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Wilbur stared through the gates, petrified.
The palace was huge. Huge and glittering and terrifying.
He clutched his battered suitcase tightly, feeling very out of his depth. He had expected the palace to be intimidating but this - Prime, what was he doing here? They’d take one look at him and laugh him out of the door.
The gates swung open and Wilbur walked inside woodenly, gazing at the golden palace grounds, trying to focus on the autumn leaves and not on the anxiety he was feeling.
Village teacher, never amount to anything more, what are you doing here?! His brain screamed. You know nothing, probably less than the prince does, what could you possibly have to offer?
“I-I’m here about the position advertised - the one for a royal tutor?” Wilbur said to a guard at the door. “You should be expecting me?”
The guard scanned him, raising an eyebrow at his disheveled appearance. He looked more like a farm labourer than an educator - though without any of the muscle someone like that should have. Wilbur wanted to sink into the floor.
“Yes,” the guard said after a silence that lasted just a little too long. “The king’s been waiting for you.”
Wilbur’s mind shot into overdrive. The king?! He hadn’t been that late, had he?!
“Follow me,” the guard added, striding down the corridor. Wilbur stumbled after him blindly.
They approached a large wooden door and the guard rapped on it.
“Come in!”
The guard swung the door open. “Wilbur Soot, Your Majesty.”
Wilbur stepped inside, heart in his throat.
The only other person in the room was a blonde man with blue eyes, wearing a well-tailored green suit, a cape over one shoulder. Wilbur gulped. He’d seen this man in paintings, but the real thing…
He bowed low. “Your Majesty,” he said respectfully, glad the tremor in his voice had gone. Perhaps there was a point at which fear overspilled into numbness.
“You must be Mr. Soot,” King Philza said, his voice even.
Wilbur straightened up but kept his head bowed, even as he nodded.
“I got your letter and I take it by your presence here that you got mine?”
Wilbur nodded again.
“You are aware that so far no tutor has been able to appease my son longer than a month?”
Wilbur nodded. He’d thought about little else on the way here, unable to shake the mental image of being tossed out of the palace, forced to return to the village with his tail between his legs, teaching license revoked for life.
“We’ve had tutors come from across Essempi,” the king sighed, “and none of them have been good enough. My son has dismissed every one.”
Wilbur knew all this, he knew that even those with educations far superior to his own had been sent away. One had even studied at Karl’s Library.
“And you still wish to make an attempt?”
Wilbur nodded. He was beginning to feel a bit like a bobblehead.
“Very well,” the king said, stepping forwards. He held out a piece of paper. “Your contract.”
Wilbur took it. F*ck, that was a lot of money.
“Will that work for you?”
Wilbur decided it was time he actually used his voice. “Yes Your Majesty.”
King Philza nodded, looking pleased. “Excellent. Would you like to sign it now, or meet your student first?”
Sh*t, what was the right answer here? “Um - sign it now?”
The king handed him a pen and, awkwardly leaning against a pillar, Wilbur signed the contract, trying not to think about the hundreds who had done so before him, each one probably thinking they could do what the others could not. Prime why am I doing this? I should have stayed in the village, teaching six-year-olds the alphabet. I’ve just signed away my career. What’s wrong with me?
The king rolled the contact up and slipped it into his pocket. “You may spend the rest of the evening getting settled. My son will meet you for his lessons tomorrow.”
Wilbur’s mind was still reeling from the implications of the document he’d just signed, so he went back to nodding dumbly.
King Philza looked at him one last time. “Good luck,” he said quietly and walked out the door.
A servant approached Wilbur, taking his suitcase and indicating for him to follow. Wilbur tripped after him, unable to appreciate the beautiful corridors he was walking down when all he could think was what the f*ck have I done?
–o0o–
Wilbur spent a comfortable but anxiety-ridden night in his rooms. They were beautiful and spacious and very, very luxurious - especially for a teacher from the outer provinces - but all he could concentrate on was the next morning. Over half of the tutors had been dismissed within the first week. At least a third of those on the very first day.
Prime, he was out of his depth here. He didn’t have anything to offer. What had he been thinking? What could he possibly do that hadn’t already been done? Men and women far smarter, with degrees and qualifications he could only guess at, had tried to educate this ‘Prince Thomas’, and all had been unsatisfactory. What could he say, what lessons could he give with his education built on books from wandering traders and a diploma in the mail?
At nine am precisely he would have to work it out.
–o0o–
“Prince Thomas is here for his lesson Mr. Soot,” a servant said, opening the door to the classroom.
Wilbur stood up from what he assumed was his desk. It was slightly larger than the only other one in the room and faced away from the chalkboard.
“I’m ready,” he replied, though he was anything but.
The door opened wider and the sixteen-year-old Prince Thomas entered.
He looked a lot like his father, golden-blonde hair and blue eyes, though dressed in red rather than forest green. He looked bored already and Wilbur bit down the panic that rose in his chest.
“Prince Thomas,” Wilbur said, smiling.
The Prince sat down at his desk. “You can call me Tommy,” he said listlessly.
Wilbur was not sure that he could, but he equally did not want to be fired on his very first day. “Tommy it is,” he smiled. The prince - or Tommy, apparently - looked a little taken aback but didn’t say anything. Wilbur breathed a sigh of relief. “And you needn’t bother sitting down,” he added.
That made his head shoot up. “What?”
Well, clearly he was doing something wrong here. The prince was obviously used to sitting down for his lessons.
For a moment Wilbur considered changing his lesson plan, but f*ck it. If he was going down, he was going down his way. He flipped his internal switch to what he liked to call his ‘teacher mode’ - the version of himself that was much more confident in what he said and his own knowledge. “I thought we could spend our first lesson in the palace grounds - it’s a nice day, and I want to get to know you - what your interests are, your strengths and weaknesses - before I start planning lessons for you. Does that sound okay?”
Prince Thomas stared at him in shock. Well, goodbye not–so–promising career in education. I didn’t need those years of my life anyway.
“Y-yeah, that sounds… good,” the prince said slowly, standing up.
Wilbur led the way - he’d memorised the route from the classroom to the gardens early this morning, not wanting getting lost to be the reason he lost his job. “So, what do you like to study?” he asked the prince, who seemed to be in some sort of daze.
“Uh - I’m good at English? Can’t stand maths - I’m okay at chemistry? And history, I guess.”
“That’s what you’re good at. What do you like?”
The Prince stared at him, jaw slack.
Wilbur had already dedicated himself to going down using his technique, so he persisted anyway. “Y’know, what subjects do you find fun? Any of them interesting to you?”
The prince continued to stare at him dumbfounded.
“Think about it this way - are there lessons you look forward to more than others?”
“I… I like music,” the prince said quietly.
Wilbur grinned at him. “You do? What do you play?”
“The piano. And I sing sometimes b-but I’m not very good…”
“If you enjoy it, that’s more than enough. I play the guitar myself.”
“You do?”
Wilbur nodded. “I do. My old guitar is back in my village, but I’m sure a palace this big can find a guitar somewhere, don’t you?”
The prince nodded.
“Is there anything else?”
Mentioning his guitar had been a good move. The prince suddenly seemed much more open to his questions. “I like biology - animals are awesome. And I like plants too, though animals are better.”
“Do you have any pets?”
“I have a horse, called Henry,” the prince said, after a moment's consideration. “Would he count?”
“I think so. We’ll have to spend a few lessons with Henry then,” Wilbur said, making a mental note to check the breed of the horse with someone, try and find some information on him perhaps.
“R-really?”
Wilbur nodded. “Much easier to learn how animal biology works when you have a working model, no?”
Prince Thomas grinned, and bam. There it was, the teenage boy beneath the mask that had been over his expression until now. Wilbur pumped a self-congratulatory fist in the air, but only inside his head, where no one could see. Wilbur hadn’t really expected his technique to work this well, but he wasn’t complaining. The Prince didn’t hate him, it seemed. He could work with that.
–o0o–
“He can sleep standing up?!” Tommy repeated, surprised. It hadn’t taken long for Wilbur to start thinking of the prince as 'Tommy' - just a few days really. He didn’t seem like the person the name ‘Prince Thomas’ brought to mind, not when he had a smile on his face like he did now.
“Yup,” Wilbur said, stroking Henry’s head. “Can you work out why?”
“Because… they need to be ready? For anything?”
“That’s partly it - but it’s also partly because of how much effort it is to get up and down sometimes. You know how it’s hard to get out of bed some mornings?” Tommy laughed quietly. “Imagine you have to lift over a thousand pounds as well.”
“So he sleeps standing up to make his life easier?”
“Pretty much.”
“You’re so lazy Henry,” Tommy said, rubbing his nose affectionately. Henry snorted.
“What’s going on in here?” said a voice from the door to the stables.
Wilbur turned around to see someone in full riding gear standing across from him. A servant was bringing a horse into one of the stalls behind him. “I’m Prince Thomas’s tutor,” he answered evenly, because he still was, amazingly. He’d outlasted the monks sent by the Church Prime now. “We’re having a lesson. Who are you?”
“My name is Lord Quackity,” the man said.
Wilbur bowed his head slightly, acknowledging that man’s status. “Pleasure to make your acquaintance.”
“Quite,” the noble said tightly. “So why is the Prince in a stable?”
“It’s a biology lesson,” Wilbur said simply.
“Not really… appropriate, is it? For a Prince?”
Wilbur heard a shuffling sound behind him and glanced in its direction. Tommy was shifting around nervously, twisting his ring finger, head lowered.
Wilbur narrowed his eyes at the noble. He didn’t care that the man was his superior, he didn’t care that he could probably have him fired, or imprisoned, or worse. What mattered to him, as a teacher, was that his lesson had been interrupted and his technique criticised. “I think I’ll educate my student as I see fit, thank you,” he said coldly. “Please carry out your business here and allow me to continue with mine.”
Quackity glared at him, a mixture of anger and surprise on his face. They stared each other down for a moment until Quackity turned and left with a huff.
Wilbur turned back to Tommy, who still seemed… off.
“We should head back to the palace,” Tommy said, sounding resigned.
“Not until we’re done with today’s lesson,” Wilbur replied.
Tommy’s head snapped up. “You were serious?”
“Of course.”
Tommy looked at him in disbelief. “But - but he’s - he said -”
“Who cares what he said?” Wilbur said firmly. “He’s not your tutor, I am. Unless you really want to go back inside we’re staying right here.”
Tommy shook his head slowly. “I… don’t want that. I want to stay here.”
“Good,” Wilbur smiled. A smile slowly spread across Tommy’s features too. “Now, did you know horses can’t burp?”
–o0o–
It was late afternoon and Wilbur had nothing else to do, so he felt justified in going to the library. All his lessons for next week were planned and he’d already asked for permission, so here he was, sitting in one of the armchairs in the vast room, feeling like a character from one of his old childhood novels. What was her name? Belle? The library was easily his favourite room in the palace, and, in a way, it had sort of become his, like her library was hers. There were no librarians, the servants simply dusted the books and left, so it was Wilbur that spent his time sorting them and sometimes re-covering the older, unloved ones.
He closed ‘Oliver Twist’ and stood up, heading towards the shelf he had declared the ‘Dickens Shelf’.
He passed by the desks the library had, set aside for those wishing to write - though Wilbur had never seen anyone actually sit there, apart from himself.
That made it all the more surprising when he spotted Tommy asleep, slumped over the desk.
Prime, it wasn’t really any of his business, what Tommy did on the weekends wasn’t up to him, but…
“Hey… Your Highness?” He glanced around. The room was empty. “Tommy?”
Tommy blinked blearily. “Hm? Wha?”
“You fell asleep,” Wilbur informed him. “You alright?”
Tommy stared at him. “Am I alright?”
“Yeah. You must be exhausted if you're falling asleep at your desk on a Sunday afternoon.”
Tommy looked down awkwardly. “I-I was working.”
“On what?” Wilbur asked, taken aback.
“M-maths,” Tommy said slowly. “Y-you said we’d have to keep working on it, so - I was -”
Wilbur shook his head. “Oh, Prime, no, that’s not what I meant. I meant we’d work on it in class.”
Tommy furrowed his eyebrows in confusion. “What?”
“I meant we might dedicate a little more time to it in lessons, or I might try and find a new way of teaching it. Not that you should struggle through it on your own.”
Tommy stared down at his desk. “You’re so weird,” he muttered.
“What do you mean?”
Tommy blushed. “Uh - just…” he trailed off. Wilbur waited.
“Just that… no one’s ever… lessons outside are l-like a reward. I have to work hard and I -”
Wilbur’s eyes widened and Tommy must have seen them because he looked almost ashamed. “Sorry, I know, I don’t want to disappoint you but -”
Wilbur shook his head firmly. “No, Tommy, I’m not disappointed. Just… I guess I’m surprised? You - you know you can fire me, right?”
“I don’t want to,” Tommy said hurriedly. “You - um - you’re a good teacher.”
Something warm crept into Wilbur’s heart. “Thank you Tommy. You’re a fantastic pupil, and I’m not disappointed. I just didn’t expect you to be working on a weekend, and I’d honestly rather you didn’t. Weekends should be for relaxing, not working.”
A smile ghosted across Tommy’s face. “Really?”
“Really. Why don’t you go and find your father? You have the whole day.”
The smile disappeared and Tommy stood up quickly. “Yeah. Maybe. Thanks Mr. Soot,” he said emotionlessly, hurrying out of the door.
“It’s Wilbur!” Wilbur called after him, confused. What was that?
–o0o–
Wilbur opened the door and Tommy stepped out, smiling up at him. “Good work today.”
“Thanks Mr. Soot.”
“For the last time, it’s Wilbur! You make me sound like a chimney sweep!”
Tommy grinned at him like a cat in a catnip patch. “You have just given me so many ideas.”
Wilbur groaned and rolled his eyes while Tommy headed down the corridor, clearly compiling a list of soot-related nicknames.
Wilbur closed his classroom door and started cleaning the chalkboard. If Tommy was sick of the quadratic equation then Wilbur was twice as sick of it, especially since he couldn’t really see the point of the thing, other than as a tool for doing more maths. Which neither he nor Tommy were particularly looking forward to.
There was a knock at his door. “Come in!”
The door swung open and King Philza entered.
Wilbur dropped the duster in surprise and his mind launched into a battle - should he bow or pick up the duster? He settled on doing both. “Your Majesty?”
“Mr. Soot. Or can I call you Wilbur?”
“Please do,” Wilbur said, not that he had much of a choice. What was he going to do, refuse the king?
“Wilbur,” the king continued. “You’ve been here a month now.”
He had, over a month actually. It was very odd, the way he’d begun to feel at home in the palace - stealing pastries from the head chef, Niki, borrowing notes on chemistry and biology from the resident doctor, Ponk, even taking the occasional class of his own, led by Sam, the chief engineer.
Most of all he was amazed that he was still here. After everything he’d heard about the prince and his previous tutors, he’d been expecting to survive a week at most, leaving with nothing but a tale to tell and no license. But it had been almost easy, staying. He’d done nothing particularly incredible, but still, Tommy hadn’t fired him. And Tommy was not at all what he had expected either. From the reports, he’d been imagining a spoiled boy, arrogant about his schooling and sick of it. Instead, he’d gotten an eager pupil with a sunshine smile and a work ethic like none he’d seen before.
“And I just want to know… why?”
“Why, Your Majesty?”
“Why hasn’t he fired you?”
Does he want Tommy to fire me? “I-I’m not quite sure sir,” he replied, though that wasn’t quite true. “I suppose my teaching style fits him well?”
The king tilted his head. “And what is your teaching style?”
Wilbur breathed an inward sigh of relief. This was a topic he could talk about. “I try to tailor the lessons to his interests and help him through what he doesn't understand. When I can I make the lessons practical, going outside or elsewhere in the palace.”
The king nodded. “And that works, does it?”
“Seems to sir,” Wilbur replied, adding, “he’s a very willing student, which helps.”
“Is he?” the king mused. “Now that does surprise me.”
Wilbur said nothing.
“His last tutor said the opposite - that he was sullen and didn’t seem to care.”
Wilbur bristled at the idea that anyone - even someone long gone, never to teach again - would insult his pupil. “I assure you he is nothing of the kind Your Majesty,” he said, unable to hold back the slight edge in his voice.
The king looked at him for a long moment. Wilbur resisted the urge to start fidgeting.
“Well, I’ll leave you in peace,” the king said at last. “Good day Wilbur.”
“Good day Your Majesty.”
The king swept out, the door closing behind him. The second he was sure the king was gone Wilbur slumped into his seat and put his head on the desk. F*cking Prime, what was wrong with him? Did he have some sort of death wish? Did he want to be fired?
But the idea of someone thinking his pupil was anything less than brilliant upset Wilbur for a reason he couldn’t explain. King Philza was the boy’s father, he knew his son better than anyone.
Didn't he?
–o0o–
Wilbur repositioned Tommy’s hand around the guitar. “You’ll be able to reach further if you put your thumb lower down,” he explained.
Tommy nodded. He tried again and this time the chord rang much clearer.
“Nice!” Wilbur exclaimed. Tommy blushed and moved from C to A minor then to E minor. “Now back to C,” Wilbur encouraged. Tommy strummed C major and looked at his tutor for approval.
Wilbur grinned at him and Tommy blushed even redder. “That was excellent Tommy.”
“Thanks Sooty.”
Wilbur groaned. “Kid, you have got to find a better name for me than that. Now I sound like a cat.”
Tommy folded his arms. “Never. Sooty you are and Sooty you shall remain. Also, I’m not a kid.”
Wilbur rolled his eyes but smiled fondly at his pupil. “And I’m not a cat. Want to learn another progression?”
Tommy nodded but then paused. “C-can you play me something?”
Wilbur raised his eyebrows. “What?”
“Uh - anything? Whatever you want. Please?”
“Well, since you said ‘please’, Wilbur smiled, taking the guitar and placing his hands over the strings.
He began to play and the room filled with music. Wilbur didn’t even realise he’d started singing until Tommy joined in hesitantly at first and then louder as the song progressed.
"Forever is a long, long time - but I wouldn't mind spending it by your side."
"Tell me every day I get to wake up to that smile. I wouldn't mind it, at all."
"I wouldn't mind it, at all."
–o0o–
Sometimes Wilbur found himself wandering the corridors late at night, unable to sleep. It wasn’t often, but there were nights when his mind refused to let him drift away, nights where he was reminded that he was just a commoner calling the crown prince 'Tommy' and that one wrong move would leave him with nothing.
On those nights he would get up and walk around until his mind stopped racing.
On one night he heard someone crying.
Wilbur walked over and pressed his ear to a door. It was coming from the room within. He knocked on the door.
No answer.
He tried again, adding “is everything okay?” for good measure.
Still no answer.
Wilbur took a deep breath. “I’m going to come in unless you tell me not to.” There was no response, so Wilbur pushed the door open and stepped into an ornate bedroom, filled with books and clothes and a guitar in the corner.
Sh*t, this is Tommy’s room, he realised. Meaning that the crying was…
Tommy was lying in bed, crying his eyes out as he slept.
Without thinking, Wilbur hurried over. His pupil was upset, crying, in danger. “Tommy, wake up kid,” he said gently, placing a hand on his shoulder.
Tommy blinked himself awake. “W-W-Wilbur?”
Wilbur was too worried to care that Tommy had finally used his name. “It’s me. You alright?” Tommy shook his head and buried his head in his hands. Wilbur slid onto the bed and wrapped his arms around him. He felt Tommy’s breath hitch and the kid melted in his arms, clinging to Wilbur like a limpet.
“Hey, it’s okay, it’s okay, it was just a nightmare,” Wilbur whispered. “You’re okay, it was just a dream.”
Tommy nodded, his tears soaking through Wilbur’s dressing gown. “S-s-sorry…”
“You don’t have to be sorry kid, there’s nothing for you to be sorry for.”
Tommy held him tighter. “T-taking up your t-t-time. Not - not worth it…”
Wilbur’s heart clenched. “You are worth it Toms, of course you are.”
Tommy shook his head.
“You are worth it. You deserve to be comforted when you’re upset kid.”
Tommy said nothing and Wilbur was too busy writing an angry letter in his head to… Prime himself? - to say much more, opting to simply hold Tommy in his arms instead.
Eventually, Tommy stopped crying. Wilbur didn’t want to let him go - Prime, that was probably the worst thing he could do - so he asked “do you want me to stay with you?”
Tommy nodded mutely and Wilbur pulled them down until they were horizontal. “Okay, Toms. Okay.”
–o0o–
“This is my son, Prince Thomas,” King Philza said for the fortieth time. Wilbur stood to the side, near some of the other higher-ranking servants, watching as Tommy bowed, his eyes without any of their usual light.
“Pleasure to meet you,” he said and it was diplomatic and polite and perfect. Perfect except in all the ways it wasn’t.
“And mine to meet you,” the noble responded before walking away, swiftly joining a group and chattering away.
Tommy turned to his father. “C-can I…?”
“Not yet,” the king replied.
“Wait here, I’ll be back with Lady Hannah in a moment.”
“Yes father,” Tommy said quietly, resigned.
Wilbur’s heart cracked at the wistful look in his eyes as he watched his father disappear into the crowd.
Wilbur’s heart broke a little more every time he glanced at Tommy throughout the ball. He was a teenager, a prince, he should be dancing, maybe making some girls swoon, laughing with the other nobles in the room. Instead, he was standing to the side looking longingly at his father, fidgeting with his finger, blind to everything but the king, who was blind to Tommy.
And Wilbur decided there and then to make the king see.
–o0o–
He knocked on the door of the king’s study, heart in his throat. He pushed it back down where it belonged, thinking of Tommy.
“Come in.”
Wilbur strode in. “Your Majesty,” he said, bowing. Not as deeply as he could have. As he should have.
“Wilbur?”
Okay Wilbur, teacher-mode on. This is the most important lesson you’ll ever teach. And it might not stick. But it has to be said.
“What the f*ck have you done to my pupil?”
“Excuse me?!” the king exclaimed.
“You heard me,” Wilbur said, arms folded.
“Mr. Soot, I don’t think -”
“Listen to me,” Wilbur said angrily. “You have f*cked up that child, and I do not know how or why. You might as well rip out his heart and crush it right now, it’d be kinder.”
“How - how dare you?!” the king spluttered.
And Wilbur was scared, he was so Prime-damn scared, but he pressed on. “Tommy is a marvel. So why, when you described him to me, did you believe him to be sullen and uncaring? Why would you believe the words of tutors over your own eyes?”
“Why am I the one holding him after a nightmare? Why isn’t his father there, why can’t he find you when he’s afraid? Why did he tell me he doesn’t deserve to be held? When was the last time you hugged your own son?”
“Why was he standing alone at the ball last night? Why was his father everywhere but beside him? He stands there looking at you like you’re his whole world and you turn your back on him.”
“So tell me, what the f*ck have you done to my pupil? Because he is mine to protect and mine to care about and you have broken his heart,” Wilbur finished.
The king rose to his feet. “Mr. Soot… you’re fired.”
Wilbur threw his hands in the air. “Of course I am. The one person that cares about your son in this Prime-forsaken place.”
The king moved out from behind his desk and Wilbur’s fear came flying back in full force. “Wilbur Soot, I am being merciful because my son seems to care for you. I revoke your license to teach. I revoke your right to stay in this palace. Your contract is terminated. You have twenty minutes to leave the palace before I have you arrested for trespassing.”
Twenty minutes?! “Y-Your Majesty, I won’t have time to say goodbye -”
“I do not care. Guards, follow him. Get him out of my palace.”
Wilbur had no choice but to go, his heart bleeding out of the two halves it had broken into.
–o0o–
Wilbur leant on the gates and cried. He cried for himself, for the life he was going back to, for the end of his passion. He cried because he’d been thrown out of the only place that had ever felt like home.
But most of all he cried because Tommy was alone once more. Prime-damn him, why couldn’t he have kept his mouth shut? Now Tommy had no one. He’d sit and wait in a classroom for a teacher that would never come. It’d be some cold, expressionless tutor instead, that would make him work until he couldn’t take it anymore and got rid of them before he broke entirely.
Wilbur knew he had to move, knew he had to get up and start walking.
But it was like his heart had been ripped out and left on the other side of those gates. So instead he slid to the ground and cried, because who can keep from collapsing when their heart no longer works?
–o0o–
Eventually, when he’d wept all he could, Wilbur stood up. He took a final look at the palace before turning away, clutching his suitcase and wishing there was a way he could delay the inevitable.
“WILBUR YOU B*TCH!”
Wilbur’s head snapped up and he whipped around.
Tommy flung himself through the gates and barrelled into Wilbur, knocking them both to the ground.
“Wilbur, please, please, don’t go, I can’t - I need you!”
F*ck you Philza. F*ck you for making me leave him.
“Please, don’t leave me, please, I’ll be good, I’ll do whatever you say, please -”
“Tommy, I have to.”
“Why?! What did I do wrong?” Tommy cried.
“Tommy -”
“Please, I know I’m loud - a-and annoying - and dealing with me every day must be s-so hard, but I-I can’t - I’ll do anything, please I can’t live here without you.”
And that broke Wilbur all over again. He sobbed into Tommy’s hair as he wrapped the boy in his arms, holding onto him as though he could stop fate from pulling them apart.
“I’m sorry, I’m sorry,” Tommy whispered.
“T-Toms, you d-did nothing wrong, none of this is your fault, I’m so sorry.”
“Please don’t go.”
“I have to, I’m so sorry, I don’t want to. I have to go.”
“Please…”
“D-don’t forget me, o-okay Tommy? Don’t forget what I told you - y-you deserve love, y-you’re worth it.”
“I won’t forget,” Tommy sobbed. “Don’t forget me either Wilbur. Please. I need… someone to care.”
“Oh Toms, how could I ever forget you?”
“GET AWAY FROM MY SON!”
Wilbur raised his head and found himself looking directly into the eyes of a furious King Philza.
“F-father?” Tommy whispered.
Slowly Wilbur untangled himself from Tommy. “I have to go Tommy. I’m sorry.”
“But why?”
“Because I fired him Thomas.”
“You did what?!” Tommy cried, gaping at his father.
“He disrespected me.”
“Everything I said was true,” Wilbur said.
“What did you say?” Tommy asked, eyes wide.
“He said I was a - a bad father. That you feel alone and unloved and I -”
“You did?” Tommy interrupted, staring at Wilbur.
Wilbur nodded.
“You see? He had to go, he -”
“Dad.”
“He yelled at me, in my own study, lectured me about my own son-”
“DAD!” Tommy bellowed. “HE’S RIGHT!”
Wilbur stared at his pupil. Philza stared at his son. “Excuse me?”
“HE’S RIGHT!”
“N-no.”
“Prime - I…” Tommy pressed his hands to his forehead. “He’s right dad. No one cares about me here. Not even you.”
“Thomas -”
“You see?! For the last time dad, it’s TOMMY!” Tommy shouted, standing up.
Philza blinked at his son and Wilbur’s heart swelled with pride.
“You never listen! You don’t - you don’t care about me. I never see you, not even for meals! The only times I see you are at balls a-and banquets and, if it wasn’t for Wilbur, today would make it four years since someone hugged me. It’s been four years since you hugged me dad!”
Wilbur covered his mouth with his hand.
“Why dad?! Why do you hate me so much?! What’s wrong with me? Why can’t I - why won’t I ever be good enough for you?”
Philza stared at his son, anger, shock, confusion and sadness competing in his eyes. "I - do you really feel that way?" he asked, and Wilbur was surprised to hear a tremour in his voice.
Tommy glared at his father, tears of anger leaking from his eyes. He took a deep breath.
"Yes."
And to Wilbur’s shock King Philza sank to the ground, hands over his face.
Tommy stared.
Philza’s shoulders shook. “Prime - Tom-Tommy - I-I didn’t…”
Wilbur looked up at Tommy from where he sat, still kneeling in the dust outside the palace. His face crumpled and he collapsed. Wilbur scrambled over to him. “Tommy,” he whispered his voice choked with fear and anger and sadness and pride.
“Prime, Wilbur, wh-why did I say that?”
“Because you had to,” Wilbur replied, putting his hand over Tommy’s.
Philza looked up. “T-Tommy… I’m so sorry…” he sobbed. “I-I had no idea… Prime…”
Wilbur gaped at the king crying in the dirt. “I-I never meant… I never wanted to make you feel unloved Tommy. M-my son. I’m s-so sorry. And then… Prime I sent your only comfort away… what sort of father am I?”
“An awful one.” Wilbur said flatly, amazed at his own bravery.
Philza turned his gaze towards him, then towards his hand, interlinked with Tommy’s. “I… I am a terrible father,” he whispered brokenly. “Prime… I was so blind. You saw it and I didn’t. You saw what his own father couldn’t see.”
Wilbur nodded. “I did.”
“Prime-damn me, I’m such an idiot. Y-you’re what, twenty? Twenty-one? And y-you saw it.”
He looked at Wilbur desperately. “P-please. Help me.”
“What?”
“Please, teach me how to be a better father. Before it’s too late. If it isn’t already,” Philza pleaded.
Wilbur glanced at Tommy. “What will you do if it is?”
Philza became even smaller. “I-I don’t know. I’d leave if he wanted. I’d place myself under arrest.”
“Would you let him leave? If that was what he wanted? To leave you?”
Philza blanched. Wilbur waited.
“...yes.”
Wilbur closed his eyes.
That was love. Selfless love.
He could work with that.
But only if Tommy wanted him to.
“Tommy?” he asked gently. “What do you want to do?”
Tommy gazed at him. “I don’t know Wilbur… I’m so tired.”
“I know kid. I know.”
“I-I want him to love me.”
“I do,” Philza wept. “Prime Tommy, I love you so much it hurts.”
“Y-you mean that?”
Philza nodded brokenly.
Slowly Tommy let go of Wilbur’s hand and slid towards his father.
Philza brushed a stray tear from his son’s face. “My son. I love you and I’m so, so sorry.”
He opened his arms, his eyes filled with pain and hope.
Tommy threw himself into them.
“Dad…”
“Tommy…”
Wilbur looked at the pair curled together on the dusty path.
They still loved each other.
He could work with that.
He could show them how to be a family, no matter how long it took. It might take months, it might take years, but he’d help Tommy to trust his father, he’d show Philza how to care for a kid so brilliantly bright.
Wilbur smiled to himself. He was a teacher, Prime-dammit, and he was going to teach.