has gotten stuck. It sure feels like it. He tries to breathe, and it falters, so he tries again, and all he gets is a stuttered gasp. Shock sinks into disbelief, then into a slow dawning panic. 

He knows. The King knows. 

How does he fucking know?

Wil looks back to the floor with a hitch in his breath, desperately trying to not let himself be noticed in this panic. Maybe this is a bluff. Maybe Wil is jumping to conclusions. Maybe this is a power play, and the king is just trying to scare him, knowing that the nobles won’t be able to catch on. 

Slowly, he lifts his gaze up again to meet the avian in the eyes. He means to try for some sort of plea, maybe a silent bargain to not sell him out, but he’s frozen again by the stare being pointed his way. 

It’s a very intense sort of look. 

Wilbur’s been looked at before, but he’s never quite acknowledged. He’s not really meant to be, as a translator. He’s only there to carry on words, to allow a conversation. He isn’t even in the conversation at all, he may as well not even exist. 

But he’s being seen now. He’s being seen in his entirety, seen with the one secret he’s protected all his life. Frankly, he feels trapped in place with just that single look. The king’s eyes are too vividly blue, too much. 

Wilbur cannot breathe. His heart has fallen right down into his stomach. 

“You’ve never met an avian, have you?” Phil asks, lifting his eyebrows up with something that could almost be amusement. He leans forward in his chair. “We're more sensitive to magic than most. And I recognize those sort of bracelets, mate.” He flicks his attention down for a fraction of a second. 

Wilbur quickly grabs at one of the metal bands around his wrist, covering it up with his palm, but it’s not like he can hide them now. Gone is their cover of being only jewelry, now they’re seen as they are.

He swallows hard, then takes a careful glance at his superiors. They’re waiting for Phil to finish talking. Waiting for Wilbur to give the response. 

Wilbur can’t give this. He’d be handing himself over, handing his own life to the promise of death by sunset. What can he say, while also trying to appease the kings before him?

“Are you safe here?” The king asks, continuing just after a quick pause, not letting it seem like he’s stopped talking at all. Wilbur jerks his attention back on him. “I can’t imagine you are, but I need you to tell me to be sure. Are you safe here?” 

He’s talking to Wilbur. These words aren’t for the nobles anymore, they aren’t talking treaties anymore, they’re for Wilbur solely. The conversation has shifted, the attention has shifted, Wilbur’s turned visible, and it’s wholly terrifying. 

He’s being seen. 

“I…” Wilbur opens his mouth, but what can he say? He’s not meant to speak his own words. He’s not meant to respond. He’s a translator, no one is meant to talk to him, they’re supposed to talk through him.

“Well?” The noble at his side pushes, getting impatient with the dragging silence, Wilbur hesitance. Wil’s chest goes tight at having nothing to say. He can’t translate what’s being said. He can’t. “Out with it!” The noble insists. 

“Tell him we’re upset with the response.” The avian says, Wilbur looking up at him with an as baffled expression as he can allow. “Tell him we’ve given a threat.” 

Wil is not one to refuse a solution when it’s freely given. He leans down to the noble, turning his head again, forcing his voice to be as calm as possible. He’s relieved that there’s barely a shake, despite the slamming of his heart. “They’re very upset with the refuseful to change the laws for hybrids. They’ve begun giving threats. Elaborate threats.” 

“They’re barbaric.” One of the other nobles say, throwing a hand up as if the situation is lost. “What is the use of bargaining with them? They are not here to listen. They are here to make endless demands with violence, I told you.” 

“Their power goes to their head.” Another grunts. “All they crave is war and blood, they’re nothing different than the monsters they ride upon. Remind them of the thousands of men we have at our disposal, if they wish for a battle. Be stern.” 

Wilbur straightens up again. He opens his mouth to translate. “Lord Regin would like to remind you-” 

“I don’t care what he says, I’m still waiting on you.” Phil cuts Wil off. “Are you safe here? A yes or no will do.” 

Wilbur squeezes at the bracelet around his wrist. He feels the magic hum against his palm, hum against his skin, from where it hides every imperfection, every tell that he is not completely human. 

The king is still looking at him. He gave Wilbur a response for the nobles, but that was just to get them off his back. Now he’s waiting on Wil, hoping for an answer so he can- what, have sympathy for him? Bargain for his protection? 

Wil knows his situation and he knows the risks he has for merely existing. The king can’t do shit, even with his reputation. He cannot burn the nobles for one hybrid. Surely. 

“I don’t know why you are asking me that.” Wilbur speaks softly, and he gets a narrowed look from the noble beside him for it. He was meant to be stern, right. But he’s not exactly saying what he’s meant to be saying. “Why are you asking me that?” He repeats, a little more firmly. 

“Because this place isn’t somewhere a hybrid should be. Your position, while beneficial, is dangerous if you are found out.” The other king speaks then, and Wilbur goes still with his voice, not having expected him to acknowledge Wil directly as well. Technoblade is standing tall now, no longer leaning on Phil’s chair and instead stepping to the side with one hand holding on loosely the top of it. “Speak simply, and we’ll take care of it. Are you safe here?” 

Is he safe? What a question, the answer is obvious if you just think. But then again, Wil likes to think he’s secure. He likes to think he’s won the game, he’s pulled the wool over the nobles’ eyes. His bracelets are seen as nothing more than trinkets he’s sentimental to. He’s never looked at closely enough for anyone to notice the magic, the enchantments keeping him perfectly human. He’s hidden in plain sight, each and every day. 

But being hidden is not the same as being safe. Wilbur hasn’t been found out, but he knows there is always, always a chance that one day he could be. One day, his bracelets could be taken away as a punishment. One day, someone could walk in while he doesn’t have them on. One day, a witch of some sort might pass the castle to give their services, and they might notice the way he’s covered himself up, they might call him out. 

He is always at risk of losing everything. 

He is never safe. 

(But, oh, how he wishes he could be. How he wishes he was like the very kings before him, with dragons at their heels, subtle threats within their eyes. How he wishes he had a reputation that made him so untouchable that he could walk freely with his wings in the open. Wouldn’t that be such a way to live?)

“No.” Wilbur confesses. “No, I’m not safe.” 

Only now has it sunk in what Techno said at the end of his words, a promise that they’d ‘take care of it’ as long as he answered. In an ideal world, that means they would save him, maybe offer him protection under sanctuary, but the gods have never been that kind, and Wilbur can’t dare to be so hopeful. He knows his place. 

“Alright, then.” Technoblade nods. “That’s all we need.” 

And Phil stands up then, his grin growing into something sharp, his eyes narrowing into something very inhuman. His smile has become more like a baring of teeth, a threat, rather than a grin. Wilbur tries his best to subtly lean away, not liking the energy with such an expression. 

“This conversation is useless for us all. You insult us to our faces while hiding behind your translator, and you have no intention of changing your behavior towards hybrids within your kingdom. You see us as nothing more than monsters, and I will not tire myself trying to change your mind.” Phil speaks then, almost too giddy with being able to use their language at last. 

Wilbur blinks slowly at the realization that they understood what they were saying the whole time. He was never needed as a translator. The kings only feigned ignorance for the sake of letting them speak freely. 

“You speak our language?!” One of the nobles yell out, almost shooting up from their chair. 

“Don’t act so honored. Your language is just the one of many we hold.” Technoblade hums, almost looking inconvenienced with having to respond to the nobles. He clasps his hands behind his back, moving to Phil’s side, but staying just a short bit behind him, to let him have the spotlight. 

“There is no reason for us to stay here. We’d take our leave immediately, but I can’t let myself allow such disrespect. You insult us. You offend us. How will you mend that mistake?” Phil says, his tone growing thin with impatience. 

“Is it a mistake at all?” One of the nobles asks, and Wilbur stiffens up with such a response. “We speak our mind. It is what we see as truth.”

“I see it as another reason to raze this place to the ground.” Techno speaks flatly. The nobles all shift warily at that, and Wil can see one of them wave guards closer. The door is blocked with two men, and Technoblade looks over his shoulder with a slight scoff.  

“Calm yourself.” One of the nobles try to say. “Why waste your energy-?”

“Why waste your breath?” Phil asks. “If you have no intention to appease us, then surrender now, and I might not have you burnt alive with dragonfire.” 

The nobles lean together then, frantically whispering in a hushed tone. They don’t want an attack on their land from those creatures outside, and they don’t want to piss off the kings, but they don’t want to bend over backwards to apologize to a hybrid, either. They’re stubborn in that regard. 

By the end of their muttering, they seem to have decided. 

“What do you want?” They ask. They’ll comply, if it’s easy to give. 

“Techno, what should we take?” Phil asks, turning away from the nobles, turning his back on them entirely. All they are shown is the symbol across his cape, a reminder of a growing empire at his hands. 

Technoblade turns his head and lands his gaze right onto Wil. “I’ve been in need of a translator.” He says casually, like listing an item he’s missing in the pantry. “This one’s done well.” 

Wilbur breathes in, and has his lungs become stuck again. Once more, he’s turned visible, once more, he’s being seen, but he doesn’t think the eyes ever quite looked away from him in the first place. 

He barely grasps what they are implying. He barely believes it. 

What are they doing?

What are they doing?!

“My friend has been needing a translator for his court. The one you have at hand will do nicely.” Phil says, nodding his head to Wil, his gaze only on him. 

“...You want the translator?” The nobles ask, faces scrunched up with confusion. For all that they could ask, the translator that they’re using is an unusual choice. 

“Do you refuse?”

The nobles don’t even talk for this. They don’t lean in and begin murmuring, they only share a look, a quick couple of glances. That’s it. Nothing more. Wilbur is not worth much to them. He knew this, and yet he still finds himself being hurt by the quickness of their decision. 

“Take him, then. He’s yours.” They say, and one of them gestures for a guard to come over. 

Wil lifts his head, seeing one of the guards approach from where they had been standing at the door. “Wait, my lord-” He goes to say to the nobles, not even quite sure what he’s going to say. An armored hand seizes him by the arm, yanking him forward around the table, and he stumbles over his feet, that same hand suddenly shoving at his back. 

He falls at the unexpected shove, collapsing forward at the kings’ feet in a tumble of limbs. A low, unfamiliar growl rises up through the air, and the guard stops in place, with Wilbur faltering with them. 

“Watch yourself.” One of the kings says. Wilbur can’t figure out which one it is. 

He pushes himself up from the ground with a groan, knees aching and his arms holding a slight shake. New hands reach down to grab onto his arms and pull him up. 

“Easy, now.” Technoblade murmurs, and Wilbur freezes up, almost tempted to yank himself away so he can let himself fall back to the floor in a proper bow. 

He’s been traded. He’s been moved positions again, but this time it’s not from one rude noble to another. He’s been given to another kingdom. 

He’s been given to a king. 

The king-- His king, now, Technoblade, holds him up with ease, like his weight is nothing to his hands. Wil keeps his eyes to the floor, and his feet drag at the ground as he’s forced further away from the nobles, as if to keep him out of their reach. 

“I would ask you to go collect your things, but I’d doubt these people would allow it, and we’d rather leave as soon as possible, regardless.” Technoblade whispers, having to lean down so that he may give his words to Wil’s ear. “We can have everything replaced for you within our kingdom, if that’s alright.” 

Wilbur gives a vague nod. He’s never kept much, not with how much he’s moved around for the noble’s convenience. The only thing he knows he needs are these bracelets, and they stay wrapped around his wrists. 

Phil steps past Wilbur and Techno, putting his body in between them and the table, as if shielding Wil away and cementing the fact he will not return to his spot. 

“We will leave now without conflict. Maybe further on, we can have a more successful meeting.” Or maybe not. Phil’s already putting this place on his mental shit list. 

“That would be ideal.” One of the nobles responds, but Phil’s already turning away, joining at Wilbur’s other side. With a large hand wrapped around his arm, and a taloned palm hovering at his back, Wilbur is moved along, made to walk to the door with the kings, so that they make their way outside. 

“You’re alright now, mate.” Phil speaks quietly in the halls, wary of any listening ears. “You’re going to be fine, from now on.” 

“I- Of course, your majesty.” Wilbur responds, but he doesn’t really believe those words in his throat. 

What has he gotten himself into? What has he done? Presumably, working underneath hybrids would be an ideal place for a hybrid, but Wilbur’s never lived as one. He’s always been human, or as human as he could be. And these hybrids-- oh, the things Wilbur’s heard! They’re warlords at best, some days. Would Wil truly be much safer with them?

Should he be struggling? Should he run? Part of him knows he wouldn’t exactly get far. 

The bracelets around his wrists feel too heavy as he continues walking along, his steps never faltering as Technoblade never lets his arm go. It’s as if the king expects Wilbur to run away, or maybe he expects someone to come try and take Wilbur from him as they leave. Either way, he holds Wil like a prize rightfully won, chin raised, his grip tight, almost daring anyone to come and try and take it. Wilbur doesn’t try to shake his hand off, nor does he try to wave away Phil’s hand upon his back. For a second, he feels as if the man is trying to find a tell of something on his shoulder blades, but maybe that’s overthinking. Maybe he’s only paranoid. 

Overall, it’s just an awful lot of touching, and Wilbur feels like he’s being tugged along rather than being led. They walk too fast for his liking. Or maybe his feet are just being too slow. He’s hesitant.  

They walk outside to the front of the castle, to the open space of the grass, and now it properly hits Wilbur as to where they’re going, to what they’re approaching. 

Now he struggles, he digs his feet in, and it seems Techno anticipated that, because he just pulls Wilbur further along with more force. It doesn’t seem to cost him any effort. Wilbur’s panic rises up quick. 

“Hold on.” He blurts out, uncaring of manners, uncaring of properness. “Wait, wait, I don’t-!” 

“It’ll be fineee.” Technoblade drawls lightly, forcing Wilbur to keep moving, practically dragging him when he stops making steps. Wilbur stumbles again, gasping at the steel grip around his arm. “Steve doesn’t eat people. For the most part.”

“Techno.” Phil scolds. Techno gives a little noise like amusement. Wilbur sees a shift of movement up ahead, something big coming over the hill, and he makes a small noise in the back of his throat. It may be fear. It’s justified, in his opinion. Both the kings look at him, and he doesn’t care if they judge. 

“You can leave me here.” He whispers, leaning down like he means to curl up into a ball, his feet stubbornly not taking a single step. Techno is the only thing keeping him from getting to the floor. “I may not be safe, but I’m hidden in plain sight, I promise you.” 

“I’d never forgive myself if I left you here.” Phil frowns, resting his hand on Wil’s back, and Wilbur knows he’s lost. The way he says that, the way he looks down upon Wil, there’s too much conviction within the words, the gaze. 

Techno lifts Wilbur up to stand again, and the palm on his back presses harder, more insistent, not willing to have Wilbur turn around to return to the castle. Wilbur is led forward regardless of his refusal. 

Over the hill comes that rumbling noise, the very air seeming to shake. At last, they come to a stop in their steps, but it’s with no relief, for a dragon now comes crawling over the dirt, heavy in each step, daunting with its entire being. 

It’s so big. Wilbur thought it was a great animal from afar, but as it comes closer and closer, he can only describe it as a true beast. It towers over him, over the kings, and it rumbles in such a way that Wilbur thinks his very soul is being shaken out from his chest. 

He doesn’t realize it, but he’s leaning away into Techno’s side, trying to take shelter behind his arm. Phil holds a hand to his shoulder, chuckling and raising a hand out in the air. 

“Come here, Steve. Greet a guest.” He calls, making the dragon lower its head to them, coming even closer. Wilbur can feel its huff of air as it leans down, warm and smelling of smoke. He can see its teeth, far too many, far too sharp, far too big. It opens its mouth like it means to burn them all, and then it snaps his jaws closed, Wilbur flinching back. He would fall down if it weren’t for Techno still holding his arm. 

“Well, don’t be dramatic.” Technoblade snorts, his words towards the dragon, and Phil smiles with him. Wilbur looks at them both like they’re crazy, and he tries to take a large step back, only for Techno to again keep him firmly where he is. 

“Don’t worry. They won’t harm you. They just like to scare people.” Phil pats Wilbur one last time on the shoulder, then he walks towards the dragon, stepping over one of its claws so he can get past it and head over to the second dragon that sits behind. 

Technoblade nudges Wilbur closer to the dragon before them, giving a whistle and calling the beast to lower its head. Wil knows what’s about to happen, and he decides that he doesn’t care for the consequences, he doesn’t agree to this. 

“No-” He says, and Technoblade adjusts his hold to grab him around the waist as they approach the neck of the dragon. “No, no, absolutely not!” Wilbur’s heels skid at the dirt, his hands scratching at Techno’s arm, making no damage through the fabric of the sleeve. 

“Yup.” Technoblade responds, and he lifts Wilbur up into the air to make him climb. “Up you go.” 

“I’d really rather not-!” Wilbur kicks his feet and tries to fall back, to let himself land on the dirt, where he will at least be secure and not on a literal unpredictable dragon. 

“Right up there.” Techno pushes him back up, climbing with him so he can get Wilbur the rest of the way. He basically yanks Wilbur up by the end of it, and Wil fumbles in sitting on a dragon’s back, the scales uncomfortable underneath him. He makes a futile grab at anything around him, and finds that he’s doomed to be without balance. Maybe with luck, he’ll fall before this dragon even moves. 

“Do you not have some sort of- harness? A saddle?!” Wilbur asks, grasping onto the ridges on the dragon’s back. 

“I don’t believe in them.” Technoblade responds, and there’s a touch of something in his voice that is definitely amusement. The dragon underneath them shifts in place, looking back as if wondering if its passengers are settled in. Wilbur gives a slight wheezing noise. 

“You really can leave me here.” Wilbur insists once more, turning around to look Techno in the eye, trying to be as persuasive as he can. This is the last chance to get off this dragon. They take off, he’s not coming back to the ground alive, he’s sure of it. “I’ve worked here for nearly all my life, you can leave me.” 

Technoblade leans back with a shift of his jaw. He looks at Wilbur for a long moment, and he glances down at Wil’s bracelets with an expression that could almost be named worry, if Wilbur was naive enough to think a king would worry for him. 

He keeps looking, keeps staring, and by the end of the minute, Wilbur is shrinking away against the scales of a dragon, trying to escape his gaze. He turns his head away, and only then, Techno speaks. 

“We really can’t.” He says, in such a grave manner that it makes it seem Wilbur would be left to a terrible fate if he were to reside here any longer. “Lean down and keep your head low. I expect them to start shooting the moment we leave the ground.” 

Wilbur’s heart drops. “What?” 

“Is he alright?!” Phil calls over from the back of his own dragon, his beast moving past them to let him come just a little closer. “Anything wrong?” 

“Nope.” Technoblade calls back, and he must give some sort of signal to his dragon, because the creature begins moving forward. “Keep up!” 

“Oh, you-!” Phil watches him go, and Wilbur falls forward against the dragon’s scales, holding on desperately as the beast breaks out into a run. Wind picks up past their face, the dragon’s steps begin to get lighter and lighter with its wings rising high into the air. 

At once, they take off, and as they rise into the sky, horns begin to blare. 

Wilbur lifts his body the slightest bit, keeping a death grip on the dragon’s back, and he turns his head over to the castle they’ve just left. He can make out the figures of men streaming out, bows in hand, and from behind him, he thinks he hears the king give a snarl. 

Another horn blows. Arrows fly up, and Wilbur screams, pressing himself against the dragon again. They turn harshly to avoid the majority of the attack, but a few spare arrows still manage to whizz by, and Techno leans over Wil’s back, as if to block them off. The dragon carrying them both gives an echoing screech into the sky, and they go ever higher, the wind howling around them. 

“PHIL!” Technoblade screams, circling his dragon around, and Wil risks another look down, finding that the second dragon has landed back to the ground, where the danger lies. “I knew his temper would get the best of him.” Techno mutters, but he makes no move to join his friend. 

Wilbur’s eyes go wide as Phil’s dragon moves across the land, frighteningly quick despite its size. The men are quick to release another stream of arrows, but none pierce the dragon’s skin. Fire flows past the dragon’s teeth, burning up every soldier and burning up the front of the castle to prevent any more from coming outside. 

Techno’s dragon gives a roar below. Phil’s dragon responds in kind, and it leaves the castle in flames, heading to join them in the air. 

As it approaches, Wil can see Phil on the dragon’s back, raising his hands up, giving some sort of a signal past the too-loud howling of wind. He gives a glance at Techno behind him, and sees him responding with some sort of signaling of the hands as well. Then, Phil’s off, flying higher and away, and they follow right behind. 

Wilbur clings to his spot with another yell, and there they go, leaving the nobles behind. Leaving his life behind. It’s so much simpler than he thought. It’s much more terrifying than he’d hoped for. 

They fly through the sky for some time, but not for very long. When they land, it’s within someone’s grassy fields, although Wilbur very much doubts the owner is going to come complaining and telling them to leave. 

The dragon lands gently, and despite them being on the ground at last, Wilbur can’t loosen up his grip. He doesn’t even quite sit up entirely, still keen on staying low in where he sits. His head stays fallen forward, his hair in his eyes, and all he can truly see is the movement of the beast underneath him, and some far off bits of grass. 

Technoblade nudges at the back of his shoulder as he waits for his dragon to fully lower itself so that he can climb off. “Do you want to get down?”

“Please.” Is all Wilbur gives as a response. He pretends to not hear the huff Techno gives at that. 

He’s helped down by the king as they both dismount, and when Wilbur’s feet hit the dirt, his legs very nearly give out. Techno yet again keeps a firm grip on his arm, and he keeps Wilbur standing, reaching for him when it looks as if he won’t be able to stay upright. 

“You can lean on me.” Technoblade says, and Wilbur waves a hand, stubbornly trying to let himself stand independently. He didn’t even die, he can react fine to coming off the back of a dragon. He just…needs a minute. Or two. 

Phil comes over from where he’s dismounted his dragon, and as he does, he winces in a way that looks like he’s preparing for yelling. Technoblade pulls Wilbur close and points a very accusing finger. 

“You-”

“They shot at us!” Phil immediately defends. Techno steamrolls over him. 

“We knew they were going to do that! And we agreed the best tactic would be to just leave! You did not do that!” 

“I had an opportunity-”

“To get shot in the shoulder-” 

“And I went for it. I’m not injured. I’m entirely uninjured.” Phil lifts his arms, spinning around as if to show off just how uninjured he is. “Check for yourself, if you don’t believe me.” 

“I would, if our translator wasn’t currently struggling to keep his legs.” Techno says dryly. 

“I’m alright, your majesty.” Wilbur insists, but it’s not the most convincing. Phil’s eyes gain something soft, and all his attention falls upon Wil, like a crushing weight. Wilbur feels even more unsteady underneath his eyes, and despite his pride, he leans against Techno for the sake of not crumpling to the floor. 

“Are you?” Phil comes close, and he takes hold of Wil’s forearms, leaning down to look him in the eyes. “Now that we’re out, we can speak freely. Are you hurt in any way?” He searches over his arms, pressing at his skin for a tell of anything. 

“I wasn’t lying when I said I was hidden in plain sight. None of the nobles have ever mistreated me.” That’s a lie. Wil’s never been harmed physically, he’s never been beaten unlike some other servants, but oh, the words that've been screamed to his face. Even with his best efforts, people can get impatient with his translations, and for that, he’s been given countless insults. The occasional threat of losing his job. As one gets. 

“You were thrown to the ground not even an hour ago.” Technoblade points out. Wilbur purses his lips together at that. 

“That was a special occasion.” 

“Have you never been suspected, while in there?” Phil asks, his dark feathers shifting on his temples. He moves one of his hands down to Wil’s wrist, and his fingers pull at one of the bracelets for just a moment. 

“Well- Thankfully, no.” Wilbur twists his wrist, making Phil let go. He then pulls at his arm to make Techno let go, standing shakily, but successfully on his own. He takes a step away from them both, just to keep a bit of distance. For fearsome kings owning dragons as pets, they’re very touchy. “My mother gave these to me when I was a child. I’ve worn them all my life.” 

Something in Phil’s face-- does something, at hearing that. He looks down at the bracelets with a hard gaze, and then he looks up with something softer. “And where is your mother now?”

Wilbur offers a smile. “She’s- not with us anymore.” 

“My condolences.” Technoblade says. 

“It was forever ago.” Wilbur breathes out, but his heart still aches. It is impossible to truly have a flock within this kingdom, to truly keep one and be safe, but his mother, even with her wings forever hidden, was the only semblance of flock he had. He can’t help but yearn. “I’ve lived safely hidden, thanks to her.” 

“Now you no longer need to.” Phil says, his words earnest. He takes a step forward. “I promise you, you won’t ever need to hide again.” 

“This kingdom is no place for an avian.” Wilbur replies. 

He watches Phil freeze up then, his eyes opening wide. The feathers on his face shift in place, his shoulder roll back, and he opens his mouth as if to say something, only to be kept in silence. 

He just looks at Wil. 

He looks at Wilbur, not quite the same as before, but still ever so intense. Wilbur can’t bear the acknowledgement, so he lowers his head, giving his attention to the ground at his feet. 

“You’re an… avian?” Phil asks gently. “You’re an avian?”

“Oh, here we go.” Techno murmurs, and Phil gives him a warning glare. It’s in jest though. He’s smiling through it, and Techno’s smiling quietly back. 

“Yes.” Wilbur answers. 

“Do you-” Phil stammers over his words, and he takes another step forward, coming close. He reaches out to Wilbur’s hand, holding onto his wrist. Wilbur leans back, but he doesn’t shake off the grip, nor does he step away. “Do you have your wings?” 

Wilbur feels his face grow warm. He keeps his eyes to the ground, then turns his eyes to the bracelets he wears. “I do. I do, but I-” Phil squeezes his hand. “I don’t know how to fly.” 

Most avians his age would know by now. Wilbur now is eighteen years of age, and he knows that he should’ve been able to at least glide by ten. 

But he was never given the chance, and having his wings out at all would only ensure danger. 

“You can learn.” Phil takes his other hand, and he’s speaking so earnestly now, looking at Wilbur so intensely that Wilbur thinks he might be losing his legs again. Perhaps Techno should take ahold of his arm again, it would be useful. “I promise you, you will be able to learn. I can teach you, back within our lands.” 

“Oh.” Wilbur blinks, and he makes the mistake of risking looking up at Phil. He makes eye contact, then feels his heart twist in his chest, for it’s too much to have such caring eyes pointed at him when for so long, all he’s had is people looking right through him as if he was a ghost. 

“Would you like that?” Phil asks. 

“I-” Wilbur thinks he’s losing his air again. “I- That’s- I’m-” He just nods. 

“Perfect.” Phil grins, and it’s so joyful, Wilbur has to smile with him. “I promise you’ll be able to fly one day.” 

“He’s already flown, technically.” Technoblade points out. “Granted, he was clinging to Steve’s scales for the entire duration of the flight-” 

“Most people are not used to being on the backs of dragons!” Wilbur yells, and then he cringes at the fact he’s yelled at a king. Techno doesn’t seem to care though. He just gives an entertained look, and Phil laughs at them both. 

It’s hard to really give the full respect to them both. They don’t feel like kings, at this moment. They have their dragons nearby, and they have their crowns upon their heads, and Wilbur can feel the golden rings on Phil’s hands, but they do not feel like royalty. Not like any of the royalty he’s ever served. 

They’re so human. Even with the magic in their blood. 

“When we are home, you won’t ever need to wear these again.” Phil twists at Wil’s bracelets, and something in Wil’s heart gives protest at that statement, a knee-jerk reaction for his way of survival. 

“I’d still rather keep them.” Wilbur finds himself saying, with a fear that he’s carried on his back all his life. “To keep caution.” 

Phil smiles, but there’s something firm with it. “If I am to make any order towards you, it’ll be that you will not wear these for a single day more.” He twists and twists at the metal, making it slide around Wil’s wrists. “If they weren’t from your mother, I’d ask them to be burnt, but as they are, it’s up to you what you’d like to do with them. You will never put them back on, though.” 

Phil’s tone holds no room for argument. Wilbur has nothing to say. 

“There’ll be no need for them, anyhow. We have laws put in place in our lands. You’d be entirely safe.” Technoblade adds further, and Wilbur just nods deeply, letting Phil squeeze at his hands for a moment more. Then Phil lets go and steps back, turning to Techno. 

“The weather is still good. We shouldn’t waste any more time, especially now that we’ve got a guest to bring back.” Phil looks to Wil. “Are you still alright to ride with Techno?”

Wilbur hesitates, if only because he doesn’t want to get back on a dragon at all, but he gives a jerky nod regardless. He swears he hears Techno quietly laugh. 

“Then we should head off.” Phil nods to Techno, and Techno nods back, and as they separate to return to their dragons and start the journey home, Phil stops and twists around with wide eyes. 

“Oh! Wait!” He exclaims, and Techno tenses up. “I just realized-- we never did catch your name.” 

“Oh.” Wilbur repeats, because no one’s ever really quite asked. “I- My name is Wilbur.” 

“Wilbur.” Technoblade repeats, as if testing the name out. 

“Wil.” Phil shortens, and Wil’s heart aches. Only one other person ever used to call him that, and these days he can’t remember her voice. “Thank you.” 

Wilbur opens his mouth to say something, he’s not really sure what, but he’s then struck by indecision. And confusion. Why is he being thanked? For just giving his name? By all means, he should be thanking them both, shouldn’t he? For saving him? 

He can’t get the words out past his lips. They move on, Phil smiling as he turns away, and Technoblade lifts him back onto the dragon, again amused by Wil’s unthinking refusal to get on. 

Both dragons stand high as their riders settle in, and with signals being given, they leave the field behind and take to the air, off to return to more familiar lands.