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For being immortal he feels way too young for this.
Walking back from that trainwreck of a meeting, Phil still feels how fluffed up his feathers are despite the many, many attempts to smooth them down. Which he continues to do as he makes his way to his private office, head guard Sam in tow.
It isn’t until they cross through the large ornate wooden double-doors to said office, graciously held open by two guards, and the door comes to a close behind them, also thanks to the two guards, that Phil gets his much desired reprieve.
Phil slumps into his plush chair with a hefty groan, putting his head in his hands.
It’s nearly impossible to begin gathering his thoughts together to start processing everything that’s happened. It’s also way too early in the morning for some bullshit like this.
He tries to sit up, but ends up rolling side to side in an awkward shimmy of awfulness and horribleness. It’s not a tantrum. But it’s damn near close- and honestly? He’s earned one!
Phil sits up fast enough to make Sam jump. Who has been politely keeping his hands up in a placating manner in case Phil truly falls off the deep end, if he hasn't already.
“I just- I mean why- they- UGH,” Phil eloquently gets out, “You knew I was being sarcastic, right?!”
“Of course, Your Majesty,” Sam dutifully nods, like he truly means it. Good lad.
“So… So why, would they do this? It’s- it’s archaic!”
Phil almost wants to get up and pace until there's a hole in the floor he can bury himself in. He’s. Look. He’s a King of an entire country- which he runs! Because he's the very professional and kind king, of course! He’s an immortal being for Death's sake! He’s lived through… well… he hasn't been immortal for that long but it counts! He looked Death in the face and winked. (She’s very pretty)
Wars. Horrors beyond mortal comprehension. Death. Pestillence. Suffering. Torture. He’s been through things that would kill a man from stress alone.
But everyone has their limits.
Sam takes this moment to place a grounding hand on his shoulder. It helps.
Phil feels his feathers finally de-fluff themselves a little bit. He’ll have to have a hell of a preening session later. But it’ll be a deserved one.
He sighs again. His face is going to have drag paths eroded into it from how many times he’s dragged his hands down it.
“I know,” he admits, “And if this genuinely is the only way the cabinet will actually respect me then… I guess what’s the worst thing that can happen?”
“I’d advise against speaking ill into the world, Your Majesty,” Sam quips.
Phil chuckles, giving one last scrub to his face before combing his clawed hands through his hair.
“I guess this gives me two weeks to get my affairs in order-”
“You make it sound like you’re dying-”
“-Which means that I have time to fix this,” Phil steam rolls through with his thoughts.
Yes. While this does put a damper on his- well it’s not like he had any future plans set in stone. He’s got all the time in the world. But he kinda had thought that his future adventures would be alone. Certainly not married.
It. It is comforting that at least the cabinet took his entire sarcasm into consideration. He had snarked that ‘the only way an eligible hand would be found by him would be in a tournament for the strongest in the land’ or something like that. Probably a bit more formal and impatient. But the point still stands. Phil is perfectly fine not being married and it’s not in his hundred year plan.
But now it is… In two weeks time he’ll be betrothed to the best fighter in his kingdom. It’s startling how fast life can change.
“Um… fix it, Your Majesty?” Sam interrupts.
Phil nods, thinking it through. There's many ways to blatantly solve this operation. But it’s not like he’s going to ask Sam to join the competition, even if he is one of the most capable fighters he knows, he doesn't want to marry the man. Or any of his friends for that matter. Or anyone!
It’s too much for one man to think about. But- He does know someone that can hopefully help.
Phil grins.
Sam sighs.
—--
“HEH?!”
The tea cup in his best friend's hand nearly shatters against the table it's brought down upon. An absolutely reasonable reaction. Phil nods before sipping at his own cup.
It’s their weekly brunch– more like whenever-we-finally-have-some-spare-time brunch– and Phil can finally air out his latest headaches to hopefully garner a solution from one of the finest strategists in the land. And no, he's not biased. King Technoblade, from the neighboring North Republic, has been through thick and thin with him. This is a thick situation and is in dire need of thinning.
“Yeah it’s not the best situation, but I was kinda hoping to get some outside insight, mate,” Phil confesses. It’s embarrassing having to admit that he’s been bested by his own cabinet after complaining for years how incompetent they are. He’d be proud if it wasn’t so stupid and directed at him!
Technoblade still seems shocked, staring at Phil with a gaze of trying-not-to-laugh but also pure befuddlement. It takes a few moments for him to properly recover. Picking his jaw up from the floor and taking a long sip of tea, seemingly getting lost in thought, his pointed ears twitching.
It takes another minute for him to offer a solution.
“Yeah I got nothing, you’ve really done it now, old man.”
Phil squawks indignantly. It only makes Technoblade finally crack out a laugh. Oh that bastard.
“This isn’t funny, oh my Death- Stop laughing!” Phil gently sets his cup down, feeling red in the face as Technoblade attempts to reel himself in and fails a few too many times.
“No, no. It’s not funny. You’re right,” Technoblade wipes a stupid tear from his amused eyes, “But if you have to marry the winner, what’s stoppin’ you from riggin’ it with someone you know? Most political marriages are between people that hate each other anyways, so y’all don’t have to be romantic or anything.”
“Nah mate, I don’t wanna force anybody into that position,” shaking his head, “friend or especially a stranger. It would be taking away their own right to marry someone else- and no I’m not willing to have my partner hide some sort of secret affair. That would just be unfair to everyone and also a huge reputational risk…” Phil fidgets with his cup as he speaks.
A quiet blankets the conversation. The garden around them is lovely this time of year.
The king across from him huffs, “At least you can call your cabinet opportunistic."
Phil huffs in return. It’s all so ridiculous. He says as much in reply. Technoblade shakes his head.
“And there’s no way to rig this where you don’t gotta get hitched?”
“I was kind of hoping you could come up with something cause I’ve got nothin’, mate.”
“And you're certain you don’t wanna just ask someone you know to win. You know plenty of people who could wipe the floor with just about anybody- don’t give me that look- and at least they’d be someone you know instead of… stranger danger or something.” Technoblade slides one of his hands along the braid that hangs neatly to one side. A nervous tell.
Phil shakes his head, again. He would never force any of his friends to marry him. And he knows that Technoblade knows this. It’s endearing as much as it is stressful to know that his friend is also grasping at straws for a solution.
Technoblade sighs, taking another sip of tea, before setting it back down and meeting Phil's eyes with newfound resolve.
“I’ll fix it.”
“Yeah?” Phil blinks.
“I swear it.”
It gets a chuckle, but he knows that his friend is being sincere. It’s comforting. Even if it’s not an actual solution. It’s solved enough for today. Knowing he’s got Technoblade’s support is enough.
Phil smiles into his tea cup.
“I’ll hold you to it, mate.”
—-
The next weeks are a whirlwind of meetings, announcements, and gossip. The kingdom has become more energetic than it has been in years. All in anticipation of who the lucky fighter will be to win the King’s hand.
It feels like forever and no time at all when the day of the tournament finally arrives.
Phil wakes that morning with anxiety flooding his veins. This day will determine which poor soul he’ll be stuck with for the next few decades at least. For a King, he’s had a distinct lack of control over the whole ordeal, which is probably why it has been all the more stressful. Luckily, Phil’s personal staff help him get ready with grace and Sam eventually leads them to the colosseum after a very light breakfast. Phil doesn't know if he could stomach a full meal at the moment.
There are crowds, made up of vendors and consumers alike, flooding the streets heading in all directions, splitting away just enough for the royal carriage to make way, before pouring back into the empty space left behind. It’s good that the Colosseum has a more private entry way that he and his closest staff would take to reach their seating. Once arriving, they -Phil and his staff- weaved their way through the solitude back tunnels, still ornately decorated for royalty’s sake, before climbing up to a small balcony overlooking the arena. The stands along the sides are packed to the brim with people from far and wide to watch the dramatic spectacle.
Phil takes moments to wave at a few of his subjects and idly speak with Sam off to his side when he doesn't feel the nerves he’s desperately trying to hide, pause in trying to crawl up his throat. He feels slightly ill from it all, but he’ll simply persist. As much as he would like to go back to the castle and hide under his bed like a kid, there’s no way in hell he’d be okay with a stranger taking his hand without seeing their capabilities first. He needs to see it for himself. It’s the most control he’s had in two weeks.
He almost wishes Technoblade were here. Almost. The piglin hates social events, but he would hope the pseudo-violence makes up for it. Sigh.
Phil’s breath is caught on said sigh when an announcer walks towards the middle of the arena. The crowd cheers at his entrance then quiets as he raises a hand to his throat- allowing magic to amplify his voice for all to hear.
It’s a little rude, but Phil zones out as the announcer welcomes ‘one and all’ to Phil’s humiliation ritual. It’s not that, but it basically is. He zones back in temporarily when the speaker acknowledges his presence and he waves to the crowd with bit back anxiety, hoping that he exudes the calm demeanor his public knows.
He’s able to zone back out through the rules- typical tournament style, they fight till one remains in 1v1 matches, no blood, just first to be downed loses. Luckily, the contenders have already been tested to make sure they can fight, so the matches today may actually be entertaining and not a complete waste of time.
And with all that out of the way. The fights begin with much fan fare. Not that Phil’s paying attention. He’s too busy praying for Lady Death to save him, again.
—-
Phil is fighting for his life to not slump back in his throne. It’s painfully… boring. The fights are drawing on. Losers falling, winners celebrating only to fall in the next fight. It’s repetitive and the crowd loves it. But it’s nothing Phil hasn't seen before, or lived through. While there are a few fighters that stand out, he’s taken to reminiscing during matches that make it clear neither fighter will win his hand.
It’s only till the final three fighters does Phil begin to pay closer attention to his potential suitors. The announcer takes to the arena again to let the crowd know it’s the finale- as if they haven’t been commentating on every single detail so far.
The first duo step out, blades in hand and confidence in the air. Before Phil can take a closer look at them, they brace and pounce at each other. The sheer power exchanged between each strike is almost enough to distract Phil from the fact that he may have to marry one of them. The reminder at the back of his mind makes him feel a bit faint… but.
It’s the way that these fighters dance around each other- it’s clear that they have decades of experience. While all of the fighters have been experienced. The ones now seem like masters in comparison. It reminds him of friends he’s fought alongside years before. The strongest of the strong, the bravest of the brave. His closest friends and allies. Sometimes he misses being able to spar with them, not having to hold back, trusting them to do the same in return.
In the beginnings of Phil’s reign, after the sudden fall of this previous country's rulers, neighboring powers thought it smart to invade when they were weak. But it was a farce. While his reign was fresh, his army’s loyalty to their country was not. It was tried and true. With their physical and mental strength, a single neighboring country decided to help in their efforts at the order of their king. The North Repubic… King Technoblade.
The fighters below continue their dangerous dance, twisting and striking and dodging in the most transfixing of ways. They are too far away for Phil to exactly make out facial features, but if he didn’t know better, he’d say they seem achingly familiar… almost like-
WAIT.
Phil sits up in his chair as calm as he possibly can so as to not cause a scene. But. Those fighters. They are people he’s fought alongside with! He can’t believe it didn’t click in his brain sooner. That one there- That’s Puffy! Of course! Her hair is all white now- she’d always said that maintaining the split dye wouldn’t be a forever thing. And her opponent, that's literally just Bad! Wasn't he retired?!
The stress and anxiety of marrying a stranger all but leaps off his shoulders, a tiny bit stays, but it’s nothing compared to the weight of the past two weeks. Two of the three finalists are people he’s trusted with his life before. The fact that they’re willing to go through with this for him… He’s not tearing up. He really isn’t but the pressure behind his eyes is present enough that it’s still a possibility.
The fight concludes with Puffy managing to swipe Bad’s legs from underneath him with a swift dodge and kick of a hoof. She points the blade at him, daring him to get back up, before he fully sits back, conceding to the loss. They both grin ear to ear. Puffy offers Bad a hand to stand, which he graciously accepts, and the crowd roars with her victory. Even Phil claps along.
She looks up at Phil with an infectious smile before doing the deepest, most dramatic and clearly sarcastic bow he’s ever seen. It’s- It’s so playful he laughs at the display as dignified as he can. You know, being a King before his kingdom and all.
The pressure of tears returns- like it ever left- and… man. He missed these guys so bad. Speaking of, he looks then to Bad, who gives him a secretive wave, before falling into a respectful bow. Phil nods his head, acknowledging them both. He hopes he can see them later in the day if they stick around. It’d be so nice to catch up.
The announcer calls out the final contender.
This is it.
Puffy verses a stranger in a cloak. Death he hopes that Puffy wins.
The fighters take their stances across from each other. The arena is near silent, only livened by the excited murmurs of the crowd. Puffy and the stranger stare each other down… but. Judging by Puffy’s face- dare he say it looks mischievous?
Before he can think it through, the fight begins as they circle each other before Puffy dashes forward, swiping with frightening force at the cloaked figure. The stranger staggers back, effortlessly dodging and blocking her attacks, eventually catching her blade with their own. The figure darts towards her, swiping her blade, knocking her out of her rhythm. Puffy misses a step before catching up and uses her blade to knock theirs away enough to shove an elbow in their direction.
The blow misses, but does push her attacker back, giving her a slight reprieve before they run to collide with each other again. And again. And again.
While Puffy and Bad’s fight had been a vicious dance. This fight is nothing short of thinly bridled bloodlust, minus the blood of course. Phil knows from experience that this isn’t fighting to kill though. This is a display of trust.
They’re sparring.
These two fucking know eachother!
Phil’s hope is back in full force. No more stranger danger bullshit! No more being marriage trapped with someone he’ll have to pretend to like. He’s gonna be stuck with a friend! Someone he trusts!
The relief of this revelation is knocked away as he re-focuses on the fight just in time to see Puffy be shoved down into the dust and dirt. Both fighters out of breath, as she glares at the figure above her.
The crowd absolutely thunders in applause and cheers. They had their victor.
Phil stares down in shock. There are only a handful of people that could keep up with Puffy, let alone best her.
He goes through the mental list and…
No.
Puffy’s glare turns to an eyeroll as she reaches up to catch a gloved hand from the “stranger”. They pull her up and she pats their shoulder good-naturedly, sending a wink Phil’s way, before turning back to the entryway.
The announcer states the figure as the winner of the tournament. The one to take the King’s hand has been decided. The crowd continues to cheer and the figure turns to walk in front of the throne before pulling down their- his hood.
Phil stands up so fast he gets dizzy.
“TECHNO?!”
The fucking bastard has the audacity to laugh! Phil feels so lightheaded that he could cry. That- that fucker when he said- oh my Death he’s going to get him one of these days.
Phil can’t get down to the arena fast enough. Sam and his staff clambering after him in alarm (or exasperated endearment in Sam’s case, he’s a good lad). But all he’s focused on is not tripping over his own feet and getting down to the arena as soon as possible to make sure he’s not actually hallucinating. Maybe if he is Sam can knock some sense into him.
He finally reaches the royal entry way to the arena. Stopping to take a much needed breath, and smoothing down his feathers, before not stomping up to King Technoblade who looks like he just won a battle. And in a very literal way he has. He won dozens of battles today. His best friend. His other half. His now soon-to-be husband!
Technoblade, still looking way too proud of himself, luckily meets him halfway before- getting down on one knee and holding open a hand for Phil to take, like an idiot. He looks so pleased with himself.
“Nope! No no, get up, get up, you’ve done enough,” Phil mutters as he grabs and pulls Technoblades hand up to get him off of the dirt before he makes an even bigger scene.
Technoblade grins through it all as he stands, “Told you I’d fix it.”
Phil finally cracks, laughing. How could he not, “Yeah, yeah. You know what this means though, right?”
“Paperwork?”
“Fu- ahem. Yep. Lots. Also, marriage? We have to get married, you're stuck with me forever now.”
“Like I wasn't already.”
The breath almost leaves Phil's lungs. The words are so familiar. From a more stressful time. From when they really did only have each other and the weight of the world on his shoulders.
“For you, the world, Phil.”
If he tears up, Technoblade doesn't say anything. He ends up taking another breath, gripping his best friend's hands, before letting one go. Turning them both to the crowd and holding up their conjoined hands.
The people cheer. The kingdom celebrates their Kings.
—-
It’s their daily brunch sometime later in between their busy schedules.
The wedding went great in all honesty. Neither of them cared enough about it and handed it off to people who had way more passion for organizing such events. Especially with it being a fully social affair, which neither of them are fond of. But, catching up with old friends was healing in a way he didn’t know he needed.
Now they sit. Best Friends. Husbands. Co-Rulers. Emperors of a conjoined new Empire.
They chat as they always have, catching up because their lives can’t ever be boring for some reason. It’s not easy ruling an Empire. Especially with talks about future expansion. But it’s easier with someone ruling along his side. It’s nice.
And if years go by and for some reason Technoblade doesn’t seem to age. Neither of them say anything. They don’t need to.
They've got all the time in the world.