Work Text:
He stood tall in the Hall of Souls, watching the little orbs fluctuate colors with tired eyes. The last he had been here was years ago; regained memory and losing reasons to stay away had brought them back home, and upon his reemergence had been brought to the Hall for current or severed bonds to be noted. The two additions had chased them from returning to the Hall until summoned by the carers.
“My Prince,” the main Hall caretaker said with a swift, low bow.
“Mylef.” Even despite the lack of his presence in the Hall, he knows those who look after its treasures. “You said it was urgent?”
“Yes, Your Majesty, it involves your two orbs.”
Mylef, and the two Juniors under them, Livi and Hamon, watch him with deep purple eyes as they take in the information. The presence of the three caretakers temper the prince’s reaction, but the thoughts still curl around his heart all the same - either those orbs were empty, or they had changed. Void orbs, while rare, aren’t an unknown event; souls that are old and tired sometimes don’t come back for another life. It was his greatest fear to one day be called to the Hall of Souls to be told their two orbs were gone.
“What about them?”
Livi grins as she bounced in place for a moment. “They’ve grown , Your Majesty.”
Grown - which means the orbs have changed. Changes in an orb could mean several things: an attempt at resurrection can crack them, a successful resurrection can mean a brighter light, and rebirth can alter the colors within and a bigger orb.
“Both of them?”
Mylef nods and allows a smile to cross their face. “They’ve also become richer in color, too. Do you wish to see them?”
“Yes.”
The two Juniors stand taller as they fall into place behind the prince; Mylef in the lead as the group crosses through the long Hall to the room at the end. The Room of Royals - not the prince’s choice in naming, but it has existed longer than him so the name doesn’t change - is where the royal family’s orbs sit. The only allowance of any other orb would be those dearest to the royal family.
If anyone was dearest to the Crown Prince, First of Their Name, youngest of his siblings, it would be those two. Tubbo Underscore and Tommy Innit - the two people who stuck by him even when they were scattered, when he was dead . The two people who tricked and twisted the man who brought him back to life, at the cost of the last of their innocence. At the cost of their own lives.
Ranboo’s eyes immediately zero in on their orbs.
When they had first formed on the two pedestals left and right of his own, they had both been a faded sort of green. Sage green, if he was forced to put a more specific name to the color.
Sage, as the records state, stands for growth. For immaturity and inexperience. While Tubbo and Tommy both were led down paths that took their innocence with violence, they were still young. All three of them had been so young . Sage worked well for lives riddled so bloodily that had been lost so quickly.
Now…
Ranboo had to cease walking and count his breaths. The shades of green were vibrant . They ranged from greens so dark they were practically black, and greens so light it was hard to say they weren’t white.
It was a forest in full daylight.
It was an ocean, clear and clean.
They mirrored Ranboo’s own green orb, if with a higher number of lighter shades of green, and no trace of red and purple. (Red for the danger, power and passion Ranboo’s very being thrummed with after he’d come back home. Purple for the creativity, nobility and wisdom their magic allowed them to bear.) Tommy’s orb had flickering pink (gentle love, tenderness, vulnerability and youth) and white (goodness, safety and faith) that reminded him of a sunrise; Tubbo’s, then, reminded them of a sunset with the orange (joy, enthusiasm, determination and success) and blue (authentic, personal and warm) that slipped between the hues of green.
They’d been reborn. Together, most likely, but Ranboo had expected that they would have been. Clingy Duo down to their very souls.
“My Prince?”
Hamon stepped forward quietly, eyes tracking between the two orbs and Ranboo with an unasked question.
“Did I ever tell you about what caused the bond to grow so quickly?”
“I don’t believe you have, Prince Ranboo.”
Livi and Mylef draw closer; the curiosity of Ranboo’s people over the two lives bound to him had never wavered in the decades since their return, so the focus from the three caretakers wasn’t surprising. And the prince trusted these three. Every secret they had learned watching over the orbs was never spread.
“I met Tommy first,” he whispered, motioning to the Sunrise Colors. “It was when I was in the thick of memory loss and before I began writing in my journals to try and remember. He was abrasive, but he was kind. Sweet. Gave me a tour in the most chaotic way possible, cracking jokes and messing around as if we’d been friends for years. Made it memorable; every place he showed me I never forgot, even on my worst days.”
“He sounds like a wonderful companion,” Livi murmurs, her eyes flickering to a lovely dark amber.
Ranboo gave a warm hum of agreement, “He is.”
“And your other bond mate?”
“Tubbo; we became friends a little later on. He first learned to trust me politically, as I wasn’t one to manipulate him or wear him down for ease of positioning,” the prince explained. “Then we’d adopted a child together; a little piglin runt that was suffering from the zombification virus.”
“The child wasn’t a part of your bonds,” Mylef softly stated.
“I’m aware.” The silence between the four stretched for several long minutes before Ranboo sighed and softly whispered, “I’ll explain later, okay?”
“At your leisure, Prince.”
“Tubbo and I eventually got platonically married,” the young royal picked up his story after nodding at Hamon. They grinned at the surprised sounds his companions gave. “Tommy was kind of… a part of it without officially being proposed to. I expected it, though; Tommy and Tubbo were bonded before I met them. But events happened that kept Tubbo and I from bringing it up with him.”
Mylef’s posture wavered when the echoed pain within Ranboo’s words registered. “Events?”
“I died, for one.”
“ What? ”
A bland smile crossed the prince’s features. “It’s how I regained my memory, how the curse was broken. Tommy had been murdered and brought back before, which was another reason why nothing happened about bringing him into the family legally. When I died, he and Tubbo… Well, they bonded their souls to mine by sacrifice. Michael, my son, paid the largest price when the man who’d murdered Tommy and brought both he and I back caught on to what they’d done.”
“And you, Prince Ranboo?”
“Was in the middle of coming back to life.” They turned his gaze from the two orbs to meet Livi’s uneasy stare. “I couldn’t interact with the living world physically while dead, and while coming back, I wasn’t clear headed enough to do much more than watch as the- than watch as my son’s soul was eviscerated and Tubbo and Tommy die to ensure being brought back wouldn’t have the same side effects on me that it had Tommy.”
“No wonder you were so distraught,” Mylef breathed, eyes flickering between a soft green and the common purple. “You’d come home after all ties keeping you away was out of reach.”
The prince bowed his head slightly in agreement.
Hamon’s voice is choked when he adds, “And it’s no wonder you refused to enter the Hall. Even knowing they were still in the Cycle wouldn’t have stopped the memories of why they weren’t still here.”
“Correct.”
“Well,” Livi inputs with a huff, amber eyes flaring brightly as she returns her focus to the two orbs that brought the story out of her prince. “Well, I can say we won’t be able to give you a Path for a few years yet.”
“That’s alright. It’s more than enough to know they’ll be gracing the world again. I can wait several years more before going out on the Path.”
“You plan to wait so long, Your Majesty?”
Ranboo turned to give Hamon a long stare, meeting his gaze without hesitation. Green eyes flared a deep, violent purple the moment they both locked, the Junior tensing in surprise.
“I will not influence them. The parts of them that made them them need to come out without manipulation or it would be hollow.”
“Understood, My Prince.”
⍀⍜⊬⏃⌰⏁⊬ ⟟⌇ ⍙⊑⟒⍀⟒ ⊬⍜⎍ ⊑⏃⎐⟒ ⋏⍜ ☊⊑⍜⟟☊⟒ ⍜⎐⟒⍀ ⍙⊑⏃⏁ ⊬⍜⎍⍀ ⎅⎍⏁⟟⟒⌇ ⏃⍀⟒.
“Prince Ranboo.”
“Morning, Histo.”
The older Enderian grinned brightly, hands gently smoothing down the hanging outfit to ease the amount of wrinkles. Their eyes glowed a lilac; bright and happy, much like the way the other moved around Ranboo’s room in preparation for the day.
“Your mothers wish for you to join them in the solar for lunch,” the attendant begins, routine calling for the day’s itinerary to be gone over as Ranboo ate and dressed. “Before that, though, you have meetings with four Guilds to go over their training schedules and allowance for the month’s new trainees.”
“Which Guilds are those again - Magia, Animae, Animalia…”
“And Milites.”
The prince nodded once, already considering the reports he’d been given for the four Guilds over the last several weeks. “After the last meeting?”
“Consultation with the Sacrae.”
“Oh?” Ranboo frowned at their plate of chorus fruit and fig. There are very few reasons the Enderian Crown Prince would need to see the Sacrae after they’d been officially made heir and before their ascension to King or Queen. To his knowledge, the prince hasn’t stumbled their way into any such situations.
He blinked back to awareness when Histo finally answered, “The Hall Curator, Caera, suggested it. On Caretaker Mylef’s behest, I believe.”
A noise of understanding left the younger Enderian. “That makes sense,” especially after what Ranboo had told them and their Juniors. “That makes a lot of sense. I had forgotten to mention it before, oops.”
“It?”
Ranboo glanced at their attendant and allowed a soft grin to cross his face. “My bond mates. I might have made one of them legally a part of my family and had admitted to wanting the same with the other.”
There was a moment as the older Enderian pondered the difference between Enderian and Overworld culture when it came to making another family. “Legally?”
“Mhm. Just saying so doesn’t make us family in the eyes of government officials, in the Overworld. Have to make a claim in a legal way. Marriage and adoption are the main two ways.”
The prince watched the servant force himself through the rest of their required morning chores with another smile. Learning about the other worlds was a rare thing for the serving class of the End, with only those meant to travel with their employers taught what they’d need to know to serve to their best capability. Histo has only had the chance to learn recently; thirty years, to be exact. Ranboo had claimed them as their attendant twenty years after returning home, after the candid conversation the two had had in the middle of the night. (Histo knew more about the End than Ranboo did. He didn’t sugar coat how much Ranboo’s disappearance had disrupted the nobles, nor how his reappearance had shredded many attempts for the throne. It was what Ranboo needed, and still needs, when it comes to people they allow as close as a personal servant, someone who was meant to know Ranboo’s every move to properly do their job.)
The new information about the Overworld was being digested slowly, the older Enderian filing it away just as much as it was being torn apart for what Ranboo wasn’t saying aloud. It was a habit of Ranboo’s since the beginning. Histo learned better when he could put everything into the proper context before they asked anything more on the topic.
After he finished their breakfast and dressed, Histo picked up the summary of what Ranboo was expected to do for the day: “After the you’ll have that lunch with your mothers, you will have a meeting with the Sacrae. Depending on how long your meeting with them goes, you’ll be expected to finish the day off with two to five more meetings with the Mercator Guild’s facets.”
“Five?”
“Two for Nether Trade, two for Overworld Trade, and one with the inter-trading facet within the End.”
Ranboo hummed and resituated his crown, mirror reflecting a well-put-together vision they’d slowly gotten used to since being home. As he met his reflection’s eyes, the prince allowed them to fade from the, normally, aggressive-meaning purple to see red-green heterochromia for the first time in fifty years. Behind them, checking over his suit, Histo stiffened at the sight, their eyes flickering to a gentle orange once the aggressive indicator was gone on his prince.
The two shared a brief smile before they turned away from the mirror and began their daily duties. While Ranboo was handling his meetings, Histo was to clean the prince’s suite, check over his armor, and collect any letters and reports that fit under their current oversight that were finished late the previous night or early in the morning that day.
⏃ ⌰⟒⏃⎅⟒⍀ ⟟⌇ ⏚⟒⌇⏁ ⍙⊑⟒⋏ ⌿⟒⍜⌿⌰⟒ ⏚⏃⍀⟒⌰⊬ ☍⋏⍜⍙ ⊑⟒ ⟒⌖⟟⌇⏁⌇, ⍙⊑⟒⋏ ⊑⟟⌇ ⍙⍜⍀☍ ⟟⌇ ⎅⍜⋏⟒, ⊑⟟⌇ ⏃⟟⋔ ⎎⎍⌰⎎⟟⌰⌰⟒⎅, ⏁⊑⟒⊬ ⍙⟟⌰⌰ ⌇⏃⊬: ⍙⟒ ⎅⟟⎅ ⟟⏁ ⍜⎍⍀⌇⟒⌰⎐⟒⌇.
Ranboo’s day was overwhelmingly normal, and plain overwhelming. Talking with a single Guild’s Tres Legati was tiresome, no matter the topic; arguing with four Guilds worth of Tres Legati was draining, especially when all of them were vying for larger allowances from the Royal Treasury. The Milites were the easiest, though. Their strict handling kept them from losing sight of their money, especially after Ranboo’s grandmother set precedence of how she expected Guild Thieves to be handled. Warriors knew how little money was worth when it came to staying alive.
The Animalia Guild came second to the Milites; the close relation of the End’s soldiers and their mounts tangentially eased the stress on the Animalia Guild’s budget. How to keep the money from being wasted was among the first things trainees were taught; it was something Ranboo was grateful for after looking over the list of students that had passed and failed that month. Less numbers failed because of integrity issues. It meant less potential threats could be found, and thus less faces to keep a watch for.
Animae is a subcategory of Magia that required its own budget in recent years - one of Ranboo’s mothers had opened the Hall for public use, necessitating the change. Their Tres Legati were calmer in their arguments - not to the same degree as the Milites, who kept their calm no matter how many of their points were discarded, so long as the budget isn’t lowered - but their speeches were filled with flowery phrases meant to distract from the original point.
But the most stressful meeting was the last (Histo likely scheduled it this way purposefully so Ranboo would get through all of them without losing their temper). The Magia Guild was large, with multiple subcategories dedicated to the various magical branches the Enderian people were aware of and several that they weren’t. Their allowance was the largest of any Guild, even those that don’t meet monthly like the four he’d handled today had lesser budgets. The constant growth of the Guild necessitated constant surveillance so money wasn’t being lost along the way, which was the cause for much of the animosity of the Tres Legati towards any overviewing person.
It didn’t help that Ranboo refused to test the limits of his magic. An early bloomer that they were, Ranboo wasn’t interested to give away anything about his magic, let alone have it tested until he threw up (or passed out, or had a seizure, or any of the other side effects they’d read about in their records when they’d been made responsible for the Royal Budget).
Ever since the beginning, Ranboo has used Tubbo as a template to follow or take inspiration from while handling his responsibilities. And he took inspiration from Tommy on how to handle confrontation; the later years, between Ranboo’s permadeath and resurrection, had seen the blonde maturing and settling in his skin.
(It was just as well that he relied on what they’d been like when both of them had taken inspiration from him to view the world anew. Every morning and evening, the two had sat with Ranboo to watch the sun come and go; every weekend was spent exploring everything they could; every holiday was spent relishing in the warmth of loved ones. Every chance was used to remind oneself that they were alive.)
Simply put: What methods worked for his bond mates, they used, and which ones were handled poorly, they attempted to perfect.
Didn’t stop the whole experience from being exhausting. The prince was happy lunch was next, even if his mothers would likely drag up topics Ranboo had previously refused to indulge them in. Histo followed them from the Magia Guild meeting, having finished his duties to the prince before it had begun, and updated him on what invoices awaited them before bed.
“You also have a letter awaiting you from the Viator Guild.”
Ranboo glanced back with a frown, ”Do you know why?”
The attendant shook his head, a frown crossing their features. “I was not made aware when the messenger came. I believe it's not urgent or Idal would have mentioned it before leaving.”
“True.” Ranboo gave a small bow of his head in acceptance. “Anything else of note?”
“No, My Prince, everything else has been expected.”
Grinning lightly at the guards standing on either side of the solar doors, they whispered a relieved ‘good’ to the older Enderian before he ended the conversation. The four steps it took to cross the threshold was done with counted breaths. He did not expect this conversation to go poorly, his mothers weren’t the type, but it was still daunting. Marriage was important to any Enderian, let alone one of royal blood. Mylef, Livi and Hamon would have made sure they couldn’t keep it from the Queens if they expected to follow a similar route as before and take them on as his platonic spouses.
The sight of their mothers sitting at the small, intimate table eased the tight ball in his chest. They were dressed down, the day having been spent together while their children picked up the slack their slight break caused, so Ranboo wasn’t taking on too much before he was ready. The beauty of them both was breathtaking - their dark skin almost absorbed the light that the crystal fixtures gave off while the galaxy patterns glowed like stars in the sky.
Queen Amet was a night sky of pinks, the vast majority of them a dusty rose shade (tranquility, kindness, understanding, and nurturing disposition). Her wife, Queen Yren, was a beautiful sky of violet (introspection, aloof, spiritual).
Just looking at them, one couldn’t say which was born to the Royal Family. Many took the purple-dotted Yren as of royal blood, as the color was common within the lineage. Neither of them were bothered by the misunderstanding, having used it to their advantage when it came to trade agreements and alliances; Amet was underestimated under the belief that she’d married into royalty. What Ranboo couldn’t use from the memories of their bond mates, he filled in with teachings and stories of his mothers.
They crossed the distance between the doorway and the table, bending to gently press a kiss to each of his mothers’ cheeks in greeting. “Mom, Ma; how has the day seen you?”
“The break was a much needed one,” Amet answered with her soft voice. Before Ranboo could step away from her and slide into the seat left for him, she cupped their face and met his stare. Light blue eyes were pointed as they drilled into his currently purple ones. “Now, is this a conversation that needs to be had with purple eyes?”
Without giving voice to the answer, Ranboo smiles and allows the purple to bleed out of their stare. For the first time in decades - longer than Ranboo’s been back home, thanks to his previously corrupted memory - his mothers gets to see their eyes.
Yren hums as she glances away from their cup of tea to take in the change as Ranboo takes his seat. “Happy things, then?”
“You know it already involved the Hall,” their son returns with an easy grin. “Mylef wasn’t subtle using Caera to make the matter known.”
Both of his mothers make amused noises as they share Ranboo’s grin.
“Perhaps, but Mylef’s oaths to you have prevented us gaining any information beyond something changing with the orbs of your bond mates.”
“And,” Amet adds, “the fact that you might follow the same route as before.”
“Hopefully without losing my memory. That definitely caused a bit more than a little trouble for everyone around me.”
Both older Enderians winced at the reminder. It wasn’t a happy situation to remember; Ranboo had been cursed in an attempt to distract the two queens from their duties, a distraction that would have given reason to stage a coup against them. The only thing to backfire the plan was Ranboo himself, ironically. In their blank state, he’d wandered off before they could be found by their family.
(The opposition also forgot to include the people’s opinions on the royal family. Queen Yren was beloved for her incorruptible loyalty for the crown and family, while their wife was well-loved for her gentle heart and creativity. Most money made during their reign together was from their own talents rather than the treaties and trade agreements. No one wanted to risk prosperity; no one could turn from genuine leaders. And people could never turn from a kind hand, as Ranboo’s proven to be at heart.)
“Yes, we wouldn’t want a repeat of that.”
Amet turns towards her son with an over exaggerated air of interest.
“What?”
“Well? What happened in the Hall?”
Ranboo gently grins at their mother before taking a sip of the tea that had been waiting for him. In the silence, he watches their mothers lean forward; they both looked young when excited like this. “They’ve both been reborn.”
“Oh!” Yren perks up with a grin of their own, her hands setting her cup down to reach for Ranboo’s. “That’s so wonderful, amica mea. When should a Path be ready for you?”
“I’m thinking of waiting longer than the average time,” he states, squeezing their mother’s hands. “I don’t want to- I can’t- Okay, hold on.” Ranboo shuts their mouth and counts his breath once more, forcing their thoughts to settle into a form of coherency. “Okay, I want to wait beyond the average time because I don’t want to question if I had ended up manipulating them one way or another for the rest of this lifetime.”
“Mature of you,” Amet murmurs, the pride of her tone shining through her blue eyes.
“Very.”
“Thanks, I try.”
⏁⊑⟒ ⎎⟟⍀⌇⏁ ⍀⟒⌇⌿⍜⋏⌇⟟⏚⟟⌰⟟⏁⊬ ⍜⎎ ⏃ ⌰⟒⏃⎅⟒⍀ ⟟⌇ ⏁⍜ ⎅⟒⎎⟟⋏⟒ ⍀⟒⏃⌰⟟⏁⊬. ⏁⊑⟒ ⌰⏃⌇⏁ ⟟⌇ ⏁⍜ ⌇⏃⊬ ⏁⊑⏃⋏☍ ⊬⍜⎍. ⟟⋏ ⏚⟒⏁⍙⟒⟒⋏, ⏁⊑⟒ ⌰⟒⏃⎅⟒⍀ ⟟⌇ ⏃ ⌇⟒⍀⎐⏃⋏⏁.
It starts like this:
A community celebrates their first child of the season with joy and song. Flowers are brought in, planted, and contemplated for names before being dismissed - delegated to the child’s First Garden and only that. As each is dismissed as a name, the Garden grows.
It’s a whisper on the wind that names him.
Tubbo .
-
And then it becomes this:
A scientist grins at the wailing form in his arms. He walks away from the distressed noises of the adults who had given genetic material as they bash against the doors to their cells with pride in his steps.
A name is the last thing on his mind.