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Somewhere, elsewhere, a crow takes flight.
Tiny and harmless, it jumps and pecks at the ground before growing bored and spreading its wings. With one great leap, it sends itself careening through the sky, vaulting upward and following whatever journey the winds mapped out for it. Songs of delight and ecstasy would fall from its beak, eyes wide and beady. Blinking slowly.
As Tommy outstretched his hand, leaning further into the beckoning sunset, his silhouette blocked out a tiny passing speck of life for a brief moment. It flew, and between his fingers Tommy could spot it soaring. Far away, elsewhere, deep within the heart of a kingdom Tommy didn't care much for.
Legs dangling off the side of a cliff, Tommy kicked idly at the dirt and rock holding him up. Sunset doused him in warmth and honey. Gold swabbed itself over the lands, tainting it with golden flecks. The tips of Tommy's fingers looked blinding, swallowed by the blazing sun and blurred at the edges.
A small smile pulled at Tommy's lips.
That, he thought, was where he was meant to be. By his lonesome, surrounded by earth and nature, blotting out the image of flying birds with a hopeful palm. It held sunshine, it felt the sunshine dip between each crack in its skin and Tommy felt alive. He felt that sunshine sink beneath his skin, wriggle seamlessly into his veins - his blood - like it belonged there. As though his beating heart existed only to carry the weight of sunshine blood.
With nothing nearby but himself, nothing to reach for but the stars, Tommy felt himself relax. Slowly, the tension which he'd carried up to that little cliffside began to slide off his shoulders. They were never meant for anything larger than a sword. The world was far too much.
A sword.
The memory felt bitter and jagged in his mind.
Swords - oh, swords. Long, graceful spikes of pure death, glistening like diamonds and cutting through lives with the ferocity of a monster. A monster, Tommy must call it, because even beasts kill with reason - but Tommy didn't. Swords didn't. All the swords Tommy saw were monsters, monster puppets controlled by their ignorant owners.
Once upon a time, Tommy had been among those owners. As he and his sword melted into one another, as the blade slashed and cut, as blood gushed-
Deep breath.
Tommy gasped a breath.
Tommy had once been among those owners.
But then, a silly old man in his green and white striped bucket hat had come found him. Ignorant, bloodied, ruined and ruthless. It hadn't been easy, but that silly old man hadn't cared. All Tommy got for his destructive efforts was a warm palm, a patient smile and an offer to sit with his son on the back of a rickety cart.
Against all odds, against all reason, Tommy allowed the man to help him.
He allowed the wood of the cart to press against his skin uncomfortably, he allowed the tall child sitting across the cart to him to glare and frown and curiously glance over him. He allowed it all for the promise of something warm. There was something about a weapon and his weaponsmith that made Tommy want to melt. It was something about a warm fire, the promise that enough gentle care could melt the hilt of his sword from his palms. A promise that with time, with effort, with gentleness - his skin could heal over, his mouth could open and he could breathe again.
Sunshine leaked beneath his skin.
It hadn't quite healed. Tommy still found himself a man of his sword. But he held it like a weapon, those days. No longer did he grip the hilt with enough vigor to blister his palms. No longer did the blood mingling upon the weapon become a mystery - no longer was it a fountain of wine with no owner. No longer. An ending had been presented to him, soundlessly, thoughtlessly, and Tommy took it because deep down he knew he wasn't meant for fighting.
None of the other knights held their swords like he had, nobody else had to learn to hold their own hand before they could hope to tackle a beast again. But he had. And the funny thing about him was that he was alive, in the way he knew those other knights weren't.
A warm palm, patient eyes, kind smile.
Silly old man and his stupid wooden cart. Tommy shouldn't ever have joined him.
But he did.
And suddenly, he was breathing and he could hold his own palms. He could trace his fingertips over the lines in his palms, he could feel the tingle of his own skin being gentle with itself. So many sensations would ripple through him, soft and delicate and entirely unknown. And once his fingertips got used to the swirling painting on his palm, they clasped it. He remembered holding his own hand for the first time, and he remembered how his own warmth had bled into him and he nearly sobbed.
Tommy could only smile at the memory at that point, though. From where he was, sitting on a cliff's edge with the setting sun in his grasp... he could only smile at the memory of having to learn to be enough for himself.
A long journey was still ahead of him, he knew that. Come morning, Phil had told him and Wilbur earlier that afternoon, they'd be off again. Some kingdom in the next town over was looking dull, and Phil wanted to visit a florist there before all hell broke loose. He was following a path, and Tommy knew it. Wilbur knew it. It just seemed to be Phil who thought he'd been walking down a freeforming road, treading into a giant's footsteps and pretending they're muddy puddles.
Honestly, Tommy couldn't blame Phil. He wished to have that kind of whimsy.
Lining the sunset, framing it perfectly, was the distant silhouette of L'Manberg. It was a beautiful kingdom, in hindsight. Full of tapestries and colours, music and song and dance. Wilbur had loved it there, and honestly... so had Tommy. It'd been hard to adjust, at first. Back where he'd been trained to be a soldier, the camps didn't have colours or songs or dancing. Yet, still, Wilbur took Tommy's hands and spun the two of them in circles round the plaza like it was nothing.
And Tommy followed his lead like he'd done it a thousand times before, like he knew Wilbur, like anything about that was normal.
Tommy had only known Wilbur as long as he'd known Phil and his wooden cart. He'd known them for a decent handful of weeks by that point. After they'd saved him, started teaching him weird shit and calming him from nightmares... well, safe to say Tommy had warmed up to them.
Obviously, it wasn't perfect. He and Wilbur fought all the time, and Phil sometimes didn't quite have the budget to cover three people. Oh, and not to mention their issues. Tommy had learnt, whilst huddled up under a blanket in the back of the cart, that they all had something going on in their minds. While Tommy had always known that, to a degree, he'd never really... thought about it.
Snap!
Tommy's head whirled around as the sound of a twig snapping in half crackled through his thoughts like thunder. With wide eyes and tense shoulders, Tommy prepared to leap into action-
...
Oh.
Tommy relaxed a little, eyebrows furrowing and lip drawing itself into a thin line. "Hey, Wilbur."
At least Wilbur had the sense to look sheepish. He rubbed the back of his neck nervously. "Oh- Tommy... hi. I was just coming to check up on you."
Raising his eyebrow, Tommy gave Wilbur another glance over. "How'd you know I was here?"
For some reason, Wilbur laughed at that. Incredulous fuck. "You're always here. Ever since we came to little old L'Manberg, you've been running off here."
Without a second thought, Wilbur wandered up to the edge of the cliff and plopped himself down. Once he noticed Tommy's legs dangling over the edge, he shifted to throw his legs over the edge as well. Tommy just rolled his eyes - Wilbur was always so cryptic and weird.
The man looked oddly unkempt, like he'd been running for a while. His chest was rising and falling quicker than usual, and his hair was tousled all wrong. Tommy wanted to reach his hands into Wilbur's hair and correct the strands, but that'd take too long. And... and he didn't know if Wilbur would actually want that.
Wilbur was also wearing some kind of blue sweater with a white shirt underneath and black pants. 'An homage to the L'Manberg uniform', he'd called it when he'd first showed Tommy and Phil. But Tommy saw right through it. Wilbur just wanted an excuse to wear blue, since he was always wearing more autumn-based colours.
"Yeah, but how'd you know I was here?" Tommy gestured to the cliffside.
It wasn't like it was a well-known spot. Tommy prided himself on finding such a cozy little nook in the forest, an open place to be as free as a bird and as hidden as a fox. While the cliffside was no secret, the leaning trees and their generous branches provided shelter and shade. Shadows helped keep Tommy hidden as he perched atop the cliffside. It'd also been a good way away from the path the townsfolk usually followed when passing through the cliffs and the forests.
All Wilbur did was grin. When Tommy turned to look between the setting sun and Wilbur, he found the man losing himself within the swirling golden colours.
"Just a hunch." Wilbur stated simply, although Tommy knew there was more to it. He couldn't explain how he knew, he just... did.
That was another weird thing that came with Wilbur and Phil. Tommy started knowing them. He started knowing which clothes he'd see them in, what foods they tended to prefer. Or what stories they'd tell. Each of them sung different lullabyes and had different mannerisms in almost every way. And there was nothing scarier to Tommy than knowing someone well enough to know that. To be able to spot their mannerisms, to tell their scared sighs from their angry sighs by the way it tapered off or the places they were looking.
Tommy wasn't always the best at observing things, but Wilbur and Phil felt... different. They felt like threats. Tommy felt like he had to know everything about them, because who was he if he allowed himself to be taken advantage of by them? What kind of knight, what kind of soldier, would he be if he didn't treat them like bombs?
Then the soft smiles came, and the patience and the laughter and the warmth - and Tommy found himself thawed before his hands found the ice around his heart. He found himself holding ice water and wondering where it came from, which boy dropped his glass heart.
The thing with being cold is that it's hard to notice. It tends to numb your senses, until it eats away at you and you fall apart. It's never a shattering, never instantaneous. It's slow and it's consuming and it is anything aside from peaceful. But then the first licks of fire begin to redden your fingertips, and it illuminates the blue taking root in your cheeks, and you feel the tingle that comes with thawing before you realise you were ever cold.
By the time the blue fades and your cheeks are a normal kind of flushed, you're holding ice wonder and wondering who it might've belonged to. You're looking into a watery reflection and wondering what child stares up through the ripples.
Cold.
Tommy didn't feel very cold. He felt warm.
Very warm.
Sunshine leaked into his skin, and when he turned his head to face his brother, still looking for an answer to his question, he found warmth there, too. Warmth in his smile, warmth in his eyes, warmth in his nature and everything about him.
With a quiet sigh, Wilbur stared out at the setting sun again. Tommy knew, somehow, that Wilbur was getting lost amongst the amber. Tommy simply faced the sunset and joined him. There was nothing to hear them but the world, there was no sound apart from the sounds they made and the gentle clicking and calling of nature.
"It wasn't that hard." Wilbur began, and Tommy shifted in his seat, silently awaiting Wilbur's tale. "You've always loved nature, for a start."
"I have not!"
"Yes, you have." Wilbur laughed, and Tommy found himself adoring the sound. He smiled and let out an amused huff. "Anyway. I... I just- I ran. I ran as fast as I could, wherever my legs would take me, because I knew you'd done the same."
... oh.
That- oh. Tommy didn't know what to make of that.
Tommy cleared his throat, trying to rid himself of the lump he felt there, and the slight tremble his hands had adopted. "I could've run farther." He weakly protested.
Wilbur nodded. "But you'd never."
Those three words found a home in Tommy's heart instantly.
His gaze snapped to Wilbur, looking him over, searching for pride or cruelty or any trace of anything-
But... nothing. All Tommy found in the curve of Wilbur's smile was fondness. All he found in Wilbur's eyes was the glimmering sunset. The man hadn't even turned to look at Tommy as he spoke; the words just flowed from his tongue like water.
Something warm and uncomfortable panged in Tommy's chest, warmth pooled at Tommy's gut and he realised all too suddenly why he'd always assumed he was never built for loving. Because something so soft and fond should make him soft and warm, right? All fuzzy inside, all warm and toasty like a fireplace at winter time. But... it didn't. It confused Tommy, and it scared Tommy, and sometimes Tommy wanted to fall into the swirling caramel of Wilbur's eyes and lose himself among all the sweet and warm things there.
Like sunsets and oceans, like cart rides through forests, like shared blankets on cold nights, like long hugs after floods of tears. Tommy found a history he'd woven with his thawed hands living and breathing within Wilbur's eyes, within his warmth. And that overwhelmed Tommy. It scared him. It scared him a lot.
Tommy swallowed.
"Yeah, I'd never." He admitted quietly to the sun as it sunk lower and lower, its once golden hue tapering out into something darker - something closer to indigo.
A smile formed on Wilbur's lips. "This is a real pretty spot to watch sunsets. I see why you like it here."
Huffing irritatedly, Tommy fiddled with the skin around his nailbeds anxiously. "Wilbur- what do you want? Why are you here?"
For some reason, Wilbur didn't seem phased by Tommy's harsh words and jittery attitude. Patience. Endless patience, enough to drown in - Tommy wanted to drown in it, he did, but he fought the currents and he fought the warmth and he fought everything, eventually. "Like I said, I wanted to check on you. It's the last night before we leave L'Manberg. Phil wanted me to make sure you'd be able to leave in one piece."
The joke made the smile on Tommy's lips turn brighter.
That was another weird thing Phil and Wilbur did. They treated him like he could be broken, like he could be messed with and destroyed. Like he could get hurt or so seamlessly attached that he'd be swallowed by loss for weeks. It... it- was it true? Tommy didn't know. He liked to think he could be cold and lifeless, he like to think himself less than a boy and more than a martyr all in the same breath. It was hard, it was confusing but Phil and Wilbur made it worth it and Tommy didn't know why.
While Tommy knew he could be cold, he liked to think he could be precious, too.
Human. A voice in the back of his mind whispered. You wish to be human like they are.
Perhaps it was true, or perhaps it wasn't.
All Tommy knew for sure was that he would rather die than leave Wilbur or Phil at that point. He'd made his mind up, right then and there. There was life in Tommy's life that he wanted to protect, now - and for the first time since he'd started training, Tommy found himself grateful for the shape of his sword and its familiarity to him.
Beside him, Wilbur shifted. "We should be going soon. The sun is setting, and-"
"Wait!" Tommy instantly refuted, digging his hands into the dirt beneath him. "Wait, wait, Wilbur I- I don't think... I don't want to leave yet." His voice dropped to a small whisper. "At least until all the stars come out?"
Warmth enveloped Tommy's hand, and he sucked in a sharp breath. Tommy's thumb trailed the familiar path of Wilbur's palm - the lines, their swirls. Warmth, endless warmth, encased him and Tommy wanted to cry because- yeah, yeah, he would do anything to keep that man safe, wouldn't he?
Tommy turned to look at Wilbur, tears in his eyes, a smile on his face and Wilbur just smiled back. Oh, the things I'd do. Tommy mused quietly to himself. Without truly meaning for it to, Tommy's hand tightened around Wilbur's palm. The warmth sank deeper and Wilbur smiled brighter and Tommy had to look back at the sun before he burst.
"There's something on your mind." Wilbur hummed idly, his palm fitting so nicely in Tommy's hand. "Care to tell me about it?"
Tommy cleared his throat, shuffling a little closer to Wilbur. "Can't we just- like... hang out?"
Wilbur moved a little closer, too, and soon enough Tommy was able to lean his head on Wilbur's shoulder. Warmth danced along Tommy's spine and he shuddered under its weight. It felt good to share a world of warmth with Wilbur, he thought. It felt good to share that sunset, to share the blanket of gold like they'd shared felt and fabric in the past.
Squeezing Tommy's hand a little, Wilbur's voice took on a teasing lilt. "Don't you mean 'can't we just hold hands?'"
Scoffing indignantly, Tommy scowled. "I'll kill you."
Wilbur laughed at that, then Tommy started laughing too, and soon enough the two of them were just... leaning on one another. Bleeding warmth, trading it like blazing candles. They shared the sunset until there was none of it left, and then, they shared the stars until Tommy's eyelids grew heavy.
"Toms?" Wilbur said, his voice hushed and soft.
All Tommy could see was void darkness - all he could feel was Wilbur's warmth, a pleasant reminder that while he'd stood alone and won wars, he didn't have to face his battles alone anymore. A pleasant reminder that Tommy had someone to lean against. A pleasant reminder that Tommy could be everything and nothing all at once, that he could be a boy - he could be anything. Because if Wilbur was a poet, if Phil was a kind man, then Tommy could be a shield. He could be a rosebud, or a droplet of sunshine, or a splattering of blood.
Anything.
Anything came with gentle promise, harsh warnings and endless warmth.
Anything came with the gentle laugh in Wilbur's words, like he was internally melting with love and fondness and all the gooey things reserved for family. "Oh... are you asleep?"
Tommy flipped him off, then nestled further into Wilbur's side.
The man just laughed.
Between one moment and the next, Tommy was being picked up. His eyes flew open and he gave a startled laugh, batting away at Wilbur's hands until the older man was forced to put him down again. Wilbur clutched his stomach in laughter and Tommy heaved on the floor, a stupid grin on his face, stuck between laughing and scowling.
All was warm. Always warm, when his brother was around.
Brother.
The name felt like liquid sunshine on his tongue.
Before Tommy got to process much more, Wilbur was calling his name and beckoning him to follow. Apparently, they were going to have to try and guess the way back to the inn they were staying at in the kingdom, what with how dark it was. The only downside of watching the sun set in a hideaway very few knew about was that it didn’t have any guiding lights. Tommy sighed.
He scrambled to his feet and followed after his brother, laughter echoing through the forest for miles.
Somewhere, elsewhere, a single crow descends upon a tree branch. It shakes the tree it perches upon, and it glances out at the forest.
Eventually, it cocks its head at the retreating shadows of two brothers racing across a wide glade speckled by trees. It watches them try and find their way home, it watches them make laughter in the face of confusion and it watches them pull each other forward relentlessly until they reach their destination.
He watches love and devotion and trust, he watches passion and strength and healing.
And then, he spreads his wings and flies away.