Chapter Text
The sky was blue. That was the first thing Technoblade noticed when he woke. For so long Technoblade had gotten too used to the sky being choked with smoke, constantly grey and occasionally black or orange, depending on the varying amounts of smoke, fire, or inclement weather in Technoblade’s immediate area. But it was never blue. Not in wartime.
Technoblade had fought in countless battles and many wars, but every time when the wars ended, the blue sky surprised him. This time seemed especially shocking. Technoblade hadn’t expected to live through this war.
The Essempi had been a terrifying foe, led by the only man Technoblade had ever considered a true equal in both strategic genius and physical prowess. Technoblade had the reputation he did for a reason. He was paid to win people’s wars, and only a few days ago, Technoblade had been sure he had finally lost. He had looked out at the battlefield and wondered which one of his supplied war councilmen was the mole, which he would have to kill in an attempt to survive the beautiful trap Dream had laid for Technoblade’s men. Then he hadn’t had to kill anyone, because Dream’s army was caught in a sinkhole. A sinkhole had felled more than a third of the Essempi’s main fighting force, swallowing hundreds of cavalry and archers without distinction for their steeds or bannermen. Technoblade still didn’t understand it.
Suddenly the trap had become a fatal flaw as an entire flanking force of the Essempi army was gone and the army was exposed. Technoblade had acted quickly, and in two days the army was on its knees and Technoblade had delivered Dream’s head to the man who paid Technoblade’s wages in return for his set sum and the war was over.
Now the sky was blue.
Technoblade took a breath through his nose, air whistling where his nose had been broken and poorly healed so many times it didn’t quite do its job anymore. The air smelled faintly of woods and flowers. The wild. Technoblade smiled slightly. He had actually missed that smell.
Usually when Technoblade won a war, he just got on his horse Carl and rode to the next point of potential conflict to hang around till one or both leaders went in search of the infamous Blood God, the War Pig, to fight their war for them and Technoblade would pretend to debate it, but he always accepted the offers, or at least the most lucrative one of twin offers, and he always ended up back under a grey sky with a broken nose and blood on his hands. It was something of a cycle, but the battlefield was the only place Technoblade had ever thrived, the only place he ever really knew what he was doing, so he always ended up there, as if drawn by some magnetic, divine force he couldn’t understand.
Now though, maybe it was time for a break? Never retirement, that was too permanent and sounded a bit too much like complacency, of sitting around doing nothing while he wasted away or until he was hunted down for his numerous war crimes. Technoblade had too many enemies to retire. He would only stop fighting when there was a knife in his heart or poison in his gut. Maybe both.
So Technoblade, the Blood God, the War Pig, he who never dies, Dream Slayer, tacked Carl and mounted the warhorse with familiarity, for once without a destination in mind.
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In retrospect, Technoblade accepted that wandering in a random direction probably wasn’t the best idea, but he also didn’t really care. Case in point, the fact that Technoblade was mostly sure he was in fae country.
The fae were something Technoblade never fought or even dared to consider fighting. He drew the line at magic and other-ness. They were known for their possessive natures, all too willing to trick poor humans into eternal slavery. Or just trick in general. They were the reason Technoblade was never known by his name, why he had so many titles. He had met men who didn’t care if their names were known, but he had also known them to disappear when they trekked near fae territory. Dream hadn’t trusted others with his name and Technoblade had never learned the man’s true name. It almost bothered him that the only equal he had ever known had never even told him his true name. Technoblade would eternally have to refer to the many by the name meant to inspire fear in enemies such as Technoblade himself. What a hassle.
Technoblade had met fae before and the encounters had always been succinct and tense. Only fools were impolite to the fae, but Technoblade wasn’t one to dawdle either. Once, a fae had offered directions and Technoblade had politely refused. The frustrated fae had attempted to invoke every law of hospitality before Technoblade finally was out of the creature’s forest and the fae had no choice but to let Technoblade go on. They were clingy bastards.
This trip in fae country looked to be a long one and Technoblade was glad for his iron armor and weapons as well as the salt in a drawstring bag on Carl’s saddlehorn. Technoblade took no chances with things he didn’t understand. Fae were at the top of that list.
The path through the woods was peaceful though and Technoblade found himself relaxing more than he had in years, his body coming to terms with the reality that the war was over and that his shoulders didn’t have to be so tense all the time. It was a strange feeling. The wind in the branches overhead, blocking out the blue sky with vibrant greens, was soothing, and the little creatures that rustled around, bolting out of sight when Carl’s hooves startled them reminded Technoblade of simpler times. Not that Technoblade remembered much from before his first war at the ripe old age of ten, he did know he had done plenty of hunting and trapping. And potato farming. He had hated it at the time, he recalled with a certain fondness how he used to complain about his chores and how they only ever seemed to eat potatoes. That life had ended in blood and flames and the War Pig had been born.
The War Pig had been the first of Technoblade’s titles. He hadn’t even been fully grown when he had received it, wandering from small conflict to small conflict, gang wars mostly. Gangs had the tendency to give names to those who denied having them and so War Pig had stuck, in part inspired by his already disfigured nose. Then he had found his second real war and it had become infamous. It lasted for a while, only to be replaced by Blood God as Technoblade began to try his hand at strategy after an unfortunate loss of a commanding officer and being thrust into the seat of command himself. He had been good, and brutal. That had contributed to the never dying rumors. When a man is the sole survivor of enough ambushes and assassination attempts, rumors of immortality seem the only logical conclusion. Though, of his titles, Dream Slayer was the newest, and Technoblade’s least favorite. He would rather be remembered for a collection of achievements than for the death of a single man, no matter how good that man was. Besides, in a decade or so, Dream’s accomplishments would pale with age as they became old news and so Dream Slayer wouldn’t always pack as much terror or awe as it currently did.
Technoblade ignored thoughts of Dream, mourning the loss of an equal for a moment longer before he returned his attention to his surroundings. Fae country was the last place to be distracted by one’s thoughts. The fae had a bit of a stalking tendency. Currently Technoblade couldn’t see any, but that didn’t mean anything. For all he knew, he was completely surrounded. He decided to watch where he was going a bit more closely.
The day was mostly uneventful, only once did Technoblade get the impression he was being watched, but the sensation didn’t linger, and so Technoblade felt it would be fine to allow himself to sleep for at least a few hours. To give Carl a bit of rest.
The general dismounted his horse and began the process of removing Carl’s tack. It was muscle memory at this point. Something Technoblade never let a footman do for him. Carl was the best horse Technoblade had owned yet and he wouldn’t risk his horse’s wellbeing to laziness or neglect at the hands of an exhausted footman. Not to mention that Carl preferred it that way.
With Carl free of his tack, Technoblade pulled out a brush and ran it over the massive creature’s sides. Carl was a warhorse, bred for size and temperament. He wasn’t docile except around Technoblade and had bitten quite a few people and other animals. Technoblade had never loved a horse more and he smiled to himself as he made sure that Carl would be comfortable for the night before settling himself, propped against a tree with his sword in hand as he dozed in short stints.
A few hours of light sleep later Technoblade first heard the howling. Wolves. He nearly got up and tacked Carl immediately, but he knew he stood a better chance against the creatures on his feet with a sword in hand than on horseback, so he sat there in perfect silence, waiting. They might pass on, but they might not, and Technoblade recognized their howls as to signal a hunt.
The wolves slowly drew closer, judging by the sounds of their howls, and Technoblade became more and more wary. They were coming from the opposite direction of the battlefield, so he doubted they were tracking him, but he also didn’t want to risk being seen as easier prey than whatever it was they had scented. Then he heard the howls echo in closer and closer succession and Technoblade realized they had spotted their prey and he was about to relax when he heard a scream.
It was close, closer than the wolves, and Technoblade was on his feet in seconds despite his heavy armor, sword ready. It sounded like… a human? Maybe young, though screams were hard to age sometimes. Technoblade had heard grown men scream like prepubescent children and vice versa. It could be an animal, but Technoblade had spent most of his life hearing humans scream. This was human.
Technoblade began to hunt the source of the screams.
It wasn’t long that he trekked through thick undergrowth and swore at his massive size before he stumbled onto a clearing of sorts. At least clear of undergrowth, a stand of white pines blocking out any chance for smaller plants with a thick layer of needles on the ground and boughs blocking out any light. Technoblade warily stepped into the space, edging around a tree trunk to see three wolves, circling something.
Technoblade craned his neck, and when he saw the pack’s prey, he froze. A little boy, shivering as he crouched on the pine mulch with bare feet and golden blonde hair shimmering in the choked moonlight. Technoblade saw the flicker of a pointed ear and two white, downy limbs on the boy’s back. This was no human boy. This was a fae. A young one, if that was even possible. One wolf lunged, snapping teeth next to the boy’s leg and he screamed again, sobbing. Wolves were smart and this pack likely knew that no matter how small, a fae was far from helpless, they wouldn't attack right away. But they would attack eventually.
Technoblade didn’t debate long. The next thing he knew he was roaring at the wolves and three heads turned to face him, three others farther from the fae also looking. Techno slammed the flat of his blade on his breastplate, hoping it would spook the pack. It didn’t. They charged. Technoblade met them in the middle.
The first wolf met Technoblade’s sword at its jugular and blood splattered on the pine mulch, glittering briefly in the air. Then the second died similarly. The third lost a front leg, the fourth gutted before the third was finished off. The fifth and sixth hesitated, seemed to evaluate their chances, before they retreated, tails between legs as they disappeared into the night.
Technoblade flicked the blood from his blade, checking to be sure that really was the last of the wolves before he turned his attention to the fae. The small creature had crouched half behind a pine, peering too-blue eyes at Technoblade, utterly terrified. Its pointed ears were tucked back and down and its little, white wings trembled, mantled in a desperate attempt to be intimidating as the fae bared sharp teeth.
Techenoblade eyed the fae with something resigned as he saw the way it clutched a single arm to its chest, the way blood covered its chest. He couldn’t just leave it to die out here. It was obviously young and his conscience didn’t pardon the death of innocent children, even the children of fae.
Technoblade cleaned his sword on his pant leg and sheathed it, holding his hands up defensively as he crouched a bit, “Hello there,” He called lowly. He wondered if this fae was too young for the rules of fae to apply. He didn’t want to risk it, so he didn’t introduce himself. “I’m just here to help. You’re injured.”
The little fae bared those sharp teeth again.
“I won’t hurt you intentionally,” Technoblade had to be careful not to promise things he couldn’t keep. Broken promises with the fae ended badly every time. “Unless it’s for your general wellbeing,” he amended. Treating that wound might hurt.
The creature took a few steps back.
Technoblade realized he was wearing a lot of iron and he sighed to himself, hoping this wasn’t an elaborate trick before he began to work at the buckles in his armor. Soon all he wore was a tunic, leather pants, his red cloak, and his boots. He felt pitifully bare with his armor all in a heavy metallic pile to the side, but he didn’t want to spook the fae into the woods. Chasing it would end worse than lying to it.
“See? No iron,” he wiggled his fingers, showing the clear lack of even any jewelry, not that Technoblade owned jewelry, but he knew fae were wary of fake jewelry. A young one might even have been warned of such things.
The fae peered at Technoblade, fear slowly melting into confusion.
“I want to help,” Technoblade said, taking a careful step forward, “May I help you?”
The fae hissed.
Technoblade kept advancing. The fae didn’t run, and then Technoblade was crouched before the trembling creature and he was struck with an unfamiliar emotion. Pity. The creature was obviously terrified and exhausted. Its hair was tangled with twigs and its smock was filthy and torn, bare feet covered in small cuts, mud, and pitch. No child deserved this. Technoblade unclasped his cloak and slowly reached out to rest it over the shoulders of the tiny fae before gently scooping it up. The fae made a squeaking noise, but otherwise was completely motionless and stiff in Technoblade’s hands. It was so small.
Technoblade stood, peering down at the small thing in his arms, wondering if human children were this small. Probably. Technoblade hadn’t willingly interacted with a child in… nearly a decade.
Technoblade began to walk back to where his somewhat-camp was, collecting his armor in one arm with the fae in the other. The whole way he was careful not to jostle it too much since its arm had a bad cut, sluggishly bleeding into its once-cream smock. It seemed to be fighting sleep, eyes fluttering shut with slow blinks before it would shake its head or twitch its small wings in an attempt at wakefulness. It didn’t work well for the creature’s favor, because by the time Technoblade stumbled back into his camp, the fae was asleep, blue eyes shut and nose pressed into Technoblade’s chest. It was almost sweet.
Technoblade settled his armor and Carl watched, curious, as Technoblade sat by his saddlebags, digging out his first aid materials and a flask. This was about to be very… un-fun. Technoblade woke the fae slowly, blowing on its small face, watching a little, unbroken nose scrunch and Technoblade gently pulled a twig from its golden hair, gently shifting the fae child till it was rested on his crossed legs.
The fae woke slowly, little brows furrowing and Technoblade briefly marveled again at how small it was before those blue eyes opened and it was immediately alarmed to find Technoblade peering down at it, chirping in alarm, of all things, before attempting to flee. Technoblade caught it before it could hurt itself more and used his cloak the way one would with a cat to be sure those little claws didn’t find purchase anywhere.
“Sh, calm down, little one,” Technoblade attempted to be soothing. If the thrashing of the fae meant anything, he wasn’t very good at it.
“Hey, it’s just me,” Technoblade attempted, wrapping an arm over the fae’s flailing limbs, carefully capturing the bloodied one. It shrieked a bird-like noise and Technoblade cringed a bit, sure that if he didn’t already have hearing damage, that would cause it. He ignored its desperate attempts to bite and scratch him and swaddled it tightly, the injured arm the only limb free from Technoblade’s cape as he held it with one hand and grabbed the flask with the other.
“This will sting,” Technoblade warned, “But it will make it so you don’t get sick, alright?”
The fae made a wailing noise that was significantly more human than any of its other noises besides the screaming thus far. Technoblade hoped it was capable of speech, or at the very least understood what he was saying. Then he poured the heavy liquor over the wound and the fae screamed the human scream to the point Technoblade wondered if alcohol was something fae were adverse to, but he ignored the dread in his gut, trying to think logically. He used a clean cloth to wipe some of the alcohol away and saw no burns or discoloration so he uneasily chalked the screaming up to the fae’s age and dramatics. Then he bandaged the wound and then just held it tightly to his chest till it finally fell still, sniffling.
“Do you feel better?” Technoblade asked tentatively.
“Fuck you,” the fae whimpered.
Technoblade was both surprised that it spoke and that it had sworn at him. He decided to take the knowledge that it could speak as a good thing though, “Are you hurt anywhere else?”
The fae sniffled and didn’t speak.
“Talk to me, kid,” Technoblade urged, “It’ll be easier for both of us.”
The fae glared bright blue eyes up at him, “No.”
Technoblade sighed in relief, “Good, good.” He relaxed back against a tree, not relenting his hold even slightly.
“Let me go,” The fae snarled, quite literally, with bared fangs.
“No,” Technoblade said.
The fae stiffened, shrinking away from Technoblade the best it could while trapped in his arms, “Why not?”
“Because you’re small and injured,” Technoblade said, “You’d die.”
“My dad will kill you,” The fae warned.
Technoblade eyed the little fae, “I have no doubt he’ll try.” If the little one had a father looking for it, Technoblade might be able to, in good faith, let it go in the morning and trust it would be found. He didn’t exactly want to be found with some fae’s lost kid. That would look bad enough to get him killed before he could explain anything.
The fae seemed displeased that Technoblade wasn’t cowed by the threat of its father, “He’s a big scary fae,” the little fae continued to press.
Technoblade nodded, “I’m sure.” Fae couldn’t lie, after all.
The fae fell silent for a moment before trying a different tactic, “What is your name, ugly human?”
Technoblade peered at the fae, almost amused. He had been called ugly many times by many different people, and knowing the young fae’s goal made this bit of name-calling even funnier, “I typically don’t make a habit of telling my name.”
“But what is it? It’s probably something ugly, just like your face,” The fae said.
“You aren’t far off the mark,” Technoblade chuckled.
The fae seemed to recognize that its tactics weren’t successful and changed strategies again, “I suppose, if you must know, you can have a name to call me by. People call me Tommy.”
Technoblade raised an eyebrow at the fae, Tommy, recognizing that the little shit had attempted to phrase it so that the name was a gift as a way to make Technoblade indebted to him. Clever. “How kind of you. In return you may call me… Dave.”
Tommy scowled furiously as his plans failed, “Dave is a dumbfuck name.”
“That is a strong opinion,” Technoblade noted.
“I have strong feelings,” Tommy responded.
“I’ve noticed,” Technoblade said, smiling just slightly. “How old are you, Tommy.”
“I’m immortal,” Tommy answered without answering.
Technoblade eyed the small fae, “I know that, I asked how old you are.” Someone else might have assumed that meant Tommy was old as any other fae, but Technoblade needed a number to be sure of anything.
“Oh, you know, four hundred and twenty about,” Tommy said casually.
Technoblade was nearly shocked before he squinted, “Years?”
Tommy hummed.
“Yes or no?”
Tommy glared this time, before looking away and pouting quite impressively, “Weeks.”
Technoblade paused to do the math, “So you’re barely eight?”
Tommy huffed, “I’m older than eight.”
“By a few weeks,” Technoblade agreed. He leaned back against the tree again to contemplate the creature’s age. He had only been two years older than the fae when he had first killed a man. Technoblade wondered if he had been much bigger than Tommy at the time. He had been malnourished, so probably not. The thought that something as small as Tommy could kill a man was… sad. Killing was for men like Technoblade who have scarred and broken faces and rough mannerisms, not for tiny boys. Fae probably were outliers to the rule though. They were wild and archaic creatures.
“Why did you kill the wolves?” Tommy asked softly.
Technoblade peered down at the child fae, “Because they would have killed you.”
“You’re human though,” Tommy squinted, “I’m fae.”
Technoblade pondered the fae’s statement, debating if he should attempt to construe a meaning that wasn’t clearly stated, “Speak plainly,” he prompted instead. Child or not, Tommy was still fae.
“Humans hate fae,” Tommy said, “My brother says they lie and cheat our deals.”
Technoblade nodded slowly, “Many do. I do not hate fae though.”
Tommy’s eyes scanned Technoblade’s face, clearly looking for a lie, “You don’t?”
“No,” Technoblade confirmed, “I don’t like them, but I don’t hate them either.”
Tommy huffed, shifting in Technoblade’s hold, “Meanie.”
“Your kind are powerful and dangerous,” Technoblade said, “I don’t like things I don’t understand.”
“Seems like you know plenty about us,” Tommy muttered.
Technoblade huffed out something that might have been a laugh, but not quite, “I know enough not to find myself in a faerie ring or ensnared in a deal I don’t fully understand, I would like to think.”
“My brother says humans always think that,” Tommy said.
Technoblade nodded, “Most do.”
“But most don’t actually know,” Tommy’s lips curled in a sharp-toothed grin, “And they end up cursed anyways.”
Technoblade snorted, “True.”
The pair lapsed into silence and Technoblade gave Tommy a slight bit of slack so he could adjust his tiny wings in the cape swaddle, but he didn’t let him go. He didn’t trust that the fae wouldn’t attempt to run. There were still two living wolves in the pack that Technoblade knew of. He wasn’t going to risk the boy getting killed after all of Technoblade’s hard work to keep him alive.
A while later Technoblade heard soft snoring from the bundle in his arms and he smiled softly, wondering over the odds of finding a child fae in the forest. A child fae as endearing as Tommy at that. He had heard stories that young fae were especially chaotic, and Tommy certainly had fire in him, but his chaos wasn’t the chaos Technoblade had expected. Maybe Tommy just hadn't yet had the opportunity to create the sort of chaos his kind were rumored to love. Technoblade sighed, hoping that wasn’t the case. He still had to figure out how to return Tommy without dying.
Technoblade allowed himself to drift in a half-sleep, never letting himself completely relax or letting his guard down, sword always within reach, while the night waned on. He dipped in and out of varying levels of consciousness and it was surprisingly peaceful, with that little bundle of spite in his arms.